Final Verdict. Jessica R. Patch
no way he could follow that trail. “You hurt?”
She hurried to the front door, unlocking it and letting him inside. “Just my shoulder. Probably going to bruise, is all.” She gave it a haphazard rub. Nice attempt at the brave front.
That bottle could have hit her head, knocked her out, cut her up or worse. He fisted his hand to keep from touching her. “I got here as fast as I could.”
“I appreciate it. Guess you were correct about the threats.” She tossed out a weak laugh.
This was nothing to make light of, and he hated that he’d been right. He ignored the hint of chocolate and the faint scent of something flowery drifting from her skin or clothing. A bottle on the kitchen table snagged his attention. “Old Crow.”
“Like I said when I called, they threw a whiskey bottle. Drove a big truck, big engine. Could be a Hemi V8. Maybe even a Detroit Diesel 550 horsepower. Heard it when it turned on my street.”
Beckett inclined his head and studied her, unsure of what impressed him more. The fact Aurora Daniels had a handle on big engines or that she’d called him first—or at all. They butted heads often and he wouldn’t deny he was pretty tough on her. But for every five people he tossed behind bars, she’d cut three loose with her slick litigation skills. How was he supposed to keep his county safe when the shrewd counselor put criminals right back out on the street?
He’d seen what monsters free to prey the streets could do. Seen evil get away with murder when one had claimed his fiancée’s life the night before their wedding. Meghan’s lifeless body had been seared into Beckett’s mind forever. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t forgive himself for not coming to her rescue in time.
“Sheriff?” Aurora drew him from the nightmare that plagued him. “I asked how many people on your end know that Austin Bledsoe was drinking Old Crow whiskey.”
Good question. Same one that had popped into his mind. That brain of hers was incredible. Sharp. Too bad it wasn’t being used for a better cause. “Officers on the scene the night Bethany Russell was killed. Whoever was working evidence. I can’t think of anyone else. The judge.”
Aurora quirked her lips to the side. “The Russell family and anyone they told.”
Beckett’s gut clenched. He couldn’t rule out Trevor Russell or his teenage boy. But he hated to have to question them. They’d been through enough already with Bethany’s death and funeral only four short months ago. They’d been clinging to the hope of justice today, but it had miscarried. However, he knew firsthand what time soaked in grief could do, and it wasn’t pretty. He’d been on that end of the stick. “I’ll talk to Trevor.”
Aurora sighed and tapped her nail against the tip of her nose. He’d noticed that before. In the courtroom. Her thinking habit. “I guess I need to get some plastic over that. I can call Mitch in the morning. Have the glass replaced.” She bounded for the door leading to the garage. Beckett followed.
“Plastic isn’t safe. Anyone could cut through it.”
Aurora paused. “I think that guy’s threat at the courthouse today was meant to scare me. Mission accomplished. If he’d wanted to hurt me, he’d have already gotten into the house. If this was him.”
Fire pulsed in his chest. “What threat?” Aurora had said she was used to unkind words, and he could easily imagine. She’d worked in a high-profile law firm that repped some shady clients. But a bottle had made direct impact on her body. This wasn’t idle threats and unkind verbiage.
“A guy in the crowd today. I didn’t recognize the voice and couldn’t match a face to the words, but he told me to be careful or I could end up in a car accident like Bethany Russell. Just words.” She shrugged, but Beckett wasn’t born yesterday. Aurora was trying to talk herself out of being afraid. Fear wasn’t always a bad thing. Fear had kept him alive and alert on all his tours and missions as a SEAL.
“Well, I’d feel better if we didn’t use plastic. Besides, it’s gonna get down in the twenties tonight. Plastic won’t keep the nip out.”
She pointed to the far side of the sparse garage. “I have some plywood. That work?”
“Yup. And you need to put some shoes on. Protect your feet while we get the glass cleaned up.”
She pursed her lips but said nothing.
Beckett grabbed several boards in the corner and Aurora retrieved a hammer and nails and followed him inside. “Got a broom?”
“The one I use for sweeping or the one I ride on?” Aurora tilted her head and pierced him with a maybe sort of accusing glare.
So that’s what she assumed he thought of her. Hardly. He wasn’t sure what to think. This was the longest he’d spent in a room with her other than a courtroom, and they didn’t converse much inside. Besides, he never allowed himself to see her as anything but the enemy. Now, she was a target who trusted him to protect her. And that’s exactly what he planned to do.
“Sweeping will be fine.” He smirked. “I don’t want to put you out a vehicle.”
“Hmm...” Aurora snagged a broom and dustpan from the pantry, slipped on a pair of house shoes that had been lying under the kitchen table, and they went to work cleaning up the glass and boarding up the window.
When it was finished he noticed her fire was dying. “You got any wood? I can get a fresh fire going before I head out.” No way was he letting her do it. Instinct told him this wasn’t over. But he didn’t want to scare her further, and it didn’t technically warrant putting a detail on her.
Meghan had begged and pleaded with the sheriff in her small Georgia town to patrol her house. But they couldn’t prove she was in danger. Her stalker had been cunning, averting the law yet tormenting her. When it first started, Beckett had been on an extended tour in Afghanistan with Meghan’s brother, Wilder. He’d had no idea, not until he came home. He’d been powerless.
He had the power to do something about this.
“I’ll do a few drive-bys through the night. Make sure everything’s safe.” He might not be able to use taxpayers’ dollars for a deputy to sit outside, but Beckett could on his own time.
Aurora met him with a delicate smile. “I appreciate that. But I don’t think it’s necessary, and I have some self-defense training, as well as gun-range time. I’m a pretty good shot.”
Brave. Resilient. But Beckett had seen fear on thousands of faces. “I believe you, Counselor. Now, about that firewood?”
“Oh.” She scratched at the base of her neck. A dainty neck. Smooth. “It’s under the tarp on the side of the house, but I can do it. Really. I mean, I started that one.”
“I don’t feel comfortable letting you haul wood in out of the dark. Just in case. Precaution, is all.” He flipped the collar on his coat up and stalked to the woodpile. Doing a slow scan with his flashlight, he checked out the woods that surrounded the house. No footprints. The branches rustled. Critters slunk around, crunching dead leaves. Something was off. Puffs of night air plumed in front of him as he patrolled the yard. He couldn’t spot anyone, but red flags waved.
Someone was out there.
Watching.
Or maybe he was paranoid after what had happened to Meghan.
Beckett hauled in the firewood and a few extra logs. Inside, freshly brewed coffee uncoiled one of the many knots tightening his neck and shoulders.
Aurora handed him a steaming cup. “It’s brutal out there. Warm you up. Least I can do.”
He dusted his hands on his pants and accepted the cup, her fingers brushing his. He cleared his throat. “Thanks.”
“It’s black, like you like it.”
He sipped, the French roast warming all the way down his throat. “You know how I like