Nightchild

Chapter 52

Running to the closet, Blythe grabbed a coat, letting the hanger fall to the floor in her haste. Without realizing what she intended on doing, she charged down the backstairs and out the kitchen door, rounding the front of the house just as the detective's taillights disappeared around the first curve of the drive. Disappointment and anxiety undulated through her, her knees growing weak as she stared after the vanished car.

"Blythe, what are you doin' out here? Didn't—"

She spun round, her chin going impudently up, as it always did when she was about to oppose the enemy and defiance glazed her eyes as wind whipped her hair into billowing untamed copper tendrils that danced about her. Nate stopped short as if he'd just faced Medusa, taken aback by the insolent glare. Inching forward, he wrapped her in his powerful arms and hugged her to him.

"What is it, darlin'? Did Leonard upset you?" he cooed in her ear, feeling her stiffen and almost cringe from his touch. Seconds later, she pulled away.

"Nothing's wrong," she lied. Her tone was as cold as the wind, only without its volume...flat, dispassionate.

Still holding her shoulders, he gazed down into hate-filled eyes. "It's more than what's happened to Joey and Rene."

She quickly cast her eyes to the ground.

"Blythe, look at me," he growled, giving her a gentle shake that forced her eyes back to his. "I love you, Blythe. I swear it! I'd die for you."

"Would you kill for me, Nate?" she asked spitefully, meeting his gaze.

"Would I what? Blythe, please, what's this all about? Let's get it out in the open once and for all. What is it I've done? Or should I say, what is it you think I've done?"

Wind roared savagely, making the landscape rustle and moan. Trees creaked as their branches swayed in great long swoops and a tumbleweed bumped past them, ending its journey pressed against the stone of the house. Nature was engrossed her own battle and unexpectedly, Blythe's laugher sliced through the tempest, confusing her husband. Not the earthy infectious laughter which had drawn him to search her out in the beginning, but a terse hysterical laugh that went on and on until tears streamed down her cheeks.

Nate tightened his grasp on her upper arms and shook hard. As quickly as the laughter had started, it ceased. When Blythe met his bewildered eyes, she smiled wickedly, her own eyes bright with glimmering tears.

"You want everything out in the open between us? Oh that is amusing, love. You know it as well as I do. So stop with the baffled routine," she hissed.

His brows drew together. "What are saying?"

Blythe jerked her arms free and shoved at the hair blowing across her face. "That I don't give a damn anymore. That I know about your poor departed wife and how—"

"You're my wife," he corrected her adamantly.

"No!" she screamed. "Don't call me that! I know the truth, Nate. I know that she was murdered. Why all the lies? Why did you let me think she'd died of an illness? How could you keep something like that from me? I poured my heart and soul out to you. I told you everything...everything!"

"You were listening," he accused.

"Damn right I was listening! What are you going to do about? Kill me too? Add me to your list of victims? Go ahead. I don't care anymore."

"You can't really believe that!" he exclaimed, moving toward her.

Not as brave as she professed, Blythe backed away, wanting to force her leaden feet to flee, sheer anger holding her steadfastly rigid. "I don't know what I believe. I've witnessed your rage and you terrify me. I know firsthand how violent you can be. And the lies..." She faltered. "The lies...our whole relationship's been a lie. Rene hinted that you were seeing her and I didn't want to believe it. But I should have listened to her. I believe it now." She stepped back again, shrinking from the glowering look on his face.