Wild Fire. Debra Cowan
Right now she’s in Arizona moving her elderly mother back here. I couldn’t reach her by phone, so I left a message at the school for her to call me when she returns.”
“Hopefully M.B.’s friend will know something.” Shelby stole a pickle from his plate. “It’s only been about two weeks since she told me about him. Maybe she broke things off.”
“Do you think it was the Hispanic man you saw once?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did she tell you what her new guy looked like? Age?” Clay pushed the jar of pickles toward her. “What kind of car he drove?”
“No. I assumed she wouldn’t tell me his name or anything because he was married, but maybe that wasn’t why.”
“Maybe she kept it a secret because he’s someone prominent,” he suggested.
“Maybe it was another teacher or someone else at school.”
“Like the principal? A custodian?”
“Or the school cop?” Three years ago, the city had instituted a program that assigned an officer full-time to the two high schools. The presence of law enforcement had cut down drastically on everything from fights to drugs.
He nodded. “One or both of them could’ve feared losing their jobs. I’ll go back this afternoon and see if I get anywhere with that.”
The door that led to the garage opened and Paula walked in carrying two grocery sacks. “There’s a police car parked out front.”
“I called for one.” Clay rose and took the bags from her, setting them on the counter.
“Even though Mom’s here?” Shelby asked.
“Even though.” He wasn’t taking any chances with her safety. Or her mom’s, either. He made a mental note to keep a close eye on Vince Tyner.
Paula glanced over as she began unloading items. “You’re still planning to stay, aren’t you?”
“Yes. Until Shelby remembers whether or not she saw anything. Until we know what happened to her and the victim.”
“Thank you, Clay.” Tears shone in Paula’s eyes. “I feel better knowing you’re here.”
“You should go back to the store whenever you need to, Mom.” Her mother’s bead and jewelry store, To Bead Or Not To Bead, did a thriving business, enticing customers from Presley as well as Oklahoma City and other nearby towns. “I’ll be fine.”
“Tracy can handle things there for a couple of days.”
Clay wrapped up the rest of his sandwich to take with him, then said goodbye to her mom. Shelby walked with him to the front door.
“Thanks for a while ago,” she said, not quite meeting his eyes.
That was a first, too. As long as he’d known her, even as a teenager, Shelby looked directly at someone, whatever the situation. Was she avoiding his gaze because she’d felt his body’s insane, mystifying reaction to her? “I’ve got a ways to go before I make up for the solid week you stayed with me after Jason died.”
“Yeah, that was a hardship.”
“You’re trouble in your own way.” He grinned, opening the door. Still off balance at the unexpected pull of want he’d felt, he searched her face. “I can have the department assign a female cop to stay with you at night, if you’d prefer.” He didn’t even consider a male officer. “I’ve already requested one for during the day when your mom has to get back to the bead store.”
“No.”
“Shelby,” he said firmly. “Until we know what happened in that house, I’m not leaving you alone without protection.”
“I meant no to somebody else. I want you.”
At her words, heat inched under his skin. What was going on with him? “You sure?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, you’ve got me. Call me if you need something or want me to bring you anything.”
“All right.”
“Lock up after me.”
She gave him a lazy two-finger salute. “Yes, Mr. Po-lice Man.”
“Smart aleck.” He stepped outside and waited until he heard the turn of the dead bolt, the click of the knob lock. Walking to his truck, his head felt fuzzy, as if he’d been out in the sun too long. He rubbed a hand across his chest, the spot Shelby had dampened with her tears.
He should be thinking about the case, about putting in a call to Collier McClain to tell him they needed to make a repeat visit to the high school, but instead his mind was stubbornly, startlingly fixed on Shelby not wearing a bra. The incredible softness of her skin, the feel of her breasts against him. Something hot and reckless and totally unexpected had charged through him. His body had gone hard; it still was.
He rolled his shoulders, uncomfortable with what could only be called desire. For Shelby, for whom he’d only ever had platonic feelings. He had to be wrong. There was something else going on, probably a combination of his reaction to her close call, fatigue, his self-imposed celibacy.
After Megan’s death, he hadn’t been interested in dating at all. About the time he’d become interested, they’d lost Jason. Since then, he hadn’t had the time or enough interest for a relationship.
Lusting after Shelby? His best friend? No way.
Chapter 3
Something strange had happened with Clay. Something physical. He had wanted her.
That couldn’t be right, Shelby decided. Things had never been that way between them. They weren’t now, either. The stupid concussion was to blame. Just because she didn’t need to have things repeated so often didn’t mean her brain was back to operating the way it should.
That…incident had happened on Tuesday. Today was Friday and she hadn’t stopped thinking about it, even though nothing like that happened again. Everything between them had been perfectly normal, just as it was right now.
She slid a look at him as they walked into the largest chapel at Presley Memorial Gardens. Clay had insisted on bringing her to M.B.’s memorial service. The funeral would be a family-only affair after M.B.’s body was released by the medical examiner. In the days since M.B.’s murder, he and Collier McClain had been conducting interviews at her school, with the firefighters on the scene and with neighbors.
Shelby’s mother had left this morning on a buying trip to New York City and wouldn’t return until Monday. If things went well and Dr. Boren agreed, Shelby would be back at work by then. She hadn’t recalled anything about M.B.’s murder yet, but surely she would. How long could amnesia really last?
She and Clay took a seat next to Collier just before the service began. Well over a hundred people listened in the flower-packed room as M.B.’s oldest brother, Glen, walked to the podium to give a eulogy. Almost half the crowd consisted of the students M.B. had taught and their parents. The others were teachers, administrators, friends and almost every firefighter from Station House Three. Shelby’s captain sat with several of her station mates in the row of dark blue dress coats across the aisle to her right.
The scents of roses and lilies mixed, the amount of flowers nearly overwhelming. She wanted to follow the funny story Glen Perry told about his sister, but the headache returned, the pain stabbing brutally from her temple to the back of her skull. She shut her eyes for a second and it seemed to ease. Looking again at M.B.’s brother, Shelby tried to pay attention.
The agonizing throb behind her eyes persisted, shooting flashes of light and shadow through her brain, but nothing else. No memories, no nothing.
As the somber, sturdily built man spoke, she closed her eyes. Shelby remembered M.B.’s contagious