Sarah couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Are you seriously pulling rank on me?”
“Can I come in?” He reached for the door handle and tugged against the latch.
“No.” Sarah put one hand over the hook on the door, as if Tony couldn’t simply yank the thing open if he wanted. The very thought of going out without the gun terrified her. The gun was her security blanket and that shocked her as much as anything else that had happened since the night Paul had showed up at her apartment in Chicago. She hated guns. She’d never owned one, never touched one before she’d acquired the .22 right before she left for Willow Bay.
Her fear of guns was no big psychological mystery—her parents had been shot dead in their bed during a robbery of their elegant home in Ames, Georgia, an expensive bedroom community outside Atlanta. The thieves had used her dad’s own hunting rifle to execute them as they lay sleeping one freezing January night not long before Macy was born. The crime had been cold-blooded and devastating, and after they’d returned from the funeral, Sarah had begged Paul to get rid of the guns he kept in a locked cabinet in his study.
Of course, he’d refused and later, after the abuse began, the rifles became part of the evil—once he’d even pointed one at her and cocked the trigger while he forced her to—
She closed her eyes against that particular memory and put her hand in her pocket to wrap her fingers around the grip of the pistol. Things had changed. She had changed. “I’m not giving you my gun, Tony. So I guess you’re going to have to arrest me.”
“Sarah, we talked about this. I told you a few weeks ago that you had to register that thing and to stop carrying it until you had a permit. You agreed to do it, but you haven’t.” Tony’s tone was the same one he’d have used with his four-year-old granddaughter, Sarah was sure of it. “I’m not going to take it away from you; however, I do need to get the serial number off it, take a photo of the damn thing, and take you down for fingerprints.”
Her heart stuttered. “Fingerprints?” she squeaked. “Are you kidding me? I don’t want my fingerprints on file anywhere. I know Julie’s probably told you some of my story. Jesus! My ex would find me in two seconds.” Tony had to be joking—her fingerprints? Did the man truly not understand what kind of manipulative monster she was dealing with?
“He has no access to the gun registry in Michigan. In fact, he doesn’t even know where you are, so I doubt it would even occur to him to check,” Tony explained. “Besides you’re not registering as Sarah Everett. You’re safe here.”
“I’m not safe anywhere, Deputy, but this”—she held out the gun—“at least makes me feel like I can fight back.”
“Do not point that thing at me.” He reached for the door handle, then dropped his hand just as quickly. “Come with me and let’s get you legal, okay? I think I’ve figured out what you can do during the waiting period.”
* * * *
Tony waited while Sarah contemplated for a moment. Her white teeth caught her lower lip, and she gazed at the gun and then back at him. He’d hated “pulling rank” on her—hated that was how she saw it. This wasn’t really the encounter he wanted to have with Sarah Bennett after the tentative friendship they’d started on the boat. He’d been waiting for the right time to ask her out, but somehow, the cool shell she’d managed to put up since they’d returned from the cruise had daunted him. He’d almost stopped her last night as she and Julie had left the board meeting, but he’d been waylaid by the mayor asking more questions about the sheriff’s department being able to handle the extra burden of the shelter.
When he checked with the county clerk and realized Sarah hadn’t been in there or to the sheriff’s office to register the gun, he formulated a plan. He wasn’t going to be able to make her stop carrying the wretched thing around unless he confiscated it, and she was in clear violation of Michigan law if she did, so there was only one way to make her feel safe without it when she was out of the apartment. However, first he had to get her out of the apartment.
“What have you figured out?” Suspicion dripped from her question.
“I have a plan.” He cocked his head and gave her his best persuasive smile. The one that always worked on Emma. “Come on. Let’s go down to the office and I’ll tell you all about it.”
With a sigh, she unlocked the screen door. “Come in.”
“Thank you.” He crossed the threshold and followed her to the table. “Set it down on the table, and I’ll take a quick picture and get the serial number.”
Reluctantly, she did as he instructed and backed away from the table. He remained all business as he examined the gun, which was a cheap model anyone could pick up on the streets of Chicago. The weapon was beat-up and the serial number had been scratched off. He turned it over in his hands and came to a decision. If she wanted a gun, she needed a real one, not this piece of crap.
Sarah had wandered over to the big window overlooking the bay, her back to him.
He left the gun on the table. “Okay, tell you what,” he said as he closed the space between them in three wide strides. “Let’s go to Traverse City and buy you a decent gun. You can buy one from a federally licensed dealer, then we’ll come back and process you for a carry permit.” Since he was still speaking to her back, he moved closer. “While you’re waiting for the paperwork, I’ll take you to the shooting range and teach you how to use it.”
“And until I get processed?” Her voice trembled. “How do I protect myself at the shelter? In the village? If I have to go into Traverse City?”
“You can keep the new gun in your nightstand until you have the permit to carry. While you’re out and about, well, like I said, I have a plan.”
“What’s your plan?” She turned around and he could read doubt and fear in her expression.
When he reached for her, she jumped back, her eyes wide and he cursed inwardly. He’d only meant to turn her attention to the window again. He dropped his hand. “Look down there.” Instead of touching her, he pointed to the docks below. “See that big blond kid scrubbing the top deck of the Allegro?”
With a quick glance back over her shoulder Sarah’s focus switched to the yacht in berth 38. “Yes,” she said cautiously. “What about him?”
“That’s Chris Waggoner.” Tony edged closer, trying to figure out how far he could go into her personal space without freaking her out. “He got into some trouble last month and now he has three hundred hours of community service to do to clear his record.”
“Okaaaay.” Doubt edged her tone. “What does that have to do with me?”
“Yesterday afternoon, I got the judge who handed down the sentence to agree that being your personal assistant and helping work on the shelter qualified as service hours. Chris is your new PA and bodyguard. If you’ll have him.”
She stared at him in disbelief. “You’re giving me a juvenile delinquent as an assistant? What did he do?”
“He and a bunch of his frat brothers from MSU had some beers, stole a dune buggy, and headed up to Sleeping Bear.”
“Sleeping Bear?”
“God, you really have been focused on the shelter, haven’t you? Remember we showed you Sleeping Bear when we were out on the boat—the national lakeshore a few miles north of here,” he explained. “Great big sand dune?” he added when her expression remained bewildered.
Realization dawned on her face. “Oh, yeah, okay. I do remember now. Jules wants to take me up there for a picnic. They don’t allow dune buggies there?”
Tony shook his head. “Nope, no dune buggies are allowed in the park, stolen or otherwise. Plus they’d been drinking. They hit a tree and roughed up some of the lakeshore and dune pretty bad, and then had the unfortunate luck to get a judge who does conservation work in the area.” He grinned. “She was plenty pissed that a bunch of over-privileged frat boys would have such disrespect for nature.”
“How old is this kid?” She craned her neck to stare down at Chris, but she didn’t move away, which Tony counted as a small
victory.
“He’s nineteen, gonna be a sophomore at MSU next fall, majoring in business and finance. He’s a good kid. Honor student. Never been in trouble before. Just happened to go along for the ride with his frat brothers. He and his parents were devastated. Judge Carrey’s willing to expunge his record if he completes the community service by Labor Day. So you see? You get a burly college kid at your beck and call, Chris does his time, and I get to take that nasty piece of crap”—he nodded in the direction of the gun on the table—“and toss it into the box of weapons that we’ll send to Traverse City for disposal. It’s a win-win-win.”
After a long moment, Sarah raised one brow. “What about at night? He can’t be expected to be with me twenty-four-seven.”
Tony’s heart soared that she was warming up to the idea. “I told you, we’ll go to Traverse City this afternoon and get you a decent gun. You can keep it in the nightstand until you get your carry permit. For the time being, while you’re working on the shelter or out and about, Chris will be with you.” He took a chance and touched her shoulder. Relief washed over him when she didn’t pull away. Apparently, he hadn’t blown this thing completely.
“You think I’m paranoid, don’t you?” Sarah’s chin lifted and she looked him straight in the eye. “You think I’m overreacting.”
He fought the urge to take her in his arms and assure her that he wasn’t going to let anyone hurt her. That would only frighten her more or make her less compliant, and he needed her to accept what he was offering. Otherwise, he was going to have to be Deputy Reynard.
“No, I don’t think that at all,” he said, tipping his head down so he could meet her fiery gaze. “I get why you’re scared. That’s why I’m trying to make you feel safe. However, I’m a servant of the county, so I also have to keep you legal.”
ELEVEN
With a warm smile, Sarah accepted the cold bottle of water the young man handed her. “Chris, you’re an angel.”
“Thanks, but apparently I’m not or I wouldn’t be doing three hundred hours of community service, now would I?” Chris’s perfect teeth gleamed in the sunlight streaming through the window on the landing of the elegant staircase. He dropped onto the window seat next to her and she elbowed him gently. “We’ve gotten a lot done today, boss,” he said after taking a long pull on his own icy beverage. “You were right about getting all the floors sanded before they put in the new furnace—the dust we’re raising would destroy a new unit.”
At first, she had been reluctant to accept Tony’s offer of an assistant-slash-bodyguard. She wasn’t sure she wanted the company of a college kid and she worried about putting Chris in harm’s way. However, he was over eighteen, understood her fears, and had stepped into his new job with enthusiasm.
She and the young man had taken to one another immediately. A warm, intelligent kid, he stayed within view practically every moment they were together. He never asked any questions about her past, which she appreciated, but they talked about everything else, from where to find the best pizza in Benzie County—Mama Connie’s—to music, trends, and politics.
He turned out to be great company and seemed to be devoted to the shelter project, rallying some of his local fraternity brothers to the cause of renovating the old house. Even now, the laughter and chatter of several Alpha Tau Omegas sanding the oak floors in the kitchen drifted up the stairs.
Redoing the floors had been the task she’d found most daunting, so she and Frank Law, the contractor, agreed she should start with that. Chris and his friends had jumped in with both feet, while the electricians and plumbers installed new wiring and new pipes. The new furnaces would come along next—Frank had just ordered them earlier that week after showing her half a dozen brochures.
Who knew furnaces and ductwork could be so fascinating?
Sarah glanced down at her dust-covered jeans. “I figured we may as well get all the truly grubby work out of the way up front.” She brushed futilely at her T-shirt. “We can cover all the floors with tarps and paper once we get the sanding finished and then put the poly on after all the other work is done.”
“I hate that I won’t be here that long.” Dust flew as Chris raked his fingers though his unruly mop of blond hair. “I can’t believe how fast this month has gone.”
“I can’t believe how much help you’ve been, Chris.” She laid her hand on his arm, watching powdery motes rise from the golden hair. “I don’t know what I’m going to do when you leave.”
He took another drink. “I’m not going anywhere for another month and a half, boss. And I’ve been thinking… I’ve always worked at Nolan’s during my winter break, but I’d like to help here if you could use me. I mean, if you think you’ll still be working on this old place.”
She grinned. “Oh, we’ll still be here and I’d love to have you.” Reaching under the bill of her cap, she used a finger to scratch her itchy scalp. “What do you do at the winery?”
“No, no, I don’t work at the winery, I work at the Christmas tree farm,” Chris said. “Mr. Nolan and his son have the tree farm part. It’s Mrs. Nolan who owns the winery. They’re up there by the lighthouse, and even though they’re both under the Nolan Farms umbrella, they’re like two separate businesses. Have you been up there yet?”
Scratching wasn’t helping much. “Basically, I haven’t gone anywhere except here and the market and the Grind since I arrived. I know Libby Nolan, but I’ve only been to her winery once and that was with Jules. I really need to get to know this the town, don’t I?” She lifted the ball cap and reached behind her to untangle her ponytail from the hole in the back.
“You do need to get to know Willow Bay, and I can remedy that.” A deep voice from the bottom of the stairs startled her so much she dropped her hand, leaving the cap dangling from her hair.
Tony was beside her in a wink, ascending the huge staircase amazingly fast for a man his size. “Here, let me help.” His eyes sought permission even as he reached down to her.
Sarah nodded, warmth flooding her insides at the sight of the attractive deputy, and she was sure she was blushing. Not that it mattered, her face was all hot and sweaty anyway, so no one would suspect the effect he had.
Gently and without touching any part of her except her hair, he untangled the cap, talking casually as he pulled the strands through the hole in the back. “Why don’t you start by coming to the Fishwife with me tonight? It’s all-you-can-eat shrimp night.”
“You should definitely go, boss,” Chris admonished with a wink to Tony that he didn’t even try to hide. “Best shrimp on the coast.”
Tony handed her the cap with a flourish before giving Chris a mocking severe look. “Thanks, Chris, but I can get my own date. When I need a wingman, I’ll call you.”
“I kinda think you might need a wingman, Deputy.” Chris rose and stretched, curving his back in an exaggerated motion that made Sarah envy his youth and flexibility. “You’ve been lurking around here damn near every day for a month and you’ve just now worked up the balls—um, sorry, boss—I mean the nerve to ask her out.”
Tony gazed at Chris over the top of his glasses. “Don’t you have something you need to be doing, like far, far away from here?”
She giggled and gave Chris a quick head tilt. “Why don’t you go down and get the shop vac from the kitchen? You can start the cleanup in room three.”
Chris glanced at Tony, one brow raised, and at the deputy’s slight nod, bounded down the stairs.
Sarah rolled her shoulders and took a deep sip of her beverage. “Man, what I wouldn’t give for a tenth of that boy’s energy.”
“Ain’t that the truth?” Tony perched on the steps opposite her. “All that vigor is wasted on youth, and they have no idea how much they’ll wish they had it when they get older.” He squinted at her, pulling his cap around to shield his eyes from the sunlight. “So, what do you say?”
“I say I agree; vigor is wasted on youth.” She was being deliberately obtuse, reluctant to get back to his
invitation to dinner. Just the thought of a date with the handsome deputy made her heart beat faster—for several reasons.
She’d explored the idea of dating Tony with Dr. Benton, who, in her usual hands-off manner, had turned the question back to Sarah. Did she feel prepared to put herself in that situation? Only Sarah herself knew the answer to that one. However, the good doctor had encouraged her to make new friends, to participate in town events, and try to settle in. The fears would subside, she’d said, as Sarah became comfortable in Willow Bay.
Sarah thought she was doing okay. She met Julie or Carrie or Sophie or all three of them most mornings at the Daily Grind before Chris picked her up in his battered Jeep to head to the shelter. Libby joined them when responsibilities didn’t keep her at the winery.
Men had suddenly become an integral part of her life as she worked in the huge old house among a platoon of electricians, plumbers, and the college kids—all men—but she never felt threatened. Julie brought new workmen in every week since the historical society had agreed to sell the place to them for a hundred dollars. How the hell she had pulled that one off still baffled Sarah—the estate had been turned over to the shelter board in record time.
The grant money and a large shot of cash from Henry Dugan got things rolling, and as chairperson of the six-member shelter board, Julie demonstrated magical powers. She’d received a commitment from the big-box home improvement store in Traverse City to donate the new bathroom and kitchen fixtures, and the lighting that was going in now; and she found electricians, carpenters, and plumbers willing to work pro bono or for a fraction of their usual fee.
Even old Frank Law, a retired contractor, had stepped up with an offer to help coordinate the whole effort—something to keep him off the streets, he’d joked. All the footwork and cajoling Jules had done prior to acquiring the house was paying off in spades as volunteers turned up every day ready to do Frank and Sarah’s bidding. Julie’s powers of persuasion were astounding—nearly the entire village had come together to make the project a success.
Saving Sarah Page 9
