The Truth Within (Pelican Bay 3)

I didn’t need to look at Cam to know he was pissed, and I didn’t blame him. The way I’d pulled away from him, it probably looked like I was disgusted by his touch.

Even though it was the exact opposite.

I risked a glance at him and saw I was right – he was definitely pissed.

Which he had every right to be. I was being a dick. The guy had pretty much saved my life and instead of dumping my ass at the hospital after groping him like he was nothing but a piece of meat and then insulting him, he’d stayed with me and made it so I could see Walter and get an update on him.

And now he was giving me a ride home.

Well, he was supposed to be, anyway.

“Sheriff Wells—”

“You should stop talking now, Ford,” Cam said softly. “Or I might just forget how much Walter cares about you and take your ass home so you can do something stupid.”

I opened my mouth to respond but when he cast an icy glare at me, I snapped it shut again. I wasn’t afraid of Cam in the same way I was Jimmy, but I still knew better than to give someone who was already standing at the edge that little push to send them over. Cam probably wouldn’t physically hurt me, but my gut was telling me that once I pushed Cam too far, there’d be no going back.

And as much as I should want him to just give up on me, I couldn’t make myself speak the words.

The hospital had wanted me to stay for observation just to make one hundred percent sure my temperature and blood pressure were normal, but I’d had a lot of reasons for declining, least of which was fear for my health. Unfortunately, I hadn’t realized Cam would take issue with it when I’d accepted his offer of a ride. Not only had I not had any way of getting home, but I’d stupidly wanted to spend a few more minutes with Cam, even though I knew I shouldn’t have.

Now it was biting me in the ass and I still didn’t want to rock the boat.

What the hell did that mean? It was one thing to work so hard to keep the peace with my temperamental family members, but why was I worried about upsetting Cam? Wasn’t him not talking to me anymore exactly what I should have been wanting?

During the rest of the short drive, I opened my mouth at least three more times to order Cam to take me home, consequences be damned, but no sound came out any of the times. It wasn’t until the SUV entered a large clearing and came to a stop in front of a very weathered farmhouse sitting in the center that I saw the time on the dashboard clock and knew I needed to speak up.

“Sheriff Wells, I really do appreciate this, but I’m fine—”

“Get out of the car, Ford,” Cam ordered firmly. He started to open his own door so I quickly reached out to grab him. I regretted it when he shot me another cold look.

I pulled my hand away immediately.

“You want me to wait while you beg your Holy Father for forgiveness for touching the fag again?”

Cam’s words shocked me into silence. His eyes were cold and hard as he studied me. This time, I didn’t try to stop him when he got out of the SUV.

I took a moment to try and catch my breath. I didn’t look around at my surroundings because I didn’t need to. I already knew what I’d see when I finally did look up. Even if I hadn’t been someone who could remember every detail of a place, I would have remembered everything about Fright House after that terrible night more than ten years ago.

I’d heard my mother mention that the new sheriff had bought Fright House and the surrounding fifteen acres, but I hadn’t really given it much thought at the time, mostly because I hated this place and tried not to think about it if I could avoid it.

Visually speaking, the property was stunning, however, the old Victorian farmhouse was more ramshackle than glorious. The weathered gray stone looked like it had been chipped away by thousands of rainy nights, and the once-white lace trim on the edges of the eaves was more like a row of broken teeth that had seen too many cups of coffee over the decades. Arched windows made prim rows on all three stories of the old place, and a screen porch jutted out in the middle of a wide, wrap-around porch that had most likely held generations of people trying to find any shred of a breeze on a summer evening.

Several natural and man-made ponds were located on the land, but the largest one was just a hundred feet from the house and was fed by a little brook that had succumbed to the extreme cold we were having by freezing over. The largest of the oak trees surrounding the ponds and house were at least as old as the house, if not older.