Jack Murray, Sheriff Page 5

Lauren appeared in the doorway with a pile of books high enough to make Beth groan inwardly. Steph glanced toward her, but Beth insisted, “Promise?”

  “Uh, sure.”

  Beth smiled shakily and gave her another hug. “It’s not fair, is it?”

  “What’s not fair?” Lauren asked.

  At the same time as her sister snapped, “None of your beeswax!” Beth said, “Just something Steph and I were talking about. Let’s see, what did you pick out?”

  Lauren stuck out her tongue at her sister, but didn’t insist on an answer.

  Normalcy, Beth thought, as Stephanie retreated with her own book to her chair, where she appeared to become completely absorbed in her reading. Beth might almost have believed it if only Steph had turned a page more often, and if she hadn’t given a heavy sigh she apparently didn’t realize anyone else would hear.

  Not fair. But what could she do? Beth wondered with familiar despair and even panic. Go on in this constant state of tension? Or wait until Ray got caught playing his nasty games?

  Of course, he wouldn’t get caught unless she called the police, and she had a suspicion the only policeman who would be interested in her problems at this point was Sheriff Jack Murray—and he represented danger of a different kind.

  JACK GLANCED AROUND the crowded gymnasium and felt familiar regret that he hadn’t known his own son in time to be more involved in everyday things like the PTA. He’d had time to become good friends with his son, which was something, but he still resented all he’d lost. Will had walked into his life at fourteen years old, and now, in a blink of the eye, he was gone to college.

  The pangs were old ones, and Jack was able to ignore them as he tuned in to the welcoming speech being delivered by the president of the middle school parent group.

  “And so it’s really a pleasure to see so many of you tonight.” A stylish woman who probably never wore jeans or sweatshirts, the president beamed as she looked around. “Let me start by introducing this year’s officers.”

  Jack was tuning out again when a name snapped him back to attention.

  “And Beth Sommers, our treasurer. Beth, where are you?”

  Jack’s head turned along with everyone else’s. Near the back, Beth stood briefly, smiled and waved to the perfunctory applause. Her curly dark hair was knotted on top of her head and she was dressed in a pretty but casual jumper over a white T-shirt. With the one glimpse he hungrily realized how good she looked: the delicate sculpting of her cheekbones, the graceful line of her neck, the chin that she could set so mulishly. Once she sat back down, he lost sight of her without making a fool of himself by half standing and craning his neck.

  His intense reaction to her presence made him feel fool enough. Damn it, she’d turned him down as firmly as a woman could. Maybe it was personal—she wasn’t attracted to him or just plain didn’t like him; maybe it wasn’t. She’d said she wasn’t ready to try again. Either way, it spelled no, however much he wished it didn’t.

  His job was to protect her, whether she lived in his jurisdiction or not. He hoped she would call if she needed him, in which case he had to separate attraction from obligation. He might ride to her rescue, but she wasn’t going to fall into his arms afterward.

  The president introduced him and he went to the front. Jack took a moment to raise the microphone to suit his six-foot-two height, then looked around to take stock of his audience. Mostly women, not unusual for these school functions. When he’d shown up as a determined father, Will’s last couple of years of high school, he’d occasionally been the only man at meetings. Jack thought that was a shame.

  “Hello, folks,” he said, nodding. “I see familiar faces, so some of you will have heard what I’m going to say tonight, but I figure that’s okay. It’s important that you know what to expect of me, and what I expect of you.”

  He had deliberately not looked in Beth’s direction at first. He was taking the care he would with a skittish animal, not making any sudden moves, keeping his voice even, pretending disinterest.

  And there was an element of anticipation, too. Until that moment when their gazes locked, he could imagine that her expression wouldn’t be indifferent. He could hope for a spark in her eyes, guarded but still there, a hint of something to let him hope that her refusal to have dinner with him wasn’t personal, that someday she would be ready.

  He paused, let his eyes linger for a moment on the young mother who sat beside Beth, jiggling a toddler on her lap. She looked about sixteen, too young to have a child in middle school.

  Beth could have avoided him—gazed down at her hands, smiled at the toddler, glanced toward the exit. But that wasn’t in her nature. Instead, her chin was already up and she was waiting. He was interested to see the pink that washed her cheeks and the challenge in her blue eyes. No indifference here, though what she did feel, he couldn’t guess.

  Without a pause, Jack looked at her neighbor on the other side and continued his short prepared speech.

  The way he talked to a group like this was as important as anything he said. He didn’t want to be intimidating, though he still believed there was a time and place to scare the crap out of someone. But he’d learned these past years how wrong was Ed Patton’s brand of law enforcement. Prevention and intervention were a thousand times better than throwing an eighteen-year-old kid in the slammer. By the time you had to do that, there was already a victim and the kid’s life was ruined. Jack knew he had a well-deserved reputation for coming down like a crack of doom on criminals, but what he was working hardest on was finding money for programs aimed at troubled teenagers.

  Ed Patton, he thought, had been like a dentist who liked to wield the drill without anesthesia. Jack preferred sealant when the adult teeth were still pearly white.

  “I expect to see your kids on the basketball court, the soccer field, the stage right here behind me,” he concluded into the microphone. “Anywhere but in the police station.”

  Some of the audience chuckled, and Jack, well satisfied, asked for questions. The few he got were friendly enough, the round of applause enthusiastic.

  Strange, the things he’d found himself doing. Speechifying hadn’t been covered in the police academy.

  Instead of retreating to his seat, Jack strolled to the back of the gym and took up a station near the double doors leading into the central hallway of the two-year-old middle school. Just out of curiosity, he’d stuck his head into the boys’ john earlier. Where you’d expect graffiti, here was gleaming tile. The carpet in the hall wasn’t dirty, the lockers weren’t scraped and dented and scrawled all over with obscene remarks. Inner-city junior highs were armed camps these days; he doubted a single gun was hidden in any of this long bank of lockers.

  Folks were lucky in Elk Springs. As a law enforcement officer, he was lucky.

  As a man, he was obviously a hell of a lot less so, Jack thought wryly. Beth Sommers was the first woman who had seriously interested him in some time, and he’d struck out.

  He propped one shoulder against the wall, crossed his arms and listened to plans for a Christmas bazaar and a fund-raiser to buy new books for the library. Beth stood to give a brief treasurer’s report; since she couldn’t see him, Jack allowed himself the luxury of admiring the straight line of her back and the fine dark hair that had escaped to curl on her nape. For just an instant, he imagined his lips traveling down her neck. The hairs would tickle his nose, but her skin would be silkier than anything he’d ever touched, and her pulse would beat like tiny birds trapped under his mouth.

  Hell. It was just as well when she sat back down, putting him out of his misery.

  A minute later the meeting broke up and the crowd began filtering out. A few stopped to chat or shake hands and thank him for coming. He was a patient man; except for some emergency exits, this was the only way out. Sooner or later, Beth would pass within a few feet of him.

  She was deep in conversation with the president of the parent group as the two women approached the door. It was gall
ing to have Beth glance his way and look vaguely surprised to see him; he was so aware of her, he knew where she was at any given moment. Apparently she didn’t feel the same.

  Which she’d made clear enough, Jack reminded himself, irritated. Was he such an egotist, he couldn’t believe a woman wasn’t interested in him?

  Answer: no. He’d philosophically accepted refusals before. Meg Patton walking out on him—now, that had been tough. Worse than tough; he knew the one day had changed him in ways he didn’t yet understand. But since Meg, he’d asked out women who weren’t interested. He’d even been dumped a time or two without going into a black depression.

  Beth was different. He had trouble believing his own response to her could be so strong if it wasn’t two-way.

  He was pretty sure Beth would have nodded and walked right by him if the president hadn’t stopped to hold out her hand.

  “Thank you, Sheriff Murray. It was so good of you to take the time tonight to talk to us. I’m really delighted with what you had to say, too. By the way, have you met Beth Sommers?”

  He let a trace of a smile touch his lips. “As it happens, I have. Hello, Beth.”

  Her answering smile didn’t touch her eyes. “Sheriff. How nice to see you again. And hear you. I really like your program pairing kids with police officers.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.” Mentally he cursed the president who hadn’t budged from his side and was beaming impartially at them. There were things he wanted to say and couldn’t in front of her. He did the only thing he could think of. “Can I walk you out to your car? I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

  The alarm in her eyes was quickly masked. “Could you call me at work instead? I really need to rush—I don’t like to leave the kids with a baby-sitter any longer than I can help. And there are obviously people waiting to talk to you.”

  He turned his head and saw that it was true; half a dozen women and one man were hovering. And Beth had damn good reason to be nervous about leaving her kids alone with some fifteen-year-old. How would a sitter cope if the girls’ father came hammering on the door?

  “No problem,” he conceded, stepping back.

  “I’m sorry to run off like this,” she was saying to the president as they passed out of hearing. “I’ll check on those figures and give you a call….”

  Something told Jack that Beth would be unavailable if he called her at work. She had just made her refusal that much more emphatic.

  WHY COULDN’T Jack Murray look like the last Butte County sheriff, who’d had a tic under one eye and had spent a good deal of time heaving his belt upward to try to contain his belly?

  But no, Murray moved with the contained grace of a man aware of his strength and able to use it. Despite a sexy mouth, a permanent crease over the bridge of his nose should have given him a Scrooge-like appearance, but instead lent him a brooding air guaranteed to attract the least susceptible of women. Her.

  Was she an idiot to refuse to have dinner with the man? Beth wondered, unlocking her car. Maybe it was unfair to assume he was like Ray under the skin, when she had never heard him raise his voice or seen him show even a flicker of anger.

  Chances were, it would turn out that they didn’t even like each other, and then she could quit waging this internal war.

  Of course, she thought ruefully, maybe he’d had no intention of asking her out again. Maybe he had only wanted to know whether Ray had been behaving himself.

  At home, Beth let herself in the kitchen door and found the baby-sitter in the living room, glued to the flickering television.

  “Oh, hi, Mrs. Sommers.” Half her attention was still on the screen, until a commercial suddenly blared and Tiffany turned the set off.

  “How did things go?” Beth asked briskly, counting out dollar bills from her wallet.

  The teenager gave a blithe shrug. “Fine. I put them to bed a while ago.”

  “Oh, good. Did, um, anybody call this evening?” Beth felt a little guilty about not warning Tiffany. But there were days when the phone didn’t ring at all, days when Ray was probably on the road hauling freight. She’d been afraid if she warned the teenager, Tiffany would tell the older sister raising her and she might refuse to let the girl baby-sit for Beth. A decent sitter was hard enough to come up with as it was; she didn’t dare scare off the two girls she used. As a single parent, she was too dependent on them.

  “No, but Lauren told me you were getting lots of calls where somebody hangs up.” Tiffany’s eyes were bright with curiosity. “Maybe you should call the police or something.”

  If one more person told her that, Beth thought she might scream. But she managed an offhanded smile. “Oh, if we ignore the whole thing, whoever is making the calls will give up.”

  “You could get Caller ID,” she added helpfully.

  “I am considering that.”

  “You know, the sheriff for the whole county lives only a couple of doors down from us.” Tiffany marveled at the idea. “My sister said he was talking at the middle school tonight. You heard him, didn’t you? Isn’t he cool?” Despite the fact that Beth was now holding the front door open, the ponytailed teenager made no move to leave. She continued enthusiastically, “He was there talking to the principal when one of the chaperons for the dance caught a couple of guys spray-painting the administration building Friday night after the game. I don’t know what he said to them, I mean, they wouldn’t tell anybody, but everybody says he really scared them. I bet he could help you.”

  Her open admiration made Beth grit her teeth. It also hardened her sagging resolve. She was not interested in a man who scared anybody—even teenage boys who probably deserved it.

  “Thank you for your suggestion, Tiffany,” she said, in a tone that she hoped was both pleasant and dismissive. “I’ll watch until you get home.”

  “Thanks, Mrs. Sommers.” Her feelings apparently not hurt, Tiffany bounded down the porch steps with all the grace of a puppy, and cut across the lawn. In the middle of the street she turned and cheerfully waved.

  Beth waved back, waiting until the girl disappeared inside the brick house kitty-corner to her own. Only then did Beth close and lock the front door, her hand still fumbling on the unfamiliar brass dead bolt.

  Every time she touched the shiny new locks, Beth was reminded of Ray. As she made her way up to bed, she acknowledged the sharp feeling of dread lodged in the pit of her stomach. This was Thursday night; tomorrow evening Steph and Lauren’s weekend with their dad began.

  She lay in bed, sleep hours away, and prayed: Please let him be in a good mood. Please please please let him bring them home on time.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  STANDING IN the living room where she could keep one eye on the clock, the other on the empty street, Beth clutched the cordless phone in a grip so tight she felt as if the plastic case should crack.

  Ray was now four hours and thirty-two minutes late bringing the girls home. Call the police, everyone had said. Finally, in terror, she’d known she had no other choice.

  And look what good it had done her.

  He’s how late? they’d asked. Only a few hours? Perhaps car trouble…

  “Ma’am,” the officer on the other end of the line said patiently, “has your ex-husband threatened to take the children?”

  Any other time, Beth would have been annoyed; tonight, his condescension only quickened the panic beating in her breast. He wasn’t going to help her. She could tell already.

  “Not…explicitly.” She explained about the other weekends, when he had kept her waiting and laughed at her fear. Swallowing her shame, she told the officer about the shouted voices and the flowerpots shattering against her front door.

  He listened, she had to give him credit for that much, but at the end he explained, “It doesn’t sound to me as if kidnapping is a real concern at this time.”

  Kidnapping. The very word sent a shudder through her.

  “When will you consider it a real concern?” Beth asked sharply.
r />   “After twenty-four hours…”

  “They’ll be long gone.” Through the state of Washington across the Canadian border. Down I-5 to Mexico. Would Ray be able to take the children out of the country without identification of any kind? A memory flickered, from long ago when they had been a family who took vacations together: a customs guard bending over to glance incuriously in the driver’s side window as he asked by rote how long they planned to stay in Victoria, B.C. Would he have asked any more questions if Ray or she had been alone with the children?

  Oh, God.

  Beth ended the call hastily and probably rudely; she didn’t care. She only knew that another ten minutes had passed, and Ray’s pickup hadn’t appeared. He’d had the girls for two nights this weekend, and was supposed to have had them home at one this afternoon. It was now…5:42. Dinnertime. She hadn’t even started the chicken casserole she’d intended to make tonight. Hadn’t thought of it. Didn’t know whether the chicken was spoiling on the kitchen counter or whether she’d put it back in the refrigerator.

  What now?

  She could drive over to Ray’s apartment. She’d done that once, two and a half hours ago, but his pickup hadn’t been in the slot and nobody had answered the doorbell.

  He wouldn’t take the girls, Beth told herself for the hundredth time. The thousandth time. He couldn’t go and keep his job. He loved long-haul trucking; he owned his own rig, a huge investment. What would he do? Leave it? Anyway, he didn’t want to be a full-time parent.

  No, he was just trying to get a rise out of her. Pacing, wringing her hands, Beth tried to convince herself that he wanted to upset her, but he hadn’t become unbalanced enough to destroy his own life just to destroy hers.

  What were a few hours? If he’d asked, she wouldn’t have minded if he took the girls somewhere special this afternoon. If, when he brought them home, he saw that she wasn’t scared, only irritated, he’d quit doing this. Her fear fed him. She had to—somehow—hide it.

  The old-fashioned mantel clock ticked, the tiny sound magnifying the silence, italics emphasizing a stark word. The tick was like her heartbeat as she tried to sit but somehow ended up standing at the front window again. How could it beat so hard and fast and yet the minutes pass so slowly?