Liar, Liar

by Winter Austin

  “I wouldn’t say it was all bad.”

  “Watching rural kids head bang to punk-grunge is not pretty.”

  It was her turn to chuckle. She was comfortable with him. Exclude his nosy moment at his home and she actually relaxed around him. A rare feat indeed. The only people in her life who had ever managed that were her adoptive parents, Kurt, then Stephanie and Quinn. In her lifetime, people didn’t bother being pleasant to a foster kid. Why worry about it? All foster kids were disrespectful, damaged goods. They didn’t last long in homes, and if they didn’t run away, they were bounced from place to place.

  Her steps faltered. The scars of her past were a hurtful poison.

  “I’m losing you again,” Shane whispered in her ear.

  His sudden nearness brought her out of the painful memories. His scent wove a gold thread of calm through her. She wanted to crawl into his arms and let him hold her. As if sensing her need, he brought their dancing dangerously closer. Liza let him. Now that she was flush to him, she could feel all the hard, lean contours of his body. The warmth of a moment ago turned into a raging fire.

  Tilting her head to lay against his shoulder, she half nuzzled the juncture of his neck and shoulder. This produced a rumble from him, which sent a bolt of awareness through her. Swallowing against the tightness, she let her hand slide down his chest and then slip around his lean waist. For a man who loved his sweets, he was fit, and oh so damn fine.

  After a subtle shift of his hips, Liza got the full scope of how much he was enjoying their little dance. Her knees weakened. How she wished it were just the two of them, somewhere private where she could freely express how much she appreciated his interest.

  “Liza,” he rumbled in her ear.

  “Hush. Don’t ruin it.”

  “Look at me,” he persisted.

  Grudgingly, she lifted her head from his shoulder and met his heated gaze. Hers drifted to his lips. Kiss me, you fool.

  His head bent toward her.

  Here it comes! Finally!

  His lips were a hairsbreadth from hers. His breath feathered her face. His arms tightened around her, trapping her to his body.

  Do it! Kiss me!

  Liza’s eyes shuttered. She was going to savor every second of this. She angled her head for better contact, brushing her lips to his. Shane drew back slightly, dipped in to lightly press his lips to hers, then drew back once more. Desire for more burned a path straight to Liza’s heart. Rolling up onto her tiptoes, she moved in for the kill.

  The gun blast shattered both her moment and her hearing.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chaos erupted in an instant. Shane clutched Liza to him as he scanned the now screaming and surging crowd for the shooter. People bumped or slammed into him, desperate to get out of the building.

  Liza squirmed, breaking free of his vice grip. “I’ll get the shooter!” she hollered over the noise. She swung her purse around and pulled out her weapon. She split, heading toward one of the exits.

  There were people to rescue; he had to make sure no one was hurt. And, like in his army days, he geared up and headed for the threat as others fled from it. Drawing his sidearm and turning his body sideways, he sliced through the sea of terrified humans, moving toward the place where he thought he’d heard the original shot.

  No further weapon fire occurred, but the panic was in full throttle. People were pushed to the floor and nearly trampled before being rescued by good Samaritans. Shane moved onward, his progress hindered as he came to a wall of immobile bodies.

  “Sheriff! Move!”

  The command startled a few out of their stupor. They stumbled away, opening a gap wide enough for Shane to fit through. He breached the ring of bodies, entering the center of their circle.

  “Damn it.”

  Lying on the floor, blood pooling beneath him, Derek Schofield’s body twitched its last. His date sat next to him, her shock evident by the pallor of her skin and the frozen expression of horror on her face.

  Shane turned to those still lingering, his gaze roving over the stupefied group. No one held a gun. The shooter had escaped, unless Liza managed to get lucky. Highly doubtful with all these people scared out of their minds. This was the perfect night and place to pull off a homicide.

  “Damn it.” It had happened under his nose, no less.

  A few of those too dumbfounded to leave were turning green.

  “If you’re going to throw up, do it away from my crime scene,” he barked.

  His order had the desired effect, and those looking bad staggered to the bar.

  “Help him.”

  Shane looked down at the blonde. Her whole body shook, but she managed to hold Derek’s limp hand.

  “Please. Help him.”

  If it had been anywhere else and he was any other person, Shane might have made the attempt to pretend to save Derek. But the bloodstain on the front of his once dark blue plaid shirt was proof enough that no pretending was going to save this man’s life. He’d taken the bullet straight to the heart.

  Shane removed his cell. Dispatch picked up. “Jennings, there’s been a 10-35 at Riker’s Club. Send all emergency personnel and Eider police. Copy.”

  “Roger.”

  Hanging up, Shane returned his phone to his pocket. Damn it to hell!

  “You’ve got to help him,” the blonde sobbed out.

  Careful to not disturb the scene any more than it had been, Shane navigated around Derek’s body and crouched next to the woman. “Ma’am, are you hurt?”

  She blinked up at him; her pupils were huge. Her shock-riddled brain took its time to process his question. “No,” she whispered.

  “Can you stand?”

  More time passed before she silently gathered her legs under her and then wobbled up onto her feet. Once she was upright, she turned and collapsed.

  Shane grabbed her before she hit the floor. Hoisting her into a cradle, he carried her over to the bar. She didn’t utter another sound as he laid her on the floor under the massive counter. Shane instructed those who had remained to look after her, and to sit down themselves before they passed out.

  Pixie, the bartender, popped up like the weasel from behind the counter. “Is the shooter gone?”

  As if the question magically conjured her, Liza materialized beside him. “I couldn’t see anyone who might be the culprit. Do you have security cameras?”

  “Yes,” Pixie nodded, “in the manager’s office.”

  “I need to see those, now.”

  “Liza.”

  Her gaze slashed to him.

  “There’s a victim.”

  Pixie gasped. “Oh no.”

  Liza frowned. “Do you know the victim?”

  He looked down at the now uncontrollably sobbing blonde with her arms wrapped about her in a sorry attempt of self-comfort, and then back at the prone form under the darkened lights. His unspoken answer dawned in Liza’s eyes.

  “Eider police and EMS are on the way.” He pointed at Pixie. “Take Agent Bartholomew to the office and show her the footage. We may still be able to catch this shooter yet.”

  The weight of Liza’s grip on his arm was a solid reminder of how close he’d come to making a huge mistake. Dancing with her, she’d felt like heaven in his arms. And when she laid her head on his shoulder and he could feel her lips brushing against his neck, he came undone. The thought of kissing her had consumed him. Now he’d be forever haunted about how close he’d come to destroying his vow to Cheyenne.

  “Shane, I’m sorry this has happened again,” Liza said.

  He gave her a squeeze on the hand. “Go. I need to protect the body.” Outside, the wail of sirens pierced the night.

  Here came the cavalry, but they were too late for Derek Schofield. Damn it, if he hadn’t been so wrapped up in kissing Liza, this never would have happened. He couldn’t afford to have anyone else hurt on his watch.

  • • •

  If he were still a drinking man, he’d crack the cap off a
few beers right now. The throbbing behind Shane’s eyes was a blatant reminder that he hadn’t slept well three nights straight, and it was nearly twenty hours since he rolled off the couch. He checked his watch for the hundredth time in the past fifteen minutes. The hour hand was inching closer to one a.m.

  Arching his aching back, Shane groaned. Shouldn’t have left the aspirin at home. His gaze swept the club floor, pausing on Drummond. The doc had already released Derek Schofield’s body. Now all that remained was repacking his kit. The few Eider police officers allowed to assist at the scene were busy calming club patrons and patrolling the area. Con was in full out investigator-mode, interviewing everyone involved. It was odd not being the one in charge and asking the questions. Shane was itching all over from the lack of responsibility.

  And it wasn’t from a lack of trying. Before Con arrived, Shane had tried to get the woman with Derek to talk. Had she seen the shooter? Did she know why—except for Derek’s obvious philandering—someone would want to kill him? The more Shane probed, the more the woman shut down, bordering on catatonic. He backed off. Hopefully, he hadn’t hindered Con’s investigation.

  Liza had been as unsuccessful in her video viewing. The shooter had used the melee to escape. Liza had mentioned that it was too difficult to distinguish anyone with a weapon. It hadn’t helped matters that those people dancing around Derek and his date weren’t able to give any information. No one saw a thing.

  And the killer got away.

  Sequestered in a corner, far from him, Liza spoke with Con. Shane and Liza had both gone over what they knew about the situation and why they were there a few times already. Tedious, but effective, and now Shane understood why witnesses got irritated with repeating their story. Typically, he gave a person some space and time to let the events soak in and regurgitate. But that wasn’t how Con rolled.

  Giving Con a curt nod, Liza left and rejoined Shane. “If you’re ready to go, he said we’re free.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “I should head out, but . . . ”

  “But you’re not used to sitting on the sidelines and watching someone else do your job.”

  “Nail on the head.”

  Liza smiled. “Sheriff, get over it,” she sing-songed.

  First the Desperado ringtone and now the reference to another song. “Are you an Eagles’s fan?”

  “Something like that.” She reached out, took his hand, and gave it a tug. “Come on. I’m your ride, and if you don’t leave with me, you’re stuck.”

  “You know that’s a piss-poor excuse? I’ve got plenty of options for getting home.”

  “And Con told me to tell you, and I quote, ‘get your sorry ass home before he calls Nic to come get you,’ end quote.”

  Shane shuddered. “He would use that threat.” He slid off the bar stool and hobbled forward a few steps. “Damn those things are uncomfortable.”

  “On purpose, so no one will stick around longer than they should.”

  They left.

  “Do you think my meeting was nothing more than a way to get me here to see Derek Schofield killed?” she asked.

  Shane’s steps faltered and he stopped. “I hadn’t considered . . . ” He scratched his right temple. “What color did you say that car was that followed you?”

  “Gray, silverish.”

  Too vague. A lot of people in this county drove SUVs about the same color; it was damn popular option. “Model?”

  “Buick. And no, I didn’t get the plates. I was a bit distracted.”

  Well, the model narrowed it down. But it didn’t match up with the reason Derek was killed or who had done it. “Why would the killer want you here to see that?”

  “Maybe it wasn’t me that they wanted to see it.” Liza stared at him knowingly.

  If he was the reason, then Shane had created a whole new problem, because someone was using Liza to get to him. And it begged the question, how did the death of Derek Schofield have anything to do with the deaths of Gene Avery and Donovan Frost?

  With a huff, Shane continued on to Liza’s car, with her hot on his heels. He caught her hand as she unlocked her car and held out his other. “Let me drive.”

  She drew back the key, her fingers curling around the fob. “Why?”

  “I know a faster way out of here that avoids the mess of police and gawkers.” And he wanted to test a theory.

  “Just show me how.”

  “It’ll be easier if I drive.”

  “You do realize it’s my car?”

  “My town, my county.”

  Stalemate. Liza stared at him with a half-lidded glare that made him want to reconsider his request.

  “My car, Sheriff.” The cool, yet firm tone of her voice was all kinds of seductive.

  Liza Bartholomew had some strange hold on him, and he couldn’t shake it. She had a man in her life; she was off limits. Or should be. If he wasn’t mistaken, Liza had seemed particularly urgent in trying to kiss him herself. Hadn’t she been the first to graze her lips to his? Who was this Kurt guy to her if she was all too willing to get in a lip lock with Shane?

  A car door slamming jolted him. He released her hand and shoved his own in his jean pockets. “Look, I have an ulterior motive to driving.”

  “Oh, do tell.”

  Shane assessed the parking lot: the cops were too focused on their duties to even give Shane and Liza a second glance, which meant no one would squeal to Con. None of the Riker’s Club patrons seemed overly interested in them, either. Beckoning Liza closer to her car, Shane draped his arm over the roof and leaned forward. Big mistake when he recalled how close they had been dancing in the club. He wanted to rip back through time to those precious minutes when he had her in his arms and was about to taste her lips. Except holding her had created another hellstorm.

  Clearing his throat, he banished those wayward thoughts. “As I said, it’s my town. Con hasn’t lived here long enough to know all its secrets.”

  “You do?”

  “Agent Bartholomew, I know where the founding members of Eider put their outhouses.”

  Her face screwed up in disgust. “TMI.” Sighing, Liza shifted her body weight. “And you don’t want Con to know what?”

  “I think the shooter knew everyone would be looking for him or her to disappear out the front door with the flood of escaping clubgoers. Didn’t you scope out the exits?”

  “Yes, there was one back with the bathrooms.” Her features lit up. “Dang, I didn’t think of it. If the shooter ran out that door, it would have sounded an alarm.”

  “I didn’t hear an alarm.”

  “Maybe it was a silent one that could only be heard in the manager’s office.”

  “Did you happen to see anything on the video that would prove that?”

  She shook her head. “There was a steady flow of people going through all the exits. No one stood out to me. Maybe Con will have better luck.”

  “And that’s where my thought plays in.” Shane turned and pointed at the back of the old factory. “Behind this are a few acres of trees. It opens into an old unused field. The shooter might have used that as an escape route to avoid detection on the roads.”

  “And you want to drive back there? In my car?”

  “Don’t worry, I won’t hurt your car. There are roads.”

  “Shane, it’s zero dark thirty. Shouldn’t you think about doing this with daylight?”

  “Liza, this is the best time to do it.”

  With a huff, she reached out, grabbed his hand, and slapped her keys in it. “Don’t scratch my paint.” Off she scooted to climb into the passenger side of the car.

  Shane gazed at the keys in his hand. That was . . . strange. He half-expected her to continue to argue.

  He drove out of the lot as if heading home, and then circled around on a side street.

  “I didn’t get a chance to ask before the police arrived—were you able to get that woman with the victim to talk?” Liza asked as she craned her neck to see where he was ta
king them.

  “No. I’m pretty certain Con won’t have any luck, either. I wouldn’t be surprised if they end up taking her to the hospital to sedate her once reality hits.”

  “That poor girl. She’ll be scarred for life.”

  “This is going to get ugly real fast. We have three dead husbands in the span of a week.” His body felt weighted. “Damn, I’m going to hear about this for a month or more.”

  He stiffened as she placed her hand on his arm. Though his jacket kept them from skin-to-skin contact, he burned at the warmth that managed to seep through.

  “Why do you keep doing the job if you can’t stand how people talk about you?”

  Forcing his gaze to remain on the lighted gravel road, he waited for his thumping heart to calm itself. If he pulled this car over now, he would not be held responsible for his actions. “I might not like people’s opinions on what they think I, as the sheriff, should or shouldn’t do, but I’ve never been one to give up in the face of gossip and speculation. Humans in general seem to think they can always do a job better than the people actually in the position, but give them the option to do it and they turn coward.”

  “You know, I never looked at it like that.” Her hand fell away from his arm. His body ached at the absence. “When you live your life trying to survive, you don’t get philosophical.”

  The grassy outlet for the field appeared at the edge of the headlights. Shane pulled in, parked, and killed the engine, her statement echoing in his head. Liza opened her door and moved to exit. His hand shot out and snagged her elbow. Stilling, she looked back at him.

  “What do you mean ‘trying to survive’?”

  In the glow of the dome light, her dark features turned rock hard, just as they had when he brought up Kurt and Quinn. Liza had some ghosts haunting her.

  “Where are we going?”

  Damn, she was as good as he was at changing the subject. Okay, if that’s how she wanted to play it. Shane exited the car, paused, and then ducked down to look back inside. “Do you have a flashlight in here?”

  One exasperated sigh later, she produced a heavy duty Maglite from under the passenger side seat and thumped it in his outstretched hand. “I’m seriously considering using that thing up side your head.”