She frowned, and her arms dropped to her sides. Con gave her a little shove and, with her defenses down, she toppled onto the bed. She lay there, her bare legs dangling over the edge, and moaned.
“Go to sleep.” Con swung her limbs onto the bed and dragged the blankets over her.
She burrowed into the pillows, muttering for him to go eff himself.
Smoothing back her hair, he caressed her cheek. The silken feel of her skin against his roughened fingers … she was still all woman. For three years, they’d lived a few miles apart, occasionally bumped into each other in town, and worked for different law enforcement agencies, and other than the first time he’d seen her, Con hadn’t grasped her vulnerability. If she realized he was fawning over her right now, she’d probably slug him.
Snatching his hand away, Con straightened. “I’ll camp out on your couch.”
Nic mumbled something then snored. Oh, she would turn a bright shade of red if she knew he heard that. Grabbing the bottle off the dresser, Con beckoned Cadno to follow, and they slipped out of the bedroom. The door closed with a soft click. Con paused outside the room to finger-comb his tousled hair to release the pent-up tension. That was too close. Too close to finding Nic dead by her own hand. Liquor and firearms never mixed. Her strange ramblings confused him. It was like she hadn’t been talking about the Walker incident but something else.
Cadno gave a soft grunt. With a flick of his wrist, Con shooed the German Shepherd down the hall then followed his dog.
Back in the kitchen, Con poured the rest of the whiskey down the drain and placed the bottle in a recycling bin. Before lying down on the couch, he slid Nic’s sidearm underneath the couch, then flopped onto his back. Cadno settled on the floor next to the sofa and nudged Con’s hand. Absentmindedly, he stroked his dog’s head as he stared at the ceiling, listening. Nothing came from Nic’s room.
Easing his cell phone out of his Levi’s pocket, Con scrolled through the list of numbers until he found the one. His thumb hovered over the call button. Should he do it? If Nic knew what he was about to bring down on her, she’d probably kick his arse, and then stick him in a hole and bury him alive for good measure. Saints alive, she was in a bad way. This classified as an emergency. What did he have to lose?
He tapped the button and pressed it to his ear. Three rings later, it connected.
“You told me to call if there was any trouble.” He scrubbed his face. “There’s trouble.”
Chapter Four
Nicolette eased her department-issued Jeep into the roundabout gravel drive and parked behind the sheriff’s Dodge and an Eider city squad car. What was a police officer doing outside of town limits? Or rather, on the edge of city limits. This property was considered rural, but it butted up against the municipal lines, which meant Sheriff Hamilton could ask for assistance.
Cutting the Jeep’s engine, Nic grabbed her McIntire deputy cap and slid her long ponytail through the back. She popped a stick of cinnamon gum in her mouth as she exited. Through the tan tint of her sunglasses, she examined the renovated 150-year-old two-story farmhouse. Recently purchased by some wannabe farmer, the place boasted a brand-spanking new red Morton barn with a white roof and a four-stall garage of the same coloring. The owner had bulldozed all of the original outbuildings, except for the house. She’d heard that the man planned to start some kind of organic farm and was threatening to sue other farmers in the area to stop using pesticides, contaminated manure, and other chemicals, to prevent any run-off into his fields.
The man had lit a dangerous firestorm with his mouth, and most of the community hated him.
Nic ground the gum between her molars as she made her way behind the house to the flashy barn. For someone who wanted to live a simple, organic life, he sure as hell spent a lot of money on commercial-grade buildings.
A young deputy, one she hadn’t met yet, stepped in front of her as she approached. “ID, please.”
A wry grin pulled at Nic’s mouth. Hamilton had mentioned he was looking to hire another deputy. Apparently this guy was it. She slid her sunglasses down to the tip of her nose and examined the fresh meat.
His stance was rigid and carried a hint of awkwardness. The metal on his uniform was Brasso-shined and gleamed in the sunlight. Even his shoes appeared to have been polished until he could see his face reflected in them. It looked like this one came straight out of the academy.
“First day, Deputy?” she asked.
“Uh.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as tiny, red blotches freckled his face. “Ma’am, I was told not to let anyone pass without showing their ID.”
Removing her sunglasses, Nic tilted her chin. The kid flushed a deep shade of pink as she examined him, but he remained stiff and poised. Good boy. Nic returned her sunglasses, smacking her gum.
“Do I pass inspection, ma’am?”
“You’ll do.” She crossed her arms. “Now, can you honestly tell me you don’t know who I am upon sight?”
It was his turn to tip his sunglasses down and peer over the tops. “Well, ma’am, you look like Deputy Rivers. I still can’t let you pass until I see your ID.”
Chuckling, Nic removed her badge and ID.
He nodded as he inspected her credentials. “Thanks, Deputy.”
“Jennings, let her in!”
Nic peeked around the newbie’s shoulder to see Hamilton. Deputy Jennings flushed again and stepped aside.
“Don’t worry. You’ll lose that overzealousness soon enough.” Nic winked at him as she passed.
“Where’d you find that one?” she asked Hamilton when she was close enough to be out of the kid’s earshot.
“He’s from up north; fresh out of training at the academy. Told him to take a few weeks to find a place to live and get to know some of the people around here before he started.” Hamilton clapped her shoulder. “How you feelin’ today, Rivers?”
She adjusted the brim of her cap. “Like crap, sir.”
“I’d suspect so. Give it a day or two.”
“Are you sure I should be here after yesterday?”
He grunted. “Neither the attorney or Detective O’Hanlon found you at fault for the shooting. We don’t exactly have the manpower to lose you for a few days.”
Nic sighed. He was right. McIntire County was small compared to the surrounding counties, and their department could only afford to staff five employees at a time; that included the dispatcher and sheriff. The newbie, Jennings, put the quota at its limit. Still, after last night’s binge, Nic could have used today to recover as originally planned.
“What do we have?” she asked as they strode to the barn.
“A damn mess. We’re waiting on the coroner.”
They removed their sunglasses as they entered the building. Yellow crime tape festooned the line of stalls and walls.
“Who’s ‘we’?”
Hamilton nodded his head to the lone stall standing open. “Go check it out and give me your take.” The crunch of gravel outside made him turn. “Jasper’s here.”
Nic watched her boss exit to meet the county coroner. She moved forward with stiff limbs. Damn hangover.
Halfway down the aisle, a sickly sweet odor, like decay, rose above the smell of horse manure and tickled her nose. Nic slowed her pace as her stomach roiled. This was not going to be good.
A figure engrossed in his note-taking emerged from the open stall. Nic froze; her heart seized as moisture beaded on her skin. When she woke this morning with the aftertaste of liquid hell lingering in her mouth and stumbled out of her room, she discovered the discarded blanket draped over the couch and a dent in the cushions. Some part of her foggy memory recalled O’Hanlon showing up at her place and her trying to seduce him. Since her clothing had still been on, she guessed he’d turned her down. On the kitchen table, she found the Glock with a note that read:
No more whiskey, Rivers.
She swallowed, lifted her shoulders to ease the tension, and then strode forward. The closer she drew to the stall,
the stronger the stench of death became, making her face pinch. O’Hanlon looked at her out of the corner of his eye, then pulled up short, blocking the entrance to the stall. He stared at her—seemingly unaffected by the odor—his head tilted just slightly. It felt like he was trying to pry off her armor and get to the soft core she’d locked away.
Nic chomped the gum, stirring up the strong taste of cinnamon, which was doing a nice job of overpowering the smell. It might be a bad idea to meet him head-on after coming on to him like some drunken college girl, but she had a job to do and do it she would. She finished the walk down the aisle.
“What do we have, Detective O’Hanlon?”
He tucked a pen behind his ear. “What are you doing here, Deputy Rivers?”
Apparently he hadn’t received the memo about her returning to work. It made sense for O’Hanlon to be here—his job description included unnatural deaths. But he’d witnessed her breakdown, and that could spell trouble. Shit! Had she said anything out of turn? It was too late to take it back if she had. Best thing was to feign ignorance.
“Sheriff wants me here.” That’s all he needed to know.
His eyes narrowed, and yet his features remained impassive. How the hell did he do that? “I’d advise you to turn around and go back to your department. Better yet, go home. Stay away from this, Rivers.”
“Advise all you want, Detective, but in the end my boss trumps you.” She inched forward, crowding him against the stall. “We do this the nice way or the hard way. Which is it?”
Being this close to him was a mistake. The whiskey hadn’t dulled her memory enough for her to forget what his body felt like against hers. Under that uniform of a pressed white shirt, jeans, and a tan blazer was a well-muscled man. Nic detected the scent of musk and it did funny things to her body. It had been a long time since she’d been intimate with a man. And that particular liaison hadn’t ended well. She dragged up an image of the roadkill she’d passed on her way out here, successfully killing these unwanted, girly emotions.
“The sheriff was wrong to bring you out here,” O’Hanlon said in a low voice. “I warned you.” He stepped aside.
Giving him a curt nod, Nic moved past and breached the large stall’s protective walls. The decomposing fluids mingled with the manure for a sickening assault on Nic’s senses. She swallowed the bile that erupted from her stomach. Damn it to hell, she was going to do this. No way would she show any weakness in front of O’Hanlon. She tugged the top of her uniform shirt over her nose and took shallow breaths.
The victim was lying on his left side. From the position of his legs and body, it looked like he’d been sitting when he died. A .44 Smith & Wesson with a silencer rested on the soiled hay next to his chest, his right hand still grasping the butt. The wall behind the body was splattered with blood and gore.
Nic blinked as the truth of what had happened bowled over her.
The victim had committed suicide.
Against her will, she was mentally jerked back to another similar scene. To a place she wished to hell she’d never gone. Her stomach heaved, again. Nic turned from the sight—both real and imagined—and exited the stall, sucking fresh air when she was a good distance away.
The sound of O’Hanlon clearing his throat broke through the white noise in her head. Nic became aware of her surroundings once more—she’d walked to the end of the barn aisle and was leaning against the door frame.
“Rivers.”
His voice caused a slew of chilled fingers to dance along her spine. She snapped to attention in an attempt to erase the reaction. “What, O’Hanlon?”
Nothing about his demeanor screamed, “I told you so,” but she could sense the sentiment coming from him.
“Since you and your sheriff seem determined to undermine my advice, do you want the details of what I’ve learned so far?”
Suspicion fortified her lagging defenses. “You’re going to share information with me?”
Both of his eyebrows peaked. “Appears so. After all, we’re both investigating why this man decided to end his life.”
Yes, they had to find out why the man committed suicide. They would have to rule out foul play before signing off on the actual cause of death. And Nic wanted to throttle Sheriff Hamilton for dragging her out here for this.
Damn it, I didn’t come to Eider to deal with unnatural deaths.
This community was supposed to be quiet and violence-free. A place to heal and forget the past. Not jump headfirst into a sniper situation and now a suicide.
“What do you have?”
O’Hanlon consulted his notes. “The lady who called it in—the housekeeper, I’m guessing—said our victim is the owner, Seth Moore.”
“Where’s the woman?”
“Not here. She had a panic attack at finding Mr. Moore, and the doc had to rush her to the hospital. That’s why he’s late.”
“Guess we’ll talk to her later. Did the guy leave a note or something?”
“Not in here. I’m about to go up to check out his living quarters. Hopefully I’ll find something.”
Jaw working overtime with the gum, Nic crossed her arms. “Why shoot himself out here? Why not in the house?”
O’Hanlon shrugged and flipped his notepad shut. “Maybe he told us why in his letter. Why don’t you come up with me and check?”
With a nod, she moved to leave. He snagged her arm, stopping her. Nic stiffened as her heart seized in her chest, and her blood thickened in her veins. She glared at their connection.
“Don’t treat me like a leper,” he said in low voice.
Voices at the far end of the barn pulled her attention from his touch. Sheriff Hamilton and the coroner hurried to the stall. Shrugging free of O’Hanlon’s hold before anyone noticed, she rotated to put her back to the two approaching men. “I’m not.”
O’Hanlon bent forward. “Nothing happened.”
“Who said it did?”
His eyes roved over her face, then he straightened. “Remember, you called me.” He brushed past her and strode out the large barn doorway and up the hill. Filling her lungs to capacity, she let out the air slowly. Crap! After whatever happened last night, she wouldn’t be able to work with him. She was never touching whiskey again.
Forget about it and get back to work.
Nic followed him up the hill.
O’Hanlon risked his career and his reputation if he involved himself with her. He would keep his distance.
• • •
He’d caught Rivers’s startled reaction at seeing him here when he walked out of the stall. While she might have wanted to avoid him, he had no such intentions. He fully planned to confront her head-on after she sobered up. Her drunken statements and coming on to him forced him to step back and examine the situation. She was reacting to the shooting yesterday in a way he’d not experienced before. And it meant he had to keep a closer eye on her.
His guess was that Shane insisted Deputy Rivers be a part of this investigation into Seth Moore’s suicide to give Con the perfect opportunity to watch her.
He kicked at the pea gravel; the pebbles sprayed across the walk. His training for situations like Rivers’s demanded he turn her in to a superior so she could be removed from duty until she went through a psych evaluation. Instead, he put in a call to her sister, Cassy. Doubts gave him hell for going against what he was supposed to do in favor of what he thought might be the best option. Damn Rivers for forcing his hand like this.
Cassy would be in later today. Maybe it would help. Then again, maybe not. Con had met Cassy a little over a year ago when he caught her staked out across the road from Nic’s place. It took some convincing until he finally accepted that she was indeed Nic’s sister, whom he shouldn’t arrest for trespassing. In that one conversation where he was sworn to secrecy, Con learned more about Nic than he had in the entire time she’d been living there. That one encounter added another piece to the already crazy puzzle of who was Nicolette Rivers. She had family and was avoiding the
m. What was going to happen the moment she got home and found Cassy waiting for her?
Con circled to the back of the renovated farmhouse and jogged up the porch steps. Behind him, he could hear the sound of pursuit. Somehow he had hoped seeing Seth Moore’s body would waylay Rivers from being a part of this investigation. For a brief moment Con thought he’d gotten his way when she bolted out of that stall. Yet she managed to shut down her emotions and put up the walls every cop needed to be able to do this job. It was a coping mechanism expected of highly trained snipers in order to accomplish the mission. That ability was going to hinder Con’s attempts to gauge her mental state of well-being.
He stepped through the open doorway, entering the kitchen that opened into a moderate-sized dining room. An ornate chandelier with antique light covers hung from the high ceiling above a square table that looked like someone had let a bunch of kids have at it with knives, judging by all the gouges. Four beat-up chairs circled the table. The wood floor beneath was in better condition than the table, but not by much. No sign of a suicide note there or the built-in hutch along the wall.
Con exited the dining room through a pair of old sliding panel doors that collapsed inside the walls and entered what was at one time the parlor but now served as a man cave. Seth Moore might have preached an organic lifestyle, but he sure didn’t want to give up the luxury of modern tech or video games. Con didn’t spot a computer among all the technology. If Moore had written a suicide note via computer, it wasn’t in this room.
The shuffle of boots against the area rug alerted him to River’s presence. He turned when she muttered something, and then, using the tip of a pen, she poked at one of ten different kinds of handheld devices.
“What does one man need with all this crap?”
Con headed for the opening into the next room, the foyer. “Cut the guy some slack. He was a bored, single guy with more money than he could throw away. No one said all of this was his to begin with.”
Atonement Page 3
