Small Town Secrets

by Allie Harrison

  “He threatened her with a knife.”

  Tony made the instant connection. “Kelly Mattis.”

  “Yeah.”

  “What motive could he have had to kill Kelly?” Tiffany asked.

  Mac could think of a few and took a step toward the kitchen. “Maybe she caught him strangling her cat. I’d also guess drugs are involved. If he can’t be held on the assault charge now, maybe he will on a drug charge.”

  “By the way, I tracked down Wellsburg and Hattersfield for you,” Tony said. “Wellsburg is working in a department store in the Mall of America in Minnesota. Hattersfield has a job with the Postal Service and currently delivers mail in Kansas City. I meant to tell you sooner, but other things seemed to get in the way.”

  Mac was almost afraid to ask but did anyway. “What about Stan’s dad?”

  “No sign of him anywhere. I’ll keep digging.”

  He took another step toward the kitchen. “Thanks.”

  “I would advise you not to go in there.” Tony got up from his seat and stepped in Mac’s path. “My sister’s not very receptive right now. In case you’ve never noticed, she has a little of our father’s temper, stubbornness, and disposition.”

  “I never noticed that,” Mac lied.

  “Uh huh,” Tony put in lightly as if he believed it. He didn’t try to stop Mac a second time.

  When Lizzy didn’t acknowledge him, didn’t stop twisting dough, he said, “How are you?”

  “I’m just ducky. How are you?”

  He thought she sounded a little slap happy but didn’t comment. “Not even close to ducky.”

  “Mmmm, bad day at the office?”

  “I’d say it was pretty bad.”

  “Maybe you should find a new office.”

  “I don’t know about that, but we’ll see what comes of it.”

  “Did you need stitches in your cheek?” she asked, continuing to twist dough into intricate coils.

  “No.”

  She flipped the coils over. “Anyone threaten you with a knife?”

  He considered answering yes, because now that he thought about it, any threat to her was a definite threat to him. “No.”

  “Then I don’t think your day was as bad as mine.” She paused, met his gaze evenly, and offered him a smile that was forced and obviously as sweet as the sugar concoction she sprinkled over the pastry. Then she was back at expertly twisting and coiling the next batch.

  He thought about disagreeing with her. Watching it happen and not being able to stop it without his gun was no cake walk, either.

  They were both quiet for a long moment. He watched her, not knowing what to expect. He remembered well the quiet way her father spoke to him through what was obviously fear and anger. A melt down? A screaming fit? Crying on his shoulder? Hell, he didn’t really care. He knew she’d been terrified. He knew from his own experience she was going to have to let it out some way, somehow. And he wanted to be there to catch her and hold her when it happened.

  She paused in her dough twisting but stared down at her work. “Would you really have shot him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you ever shot anyone before?”

  “I’m not proud of having to do it, but yes.” He didn’t feel now was the time to tell her the man he’d shot and killed was the man who had shot him.

  “Why is this happening? Why didn’t I know?”

  He wondered when she would question today. He knew she’d blame herself. “None of this is your fault.”

  “I’ve known him since grade school, Mac. I should have recognized some sign. I should have seen something.” She met his gaze. Finally. For longer than to just give him a phony smile. And he made sure she saw he wasn’t looking at her. “What are you looking at?” She turned and followed his gaze over her shoulder.

  “That wall behind you.”

  “What about it?”

  “I haven’t made love to you up against that one. Not yet. I thought we could make that one next.”

  She blinked at him as if she didn’t comprehend what he was saying. After the day she’d had—her life threatened, a cut on her face when Stan touched the knife to it just before letting her go, hours keeping her hands busy with baked goods—she probably didn’t. The shift in conversation was too swift, too sudden for her to keep up. It was what he wanted. It would help get a reaction from her. And he did get one.

  “I should have known!”

  Mac forced calm into his voice. “I’ve also known Stan his entire life. I even knew about his OCD and needing to keep things stacked so neat. I let him stay at my house every time his old man was on the rampage, and I didn’t know about any of this.”

  “Yeah, well, you’ve been gone for a while, remember?”

  He knew she needed to blame someone or something in order to put things into some sort of perspective. He took another step closer. “I’m here now.”

  “I still should have known!” Her raised voice echoed through the kitchen.

  “No one knew, Lizzy. Bad guys go to great lengths to keep all their secrets hidden.”

  “He drugged your parents’ dog!”

  “Ozzie’s fine. He’s just a little dopey for now. He’ll probably be back to his usual self, chasing rabbits tomorrow.” Mac didn’t point out that he thought Stan had taken a few drugs himself.

  “Then you left me!”

  “Yes, I did. For a reason,” he explained with more patience than he felt. “I left you with Tony. Your brother. Your twin. I had to make sure Chief Daniels didn’t turn around and send Stan home after a harsh talking to like an unruly schoolboy.”

  “I thought…I thought…” Now as she spoke, calmer and no longer at a scream, some calm was there in her voice.

  He gathered her into his arms. She held on to him, his shirt clutched in her fists. “I thought I was going to die. I didn’t know what to do. I kept weighing—should I fight? Should I not fight? Then he threatened your mom and Tiffany and said he’d go after people I loved. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. I was terrified and angry at the same time.”

  She sounded like she still was.

  “Why did he do that to me? What does he have against women?”

  He had given up long ago searching for reasons why people do the things they do. It was just his job to stop them, not fix them. “Something he obviously learned from his father. And he did it because he thought it was his only way out of the situation. Desperate people do desperate things.”

  Not that he ever wanted another bad day. And he hoped beyond all hope to never again see anyone threatening Lizzy in any way. Through it all, he knew now the cure for a bad day.

  To have her in his arms, where she was safe, where his heart beat with hers.

  The world felt right when Lizzy was in his arms.

  ****

  Mac stared at the smooth, soft-as-velvet skin of Lizzy’s back while he caressed his hands across it. Concentrating on the sweet feel of her, he was able to keep his breathing under control.

  At his direction, finally, she lay on her belly, her breasts hidden as he massaged her back.

  He attempted to massage her back. It wasn’t easy. Today she wore underwear that reminded him of his boxer briefs. How those could be so sexy, he had no idea. Of course, maybe it was the way they just hugged her shapely butt.

  Her apartment above the bakery was filled with country things and whitewashed furniture and even one of those barn doors on a track, but he hadn’t given himself much opportunity to really study it. It took all his energy to coax her into what he thought would be a relaxing massage.

  And touching her and seeing her in those sweet panties left him far from relaxed.

  He breathed, tried to calm his insides. The last thing he wanted her to feel was his tenseness or his lingering fury. This was for her. She needed this.

  “Do you think he’ll come back and try to hurt me or anyone else?”

  He’d better not. “Try not to think about it.” Mac circled
his palms at her shoulder blades. “Just feel my touch.” He forced himself to breathe easy.

  She was quiet for a long moment.

  He continued to study her skin as if she were a fine work of art—which he thought she was—as he worked his fingertips near her neck where he felt tension linger.

  “I think I forgot to turn off the ovens downstairs.”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  “Did I lock the door downstairs?”

  “I did. Everything’s fine. Now relax.” Her fair skin was smooth, lovely. He could spend days just touching her.

  “I should have run the dishwasher.”

  Damn, she was stubborn. Maybe he should have lit some candles or something. He was not about to take his hands off her. Number one, he didn’t want to. Number two, he was afraid if he did, she’d jump off the bed and be back downstairs making a cake or something. After all, he’d had to start with a rub of her shoulders and more or less trick her into getting her shirt and bra off just to get her into this position. It hadn’t been easy. At one point he feared he might have to hold her down and force a sedative down her throat. “Be quiet.”

  “I could turn over. You could make love to me. I liked making love with you.”

  He sucked in a breath, closed his eyes against that one, and deeply massaged his thumbs into a knot he felt in her upper back. “I am making love to you. With my hands. Enjoy it. Now no more talking.”

  “But you’ll make love to me again with your lips and your…” She took a deep breath and yawned.

  Finally, he thought. She was finally shutting down. He knew she was going on fumes of adrenaline. She needed rest. She needed sleep. He was surprised she hadn’t crashed before now. “Yes. I’ll make love to you again. With all of me,” he said softly. Oh, yes, he planned to make love to her again. And again. And again.

  “Promise?”

  “I promise.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “Yes.” Although he wasn’t sure he could wait that long, especially if she didn’t shut up.

  “Promise?” Her single word sounded fuzzy and sleepy.

  “I promise. Now just relax.” He worked her back muscles with his fingertips. She smelled of flour and cookie dough. He fought the urge to lean over and put his lips or his tongue on the back of her neck to see if she tasted like cookie dough, too. He had to keep reminding himself he was trying to help her sleep—which she obviously needed—not stir her up.

  “You’ll be here when I wake up.”

  “Absolutely.”

  After another long sigh, her breath became rhythmic and even.

  Mac never took his attention from her. For another fifteen minutes, he enjoyed touching her. The sweet feel of her back, the warmth that penetrated his arms and coursed through his body like an electric current, the perfect curve of her waist—he took it all in and memorized it like an artist.

  And only when he was certain she was fast asleep did he carefully slide away, covering her with the quilt on her bed before he let the cold spray of her shower douse the fire she set in his soul.

  Then, for the second night in a row, he slept with her snuggled against him in his arms. He was pretty certain he would never again be able to sleep without her beside him.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Thursday

  Chief Franklin Daniels sat in his office and tried—miserably—to breathe.

  Breathe in. Breathe out.

  Thinking about it was the only way to accomplish it.

  Former Chief McLane’s son was an FBI agent. To say that knowledge almost blew him off his chair was an understatement. Stan Gresden, that stupid prick, was in the county lock-up and Kathleen, damn her, was texting him.

  Could things get any worse?

  Two of Agent McLane’s colleagues—Thompson and Pickering, both personal friends of McLane—just left his office, search warrant in hand. So yes, it was worse. His phone buzzed with yet another text.

  What do you mean Stan was taken to County? You’d better do something. And fast. You’d better fucking answer me.

  He wished he had a dollar for every time he considered and/or planned to kill her. He could buy an island somewhere and disappear. Let her find out the hard way the FBI was heading to her house with a warrant. He wished he could be a fly on the wall for that one. He was certain she’d offer to suck one of them off in order to hold them back.

  Instead, he drew his police-issue revolver from his holster on his belt.

  This wasn’t how he’d planned his life. This wasn’t how he’d planned to end it, either. He always thought if he was going to die on the job, he should go out in a blaze of glory, working to save others like a real hero. Perhaps he should have been a fireman, so he could have died in a fire saving a baby.

  He should write a note. Clear up everything. Clear the air, as his mom used to say. He should check out with a clean slate.

  Then again, perhaps he shouldn’t take the time to write a note. He should just count. And get the deed done. It would end everything. It had to be easier.

  One.

  Two. He pulled back the hammer. The sound of it broke through the silent office like a firecracker.

  He closed his eyes. And saw freedom. It was so close, like a light at the end of the tunnel of hell. Perhaps a light at the end of Marston’s Tunnel.

  “Excuse me, Chief.”

  Daniels let out his breath in a whoosh and lowered his gun to his side down below the desk where Stella, the department secretary, couldn’t see it. He bit his tongue to keep from letting out the oath. “Yes, what is it, Stella?”

  Divine intervention?

  “You all right, Chief? You’re a bit pale.”

  “I didn’t sleep very well. Thanks for asking. What is it?”

  He forced the question out. Another second and the pretty blonde would be staring at his brains on the wall behind him. He swallowed through a tight throat and made certain his finger was off the trigger as he sucked in a deep breath.

  “Officer Swornson. Again. There’s been another complaint. Agnes Moore says she wanted to make out a report, an official report. She says he pulled her over last night when she was on her way home from babysitting for her daughter’s kids, that he—and I quote—asked her to get out of her car before he rubbed his hand over her private woman parts and told her he wouldn’t give her a speeding ticket if she got down on her knees like a good girl.”

  “Geez Louise! Has everyone in this damned town lost their mind?”

  What he really thought was Swornson must be hard up to have to grope a woman like Agnes Moore. She had a face a lot like a horse and was almost as big as one. She was at least a decade and a half older than him and should ask permission before she wore any more spandex.

  Stella shrugged as if none of this was news to her. “Maybe.”

  He met her gaze and wondered why he’d never been able to catch a woman like her. Smart, classy, wore clothes to work that were professional and pretty at the same time. She reminded him of an appliance poster advertisement model from the 1950s, and she did not have to ask permission to wear spandex. She kept her cool. Always. And she didn’t seem the type who would give him a blow job and then blackmail him with video of it.

  He was suddenly shamed at the idea he almost ate his gun for breakfast. He didn’t want Stella to see him like that. In that single heartbeat, his gaze caught—was trapped—in hers, he vowed to change things in his town and in his life. He was setting things right, even if he had to pay for them. He was tired of his soul being eaten away a little piece at a time.

  Starting right now.

  “Where’s Swornson now?”

  “I would assume at home. His shift ended at midnight. Agnes Moore waited until now to report him because she wanted to make sure you were here.”

  He still held her gaze. “Do you think I should just fire his ass or fill out the paperwork for administrative leave?”

  She never paused in responding. “If you just fire him, he’s free to wor
k somewhere else with no record of it. And he’ll just grope other women. If you investigate him, involve others, have it on record with an administrative leave, he’ll be charged. He needs to be stopped.”

  “Has he ever touched you, Stella?”

  To his dismay, she didn’t answer his question, at least not directly. “See that he’s charged, Chief.”

  “Get me the paperwork.” He watched her sweet, perfect backside as she stepped back to her desk. As soon as she was gone, Daniels slipped his gun back into the holster and secured it. Maybe he should put everyone out of their misery and just shoot Swornson. It was the surefire way to keep all the women of Mossy Point safe. And given his week, he was certainly in the mood to do so.

  He grabbed his phone with plans to speed dial the former chief, Robert McLane.

  He saw a text before he could tap the right buttons to call the former chief.

  The FBI is here. Where are you? I need your help. Get here fast. You know what happens if you don’t.

  He didn’t reply.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Franklin Daniels wants to meet with us.”

  Mac stared at his father. The orchard kept him busy in the mornings. And he liked Ginna’s coffee. Except to buy a cake for a special occasion, Mac doubted his dad ever stepped into the bakery. Yet here he stood at the counter. At least he hadn’t come knocking while they were still upstairs in Lizzy’s apartment.

  Mac had promised her they would make love again today. And he’d wanted to. Then when he woke with her in his arms, he’d been happy to hold her. Just hold her.

  Not that it lasted long anyway. As soon as she noticed the time, she jumped out of his arms. “Oh, my God, is that the time! I need to open!”

  And nothing he said could coax her back to bed. So he vowed to make it up to her tonight. Maybe he really would constrain her against that wall in her kitchen and make love to her. Then he thought he might just lift her onto the counter and enjoy a little tasty pie of his own.

  Hardly two minutes after she flipped the open sign and unlocked the door, his father hurried in. Robert’s words surprised him even more than his unannounced appearance.