Her nightmares about that night were both surreal and vivid. Over and over, she had to hear her sister’s scream, her mother’s cries in the darkness, her father’s frantic running, lights flashing over the grounds, and the angry shouts, a popping gunshot and the silence. The silence was the most horrible part.
In the silence, she always saw Aimee, face up at the edge of the reflecting pool, bloody, battered, her life gone. And Wade Dempsey beside her at the pond’s bank, one bullet clean through his heart, gazing lifelessly up at the death-dark sky. A bullet Maurice Louvel had fired.
Ten years later, Bryn’s father had placed himself in that same spot, only this time he’d shot himself. He’d won his freedom in a courtroom, but he could never forgive himself for inspiring the revenge that had made Wade Dempsey kill Aimee. To the end, her father had blamed himself for his daughter’s murder.
Cole’s voice was as bitter as the look in his eyes. “Oh, I hope it was hard, Bryn. I hope it was very hard. Your father was judge, jury and executioner that night.”
“He was out of his mind that night. Who wouldn’t be after finding their daughter dead in their own backyard?”
“Oh, I know all about it. Temporary insanity. He got off, didn’t he? No court in St. Salome Parish would convict a war hero and the town’s biggest employer, would they? Even if it was all lies. That’s right.” He kept his agonizing gaze on her. “Lies. Do you know I’ve read every document I could get my hands on connected to your sister’s murder, Bryn? Have you?”
“No,” she said finally. She couldn’t bear it. She didn’t want to know more about that night than she already did. The bitter strife between her parents, the near-violent altercation when her father had fired Wade Dempsey, and the horror of everything that followed. It was enough. Too much.
Bryn would never forget the betrayed fire in Cole’s eyes when she’d sat across a courtroom from him months later when the verdict was read and Maurice Louvel was acquitted for taking a father’s justice. But she had lost Cole even before that last day of the trial, and there was no going back. She’d had to start over, just as he and his mother had had to do when they had left Azalea Bend. Her father hadn’t been able to start over, though.
Her father had lost more than a daughter that night. He’d lost his will to work and even to live. His business had been destroyed, his family broken. Battered beyond repair, just like Aimee.
Nothing had ever been the same.
“Your father lied,” Cole said. “Your mother lied. And you lied, Bryn. And we both know it.”
Guilt was a horrible thing, but Bryn had learned to live with it. The only lie she’d told wouldn’t change the fact that Wade Dempsey had murdered Aimee. Her father’s pride, her mother’s dignity—it was little enough to leave them after they’d lost Aimee.
And for that, to save what was left of her family, Bryn had lied. To Cole, it had been betrayal. To Bryn, it had been her only choice for her family’s survival.
“Go away, Cole. If you can’t let go of the past, that’s your problem.”
“Oh no, that’s where you’re wrong. It’s your problem, too—because you and your family weren’t the only ones who lied. This whole town is full of liars, and I might not have been able to prove that fifteen years ago, but things are different now.”
Bryn’s blood ran cold. Oh, this wasn’t the first time she’d heard Cole’s conspiracy theory about the prosecution. Even at seventeen, he’d been determined that his father had been innocent. But he wasn’t seventeen anymore.
What havoc could Cole’s misplaced, bitter loyalty create now? He blamed an entire town for his father’s downfall. And she knew he also blamed her. She’d hurt him, she knew that. But he’d also hurt her more than he could possibly realize. She’d never imagined she could be as close to anyone as she was to Aimee—until she’d fallen in love with Cole. Then she’d lost them both in one night.
And he could still hurt her. She had a business to build, and everything depended on its success.
“Aimee’s murder is the last thing I plan to discuss with you, Cole.” She gave her words the ring of finality, but she might as well have flung them at a stone wall for all the effect they appeared to have on Cole.
“It’s late, and I realize seeing me again is…upsetting,” he said. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”
God, he was arrogant. “I’m not upset, Cole. I’m not bound by the past as you clearly are.” She took another step back, bumping into the column behind her.
“Did you know I’m an attorney now?” he went on in his quiet-steel voice as if she’d said nothing. The lethal ice of his eyes prickled uneasiness up the nape of her neck. “That’s right. I worked my way through college, made something of myself that no one in Azalea Bend thought possible. Especially you, isn’t that right, Bryn?”
He stood a breath away, and with the column pressed against her back, she had no room to get away. She was trapped, in every way possible.
“You’re looking at the newest partner in Granville, Piers and Rousseau. That’s the biggest law firm in Baton Rouge, if you don’t know,” he continued, lifting his hand and running the tips of his fingers down the side of her face. Her pulse jumped in response. “I’m a man now, Bryn. Not a boy. I won’t be tucking my tail between my legs and running away this time. And I won’t be a victim to the Louvels any longer. I’m going to finish this, once and for all.”
The marsh grasses down by the river shuddered in the long beat. Bryn felt her heart sink inside her. He might be wearing a plain polo shirt, both buttons undone, and laid-back jeans, but his looks were deceptively simple. His bearing alone revealed the truth of who he had become even if she hadn’t seen the sleek new sports car in the drive. Cole Dempsey was a success, but the question of what drove him was what really unnerved her.
He was a man on a mission. But was it justice…or revenge?
Chapter 2
She wished she hadn’t sent Melodie home.
The main house of Bellefleur was over nine thousand square feet, but with no one else in the mansion tonight but Cole Dempsey, it felt about the size of an airplane lavatory.
Bryn hugged her knees up to her chest, sitting in the middle of the mahogany four-poster in the main second floor bedroom. She had her own private sitting area and a small personal office. It had been her parents’ suite, which Bryn had made over for herself. In the years following Aimee’s death, her mother had spent more time in than out of hospitals being treated for depression. Patsy Louvel had finally come back to Bellefleur—but only to one of the cottages on the grounds, self-imprisoned with her beloved camellias, her keening grief and later, a full-time nurse.
Sometimes Bryn thought she hated Bellefleur as much she loved it, but all she knew for sure was that after more than two hundred years she couldn’t be the Louvel who let it go. She had plans, lots of them. Other families along Louisiana’s famed River Road, Highway 18, that traversed the state following the path of the mighty Mississippi, had found ways to keep their plantations. They offered overnight accommodations, tours, Old South history and craft events.
Slowly, she would be able to finance restoration work on the house and grounds to bring them back to their former glory. Her father’s pride and outdated sense of Louvel nobility would never have allowed it, but now that he was gone, Bryn had taken over. After high school, she’d learned the historic tourism business from the ground up, working for several of the most successful historic plantations as everything from receptionist to tour guide and finally manager. It hadn’t left her with much time for relationships, but she hadn’t cared. Saving Bellefleur had been her goal.
She was starting small,