If You Hear Her: A Novel of Romantic Suspense

by Walker, Shiloh

  He was also only a few years away from retirement and unfortunately, he’d never done anything to justify getting kicked out, so they just had to deal with him.

  Somebody else caught Remy’s eye and if he hadn’t seen her, he might have headed back to his car.

  But once he saw her, he found himself staring, oddly unable to look away.

  The breeze kicked up, blowing long, dark hair around a slender, almost waiflike form.

  He didn’t know her.

  Remy had been born in this town—on the stroke of midnight, New Year’s Day. He had gone to school here until he left to attend college and after he finished up with college and law school, he’d come back home. He knew everybody here.

  But he didn’t know her.

  She stood staring into the window of Shoffner’s, but something about the way she held herself, the way she stood, made him think she wasn’t debating her book purchases or trying to decide if she should splurge or not.

  She looked like she was lost in another world.

  No.

  Trapped.

  Trapped … and utterly alone.

  Somebody bumped into her and she jumped.

  Even from fifteen feet away, he could see the way the blood drained from her face, could see the way she darted away, plastering herself against the plate-glass window.

  There was a plant stand there, one she didn’t see, and she bumped into it, sent it toppling over.

  Prather was closer than Remy was and for reasons that he couldn’t even explain, dread filled him.

  All Hope saw was the uniform.

  When he touched her, she freaked out.

  Jerking away from him, she smacked at the restraining hands, trying not to scream, trying not to cry.

  No, no, no …

  “Miss, you need to calm down—” Hard, big hands with blunt, strong fingers manacled her wrists and she could feel her airway constricting, trying to shut down. Dark pinpoints flooded her vision and she fought the onslaught—

  Can’t pass out, can’t, can’t, can’t …

  Passing out was always bad. When she passed out, that was when she woke up and found herself … no, no, no …

  She didn’t know she was moaning, soft and low, under her breath, and she was barely aware of the fingers tightening on her wrists as she jerked and twisted once more, trying to escape.

  Then, abruptly, she was free, resting with her back against the cool, smooth glass window, blood roaring in her ears, trembling all over, shaking like a leaf.

  But free.

  And very much the center of attention. The deputy was staring at her, as were several other people on the street. Covering her face with her hands, she tried to gather her wits, tried to calm down.

  “Damn it, Jennings, what in the hell is your problem?” the deputy demanded.

  “You big idiot, are you blind? Can’t you see she’s terrified?”

  The words were delivered in a flat, level voice, one that managed to pierce the shroud of terror enveloping her. Hope lowered her hands, watching from the corner of her eye. Whoever he was, he wasn’t looking at her—he was glaring at the deputy.

  Good. That made it a little bit easier for her to breathe.

  “She bumped into a stupid plant—she ain’t got no reason to freak out over that.”

  “You really are blind.” The blond gave him a scathing glance and then shifted his eyes to Hope. The impact of that gaze, for reasons she didn’t understand, hit her clear down to her toes. “Are you okay, ma’am?”

  Hope swallowed the knot in her throat. Oh, God … Can I even talk? “I … ah, I’m fine.” She cleared her throat, or tried to, and then focused her attention on the deputy she’d stumbled into.

  All she’d done was knock something over and crash into him, but the sight of his uniform had set her off. She felt like an idiot—a world-class idiot—and worse, she was still scared, still shaking.

  That was all sorts of bad, too. She couldn’t let them see, couldn’t ever let them see the fear. Swallowing the spit pooling in her mouth, she tried to smooth the fear away from her face, but she knew she failed. It would be like trying to calm the ocean … impossible.

  It didn’t help when the deputy’s eyes narrowed on her face.

  “No reason for her to be afraid.” Studying her with suspicion, he said, “Unless, of course, she has a reason.”

  Hope had every damn reason to be afraid of people wearing a uniform—she knew how many hid behind one. But she’d be damned if he made her feel like she was some kind of criminal. Hoping, praying her voice wouldn’t shake, she stiffly said, “You scared me.” She glanced at the badge he wore, his uniform. County. “My apologies, Deputy, but you scared me. I don’t like being touched and you just startled me. I overreacted.”

  The other man stood off to the side, watching them. The deputy shot a look at him, a look that was heavy with dislike if Hope could still read people worth a damn. Of course, her faith in her ability to read people was pretty much nonexistent these days. Her faith in herself period was nonexistent.

  She’d misread the most important person in her life, and in the worst way imaginable, for the longest time …

  The deputy looked back at her. He gave her a terse nod and then gestured to the busted pot at her feet. “Well, then, ma’am. I guess I should be sorry if I scared you, but I was just trying to help. You do know you will have to make reparations for that.”

  “Oh, don’t be silly.”

  Hope cringed inwardly at the new voice. From the corner of her eye, she saw a woman—petite, with hair the color of brick, bright blue eyes, and a face that looked like it had seen the inside of a tanning bed a little too often.

  “It’s a damn plant, Earl, not a Ming vase,” the woman said. “You go inside, help yourself to some coffee, and don’t worry about it.”

  “Too hot for coffee.” The deputy straightened his uniform and stalked off.

  Somehow, it lacked the authority he was probably reaching for, Hope decided. Licking her lips, she debated on who to look at first.

  She decided on the woman. Maybe the guy would just walk away.

  The woman wore a shirt almost the same blue as her eyes, with “Shoffner’s” embroidered over her left breast. There was also the logo of an open book. From the corner of her eye, Hope could read the lettering on the window. Shoffner’s.

  “I’m sorry. I’m usually not so clumsy,” she said, her voice stilted.

  “You weren’t,” the woman said, shrugging. “I saw it from the counter. Somebody bumped into you and just kept on going. You stumbled into the plant stand. It’s not a problem and it’s not your fault. Really. I’m Ang Shoffner—my husband and I own the place.”

  She gave Hope a wide smile and winked. “I’ll just take it out of his pay.” That smile, it was so friendly, so warm and welcoming. It did something to ease the knot in Hope’s belly.

  But it returned as the man shifted around to stand by Ang. “Prather’s day is all ruined now, Ang. He couldn’t arrest some brute of a felon for vandalizing your ficus.”

  “It wasn’t a ficus.” Then she cocked her head and studied the plant. “I don’t think.” She peered at Hope and asked, “You know plants?”

  But Hope couldn’t think.

  Couldn’t speak.

  Swallowing, she just shook her head.

  The urge to run to her car was back. Run. Run away. Very, very far away, and all because this man had shifted his gaze her way.

  He was smiling at her, a friendly, easy smile.

  Not at all threatening. Not at all predatory.

  Just the same friendly, easy smile Ang had given her. His eyes were blue, too, but not that bright blue—no. His eyes were the dark, dark blue of the eastern sky just as the sun sank below the western horizon. Dark, dark blue … so dark a blue they were nearly black, ringed by a thin band of even darker blue. Spiky, thick black lashes framed those amazing eyes, and his hair was gilt-blond—he looked like an angel, she decided.


  And he had a friendly, easy smile.

  His voice was deep, low and smooth, a slow and easy drawl. He could have made millions with that voice, she suspected. The voice, just like the face, was perfect.

  Their gazes locked—that dark, dark blue with her green. The smile on his mouth softened, warmed. Those eyes … so blue.

  Hope felt like she was falling.

  Sucking in a deep breath, she tore her gaze from his and stared at the sidewalk, keenly aware of the fact that he was still standing there, still staring at her … keenly aware of the fact that her heart was racing, her belly felt hot and tight.

  Heaven help her.

  Swallowing, she darted one more look at him and just as quick, she looked away.

  For reasons she couldn’t even begin to understand, he terrified her.

  Her hands were sweaty and shaking, and the bones in her legs felt like they were made of rubber. Blood roared in her ears, and her heart felt like it had taken up permanent residence in her throat. Worse, her belly was pitching and rolling. If she didn’t get out of here, and soon, she was going to end up puking or passing out.

  Or both.

  Licking her lips, she whispered, “I have to go.” Digging into her pocket, she pulled out her money and with shaking fingers, counted out twenty precious dollars. “Will this cover …”

  “Honey, I meant it when I said … hey, are you okay?”

  “Here, take the money.”

  “No,” Ang said, her voice firm. She gripped Hope’s wrist and forced Hope to close her fingers around the money. “Girl, it’s a stupid plant, one that half dies every time I’m off of work for more than two days at a time. The planter cost five bucks at Walmart and the plant probably cost less than that. Listen, why don’t you come in and have some coffee, some water …”

  “No. I … I have to go.”

  This time, she didn’t bother trying to fight the urge.

  She ran back to her car, and she locked the door behind her.

  She was twenty miles away before she made herself stop.

  Before she reminded herself she’d made a promise.

  Two promises. One to Law. He was counting on her, and whether he really needed her around or not, she’d told him she’d come.

  But she’d also made herself a promise.

  She’d promised herself she wouldn’t let herself get trapped again.

  And what was this but being trapped?

  Trapped by fear.

  She ran so fast, that long, luxurious brown hair streamed out behind her like a banner.

  Her eyes had connected with his, and for a few endless seconds, he’d felt lost in the soft, dreamy green of her eyes. Before she had looked away. Before she had started to think.

  Before some dark, icy fear had settled deep inside her and she had taken off, running like the hounds of hell were at her heels.

  Watching after her, half stupefied, Remy didn’t say anything for nearly a minute. He had never in his life had a woman run away from him. Not even once.

  He didn’t like the feeling it gave him. Not at all.

  Ang stood next to him, as silent as he was.

  As the woman’s tires squealed on the pavement, Ang sighed and said, “Dear Lord, I hope she doesn’t do that anywhere near Prather. He’d just love to pull her over and write her up—just to be mean.”

  “Yeah.” Frowning, Remy reached up and rubbed the heel of his hand over his chest. “You ever seen her around here?”

  “No.” Then she pushed her fingers through her wiry red curls and said, “And I doubt we’ll see her again, either. That girl, she’s running from something.”

  Yeah. Remy had that same sinking sensation.

  Those eyes of hers, something about them, they had gotten to him—right square in the heart.

  IT WAS ALL OVER TOWN BY NOON.

  Law sat at the table across from Lena, watching her pale, strained face and wondering if she was going to talk to him.

  Oh, she’d told him what had happened.

  Once they’d left the sheriff’s office, she’d confessed what was going on and he had been hard-pressed not to go through the roof of his car.

  No wonder she’d looked so pale.

  No wonder she’d looked so worried.

  Shit, why hadn’t she called him? That night? Why hadn’t she called him when it happened? He would have been there in a few minutes—been there with her.

  But hell, of course she wouldn’t call him. Lena didn’t look at him that way—didn’t think of him that way. She might call him for a ride into town, for a ride to the county sheriff, but she sure as hell wouldn’t call him when she needed a shoulder, in the middle of the night when she was alone … scared.

  When she heard some woman screaming.

  Screaming …

  Jennings. Keith Jennings. Law ticked through his mental file until he placed a face to the name and he figured it could have been worse.

  Jennings was quiet—sometimes a little too quiet, in Law’s opinion—he liked when people talked, did stuff, because that made it easier to figure them out. But Jennings focused on his job and tried to be fair and thorough, from everything Law had seen about him. In a small town like Ash, it was easy to watch, too.

  Watching was kind of his thing, anyway.

  Jennings did his job.

  Yeah, could have been worse … could have been Prather. If that idiot had been on the night shift that weekend, Lena’s report might still be in the process of being written. Hell, Prather might have tried to figure out a way to not even write the damn report.

  That man could fuck things up seven different ways to Sunday and manage to make it look like the other person’s fault.

  A soft, tired sigh drifted from Lena.

  Leaning back in the seat, Law crossed his arms over his chest. “So. You going to tell me about it or what?”

  “I already did,” she said, her voice weary.

  “No, you told me exactly what you told the cops. You haven’t told me how you are, what you’re worrying about, thinking about. Things you’d normally tell me. You’re not. You going to?”

  She caught her lower lip between her teeth and then reached up, slipping her fingers under her glasses to rub her eyes. She had a headache. He could see it, tell it by the way she was rotating her neck, rubbing the back of it.

  “Come on, Lena. Talk to me.”

  “I’m scared. I feel sick. I feel helpless. And I’m pissed off.”

  “Why are you pissed off?” he asked.

  She smacked a hand against the table. “Because there’s somebody out there—or there was. Maybe it’s too late, I don’t know. But she needed help—she needed it, Law, and nobody helped her. And nobody can find her. Is anybody even going to look?”

  “Jennings did look,” he said softly. “You tried to help. You called the cops.”

  Lena snorted. “Fat lot of good it did.” Slowly, she reached up and took off her glasses, revealing the pale, almost crystalline blue of her eyes. She’d been born blind in her left eye. Until she was ten, she’d had vision in her right eye, but she’d gotten injured playing baseball with some friends … and not wearing any safety equipment. Apparently it was a big risk for people who already had a vision impairment. She’d been hit in her one good eye and the injury had resulted in vision loss in her right eye as well.

  He loved her eyes. He knew she was self-conscious … well, maybe that wasn’t the right phrase. Lena wasn’t always patient with people—she didn’t mind people asking her questions, but too many people would rather stare than ask. She knew when people stared—she could feel it. She was too attuned to people, too sensitive.

  She wore the dark, tinted lenses because she had some idea that it might keep people from looking at her as much. Law could have told her it was a waste of time—people had a habit of staring at what they didn’t quite understand. And then there was the case that with Lena, she was just one of those women that people noticed—she was attractive, yeah—but it went d
eeper than that. She had that … spark.

  Logically, he knew he wasn’t looking at her from unbiased eyes; he thought she was absolutely beautiful. But she had something special, she had a way about her. People noticed her. The way she moved, the way she held herself, the way she laughed. Her confidence. Everything.

  And right now, he couldn’t help but notice the strain on her face, and the very unfamiliar look of self-doubt. “It’s because of me,” she said quietly. “I know Sergeant Jennings at least made the effort to look around, but Prather? He didn’t even bother. And it’s because of this.”

  She passed a hand over her eyes and shook her head. “If I could see, he would have paid a little more attention to me.”

  “Oh, bullshit.” He snorted. “Then he would have written you off because you’re female. ‘You know, a woman really shouldn’t live in that big house all by herself …’ some crap line like that. Don’t tell me you can’t hear him saying something just like that.”

  “Oh, I can totally see him saying something like that. He already implied I should have some sort of companion.” She all but spat it out, fury vibrating in her voice.

  Law narrowed his eyes. “Companion?”

  “Yes.” She sneered, the derision dripping off her words. “It’s a big house, too spooky at night. Somebody with me might help.”

  If he thought it might help, he might have voiced the rage that made him feel. But he knew it wouldn’t help her. Still, he had a vision of meeting up with Prather, telling the fool a thing or two, assuming he’d understand. “I suppose you disabused him of that idea?”

  “There’s no point.” She shook her head. “You know, he isn’t that old. Why does he act like a dinosaur? I wonder if his folks were dinosaurs.”

  “Some people just have it in their genes, maybe,” Law said, shrugging.

  Leaning forward, he covered her hands with his, stilled the nervous twirling of her glasses. “You can’t let him get to you, Lena. You know what you heard, and you did what you could. You can’t do any more,” he said quietly.

  “If I could see …” She tried to pull away, averting her face. A muscle twitched in her jaw.

  “If you could see and you went outside without knowing what was going on, I’d have to wonder about your intelligence, honey. That’s one of those TSTL things—too stupid to live. You don’t go plunging headlong into something without knowing what kind of environment you’re putting yourself into. Not smart, Lena. If it’s a dangerous environment and you’re not absolutely convinced you can handle it, then your best bet is to do just what you did—call for help.”