But, try as he might, he couldn’t gain a foothold with her. To say she was standoffish was putting it mildly. Oh, she watched him, but it was the same way an entomologist watches a fly, as if she were seeing something mildly interesting, but not interesting enough to tempt her. And that annoyed him--a whole lot.
He had dated a lot of girls and never once been rebuffed by someone he wanted. Although he knew it was a cliché, it annoyed him that Lacy seemed uninterested in him. Not that he wanted to date her. Despite his helpless attraction to her, he knew she wasn’t for him. She was too high maintenance.
Not that she was clingy or needy--quite the opposite. Lacy was one of those girls who was so independent, self-sufficient, and unassuming that it would probably be the guy who found himself constantly pursuing her. Jason was chagrined to admit that he liked to be needed and wanted. Maybe it was because he was a cop and had a strong protective instinct. Whatever the reason, he wanted to be the solid one in a relationship. He wanted to be adored and fawned over. Lacy wasn’t the fawning type. She was so proud and stubborn it would probably take a deathbed confession for her to ever admit to having feelings for anyone. And whatever had happened to her in New York had only worked to reinforce her protective shell. A guy would have to use a hammer and chisel to get at her heart again, and Jason just didn’t want to have to work that hard.
But even though he knew they were all wrong for each other, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Lately he had taken to baiting her just to get a rise out of her. Early on after her return, he had learned that her ironclad self control slipped whenever she was angry. Since then, he found himself teasing her, testing her limits and then relishing the outcome whenever he succeeded in making her angry.
He smiled. Lately he had made her angry a lot, like last night when she called him a high school has been.
His smile slipped and his look became thoughtful as he ignored the cars speeding past him. Last night he had come so close to giving in and kissing her. If she knew how much self-control he was exerting in her presence, she might cut him some slack. But he was doing both of them a favor by keeping things light. They were all wrong for each other, and they both knew it. He was football and fried food; she was Jane Austen and sushi. Both of them were too strong-willed to ever give an inch on anything. No doubt once the initial physical attraction burned itself out, they would end up fighting all the time. Jason had no plans to live his life that way, ever. In fact, he pretty much planned to stay single for the remainder of his life. Being alone meant never getting hurt, never giving too much, never having too much taken away. Occasionally on holidays he felt glimmers of loneliness, but for the most part he was happy with his carefree life. He had no plans to let anyone ruin the good thing he had going, especially not a pretty little redhead with a volcanic temper.
But even though he didn’t want to date her, he didn’t want anyone else to date her, either. He was humiliated to realize he was jealous not only of Buzz, the jailer she had effortlessly charmed, but of the mystery guy from the restaurant.
Who was this new guy, Tosh? And if he was so new, how had he been able to gain a foothold into Lacy’s life when Jason had been circling her for weeks without ever finding a crack in her defenses? His instincts went into overdrive imagining the worst about the newcomer. It was a felony to use law enforcement resources for personal motives, but Jason had never been more tempted to run a full background check on a non-criminal before.
Or maybe the man wasn’t as innocent as he appeared. Wasn’t it suspicious that this man arrived just when the town had its first murder in two decades? And how convenient that he should immediately hook up with their only suspect’s granddaughter.
Jason’s frown deepened to a scowl. Maybe he wouldn’t use official channels to investigate the new guy, but he could still make some discreet inquiries. In a town like theirs, someone always knew something. It was all a matter of finding the right person with the right information, which was exactly what needed to happen with the murder case.
The problem was that Detective Brenner had stopped asking. He thought he had tied up his case in a nice little package, and he had no need to keep searching for the truth. Meanwhile a sweet old lady was rotting in jail and the real killer was going free.
Jason’s frustration mounted again until it reached the boiling point. He was caught in the middle, wanting to do the job correctly, wanting to help Lacy, but unable to do a thing for fear of losing his job. Detective Brenner was second only to the sheriff in terms of power. When he said “jump,” it was Jason’s duty to say “how high.” It had never been easy to suffer under such a bumbling, overbearing man, but now Jason was almost at his breaking point. Having to keep his comments to himself and arrest Lacy’s grandmother had been close to the last straw. If something didn’t happen soon to change the situation, he was going to have to start taking matters into his own hands, job or no job.
With thoughts of his job came renewed focus. He glanced at his radar just as a car blew by him. Pulling out, he ran the car’s tags, realized he was pulling over a repeat offender with a suspended license, and smiled. Sometimes it’s fun to be the one who gives people what they deserve, he thought as he turned on his siren and increased his speed.
As he approached the car, he saw a crack pipe on the front passenger seat. This is my lucky night. Sometimes, like now when criminals were painfully stupid, Jason felt like the good guy. The man behind the wheel was high out of his mind, driving on a suspended license, and creating a possibly lethal problem for the community. Jason was fulfilling his purpose of keeping the community safe by arresting this man, especially because after he secured him in the back of the cruiser he found a loaded gun in the glove compartment. Some nights were good; most were not.
When backup arrived from the state patrol, he left the trooper to deal with the tow truck while he took his prisoner to jail. The process of booking the inmate and writing his report not only kept him busy for an hour, but kept his mind too occupied to think of anything else, namely Lacy.
He whistled when he left the station for one final patrol of the town. The night was almost over, and it had been a good one. Thanks to him, there was one less menace on the streets, and he could sleep well tonight knowing he had done his job.
Just as he was about to call it a night, he drove past the murder house. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he detected a flash of light. Knowing the state patrol was in the middle of a shift change, he decided to check into the situation a little more before he called them for backup. What if he was wrong? What if it was nothing? He would look like an idiot or, worse, he would look like a rookie.
He slid the car into neutral and turned it off, allowing it to glide to a stop some distance from the house. Since it was summer, there was still some light outside, but it was shadowy enough that his black uniform didn’t stand out. Placing his hand on his large flashlight, he crept around the side of the house. Just as he reached the last set of bushes at the corner of the house, the door burst open and a blurry form ran outside.
“Stop, police.” As was the law, Jason identified himself, but of course it had the opposite effect; the shadowy figure picked up the pace. Jason gave pursuit for a few houses before realizing he had lost his quarry. He stopped short, looking around the darkening neighborhood and feeling frustrated. How had he lost the person? Even though the suspect had a head start, Jason was a fast runner who should have easily been able to catch up. He wasn’t even winded from his pursuit as he stood looking around the yard, perplexed. It was as if the person had disappeared into thin air. Usually when a suspect fled he was so intent on getting away that he crashed through anything in his path, leaving sights and sounds as a clear path for any pursuing officer. Not today, though. There were no footprints, no trampled vegetation, and no sounds save for the crickets and frogs chirping nearby.
After another few seconds of inspecting the blank landscape, Jason turned and went back to the murder house. At the very leas
t he could see what had been disturbed before he secured the scene.
Almost as soon as he slid open the back patio door and stepped inside, the hairs on his arm stood at attention. Someone was in this house. Not only could he sense a presence, but he could hear someone breathing. The fact that they remained in one place, making no attempt to get away, was even more alarming. Were they lying in wait with a weapon?
He pulled out his gun and slid the safety off. Stealthily he crept toward the next room and toward the breathing sound, hoping no one could hear the sound of his heart thumping. He had drawn his weapon on suspects before, but he had never had to shoot anyone. Would today be the first time?
His gun preceded him around the corner as he slowly followed, sweeping the room with a glance. He frowned in consternation. There was someone in this room; he could hear them. But he couldn’t see them. Were they hiding in a closet? He took a step and his foot connected with something solid, startling him so that he took his gun and drew a bead on at the body lying on the floor, preparing himself to shoot if the person sprang at him.
Then he felt the color drain from his face as his hand thumped listlessly to his side. For a second he remained staring in shock at the mass of red hair fanned out on the carpet, and then he put the safety on his gun, holstered it, and knelt beside the inert form of Lacy Steele.
Chapter 9
“Lacy.”
Someone was calling her name. There was a part of her that wanted to go toward the sound and wake up, but another, stronger part of her warned her to stay unconscious. The voice sounded equally angry and concerned.
“Lacy, wake up.”
Calloused hands passed over her forehead, pushing her hair out of her face and lightly scraping her smooth forehead with their roughness.
“Wake up so I can kill you,” the voice said, and all at once it came back to her. Jason was here. He had found her in Barbara Blake’s house, and he was angry. No doubt when she came to, he would arrest her.
She groaned, not only because her head was killing her, but also because she was afraid. She didn’t want to go to jail. How would it look for her family if she and her grandmother were both incarcerated in the same facility?
“Can you wake up?” Now his voice began to sound frightened. “Maybe I should call an ambulance.”
That did it. There was no way she was going to the hospital on top of everything else, namely because she had no health insurance. Her eyes popped open, and she stifled the urge to groan again. Jason was very close to her face and, as she had suspected, he looked very angry.
“I could have killed you,” he growled.
“I think someone else already tried,” she returned.
“Do you have any idea how close I came to shooting you? I had my gun aimed at your head, Lacy. If you had moved…” He broke off and glanced away. “What are you doing here? Please tell me someone kidnapped you and dumped your body inside this house.”
“Um, sure, that’s what happened,” she said shakily as she tried to sit up.
He growled in frustration and pushed her back down. “Just lie still for a few minutes. You have a giant goose egg on the back of your head. It’ll be a miracle if you don’t have a concussion.”
Gratefully, she sank back to the ground and closed her eyes. To her surprise, he began gently running his hand over her head in an almost motherly gesture. She resisted the urge to lean into his touch, realizing how badly she needed comfort and reassurance. Right now she wanted nothing more than for someone to hold her and tell her everything was going to be okay.
“What happened?” he asked after a couple minutes. “The truth.”
“I came here to have a look around.” She paused when he groaned. “Someone else was already here. They bashed me in the back of the head. I don’t know what happened after that.”
“I think that’s about the time I arrived,” Jason said. He reached for her hand and gripped it tightly. “Do you have any idea what might have happened if I hadn’t shown up? Or, even worse, if the other person hadn’t been here, and I had been the one to find you? I could have shot you, Lacy. I would have had my gun drawn as soon as I realized there was someone here. One wrong move and I would have killed you.” He squeezed her hand until it became painful.
She opened her eyes and looked up at him. “That didn’t happen.”
“But it could have.” His voice sounded oddly choked as if he couldn’t stop the mental image of what might have been.
Reaching up, she lightly brushed his cheek with her fingers. He blinked at her in surprise, but he couldn’t be as surprised as she was by the gesture. She wasn’t usually one to make physical overtures of affection.
“Are you going to arrest me?” she asked.
“Breaking and entering is a crime,” he answered.
“Technically I didn’t break. The door was unlocked. I simply entered.”
“Trespassing is still a crime.”
“The woman who owns this house is dead. Who is going to press charges?”
His face darkened and his lips pressed together in a grim line. “Lacy, if you didn’t have a head injury, I would shake you. What were you thinking? Even though you want to try and dance around the issue, you broke the law. Do you know what kind of position this puts me in?”
She let him stew in his anger for a minute before answering. “But, Jason, this proves my grandmother didn’t do it. Why else would someone be in this house if not to cover his tracks? I have to clear her name because no one else is going to do it. You know your detective thinks the case is all wrapped up. I can’t let my grandmother go to prison for something she didn’t do.”
“He’s not my detective, and you can’t go around breaking the law, putting yourself in harm’s way in order to try and solve this case.”
“If I don’t, then who will?”
I will, he wanted to say, but he couldn’t. His hands were tied. If he bucked the system and asserted her grandmother’s innocence, he would be out of a job quicker than he could blink. His only chance of helping her was to remain where he was and work within the system.
He sighed and sank back slightly on his heels, realizing as he did so that he was still holding her hand, his thumb gliding gently up and down her palm. Her skin felt smooth and soft and he stifled the sudden urge to let his lips skim over her hand. Right now relief and worry were mixed together and so acute that if he gave in to his desire to press her hand to his lips, he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to stop there. It would be just his luck to have the state patrol show up unannounced and find him making out with a suspect on the floor of a sealed house.
“If I let you go, you have to promise never to do anything like this again. If I catch you breaking the law again, I’m going to have to do something about it,” he said, trying to sound stern despite the raging attraction to her that nearly diverted all other, more coherent thoughts. Even half-conscious and sprawled ungracefully on the floor she was pretty.
“I just wanted to have a look around,” she said, sounding very much like a little girl who had been caught with her hand in the cookie jar.
He almost smiled at her pouty tone. He sort of liked her helpless and at his mercy, but he should have known it wouldn’t last. Putting her hand on his shoulder for support, she forced herself to a sitting position. Then, after wincing a couple of times, she shakily stood to her feet. He stood along with her, ready to catch her if she fell over. After swaying gently a few times, she seemed to find her balance.
“I’ll drive you home,” he volunteered.
“It’s okay, I walked here. I can walk back.”
He released air through his teeth, forcing himself to remain patient. “Lacy, you are not walking home in the dark with a head injury. You’re riding with me.”
She wrinkled her nose at him. “I don’t want to ride in a police cruiser like a criminal.”
“You are a criminal,” he reminded her.
“Not officially,” she said.
He swi
ped his hand over his face, feeling suddenly exhausted. “Just get in the car before I carry you. I’ve been working for twelve hours, and I don’t have the patience to deal with your issues tonight.”
Her jaw dropped in an affronted expression, but he ignored her and took a step closer, herding her toward the door. She turned on her heel, swayed, regained her balance, and marched toward the door with her head held high, her long hair trailing indignantly behind her like the angry swish of a cat’s tail.
He made a quick tour of the house, securing all the doors and windows that should have been secured earlier by the state’s forensics team. It was unlike them to be so unprofessional as to leave a door unlocked, but Jason was too tired to think of such things now. He tucked the puzzle of the unlocked door away in the back of his mind for later inspection.
When he slid behind the wheel of his cruiser, he knew she was angry at him. She sat beside him in the front passenger seat with her arms crossed over her chest. It took exactly three minutes of silence before she rounded on him.
“What issues?” she asked.
“Huh?” he asked, sparing her a glance before turning back to the road.
“You said you didn’t have patience to deal with my issues. What issues?”
He wanted to bite his tongue for his stupidity. Had he really said that out loud? “It was nothing. Just forget it.”
“No, I think I want to know what you meant,” she said. She turned to face him, leaning her back against the door.
Suddenly his own anger kicked into high gear. His emotions were already in overdrive after this exhausting day, and he found himself spoiling for a good fight. “Fine. You want to know what your issues are? I’ll tell you. You’re headstrong, stubborn, proud, and an emotional recluse. A guy would need dynamite and a blasting cap to chip away at the barriers you’ve put around yourself. You might as well wear a flashing sign that reads ‘Stay Away.’”
Morning Cup of Murder Page 7
