by Debra Webb
“Looks good.”
Most of what Deacon had done around the place had been merely a part of building his cover. A necessary phase in establishing credibility. “I’m sure you didn’t drop by to check out my DIY skills. How can I help you, sheriff?”
“First, I want to reiterate how much Chief Brannigan and I appreciate you stepping in to help Miss Winters today.”
Brannigan had already said as much. Deacon was fairly confident this visit wasn’t just so Tanner could pass along his appreciation in person, as well. “It was the neighborly thing to do.”
Tanner held his white hat in his hands. Like the rest of the men in power around here, he sported a cowboy hat, boots and well-worn jeans. Deacon had chosen the same sort of attire, not because he actually considered himself a cowboy but because he wanted to fit in with the majority of the other “good” guys around the Winchester area. When Cecelia looked at him, he wanted her to see an image that reminded her of the sheriff or the chief. Someone she could trust.
Psychology 101. Play the part.
“Those folks were part of her dead daddy’s church,” Tanner said. “The whole group is up in arms. I don’t know what part of the Bible they think makes it a Christian thing to do—going after a woman like that. I spoke to the leader, Marcus Winters, who is also Cece’s brother. He’s assured me there will be no more trouble but I don’t trust him to follow through with that promise.”
Deacon was well aware of who the people were. He was also thoroughly acquainted, if only secondhand, with the older brother. The man had stepped into his dead daddy’s shoes as if he had planned the event. It was possible he and Cecelia had plotted the old man’s murder together. Then again, the fact that Marcus and the younger sister, Sierra, had basically disowned Cecelia seemed to indicate otherwise.
Then there was the wild card, the younger brother, Levi. He had visited his sister in prison on a regular basis but then he had not picked her up when she was released. Had not dropped by since she arrived home.
“I’ll do what I can to keep an eye out around here,” Deacon said. Though he wasn’t convinced the sheriff had paid him this visit to elicit his help in providing backup where the Winters woman was concerned.
“Do you know Cece’s younger brother, Levi?”
The question surprised Deacon. “I know the name,” he admitted. “I don’t actually know him or any other member of her family.” He shrugged. “I suppose I’ve seen him around.”
“Strange,” Tanner said. “About three weeks ago Levi caught me at home and went on and on about how he thought you might represent some threat to his sister. I asked him for details but he seemed reluctant to provide any.”
Well, well. Levi had been watching him. Deacon had thought he’d spotted the man once but he hadn’t been sure. Now he knew. Deacon shook his head. “I can’t imagine where he got an idea like that, sheriff. I don’t know his sister or him, beyond the rumors I’ve heard.”
Tanner shifted his weight ever so slightly. “I took the liberty of running a background search on you, Ross. I hope you don’t mind.”
Deacon chuckled. “’Course not. I have nothing to hide. I’m new in town. You have an obligation to the citizens of your county to look into potential trouble.”
Tanner didn’t comment on his reaction, apparently wasn’t impressed or relieved. “You’re an FBI agent. From Nashville. Not married. No family. What brought you to Winchester?”
“Real estate prices,” Deacon said without hesitation. “Property in the Nashville area is crazy expensive. I was looking for a place to retire.”
The sheriff was far from convinced. “You’re thirty-five years old. Seems kind of young to be planning your retirement.”
Deacon shook his head. “According to my investment counselor you’re never too young to start preparing.”
Tanner nodded. “Well, I guess there’s some truth to that.” He placed his hat on his head. “I suppose you’ll be returning to Nashville eventually, considering that’s where you’re assigned. You must have had a hell of a lot of vacation days accrued.”
Apparently the sheriff wasn’t going to be happy with Deacon’s glossed-over responses. “I requested a leave of absence. I’m not sure if I’ll be returning to field duty.”
Tanner studied him from beneath the brim of that white hat. “Is that right?”
“I hit a wall, sheriff. I’m certain you can understand how that can happen. I’m just not sure of what I want to do moving forward. Peace and quiet, for sure. Beyond that, I can’t say.” That was as close to the truth as he was going. But the basic story was accurate. Accurate enough to get him through this, he hoped.
“Law enforcement can take a toll. I hope you’ll feel free to look me up if you need anything.” Tanner chuckled. “Keep in mind, we’re always on the lookout for experienced lawmen in the sheriff’s department. If you’re interested in coming on board, drop by and we’ll talk.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, sheriff. Thank you. As for Levi Winters, if he still feels I represent some threat, I’m happy to meet with the two of you and hash out the issue.”
Tanner nodded. “If I find him, I’ll tell him. It’s the strangest thing.”
Deacon braced for whatever the sheriff intended to say next.
“I haven’t been able to find him since that day. According to the warden at the prison no one showed up to give Cece a ride home. I recall that Levi said he would be picking her up. I’m surprised he didn’t. He’s the only one in her family who didn’t turn on her during the trial.”
“Have you spoken to Miss Winters to see if she’s heard from him?”
“I was about to head over there now. A tech from the phone company is coming to turn on the landline. I called in a request as soon as I heard she was being released. I don’t want her out here with no way to call for help. I doubt she has a cell phone yet.”
“The service out here is not that great anyway,” Deacon pointed out.
“All the more reason to go with a landline,” Tanner agreed.
“Hold on, sheriff.” Deacon rounded up a notepad and a pen. He scribbled his cell number on the top sheet, tore it off and passed it to the other man. “This is my cell number—for what it’s worth. If she needs to call someone in the middle of the night, I’m closer than anyone else. I haven’t bothered with a landline. Maybe I should.”
“I’m sure she’ll appreciate that, Ross.” Tanner folded the paper and tucked it into his pocket.
He headed for the door. When he reached for the knob, Deacon added, “I was serious when I said if her brother wants to talk I’m more than willing. Just give me a call.”
“Will do.”
Tanner left and Deacon watched from the window as he loaded into his truck and drove away. The sheriff was friendly enough, but he wasn’t completely satisfied with what he knew or what his instincts were telling him about Deacon. At the moment he had no reason to pursue the issue, but he would be watching and maybe doing a little more digging. Deacon wasn’t concerned. The Bureau would not turn over information regarding an agent to anyone just to satisfy his curiosity. The only aspect of Deacon’s past or present that could in any way be related to his being here was his former partner’s disappearance, which had occurred a long time ago, and Deacon had not even been a part of that investigation.
Everything else he had told the sheriff could be confirmed with his direct supervisor if Tanner decided to push it that far.
Deacon waited a half hour or so, then he made his way back through the woods, a path he knew well now, and watched her house. Tanner had gone inside and the technician from the telephone company had arrived and begun his work. For the next half hour or so the man went through the steps of running a line to the house and doing the necessary installation on the inside. Ten minutes after he left, Tanner did the same. Deacon walked back to his house and got into his t
ruck. He backed out onto the road and drove the short distance to his neighbor’s home.
He parked only a few yards from the porch steps. By the time he reached those steps she had already peeked through the curtain to identify her newest visitor. He pretended not to notice, walked to the door and knocked.
The sound of the locks disengaging and then the creak of the door echoed before her face appeared. “Yes?”
She recognized him; he saw it in her green eyes. Not to mention he doubted she would have opened the door if she hadn’t.
“I’m your neighbor,” he said, choosing to go that route rather than bring up what happened in the parking lot. “Deacon Ross.”
She nodded. “Thank you for doing what you did today. I’m reasonably certain no one else would have.”
“You don’t need to thank me, Miss Winters. I did what needed to be done.”
“I’m grateful.” She glanced beyond him, then managed an uncertain smile. “I put your number on the wall by the phone. I hope I won’t have to call you, but I’ll rest easier knowing there’s someone I can.” She shrugged. “I grew up here but I don’t have any friends or...or family, none that still own me, anyway.”
“I understand.”
“I’m sorry.” She backed up a couple of steps, opened the door wider. “I guess my manners are rusty. Would you like to come in?”
He had hoped she would make the offer. “Sure.”
He stepped inside and she closed the door, though it was obvious she wasn’t entirely comfortable doing so.
“If you prefer to leave the door open, feel free.”
She looked up, blushed, her cheeks nearly matching her fiery red hair. “Am I that obvious?”
He smiled, forced a load of kindness he in no way felt into the expression. “Afraid so.”
“I’ll work on my presentation.”
“I couldn’t help noticing as I drove up, there’s a couple of places on the roof that need some attention. You’ll probably want to consider getting someone to do some caulking and painting around the windows and doors before winter, too. I’ve been doing a lot of that next door.”
She nodded, her expression more worried than uncertain. “I can probably take care of those things myself.”
“Maybe, but I can help if you’d like. I’m no expert but I’m reasonably handy.”
She bit her lower lip for a second before she responded to his announcement. “I’m afraid this house has gone downhill since I saw it last. My brother—Levi—said he kept an eye on things but I’m not sure how much he would know about home maintenance. And, to be honest, my grandmother always took care of things. She was a firecracker. I might have learned a lot more from her if I hadn’t gone away.” She stared at the floor a moment before meeting his gaze once more. “But I learn quickly. I can probably do most of it myself with some amount of instruction.”
He nodded to the paint can and brush next to the front door. “Looks like you already have a start on things.”
She tried to smile but didn’t manage the feat. “Yeah. Some things can’t wait.”
She had painted over the unpleasant reminder of what she was labeled by some, but the vicious word still showed through her efforts.
“Is there anything I can help you with before I go?” He didn’t want to overstay his welcome or push too far today. Slow, steady progress was the best plan.
She moistened the lip she had been chewing. “Well, I did notice that the stove won’t turn on.” She hitched a thumb behind her. “I was going to heat some water for coffee.”
“I can have a look.”
“That would be great. Thank you.”
She led the way into the kitchen, not that he needed her to show him where it was. He had been through every inch of this house at least three times. She had a number of surprises waiting for her.
In the kitchen she gestured to the stove.
He turned a knob for a top burner, then the oven. Pretended to ponder the possibilities, then he said, “I should check your electrical panel.”
She frowned. “The fuse box?”
He nodded. “If it was never upgraded to a breaker box then that would be it.”
She shrugged. “I have no idea. My grandmother called it a fuse box.”
“Let’s have a look.”
She guided him to what had once been a back porch but was later converted to a laundry room. A new, smaller back porch had been added. She gestured to the wall next to the door they had exited. “Right there.”
The electrical panel in the house had been upgraded. Again, he took some time to look over the situation, then flipped a breaker—the one he had flipped to the off position a week ago. While he was at it, he took care of the one for the water heater, as well. That one, he supposed, had been turned off by whoever closed up the house after the grandmother passed away.
“I turned on the water heater, too.” He tapped the breaker he meant. “If for some reason it doesn’t work, flip it back to the off position and let me know. Let’s see if that did the trick for the stove.”
Back in the kitchen, he turned the knob that controlled the burner beneath the kettle and the light next to it flared red.
She smiled. “Thank you. I would not have made it through the morning tomorrow without coffee.”
“If you need anything else, just let me know.” He turned and strode back toward the front door. She followed. At the door he looked back to her. “Call if you hear or see anything that makes you feel uncomfortable. I’m a minute away.”
“Thank you again.” She frowned. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but why are you doing this?”
He searched her eyes, wondered what she would say if he told her the truth.
“I don’t know what happened to you, but you seem like a person who needs a break.”
He left before she could say more. No need to risk allowing her to see the truth in his eyes.
She watched from the door as he backed up and turned around. When he stopped at the road to see that it was clear, he glanced in his rearview mirror to find her still watching.
The lady was lonely and afraid. Good.
That was exactly the way he wanted her.
Chapter Three
Cece prowled through the closet she had used as a teenager. She could not believe her grandmother had not thrown this stuff away. But then, her grandmother had been the only person who believed Cece was innocent and who hoped she would come back home one day.
Home.
She glanced around the room. This really was home. God knew she had spent most of her childhood here. After her mother died, her father had dumped her and her sister here more often than not. He had always dragged the boys along with him, as if they were more important than the girls.
Of course he had thought that way. Females were a lower life-form as far as he and his church creed were concerned.
Church. Cece felt certain it was wrong to call the following her father had created a church. It was a cult. One with harsh rules and absolutely no compassion. How had it survived nearly nine years without him? She could only assume Marcus had stepped fully into his shoes and used his murder as a platform for his own selfish purposes.
No surprise there. Marcus had always been cunning and self-absorbed. Sierra, too, for that matter. At least, once she passed the age of twelve. Cece and Levi had been the ones who were different. They were like their mother, her father had often accused as if it were a bad thing. All those times he had tossed Cece and her sister to their grandmother, poor Levi had been forced to go along with him and Marcus. She had heard her brother crying at night after many of their outings. When she had asked him what happened, he wouldn’t talk about it. She could only imagine what Levi had suffered in the name of their father’s twisted beliefs.
Levi still had not come to see if she made it home okay. S
he hoped nothing had happened to him. Maybe he had decided that staying on her side wasn’t worth the trouble. If he had, she wouldn’t blame him. Marcus and Sierra and their followers would make it especially hard on Levi for having any association with her.
Cece grabbed a nightshirt and panties from a drawer and made her way to the bathroom. She looked forward to the luxury of a long, hot soak.
She found a towel, soap and shampoo, and placed them on the edge of the tub. After setting the water to the hottest temperature she could bear, she stripped off the clothes some organization had donated to her since she had had nothing to wear when she left the prison. She spotted a couple of bruises from the stoning incident. She shuddered, tried to block the memory of another event like that one from long ago. She had been around ten and the members of her father’s following had decided one of their members had stolen something from a fellow member. They had dragged him outside the barn they had used for meetings back then and thrown stones at him.
The man had eventually managed to run, escaping their torture, but Cece had never seen him again. She wondered if they had found him and finished him off. She had no proof that her father or any one of his followers had ever killed anyone, but the hatred and evil they spewed was so extreme, she couldn’t help believing them capable.
She eased into the hot water and sighed. A bath had never felt so good.
Until the water started to cool, she was content to simply lie there and soak. Her muscles relaxed fully for the first time in what felt like forever. Eventually she washed the stench of prison from her hair and skin. Even the soap and shampoos used in the prison carried a distinct scent she would never forget.
When her skin felt raw from scrubbing, she pulled the plug and climbed out. The towel was clean but smelled a little stale from being folded up in the old linen cabinet for so long. She would need to wash all the linens, maybe hang them on the clothesline for airing out. Probably be a good idea to do that with her clothes, as well.
Dressed and feeling more comfortable than she had in nearly a decade, she draped her towel across the side of the tub and then marched out back to throw the clothes she had worn out of the prison into the trash can. She never wanted to see or touch anything from that place ever again.
