Sins of the Father

by Winter Austin

  “An officer, a general no less, admitting fault. Hell hath frozen over, and the devil will be vacating to an oceanfront property in Arizona.”

  A hint of a smile wiggled William’s goatee. So he had a sense of humor.

  “What division were you in?” he asked.

  “First, MP.”

  A knowing light came into the man’s eyes. He stopped fiddling with the napkin. “You were under my command.”

  “I know.”

  Weighted silence hovered over them. Xavier had done whatever it took to be as close to the general as he could get. There had been a lot of uncertainty about whether he’d even like being an MP, but Xavier had found he had a knack for the job and soon forgot about Brigadier General William Rivers.

  “Did you ever meet up with Nic during your tours?”

  “One time we ended up on the same outpost, but I never saw or met her, just overheard the guys bitching about a female sniper on base.”

  An expression of pride played on William’s features. It was at odds with the image Xavier had constructed for the man. Maybe he needed to scrub the slate clean and start over. His half-sisters hadn’t been lying about their father when they’d explained that he was changing.

  William sobered. “Had I known about you, I would have done right by you, and Marianne.”

  That thickening in Xavier’s throat returned. Shit, would he ever get over being an emotional wimp?

  “For as long as I can remember, I wanted a son. I never fathomed that a brief, blissful moment in my sordid life would give me that wish.” William hung his head, shaking it as he seemed to recall memories. “Marianne and I both agreed it wasn’t anything more than a wild fling. I’m just sorry I didn’t make any attempt to contact her or stay in touch.”

  “She wouldn’t have allowed it. I asked her the same thing, and she told me you’d been a bright spot of fun on an otherwise dull trip, nothing more to it.” Xavier’s stomach twisted. “Obviously, for you, she’d been a chance to forget your grief and the daughter you left back home.”

  Hard lines edged into William’s features. “I’m a man of many sins, but I never forgot my daughter.”

  “Have you told her that?”

  “Mr. Hartmann, I don’t believe we’ve reached the point of this conversation to discuss my faults with my daughters.”

  Xavier stood. “No, I believe we haven’t. If you don’t mind, I’d like to continue with my work before the noon rush hits.”

  William remained seated for a few ticks of the clock before rising. With a curt nod, he strode to the exit. Once the ornate door swung shut behind him, Xavier was finally able to breathe.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Jolie stared, open-mouthed, her brain unable to process what she was seeing, but her heart was breaking.

  Bones. Dirty and twisted, with bits of cloth hanging from them. Bones. And lying among the desolation, a tarnished cross necklace.

  Jolie staggered away from the half-dug grave. Slowly, comprehension was soaking through her numbed and addled mind. It was too old to be Sarah’s body that had been lying, moldering, in that makeshift grave at the edge of the hayfield. But Jolie knew—deep in the pit of her soul, she knew—the cadaver dog had located Grace Maddox.

  Breaching the circle of state crime-scene officials and her fellow LEOs, Jolie stepped under the yellow tape and came face to face with her father.

  His features were blank, but those cold eyes bore into her. How could this man have been a father to her? Had he been this distant and overbearing all her life? No. Jolie could recall a time, before Ian lost control and before the pressures of running the sheriff’s department started to wear on her father, when he’d play card games with her, teach her how to shoot a rifle, take her and Ian hunting or fishing. Dad had been caring, giving out hugs and kisses—things she barely recalled. Jolie’s throat tightened. He had been a great dad, the man she looked up to and admired, a loving father.

  “What’s going on here?”

  And just like that, his condescending tone reminded her why she couldn’t reconcile the way he used to be with the way he was now.

  “You have no right to be here. This is a police matter, and you need to vacate the premises.”

  “Jolie—”

  “I’m not arguing with you over the matter. Leave, right now.”

  Movement behind her father attracted her attention. Peering past his shoulder, she glared at the man hovering at the far edge of the field, near the road. Pastor Richards stared back, but from this distance, Jolie couldn’t make out his expression. That smug-faced prick had the gall to show up here. Her gaze snapped back to her father.

  “I’m giving you one last chance to leave on your own, or I will arrest both you and Richards for obstruction.”

  Shock came alive in his eyes, and Dad craned around to look for his old pal. “What’s he doing here?”

  Jolie snorted. “Like you didn’t know. The two of you travel everywhere together these days. The only one missing is Donovan Frost to round out the pack.”

  “I didn’t know he was here.” Dad reached for her arm, but she dodged out of range. “Let me talk with Josiah.”

  “No. There’s no talking here. Both of you vacate. I’m giving you three minutes, starting now.”

  Dad blinked a few times, and then with an aggravated shake of his head, he turned on his heel and marched toward his old friend.

  As she watched the two of them closely, Jolie’s muscles coiled, ready for release if either of them decided to test her mettle. Any more bullshit from either man, and she would throw their asses in jail so fast their necks would crack from the whiplash. No way in hell was she buying Dad’s surprise that Josiah Richards had just shown up without his knowledge.

  Jolie made a show of checking the time on her watch as the two men looked her way. Dad snagged Richards’s shirt sleeve and dragged him away. Once they had vanished behind the line of vehicles on the road, she began to relax a little. Turning back to the scene behind her, she watched the women and men of DCI work to put up a tent to protect the gravesite from the elements and onlookers trying to get a peek.

  With a heavy heart, Jolie drifted over to Sheriff Hamilton, who had just emerged from the chaos inside the taped-off area.

  “Sir, should we alert Linda Maddox so we can get a DNA sample?”

  He shook his head. “It might be too early. We have Anthony’s, so we’ll start there.”

  “They only share a mother.”

  “They were siblings; it’ll be enough.” Hamilton lifted his Resistol and wiped at the sweat glistening on his forehead. “Murdoch, I need you to do something for me.” He replaced his cowboy hat; regret was etched into the crags of his features. “I need you to bring in Xavier Hartmann.”

  Like taking a kick to the gut, the air rushed from Jolie’s body. “Why?” she gasped.

  “DCI found his fingerprints on the knife handle.”

  Someone was ripping her guts out. “No.”

  Hamilton gripped her shoulder. “Jolie.”

  She shook her head. “Fingerprints aren’t enough.”

  “It is when Clint Kruger’s blood is on the blade.”

  The weight of what he said crushed her, stealing her last breath. Jolie’s knees wobbled, begging to buckle and let her collapse, but that Murdoch iron will refused to succumb to her weakness.

  “I can’t do it, sir.”

  “Can’t do what?”

  “Arrest Xavier.”

  “Why the hell not?” Hamilton’s gaze bore into her, stripping away the last shred of defense she had in protecting her secret. “Shit, Murdoch, did you sleep with him?”

  Fire scorched her cheeks, and she bowed her head.

  “Damn it. What the hell is the deal with my female deputies getting tangled up with men at the wrong time? And you would just have to pick the wrong man to do it with. Damn it!”

  Jolie begged the earth to open up and swallow her. Of all the strip-downs she could have imagined rec
eiving from Sheriff Shane Hamilton, sleeping with a person of interest in a murder investigation was not one of them. She’d failed, again. She’d let her personal life get in the way of the job. Had she learned nothing from what happened with Ian?

  “Do you at least love the idiot?”

  Her head whipped up with enough force to make her neck crack. The four-letter word swam through her mind, asking her the same thing. Did she love Xavier Hartmann?

  Hamilton groaned. “Should have known. Damn it to hell and back again. Why did I even remotely suggest you stick to him like Gorilla Glue?” He turned. “Nash!”

  “Sheriff, no, let me do it. I can do it.”

  He looked back at her, resignation masking his face. “Murdoch, this is too damn serious to be sending in a lovesick kid.”

  “I’m not lovesick. This is my job.”

  Nash joined them. “Sheriff?”

  “Quietly, and I mean as quietly as possible, find Xavier Hartmann, take him to the department”—the sheriff sighed—“and book him.”

  Nash flinched, his gaze bouncing to Jolie and back to Hamilton. “You’re sure?”

  “I can’t refute the evidence at this point.”

  With a nod, Nash took a step to pass them. Jolie’s hand shot out of its own accord, and she grasped Nash’s arm.

  “Sheriff, I’m going with.”

  “Murdoch, I’ll tell you again: it is not a good idea for you to be there.”

  “I didn’t sign up for this job to shirk my duties.”

  • • •

  The lunch crowd had peaked at twelve thirty and was now dwindling away. Xavier’s overexuberant activities the night before had left him exhausted and tipsy. But he didn’t once regret that it was with Jolie. Still, he should have taken it slow and savored the moment instead of letting his raging libido get the best of him. Then again, his redhead had kept pace with him, and her sexual appetite was astounding.

  As a large group of satisfied customers left The Killdeer, Jolie emerged from the back of the pack, like he’d conjured her here, and took root a few feet from the bar. He drank in the sight of her, sucking in the energy that ebbed from her body and letting it refuel his tired, beat-down, crippled one. She was exactly what the doctors should have ordered.

  Damn, she looked good. He couldn’t stop the dopey grin. If people noticed him going all googly-eyed over her, so what? She’d done what he damn near thought impossible: made him feel like he’d found his place in this world.

  He could actually picture himself staying here. Getting to know his half-sisters better. Hell, even making a fair go of it with William. If Jolie could overcome her desire to please everyone and stop worrying about what the townsfolk thought of her, why couldn’t he? He’d proven he was just as able-bodied as a whole man, and they knew it. There was no reason for Xavier to leave. This was what he’d been seeking since he learned the truth of his parentage. A home. A place to belong.

  A large and looming shadow came up behind Jolie, diverting his attention. Deputy Deacon Nash hadn’t crossed Xavier as menacing or a threat; the tall African-American was the joker of the group. Yet, at this moment, the vibe Xavier sensed coming from the man was enough to send his hyperaware senses shooting off the charts.

  Jolie scanned the dining area. Xavier noted the hint of pink to her cheeks, which revved up his libido. She had been that shade post-sex. But when her gaze returned to him, there was a hardness to her eyes that faltered. She flinched, trying to screw up her face into some semblance of … indifference. Something was wrong.

  Stepping around her, Nash closed the gap to the bar. Hands resting on the top, a nonthreatening move, Nash looked Xavier dead in the eyes. “We need you to come with us, Hartmann. No fuss or drama.”

  Oh, it was more than just wrong. “Mind if I ask why?”

  In a flash, Jolie was standing next to her coworker. “Xavier, please, just come.” Whatever tough image she’d been trying to project was shot to hell by the pleading in her voice.

  Cornered, Xavier was beginning to get a read on them. Something had changed in the investigation. Something that now made him look like the killer. Why else would they be here? Asking him to come quietly?

  “Jolie, tell me why.”

  Her throat bobbed. She rested her hand on her service weapon, and his body froze. Not once since he started to spend time with her had she ever just casually rested her hand on the gun butt. This was a gesture she did when she felt threatened or needed to assert her authority, like she had with her father.

  She’d discovered the truth. Xavier was a killer.

  Damn her. She’d promised that she’d do everything in her power to prove he hadn’t been the one to kill Clint Kruger. She had been so certain of it that she’d made him believe it was true.

  Her betrayal hurt him worse than when the doctors had told him his leg was gone.

  “What’s changed?” he demanded.

  “Everything.” The stiff posture and hardness in her eyes had finally reached her voice.

  “Tell Farran whatever you need to in order to leave, and we’ll take this to the sheriff’s department,” Nash was saying.

  But Xavier’s gaze never strayed from Jolie. “‘Everything’ being what, Jolie?”

  She flinched at the rough undertone in his voice then glanced back at the diners in the pub. Lowering her head, she turned so that her gun hand was facing him. “Mr. Hartmann, please, let’s not make a scene.”

  Those words and that move finally ripped his heart from his chest. Professional and formal, she was trying to keep the gossips from spinning this as something bad for her. She was more fucking worried about her status with those fucking people than what she was doing to him. She hadn’t learned a damn thing he’d been trying to teach her.

  Xavier’s gaze roved over the lingering patrons in the restaurant. Joe Sullivan, no doubt piddling around to avoid going back out on his mail route, wasn’t even pretending not to be interested in the tension hovering over the bar. Joe would tell everyone who asked, “I always kinda liked the guy. Shame we read him so wrong … ”

  Xavier had wanted to be a part of this community, a part of their town. He’d come so close to it, he could taste it with Jolie.

  Well, fuck them all and let the medics sort them out.

  No way was he going to make a scene, despite what they might say later. He owed Nash that much. With a curt nod, Xavier set down the towel he’d been wringing and went to the kitchen.

  Farran looked up from scraping the grill before the dinner rush came through. She brushed back a stray strand of dark hair with the back of her hand and gave him a grin. Instantaneously, that grin faded into a frown. “Xavier, what’s going on?”

  He looked over his shoulder to find Nash and Jolie standing behind him. “I need to leave with them. Don’t think I’ll be back in time for the next round; might want to call in backup.”

  Farran slapped the metal scraper onto the grill. “Deacon Nash, you better have a good explanation for taking him again.”

  “I assure you, Farran, I do.”

  The look on her face said differently, but she didn’t argue. She would no doubt be calling her brother and demanding an answer. Xavier headed for the back exit—no use in making a bigger scene out front than they already had. When he stepped outside, he faced the two deputies.

  “Your call.”

  “We’ll ride in my car,” Nash said, “and as long as you continue to cooperate, we won’t need the cuffs.”

  Xavier nodded and turned, catching the pained expression on Jolie’s features.

  “I’m sorry,” she said softly.

  Yeah, a little too late there, sheila.

  • • •

  Here he was again, wearing an orange jumpsuit this time, staring at the same four walls of the interview room. Xavier couldn’t decide if he was pissed off or depressed at the turn of events. From the way Jolie had reacted and how Nash treated him, it was a sure bet Xavier was actually going to sit in a jail cell this
time.

  The door opened, and the sheriff entered, Jolie hot on his heels. The damn woman was a glutton for punishment. What? Did she think by being present each time he was further humiliated it would make it all better? Fuck it! All she did was remind him of how she’d turned from him, ripped him apart, and made him feel more rejected than he ever had in his life.

  “I don’t want Murdoch in here,” he said.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her jolt.

  “That’s fine,” Hamilton said. “Go check on the team’s progress.”

  Jolie hesitated, her lips pinched, then she spun on her heel and fled the room, the door smacking shut behind her.

  “She’s doing her job,” Hamilton said as he took a seat across from Xavier.

  He pinned the sheriff with what he hoped was his best cold stare. “I’ve been put through the wringer enough with her around. Let’s get this farce over with, and you tell me what it was that landed my ass back in here.”

  “Pulling the hard-ass act out of the bag isn’t going to help you any.”

  “What would you suggest I do, Sheriff?”

  “Find a damn reason that explains how you ended up next to Clint Kruger in the park, and how your DNA was found all over him. And your fingerprints on a knife that had his blood on it.”

  Xavier scowled. “I have never used a knife on anyone. Why would I fuss with stabbing an already dead man?”

  “Why indeed, but it happened, and you can’t remember how or why you did it.”

  “Perhaps it’s best that it stays that way, because no matter which way you look at it, I’m guilty.”

  Hamilton sat back into his chair, his hands spread wide before him, staring at Xavier. “You’re giving up.”

  “What would you have me do?”

  “Fight harder than this.”

  “For what?”

  Leaning forward once more, Hamilton rapped the tabletop. “Jolie.”

  Xavier flinched. “Women like her don’t give two shits about men like me.”

  A second ticked past before Hamilton rose. “Who are you to judge what a woman thinks about you?” He moved to the door. “If you won’t at least try to help yourself out, I have no choice but to place you under arrest.”