The fact that she had taken over his thriving business, and the sensationalism of the arrests and events that had occurred six months before, grated on people’s pride. It was a damned wonder someone hadn’t
killed her.
Sometimes she thought the only reason they hadn’t tried was because of her brother, Natches, and their cousins, Rowdy and Dawg. And Uncle Ray. Who had stayed at her side in the hospital for more than a week. His wife, Maria, had babied her as though she had raised her. And Natches’s twenty-one-year-old adopted son—and that one still amazed the hell out of her—was normally at her back like a guard dog. Thankfully, her chef had taken him into the kitchen this week. Faisal took his duties seriously while he was at the restaurant, and he considered her family. Evidently, he saw the family the same way Natches did. Worth killing for. It was scary how much alike her brother and his adopted son were.
Too bad Faisal hadn’t been around the night Dayle Mackay had literally kidnapped her.
She barely remembered her uncle Ray shedding tears three days after she was admitted into the hospital.
Where the doctors had confirmed that the rape kit had shown none of the signs of rape that were consistent with the bite marks on her br**sts.
No, she hadn’t been raped, but what Nadine had done to her had scarred her in other ways.
She didn’t sleep well. Not that she ever had, but the insomnia was sometimes worse now. The nightmares could be brutal.
Natches knew. When she looked in his eyes at that hospital, she’d seen the grief there, the fury. He knew, and there had been no one left to strike out at.
She’d had the restaurant for three months now, ever since the Department of Homeland Security turned it over to her and her brother, and it was thriving. Because she let the customers snipe. Because she played the perfect little robot. Just as she had before her father’s death.
“Another full night,” Hoyt murmured as they cashed the last customer out at nearly midnight and locked the doors behind them. “The kitchen staff is nearly ready to leave unless you require anything.”
Janey shook her head as she rubbed her lower back and turned to stare at the huge dining room. There were several private screened areas that could be enlarged or made smaller. There was a banquet room that was normally closed except to large parties and would have to be reserved well in advance.
“I don’t require anything, Hoyt.” She finally shook her head. “You can go ahead and leave. Has Faisal left yet?”
Hoyt nodded. “Your cousin picked him up a few minutes ago.” He paused. “I heard what some of the customers said tonight.” He frowned lightly. “You act like it doesn’t bother you.”
It tore a strip from her every time it happened.
“What can I do?” She sighed. “Dayle was what he was. Nothing is going to change that.”
“Does that mean you’re to blame?” Hoyt asked her heatedly. “You didn’t do it.”
“But I’m here to blame.” Janey shrugged. “Grab something from the kitchen to take home to your mother. There’s plenty in there. I’ll see you tomorrow evening.”
He shook his head and moved to the kitchen. When he left by way of the back doors, Janey locked up behind him, then checked the front doors again as well.
Augusta Hoyt had been ill lately; Janey hoped some of the food that the chef put back in the refrigerator for their lunches the next day would cheer her up. She never came to the restaurant, refused to associate with “the traitor’s daughter.” Janey was damned lucky everyone else was too nosy and gossipy to feel that way.
But that was a small town for you. Somerset was a tight-knit community. Most everyone knew everyone else, and the controversy only made them more curious. They loved their hometown heroes, and her brother was one of those heroes. As were her cousins. That meant she was “almost” part of the community, therefore not “completely” to blame. She was the one they could snipe at, because Dayle Mackay was no longer there to punish and Natches had captured him, seen him arrested, imprisoned. He was their hero. Janey was their scapegoat.
Small towns were amazingly supportive in some ways. Amazingly cruel in others. And it was home. A home she loved, one she had missed in the years she had been forced to live away from it.
Sighing at the thought, she moved through the dining room and headed to her office.
The restaurant was eerie, too silent. She turned in the middle of the dimly lit room and stared around her.
It had not been as busy as it was ever since she had taken over, but she expected the rush to slacken once the sensationalism wore off. Once the newspapers stopped reporting and the tabloids stopped gossiping. Or would that never happen?
She moved to the hall on the far side of the room and then into her office. Janey closed the door behind her. Pulling the hem of her shirt from the narrow skirt she wore, she kicked off her heels and moved to the small refrigerator that sat in the back corner.
She poured a glass of wine and sat down in the heavy leather chair behind the old scarred desk she had moved into the room.
She pulled out the bottom drawer, slapped a pillow on top of it, and propped up her feet before closing her eyes and sinking into the chair.
She meant to relax; she didn’t mean to feel the ghostly touch of male lips against hers. A dazed memory of a kiss, butterfly soft, probably so he wouldn’t have to touch her too much.
“No.” She shook her head, lifting herself, her feet thumping to the floor as she rested her elbows on her knees and pushed her fingers through her hair.
She couldn’t let herself think that. It was the only memory she had that wasn’t tainted and somehow dirty. The touch of his lips, warm, gentle. That was what they had been, she told herself. Just gentle. So he wouldn’t hurt her.
And he had held her tight. Prayed, maybe. She could have sworn she had heard a prayer. Or maybe it was a curse.
She sat back in the chair and lifted the wineglass, tipping it to her lips and swallowing a healthy sip. Well, probably more like a drink, she thought as she rubbed at the back of her neck. If she didn’t manage to relax, she would never get to sleep tonight.
She was taking another sip—drink—when a heavy knock landed on the outside door.
Natches. Or one of her cousins. They checked up on her often.
She finished the wine quickly, wiping her lips as she moved around the desk.
“Just because the lights are on doesn’t mean someone’s home.” She pasted on a fake smile.