“I know. So, on that note, I’ll leave you two to talk.” She left Aurora alone with Beckett.
She’d been so worried. Terrified. Her whole life had flashed before her, and the thought of Beckett not having a place in it had undone her.
But the only place available in her life was as a friend. Whether he stayed in Hope and certainly if he moved states away.
And she was still a defense attorney. Now, more than ever, she knew that people needed her to advocate on their behalf. She couldn’t stop defending people. Couldn’t stop being a lawyer.
Beckett would never stop being on the opposite side of the law, either. Even in Atlanta, he’d be working to put away the very people Aurora felt called to defend.
“You don’t know how relieved I am to see you. You scared me half to death lying so still on the pavement.”
“I was afraid I might have broken you.” He toyed with her hair that had come loose and trailed his finger down her arm. “Forgive me for the brute force.”
“Brute force saved my life.” Her ribs would remind her of that for weeks to come. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
Longing filled his eyes. “I doubt it.”
She couldn’t afford longing. In the end, they’d both get hurt. Common sense told her that. “Bomb. This could be Franco Renzetti. He used a bomb to kill Oliver’s son.”
“I know. But anyone can find out how to make one on YouTube. So we still can’t rule out Trevor Russell.”
“Or Oliver himself. He’d know exactly the kind of bomb Renzetti’s guy used to take out Hayden and so many others. They all have a signature calling card.” Aurora wasn’t sure what Renzetti’s man’s style was. But if it matched exactly, then either Franco was behind this...or Oliver was. Trevor Russell wouldn’t have the ability to discover that kind of detailed information. Neither would Gus McGregor’s killer. Not that she could imagine anyway.
“I’m going to call the SWAT bomb expert who dealt with Hayden Benard’s car bomb. See what matches and what doesn’t. And I’m going to ride out to that campground and see if I can’t find Trevor.”
Aurora tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Beckett, whoever set this bomb couldn’t be sure I’d be in the building. In fact, I speculate he didn’t know at all. Who would be willing to blow up a building full of people to hurt me emotionally?”
“Not true. Someone picked the espresso machine. Could be random. Or they knew the barista would call you to fix it. Then you’d unplug it and boom! We can’t be sure what the bomber did or didn’t know.” Beckett squeezed her uninjured hand. “As far as people willing to blow up folks to get to you... Unfortunately, Counselor, there are too many. Which is why you and me, we’re like magnets from here on out.”
How long until someone with enough force ripped them apart?
* * *
In one breath Beckett was telling Aurora they were stuck together. In the next, he was bringing Wilder back from Richfield to keep watch over her while he drove out to see if Trevor had hunkered down at his buddy’s cabin. He could have put one of his deputies on Aurora-watch. They’d found zero evidence that any of his people had been behind this or leaked information; he’d grilled them intensely. But she still didn’t trust them like she trusted Beckett.
Truth be told, Wilder had the skill set most of his deputies didn’t have. If anyone could give him some peace because Beckett couldn’t protect her, it was Wilder. But he had to go back to Atlanta on Monday and he couldn’t send any of the other team members since they were all tied up on cases. His snooping around and talking to the few employees who had remained in Richfield had been a bust so far.
Beckett’s entire body would be sore for weeks and his ears ringing for days. He suspected Aurora would be in the same boat. The glass had cut through his thick coat. Had he not been wearing it, the damage would have been much more severe. He’d never been more frightened than the moment he realized Aurora had gone back inside. The woman was brave, and he couldn’t fault her for wanting to take care of her own and refusing to leave a team member behind. He’d have done the same thing.
But it was clear the minute he checked his watch and saw thirty seconds, the minute it dawned that they weren’t going to make it out on their two feet: he cared about Aurora way more than he should.
She challenged him. Fought him at every turn. Forced him to change for the better.
Meghan, coming from a military family, had never batted an eye at what Aurora called Beckett’s commands. He liked the way Aurora dished it out and stood up to him, even though he wasn’t intentionally being a dictator.
He liked the way she fought for what she believed in, though he still wasn’t sure she was fighting for the right people. But then, Beckett had to think about Richie. Each day, he’d realized even more that Aurora was right. Richie had gone to prison for a crime he hadn’t committed. Sadly, it happened. And if Beckett wanted to be even more honest, he knew deep down Austin Bledsoe was a good kid who’d made the biggest mistake of his life. But that wasn’t the case all the time. In fact, most times those kids went to juvie only to be let out to make the same mistakes repeatedly, and even bigger ones.
But was it right to punish everyone for the ones who truly deserved it?
No.
And someone needed to champion them.
He just wished it wasn’t Aurora.
Trevor’s blue pickup truck was parked next to a two-story cabin settled among a backdrop of woods. No smoke pluming from the chimney. Sometimes Beckett’s job stank. He surveyed his surroundings as he climbed the steps to the front porch.
He listened a moment. No sound.
He knocked.
Knocked again.
Movement flashed through the window. What sounded like a scuffle inside had Beckett putting his sore shoulder to the door and ramming it open.
Trevor Russell lay in the middle of the living room floor, two chairs knocked over near him. He moaned and struggled to sit up.
Beer cans and bourbon bottles littered tables. The placed smelled like it needed airing out.
“Trevor,” Beckett muttered. The man was a mess. Beckett helped him up, ignoring the rancid smell emanating from him. Whoo. Days on a binger here. Beckett eased him onto the couch. The guy was a soggy mess.
“Beckett,” he slurred. “What are you doing here? You seen Bethany?”
Beckett’s heart splintered a crack. He knew that grief well. The liquor had dulled Trevor’s senses and let him see the past in a way that would only cause pain when he sobered. When Trevor pulled it together, he wouldn’t be proud of this behavior. He’d repent and wish he hadn’t succumbed to the very thing that ultimately killed his wife.
Drunkenness.
“I’m gonna make some coffee, man.” If there was any coffee to be found.
“He killed my wife, Sheriff. She’s gone and no one is going to remember. But I will. I’ll remember.” He slumped on the couch in a state of tears and a runny nose.
“I know he did.” Beckett searched cabinets until he found instant coffee. Gross. It’d have to do, though. He made a cup and carried it back to Trevor. “Drink it. Now.” He sat in a rickety chair by the couch as Trevor sipped the bitter brew.
By the count of the bottles and Trevor’s state, he’d been in this cabin and nowhere else. Not able to have set a bomb or shred clothes. Make calls. No, the recent attacks on Aurora weren’t Trevor’s doing. But... “You throw that bottle into Aurora’s house? Key her car? Make threats against her?”
Trevor wiped his nose.
Might not be fair to ask him this question when he was drunk. Wouldn’t hold up in court. But he wasn’t going to put him in the slammer for it, anyway. Aurora wouldn’t press charges. By now he knew her well enough to make that call. And if she’d seen Trevor in this state, she’d only feel wretched.
“Nope.” His eyes shifted, and he rubbed his hand on his jeans. Nervous gesture. He was lying or...
“What about Quent? He’s not going to get hauled in. But some serious stuff is going down and I need to rule out a few things.” Aurora had too many possible enemies, and Beckett needed to scratch some of them off the list.
Trevor hiccupped. “He lost his mom. He lost it all.”
“So he got mad and keyed her car. Did he also throw that bottle?”
Trevor finished the coffee and set his cup on the table with a clank. “He’s just a boy.”
“I know, man. I know. I’m sorry it all happened. But this, Trevor. This is not the way to deal with the grief. It only numbs it and makes it worse. This isn’t who you are.”
Trevor covered his face with his hands. “I don’t know who I am without her!”
Beckett’s chest tightened. “You’re a man. A father. A firefighter. A friend. A child of God, and this is no way to behave as one. You know you’ll feel guilty about it later.”
“I feel guilty now.” Trevor let loose a stream of sobs and Beckett sat beside him on the couch. He’d learned long ago that crying didn’t make you weak. Crying helped heal. So he sat there while Trevor began the healing process and, in between sobs, told slurred stories of Bethany while Beckett silently prayed God would do what He did best and comfort Trevor Russell.
An hour later, Trevor admitted Quent had keyed Aurora’s car and thrown the bottle of Old Crow through her window. As far as phone calls and attacks, he didn’t believe any of that had been Quent and neither did Beckett.
Trevor wasn’t a killer. He was a broken man who needed to be fixed by God. Beckett shared most of his story with Trevor, leaving out almost murdering Parker Hill but including how isolation had been detrimental to his mental health. Trevor needed to stop isolating himself. Beckett had done that after Meghan and it only fed his bitterness and thoughts of revenge. Beckett cleaned Trevor up best he could until he could get him home. He led him to the Tahoe and drove him back to his house.
“Thanks for not judging me,” Trevor said as Beckett led him inside.
“I’m learning I’m not a judge these days.”
“I had no idea you’d been engaged.” Trevor dropped his bag by the couch.
It had felt satisfying to be able to share his dark moment to help shed light on Trevor’s. What happened to Meghan had been tragic, but right now it seemed like maybe God was using it for some good. To help Trevor Russell.
Beckett called their pastor while Trevor got cleaned up. Someone needed to be here with him to give him wise spiritual guidance. Quent was still staying with Trevor’s parents. Beckett had suspects to cross off lists and, quite frankly, he’d missed Aurora. When Pastor Bradley arrived, Beckett left for the inn. Wilder opened the door to Aurora’s room.
“Well?” she asked.
“Trevor’s not our guy.” He quickly briefed them.
Aurora scratched her head. “My mom called. She said she found some old boxes of Richie’s in the storage shed. Asked if I wanted to go through them. I do.”
“Then let’s get some rest after the day we’ve had and tomorrow we’ll head to Richfield. We still need to talk to Darla and her sister, Linda, about those books and business accounts.”
“I’ll be in my room if you need anything.” Wilder shut the door behind him.
“Hi,” Beckett murmured, as if he’d stumbled upon and seen Aurora for the first time.
“Hi.”
Now what? “How’s your hand?” He closed the distance between them, lifted her hand for gentle inspection, and to simply be close to her.
“Tender. Raw.”
Like his heart. No amount of stitches would fix it.
He gazed into her eyes, wanting nothing more than to dip low and kiss her. Instead, he sighed. “We have a big day tomorrow. Go to sleep.”
She didn’t even bother to remind him he’d ordered her to bed. Aurora broke from his personal space and nodded as she turned. “Right. Long day. Smart idea.”
Beckett hesitated at the door.
He wasn’t making a mistake, was he? No. He couldn’t let the way he felt get the best of him. Allowing himself to get emotionally tangled could be dangerous. But it was too late. He was already in over his head. He had to keep focused on the task. Acting on his feelings for Aurora would be too risky for a million different reasons.
He gave her one long glance, fighting the urge to draw her into his arms, and closed the door with a quiet click.
ELEVEN
Knocking on the adjoining room door woke Aurora. Her head pounded and she was sore and stiff. She crawled out of bed and slipped on her robe. “Come in,” she rasped.
“Breakfast.” Beckett bounded into the room as if he hadn’t been blown out a window and shredded by glass. As if he hadn’t knocked his head on the concrete. He’d even removed the bandage. A nasty abrasion near his temple remained as proof he had been almost killed. “Eat. We have to leave in an hour.”
An hour? She glanced at the clock. It was almost noon!
She scowled and he grinned. That’s when she realized he wasn’t smiling over his bossy commands or the fact she’d slept the morning away. Aurora touched her head and groaned. Her hair was a rat’s nest. “Don’t look at my bedhead.”
“Too late.” He pointed to the tray he’d set on the table. “Poached courage, dry wheat toast—which is so disgusting—side of berries and orange juice no pulp, coffee with cream and sugar.”
The man was too much. “Thank you.”
“And a chocolate croissant because you deserve it. It’s gonna be a long day. I let you sleep as late as I could. I debated on waking you for church, but after being blasted out of a building, I thought you might need the extra rest.”
“Did you rest?”
He grinned. “I went to church. Wilder stayed next door.”
“But...” She let the complaint drop. She had needed the extra rest. She wasn’t a former navy SEAL.
“How do you feel?” he asked.
“Sore and miserable.” Partly pain and partly because she’d thought he might kiss her last night, but he hadn’t. She shouldn’t be miserable and sore over that. It wouldn’t be smart. But she was, nonetheless. Plus her head still hurt and her ears hadn’t stopped ringing.
“Perfect. I’ll leave you to it. Eat every bite.” He winked and closed the door before she could protest. Instead, she sipped her coffee, which perked her up minimally.
She dressed and they traveled back to Richfield. Darla didn’t have any more information than before, and Linda denied ever doctoring books nor did she admit any knowledge of Gus’s shady business ethics. Beckett wasn’t buying it, but Aurora believed them. Gus had hidden things well.
After the two failed questionings, they picked up the boxes at her childhood home. Mom hadn’t noticed her wounds or asked about the case, but it hadn’t upset Aurora like it used to. She wasn’t going to feel guilty over that anymore. She’d even kissed Mom’s cheek and told her she loved her. Something she hadn’t done in a decade. Didn’t matter that she’d barely registered the act or responded. Aurora was making changes. Doing the right thing even if feelings weren’t reciprocated. She couldn’t be responsible for everyone’s actions. She had to be responsible for her own. And if she did the right thing, that would be enough.
No more guilt over outcomes she couldn’t control. She was going to trust and follow God’s orders like she expected those she advocated for to do.
Now they were ten minutes outside of Hope. “You want to go over these after we eat dinner?” Aurora asked.
Beckett popped a butterscotch candy. “I need to run home. I could cook something and we can sort through the boxes at my place. Change of scenery.”
“You cook?”
“I surely do.”
“Are you a decent cook?”
“I surely am.”
She chuckled. “Then fix me dinner.”
In twenty minutes, Beckett swung into his garage. Nice ranch-style house. He grabbed the boxes and motioned for Aurora to go inside first. Masculine kitchen. Dark wood trim. Earth tones. He placed the boxes on the kitchen table. “So, welcome to my house.”
She kicked off her shoes. “What are you going to cook?”
“You like homemade pizza?”
“I like any kind of pizza,” she said as she removed a lid from one of Richie’s boxes. Tears stung her eyes. Photos of them playing in the yard. Richie’s baseball photos. So many memories.
Beckett laid a hand on hers. “You want me to help with this?”
“No. You make pizza. But thanks for asking.”
He opened up the fridge, pulling out ingredients.
“Did they never go through Richie’s things?” Beckett asked as he kneaded dough.
“Yes, in his room. And his apartment after he went to prison. Guess they overlooked the shed.” She dug through magazines, baseball cards, books on motorcycles and muscle cars. The smell of garlic, tomatoes and onions pierced the atmosphere. Aurora had never had a man cook for her before. She could get used to this.
“You like sausage and pepperoni?”
“I like whatever’s edible.” Aurora pulled out a wooden box. “This one is locked.” She rummaged around for a key while Beckett sniffed the sausage, then plopped it in the heated skillet.
He glanced up. “You find a key?”
“Not yet.” She dug deeper. “That smells amazing.” After several minutes she frowned. “No key. I wonder what’s in here.”
“I don’t know.” Beckett finished topping the pizzas with the sausage, pepperoni, cheese and mushrooms, then wiped his hands on a towel and grabbed the box. “It’s not a big lock. Hmmm...give me a second.” He went into the garage and came back inside. “When all else fails, pick the stupid thing.” He slid a small screwdriver-type object into the lock and turned.
Final Verdict Page 14
