Roan was used to hearing shocking things, but he couldn’t remember anything he’d ever heard on the job that hit him as hard. Luckily, he’d had a lot of practice keeping his feelings to himself, so he was able to respond in the quiet, even tone he’d use with a distraught witness. “Your father was a preacher?”
She nodded.
And there it was, finally-a small thing, but after a week of subtle probing his mystery woman had just handed him a piece of her past. A piece that might even help solve the puzzle of who and what she was, if he could take the time to look at it closely.
But right then he felt no flare of triumph at the revelation, no sense of achievement or success. Right then his mind was occupied by only one thing: the image of a little girl with shimmering tear-filled green eyes and the face of an angel, on her knees in a cold empty church, shivering…crying…praying. Wondering what she’d done that was so wrong.
As the shock slowly faded, rage took its place. The same rage, he told himself, that filled him every time he had to deal with a case involving abuse of a child. He never had been able to understand that kind of cruelty-never had and never would.
Stiffening his facial muscles and avoiding the eyes that gazed past him, veiled in a misty sheen that reminded him of dewfall on a gray spring morning, he tried to think of something to say, something that might restore the gray to sunlit green. His inability to do so had begun to eat dangerously at his self-control when he saw Susie Grace wending her way toward them, wearing the remnants of her Rocky Road ice cream cone as a chocolate goatee.
A final little skip-hop brought her to a halt beside the table, already launched into her appeal. “Dad, I used up all my quarters. Can I have some more? Please? I only need-”
“What’s this?” Roan touched her sticky chin with his knuckle. “Looks to me like you need to wash your face, kiddo.”
Susie Grace stuck out her tongue in a mostly fruitless effort to comply with that suggestion.
It felt good to watch his kid being a kid and be thankful for it. Laughter shivered inside his chest as he said sternly, “Nope, ’fraid it’s gonna take more than that. Come on-I’ll take you to the restroom.”
Susie Grace gasped as if he’d suggested she strip right there on the spot. “Da-ad, it’s the girls’ bathroom. You can’t go in there!”
“How about if I take you?” Mary said.
His daughter’s reply was a radiant smile, made downright impish by that chocolate goatee.
“Is that okay with you?” Mary asked Roan in a low voice as she scooted back her chair, nudging aside the pile of shopping bags that were stacked around and underneath it.
He shrugged and said, “Sure.”
Susie Grace threw him a look of pure glee. She reached confidently for Mary’s hand, Mary looped the strap of her purse over one shoulder and the two of them began to make their way through the maze of tables toward the restrooms on the opposite side of the food court.
Roan followed them with his eyes, followed them until the image was seared on his brain: little girl with tousled red-gold hair, dressed in a spanking new spring-green outfit, hopping and skipping with barely contained exuberance as she held on to the hand of a tall, slender woman…a woman who dressed in shapeless clothes, with her hair hanging down her back in a lank brown ponytail, yet who walked with beauty and grace and confidence in her step.
Then…that image seemed to shimmer and sizzle and melt like butter on a griddle, and another came to take its place: Same little girl, four years younger…same joyful exuberance as she clings to the hand of a tall, slender woman with fiery red curls tumbling untamed down her back…as she smiles down at the child… and walks with beauty, grace and confidence in her step.
And for some reason he thought again about the old Blackfoot horse trainer and the Spirit Messenger. He didn’t believe in such things-he didn’t. But something shivered across his skin and filled the inside of his head and every part of him, and he wondered whether it was a warning…or a promise.
He waited until he was certain Mary and his daughter weren’t going to look back, then buried his face in his hands.
God help me…God, or Spirit Messenger…Bear, Wolf, Buffalo or Raven…whoever you are: Help me. I think I’m in danger…of falling in love with a murder suspect.
It was late afternoon when the SUV pulled to a stop in front of Mary’s house, but at that time of year the sun was still high in the sky. Susie Grace had fallen asleep in the back seat on the drive back from Bozeman, stuffed full of ice cream and lulled by the sunshine and the quiet and the lazy beat of the music from the car radio Roan had tuned-with apologies to Mary-to a classic country station.
Mary didn’t mind that Roan seemed disinclined toward conversation, or worry about what might be weighing so heavily on his mind as he drove with his elbow resting on the windowsill and his hand covering the lower part of his face, eyes narrowed behind his sunglasses in that way they had of seeming to be focused on something far beyond the road ahead. She didn’t worry about anything, actually, not even her own bleak future, and the silence didn’t seem awkward or burdensome to her.
Perhaps, like Susie Grace, she’d fallen under the spell of a lazy spring Sunday afternoon, and it was only lethargy that made her content to listen to the music-which she’d grown accustomed to if not fond of during the past ten years-and gaze through the car window at the cattle and horses grazing in spring-green pastures, and new foals frisking awkwardly alongside their mothers. And to allow herself, for the first time in many, many years-and only for a little while-to dream…
This. Yes, this life…this man, who makes me feel excited and happy…young and alive…and yet somehow…safe. This child, who makes me feel needed, and makes me laugh. Yes…this.
Like a child glimpsing a forbidden garden beyond a locked gate, she could allow her mind to drink in the fragrance of the flowers, bask in the loveliness…just for a little while.
She couldn’t hold back a sigh when Roan pulled the SUV to a stop and turned off the motor. The smile that hovered on her lips as she turned to him felt fragile and precariously balanced, like a butterfly in a breeze.
“Thank you,” she said softly, mindful of the sleeping child. “It was nice of you to let me do this.”
She couldn’t read his eyes behind the dark lenses, but his smile seemed wry. “I should be thanking you. Susie Grace had a great time. I know that was about the easiest time clothes shopping with her I’ve had in a while.”
“She’s a great little girl. And it was nice to forget…for a time.”
“Yeah.” He looked away for a moment, and she could see a muscle rippling in his jaw.
She stared at it, knowing she mustn’t, while her own jaws grew tight and her throat began to ache, and all her forbidden thoughts and dreams thrummed inside her head like imprisoned bees. That thrumming grew ever more insistent, until it seemed to hang in the air between them…until she couldn’t stand it anymore.
“Yeah, well-” Roan said, at almost the same moment Mary was saying, with a bright little laugh, “Well, I guess I’d better-”
He cleared his throat and slapped the gear lever into Park. “I know some of those bags back there are yours.” He reached for the door handle.
“Don’t get out,” Mary said quickly, nodding toward the back seat. “I’ll get it-there’s just the one.”
Her chest twinged with the guilty knowledge that somewhere in the jumble of shopping bags full of little girls’ clothes in the back of the SUV was a department-store bag with a lovely pale-green silk sweater in it. A woman’s sweater, slinky and sexy and feminine. It was the first becoming thing she’d allowed herself to buy in years-almost certainly a mistake, especially now. But it had been impossible to resist both the sweater and Susie Grace. Mary had just been telling her that redheads look good in green when Susie Grace had spotted this particular sweater. She’d insisted Mary should buy it. “You’d look good in green, too,” she’d declared, “’cause you’ve got green ey
es.”
A mistake.
Heart pounding, vision shimmering, she reached for the door handle and yanked it open. And froze, half in and half out of the car as a sleepy voice came from the back seat.
“Mary? What’s goin’ on? Are we home already?”
“We’re just dropping Miss Mary off at her house,” Roan said. “You can go back to sleep, peanut.”
“I don’t want to go back to sleep.” There was the click of a seatbelt and Susie Grace was scrambling out of her seat, struggling to open her door-which Roan, of course, had locked with the master switch for her safety. She pushed on it, frantic and wobbly from interrupted sleep, crying, “Mary, wait-I don’t want you to go. I didn’t get to say good-bye. And who’s gonna help me with-Da-ad!” She gave up on the door and turned to glare at Roan, face flushed, eyes dangerously bright.
Mary gave Roan a look and a gesture of mute appeal; the last thing she wanted was for such a lovely day to end with Susie Grace in tears. Evidently Roan was of the same mind. He capitulated with a shrug and released the door lock. Susie Grace tumbled out of the car and threw her arms around Mary’s waist.
She wasn’t prepared. Not for this. Too many emotions, emotions she didn’t want and didn’t know what to do with. Emotions…feelings…thoughts she hadn’t allowed herself in so many years. Why is this happening? Why now?
She didn’t dare look at Roan. She gazed down at Susie Grace through a shimmering mist, patted her back awkwardly and said with a light laugh, “Well, I’m not going to the moon.”
“I don’t want you to go anywhere,” Susie Grace said fiercely. “Can’t you come home with us? You could have dinner with us. Dad-”
Mary took a deep breath. Reaching deep inside herself for the strength, she put her hand under the little girl’s chin and tilted it so she could look into her face. “Susie Grace, you know I can’t. Not tonight. Maybe we can get together some other time, okay? If it’s all right with your dad.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.” Mary closed her eyes and begged forgiveness for the lie. “And now…if you want, you can help me find-”
But Susie Grace was appeased for the moment, and with moods as mercurial as only a seven-year-old’s can be, was already on to other things.
“Is that your kitty?” She was hopping and skipping her way across the grass to the front porch, where Cat sat on the topmost step, looking down upon them like a statue of an Egyptian god. “What’s her name? Does she bite? Can I pet her?”
“His name is Cat,” Mary said as she went to open the back of the SUV. “He very well may bite-he’s pretty cranky. I doubt he’ll let you pet him…” Having retrieved her shopping bag, she closed the door, turned around, and gave an astonished laugh.
Susie Grace was sprawled on the porch steps, nose-to-nose-literally-with Cat. As Mary watched, the little girl reached out, wrapped her arms around the huge tomcat and hauled him into her lap like a baby doll. To which indignity Cat responded with his usual display of affection-a head-butt to Susie Grace’s chin. Mary could hear the animal’s buzz-saw purring from where she stood. “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she muttered, laughing.
The sound of a car door slamming penetrated the edges of her consciousness…then awareness came prowling over her skin, raising goose bumps, quickening breath and heartbeat.
“She’s good with animals,” Roan said, his quiet rumbling voice so close behind her she felt its vibrations in her bones. “Always has been. She’s always the one to find where the barn cats hide their kittens.”
Laughing, she turned her head to look at him, and his eyes were soft as he smiled back at her. The lowering sun was warm and gentle on her face, the breeze flirted with her hair like a lover’s fingers…and Mary knew she had never in her life been happier than she was at this moment.
So lost was she in the sweetness of those moments that when, a short time later and a little way down the street, a car started up and sped away, it never even registered on her consciousness.
Chapter 10
Susie Grace was the only one in Roan’s household watching television Monday morning when the news story broke. Boyd had installed the small set, one of the under-the-counter, fold-down flat-panel kind, so he could keep up with the news and his favorite programs while he was doing the cooking or cleaning up the dishes. Since this was Monday morning, though, he was still digesting Sunday’s newspaper, and Roan was around the corner in the bathroom mopping up after shaving and trying to decide if it was time to drop in at the barber shop or not.
Susie Grace had been keyed up and fidgety all morning, which Roan figured meant she was feeling either excited or apprehensive about the prospect of her first school day sporting her new hairdo. Consequently, she’d been doing more playing with her bowl of cereal than eating. She was picking raisins out with her fingers and sucking the milk off them when Boyd looked up from his paper long enough to tell her to quit fooling around and eat her breakfast or she was going to miss the bus.
“I don’t like the cereal. It’s soggy,” Susie Grace said crossly.
“Not surprised,” Boyd said, and went back to his paper.
Lacking a better target, Susie Grace glared at the TV set, lower lip sticking out, arms folded across her new green top with the yellow and white daisies on the front. A moment later, she sat up straight, sulks forgotten. “Look, Grampa, it’s Mary.”
“What? Where?” Boyd flicked the newspaper over, looking around as if he thought someone might be hiding underneath it.
“Not there.” Susie Grace giggled, then pointed. “Right there. On TV.” Boyd put down the paper and picked up the TV remote. Susie Grace tumbled out of her chair and ran out of the kitchen yelling, “Dad! Come quick-Miss Mary’s on TV!”
Roan poked his head out of the bathroom and frowned at her over the towel he was using to pat his freshly shaved jaws dry. “What are you talking about?”
With patient emphasis she repeated it. “Mary’s on tee vee. I saw her. Come on, hurry-you’re gonna miss it.”
Roan felt the blood draining out of his head and his body going cold, but there wasn’t time for his mind to form coherent patterns. It was a little like being caught up in an earthquake or volcanic eruption-while it was happening there was only one thought possible: catastrophe.
Boyd was staring intently at the small TV set, the remote control he’d used to turn the volume up still pointed at it. “Didn’t realize that little ol’ gal was such a looker,” he muttered without looking up.
“What’s going on?” Roan asked in a low voice, ignoring Susie Grace, who was dancing and chattering excitedly somewhere on the edges of his awareness.
Boyd clicked the remote and turned the sound up another notch. “See for yourself.”
Roan glared at the set through narrowed eyes. It was one of the network morning shows…two well-known faces, one belonging to the morning show’s female host, the other the classically chiseled features of the evening news anchor…sitting in chairs opposite each other in standard interview fashion.
“…did you first realize the woman in the photograph was your-I guess I should say our former colleague?”
“Well, as you know, the photo came in on the wire yesterday evening, after I’d signed off the evening news broadcast. I recognized her right away. There was no doubt in my mind that it was Yancy.”
The photograph that had caught Susie Grace’s eye filled the screen, and Roan felt a sharp squeezing around his heart. Because he knew, almost to the second, when the picture had to have been taken. Mary’s clothes were the ones she’d been wearing the day before, during the shopping trip to Bozeman. And the smile…ah, the smile. It was the one he’d only seen a time or two…the one that took his breath away. The last time he’d seen it was the evening before, when she’d turned to him with her face full of joy and laughter and light, and he’d been so blinded by the radiance of it he’d forgotten to pay attention to what was going on around him.
“How well did you know Yancy
Lavigne?”
“I’d just started with the network as a reporter. My beat was the west coast-L.A., San Francisco-and of course hers was fashion, which meant she covered all those ‘red-carpet’ events. So our paths crossed quite a bit. I guess I knew her as well as anybody did. She seemed like a genuinely nice girl, which is why we were all so shocked when we heard she’d gotten mixed up with the South American mob.”
“Yes, but if I remember correctly, didn’t she testify against some members of the DelRey family? Wasn’t she the key witness, and instrumental in getting the main kingpins of that cartel convicted and sent to jail?”
“Yes, she was. And after doing so, apparently vanished off the face of the earth-or, as we now know, into the Witness Protection Program. I guess we know now where she’s been all these years.”
There was more, but Roan didn’t hear it. He was too busy cussing under his breath, half-choking on the anger that was billowing up from the cold, burning place inside him, like smoke from dry ice.
And then his phone rang.
On Florida’s Gulf Coast, Joy Cavanaugh, also known as Lynn Starr, creator of the Asia Brand series of bestselling murder mystery novels, was enjoying one of her favorite moments of the day. Her husband Scott, chief homicide detective for the county sheriff’s department, was already at work, and their nine-and-a-half-year-old daughter, Carrie Jane, had just left for school. This was the time before she tackled the household chores, and then had to face the computer and the overdue rewrites on her current novel, that precious hour-which admittedly sometimes stretched into two or more-when she allowed herself the luxury of curling up with someone else’s book.
The Sheriff of Heartbreak County Page 14
