Carter laughed. “Nope! Can’t say I’ve ever heard that!”
“I don’t believe you.”
“It’s true. No woman has ever said that to me before, and especially not a beautiful woman like you.” The instant the words were out, he wished he hadn’t said them, but he was thrilled to see her cheeks go from a pale pink to a rosy blush.
“Sheriff―”
“Carter. My name’s Carter.”
She stopped and for a second or two, Carter thought he’d totally fucked up. But when she started again, her voice was different, lilting and light. “Carter. That’s a nice name. Mine’s Sharla. But you already know that.”
“Yeah.” He ran his fingers through his thick, dark hair, hoping he didn’t have a cowlick sticking up in the back. God, he needed a haircut, but there never seemed to be time. It would’ve been nice if he’d had time before that particular moment. He’d always been careful about his appearance, but something about her made him want to clean up his act and buy a couple of pairs of new jeans and a new shirt or two. Being nervous around a woman was a new thing for him, but he was flustered in her presence. He hoped his voice wasn’t too shaky when he said, “I guess I should call you that, huh? I’ve never known anybody by that name.”
The twilight made the shadows of her face seem mysterious and brooding, and that wasn’t what he’d seen in the warm light of the bar. A sudden urge hit him, an urge to take her somewhere where the light was golden and the air was filled with the smell of burgers grilling and coffee brewing. Before he had a chance to speak, her soft voice said, “I suppose I should get back. Morning comes early.”
Just like that, the spell was broken. “Oh. Yeah, well, it does, doesn’t it? Want a cup of coffee before you leave?”
She cocked her head and grinned at him. “You don’t want this to end, do you?”
“Honestly?” She nodded in response. “No. No, I don’t.”
“Neither do I. Come on. I’m game for that coffee if you are.”
Holy shit, Carter! She’s really interested! For the first time since Mandy, Carter felt some sense of hope. Sharla Barker was beautiful, smart, and hardworking, all things he’d want in a woman. They rose and headed down the sidewalk in the direction of the bar, but he decided halfway down the block to take a chance and reached out, his right hand brushing her left one.
And just like that, her fingers wound into his and their palms met. Something coursed through Carter’s body, some kind of energy that was unfamiliar but welcome, and his skin tingled. When his eyes darted to the side to catch a glimpse of her, he caught her doing the same to him, then dropping her gaze and grinning.
At the bar’s door, he dropped her hand and held the door for her, then followed her to a table by the wall. He managed to catch the gaze of the bartender, mouthed the word coffee, and got a nod in reply. “So are you still coming to my house tomorrow evening?” she asked as he faced her again.
“Yeah. I need to talk to Chelsea and Lionel. Have you told them I’m coming?”
“No.”
“Then please, don’t. I wouldn’t say I want this to be a surprise attack, but I want to catch them fresh. I don’t want them all worked up from thinking about me being there. Does that make sense?”
“Sure. Mum’s the word,” she said in agreement as she smiled at the delivery of their coffee to the table. “Is it okay if I get all worked up from thinking about you being there?”
Carter gave a little chortle. “Sure! I’d be flattered.”
“Good.” Her hands were delicate with long, beautiful fingers, and he watched them caress the stem of the spoon, wishing it were a part of him that needed a woman’s attention. She stirred the coffee slowly. “This has been nice.”
“It has.” He knew he needed to say something else, but he wasn’t sure what. If Mac, his trainer back at the academy all those years before, could see him sitting there talking to a woman who was part of an investigation he was actively pursuing, the old man would have a fit. For some reason, Carter didn’t care. There was something about Sharla Barker that really drew him in, and he wanted to find out exactly what that was. And if it was warm, pink, and wet? Well, all the better.
“I suppose I should get home. I need to do some laundry before they roll in tomorrow. And there’s the matter of a funeral to plan too.” Her voice was suddenly sad, and that made Carter sad too. He wished he could rewind everything that had happened, but there was no way to do that.
“I’ll walk you to your car,” he offered, then waited as she rose and followed her outside.
She turned at the corner of the building and meandered across the parking lot next door, Carter right behind her. When they reached her car, she stopped and fished out her keys before she said, “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow evening?”
“Yeah. I don’t know what time. It’ll depend on what’s going on. Can you help me out just a little and let me know when they get in?”
“Sure. The sooner we have all this unpleasantry behind us, the better for all of us. It’s hard to feel good about seeing you tomorrow night when I know why you’ll be there.” No sooner had the words left her lips than she leaned in and gave Carter a light kiss on the cheek. No way had he seen that coming. Before he could speak, she said, “But I’ll find a way to look forward to it. Goodnight, Carter.”
Heat spread from his cheeks down his chest, and the lawman’s heart beat wildly. “Goodnight, Sharla. See you tomorrow night.” He stood there until she was locked into her car and her seatbelt was buckled, then made his way back to the sidewalk. As she pulled out of the parking lot, she tapped the horn and he turned to wave back.
Suddenly, the next evening’s unpleasant task didn’t seem quite so unpleasant. And if there was anything Carter Melton appreciated, it was a woman who knew exactly what she wanted. Unless he missed his guess, she wanted him, and he was pretty damn happy about that.
Chapter 3
Was it wrong that he was looking forward to grilling a couple of young people about their sister and cousin’s death? Maybe. But he was.
The day dragged on and on, and Carter didn’t think it would ever be over. He contemplated staying in uniform―after all, it was an official interview―then said screw it and changed into jeans. Before he put on a tee, though, he reconsidered and pulled out a polo with the department’s crest on it. One quick look in the mirror told him he most definitely needed a haircut, but there wasn’t time for that, at least not before going to Sharla’s house.
When she hadn’t called by six, he decided he’d better get something to eat. It was nearing seven when his phone’s text tone went off, and he checked it. Short, sweet, and to the point: They just walked in. Anytime is fine.
Eleven minutes later, he was standing at the front door of a modest bungalow in one of the middle-class neighborhoods in Hopkinsville. Before he even had a chance to ring the doorbell, the door opened. There was a huge smile on her face when she breathed out, “Hey!”
“Hi. Thanks for texting me. Think they’re ready?”
She shrugged. “Who knows? Come on in and I guess we’ll find out.” He let her lead him through the house to a small den on the back. “Just have a seat. Want something to drink? I’ve got fresh coffee?”
“Yeah. That sounds great. Thanks.”
“Here you go,” she said when she returned and set the mug down on the coffee table. “Sugar? Milk? Creamer?”
“No. Black is fine, thanks.”
“Ready?”
“When you are.”
“Kids? Could you come out into the den for a minute please?” Sharla called, and in seconds Carter could hear feet shuffling until two young faces appeared in the doorway. “Sheriff Melton’s here and he wants to talk to you.”
“I thought we didn’t do anything wrong,” Chelsea said barely over a whisper.
“You haven’t. I just wanted to talk to you about Tamara, see if we could figure out what was going on. There are a lot of questions going unanswered, and we need to get to the bo
ttom of all this.” He motioned to the sofa across from him, and Chelsea and Lionel took a seat. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his phone, found the voice recorder, started it, and laid the phone on the table in front of the kids. “First, I haven’t gotten a chance to talk to you, young man. I’m sorry about your sister.”
“I heard it was you who shot her,” the boy said, an edge to his voice but his expression flat.
“Actually, there were seven gunshot wounds, but it’s true―mine was the one that did the deed. For that, I’m sorry, but she drew on us and we weren’t left with a lot of options.” He watched Lionel’s face but the young man didn’t appear to be confrontational, just trying to sort things out. Carter felt sorry for him. He was bound to be confused. “As I said, we’ve got some questions. First, how long had you been at the event when you left?”
Lionel and Chelsea glanced at each other. “Maybe two hours?” Chelsea answered, and Lionel nodded in agreement.
“And in that time, what did you do?”
“We just hung out and listened to the speakers,” Lionel offered.
“Did you eat or drink anything?”
“I think I had a soda and some chips, and I remember you had a soda and some kind of food, right?” Chelsea said as she turned to Lionel.
“Yeah. A hot dog,” the boy said with a nod.
“Did Tamara have anything?”
“Yeah,” Chelsea answered. “She had a beer. At least one. Maybe two.”
“Bottle? Can? Draft?”
Lionel answered, “In a cup. From a keg.”
“And who was passing out the beer?”
They both shrugged before Chelsea said, “I dunno. Some volunteers, I think.”
“And when did you observe Tamara acting strangely?”
They both sat for a few seconds, seemingly deep in thought, before Chelsea asked Lionel, “How long had we been there when that guy got up to speak? The one who was talking about the importance of taking what you want by force if necessary?”
“I don’t know, but we left when he was finished.”
“And that’s when you observed her acting strangely?”
Chelsea nodded. “Yeah. Well, more like we said we wanted to leave because we were uncomfortable with the way the guy was talking, but she got mad because we didn’t want to stay.”
“Yeah, she got all huffy and asked us if we wanted somebody to hurt her and for her to be unable to defend herself. That’s when she showed me her gun. I was ready to go then―I was totally freaked out by that,” Lionel said, his eyes wide and eyebrows raised.
“And where did you go when you left there?” Carter asked.
“It was getting late, so we were going to come on home.” Chelsea fiddled with the hem of her tee shirt. “I told her I’d drive because I didn’t really think she should. Of course, I wasn’t going to tell her that because she was acting so weird, but she insisted she wanted to.”
“Weird how?”
“Really jumpy. Nervous. Kind of aggressive. Was that what you thought, Lionel?”
The young man nodded. “Yeah. Kind of aggressive. Very unlike her. Almost like we were the enemy.”
“Uh, yeah. I think that’s understandable,” Carter said and waited for a response. Sure enough, both young people’s brows furrowed in confusion. “What kind of drugs did you guys take?”
“We didn’t take any drugs! I don’t do that shi … stuff!” Chelsea fired back.
“Me either! I’ve gotta keep my GPA up or I lose my scholarship and I’d have to quit school!” Lionel cried out.
“Did you know Tamara had several different kinds of very dangerous drugs in her system?” Chelsea and Lionel’s mouths dropped open and Carter could tell they weren’t faking it―they had no idea Tamara had been under the influence. “Yeah. MDVP for one.”
Lionel’s voice was a breathy gasp. “Bath salts?”
“You know about them?”
“Yeah, everybody does. But Tamara would never do that stuff.”
“There was also cocaine in her system.” The kids turned to each other, their eyebrows disappearing into their hairlines and their mouths open in astonishment. “And Adderall. The ADHD drug?”
“Holy shit! All three?” Chelsea croaked.
“Yeah. All three. She was really out there when she was shot, and she’d been like that for a while, apparently.”
“But those drugs don’t last that long in the bloodstream. I know. I’m pre-med,” Lionel pointed out.
“Well, there’s the rub of it. Do either of you know anything about this?” Carter asked as he took out the picture of the tattoo and showed it to the kids.
Chelsea rolled her eyes. “Yeah. We know. I told her not to do it, but she did.”
“So you know about the tattoo?”
“Oh, yeah. They were pushing people to get them,” Lionel offered.
“They? Who’s they?”
“The organizers of the event. The coordinators of the group that put it on,” the young man said.
“Why?”
“Solidarity, they said,” Lionel answered.
“And the bandage over it?”
Chelsea shrugged. “There were some guys walking through the crowd, asking if anybody had one of their tattoos. He said to put it on over the tattoo in case the cops showed up. It would make it hard for them to identify the members of the group, seeing as how they were telling all of us that the cops were out to get us.”
“And the only people they were giving them to were people who had the tattoos?” Chelsea nodded. Should I tell them about the bandages? Nah, Carter decided. He’d save that piece of info in case he needed it. “And she took one and put it on?”
“Yeah,” Lionel said.
“Did you notice anybody else acting weird?”
Chelsea shrugged. “I dunno. We didn’t know any of those people, so there was no way of knowing how they usually acted. But I do know that as the event went on, people started getting crazier and louder. Don’t you think so, Lionel?”
“Yeah. I noticed that. It was another reason why I wanted to leave. It started getting really loud, and I hate that.”
“So back to the tattoo. Do you know what it means?”
Chelsea nodded. “Well, yeah. It’s their logo.”
“The organization? What’s it called?”
Chelsea quirked an eyebrow up and scowled. “Um, tanner de lupo, I think? I don’t know what that means.” Suddenly, her gaze locked with Carter’s. “Do you?”
“No. Can’t say that I do, but I’m going to see if I can find out. In the meantime, I’d like for both of you to come down and look at some pictures to see if you can identify the guys who were speaking.”
Lionel’s face fell and his eyes misted over. “But my sister’s funeral―”
“No rush. It can wait until afterward. But I can tell you that the longer we wait, the longer it will take to possibly figure out what was going on there and with Tamara. You do want your sister’s death to make sense, don’t you? Or the people who set this whole thing up to pay for their crime?”
“I do.” Carter watched as the boy broke down and his cousin wrapped her arm around his shoulder. “May I be excused? I need to go get ready. Coach Beckett said they’d do a little memorial for Tamara tonight at nine,” he said, his voice soft and halting.
“Sure. We can take this up another time. Go. I’m glad they’re doing that for her, and for you. And thank you for answering my questions. Get back to me when you’re feeling better, okay?”
“Thank you,” Chelsea whispered and smiled. “I know you’re just trying to help, and we appreciate it, really.”
“You’re welcome. Now scoot.” He watched as both kids rose and headed down the hallway, then turned to Sharla. “Good kids. This is such a shame.”
“Think you got anything you can use?” she asked.
“I think it’s important that I figure out this tanner de lupo thing.”
“You really don’t know what that mean
s? Or you don’t want them to―”
“No. I really don’t know what that means, but I’m going to do some asking around. Maybe the guys who went to the university the day after the shooting found something. I dunno. It may be nothing. Or it may be something. But I do know something isn’t right about this whole organization.”
“I agree. Got anywhere you need to be?”
Carter smiled. “Nope. Not right now anyway.”
“Good. Stick around and pretend you’re going to ask me a bunch of questions.” With that, Sharla rose and headed to the kitchen. When she reached the doorway, she spun and smiled. “More coffee, sheriff?”
“Don’t mind if I do!” Carter grabbed his mug and decided he’d go that direction instead of waiting for her. Just like the rest of the house, the kitchen was nondescript, its floor covering worn and plain and its curtains faded. Everything was clean, but there was nothing new in the room, and he was pretty sure the refrigerator was a breath away from taking a shit. There wasn’t a lot of money floating around there, that much was obvious. That was the moment something crossed his mind, something he’d wondered about but forgotten to ask. “Hey, Sharla, about Tamara’s funeral on Sunday …”
“Yeah?” she answered, never turning to look at him as she cut a piece of Danish sitting on the counter.
“Did you have life insurance for―”
“No. I’m not sure how I’m going to pay for it, but I will.”
“The department has a fund. I could talk to them and―”
“That’s not necessary.”
“I insist.” Carter reached for his mug, refilled and steaming, and when he grabbed it, their fingers touched for an instant.
He felt like he’d been struck by lightning. The hair on the back of his neck rose and gooseflesh popped up on his arms. His first thought was to wonder how long the kids would be gone to the memorial service, and he chastised himself immediately for thinking that way when the family was in mourning. But he couldn’t help it. When their eyes met, she smiled, and he wondered if she’d felt it too. She’d been coming onto him ever since the evening before, and he had to wonder what she thought was going to happen between them. He had no idea what that would be, but he knew what he wanted it to be.
Shelter for Sharla Page 4
