Jack Murray, Sheriff

by Janice Kay Johnson

  “Is that why you walked in there tonight?” Will’s voice rose and cracked, as if he were fifteen years old again. “To prove something to Mom or me?”

  “To prove something to myself.”

  “You could have died!”

  Jack squeezed his eyes shut. “I think he would have killed that girl. How could I have lived with that?”

  His boy’s voice softened. “You couldn’t have. I just want you to know…. Um. You scared the crap out of me tonight, but… Jeez. I was proud of you. Really proud that you’re my father.”

  Now Jack did weep, unashamedly. He’d lived his whole life for those words. He’d needed to know that his son could be proud of him.

  Beth gently took the phone from him, said a few quiet words to Will and held Jack while he cried.

  “Was he a good friend?” she asked eventually,

  “More a colleague.” He sounded choked. There he was, blowing his nose like a little kid after a bout of tears. “Someone I respected.”

  “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

  He told her about those shocking slow-motion seconds when he’d seen Hansen’s finger tightening on the trigger, when he had chosen to take the bullet himself and shoot this man he had known for years.

  “Then you couldn’t have done anything else,” Beth concluded for him, clear eyes holding his.

  “Whatever went wrong in his life is a tragedy, but if you hadn’t killed him, he would have killed himself. And several other innocent people. Including—” her voice became fierce “—you.”

  “I kept thinking about you.” He cupped her face in his hands and drank in the sight of it.

  Her mouth trembled. “When I heard…”

  He kissed her, just a taste, a moment of comfort for both of them.

  “When I heard,” she continued, voice thready, “I thought, what if I never see him again? And then I thought, what if I’d already told him I never want to see him again, because of what he does? And this is what you do. Why didn’t I understand sooner?”

  He closed his eyes and entered for a moment the dark shame he kept inside, a room he kept closed off but always knew was there. “I’m not a hero.”

  “Yes.” Beth smiled through tears. “You were already mine. Now the whole world is going to see you that way.”

  Jack groaned and she laughed. “All those TV interviews?”

  All those expectations. God help him, how that would have scared him ten years ago or ten days ago. Now, he felt…lighter. Maybe he could live up to the expectations. He had it in him to do so.

  He wasn’t a coward.

  He kissed Beth with greater passion and need that wasn’t just comfort, but affirmation. “I love you,” he said huskily as his mouth moved damply down her neck, feeling the vibration in her throat as she made those soft helpless sounds.

  “I should go,” he said, when he realized his hands were under her shirt, cupping her breasts through her bra. “Your kids are home.”

  “Sound…asleep.” Her eyes were huge pools of blue, her cheeks tinged with pink. “Come upstairs with me. I can lock my bedroom door.”

  “You’re sure?” He sat up, away from her, giving her space to make a decision. “I want you, but I can wait.” He didn’t tell her how unbearable was the thought of his own empty house.

  “I think—” she drew him to his feet “—I really need you to stay tonight. I need to know you’re okay.”

  Always before, they had gone to bed at his house. Tonight felt very different, and not just because of everything that had happened to him. Beth turned out lights on the way, and he waited in the doorways of the two girls’ bedrooms as Beth slipped in and kissed their foreheads, then carefully pulled their doors to a precise six inches ajar. A stained-glass night-light in the hall cast a pale rainbow to guide a child to the bathroom.

  This, Jack thought, was what it would be like to go to bed with Beth every night, to live with her, to be married. His need for her tonight wasn’t altogether sexual. Perhaps some nights they wouldn’t make love; they might just hold each other, or one would already be asleep when the other came to bed. Having believed that he would never see her again, he knew that what he wanted most was to be with her, to awaken in the night to her soft breathing, her warmth beside him, to watch her wriggle into panty hose in the morning and make the girls’ school lunches, to know they’d have time to talk over dinner.

  When she quietly closed her bedroom door behind them and he heard the snick of the lock, Jack almost asked, Will you marry me?

  But this didn’t seem the time for the formality of those words.

  Or perhaps he needed first to cleanse himself of the memory of the husband and wife who had started with love and vows, but ended in hate and bitterness. You thought I’d let you leave. A man willing to kill the mother of his children, leave them with nobody, rather than face his own flaws or the end of his marriage.

  No, Jack preferred not to taint his marriage proposal with the gray smudge of Janet and Gary Hansen’s tragedy.

  Tonight, it was enough to know that Beth had wanted him to come to her as soon as he could. That she had expected him to come, waited up for him. That she was violating her own rules because she, too, needed to be together.

  It was enough to gather her into his arms, feel her melt bonelessly against him, see the natural way she tilted her face up for his kiss.

  His mellow awareness that they had years ahead of them went out the door. Urgency slammed into him as hard as the damned bullet in the chest. He devoured that sweetly offered mouth. Lifting her, he cradled his erection between her thighs and rocked against her. If she protested as he carried her to the bed, he didn’t hear past the roaring of his own blood in his ears.

  He stripped her, yanking at her clothes until they gave way, heedless of buttons or hooks. He suckled hard at her breasts and then bent to kiss her more intimately, beyond thinking about whether he’d shock her. She moaned and panted, her hands tugging ineffectually at his shirt.

  Jack tore it off, too, buttons popping. The white undershirt went flying. He was pulling his belt off when Beth gasped.

  “Jack! Your chest. You didn’t tell me you were hurt!”

  He glanced down at the spreading bruise. “Right now, that’s not what hurts.”

  Her horrified gaze lowered to the rock-hard swell beneath his zipper, and the pink in her cheeks deepened. “You’re sure? We don’t have to…”

  “Yes.” He didn’t sound like anyone he knew, his voice a growl. “I have to. If you’re going to stop me, do it now.”

  Eyes holding his, she answered wordlessly by deliberately unzipping his pants. She made it sweet torment, a fingertip trailing on his bare flesh.

  With a growl he bore her back onto the bed and kissed her with mindless need. He had to bury himself in her and know he was alive and she was his. Nothing else mattered.

  He didn’t even get his damned pants off, although he did, with shaking hands, get a condom from his wallet and put it on. Then he drove into her with no tenderness, no restraint. With a mewling sound she lifted her hips and wrapped her legs around his waist, clutching at his bare back with desperate hands as he thrust again and again. One part of his mind was appalled at himself. What if he was scaring her? Disgusting her? But this bloody night had ripped from him any pretense of finesse or gentlemanly consideration.

  She felt so good, so tight and hot. She twisted and fought to get closer. Her teeth closed on his neck, the sharp pain somehow part of the intense pleasure. She’s mine, he thought in primal satisfaction.

  He muffled her scream when her body convulsed, just as her openmouthed kiss muted his guttural cry. In complete exhaustion, Jack collapsed on top of her, unconscious for a moment of his weight or her need to breathe.

  Awareness crept back and with a grunt he rolled to one side, taking her with him. Arms and legs slack, she came, hair tangled across her face, hiding it from him.

  Still breathing as roughly as if he’d run a four-hun
dred-meter sprint, Jack started to worry. Was she crying behind that curtain of hair? Apprehension knotting in his gut, he braced himself to brush it tenderly back.

  Her mouth looked swollen, her blue eyes heavy-lidded. Thank God, no tears dampened her cheeks.

  “I’m sorry,” he said raggedly.

  Beth lifted her head, although it wobbled. “Sorry?”

  “I wasn’t very gentle.”

  Her mouth curved in a mysterious smile. “No.”

  “Did I hurt you?”

  “No.” Her fingertips feathered delicately over his neck. “I, um, seem to have hurt you.”

  “Me?”

  “I think I bit you.”

  “Ah.” Laughter rumbled in his chest, surprising him. “I noticed. It felt sexy as hell.”

  “Oh.” Beth blushed and buried her face against his shoulder. “I’ve never done anything like that.”

  “I’ve never been quite so out of control before.”

  That caused her to lift her head again and smile with unmistakable satisfaction. “I’m glad.”

  “You didn’t mind?” He was dumbfounded. Hell, maybe when he’d cracked his head against the wall he had suffered a concussion.

  “Mind? It’s been bothering me that you were so…so restrained. As though I didn’t excite you all that much.”

  This time his laugh wasn’t quite so amused. “I’ve been trying to be considerate. Do you know how hard it’s been sometimes to go slow, to be gentle, to wait until I was sure you were ready?”

  “It was very sweet of you. But…” Her brow crinkled as she plainly hunted for a tactful way to tell him what he already knew: he was an idiot. “But secretly every woman wants to know her man is too desperate for her to keep his cool. You see?”

  “I didn’t want to remind you of Ray,” Jack said bluntly.

  She stared unblinking for an agonizingly long moment. “He wasn’t, um…I mean, he didn’t…”

  “Rape you? I wasn’t suggesting that. Just that you were afraid we were both violent men. I figured…”

  “You’d prove you weren’t. I get it.” Beth gave a tentative smile. “I like it when you’re gentle. I liked tonight, too. I guess you could tell.”

  He kissed her, savoring the sweet taste of her lips and the instant way they softened and formed to his. “I could tell,” he said, then nipped at her lower lip.

  “Oh, Jack.” She hugged him suddenly, almost convulsively. “I’ve never been so scared in my life.”

  “Not even…” He bit back the question. Too late.

  “Not even then. Did you know the TV cameras were filming you when you walked across the street and that garage door just glided up? They showed it over and over. The house seemed to swallow you. And then when the girl came out and you didn’t…” She shuddered.

  “It’s over. I won’t say I’m sorry I did what I did.”

  “No.” Another hard hug. “I wouldn’t ask that.”

  Tiredness came over him like a comforter settling its soft weight over them. Words slurring, Jack asked, “Should I leave?”

  “No.” Soft kisses brushed his unshaved cheek. “Just sleep. Stay in bed until the girls have left for school, if you don’t mind. I’ll get them off.”

  “…don’t mind.”

  He couldn’t keep his eyes open. Beth withdrew from his embrace for a moment and he heard the click of the lamp being switched off. Jack lasted only until Beth settled back against his side with her head on his shoulder as if she never slept anyplace else.

  Then he dropped off.

  The night was as dreamless and dense as hours under anesthesia. Beth could have been up and down ten times during the night for all he knew.

  Small sounds intruded: a thump on the stairs, the hum of the furnace, a giggle, the slam of the front door and rumble of a school bus. He came awake in increments until he was fully conscious and knew where he was.

  Alone in Beth’s bed. He’d have liked it better if she were in it with him. Eight-thirty. If Stephanie and Lauren were on that school bus, they were gone. Jack rolled toward the edge of the bed and a grenade exploded in his chest. He let out a strangled groan and made it up to a sitting position. Yesterday’s aches had matured into active pain. He looked ruefully down at his chest, not a pretty sight. Who knew there were so many shades of purple? Experience told him that a week or two from now, he’d be sporting an equal array of murky yellows.

  Gambling that the girls really were gone, Jack took a very long, very hot shower that loosened a few kinks. With a sense of distaste, he put on yesterday’s rumpled white shirt, missing buttons, and the jeans he’d changed into at the station after realizing Gary Hansen’s blood had splattered his trouser legs. Then he headed downstairs.

  The old house was very quiet. His bare feet made no sound on the wooden treads of the stairs or in the short hall that led to the kitchen. He took a moment, standing in the doorway, to appreciate the sight of Beth in a fuzzy bathrobe, her dark curls loose around her face, bare of makeup. Just the sight of her stirred something in him.

  What would she say if he asked her to marry him, right now?

  Steam curled out of a mug on the kitchen table. In profile to the kitchen doorway, Beth still hadn’t noticed him. She was apparently reading the front page of the morning newspaper that lay flat on the table in front of her.

  He must have moved, or made a sound, because she jerked and her head shot up. The look on her face closed a fist around his heart.

  Repugnance. She stared at him as if he were a monster.

  Jack took a couple of steps closer and saw the headline.

  Questions Asked about Deputy’s Death. And the subheading: Accusers Remind Investigators Sheriff Murray Has a History of Questionable Use of Violence.

  The woman who had received him last night with warmth and generosity, but who had not said, “I love you,” had bought the newspaper’s doubts hook, line and sinker.

  HER SHOCK WAS ALMOST the equal to yesterday’s as she watched the man she loved stroll across the street as casually as if he were going into Safeway instead of to trade his life for a teenager’s.

  Questionable Use of Violence. What were they talking about?

  The reporter reminded readers of the debate during Jack Murray’s campaign for Butte County sheriff about his record as a police officer and then chief with the Elk Springs Police Department. Numb, she scanned the stories the reporter resurrected: previous hostage situations when deaths had resulted, including one when a board of inquiry had not recommended firing him but had expressed reservations about his refusal to negotiate; a previous shooting, when he had been cleared by the ensuing investigation, but that had aroused questions; allegations of police brutality after a schizophrenic had apparently been “roughed up” during an arrest. Jack Murray had always been cleared, but…

  She had thought him so noble. She’d held him under the assumption that he was traumatized by having had to shoot a man. And now she found out he’d done it before. He had refused to negotiate, when doing so might have saved lives. He had “roughed up” a suspect.

  Oh, God. Oh, God.

  All her fears rushed back, a viciously eddying tidal wave of doubts.

  Jack’s explanation replayed in her ears. Did I lose my temper? Yeah, probably. Did I act on it? No. I handled the entire incident appropriately as a police officer.

  She had bought every word. The frightening, rough scene had been all Ray’s fault. Jack had only been defending himself, trying to restrain Ray.

  Now she saw again the snarl that might have been a grin transforming Jack’s face until she didn’t recognize him. Didn’t want to recognize him.

  And she heard something else he’d said, that night to Stephanie.

  I spent my early years as a police officer trying too hard to show how tough I was. I could be a real jerk. I think back to incidents I wish I’d handled very differently. I can only hope I didn’t ruin somebody’s life.

  Funny that she could remember what he’d sa
id so clearly. At the time she hadn’t let herself be curious about what he meant. About what “incidents” he wished he’d handled differently. What a euphemism! she thought in anguish. An “incident” had been a drunken man killing his children because the police officer outside took the hard line and wouldn’t let him cool down.

  Had she heard some of these stories? Beth asked herself. Some must have been repeated during the campaign when he ran for sheriff. Perhaps they had lurked in her subconscious. Could that be why she’d felt so uneasy about Jack from the beginning?

  Oh, God. How could she have fallen in love with this man?

  She kept reading the headlines and articles, over and over again, until they chanted like a circle of faceless accusers. Investigators Reminded… Questionable Use of Violence… Questions Asked… Violated policy…

  Could he have gone in there, she asked herself with horror, because he intended to kill Gary Hansen?

  A sound came from the doorway. Beth’s heart skipped a beat and she jerked as if she’d thought herself alone in the house. She turned her head, knowing her tumult must show in her eyes, wishing desperately that he hadn’t spent the night, that he wasn’t here, that she had time to think.

  He filled the doorway, wearing last night’s jeans and wrinkled white shirt, with the buttons torn off. The monstrous bruise on his chest jarred her.

  He threw himself in front of a bullet to save someone else. Remember that, her conscience whispered.

  No time to think about that, either. Because the moment Jack saw her face, his expression closed as completely as if steel shutters had slid into place.

  “I should have expected that,” he said, nodding toward the newspaper that lay in front of her. “Scandal is more interesting than…”

  “Heroism?” she finished, with unintended bitterness.

  Muscles knotted in his jaw. “Facts, I was going to say.” He strolled toward the table, pulled out a chair. “You shouldn’t believe everything you read.”

  Beth closed her eyes for a second. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked. “You let me prattle about…about traffic stops and shoplifting as if they were the only crimes you’d ever seen! You’ve never once talked about shooting someone, or being investigated for brutality, or letting children die because you wouldn’t negotiate.” Her voice was rising; she stared at him fiercely. “Is this all lies?”