Sins of the Father

by Winter Austin

  Jolie blinked. “I have no idea what you just said.”

  Her ignorance was rewarded with a deep belly laugh that turned her previous tingles into a case of lust. God, how she wanted to slip her arms around him and kiss him like she had last night in his basement gym.

  “If you insist, I’ll live a little. What do you recommend?” he asked.

  Shaking out of her haze of Technicolor desire, she cleared her throat and pointed at the lemon shake-up tent run by the county Farm Bureau office. “You could try those. They’re good.”

  “One sugar rush to go. Got it.” He headed for the tent.

  Jolie stole a few seconds to admire that backside before following him. You’ve turned into a horny twit. Stop thinking about his naked rear under those clothes. A pinch on the leg ceased the images. She’d lost her mind.

  Taking his freshly made lemon shake-up, Xavier nodded at the Farm Bureau member he had chatted up while waiting for his drink to be made. He took a sip.

  “Deputy Murdoch, would you like one?”

  “Sure.” Jolie dug out a dollar while the team in the back of the tent pulled her drink together.

  “Thinking of becoming a deputy, Xavier?” the Farm Bureau lady asked.

  “No,” Jolie cut in before he could reply, “I’m showing him around the fair since he’s never been to one before.”

  “Really? Well, I hope you’re enjoying it. Be sure to check out the kids’ projects in the white building over there.” The gal leaned forward, blocking her mouth as if she was about to tell a deep, dark secret. “I hear tell they’re giving away ice cream in there.” She gave them a wink and turned to retrieve Jolie’s cup.

  “What do you think?” Jolie asked Xavier as she took her glass.

  “Amazing.” When he said it, he was staring at her.

  Growing warm at his implied meaning, she gulped the sugary, lemony concoction. Jolie nodded at the next booth she was dragging him to. “With every sugary drink you get at the fair, one must find the salty, greasy equivalent. Walking taco or a corn dog or both?”

  “And what do you get to follow up something like a taco that walks?”

  “Funnel cake piled with powdered sugar.”

  “My arteries just clogged up.”

  She laughed. “One night isn’t going to kill you.” She ordered two walking tacos and a corn dog.

  The teenage girl working the booth ducked her head and tried not to be obvious as she drooled over Xavier. A tiny little green-eyed monster romped around inside Jolie. With a slight shift of her weight, she leaned closer to him to stake her claim, just short of hissing at the little upstart. The teen’s gaze flicked Jolie’s way and froze for a second, then with a flush, she spun to finish their order.

  Xavier made a noise in his throat and ended up choking on his drink. While he coughed and chuckled, Jolie’s face flamed hot. Dang it, he’d figured out what she’d done.

  She nearly dropped her cup when his hand slid across her lower back. A shiver racked her body as his fingers danced up her spine. For someone who was planning his getaway, he sure didn’t act like he was trying to leave without any strings attached.

  With the teen’s back still turned to them, he bent down until his lips were brushing her ear. “You’ve got nothing to worry about, love.”

  He was too close. His pine-and-musk scent was all she could smell, and it was doing things to her. Wild, crazy things, like making her want him to touch her all over. Press his lips to her neck and whisper—or, better yet, growl—her name. Her nerves sparked. Oh, God, it was entirely inappropriate to be thinking about this while she was in uniform and at the fair. Jolie swallowed. Her body and mind could cease with the sexual escapades.

  “Two walking tacos and a corn dog,” the girl said, holding out their order.

  The girl’s voice was like a crash of cold water to Jolie’s raging inferno. Forcing a pleasant smile, she took the food and passed Xavier his walking taco bag. With one crisp about-face, she headed off toward the midway. Put some distance between you and him. Stop letting your hormones get in the way. Act like a damn cop, Jolie.

  Trying not to walk too fast, she kept pace with him, which was proving difficult. He might wear a prosthetic, but it certainly didn’t slow him down any or hinder his long stride.

  Occasionally a child or someone she knew from town would stop Jolie. Most of the people she spoke with knew Xavier from The Killdeer; a few of the elderly looked at him warily, but he applied a generous dose of charm and the wariness faded away.

  “Now I get the walking part,” he commented between bites. “And leaving it in the bag is handy.”

  Jolie hid her grin behind a bit of her mustard-doused corn dog. They entered the carnival portion of the fairgrounds. This was so not a good idea. The booth where Anthony had been discovered was empty and taped off, a stark reminder that the fun and games had been ripped away from that young man. Pausing inches from the flapping yellow strands, she stared into the bowels of the booth, picturing the scene as she’d seen it yesterday.

  “Dwelling on the things you can’t change won’t make it any easier.”

  Her attention swung to Xavier. “If I had been able to catch him the day before, we’d have had him in lockup and he’d still be alive.”

  “For how long?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Stabbing his plastic fork into his food, Xavier reached into his back pocket and pulled out his billfold. Prying it open, he held it out for her to see a picture. Creased and faded, it was an image of a younger, leaner, and clean-shaven Xavier wearing a dirty uniform, cradling his weapon. Surrounding him was a group of equally dirty and battle-tested men, their features grim and determined, all holding their service weapons like Xavier. Parked between the legs of one of the men was a beautiful dog.

  “My guys and gal.” Xavier flipped the billfold closed and shoved it into his pocket. “There’s not a day goes by that I don’t wish I’d joined them in death. I learned after I got out of the hospital that one of my guys had cancer. He hadn’t told any of us, was determined to finish out the tour, then go home and get treatment. No one even knew if the treatment would have worked on him. Instead, he died doing what he’d been trained to do.”

  Jolie bit her lip. The part of her that was attempting to stay frosty toward him melted. This was unexpected. Veterans weren’t known to talk about their war experiences with non-veterans, yet here he stood, telling her a very private detail about his past. Had he told anyone this before? It was amazing how well he could recall these details but not a thing about the death of Clint Kruger.

  “When you think you could’ve prevented an earlier death, you have to stop it and remember that eventually it’ll catch up to them. In Anthony’s case, had you caught and arrested him, you might have bought him an extra day or two. Whoever killed him would have done the deed, just at a later time. And there’s a real possibility that no one would have known about it.”

  “That doesn’t make me feel any better.”

  “Welcome to the job, Deputy.” He walked away from the booth.

  She gave it a parting look and hurried after him. “Why did you tell me that about your squad?”

  Dumping his now empty bag and cup in the trash, he continued on. Jolie pitched her trash and followed, catching up with him as he found a secluded spot near the local implement dealer’s new farm machinery display. Away from prying eyes, Xavier leaned against a tree trunk in its cool shade.

  “Did I overstep my bounds?” she asked, leaning into the tree, facing him.

  “No, I opened that door by showing you the photo.” He sighed. “I don’t talk about them because of what it means.”

  “Which is?”

  “That I’m the lucky one, and I shouldn’t be. Jolie, I don’t get why I lived and they didn’t. I don’t understand why the insurgents didn’t make sure the IED killed me. And I don’t get why, after all that shit, I still lost a leg and sustained damage to my brain and body that I’ll live with for
the rest of my life.” He shook his head. “Why am I telling you this at all?”

  Her hand shot out, and she caught his arm before he could walk away. Slowly, she ran her hand along his forearm until her fingertips reached his flexing bicep. His muscles quivered under her touch, encouraging her to move closer.

  “I don’t know why, but I’m glad you did. Talking about it is supposed to help.”

  He gave a derisive snort. “Not really.”

  Reducing the small gap between them, she traced the definition of his bicep, rolling the T-shirt sleeve up to reveal the cross tattoo. Now that she was closer, she noticed the names used as scrolling inside the cross. “These are the guys and gal?”

  “Yeah,” he whispered.

  Her gaze left the tattoo and met his. “You carry them with you everywhere you go. So why keep the picture?”

  “So I don’t forget what they looked like. The TBI makes me forget them sometimes, and I can’t forget.”

  Drawing on her boldness, Jolie hooked her arm around his neck. Xavier took advantage of it, pulling her flush to his body. His chest rose and fell in rapid succession. Was he feeling the same thing she was? Did he want to kiss her as much as she wanted it?

  “Jolie, what are you—”

  Her lips melded with his, stealing her breath. Fire ripped through her. She pried his mouth open, and her tongue delved in, tasting him. Wrapping his arms around her, he crushed her to him, growling as he returned as good as she gave.

  Nipping her lip, Xavier left her mouth and trailed kisses along her jaw to her neck then to the place where her pulse throbbed. He tortured the tender spot, making her moan and writhe. He sucked on her neck, and she shuddered. God, he knew exactly which switches to flick to send her over the edge.

  The slam of a tractor door startled them apart. Chest heaving, Jolie gulped, glancing down. What the … He’d undone some of the buttons on her uniform top. When had he done that? Hastily refastening them, she met his fiery gaze, and her body throbbed with want. This was as unprofessional as she could get. If Dad found out—and God knew he would eventually—she’d be on the receiving end of the lecture of the century on how not to present herself in public.

  Damn it. Would she ever be able to have a life that didn’t result in her worrying about what he thought of her actions and choices?

  “I should go home,” Xavier said, turning. “G’night, Joles.”

  Pleasant warmth—non-sexual—spread through her at her nickname rolling off his tongue. “Night, X.”

  He paused and flashed a content smile, then moved on, almost reluctantly.

  Jolie sagged against the tree, watching him leave. Why did she have to fall for a guy who was embroiled in a murder investigation? And he the key suspect?

  Her text message alert went off. Pawing her cell phone out of her pocket, she tapped the screen to open the message.

  Meet me at home.

  Dad. Jolie’s hand shook as she lowered the phone. There was no please, no could you—it was a demand. An order she had to obey, like a good little girl who always did what she was told in order to please him. What could he possibly want to meet about? It would be an ideal time to corner him about those days when Grace went missing and why he had closed the case, deeming her a runaway. But did she dare go alone?

  She spotted Xavier moving through the crowd. The sheriff had advised her to keep a close eye on him. She could use Xavier as her wingman in this situation. And maybe, just maybe, having him there would force Dad to behave, possibly apologize for pushing Xavier.

  But the man really should go home. Get some sleep, rest his overtaxed brain. He wanted to stay out of this investigation. Or did he? For someone who insisted he was done with being caught up in it, it sure didn’t stop him from listening to her talk it over or asking questions.

  Decisive, Jolie, decisive. Make the decision and execute.

  Her body moved before she could cement the thought.

  “Xavier.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Dad was going to be livid when she walked into the house with Xavier, but on the drive from the fairgrounds to her parents’ home, Jolie talked herself into getting over it. From here on out, Dad’s fits of temper would not affect her any longer. She parked her squad car along the side of the road, not the drive, to make for a fast, clean getaway if things got out of control. Xavier copied her move.

  Jolie hesitated beside her car and glared at the dark-blue Buick parked in the driveway.

  “Do you know what this ‘meeting’ is about?” Xavier asked as he joined her.

  “No, but why the hell is Pastor Richards here?”

  “Aren’t he and your dad mates?”

  She scowled. “Not what I’d call them. More like mutual bloodsuckers. Dad inflicts the wounds, and Richards is there to lend the spiritual bloodletting with flowery words. I never could understand why they got along. Dad doesn’t even go to church, and if he did, it wouldn’t be at Richards’.”

  “When did this whole ‘friendship’ start?”

  When had it? Come to think of it, Jolie had no idea when Richards became the pastor of United Church. Clawing through her memories, she managed to pull out the earliest one she had of him.

  She sighed. “I’m not all that sure when it became official, but Richards started hanging around about the time we had problems with Ian.”

  “Wasn’t that an election year for your dad? Maybe there’s a bit of a ‘you scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours’ going on.”

  “It could have been, and then just grew into something more.” She tore her gaze from the car to Xavier, stiffening at the odd expression on his face. “You okay?”

  Shaking his head, his features went blank. “A’right.”

  “You sure didn’t look all right.”

  “It was nothing, just a hiccup in my head. They come and go sometimes.”

  If it weren’t for that look, she might have believed him, but the niggling in her brain said he was doing a piss-poor job of lying to her. Still, there was no point in pushing the matter; if she did, he might bail and leave her alone to fend off the wolves lurking inside the house. Xavier’s able-bodied presence was doing wonders bolstering her confidence.

  “Let’s get this over with.”

  With each step closer to the house, her swagger faltered. The memory of pulling her sidearm on Dad was churning up the acid in her gut, giving her the worst case of heartburn in her life. She led Xavier past the front steps to the side entrance, into the house through the laundry room, and into the kitchen.

  Mom was sitting at the island counter, gripping a mug. Her gaze lifted, clashing with Jolie’s. The resignation in her mother’s eyes was enough to make Jolie want to hurl. Mom had listened to Dad rant and rave all night, probably had argued in favor of her daughter’s actions, but his pride and will had prevailed. Now all Ginny Murdoch could do was sit back as her husband made a bigger ass of himself.

  “Jolie, remember I love you,” Mom said in a low voice. She gave Xavier a curt nod, vacated her chair, and exited the house the same way Jolie had entered.

  Closing her eyes, Jolie swallowed. Her duty belt squeaked with the weight of her equipment, but it reassured her with its familiar comfort. The scent of pine and musk curled around her, embracing her, giving her the boost she needed for the confrontation to come. With one more cleansing breath, she headed for the battle, Xavier at her side.

  They passed under the archway leading into the living room, coming upon a scene that could have been ripped straight from The Godfather franchise. Dad was parked in his favorite chair, sitting like the don as he watched their approach. Off to his right, relaxed and still, Pastor Josiah Richards’s gaze tracked Jolie’s movements.

  “Pay close attention to the men Dad surrounds himself with. Watch their movements, their faces, and pay special attention to what they say.” Ian’s words haunted her, yet Jolie was inclined to heed his advice. Awareness of how the pastor was watching her sparked along her nerves. Her
gaze narrowed; she waited as he suddenly became uncomfortable with her returned scrutiny and looked away.

  “What is he doing here?” Dad growled.

  “Why is Richards here?”

  “Because we need a mediator. After your little stunt last night, it is clear to me that you were in need of some counseling.”

  “Ha! I need counseling? Maybe you should check the log in your eye before siccing your buddies on me.”

  “That’s enough, Jolie.”

  “Is it, Daddy? I believe you owe Xavier an apology for your inappropriate behavior yesterday.”

  His gaze flicked to the man behind her. Dad flushed a deep shade of red but kept his mouth clenched shut. So, he would rather be an a-hole than admit he was in the wrong. What happened to the man who “respected and honored” the men and women who sacrificed so much during war?

  A huff of air on the back of her neck was the only indication of Xavier’s thoughts on the matter. In the long run, he was the better man.

  Settling her hands on her hips, with her right hand brushing the butt of her gun, Jolie shifted into her cop stance, one foot slightly forward and her weight evenly distributed, ready for any quick action. Her movements caught Dad’s attention, drawing his gaze to her hip. He flushed red as his gaze left the gun and flicked to Richards.

  “Remove your weapon from this room,” Dad said.

  “Not happening, and you know it. I don’t leave my weapon where I can’t reach it. Not after what Ian did to us.”

  Dad moved to get out of his chair.

  “Eli, please,” Richards said, his voice like snake oil.

  Sinking back into his seat, Dad’s glare remained on Jolie. Gingerly, as if he was favoring an injury or the same old aches and pains of aging, Richards rose from his seat and started to move to the center of the room, putting himself in the direct line of fire between father and daughter.

  “Jolie, your father is worried, and it seems he has every right to be. With the undercurrent of danger going through McIntire County, there’s a legitimate concern that you could be jeopardizing your safety.” Richards’s gaze bounced to Xavier, lingering a moment before returning to Jolie.