by Terri Reed
The crumbled ball in her hand bit into her palm and her jaw clenched. Regardless of how her hormones responded to this man, she refused to rely on him for help. She had to find out the truth about Paul on her own. “Goodbye, Sheriff.”
His expression rueful, he nodded. She watched him stride back to his car and climb in. He waved his hand in a final salute as he turned the car around. Standing rooted to the porch for several seconds after he had disappeared, a deep loneliness crept over her.
She’d been lonely before. The four years of her marriage were the loneliest in her life, but this sudden intense aloneness rocked her because it was desperate and unfamiliar. How could a man have this much effect on her?
Resolutely, she turned her attention to the house. Inside were the answers. She needed to stay focused and not let herself be distracted by the handsome sheriff.
Squaring her shoulders, she went in.
In the daylight, the house didn’t hold such a spooky, haunted-house feel as it had the night before. She looked around and moved purposely into the living room.
Built-in shelves lined one wall; big pieces of furniture covered with sheets dotted the large, dark green area rug.
Drawn to the shelves with the framed pictures, her heart throbbed inside her chest. With a shaky hand, she lifted a frame and stared at the picture. Paul smiled up at her, his arm slung carelessly around a buxom blonde. In the background, blue water sparkled in the glistening sun, mocking her with its seductive invitation to partake of the couple’s free and easy spirit.
She dropped the picture. It hit the floor at her feet, the glass cracking in two.
Numbness stole through her, surrounding her heart and chilling her soul as she picked up another frame. In this picture, a party by the looks of it, Paul was flanked on either side by recognizable faces. Some celebrities, others political figures.
Grabbing at another frame, she again saw Paul with famous and well-known people. She plucked at another picture and another until her arms were full. What is going on?
It wasn’t unreasonable that he would know these people in his line of work. After all, he was a consultant for wealthy people. But why hadn’t he mentioned he had the kind of relationship with them that was evident in these pictures?
It was clear that all the photos were taken at the beach house. Some even in the very room she stood in. Her throat constricted and tears blurred her vision as bitterness settled around her like a smothering cloak.
Abruptly, she dumped her load onto the couch. A cloud of dust puffed into the air, little bits and pieces floating away and doing nothing but making her sneeze.
Moving in a fog, Kate went from room to room looking at the remains of a life cut short. Of a life she’d known nothing about.
Besides the dust, the rooms were clean, uncluttered and devoid of personality. Guest rooms. She came to the room with the broken window. Before nightfall she’d have to have someone come out and repair the damage. She turned away from the reminder of her terror and continued on.
In what appeared to be the master bedroom, she saw signs of Paul—the scent of his cologne clung to the clothes hanging in the closet, his shirts and undergarments folded with precision in the drawers. She swallowed back the vile taste of betrayal.
She found receipts and notes in the top drawer of the oak dresser. The writing was Paul’s, but the signature said Pete Kinsey. She stared at the papers. Pain squeezed her head like a vice. How could she have been so oblivious?
The tremors started deep down inside and quickly worked their way out. She sank to her knees and rested her head against the bed. Sobs clogged her throat and tears burned a salty trail down her cheek. Why had Paul, or Pete or whoever he was, lied? Why had he kept a part of himself from her? Was this other identity the reason he’d been killed?
Her hands curved into fists. Why had he involved her?
Lord, I’m so angry and hurt and confused. This doesn’t make sense.
A line of scripture floated through her consciousness. My presence shall go with you, and I will give you rest.
Clinging to that promise, she slowly crawled up onto the bed and curled into a ball. So tired, so very tired. Her mind shut down and blessed numbness wrapped around her, taking her away from the hurt and endless parade of lies.
Brody’s fingers drummed on the desktop. What was Kate’s story? The thought had plagued him since he’d left her at the Kinsey house.
“What’s eating at you, boss?” Deputy Teal’s voice broke through Brody’s thoughts.
“Nothing,” he replied, absently.
Nothing, everything…Kate. For more hours than he cared to admit to, Brody had been unable to keep his mind off Kate Wheeler. She’d made her feelings clear. And he was glad. He certainly didn’t want to be bothered with a headstrong woman who couldn’t accept the truth even when it stared her in the face.
Brody stilled his fingers. He’d wasted enough time today thinking about Kate. She wasn’t his problem. She owned the house now, and would eventually realize that what he’d told her was the truth and then she’d go back to where she came from. He nodded to close the subject in his mind, but he couldn’t quite banish the nagging terror he’d seen in her eyes.
There were other matters needing his attention. Like the feud still raging between Mr. Haskel and Mr. Moore. The two old codgers each swore that the other was poaching fish. Like you could poach fish from the ocean during fishing season.
He shook his head, knowing that the fighting gave the two widowers something to keep their minds active. Only they sometimes got carried away in their attempts to out-fish each other. On numerous occasions, Brody’d had to settle a dispute over whose fish was whose.
Today it seemed Mr. Haskel had caught Mr. Moore using his lure.
Rolling his chair away from the desk, Brody heard the crinkling sound of paper caught under the wheels. Teal and his paper basketballs. He bent to retrieve what he assumed would be a stray ball and discovered a sheet of fax paper.
He stared at the contents of the fax for a good thirty seconds before he remembered to take a breath.
He knew it. He just knew it. Below the L.A.P.D. heading, the fax stated that Katherine Wheeler was considered a “person of interest” in the murder investigation of Paul Wheeler and that currently Mrs. Wheeler’s whereabouts were unknown and she was being sought.
He hoped they were wrong, but if they weren’t…
His lip curled. He knew where she was. Sitting back down in his chair, he picked up the phone and called California. The line was picked up on the third ring and after Brody explained to the desk sergeant what he wanted, he was transferred to a Detective Arnez.
“Sheriff, what can I do for you?”
Brody swiped a hand through his hair. “I have information concerning the Wheeler investigation.”
“Wheeler. Hold on.”
Brody heard the rustling of paper before Arnez came back on the line. “Oh, yeah. Got the file right here. Hey, didn’t you request the current status of the investigation earlier today?”
“I did.”
“So what’s your interest?” Arnez asked.
“I don’t have an interest,” Brody stated quickly. “I caught a perp breaking and entering last night, only it turned out to be Kate Wheeler.”
Arnez’s voice perked up. “You’ve got her in custody?”
Brody frowned. “No…I let her go. Her lawyer faxed over the deed to the house and she’s the owner. But…I…know where she is.” For a reason he couldn’t explain, Brody felt as though he was betraying Kate. But that was ridiculous. If she’d committed a crime, she had to pay the price.
“She’s in your town, then?” Arnez asked.
“Yes.”
“Hold on.”
With his free hand Brody drummed his fingers on the desk again as the detective put him on hold. A tight, wound-up feeling stole over him. Had Kate killed her husband? Would he have to arrest her and send her back to L.A.? Why did his mind rebel against
the thought? He shook his head, clearing his thoughts.
Concentrate on the job, McClain, nothing else.
He wouldn’t think about her copper-colored curls, her big green eyes. None of that mattered. Nor would he think about the vulnerability in her expression, the feisty spirit that he found so appealing. And he definitely wouldn’t think about the little dimple on her chin that even now he longed to kiss.
Arnez came back on the line. “Tell you what, Sheriff. The powers that be say keep an eye on her. The case is being handed over to the FBI.”
“Why the Feds? Thought this was a simple murder investigation.”
“Don’t have all the details, but seems the hubby had his fingers in a few pies around the country that he shouldn’t have. The Feds are playing this close to the vest, so they’ll contact you with further instructions. Just keep tabs on the lady.”
“Will do.” He wouldn’t be arresting Kate again just yet, but he could find out what she knew about her husband’s dealings.
After he hung up the phone, he delegated the Haskel/Moore situation to Deputy Teal. Brody left the office, walked the short block to his studio apartment where he changed into a fresh uniform and then headed down the main street of Havensport on foot.
Having spent the night and most of the morning at his desk, it felt good to stretch his legs. His hip hurt, but he was used to the biting pain. Welcomed it, in fact, as a reminder of what getting involved with a woman could do. He wasn’t going to get involved with Kate Wheeler, he’d keep things strictly business.
Around him, the small town bustled with energy. After the late-summer squall of the night before, people were busy enjoying the sweet freshness left from the rain. The dress shops and specialty stores had their doors wide open inviting the tourists in, the front of the Book Depot was lined with bins of books. He strode by the Java Stand and inhaled the mouthwatering aromas of baked goods and coffee. He smiled and waved at several locals as a sense of belonging swept through him.
Brody surveyed it all with a sense of pride. He loved Havensport and its people. They’d welcomed him openly when he’d run for the position of sheriff. Not that there had been any other candidates, but still, he’d found a place to belong. A place where people didn’t look at him with either pity or mockery.
A movement to the right of his peripheral vision drew his gaze.
Sunlight caught fiery sparks on shoulder-length curls as Kate stepped from the grocery store, her arms laden with bags and a black leather purse slung over her slender shoulder.
She wore a simple but fresh-looking white cotton, button-down blouse and blue jeans that hugged her curves. A tension he hadn’t realized he held eased in his chest at the sight of her. He couldn’t comprehend the strange sensation, didn’t know where it was coming from or why. He only knew that on some level he was drawn to her, to her spirit that kindled something deep inside him.
Man, she was beautiful. Not in a classic model way, not the way Elise had been beautiful. No, Kate was the girl-next-door kind of beauty. The type a guy could get cozy with, feel at home with, snuggled up close in front of a roaring fire with, her head resting on his chest…Brody shook off the image. He couldn’t let himself fall into that trap. Keep it professional, McClain.
He’d been asked to keep an eye on her and that’s what he would do. Nothing more.
The loud screech of tires split the air. A dark blue van barreled down the road toward the mercantile. Abruptly, the vehicle slowed as it neared the shop. The side door slid open and the van halted directly in front of Kate. A man wearing a black ski mask leapt out. His hands closed around Kate’s upper arms as he dragged her toward the open door. The bags she held fell to the ground. Milk splattered over the hot pavement, an orange rolled under the van.
Kate’s scream ripped Brody’s senses apart.
Brody ran with one hand pulling his sidearm from the holster at his hip.
“Stop,” He shouted at the top of his lungs.
The masked man paused and looked at him. Killer’s eyes. Cold and hard. Brody’d seen eyes like that before. The man who’d killed his father had those same type of eyes.
The frantic motions of the driver, whose face was also obscured by a mask, spurred the first man back into action. Kate struggled against her captor as he continued to drag her toward the vehicle.
Brody raised his weapon. The van’s engine roared. Having no other option, Brody planted a warning shot through the side of the van.
The man holding Kate shoved her aside before jumping back into the vehicle just as the van vaulted forward, the tires burning black smoke against the street. The van swerved toward Brody. He dove to the side, his body hitting hard on the sidewalk before he rolled to safety.
Ignoring the explosion of pain in his hip, he raised his weapon, aimed and fired again. A taillight exploded from the impact of his bullet. In frustration, Brody watched the van peel around a corner and disappear.
“Great.” He picked himself up off the ground. His hip throbbed, the pain ricocheting down his whole right side. He limped over to Kate.
She sat in the flowerbed in front of the store. The shocked expression on her face didn’t hide the terror in her eyes.
Brody painfully hunkered down in front of her. “Kate. Kate, talk to me.”
Her gaze lifted. Tears welled in her eyes and her lower lip trembled. “Are they gone?”
“Yes.” He gathered her close and helped her to her feet.
“My…my groceries,” she whispered, pulling away from him. She bent and picked up the mess lying in the road.
Brody firmly took her hands, stopping her movements. Her body shook violently. Shock was setting in. Brody’s gut tightened. She was vulnerable and in need of his protection. He led her to a bench. “Come on, Kate. Over here. Sit down.”
“Here, Sheriff.” Myrtle Kirby, the mercantile’s owner, handed him a blanket. He wrapped it around Kate’s shoulders, his hands lingering, offering comfort.
“Kate, sit here. I’m going to hunt those men down.”
“Don’t leave.” Kate grabbed his hand and held on tightly, her eyes begging him to stay.
Her hand was ice cold. He wanted to pull her close and wrap her in his embrace and tell her everything would be okay. He didn’t.
“I’ll sit with her, Sheriff,” Myrtle volunteered. “But she needs a drink of water after what those nasty men tried to do.”
Pulling his hand from Kate’s, Brody nodded his thanks to the older woman and watched her walk briskly back inside. Unnerved by Kate’s pleading gaze and his own reluctance to leave her, Brody turned his back and paced a few steps away. It was too late to follow the van, anyway. Using the radio attached to his uniform, he contacted Deputy Teal.
“Warren, I want you to get an APB out on a dark blue van.” Brody gave the model and make. Not surprisingly, the license plates had been removed.
“Okay, boss. What’s up?”
“Occupants attempted to kidnap Kate Wheeler.”
“Wow, when did this happen?”
Brody’s grip on the radio tightened. “Warren, just do it now.”
“Okay, okay.”
“Sheriff!” Myrtle cried from the doorway of the little store.
Turning sharply, Brody’s heart slammed into his throat. The blanket lay in a heap on the ground and Kate Wheeler was nowhere in sight.
He’d been duped again. So much for the damsel-in-distress routine. He was going to find her and make her talk even if he had to haul her back to jail.
FIVE
Kate kept running despite the stitch in her side.
Run. Run. Run.
Over and over, the single word replayed itself inside her head. Her lungs ached and her muscles burned. And still she ran, her sneakers making a thwacking noise against the still-damp pavement and her purse banging against her side.
The house. She had to get to the house where she could hide and watch, and maybe finally see what it was they were after.
With every
pounding step, her terror was giving way to anger. Because of Paul and the mess he’d left her in, her life was threatened, her career possibly lost and her heart numbed. To think she’d given four years of her love and her life to him only to have been betrayed so thoroughly. And the betrayal continued, even in his death.
With no sign of the van, she bounded up the porch stairs. Her feet skidded to a halt and she widened her eyes in shock. Wood splintered around the busted lock on the front door. A shiver ran the course of her body.
Idiot, you’re too late. You’ll never learn the truth.
Kate spun around, her gaze searching the area. No one lurked behind the stand of trees off to the right and the path leading around the house toward the beach lay deserted.
Even the house across the way appeared uninhabited. She seemed to be alone. Should she go in? Should she run back to town? Did it even matter?
She was suddenly overwhelmed with the knowledge that she was alone and so utterly at a loss as to what to do. Were the men inside the house waiting for her? Or had they already come and gone? Her shoulders sagged.
Okay, think. Logic suggested that they’d come and gone. And obviously not found what they were looking for or they wouldn’t have tried to kidnap her. She clenched her fists. She wished she knew what she was supposed to have.
She placed her hand over her runaway heart. “Okay…that would mean, for the moment, I’m relatively safe and no closer to answers.” She cringed as the last word hung in the salty breeze.
Suddenly, the crash of the ocean was overshadowed with the roar of an engine, the sound of tires eating up the gravel. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Kate whirled around, ready to bolt, and nearly fainted with relief at the sight of the sheriff’s car as it slid to a halt.
Sheriff McClain leapt out of the vehicle and covered the distance between them in long, angry strides. “Just what do you think you’re doing?”
