Joker in the Pack (Romantic Suspense, Completed, Watty Winner)

Chapter 41

Tate looked like a broken man, just as anyone would if they'd found out their father killed their mother. Had Tate ever suspected she hadn't run off with another man? Surely not—nobody would have kept quiet about something so serious, even a teenager. How old was he when it happened? Seventeen? Eighteen?

Beside me, he gripped the wheel, his gaze fixed on the tarmac as he sped along the winding lanes of Middleton Foxford.

"Where are we going?"

No answer.

"Tate, where are we going?"

He glanced over at me, and his eyes had an odd glint. Grief did funny things to people, I knew that, but he didn't look as if he was all there.

"The house. We're going to the house."

"The house? Do you mean your cottage?"

Again, silence. I started to get a bad feeling about the whole plan.

"On second thoughts, it might be best if we met up another day. Maddie and Mickey are waiting to go back to London."

"You said we could talk."

"Yes, but I didn't realise how late it's got. Can you drop me back at the café? Please?"

"We're going to talk."

His mouth set in a thin line, and he gripped the wheel harder. We were travelling at almost seventy along narrow lanes. Did he have a death wish? A branch whacked the wing mirror, and I jumped, but Tate didn't seem to notice.

"Please stop. I'll get out here and make my own way back. It's no problem."

But he didn't even slow. I considered making a grab for the wheel, but at the speed we were going, that would end in disaster. Whatever Tate had planned, I had no choice but to go along for the ride.

Ten minutes later, the car skidded sideways in a hail of gravel as we arrived at Prestwold Manor. Almost before we stopped, Tate leapt out. He pulled my door open, and not in his usual gentlemanly manner.

"Get out."

"I think I'd rather stay here."

I clung on to the sides of the seat, but he grabbed my arm and hauled me out. Blood blossomed on the knee of my jeans as I tripped over the doorsill and landed heavily on the ground.

Tate's fingers bit into my wrist as he pulled me to my feet and across the drive, and I stumbled again. Thoughts jumbled together in my head as if I'd drunk one too many glasses of wine. Why was he being like this?

The stone facade of the old manor loomed in front of us. "Why are we here? This isn't your home."

"No, it's my father's. And it would have been mine one day if you'd managed to do what you were told."

"What are you talking about?"

"Such a simple request. All you had to do was get out of Eleanor's house." He gave his head a little shake. "I even offered you somewhere else to stay. Why did you find it so difficult?"

Realisation hit me like a blow to the stomach, and I regretted eating all those cupcakes earlier. "You knew? You knew your father was trying to scare me away from Lilac Cottage?"

"Knew? It was my idea. The problem was that I only had an incompetent fool to help me. He managed to screw things up, just like he screwed up disposing of my mother's body all those years ago."

Tate had been in on it? What sort of man could live with that secret?

He unlocked the door, shoved me inside, and slammed it behind us, looking more unhinged by the second. When I didn't move fast enough, he pushed me, and I tripped over the edge of a rug. Pain shot through my wrist as I caught it on the edge of a table, but he didn't care, just twisted it behind my back and propelled me forwards.