by Terri Reed
“Don’t yell at me.”
He visibly reined in his anger, taking a deep breath and slowly exhaling. His too-dark gaze bored into hers. “I told you to stay put.”
“I…I just…just couldn’t sit there.” Didn’t he understand? It wasn’t in her nature to let life happen. She had to do something, and running for the house was the only thing she could think of.
“What if those men had been here when you arrived?” He made a chopping gesture with his hands. “Did you even think of that?”
“They weren’t here.”
“But they could have been.”
Touched by his concern, she lowered her voice. “But they weren’t. They’d already been here and gone.”
His eyes narrowed. “How do you know?”
She stepped aside and pointed to the broken lock on the door.
“Oh, man,” he muttered.
Striding past her, he inspected the lock. With the tip of his shoe he pushed opened the door while he withdrew his weapon from his holster.
“They aren’t here,” she repeated.
He shot her a hard look before taking her by the arm and propelling her back down the stairs to his cruiser.
“What…what are you doing?”
He released her to open the car door. “Calling in a CSI team.”
“Don’t bother. I seriously doubt they’ll find anything useful.”
“This a crime scene.”
She pinned him with her gaze. “There’s no crime if I don’t report it.”
His mouth twisted. “Consider it already reported.”
Exasperated, she spread out her hands. “I couldn’t begin to know if anything is missing.”
He dipped his chin and gave her a look of disbelief. “You didn’t explore the house?”
“A little.” She didn’t want to confess she’d been so shaken by the revelation of Paul’s double life that she’d spent several hours in a stupor before finally shaking it off. To escape the house and its contents, she’d gone for a walk along the ocean before heading into town for supplies.
“I’m not going to have you bring a bunch of people traipsing through here.” She jabbed a finger at him, even though deep down she knew she was being ridiculous. She didn’t even like the house. “I still have rights, you know.”
He gave her a grim smile. “True. You have the right to stay out of the way.”
“You are insufferable,” she huffed.
One dark brow lifted. “I aim to please, ma’am.”
Realizing any more protests would be useless, Kate folded her arms over her chest, leaned against the front end of the car and settled in to wait.
Later, in what felt to Kate like an interminably long time, but which in actuality was two hours, the crime scene investigators had come, done their job and taken whatever information they’d gathered away.
“Satisfied?” Kate asked as Brody rejoined her at the car.
He shrugged. “We’ll see. Are you ready to go back in?”
Ready? If she never set foot inside again she’d be happy. But that wasn’t to be, so she pushed away from the car. “Let’s see what damage has been done.”
Careful not to touch the black powder dusted on the door lock and frame, Kate stepped into the living room. The place looked as if a tornado had touched down. The shelves were in disarray, glass littered the rug, white stuffing protruded from the couch and loveseat, and books were strewn about the floor.
Not again. Kate’s heart plummeted to her toes. Even though the house had only been in her possession for a short time, she felt violated. The feeling left a bitter taste in her mouth. “Those dirty, rotten…oh!”
She found her nose jammed into the sheriff’s broad back. The freshly laundered scent of his brown uniform shirt brought order to the chaos surrounding her.
“Steady there,” he said as his hands settled on her shoulders.
He anchored her, made her feel safe. She moved away from him. “Sorry,” she mumbled, disconcerted now by her reaction to him.
She preceded him down the hall. Each room looked the same as the living room. Nothing had been left untouched or intact.
Anger grew with each breath she took. How dare those men tear apart what was left of Paul’s life? It wasn’t fair. But then again, it wasn’t fair of Paul to involve her in his shady dealings.
She shuddered to think what would have happened had she been here when the men had come in. She wouldn’t have thought it possible, but she was suddenly very grateful she’d spent the night in jail. If she hadn’t, she wouldn’t now have the sheriff’s protection.
“Kate, what were they looking for?”
His sudden question forced her thoughts to focus. “I…I don’t know.”
Her mind toyed with telling him of Paul’s dying words, but the memory of the suspicion in the L.A.P.D. detective’s eyes stopped her cold. That man hadn’t believed her, had even insinuated that she’d killed Paul. Would the sheriff react the same way?
“Look, Kate. Until you level with me, I can’t help you.”
Help. The word conjured up a sense of welcomed relief. But how far should she trust this man? Granted, he’d saved her life and he seemed sincerely concerned, but was that enough? Would he believe her? “Sheriff McClain…”
“Brody,” he said, his voice low and husky.
She ducked her head as heat rose in her cheeks and a smile curved her lips. “All right then…Brody.” For the life of her, she didn’t understand her reaction. She was blushing like a fourteen-year-old.
The hallway became too confining, the sheriff too close and big. Needing some distance, she stepped past Brody and walked back into the living room. Glass crunched beneath her shoes, the sound echoed in her heart.
Behind her, she could feel Brody’s presence like a buffer from the storm. She realized she wanted to trust him, to confide in him the horror of finding Paul’s body, the terror of not knowing why or from whom she was in danger.
“Kate, talk to me. Tell me what’s going on.”
Suddenly cold, she wrapped her arms around herself. “I honestly don’t know what’s happening.” She turned to look at him. The heat in his eyes could warm her. “It seems you were right about Paul being Pete Kinsey.”
Contrition filled Brody’s face. “I’m sorry you had to find out like this.”
“Me, too.” Kate bent to pick up a torn photo. She stared at her husband. Who had he really been? “I found him.”
Brody stepped closer. “What?”
Tears blurred her vision. The image in the photo swam out of focus. “After they…hurt him. I…I found him.”
“Who are they?” Brody’s gently asked question came from very near her shoulder.
She shook her head. She didn’t have the answer to that question. “He…he told me I was in danger. He…he said…he—” A sob clogged her throat.
Warm hands descended to her shoulders and slowly turned her around. “Who are they?” he repeated.
“I don’t know,” she whispered to the front of his shirt.
The slight pressure of his hand raising her chin sent tremors rippling over her skin. She sucked in a sharp breath when she met his gaze. Deep in the depths of his eyes, just beyond his concern, lurked suspicion. Kate saw it, acknowledged it and hated it. She had to make him believe in her.
“Brody, I don’t know what Paul was involved in. I don’t know why he was killed or…or who’s after me.”
His expression shifted slightly, became colder, more remote.
Almost desperately, Kate tried again. “You…you’ve got to listen to me.” She fisted her hand in his shirt. “I want answers just as badly as you do. Don’t you see…it’s my life that’s in danger? Do you really think if I knew who’d killed Paul…I wouldn’t tell the police?”
For the briefest of seconds his eyes flickered with indecision. She grasped on to a moment of hope.
“Please…please believe me.”
She didn’t understand when it had
become so important that he believe her, but suddenly it was. God had brought Brody into her life and if Brody, who seemed so sure of himself, so confident and secure, could believe in her, then surely she’d be able to get out of the predicament that Paul’s death had left her in.
Brody stepped away from her and her heart nearly crumbled. His demeanor turned rigid and unbending. “I’d like to believe you, Kate. But somehow your words don’t ring completely true. You’re hiding something. I’d like to know what.”
Disappointment rolled in, but she refused to give it any ground. Instead, she shifted the conversation. “I haven’t thanked you for saving me today.”
His gaze narrowed. “Why did you need saving?”
She clenched her jaw, controlling the rising exasperation. “I don’t know, but I’m thankful you were there.”
“Doing my job.”
“No, it was more than that. You were at the right place at the right time.”
He shrugged. “Coincidence.”
“I don’t believe in coincidence. God put you where you needed to be.”
Brody moved to the door with a frown etched in his forehead. “I’ll have someone come out and fix that lock.”
She allowed him to dodge her statement. He clearly didn’t want to go there. She stepped to the door and touched the bent metal. “I don’t think replacing the lock will stop them from coming back.”
“No. It won’t.” His dark, intense gaze bored into her. “Kate, I—”
“Look, Sheriff.” She cut him off, resigned to not having his trust or his help. “Your job here’s done. You can go.”
He stared at her for a long, taut moment, then nodded and left, leaving Kate alone again. Disappointment twisted around her like ivy vines, almost choking her, but she shoved the disappointment away. She couldn’t rely on him.
She leaned against the closed, broken door and wished she’d never come to Havensport looking for answers. But without the answers, the unknown would always haunt her and keep her from the things she needed most: peace and security.
“No,” she cried to the empty house and kicked the door with her heel.
She refused to give in to defeat. She’d seen what allowing despair and hopelessness did to her mother. No way was she going to let it happen to her.
Take charge was Kate’s motto. Don’t let life happen to you, make it happen for you.
She pushed away from the door and stormed into the living room. Who needed the sheriff anyway? She certainly didn’t. She’d find the truth on her own. She’d prove to him that she was innocent even if it killed her.
She snorted. It just might.
A chill zigzagged down her back. Quickly she spun around, half expecting to see two masked men come bursting through the broken door. No one was there.
She needed to find a weapon, something with which to defend herself with if they did return.
In the kitchen, she found a large carving knife and then headed for the living room.
Staring at the shambles the intruders had left in their wake, she wondered what they’d been looking for. And why hadn’t they found it?
The chaos surrounding her made her edgy. She didn’t like it when life wasn’t in order. It drove her nuts not to have one plus two equal three.
And nothing had been adding up since she’d walked into their apartment and discovered Paul.
Kate laid the knife on a side table next to a brass lamp and pushed the stuffing back into the gaping hole in the middle of the navy-and-white striped couch.
Why couldn’t Brody have given her the benefit of the doubt?
She punched the stuffing, the rough fiber rasping against her fist.
Why had he, like the other detective, assumed she had something to do with Paul’s murder?
She slammed her fist into the material again, leaving a dent. Flopping back onto the couch, she acknowledged the pent-up adrenaline still pumping through her veins.
Calm down. Take deep breaths. Imagine yourself on a tropical sandy beach.
The self-talk wasn’t working. Her muscles were bunched and wound tight. Her heart still beat faster than normal and her jaw ached, giving testimony to the headache brewing.
Sudden footsteps on the stairs broke the stillness of the house.
She sprang up from the couch and swiped the knife off the table.
The footsteps trailed across the porch and approached the door.
Renewed adrenaline flooded through Kate. Blood roared in her ears.
The masked men had returned.
She positioned herself beside the door. Knife ready, she held her breath and waited for the intruder to burst in.
A loud knock reverberated against the wood.
“Who is it?” she barked.
“McClain.”
She released a compressed breath and relaxed her stance. Still cautious, she opened the door a crack and peered out.
The sheriff indeed stood there.
Ignoring the ridiculous surge of pleasure, Kate stated flatly, “I thought you’d left.”
Brody’s expression turned serious. “Until those men are caught, you’re under my protection.”
“So you’re here because its part of your job,” Kate stated. Why did that thought irritate her?
He gave her a bland look. “Yes, Kate, protecting you is part of my job.” He inclined his head toward the door. “May I?”
Kate pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. She wanted to say no, go away. She’d already decided she didn’t need him or his protection, yet deep inside a little voice whispered, let him do his job. Kate opened the door wider and stepped aside.
Brody stepped into the entryway and Kate noticed how much space he took up. It seemed as if the very air around him expanded and grew with the force of his presence. The house didn’t seem lonely with him there.
Kate stifled a laugh at her own absurdity.
“Get your things together.”
She gaped. “Excuse me?”
“You can’t stay here. Myrtle has an empty room she’ll let you stay in.”
Annoyed at his high-handedness, she huffed. “I’m not leaving.”
“Look, you can’t stay here.” His gaze narrowed to dark, intimidating slits as he closed the distance between them.
Engulfed by his nearness, her pulse accelerated. She knew the rush of sensation whizzing through her had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with him as a man. An attractive man. She swallowed hard.
In a sudden movement, he clutched her wrist and held her arm upright.
The carving knife glinted between them, bringing reality sharply into focus.
SIX
Mortification flushed through Kate. Her gaze darted to his and locked on. He arched a dark brow. He knew. In the swirling dark depths of his eyes, she saw the thread connecting the knife she now held to the weapon used in Paul’s murder.
Deftly, he took possession of the weapon.
“I…I had to defend my…myself. I didn’t…you left.” She decided the best defense was a good offense. “You left. I was alone. I reached for the first thing that came to mind.”
“Interesting that a knife should come to mind.”
Kate flinched. “What else was I to do? Those men could’ve come back and you weren’t here.”
“I was here, Kate. Just outside.”
Her heart gave a little lurch. He hadn’t left her. “But I didn’t know that.”
He nodded slightly, before stepping past her to the dining table where he laid the knife down. “You know a knife isn’t a good weapon for anyone, let alone a woman to use,” he said, conversationally. “Too easy for it to be taken away and used against you.” He met her gaze. “For future reference.”
Unnerved by that little tidbit, she frowned. “Look, Sheriff McClain. I…”
“Brody.”
He leaned against the table and folded his arms across his chest. His cotton uniform shirt stretched over defined biceps emphasizing his physical strength.
She swallowed against the longing to have those solid arms wrapped around her, shielding her from danger. Uncomfortable with her thoughts, as well as once again being given permission to use his first name, she began again. “Brody. I didn’t kill my husband.”
“Then why did you run from L.A.?”
She frowned, feeling somehow that she was walking into a trap. “I didn’t run.”
“Weren’t you informed that you shouldn’t leave town?”
“Well…yes. I mean…right after it happened, that detective told me to stick close to home in case they had more questions. But…that was forever ago. Surely I don’t need to still be there.”
“You’re considered a person of interest in the case and until you’re exonerated from the investigation, you should’ve stayed put.”
“I didn’t know.” That must have been why Gordon had advised her not to leave.
“So what do you know?”
“Nothing. I know nothing.” I told them you have it, Kate. Trust no one.
She’d tried to trust the police in L.A. That had gotten her nowhere. Detective Arnez and his insinuations left her feeling totally stranded.
All right, Mrs. Wheeler. You meet your husband with divorce papers in hand. He’s not so anxious to sign. Maybe doesn’t want to give you everything you’re asking for. You get angry, maybe even a little nuts. You grab a knife and stab him to death.
Kate blinked up at the detective in horror. No, that didn’t happen.
Oh, come on now. It happens all the time. The wifey gets hacked and then hacks the hubby.
I want my lawyer. Kate stared at the cold metal table then up at the mirrored wall. I want my lawyer.
Yeah, yeah. I know. He’s coming.
Kate closed her eyes to the scene, trying to block out the bitter taste of the detective’s suspicion. It wasn’t fair. She’d done everything right. She hadn’t touched anything save Paul and the phone. She’d called 911. Why did everyone want her to be guilty?
A tear leaked from the corner of her eye and trickled down her cheek. The roughened pad of Brody’s finger glided across her skin and caught the tear.
Kate’s eyes snapped open at the unexpected contact. In hypnotic fascination, she watched him rub the wetness between his index finger and thumb. A shiver traipsed down her spine, leaving her breathless.
