The woman gave a sharp jerk, clearly caught off guard by their sudden appearance.
“Elmer.” She pressed a hand to her chest, her gaze shifting toward Rylan. Her lips tightened, as if she’d just caught a bad smell. “And Rylan. I heard you were visiting.”
Unable to resist, Rylan found his gaze skimming over the woman in front of him.
She’d always been cute in a fresh, farm-girl way. Her honey hair was kept in a pixie style that framed her face. She had large eyes that were more gray than blue today, and full lips.
But while she’d been chubby when she was very young, she’d developed the sort of curves in high school that made a hormonal boy think wicked, wicked thoughts. Which was only one of several reasons he’d kept a firm distance between them.
“Always a pleasure, Jaci,” he said, trying to ignore the way the wet sweatshirt molded to her generous breasts, and the perfection of her ass beneath the tight jeans.
“I can tell,” she said dryly, turning to yank open the back of the Jeep. Reaching inside, she grabbed a reusable cloth bag.
“Let Rylan help you with those groceries,” Elmer ordered.
She reached for another bag. “There’s no need.”
Rylan rolled his eyes, stepping forward to tug the bags from her tight grip.
“I thought my dad was the most stubborn critter in these parts,” he said.
“Critter?” she mocked.
He shrugged. “I was going to say Missouri mule.”
“Nice.” With a shake of her head, she turned to grab a stack of empty trays. “Is there something you need, Elmer?”
Elmer stepped forward to push shut the back of the Jeep, falling into step beside Jaci as she headed toward the front steps.
“Just wanted to make sure you haven’t been flooded out.”
“Not yet,” she assured him, offering a sudden grin for the older man. As always, it was warm and sincere. Like the sun coming out. It had nothing in common with the too white, toothy smiles of the women he’d been dating the past five years. “The cellar has some water, but the sump pump is taking care of it.”
His father nodded. “I suppose the back fields are flooded?”
“Probably.” She grimaced as she glanced toward the drive, which continued past the side of her house to the outer buildings. Eventually it led to the land that had been farmed by the Porter family since Jaci’s grandfather had a stroke ten years ago. “It looks like Andrew came out to check the water while I was gone.”
Rylan scowled at the deep ruts caused by a heavy tractor. The tracks were ruining her drive.
“Why doesn’t he use the county road to get to the fields?” he demanded.
She climbed the wooden steps. “The bridge has been closed for almost three weeks.”
Rylan joined her on the porch, his gaze still taking in the deep furrows that were already filling with water.
“He’s making a mess of your drive.”
“I know.” She gave a resigned shrug. “But there’s not much to be done until the rains stop.” She reached toward the handle of the old-fashioned screen door. “You can leave the bags on the swing. . . .”
Her words trailed away, her face losing color at an alarming rate.
“Jaci?” Rylan stepped forward. “What’s going on?”
The trays dropped from her fingers, crashing to the wooden porch as she stared at the door as if she’d seen a ghost.
It was only then that Rylan belatedly noticed that something was hanging from the handle. Leaning forward, he caught a glimpse of the golden locket that was threaded through a delicate chain.
A hiss was wrenched from his lips even as the woman next to him swayed and then abruptly collapsed in a dead faint. Muttering a curse, he dropped the bags and reached to catch her just inches from the hard, wooden planks of the porch.
Glancing down at her ashen face, he felt a tightness clench around his chest.
Someone had deliberately scared the hell out of this woman. And he intended to find out who it was.
Chapter Four
Mike O’Brien returned to Heron, pulling his patrol truck to a halt in the graveled lot. Once it had been the site of the jailhouse, but five years ago the building had been pulled down, and a new, modern facility had been attached to the back of the old courthouse.
The new jail had several sleek cells and a communal area for the prisoners during the day, along with a booking room that had all the bells and whistles. In the center was a deputy who kept an eye on the security monitors. And at the far end was a large interview room that had been intended to double as an office for the sheriff.
Mike, however, preferred the worn, quiet simplicity of his old office in the courthouse.
Built almost two hundred years ago, the two-story red-brick building had maintained the original paneling and wood floors, with plaster medallions in the center of the high ceilings. His office had a bank of windows that overlooked a small park where he could watch children play during the summer.
It emphasized the solemn traditions of his position, and at the same time, it offered him a reminder of the precious future that was his duty and honor to protect.
Even better, it had a door that led directly to the new addition.
The best of both worlds.
Halting at his private door at the side of the courthouse, he punched in the numbers on the electronic lock and stepped inside.
He stifled a yawn as he headed across the worn floorboards. It was just noon and he was already tired.
Glancing toward his desk, he grimaced at the stack of paperwork, which mysteriously appeared on it each morning. It was a part of the job he put off until his administrative assistant threatened to do bad things to him. Including handcuffing him to the desk until he was done.
With a shrug, he moved toward the table that was pushed into the corner. He poured himself a cold cup of coffee and grabbed a protein bar. He wasn’t sure who the genius was who came up with the marketing idea of disguising a candy bar with the word “protein,” but he fully approved. His mother would have a cow if he told her that he’d had gooey peanut butter drenched in chocolate for lunch. Now he could claim he had something healthy.
Polishing off the bar, he tossed away the wrapper and turned back to the desk. The files hadn’t magically disappeared.
Damn.
Grudgingly accepting that he needed to get started, he was interrupted when the connecting door from the attached jail was pushed open and Sid stepped inside.
The young deputy had a nervous habit of shifting his weight from foot to foot. Today he was nearly dancing as he tried to control his excitement.
“Hal and Bobby are waiting in the interview room,” he said. Mike had called him earlier to ask the deputies to come in for a meeting. “Did you want me to call Corey?”
Mike considered before giving a shake of his head. Corey was a deputy who served as a resource officer at the local high school.
“No. If we need extra manpower, we’ll pull in the reserves.”
Mike set aside his mug. No huge sacrifice. It tasted like sludge.
Following his young deputy through the door and into the reception area, he paused long enough to pour a fresh cup of coffee before heading past the dispatch room and into the interview room, which doubled as a conference space when necessary.
It was a long, narrow space dominated by a wooden table with six matching chairs. The floor was carpeted and the walls painted an institutional white. In one corner was a TV and camera set on a cabinet that was used to videotape any questioning of potential suspects. There was also a two-way mirror on the far wall that allowed him or the prosecutor to watch during the interview. On one wall was a framed map of the local county. On another wall were black-and-white pictures of the old jailhouse.
“Right. Let’s get started,” he said, walking to the head of the table as Sid took a seat next to Hal, a short, heavyset man with a fringe of gray hair. Hal had been an insurance salesman when he’d de
cided he wanted to work in law enforcement. He wasn’t driven with ambition, but he was reliable and had an eye for detail. Two traits that Mike depended on.
Across the table was the third deputy, Bobby. He was younger than Hal, with chubby cheeks and blond curls. He was constantly boasting about moving to a bigger city where he could use the skills he was learning during his online classes. But they all knew he was just talking smack.
Bobby had a wife and three young kids. He could barely make the payments on the double-wide that he’d installed on his parents’ land, let alone find the funds to move to a city like Chicago.
Mike cleared his throat, feeling the buzz in the air. Finding a dead body floating in a field was big excitement in the rural community.
“What we know is . . .” His words trailed away as he gave a frustrated shake of his head. “Hell, we know jack squat beyond the fact that we have a woman’s body and an unidentified skull. The remains were taken by the coroner down to the Boone County Medical Examiner Office. Hopefully we’ll get an ID sooner rather than later, but when a body has been in the water any length of time it makes it more difficult to get a clean set of prints.”
“Yep, floaters are always a pain in the ass,” Sid said, acting as if he’d seen dozens of bodies instead of precisely three. Two of them drowning victims when a car went off a bridge three years ago, and the female found this morning. “The last ones we had took four days to dry out.”
Mike scowled at his deputy. “Sid.”
The young man flushed. “Sorry.”
“Until we get the ID, we’re going to treat this as we would any other drowning case,” Mike continued. “Sid, I want you to start with calling the Water Patrol and Coast Guard in St. Louis. See if they have any reports of boats being overturned. Or anyone swept overboard.”
Sid pulled out his notebook, scribbling down the instructions. “Yes, sir.”
“Then I want you to call the Center for Missing Persons,” he added. “Collect all the female names in the tristate area.”
The deputy rose to his feet, the notebook still in his hand.
“I’m on it,” he said, heading out the door and turning toward the office the deputies shared just down the hall.
Mike turned his attention to Hal and Bobby. “I want the two of you to walk both banks of the river heading north,” he ordered. “Check for any abandoned cars along the bank, or small boats that might be tangled in the debris from the flood.” He waited for both men to nod. “If you don’t spot anything, then contact the authorities in the northern counties and ask them to continue the search. Tell them to contact me if they see anything unusual.”
Bobby surged to his feet, eager to be out. He was the sort of guy who craved the action part of the job. Being stuck in the office was a misery.
“You got it.”
Mike held up a hand, halting the impetuous young man from darting out of the office.
“And check with the barge companies,” he continued, his gaze shifting to Hal, who was rising to his feet. The older man clearly didn’t share Bobby’s enthusiasm at the thought of spending the day slogging through the mud. “See if they’re missing any workers.”
“That all?” Hal asked.
Mike sipped his coffee, sorting through the tasks he intended to deal with personally and those he could hand off to his team.
“See if any cemeteries have been disturbed by the floods,” he said. His day would be a lot easier if they could discover that the gruesome remains were nothing more than an unfortunate result of the river disturbing a few graves. “That’s all for now.”
The two deputies left the room and Mike took the opportunity to gulp down his coffee. God only knew when he would have time for another cup.
On cue there was the sound of footsteps echoing down the hall, and his assistant, Carol, poked her head around the door.
“You have a visitor.”
With a small sigh, he set the empty cup on the table. “If it isn’t an emergency, I really need for you to schedule them to come back later.”
The middle-aged woman, with mid-length auburn hair, gave a shake of her head.
“I did try to tell her you were busy, but she insisted she had to see you. Immediately.”
Mike frowned. “Is it Jaci?”
“Nope. It’s the other one.” A humorless smile touched her lips. “I think you’d better go talk to her. Election season is just around the corner, after all.”
“Carol . . .” His words trailed away as she abruptly disappeared, scurrying back to her desk in the reception room.
Muttering a curse, he headed back to his office. He had a great staff, but sometimes he wasn’t in the mood for their peculiar senses of humor.
Squaring his shoulders and wiping the irritation from his face, he yanked open the connecting door to discover a beautiful young woman standing in the center of his office.
Payton Hamilton.
Abruptly he understood his assistant’s vague words, “the other one.”
Damn. His lips tightened at the sight of her bleached blond hair that perfectly framed her oval face before brushing her shoulders. A discreet layer of makeup emphasized her high cheekbones and the full curve of her lips. Although it was sheer temper that darkened her blue eyes.
He allowed his gaze to lower to the designer coat that fell to her knees and was tightly belted to reveal her tiny waist. And farther down to take in the stiletto shoes that no doubt cost a fortune.
Who wore high heels in the middle of a flood?
Hearing the connecting door open, Payton glared at him with seething frustration.
“I need to speak with you.”
His lips twisted. Three years ago he’d been idiotic enough to date this woman. For nearly nine months she’d dangled his heart on a string, blatantly allowing him to think they were developing a real relationship. He’d even started to plan a future together, including a diamond solitaire that was now hidden in his underwear drawer. Then, without warning, she’d dumped him and started dating a local lawyer.
He’d been treated like a piece of trash that’d been thrown in the gutter. At least until Jaci had returned to Heron and the two of them had spent an occasional evening out. Then suddenly Payton had started texting him again. She didn’t want him, but she was selfish enough not to be willing to share him with her half sister.
“And what Payton Hamilton wants she gets?” he drawled.
Her chin tilted at his scornful tones. “Of course.”
With a roll of his eyes, he closed the door to his office and moved to grab a chair. Arranging it next to his desk, he waved a mocking hand toward it.
“Please, make yourself comfortable, Payton.”
Strolling forward, Payton ran her manicured fingers over his chest as she passed him.
“Do you remember how you used to make me comfortable, darling?”
Clenching his teeth, he ignored the sizzling memory of stripping her out of the tight dresses and too-high heels.
Instead, he folded his arms over his chest and leaned against the desk as he studied his unwelcomed visitor.
“I’ve had a shitty day that promises to get worse before it gets better, Payton,” he said in grim tones. “I don’t have the time or the energy for your games.”
She gave a flip of her blond hair as she perched on the front edge of the chair. “Why do you always assume I’m playing games?”
“Aren’t you?”
“Maybe.” A hint of uncertainty touched her elegantly sculpted features. “I’ve done this for so long it’s hard to know when it’s a game and when it’s real.”
Mike’s anger faltered before he was hardening his heart. He wasn’t going to fall for her pretense of vulnerability.
Not again.
“I don’t have the answer for you.”
“Then who does?” she breathed.
He gave a shake of his head, pointing toward the door. “Get to the point or leave.”
“Fine,” she snapped. �
�I’m here to make a report.”
“What kind of report?” Mike asked. “Someone parking too close to your big house on the hill?”
Her cheeks flushed at the reminder of her mother’s shrill protests when a city worker parked his truck next to the ornate gates leading to the Hamilton estate.
“No,” she said. “A missing person report.”
He stilled. Okay. He hadn’t been expecting that.
“What did you say?”
Her lips twisted. “Suddenly hard of hearing, Mike?”
“I hear just fine.” With brisk steps, he moved to take his seat behind his desk and pulled out a report form. A subtle warning that in this office he was sheriff, not Mike O’Brien, the small-town boyfriend who couldn’t measure up to the princess. “Who’s missing?”
“Anne.”
He glanced up in confusion. “Who?”
“Anne Dixon. Our housekeeper.”
Mike had a vague memory of the woman with salt-and-pepper hair and an ample body squeezed into a black dress with an old-fashioned apron. She’d usually lurked in the background on the few occasions that he’d visited Payton’s massive house. As if making sure he didn’t steal the silver.
“You say she’s missing?”
“Yes.”
He grabbed his pen. “For how long?”
Payton leaned toward the desk, bringing with her the scent of warm orchids.
“I’m not sure.”
“When was the last time you saw her?”
“Last night.” She paused, as if shuffling through her memories. “Around eight or nine,” she at last said. “I know it was right after dinner.”
Disbelief jolted through him. “Are you kidding me?”
She frowned. “Why?”
He released a harsh breath. “A person isn’t missing just because you haven’t seen her for a few hours. I’m assuming she’s allowed time off to sleep?”
She narrowed her gaze at his jeering tone. “Not even the Hamiltons are allowed to own slaves.”
“Good to know.” He once again pointed toward the door. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have real police work to do.”
Ignoring his dismissal, she rose to her feet and planted her hand on his desk.
Pretend You’re Safe Page 4
