Twisted Threads (A Cape Trouble Novel Book 3) Page 9

  “This is a small county,” she said tentatively.

  “Have you ever met either of them?”

  She’d had a chance to think about this today, and had made a decision. She hadn’t ever met Mr. Roff. And…she couldn’t tell Sean what little she knew without telling him how she’d learned it. She shouldn’t care what he thought of her, but she’d discovered she did. It would be different if her minor connection would be of any use to him in finding out who’d killed the man, but how could it?

  Having had time to prepare herself meant she could keep her voice steady, even if she wasn’t able to look him in the eye as she lied. “I’ve heard the high school teacher’s name, I think. This isn’t a very big town. One of my clerks has a teenage daughter, so maybe she said something. The lawyer…I wouldn’t have had any reason…” She frowned a little. “Actually, I did hire a lawyer.” She faltered. “You know. For the will. After Tom died.”

  The darkness of Sean’s expression changed. Emily didn’t let herself look closely. “But I went to a woman named Bonnie Myers. I don’t think she practices criminal law.”

  “If she does, I haven’t encountered her.” He thrust his hand into his hair, forcing it to stand up even more wildly than usual. “Your husband was a doctor. Didn’t he socialize with other professionals?”

  “Not especially. I mean, not because of their jobs. He wasn’t like that. Anyway, I’d likely have met anyone he did. Unless it was a parent of one of his patients.”

  “Roff had no children. Frank Lowe and his wife have a daughter, but she’s in college.”

  “You said Mr. Roff is a biology teacher. He might have been interested in the beach cleanups that are organized at least once a year. Could Mr. Lowe have done something like that?”

  “I don’t get the feeling he volunteered to do anything. He and his wife did entertain, but only people they thought were worthwhile. Probably not a lowly teacher.”

  Emily told herself he needed to vent. That wasn’t why she’d prodded him into talking, though. She had wanted to distract them both, her from her acute awareness of him, him from watching her with the intensity that felt…predatory. Because the home security company didn’t do installations over weekends, Emily’s stay with Sean had been prolonged. This was her fifth night in his house, and the tension between them had grown until she didn’t know if she could stand it.

  Mornings weren’t so bad. He cooked, and they talked about their plans for the day. The deepening crevasses on his face suggested he wasn’t sleeping well, while despite everything she was. She hadn’t achieved anything as normal as eight hours, but she’d come closer than she had in years. She felt safe knowing he was across the hall. Even four nights had been long enough for her to begun to feel almost at home. This morning, she’d awakened with no moment of disorientation while she wondered where she was. Instead, dread had curled in her belly, because she had only one more night. This was Sunday; the alarm system was to be installed tomorrow morning. She could go home.

  She didn’t want to go home. Except she did, because she had to get away from him before he touched her.

  Before she let him.

  “This is making me crazy,” he growled suddenly, shooting her a look that was almost hostile as he circled the living room again.

  “The investigation?” Emily congratulated herself for her calm.

  He came to a stop, his blue eyes hot and intense. “And you.”

  “Me?” she whispered, her heart stuttering.

  “I can sleep with you across the hall. I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep when you’re back in your house.”

  “You’re the one who told me to have a security system installed. It’s supposed to make enough noise to scare anyone off!” Her voice had been rising.

  This time he yanked his hair and yelled, “I know all that! But I trust myself more than a bunch of plastic units that can be—” He slammed to a stop.

  They stared at each other.

  “Can be…what?” she asked, almost numbly.

  He swung away, presenting her with his back. “Accidently turned off? Knocked over or broken? Shit, I don’t know what I’m saying. A system like yours is pretty reliable.”

  Pretty reliable. How reassuring.

  “People fail you, too,” she said unsteadily. Even the people you love. They died.

  Or they abandon you. Like I did to—

  No, no. I won’t think about it.

  She heard him exhale and saw his shoulders sag before he turned to face her again. The intensity was suppressed, if not gone. His eyes were troubled. “I shouldn’t have said that. There really isn’t any reason to think you won’t be completely safe given a warning system. I’m just…on edge.”

  “You heard me last time.”

  “Because you screamed.”

  She understood what he didn’t want to say: If she hadn’t had a chance to scream, nothing would have saved her.

  The whole idea still felt unreal to her. Why her? She was virtually a recluse. How had she caught that man’s eye in the first place? As women went, she was tall and strong, not an obvious victim. And there were plenty of pretty women in Cape Trouble, if that’s what interested him.

  But she lived alone, and her very reclusiveness may have made him consider her vulnerable, perhaps even believe no one would notice if she disappeared. And he would have been right if the house next door had still been empty with the For Sale sign in front. If Sean hadn’t moved in.

  Feeling peculiar, she looked around Sean’s living room. The air seemed to shimmer, as if what she saw was a mirage. She’d hardly known Sean Holbeck – in fact, she’d been quite sure she didn’t want to know him – and yet, of all people, he was the one to come to her rescue, to take her into his own home, to care so much it was making him crazy.

  How had this happened? Emily had no idea, but felt her heart squeeze with an emotion so fierce, her eyes stung with the pain.

  She had never wanted to love anyone again. She’d sworn she wouldn’t. She couldn’t survive another such loss. And yet, she was very much afraid she had begun…no, not to love him, but the possibility was there. She could love this man, so utterly unlike Tom.

  I’m grateful. That’s all.

  Of course her gratitude was intense. He’d saved her life. He would do whatever he had to do to keep her safe. How could she not feel something powerful for him?

  As the grip on her heart eased, letting her blood flow, her dizziness passed. Women must frequently imagine themselves in love with Detective Holbeck, she decided. It was likely an occupational hazard, especially for a man who looked like him.

  Love. What had she been thinking?

  “I’ll still be next door,” she said into the silence. “In fact... Well, don’t feel obligated if you have other plans or you get hung up at work, but you’d be welcome to come to dinner again tomorrow night.”

  “Thank you,” he said gruffly. “I’d appreciate it.” He resumed pacing, his coiled tension reminding her how he could explode into action. And yet…he was always graceful, in the way of a prowling big cat.

  Emily looked down at the quilt, no less aware of him when he passed behind her than she was when she could see him.

  “It’s not just your safety,” he said.

  She held herself very still, waiting. This time, she didn’t ask what he meant. She knew.

  “It’s you, Emily. You must have guessed—” He mumbled something not meant for her ears. “No, forget I said that. You’re not ready, are you?”

  This was her chance to head him off. And, yes, to be honest.

  He stood in front of her now. She lifted her head and met his eyes. “I will never be ready. Losing them both… I told you. I would rather have died with them. I am dead inside.”

  Muscles knotted to each side of his jaw. “I don’t believe that.”

  “Why would I lie?”

  “Because you feel guilty to think of moving on, of really living without them.”

  �
��Of course I do!” she cried, then realized her mistake almost immediately. “I would if I were thinking about it, but I’m not.”

  She saw purpose in the grim cast of his features. “You screamed. You threw yourself out the window. You didn’t want to die, Emily.”

  Her heartbeat almost deafened her. “Not that way.”

  He studied her for a long moment, his eyes narrowing. Then he shook his head. “Not any way. I think you’ve been healing, Emily, without realizing it.”

  “No!” She stared her defiance at him. Who was he to think he knew her so well?

  “Yes.” In that confounding way he had, his voice was suddenly gentle. “What do you think Tom would want for you?”

  That had her bending her head to stare at her lap. Tom would want her to be happy again. Of course he would. But, as much as she had loved him, deep inside she knew that the sharpest pain still came from Cody’s death. Her little boy, still a baby, his cheeks round, his hair as dark as hers, so soft and just a little wavy, his curiosity insatiable. His language skills had been expanding with astounding speed, and yet his thumb still crept into his mouth when he climbed into bed for his naps, and he slept so hard his daddy could sling him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry without him so much as stirring.

  Sean squatted in front of her, his forearms resting on his knees, lines cutting into his forehead. “God, I’m sorry, Emily. I’m a jerk to push, and now I’ve made you sad.”

  He had, but she shook her head. She was sad most of the time without any help from him.

  And despite her misery, she found herself noticing the way the fabric of his chinos pulled taut across long, powerful thigh muscles, the hair dusting equally strong forearms. His face, already marked by the things he saw day in and day out. And, most of all, his eyes, a pure, rich blue that darkened to twilight with certain moods.

  “I’m not ready,” she repeated, only then realizing that wasn’t what she’d said the first time. She had said she would never be ready.

  Sean searched her face with a disconcertingly perceptive gaze, and finally nodded, rising to his feet with a litheness she envied. Some days she ached as if she was an old woman.

  “I need to go to bed,” she said.

  “Okay.” He backed off, letting her stand up with the quilt clutched in her arms.

  Only then he reached out a hand and touched her cheek. Just a single stroke, but she felt it to the depths of her being.

  When she hurried by him, he said quietly, “Goodnight, Emily.”

  If she answered, she didn’t remember later.

  *****

  The installers should be finishing right about now, giving Emily instructions on changing her passcode, on how not to trigger the alarm by accident.

  Sean drove without the attention to his surroundings he should have. He’d interviewed a friend of Frank Lowe’s, learning nothing of significance, and instead of brooding about the investigation that was going nowhere, he was back to thinking about Emily.

  Nothing new about that. These past few weeks, she was always in his head. It was like having a piece of grit in his shoe. He could ignore the discomfort most of the time, but awareness of its presence never left him. Occasionally it presented a sharp edge to bite into the ball of his foot.

  Last night…he should have kept his mouth shut. He didn’t know what he’d been thinking. Did he imagine he could heal her, if only she’d sleep with him?

  He made a sound in his throat.

  Casual sex would only do more damage to a woman so fragile, it was easy to envision her inching along a tightrope that quivered beneath her feet. No net. Nope, if she fell, she’d plummet to jagged rocks far below.

  Keeping her safe, that was what mattered. For both of them.

  His thoughts kept drifting. There’d been an odd moment last night, before he’d challenged her belief that she was dead inside. It was when he asked whether she knew either of the victims. Her gaze had slid away from his just before she told him she’d heard Darryl Roff’s name. Classic giveaway that she was about to lie. But then nothing she said raised any red flags. If she knew one of the men, why wouldn’t she have said?

  More likely, talking about two dead men and why they’d had to die had cast a shadow over her mood. It tended to work that way for most people. He spent too much time with other cops.

  He had just turned east on the highway that followed Mist River from the ocean to North Fork. There wasn’t much traffic at this time of day, which left his thoughts to free-float. Emily…

  He saw a blur of motion ahead, at the side of the road. A man in camouflage had jumped from the shoulder of the road over a ditch and was already blending with the undergrowth.

  It had to be the “scout” who had disturbed Larry. Larry didn’t move like that, and would have no reason to hide when he heard a vehicle coming.

  When Sean reached the spot where the man had disappeared, he parked, got out and circled his vehicle to scan the woods.

  “Please come out,” he called. “You don’t have to come close. I just want to meet you.” He held up both hands. “Say a friendly hello.”

  Crack.

  He dove to the pavement at the same instant he saw bark and slivers fly from the trunk of a fir not ten feet from where he’d been standing.

  That son of a bitch was firing a rifle at him. His shock and rage was supplanted by cold control. He flung himself around his vehicle and, crouched low, opened the driver side door to grab the radio.

  “Shots fired,” he reported. “Backup requested.” He gave his location from the mile marker he saw twenty-five yards or so ahead. “I’m going after him.”

  Then, bending low, he returned to the shoulder, jumped the ditch in turn and flattened his back against a large evergreen, his Glock held in both hands.

  Silence.

  He knew he’d be dead if the guy had wanted to kill him. He’d stood there in plain sight, making a target of himself. It had been a warning shot, but Sean was still more than a little riled. What was with this guy, terrorizing Larry and now taking a potshot at a cop?

  He could still, in his head, be in a war zone. Or lost in paranoia.

  Alternative: he had damn good reason not to want to chat with a cop.

  Sean stole a look around the tree. Nothing moved, but he had learned to trust that prickling sense of not being alone. Wearing mottled green and brown garb, his opponent had the advantage of him. Sean’s olive-green cargo pants were okay, if subtly the wrong shade for these woods, but his black, long-sleeve pullover might as well have been bright red.

  Taking a risk, he dodged to the next tree. Holding very still, he heard the small crunch of a branch breaking beneath a footfall, and not far away. He drew a quiet breath, preparing to make his next move—

  The rifle crack came simultaneously with the sound of the bullet striking the back side of the tree he was using for cover. Shit.

  He raised his voice. “Put your weapon down or I’m going to start shooting at you.”

  The rustling of branches was accompanied by the soft thud of running footsteps. Sean spun around the tree, his gaze going to a spot where leaves still quivered. He took off at a run himself, from the bulk of one large evergreen to another, but the sounds diminished and he finally stopped, swearing aloud.

  He’d lost him.

  He probably shouldn’t have pursued in the first place.

  And no, damn it, this wasn’t like the chase that ended in tragedy for Emily. All he’d risked was his own life.

  Yeah, but for what?

  Growling, he turned back. On the way, he located the place where the son of a bitch had stood when he took that first shot. The toes of his boots had dug into the soft loam, and a couple of threads of the mottled green cotton had snagged on the rough bark.

  Dead end.

  He heard a siren just as he reached the ditch beside the road. He’d boosted himself over it when a patrol car screamed to a stop behind his unmarked car.

  Having cut the siren an
d lights, Rebecca Walker jumped out and came to meet him, her gaze sweeping from his face to the woods behind him. Her hand rested on the butt of her weapon.

  “You’re not on nights anymore,” he remarked.

  She made a face. “Thank God.” Then she frowned at him. “Are you going to tell me what happened?”

  She listened without interruption as he did.

  “What made you go after him?” she asked when he was done.

  By this time, he leaned comfortably against the fender of his car. Like her, he eyed the wall of forest with its thick, perpetually damp undergrowth, looming firs and denser cedar trees with their sweeping boughs.

  “Do you know Larry, the Vietnam War vet?”

  A tilt of her head said he’d surprised her. “Yes, I give him a ride or slip him some money once in a while. He won’t let me buy him a meal.”

  Sean told her what Larry had said about the advance scout pointing a rifle at him and driving him from one of his hideouts. “He’s a little crazy, but not delusional. I got to worrying.”

  “About Larry?”

  “Yes.” He hesitated. “This is quite a leap, but it’s these killings. You saw Frank Lowe’s body.”

  She flinched.

  “Whoever did that has killed before.”

  “And then you thought, what if he’s ex-military?” she said slowly.

  “I crossed paths with Larry not long after, and what did he do but start talking about another veteran lurking in the woods. A young guy, he said, hostile. Today, when this guy heard my car coming, he took off. I stopped, figuring I’d talk to him. Maybe get to know him, the way I do Larry. He wasn’t near as friendly, though.”

  She let out an almost-laugh. “No, that’s not what I’d call friendly.”

  “No. So now I’m wondering even harder.”

  “But he’s gone.”

  He shrugged, as much to ease the tightness in his shoulders as anything. “He is, but probably not far. I want everyone to start watching for him. And Larry,” he added. “I’d like to be sure he’s okay and has the sense to stay out of this guy’s way.”

  “Were you on your way back in?”