by Debra Webb
Tabitha arched an eyebrow in objection.
“Okay,” Bree allowed, “so Roy is different. He’s perfect. But most men are exactly that way. Take Jack—” Bree craned her neck to get a look into the living room “—his goal in life was to make me miserable. Then when I’d had enough he wanted me to be even more miserable without him. He’s even had the nerve to try and get me back.”
Jack had been her second big mistake. Her father had been certain Bree would be happier with a Ute man as a husband and to raise her young son. Too bad she’d picked one of the bad guys. Giving herself credit, even her family had been fooled at first.
Jackson Raintree had earned his nickname, Big Jack the Bully, many times over. He was an abusive, alcoholic jerk who had no respect for women or people in general. He was nothing but a user. Why, oh, why hadn’t she seen that before it was too late? Maybe because she had a young son who needed a father figure? Jack pretended to respect her work…made her think he believed she could do anything. But he’d lied. And she’d fallen for it.
In truth maybe she’d just needed to forget the past. She’d hoped that learning to care about someone else would help erase Patrick Martinez from her heart once and for all.
She’d gotten neither.
“I think you’re wrong,” Tabitha argued. She checked her fingernails as if assessing whether or not she needed a manicure. “I’ve sort of kept up with Patrick over the years.”
Bree’s head snapped up. “What?” This was the first she’d heard of that. “Why would you do that?”
No longer able to avoid eye contact using her cuticles as an excuse, Tabitha’s gaze settled on Bree’s. “I didn’t want Peter to lose all that time.”
“What does that mean?” Bree didn’t know whether to be angry or worried.
“Bring your soup,” Tabitha order, “and come with me.”
Curious or maybe scared of what her sister may have been doing all these years, Bree did as she was told. Soup bowl in hand, she followed Tabitha up the stairs and to her bedroom.
“Sit.” Tabitha gestured to the bed.
Bree sat and, having forgotten her spoon, sipped her soup straight from the bowl. She had a feeling she was going to need refueling more than she’d thought.
Tabitha dug around on the top shelf of her closet and pulled out a box. She sat on the bed next to Bree and opened it. Inside was a thick, leather-bound album or scrapbook. Bree’s heart rate accelerated. This was…unbelievable.
“I started it when Peter was about one.”
As Tabitha flipped through the pages each breath grew more difficult for Bree to draw in. Newspaper clippings from what appeared to be every single time the sheriff had been spotlighted. The dates went all the way back to when he’d first taken the remainder of the former sheriff’s term. Patrick had been brought in to clean up the department. He’d gotten the job done and more. The citizens of Kenner County loved him.
Old snapshots of Bree and Patrick together were tucked into pages that included handwritten captions. Emotions Bree couldn’t begin to label churned inside her.
“I threw those photos out.” Bree’s words were scarcely a whisper. “Years ago.”
“I—” Tabitha wet her lips “—dug them out of your trash can and kept them.”
“My God.” Bree shook her head as she moved through more of the pages.
“He never married, Bree. He works all the time. That has to mean something.”
Bree met her sister’s hopeful gaze. She didn’t know how to respond to that.
“Please don’t be mad at me. I was so afraid you would regret erasing your past that way. Someday you’ll need these mementos. Peter will need them.”
Too overwhelmed to speak, Bree didn’t know whether to hug her sister or to slug her. She dragged her attention from the old memories. “I honestly don’t know how I feel about this, but I understand why you did it.”
“I guess that’s enough for now,” Tabitha offered, tears shining in her eyes. “Remember, no matter how you feel about him, he’s still the father of your son and you love your son. The time will come when you can’t pretend anymore that Peter’s father doesn’t exist.”
Bree was terrified that that time had come already.
After getting her emotions in check, Bree rounded up her son and his things and headed for her vehicle. Tabitha followed her onto the porch.
“I’ll just plan to pick Peter up after school until you tell me different,” Tabitha offered.
What would Bree do without her? “Thanks.” She hugged her sister, couldn’t bring herself to let go for a bit.
“Oh, my God.” Tabitha drew back abruptly, her eyes wide with horror.
“What’s wrong?” Her sister’s gaze was fixed on something behind Bree…something in the street.
“Mommy, what happened to your car?”
Bree jerked around. Several moments were required for her brain to adequately assess what her eyes saw.
The words painted in ugly black across the silver of her SUV shook her, made her knees weak.
I’m watching you.
PATRICK SCRUBBED the towel over his head to dry his hair. He felt a hundred percent better after his shower. The day had been too grating on his senses. Had left them raw and stinging.
Julie Grainger’s murder had set the tone, tearing at his soul. But running headlong into Bree on the case had kept his emotions in turmoil all damned day.
He’d told himself a thousand times over that he no longer cared and then he got a glimpse of her in town or on one of those rare, self-defeating occasions when he drove by her house late at night and the lie was revealed.
He’d never gotten over her. Maybe if he’d tried harder…had given any other woman a chance…
When he’d heard Bree had gotten married, he’d thought that was it. He could move on and put that part of his life behind him. Even then he’d still longed for her. Today, watching her, smelling that unique scent of hers and hearing her voice…he’d known for certain he would never stop loving her.
He was a fool. She was married. She belonged to another man. He had no right feeling those emotions. He damned sure had no right allowing her to recognize his feelings. He had a bad feeling he’d let her catch him watching her one time too many.
One way or another he had to keep reminding himself that she belonged to someone else.
But she hadn’t been wearing a wedding ring. And she still used her maiden name. Did that mean she was no longer with the other man?
Damn him for wondering.
Patrick tossed the towel aside and tugged on a T-shirt. He needed to eat and get some sleep. He had work to do at the office first thing in the morning before meeting Bree for lunch to go over any leads either of them had discovered.
He’d picked the Morning Ray Café, his mom’s diner, for their meeting. Seemed a safe enough spot to spend time with Bree in neutral territory. He would have the home field advantage and his mom would hover close, ensuring Patrick stayed on his toes.
His cell rattled against the counter and Patrick snatched it up. Getting a call at this time of night was never a good thing.
“Martinez.”
“Sheriff, I hope I’m not calling you too late.”
Clayton Mitchell, his personal assistant. Clayton preferred to be called a personal assistant rather than a secretary. Patrick couldn’t care less what he wanted to be called. Clayton was a man but he was the best damned secretary Patrick had ever had.
“It’s never too late to call if you feel the need,” Patrick reminded him. “What’s up?”
As he waited for his assistant to get to the point of his call, Patrick padded barefoot into the kitchen to browse the offerings in the fridge.
“When I came to work for you…” Clayton began.
Oh, hell. Patrick sure hoped he wasn’t about to lose his assistant. He was pretty sure he couldn’t stay on top of things without him. In the five years since Clayton had come on board Patrick’s professional life
had gone from stressful to organized and reasonably relaxed—for a lawman.
“Clayton, if you’re bucking for a raise, you know I’ll have to run it by the—”
“Sheriff,” Clayton cut him off, his tone testy, “this isn’t about a raise.”
“Oh.” Patrick frowned. “Well, then, go ahead with whatever you were going to say.”
He snagged a beer from the fridge and some leftover lasagna his mother had sent home with him.
“Now that you mention it, though,” Clayton countered, “I could use a raise.”
Patrick shook his head. “Get to the point. Now that you’ve mentioned it, it is getting late.”
The sigh that hissed across the line was completely exaggerated. “Anyway, when you hired me you said there were two things I was never to bring up. Your lack of a social life and Sabrina Hunter.”
Damn. Had word that he was working with Bree gotten out around the department already?
“That’s right,” Patrick confirmed. “I hope you’re not about to fall down on your word after all this time. You do have a job performance evaluation coming up.”
Another of those dramatic sighs. “Normally I wouldn’t dream of going against your wishes, but I just heard something from a friend that I thought you might need to know since you’re working with Detective Hunter on the Grainger homicide.”
Friend? Patrick’s frown deepened to a scowl, the furrows of frustration dragged at his brow. “What on God’s green earth are you talking about?”
“Jesse Phillips, who works dispatch over at Towaoc Police Department, just called and told me a call came in requesting assistance. The call was from Detective Sabrina Hunter.”
Adrenaline charged through Patrick’s veins. “What address?”
Clayton spouted off the address. Patrick had to think a moment. Tabitha’s house. Bree’s sister. “What kind of assistance?” Patrick demanded.
“That,” Clayton said, “I don’t know. But I thought you needed to be aware there might be a problem. Detective Hunter specifically asked that the call not go out over dispatch lines.”
Which was code for Bree didn’t want anyone to know whatever the hell was going on at her sister’s residence. Damn.
“Thanks, Clayton. I’ll check it out.”
Patrick ended the call and pulled on his shoes. He grabbed his jacket and keys and headed for the door.
His pulse wouldn’t slow even as he ordered himself to take deep, controlled breaths. Bree knew how to take care of herself. But her sister could be hurt. There may have been trouble at her house.
Whatever the hell it was, he intended to find out for certain that everyone was all right.
Half an hour later Patrick took the final turn onto the street where Tabitha lived. A small neighborhood in the Towaoc area with neat rows of housing that rose a cut above the norm. She and her husband, Roy, had done well for themselves.
Bree’s SUV was parked in front along with two other vehicles. Patrick caught a glimpse of her talking to two men, one wearing a TPD uniform. When Patrick parked next to the curb he could see that the guy wearing civilian clothes was Steve Cyrus from the homicide scene that morning. Patrick didn’t recognize the uniformed officer.
That Bree appeared to be all right sent relief gushing through him. Patrick emerged from his SUV and headed across the quiet street.
Bree’s gaze collided with his and she looked away. She tucked her cell phone against her ear so he assumed she’d gotten a call.
“Cyrus,” Patrick said as he approached the two men, “what’s going on?”
Cyrus glanced at Bree before responding. Since she was busy with her call, he gestured to her vehicle. “Someone vandalized Detective Hunter’s SUV. We’ve checked for prints already, but you know how these things go. There are literally dozens. And the chances of catching the perpetrator is not very likely.”
Patrick walked to the side of the SUV closest to the house. The oxygen stalled in his chest when he read the words painted there.
I’m watching you.
“Is this the first incident of this nature Detective Hunter has experienced?”
“Yes, sir.” Cyrus glanced at Bree once more. She’d put away her cell phone. “To the best of my knowledge it is.”
When Bree joined the huddle, Cyrus said, “We’ve done all we can, Detective Hunter. We’ll run this to the lab first thing in the morning and ask them to put a rush on the database comparison.”
“Thanks, Cyrus.” Bree looked from Cyrus to Patrick. “What’re you doing here, Patrick?”
Cyrus hitched a thumb toward what was obviously his vehicle. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
Bree watched Cyrus and Officer Day leave. Patrick waited until he had her full attention. “What’s going on with this?” He indicated her SUV.
Bree looked anywhere but at him. “It’s probably kids. You know how it is around here. Not enough of the right kind of activities to keep them occupied. Mom and Dad both work too many hours and—”
“That’s crap,” Patrick rebutted. “You won’t look me in the eye and we both know that warnings like that don’t generally come from restless teenagers. This is personal, Bree. What the hell is going on?”
With obvious reluctance, she met his gaze. “I’m a cop, Patrick. You know how this works. I make enemies every other day. Sometimes they like getting even.” She gestured to her SUV. “This is getting even.”
“Has anything else like this happened lately?”
More of that hesitation. “Look, this is none of your business, Patrick. I don’t know how you found out about this, but you can go home now. We’ve got the situation under control.”
She had a point there. He couldn’t deny it. This was none of his business. But that didn’t prevent him from getting mad as hell. If something was going on, he wanted to know what was being done about it besides lifting a few latent prints.
“We’re working together on a high priority homicide case,” he reminded her. “If something’s going on in your personal life that might affect your job performance or my safety when in your presence, I have a right to know.” He was reaching but right now he didn’t care as long as he got the truth out of her.
“I can’t believe this.” Bree planted her hands on her hips, her mouth agape with disbelief or something like it. “Are you seriously trying to strong-arm me into telling you my personal business? You should watch your step, Patrick. There are rules against this sort of thing.”
He didn’t have to think about it. “That’s exactly what I’m doing.” He matched her stance, hands fixed at his waist. “No more games, Bree. Tell me what’s really going on here.”
She had the darkest eyes. Standing here beneath the streetlight he couldn’t help but notice. He’d noticed way too much today already. But, evidently, in her presence he was helpless not to inventory the details he’d missed so damned much for so damned long.
She peered up at him. He watched the struggle in those dark eyes. She didn’t want to tell him. Whatever it was, she didn’t want him to know.
Whatever crazy brain cell misfired at that moment he couldn’t say but the next thing he knew he’d grabbed her by the shoulders and given her a little shake. “The truth. I want the truth.”
That was the moment when he knew that the answers he wanted had nothing to do with her vandalized vehicle and everything to do with their past. Why had she walked away without giving him another chance? Better yet, why had he let her?
“I’ve gotten a few strange calls,” she relented. “Always from phones in public places.” She moistened her lips and his throat ached. “Lately I’ve felt like someone has been following me, but then there wouldn’t be anyone there.” She pulled free of his grasp. “It’s probably nothing.” The vulnerability in her eyes vanished. “Besides, I’m a big girl, Sheriff. I don’t need you taking care of me.”
And therein lay the rub. Their relationship had ended because he was too protective. Too controlling of her career decisions.
This was different.
He didn’t care what she said. He knew the signs. Chances were she had a stalker. Either an admirer or, as she’d said before, an enemy. Neither one was a good thing.
“You have two choices here, Bree.” The fury kindled once more. “You can work with me on this or I’ll speak to your chief about it. Take your pick.”
That was playing dirty. He understood that, but he wasn’t about to let her ignore the warning signs. Stalkers, whether admirers or enemies, injured or killed the objects of the obsessions far too often to take the risk.
“Damn, Patrick!” She stopped a moment, visibly attempted to calm herself. Apparently it didn’t work. “You haven’t changed a bit.” She poked him in the chest with her forefinger. “I don’t need you taking care of me. Do you hear me? I can take care of myself. You are no longer a part of my life.” She blinked, swallowed hard. “So back off!”
He should have listened to her. Should have been ticked off at her insinuation. But all he could do was stare into those deep, deep brown eyes and wonder how he’d ever let this much time pass without touching her…tasting her.
A little voice, growing weaker by the second, kept reminding him that the last he’d heard she was married. That didn’t stop him from going temporarily stupid and fulfilling the fantasies that had tortured him every night for eight long years.
He took her face in his hands before she could fathom his intent and kissed her square on the lips.
Inside, he melted, but outside…he hardened like a rock. She tasted like sweet chocolate and hot, tempting woman. He wanted to pull her close and tuck her soft curves into his hard body.
She banged on his chest. Pulled away. “Don’t you dare,” she warned.
Patrick shuddered with the overdose of emotions. He blinked, once, twice. What the hell was he doing?
