by Alison Kent
"We have to do this now because I want to know what the hell you think you're doing taking a knife to a woman's clothes."
Fourteen
Spoon in hand, Spencer stared down. "Where did you get those?"
"Right where you left them. In the trash."
Seconds clicked by, and then he dug back into his cereal. A petulant child blindsided by the error of his ways. "Did you think maybe they were there for a reason? Like I didn't want to see them again?"
"Well, you're seeing them now, aren't you, boy?" Yancey barked back. "And you're going to tell me what happened, because I'm not going to sit around on my thumb and let a son of mine hurt any woman."
"I thought you didn't like Candy," Spencer said with a sneer that didn't quite reach its full potential when he shoved a spoon in his mouth.
Yancey took a deep breath. "What I don't like is your smart mouth, for one thing. For another ..." Shit. He didn't even know what to say to the boy. He didn't know how to get through. "Talk to me, Spencer. Tell me what went on here so I don't have to drive out to the Barn and check on Candy myself."
At that, Spencer's shoulders drooped as did both corners of his mouth. "Leave Candy alone. I'm not going to be seeing her again, okay? She's fine. I'm fine. The whole fucking world is fine, so drop it."
In the past, Yancey had dropped it. Each and every time. He dealt with enough conflict on the job that he didn't want to deal with it at home. A big mistake which might have a whole lot to do with the bond he and Spencer now seemed to be missing. How they couldn't talk about anything. How they each walked out of their way to avoid the other.
That wasn't the relationship he'd envisioned sharing with his adult son. "No, son. Nothing's fine. Not when we can't talk like two grown men."
The kitchen clock ticked its way loudly toward eight o'clock—the only sound in a silent room with Yancey letting Spencer stew, Spencer stewing, swirling his spoon through the milky mush he no longer seemed to want, keeping his head down as he did. "Since when did you start thinking of me as a grown man anyway? I'm pretty sure three days ago that you were treating me like a no-good kid."
Sighing, Yancey sat back in his chair, spread his knees, and crossed his arms over his middle, which he hated to admit was beginning to bulge. "If I treated you like a kid, it was because you were acting like one. But I've never once treated you like you were no good."
"Seemed that way the other night. Running me off the road like you did."
"And I apologized for that. If it helps, I'll apologize again." Funny how it wasn't quite as hard to say it this time, he mused before pressing on. "I let my temper get the best of me. In my line of work, that should never happen, but it especially shouldn't happen with you."
Slumped back in his chair now, Spencer reached up, pushed his ball cap back from his face, then changed his mind and pulled the brim lower as if he wanted to hide. "I'm not going to be seeing Candy anymore."
"Why not?" Yancey asked calmly when what he was feeling was a reviving blast of cold fresh air.
His son looked up, frowning and confused. "Why not? That's all you have to say? No 'I told you so,' or 'It's about damn time'?"
Here was where he needed to tread lightly. To keep this conversation from heading south. "I'm concerned about you being distracted. You've got a lot coming up this next year. I've told you that. That your head needs to be on school, not on girls."
Spencer snorted. "Not in girls. Wasn't that what you said Friday?"
Yancey's teeth clicked together as he held back the words his temper was raring to speak. "I know about being your age, Spencer. I was dating your mother and only a few years older when you were born. But I knew how important it was to get my degree. And the opportunity you're getting from Tech isn't one that comes along every day. I don't want you to blow it off or waste it."
"I don't see what the big deal is," Spencer said and shrugged, getting back to the distraction of his breakfast. "Your degree didn't keep you from ending up out here in Podunksville."
What a big fat cluster fuck this was. Yancey could tell his son the real truth, alienating him forever. Or he could tell the alternative truth, that Jeanne's pregnancy had taken them away from the life they'd planned together and brought them out here instead.
It was a twisted version of the point he was trying to make. But he would not betray the woman he loved more than he loved anything. "Your mother and I chose to live here. We wanted a simpler life after growing up in the city. This is all you know, son. Get a taste of something else before you come back here. And then if you do, so be it."
Spencer got to his feet, carried his dishes to the sink, rinsed and stacked them, returned the cereal to the pantry, the milk and juice to the fridge. Then he pushed his chair up beneath the table and stared down. "What if I come back for Candy?"
Toying with a rip in the tablecloth, Yancey took a deep breath. "If you do, you do. If you want to come back here and ranch, or even join the department, that's fine. I just don't want you to settle if there's more that you want. And these are the years you need to take to figure that out."
Spencer's head bobbed, which Yancey took as thoughtful agreement. Or at least he took it as thought. And then the boy pushed away, gestured toward the back door. "I'd, uh, better get going."
"Okay, then. I'm late myself so I'll follow you out." Yancey crossed to the sink, emptied the cup of coffee he'd never finished and rinsed it out.
"Uh, Dad?"
Yancey turned to find Spencer pressing a finger to the broken glass in the door. "Yeah?"
"About Candy and the . . . clothes." Color rose and darkened his face. "Seriously, nothing bad went on. The knife was, uh, her idea. It was a game. That was all."
Not any sort of game Yancey had interest in hearing about. Still, he appreciated the boon. "Then we won't talk about it again." He paused, swallowed, found his own gaze averted, found himself speaking from the heart when he said, "And if things aren't working out with you two, I am sorry."
"Yeah, me, too. I'm, uh, gonna head out now," Spencer said, and Yancey let him go, watching through the kitchen window as the boy who was as tall as he was, who had the same dark hair his mother once had, who would never know the truth of how much he was loved, drove away.
It was several minutes later before Yancey managed to pull himself together in order to face the rest of the day. But then the eight-minute drive, which took him from the edge of town to the county offices smack-dab in the center, left him calmer than he'd been all morning.
The talk with Spencer probably could have gone better, but things that needed to be said had been. And Yancey couldn't feel bad about that. What he could feel bad about was letting something at home keep him from getting to the office when he was due in.
In all his years of working for the department, there was only once he could remember that happening. The day a six-year-old Spencer had decided to drive himself to school and had bashed Jeanne's car into the edge of the carport, requiring stitches across the bridge of his nose. Kids. He chuckled to himself. Hard to live with 'em, couldn't imagine living a life without.
Pulling his car into the small asphalt lot and parking in his assigned space, Yancey gathered up his belongings and headed inside. The boy had been the same blessing and curse he figured all children were. He was just damn proud to have had a part in this one's upbringing—a truth that nothing would change, he mused, pulling open the glass door emblazoned with the department's logo.
"Oh, Sheriff Munroe?" his secretary Kate called from the cart where she stood making fresh coffee. "You've got a visitor waiting—"
But Yancey was already walking into his office and discovering that for himself. He came to a stop just inside the doorway where a hand slapped what he knew to be an official court document against his chest.
"Wagner. I see you're still not shy about shoving your way in and making yourself at home." Yancey grabbed the paperwork and circled around his desk, finally looking up to meet the other man's gaze—and t
o be taken aback when he did. His visitor looked like shit.
Holden's pupils were dilated, his nostrils quivering, his hair standing up on his head like a porcupine's quills. He ran his hand through it again, advancing, his dress shirt wrinkled like he'd slept in it for days. "The Mitchell girl has disappeared again."
"Oh, really?" Yancey couldn't say he was going to mind watching this one go down, though the attorney's appearance suddenly made a hell of a lot more sense. "Is her family coming after you for legal malpractice?"
"Her parents are reporting her as officially missing. You have all the information in front of you along with a warrant signed by Judge Ahearn." Holden jabbed a finger into the papers Yancey had dropped on his desk blotter. "The warrant authorizes a full search of the Big Brown Barn and the residence of Nevada Case."
"And what am I looking for?"
"Evidence relating to Liberty's disappearance or the whereabouts of any of the girls who have vanished from the township."
"That so." Yancey settled back in his chair and unfolded the creased and rumpled pages. The warrant was real enough, and had him wondering again how far the judge's nose was stuck up Wagner's ass. "Well, let me take a look and make sure everything's in order—"
Holden snatched the papers out of Yancey's hands, slammed the wadded sheets down on the desk in his fist. "I wouldn't come here if everything wasn't in order. The girl is gone. My car is gone—"
"Did you file a stolen car report?" Yancey interrupted the interruption to ask.
"No. I did not." Wagner shoved one hand to his waist, rubbed the back of his neck with the other. "Liberty took my car. She was seen by your own postmistress driving it onto the Case property. I don't plan to file charges. I want both found and returned to me."
Well, now. Wasn't this interesting? Yancey spread the documents out on his desk. "Returned to you? Not to her parents? When I released her into your custody on Friday, it was because you said you were taking her home. To her home, Wagner. To her parents." He brought his head up, cut the other man with his sharpest gaze. "Doesn't sound to me like that's what happened at all."
The attorney paced the room. His answer chilled the room. "What happened after we left the Barn is between me and my fiancee."
Yancey wasn't sure whether to choke or to sputter or to vomit now before he ate lunch and the mess was worse. "Your fiancee? Liberty Mitchell? What the fucking hell are you talking about, Wagner? The girl's young enough to be your daughter."
"Whom I choose to marry is none of your business, Sheriff."
"It is if you're marrying her without parental consent. She's underage, you prick."
"I'm an attorney, Munroe. I know the law." Holden stopped pacing, stood behind the visitor's chair. "All of our documents are in order."
Yeah. And how many of them were forged? Yancey folded the warrant that was unfortunately not and got to his feet. "Too bad you don't know how to keep your fiancee around until after the ceremony. Or maybe it's that she's not as anxious to share your bed as you are to crawl into hers."
Holden lunged across the desk. Yancey dodged. The pencil mug fell to the floor and shattered. The desk blotter slid, carrying Wagner over. The attorney sailed headfirst into the chair, grunted, crumpled, caught his breath, and rolled up to lean against the back wall.
Yancey didn't even look down. He was afraid if he did he'd piss himself laughing. What a fruitcake. What a fucking moron. Marrying a seventeen-year-old girl? The man deserved to look like the ridiculous fool that he was.
Picking up the warrant, the sheriff left his office and headed for the building's exit. Stopping in the open doorway to settle his sunglasses into place, he called back to his secretary, "Kate, radio Jason and Levi. Have them meet me out at the Big Brown Barn. And check with Wagner in there. See if he needs a Band-Aid."
Mick was packing his Rover, having just shoved a chunk of antibiotic-laced coffeecake down FM's throat, when he heard the cars pull into Neva's drive. Cars plural. Lights flashing, sirens off. All three county vehicles belonging to the sheriff's department.
Jesus bloody hell. What now? Sunglasses in place, he reached up to smooth the sport strap around his head, reached down to ostensibly tie his boots. While he was there, he checked the accessibility of both his knife and his gun. This bunch of cowboys was working his very last nerve and he was in a Boy Scout preparing state of mind.
He'd spent a large part of the morning just this side of the New Mexico border, working out logistics with Rabbit for the other man to pick up that half of the Spectra assignment. Mick would do what he could on this end to find Jase Bremmer's connection to the money train while Harry would see about finding the clone brothers and the rest of their kind.
Mick had also arranged his own networking system to keep tabs on Liberty's movements, one he'd decided not to share with Neva quite yet. What she didn't know couldn't hurt her. What he didn't tell her, she couldn't unintentionally spill when the bad guys shoved bamboo shoots under her nails.
Besides, he couldn't tell her what he'd done without telling her about the Smithson Group. He wasn't ready to do that. His number one priority, however, was to make sure no one got to his woman.
Because she was his woman. And she had been since she'd hefted his half-dead backside off the side of the road. He'd been working on figuring it out when she'd cut off his clothes in the clinic. But that night she'd spent in his bed it had all come together.
She was everything he wanted, all that he needed. He was getting damn close to loving her, or getting as close as he could, considering he'd never had a taste of love anywhere but in a woman's bed. Until now. Until Neva. Until she'd doctored him and teased him and fed him from her box of Patsy Cline's fudge.
But he couldn't dwell on any of that now. He and his SG-5 partner had a hell of a lot of work ahead. And it was a damn good thing they'd taken care of business this morning, because now here came the law.
Hearing the screen on Neva's front door bang shut, he glanced over and felt a hitch in his heart like he'd never felt before. She was wearing boots and jeans like she always did, with a sleeveless and collarless shirt tucked in. The shirt today was a soft buttery yellow, and she'd left her hair down so that it blew around her shoulders as she squinted, bringing up a hand to shade her eyes.
She was a proud woman, not skittish or easily cowed, meeting everything head-on that came her way. He admired her, he liked her, he appreciated her for who she was. And he lusted over what she made him feel as much as he did her body. That was a new one for him. Caring for a woman's well-being, bearing the weight of that responsibility wasn't anything he understood. Neither was being cared for.
He wouldn't trade either for the way he'd traveled so long between assignments, wearing blinders so he wouldn't have to see how deeply the pain he caused ran. She'd taught him the value of life with the way she worried herself over his needs as well as the needs of others.
These boondock goons were going to have to go through him before they even thought about getting to her. He slammed the Rover's cargo door, ordered FM to stay put, and took up his position at the base of her front porch steps.
"This can't be good," she said, crossing her arms over her chest. "Yancey and both of his deputies? They've got to know about Liberty."
When a fourth car pulled into the drive as the other three parked, Mick was inclined to agree. He glanced from the black sedan as it slowed to Sheriff Munroe climbing from the first car and slamming the door. Two of his lackeys parked behind and followed, keeping their distance as he walked up to the porch where Mick stood.
"Neva." The lawman looked beyond Mick to the porch where Neva still stood silent, and pulled a document from his shirt pocket. "I've got a warrant to search your residence and the barn."
"What?" she gasped, moving closer and placing a hand on Mick's shoulder. "What are you looking for?"
"We now have probable cause to believe you're harboring a runaway. A missing person's report has been filed in the case of Liberty Mitc
hell." He held out the warrant as Holden Wagner stepped from the last car to arrive.
The lawyer looked like he'd tumbled through a washing machine and been hung out to dry. Mick ignored him and took the warrant from Munroe's hand. "I think you've already been through this with Ms. Case, Sheriff."
"The situation has changed Mr. ..."
Mick didn't respond to the lawyer's comment. He didn't even acknowledge the presence of the other man. He simply held the officer's gaze and passed the paperwork over his shoulder to Neva. Seconds later he heard her curse sharply under her breath.
"Neva, I need you to step on out here with Jason." Munroe waved one of his deputies forward. "Let me and Levi take a look through your place here before we head down to the barn."
Feeling Neva at his side, Mick stepped to his left, grabbing her hand and not letting her pass. Keeping her there. Keeping her with him. "Go ahead, Sheriff. We'll wait right here."
Wagner pushed his way past the deputy. "Interfering with a police investigation. Sheriff, I hope you're going to arrest this man."
"Shut up, Wagner," Munroe snapped, turning back to Mick and pointing a finger. "She waits at the car with Jason. You can stay. What you can't do is impede the search or our questioning."
"No worries, mate." Draping his arm over her shoulder, Mick guided her toward the deputy's car and away from the house, from Holden Wagner, and out of earshot of anyone around. The deputy, Jason, opened the car's back door.
Neva sat, and Mick stood in the opening, one hand on the roof of the car, one gripping the frame of the door. The deputy gave them privacy. Wagner returned to his own car, hovering like a watchdog until Mick was ready to pounce.
A sharp tug on the fabric of his fatigues stopped him. He glanced down into Neva's face, felt a similar tug in the pit of his stomach. "I'm not worried about the house. There's nothing there." Her voice was barely audible when she next spoke. "But if they find the safe room in the barn ..."
