* * *
* * *
The back parking lot at the sheriff’s department was for law enforcement only, but Wyatt knew that was where he would most likely spot Erin as she came or went. He’d rarely seen so many police vehicles in one place, some of them two or three years old, others brand-new. All the bubble tops might have given Wyatt a nervous stomach if he’d been a criminal, but as it stood, he sat in his truck and ate two calzones from the Jake ’n’ Bake for supper and drank a giant-size soda. He was feeling just a little sleepy by the time Erin walked out the rear door of the building. Wyatt climbed out of his truck. She hesitated midstride and then changed direction to come toward him. He liked the way she strode with brisk steps, her legs solid under her slender but toned body.
When she reached him, Wyatt had every intention of thanking her for calling him about Kennedy, but she spoke first. “I need a glass of wine. No. Correction. I need a whole gallon, straight into a vein.”
The artificial daylight cast by the yard lights enabled Wyatt to read her lips, and he was initially startled by the vehemence he saw in her expression. He considered all that had happened and decided she truly had been through one hell of a day. “Are you off shift? I’d be happy to get you some wine to say thank you for helping me head Kennedy off at the pass. He had murder in his eyes.”
“I almost wish he’d finished the deed before you got to the creek!” She leaned against the fender of his pickup. “That little punk is inside, whining like a baby because his father refuses to lawyer up and get him out on bail. I can barely stand to look at him.” She fixed Wyatt with a tear-filled gaze. There was a look of utter defeat in her eyes. “I want to take him apart. A good cop doesn’t allow himself to think that way. That’s why this job isn’t right for me. I can’t compartmentalize my emotions. I’m either walking around feeling hollow or I’m upset. Most of the time, I just go for the hollow feeling.”
Wyatt’s heart hurt for her, and even worse, he had no answers. “I’m sorry, Erin. Feeling hollow all the time is no way to live.”
The tears in her eyes slipped over her lower lashes. “I’m sorry for turning someone else’s tragedy into being all about me and my stupid job. It’s not right, I know, but I can’t seem to focus on anything but the fact that I let Jenette Johnson fall through the cracks.”
“Honey, what happened wasn’t your fault.” Wyatt immediately regretted the form of address. He had no business using terms of endearment with her, and yet it had popped out. They had agreed to be friends, and friends were supposed to care about each other, but the feeling inside him went deeper than mere friendship. He yearned to hold her in his arms and comfort her. “Please, don’t blame yourself. You had no way of knowing he’d go clear over the edge and do something like this.”
“Oh, but I did. That night at the burger joint when he tried to force Jenette into his car, she told us he threatened to take her into the woods and rape her. That was a red flag we shouldn’t have ignored. Now Jenette is fighting for her life.”
Wyatt moved in beside her to rest his arm against the pickup. “Are all the other deputies as upset as you are?”
“No. They’re sad about what happened. But they think it’s just one of those things nobody could prevent. I don’t think they feel inadequate and”—she broke off and tipped her head back to stare at the sky, which, in the artificial light, appeared to be black and devoid of stars—“guilty for failing. They’re cops. Their job is to deal with the criminals after the crimes are committed. Sure, they try to prevent bad things from happening. We cruise the streets. We give talks at the schools. We counsel parents. But when shit happens anyway, they don’t feel the same way I do.”
Wyatt had known for some time that Erin was disillusioned and frustrated with her job, but he hadn’t understood how completely out of her comfort zone she actually was. “Not everyone is cut out to be a peace officer. That’s no reflection on you. And just so you know, Kennedy suspects Rob Sorensen is into drugs. That means his behavior may be erratic, depending on what he’s using.”
“Meth, we think, mixed with alcohol. His choice for today, anyway. His car was impounded, and a bunch of stuff was found in the trunk. Meth, crack, sedatives, and pot. Meth can make people crazy, all right.”
Wyatt grabbed ahold of her last sentence. “Crazy people are unpredictable. Not even cops can anticipate what they’ll do.”
She looked up at him. “But he told us what he meant to do. Don’t you get it? Through Jenette, we knew what was on his mind, and we did nothing to stop him.”
“What could you have done?”
“Nothing! Not legally, anyway! And that’s the whole point! Don’t you see?”
Wyatt was beginning to wish for a big glass of wine himself. He could see the pain in her eyes, but he couldn’t think of a way to make her feel better. “I’m sorry you blame yourself.”
A glassy look entered her eyes. “I looked at him through the bars of his cell. Sitting there on his cot, blubbering and cursing his father.” She locked gazes with Wyatt. “I had an unholy urge to blow his head off. Even if Jenette survives, he’s probably destroyed her life. If it’s my job to clean up after a crime is committed, why shouldn’t I start by obliterating that piece of crap in our jail? But, no. We have to turn him over to the courts and hope justice is done. Only justice is rarely dished out. His father will hire a fancy lawyer. They’ll plead drug-induced insanity or something. And in the end, he’ll probably do time in a rehab center where he can watch TV, eat popcorn, and bullshit a psychologist about how sorry he is.”
Wyatt didn’t have it within his power to fix the world. He wished he did—for her sake. “What are you going to do?”
She straightened away from the vehicle. “What I should have done in Washington before I ever came here. I’ve had it clear up to my eyebrows. Nobody who has thoughts like I did tonight should be wearing a badge.”
She gave Wyatt no opportunity to say anything more. She pushed off into that brisk, surefooted stride of hers and retraced her path back into the department. He had a horrible feeling she was about to turn in her badge. He couldn’t say that would be the wrong choice for her. In fact, he believed it was the right one. But that didn’t negate the fact that she was going to be a basket case afterward.
He didn’t know what to do. He’d never watched someone throw her life away. He only knew he couldn’t leave and let her face the consequences of what she’d done alone.
Chapter Ten
Wyatt waited beside his truck with his gaze fixed on the rear door of the county building. He knew Erin would return to the parking lot sooner or later. As far as he knew, she was still driving a county vehicle while her Honda was being repaired. When Wyatt had dropped by the Timing Light to pay the bill, Buck Hannity told him he’d had to order most of the parts and it was taking longer than expected to get them in. If Erin actually quit her job tonight, would she even have a vehicle to drive? He guessed she wasn’t thinking about everyday stuff right now. Not that he blamed her. A lot of worry had to be circling in her mind.
In only a few minutes, Erin emerged from the building. She paused on the back steps to search for him, making him feel glad that he’d stayed. Blue eyes sparkling with tears, she struck off toward him, her arms straightened and stiff at her sides. As she drew closer, Wyatt saw no badge gleaming on the front of her uniform shirt.
As she drew up about three feet away from him, she said, “For better or worse, I’m finished.”
Wyatt’s heart felt as if it had dropped to somewhere around his ankles. He’d been hoping that someone inside the building might have been able to talk her down. But, no, she’d made a snap decision that would affect the rest of her life. What if she woke up in the morning with a change of heart? He decided that maybe a big glass of wine was just what she needed, after all. It would help to calm her down, and talking things over might clear her head. He’d stop by Flagg’s Mar
ket for a bottle of vino and meet her on her porch in twenty minutes.
“Can you still use the county truck?” he asked.
She nodded. “Sheriff Adams says I can keep it until I get my car back. Guess he’s not too mad at me for quitting.”
“You still wanting a gallon of wine straight into a vein?”
“Maybe even two gallons,” she replied.
“I’ll meet you at your place, then. With wine. My treat.”
“You’d do that for me?”
“We’re friends. That’s what friends do at times like this.”
* * *
* * *
En route to Flagg’s Market, Wyatt asked himself what the hell he thought he was doing. Being around Erin kept him on edge and filled him with yearnings he shouldn’t allow himself to have. But he had agreed to be her friend, and, damn it, she’d just quit her job. He couldn’t quite wrap his mind around that. He’d known she was considering a change of profession, but he had expected her to prepare for that before she cut her losses. She had monthly bills, and they wouldn’t stop coming just because she had no income. And how could she hope to attend college in Crystal Falls to pursue another career without a job to cover her expenses?
When he pulled into the driveway that led to her cottage, he saw Erin in the wash of the high beams, sitting on the porch. Wyatt’s concern for her mounted when she didn’t glance up at the sound of his truck. He grabbed the two bottles of wine that lay beside him on the seat and exited the vehicle. When she still didn’t look up, he strode to the steps, scaled them in one leap, and went into her house in search of a corkscrew and glasses. He’d never been inside her place. It reminded him of her, with practical furnishings and very few doodads to clutter up surfaces. Even so, it felt homey and looked nice. Of course, his idea of decorating was to put a bootjack by the door, hang his hat on a hook, and thumbtack a calendar to the wall. And now that he had a cell phone, sometimes he didn’t bother with the calendar.
Moments later when he joined her on the porch with two glasses of wine, he turned the outside lights on as he crossed the threshold. After handing her a goblet, he sat beside her on the step.
“What in God’s name was I thinking?” she asked him. “I just quit my job!”
She was shaky as she took a swallow of the chardonnay, and Wyatt wished he could hear her voice. He had a feeling it would be shrill and tremulous. He chose not to field her question. He knew precisely what she’d been thinking when she turned in her badge, and it was probably a decision long overdue. But she hadn’t stopped to think about all the repercussions she would face after she did it.
She suddenly burst into tears. Wyatt couldn’t hear her sobs, but he could see every jerk of her slender body. Feeling helpless, he shifted his glass into his left hand and curled his right arm around her shoulders. She pressed her face against his shirt. Each time she spoke, he felt the vibrations, but he couldn’t tell what she said.
“Sometimes,” he told her, “people make what seem to be snap decisions when they really aren’t. They’ve been thinking about doing something for a long time, then life throws them a curveball, and the next thing they know, they’ve done it.”
She drew back to look up at him. On the surface, Erin was a self-confident woman who had excelled as a law officer. But underneath that no-nonsense layer, she was sensitive and caring in ways that she kept hidden.
“When I became a cop, I believed I could make a big difference in the world. Only I found out right away that I couldn’t save even a tiny corner of it. Being a cop in the Seattle area nearly destroyed me. Coming to Mystic Creek gave me a break from the truly awful stuff, but now look what happened to Jen today. Right here in Mystic Creek, where there’s supposedly little crime. That is such bullshit. People here live with a false sense of security. It’s out there. The evilness and hopelessness is everywhere.”
Wyatt reached up to smooth her hair, which had been dented by the brim of her Stetson and come loose from its moorings when she tugged it off and laid it on the porch beside her. He had lived in Mystic Creek for over five years. The crime rate really was pretty low. What had happened to Jenette was an anomaly, perpetrated by a teenage boy who was mentally unstable. He chose not to voice any of those thoughts to Erin. He could tell that she was emotionally exhausted, and it wasn’t his place to decide whether or not she should have turned in her badge. If she changed her mind about that in the morning, Sheriff Adams would probably let her go back on duty. Maybe she wasn’t a happy cop, but she was a good one.
In the moonlight and shadows cast by the dim porchlight, he struggled to read her lips. She needed to talk, and Wyatt didn’t have anywhere to be. Kennedy had texted to tell him he was safe at the ranch and that he’d given Tex his truck keys before he opened a bottle of whiskey. Wyatt didn’t mind if his brother drank. He was twenty-two now, and that was his choice to make. Wyatt guessed this was a night when a lot of people felt compelled to drown their sorrows in booze.
Erin rambled as people do when their lives have fallen apart. Wyatt kept her wineglass filled and just listened. She told him about vomiting the first time she saw a gunshot victim. How scared she was when she’d been the one dodging a bullet. How hard it was for her to call Children’s Protective Services and just walk away from a little child in need of help.
“It did something to me,” she said. “Changed me, somehow.”
Wyatt couldn’t imagine being a law officer. “I think you made the right decision tonight,” he finally said. “When a job is that wrong for a person, maybe it’s better to make a quick, clean break.” He let her talk. Got her more wine. Over the next two hours, she polished off a full bottle all by herself while Wyatt still hadn’t finished his first glass. That was okay. He had drunk himself stupid once or twice, and he understood that sometimes people just needed to tie one on. Erin was no exception, and he knew she wasn’t upset only because she’d quit her job. She was a woman, and today she’d seen a girl who had endured one of the worst fates a female could experience.
All of a sudden, Erin stopped talking and pressed a palm to her waist. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
Wyatt wasn’t surprised. She probably hadn’t taken a break that evening to eat, and now she had a bottle of wine sloshing around on an empty stomach. He helped her walk to a flower bed that looked bedraggled and pathetic even in the dark. When she bent over to purge her stomach, she almost pitched forward onto her head. He held her up until the spasms finally passed and then led her into the house, which became a zigzag course because Erin was weaving. Wyatt thought about just picking her up and carrying her. As it was, she led him to the kitchen. He thought maybe the door he’d seen off that room went to her bedroom, but it housed only a guest bathroom.
“Where’s your bedroom?” he asked.
She peered owlishly up at him. Normally, her face had a sun-kissed look, but now it was drained of color. “Why? We’re only friends, and you stressed the only.”
Wyatt couldn’t help but smile. “I thought you might want to go to bed.”
She blinked. “Not with you. Not with anyone, actually.”
“I promise not to join you,” he assured her. “But I think it’s time for you to lie down. Lights out, as the saying goes.”
Under her direction, he got her to the bedroom. It was tidy just like the rest of her house. He lowered her to sit on the foot of the bed and rifled through her drawers for a pair of pajamas or a nightgown. All he found were sweatpants and T-shirts. He settled on one of each, led her to the adjoining bathroom, which featured a beautiful garden tub, and got her perched on the toilet seat.
“You think you can manage by yourself?”
“Yup.”
Wyatt helped remove her belt, which he thought might be problematic for someone whose fingers were no longer getting the messages from her brain. He left her to figure the rest out by herself and sat on the end of the
bed while he waited. He couldn’t tell if she was bumping around in the bathroom, and his only reference for the time was his cell phone.
Ten minutes passed, and Wyatt decided maybe she had decided to grab a shower. She’d worked all day. He liked to feel fresh when he hit the sack. Only she still hadn’t emerged after five more minutes dragged by. He decided he’d better check on her. To say she was a little drunk would be an understatement. He stepped over to the door and rapped on it. Then he eased it open a crack.
“Erin, are you okay?” Nothing. But that was the story of his life. If she’d just cried out that she was bleeding to death, he wouldn’t know. Gathering his courage, he stepped into the enclosure, half expecting to find her naked. Instead she still sat on the toilet fully clothed. Well, she’d managed to unbutton her uniform shirt partway down, and he couldn’t say she was exactly sitting. She was slumped sideways with her shoulder pressed against the side of the vanity and her chin resting on her chest, which he tried not to look at. “Erin? I thought you were going to get your nightclothes on.”
She lifted her head to peer at him from under eyelids at half-mast. “Yup. Only I’m sick again.”
Oh, boy. Wyatt stepped over to help her up. Then, holding her upright with one arm, he lifted the commode seat and got her situated on her knees. She propped both arms on the rim of the bowl and hung her head over the water as if the answers to a thousand questions could be found down there. All of a sudden, she snapped erect and only the brace of his hand between her shoulder blades kept her from falling backward.
She turned her face up to him, and he saw that her eyes had opened all the way. “Oh, God. I can’t puke in there. Toilets are icky. Just the thought makes me sick.”
To punctuate that sentence, her body lurched as a wave of nausea struck her. Wyatt grabbed her waste can, which fortunately had a disposable liner, and let her hurl up what remained in her stomach. Then he carried her to the bed and deposited her gently on the mattress, which made her partially unbuttoned shirt gape open. She clutched the front plackets, trying without success to cover herself, but the garment had bunched up behind her back.
Huckleberry Lake Page 20
