If You See Her

by Shiloh Walker

  As he started to pull her toward the house, Hope caught sight of Law standing on the porch, his familiar scowl drawing his face tight.

  “Brody, damn it, your uncle is looking all over for you—you’ve got him worried sick,” Law snapped.

  “Law,” she said.

  As though she hadn’t said anything, Law pointed toward the house. “You need to get inside—call him, now.”

  “Damn it, Law, ease up. The kid’s terrified,” Hope said. She gently disentangled her hand from the boy’s grasp—he might be rail-thin, but he was stronger than hell. “He says he saw somebody out in the woods.”

  Law’s eyes narrowed, focused on Brody’s face. “Is that right?”

  Brody wiped a hand over the back of his mouth. “He … a gun. Had a gun.”

  “A gun.” Lena appeared in the doorway. “What?”

  A scowl darkened Law’s battered face and he jerked his head toward the house. “Get inside, Brody. Call Remy. He’s scouring the entire county looking for you. Call him, then you tell me about this guy you think you saw.”

  As the boy headed inside, Hope’s brain abruptly ceased functioning. “Remy?” she said quietly, hoping none of the emotion she felt inside showed.

  Apparently, it didn’t. Law was staring off into the trees, a frown on his face. “Yeah. That’s Brody Jennings. Remy is his uncle. Come on … we should all get aside.”

  As the door banged closed behind them, she realized that Remy Jennings would be here. In a matter of minutes.

  The kid’s uncle.

  Hope swallowed.

  Her heart started to pound.

  Idly, she wondered if she could lock herself inside her room and not come out until this … whatever was over with.

  Then she closed her eyes and reminded herself. No. You stopped running; remember?

  But part of her still wanted to go lock herself away in her room. She’d stopped running from her past, and she wanted to stop running from the things that terrified her—

  Remy did a lot more than just scare her, so she wasn’t sure he really qualified.

  As they turned down the long drive that led toward Law Reilly’s house, Hank’s eyes opened and he said, “Reilly did say he was okay, right?”

  “Yes. He’s fine. Just scared—something spooked him in the woods.”

  Hank gave a jerky nod. A sad, shamed look showed on his face and he sighed. “You know I could kick my own ass for what I said to him—I love my son, Remy. You know that. But the past couple years … they’ve been hard.”

  “You think they haven’t been hard on him? He’s just a kid, and he lost his mother, and to him, it probably feels like he lost his dad. You shut him out completely—hell, anybody with eyes can see it. Now he feels like his dad doesn’t love him and wants him dead,” Remy said. He hurt for his brother, but he hurt for the kid more.

  He was so damned pissed off at Hank—man, he could just shake the stupid bastard. Shake him, hit him, anything to make him wake up and see what he was doing to his son.

  Brody was so messed up, so unhappy and scared.

  Remy never thought the day would come when he’d be ashamed of his brother, but … now? Yeah. He was ashamed of Hank. He knew grief did bad, bad things to the mind, but he couldn’t believe what he’d heard coming out of Hank’s mouth, what Hank might have done if Ezra hadn’t been so quick to react.

  “That boy deserved better, Hank,” he said, shaking his head. “A hell of a lot better.”

  “I know he did, and I’ve got a lot of work ahead of me if I want to fix things with my boy.” Then Hank sighed. “But, well, and this is my fault, completely, but you know that Brody’s got problems. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s making up this story about a guy with a gun, trying to deflect the trouble he knows is coming.”

  The thought had occurred to Remy—briefly.

  But he figured Brody had had enough crap dumped on him already. Remy wasn’t going to make any unfair judgments. Yet.

  “He deserved better the past few years,” Remy repeated quietly. “And he deserves to at least have us listen to him without judging him. Maybe you can’t give him that, but I sure as hell can—and I will.”

  A pair of lights appeared in his rearview mirror. A few minutes later, as he parked in front of Law’s house, he recognized Ezra’s truck in the darkness. Grimacing, he eyed the cop as he climbed out of the truck.

  “Seeing you way too much today, King,” he said.

  “Not exactly how I’d planned to spend the day, either.” Ezra jerked his head toward the house. “But if your nephew’s here, then I can get Lena and go home. It’s been one long-ass day.”

  He shifted his gaze to Hank. “Mayor.”

  Hank inclined his head. “Detective King. I … well, I hope you can understand, it’s been a rough day all around. I wasn’t in the clearest frame of mind earlier.”

  “I imagine not. Your kid hasn’t exactly had the clearest frame of mind for a while, though. Something you might want to keep in mind,” Ezra said pointedly as he started for the house.

  Hank’s mouth tightened. “Trust me, I’m well aware of that.”

  Remy reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. This day, it just wasn’t going to get any better before it ended, was it?

  Then he knocked on the door and it took yet another crazy turn on him.

  He should have been prepared to see her.

  Really.

  But when the door opened and Hope Carson stood there, framed in a wedge of light, those dreamy, green eyes so sad and quiet, her mouth solemn and unsmiling, Remy thought his heart just might stop.

  There just wasn’t any way he could prepare himself for seeing her. There wasn’t any way he could prepare himself for what seeing her did to him, mentally, physically, emotionally.

  Shit.

  Oh, shit, he did not need this.

  Lust reached up and grabbed him around the throat, squeezing and choking the air from his lungs even as it heated the blood in his veins.

  This was the absolute last woman on earth he should want—she was trouble, in so many ways. She was troubled, and that was just one of the reasons he didn’t need this.

  This was the absolute last woman on earth he wanted to want—she just plain and simple was trouble—he could feel that in his bones.

  And yet, as he stared into those big, green eyes, he did want.

  Hell, did he want.

  But wanting was only part of it, he suspected.

  It was so much deeper than that, so much more.

  The world fell away and he forgot about his brother, he forgot about the cop standing just a few feet away, forgot about his nephew. Forgot about anything and everything except her.

  Behind him, Ezra cleared his throat.

  Hank lost his already shoddy grip on control and shoved past Remy, pushing his way impatiently inside the house. As he did, he brushed close to Hope.

  Too close, judging by the look in her eyes.

  Something danced across her face and she pulled away, sidestepping him and averting her face … hiding that fear.

  Abruptly, the hot fury of lust bled into anger—that fear. What had caused it? Who had caused it?

  Why in the hell was she always so afraid?

  His hands itched. He wanted to reach up, touch her face, brush that dark, silken hair back from her face and promise her she didn’t need to be afraid.

  Shit.

  As her eyes shifted to his and then away, Remy reminded himself he really, really needed to stay the hell away from this woman.

  As the three men pushed inside Law’s house, Hope reminded herself … You’re not running. You’re not running.

  Ezra paused at her side and reached out, rested a hand on her shoulder. A month ago, she would have flinched, but she was able to give him a shaky smile as he asked, “How are you feeling?”

  “Okay.”

  His eyes, a sharp, intelligent green, lingered on hers, and her smile wobbled, faded. “Maybe not so okay, but
I’m still here.”

  He nodded, squeezed her shoulder. He pushed the door shut and then, in a friendly, easy gesture that she couldn’t easily evade without feeling silly, he slung an arm over her shoulder. “You taking care of Law or is he taking care of you?”

  From the corner of her eye, she saw Remy, was acutely aware of him watching her. Feeling the rush of blood creeping up her cheeks, she tried to focus on Ezra, on anything but how nervous the other man made her feel. “Ah, maybe both. He’s still not feeling too great. Tired, and sore, but he won’t take the pain medicine so that’s to be expected.”

  “And you?”

  He didn’t look at her wrists, but he didn’t have to. She knew what he was asking. Tension crept up her spine and she eased away from him, suddenly unable to have him touching her, even though a moment ago, it had felt … well, almost easy. Friendly. Almost the way it felt when Law gave her one of his easy, friendly hugs.

  She didn’t feel so easy and friendly right now—she was pissed off.

  “I’m just peachy,” she said, her voice sharp. Stalking past Remy and Ezra, past the silent third man, she moved into the kitchen and joined Law, Lena, and Brody at the table. Meeting Law’s gaze, she said, “We’ve got company, Law. Lena, Ezra’s here.”

  A red brow arched. Dark lenses hid Lena’s sightless eyes. “Ahhh … what did he do?”

  Ezra came into the kitchen and said, “I don’t think I did anything.”

  “He didn’t do anything,” Hope agreed, keeping her voice flat. She wasn’t going into this, wasn’t talking about it.

  Not with the kid here.

  The kid. Focus on the kid.

  Brody … his name was Brody.

  He sat at the table, his head bent, his shoulders slumped.

  And as the third man came into the kitchen, those thin shoulders stiffened even more.

  A heavy, uncomfortable silence fell, like a cold, wet blanket.

  Remy moved up to the table and settled down in one of the seats. “Hey, kid,” he said softly.

  Brody shot him a quick look and then focused on the table again.

  It was so damned quiet, Hope could actually hear the seconds ticking away on the clock.

  It was broken, finally, when the third man moved forward. He gave her a genial, practiced smile … a politician’s smile, she thought. “Hello. I’m Hank Jennings, Brody’s dad. I’m sorry if he’s bothered you.”

  He went as though to hold a hand out and she pushed hers into her back pockets, careful not to rub the stitches against her jeans. Frowning, she said, “He’s scared to death—that’s hardly a bother, Mr. Jennings.”

  “Actually, it’s Mayor Jennings,” Lena said from behind Hope.

  Mayor. Hope smirked inwardly. Now why wasn’t she surprised? “Mayor Jennings, then. But he hasn’t been a bother.”

  He inclined his head and then shifted his gaze to his son. “Come on, Brody. We should get home. We’ve got things to discuss.”

  Hope opened her mouth to say something else, anything else. But then she closed it, looking over at the boy. He looked sad, scared … alone. She didn’t know what was going on with him, but she knew what it felt like to feel sad, scared … alone. To be so totally isolated from anybody and everybody, with nobody around who could help, who would listen.

  Behind her, Law said quietly, “Maybe you should hear what happened.”

  The mayor shook his head. “He can discuss it at home. Privately. We’ve got issues to discuss and he’s taken up enough of your day.”

  Hope edged away. From the corner of her eye, she could see Law’s face, see the way his lip curled as he stared at the mayor. It reassured her—she was glad she wasn’t the only one who didn’t quite like the way this guy was handling his scared kid.

  Of course, Law was more vocal about his dislike. His voice thick with disdain, he drawled, “Yeah, sure. Those private issues are more important than the fact that he ran into somebody in the woods near my place. That the guy had a gun, one he decided to point at your kid. Fine, Mayor, but man, I really question your priorities.”

  “My son—”

  “Hank.” Remy stood up, one hand resting protectively on the boy’s shoulder.

  Hope found herself staring at him, barely hearing whatever he said next. Despite her determination to not look at that man, not think about him, she couldn’t not look at him.

  He was staring at the other man. Brothers, she realized belatedly. They had to be. They looked too much alike to not be related. But where Remy had warmth, the other one was nothing but ice, it seemed.

  Hank shifted his gaze to Law, then to the boy. “Okay, Brody. Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”

  CHAPTER

  SEVEN

  RAIN AND FUNERALS.

  What was it about rain and funerals?

  Off in the distance, thunder rumbled and lightning flashed. Some of the mourners cast nervous looks at the clouds, but those standing closest to the graveside ignored the weather.

  They’d come to say good-bye and a hurricane wouldn’t have pulled them away.

  Nia stood at the graveside, a white rose in her hand as she stared at the pale pink coffin.

  Bryson, Joely’s fiancé, stood at her side.

  He stank of whiskey, but he was sober, his dark brown eyes ravaged by grief, his face gaunt.

  He had loved Joely, Nia knew. Maybe he hadn’t been able to be there for one of the last things he could have done for Joely—standing at Nia’s side when it came time to claim the body—but Bryson had loved Joely.

  As much as all of this hurt, she was happy her cousin had had the guy, even if it was just for a while. Nia suspected it was the first time he’d been sober since he’d learned about Joely’s death.

  Distantly, she felt kind of sorry for him. But it was distant.

  She stared at the coffin, tried to find the good memories, tried to remember the laughter, the fun times.

  But all she could see was the last, awful memory … the one of Joely lying in a morgue, her face so battered Nia had barely recognized her.

  Who did that to you, baby? Who did it?

  “What we have here is a clusterfuck.”

  Remy snorted and almost sprayed his coffee across the room. Setting his mug down, he grabbed a handful of tissues from the box on the sheriff’s desk and wiped them across his mouth and then checked his shirt and tie. “A clusterfuck.”

  “Yep,” Nielson murmured. “It’s when you just get a whole bunch of shit going wrong all at once.”

  “I know what a clusterfuck is,” he said dryly. And he had to admit—clusterfuck described things to a T.

  “So the mayor is okay with getting Brody into residential treatment?”

  “Shit, no.” Remy scowled as he thought about the past night. He hadn’t had more than two hours of sleep, and once he was done here, he had even more work to do. Sleep was a luxury that would have to wait. “He’s very much not okay with it … but I think he realizes he doesn’t have much choice. King will draw a hard line on it if he has to, and maybe that’s not a bad thing. At least he sees that Brody needs help. Hank … well, he knows it, but I think he wants to try to fix things himself. But Brody needs more than that. Right now, I think Brody will actually feel better away from his dad, as much as that hurts to say.”

  “How is your mom handling it?”

  Remy grimaced. “About the same way you’d expect. It’s breaking her heart—Brody’s the only grandchild she has.”

  Nielson was quiet for a moment and then finally, he said, “I’ve always wanted to think that a family’s love heals everything—but sometimes, when the hurts go that deep, you have to get the poison out first. Brody’s got a lot of hurt, a lot of poison trapped inside him. I know Hank loves him—I remember the way they were back before Sheryl died. But maybe this is a way to get that poison out, and then they can both heal.”

  “Yeah. Maybe.” Brooding, Remy stared off into the distance. “Shit. I should have seen how bad it was befo
re now.”

  Then he sighed and made himself focus on the here and now. “What do you think about the guy he says he saw?”

  “Your brother doesn’t think he saw anything.” Nielson peered up at him over the rim of his glasses. “I’ve got Mabry out there, though, going through the woods. If there’s anything out there to be seen, he’ll see it.”

  Mabry, the deputy sheriff. Yeah, if things could be found, he’d be the one to do it.

  “You think he’ll find anything?” Remy asked.

  “Do you? I can tell you … your brother doesn’t think we’ll find anything, because he doesn’t think anything happened.”

  “Shit.” Remy shook his head. “I get that, and I get why, and that’s not what I asked.”

  “I can’t discount either possibility.” Dwight sighed and smoothed a hand back over his scalp. “Here’s the thing, though. That boy? Well, he had a fear in his eyes, don’t you think?”

  Nielson had ended up out at Law’s place that night, after all. Even hours later, when Remy had gone home with Hank and Brody, the kid had been shaken up. Terrified.

  Fear in his eyes? That was putting it mildly.

  “Yeah,” he said softly. “He was afraid, all right.”

  Remy thought about that fear, thought about how pale Brody had been. How his blue eyes had looked all but black in his young face. That fear, it hadn’t come from his dad. It was new. Different.

  There was a knock at the door and Remy looked up as Nielson’s dragon doorkeeper opened the door. Law was there … and Hope.

  Her eyes glanced over him like he wasn’t even there. They bounced over to the sheriff, filled with that familiar strain.

  “We’re a little early,” Law said. He had a hand on Hope’s shoulder.

  The look on her face was closed in, shut down. Tense.

  Frowning, Remy shot the sheriff a look, then looked back at Law and Hope. “What are you doing here, Law?”

  “It’s a personal matter, Remy,” the sheriff said softly.

  Hope tugged on the sleeves of the shirt she wore. Under the hem, he could see her narrow wrists, caught a glimpse of one of the long, narrow scars—vivid red, sliced with neat, black sutures.