The Sheriff's Surrender. Marilyn Pappano
their search had been justified, when drugs and money, both in great quantities, had been found, what did probable cause matter?
Why did acknowledged criminals even have any rights?
When his stomach started grumbling, he put a frozen casserole in the microwave oven, set the timer, then glanced at the wall that separated the guest room from the kitchen. What was she doing in there that kept her so quiet? Reading? Sleeping? Looking outside where she couldn’t go and heaping silent curses on his head? He told himself it wasn’t important. All that mattered was that she was keeping her distance from him. That was the only way they were going to get through the rest of the day. But when he kept wondering, he finally walked down the hall to check.
It was so quiet in the guest room because she wasn’t there. He checked the bathroom—the door was open, the lights off—then his bedroom. It was empty, too. She couldn’t possibly have left the house. The first thing he’d done after sending the deputy on his way was reset the alarm. Even if she’d managed to sneak out without his knowing it, the dispatcher would have called.
He made a quick check of the entire house, including the garage, then ended up once again in his own room. He was about to turn away and resort to searching closets when the door to the safe room caught his attention. Normally he kept it closed, but when he’d left Neely earlier, it had been wide open. Now it was only slightly ajar.
He pushed the door open and reached for the light switch, then abruptly stopped. She was lying on her side on the bed, her knees drawn up, her sherbet-green skirt covering her legs and feet, and she was asleep.
The first sensation that swept over him was relief. He might resent her like hell, might wish she’d disappear from his life and his memory, but he didn’t want her dead, hurt or in danger. Whatever wrongs she’d committed, whatever mistakes she’d made, she didn’t deserve to die for them. She certainly didn’t deserve to die for sending a drug dealer and murderer to prison.
The second sensation was…hard to identify. Something weak. Soft. Damnably foolish. For the first time he noticed the signs of unrelenting stress—the shadows under her eyes, the tension that wrinkled her forehead even in sleep, her fists clutching his pillow to her chest. She looked so fragile. Vulnerable. Pushed to the limits of her endurance and beyond. There was a part of him—the part that remembered loving her—that wanted to close the door and lock them inside this safe place, then gather her into his arms and simply hold her. That part knew instinctively that as long as he held her, she would sleep without dreams, without fear, until the fatigue was banished and she was rested enough to rely on her own strength.
Thank God the rest of him knew better than to give in to such weakness.
Minute after minute passed, and he simply stood there and looked at her. Nothing broke the silence but breathing—hers slow and even, his ragged and less than steady. Nothing existed but the two of them, no place but this room.
The timer beeping in the kitchen finally spurred him to move. He left the safe room, then, on impulse, returned with a chenille throw. Careful not to touch her, he spread it over her, pulled the door nearly shut and went back to the kitchen.
After lunch, he spent the next few hours on the Internet, searching for whatever he could find on Eddie Forbes. By the time he read the last archived newspaper article, he felt pretty damn grim. A lot of criminals accepted the risk of arrest and prison as part of the cost of doing business and bore no ill will toward either the cops or the D.A. Everybody—good guy or bad—was just doing his job.
Eddie Forbes wasn’t one of them. He blamed his unfortunate incarceration on everyone but himself. He’d already killed his ex-wife and her lover and threatened to kill Neely next. Because he blamed them most? Or because they were women and more vulnerable than the cops, crooks and lawyers involved?
Reese had just signed off the computer and risen from his chair when the cell phone rang. He sat back down and answered, fully expecting to hear his cousin’s voice. He wasn’t disappointed.
“Hey, bubba. How’s it going?”
Thinking about Neely’s escape that morning and his dragging her back into the house, Reese ignored the heat rising up his neck and carelessly replied, “Everything’s okay here. How about there?”
“Everybody’s stirred up. Seems somebody disappeared from the department’s protective custody and no one has a clue where she’s gone.”
“That’s what you get for working in a big city. We couldn’t lose a prisoner down here if we wanted to.” Unless she just got up and walked out. If she had closed the door quietly instead of giving in to her temper and slamming it, who knew how far she could have gotten?
“Did you ever start locking the jail cells, or couldn’t you find the key?”
“Funny, Jace. When are we going to see you again?”
There was a guilty silence, followed by a slow, “I don’t know. I thought I was going to be able to get away sometime soon, but it didn’t work out. There’s too much going on here. I’m stuck.”
Reese scowled. Jace had lied to him, conned him into taking Neely and accepted his deadline for getting her out by tonight, and now he was backing out of the deal, just like that. As if no one else had a say in the matter. And, really, how much say did they have? She was here. She had no place else to go, and he had only one place to take her—one place she certainly didn’t belong. They were stuck, not Jace. “For how long?” he asked stiffly.
“I don’t know, bubba.”
“Listen, bubba—”
“Hey, I tried. There’s just no way I can get away right now.” After a pause, Jace’s tone lightened. “But it’s nice to know you miss me so much.”
“Yeah, like a pain in the—” Reese broke off as Neely, looking very much like a small child awakened too soon from a nap, came into the room. “Hey, your mom says you never call.”
“I call her every week.”
“Yeah, well, call her twice this week.” That would make Aunt Rozena happy, and all Barnetts had a stake in keeping Rozena happy. “You know, you owe me more favors than you’ll ever be able to repay.”
“I know, bubba. Thanks. And, hey, tell her… Tell her not to worry.”
Reese glanced at Neely, standing in front of the fireplace and looking at the family photos there, and wondered yet again what was between her and Jace. It had better not be anything more than friendship, because if his cousin thought for one minute he was going to marry her, make her part of the family and subject Reese to her presence for the rest of their lives, he was crazy.
But Neely had been known to make men crazy before.
She’d sure as hell made him crazy.
“I will,” he said quietly. “Keep in touch, will you?”
“When I can.”
Reese hung up and laid the phone aside, then swiveled around to watch her. He could tell the instant she became aware of his gaze. She stood an inch taller. Became less soft. Tried to look tougher—and failed.
“Was that Jace?” She sounded as cool and unapproachable as she tried to look, and never shifted her gaze one millimeter from the photograph in front of her.
“Yeah.”
“He’s not coming, is he?”
“No.”
If he hadn’t been studying her, he would have missed the nearly imperceptible shiver that rippled through her. “Then we may as well go. My bag is already packed.”
If he took her to the jail, as he’d threatened, her presence in Canyon County would no longer be his and Jace’s secret. She would be out of his house but not out of his life. He might be more comfortable—though he wouldn’t bet on it—but she would be trading one difficult situation for another. She very well might be no safer there