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Return of the Lawman
Lisa Childs
Dylan Matthews had left Winter Falls a young man rocked by tragedy; he returned a seasoned big-city cop with a dangerous case to solve and scars that were still too tender to share.Lindsey Warner couldn't deny that she still wanted Dylan–had never stopped wanting him. But she was a woman now, a successful investigative reporter, and she hadn't come home to relive the past. No, if she was going to survive another encounter with Dylan Matthews, then she'd have to stick to getting her story and getting out…before she got in over her head.
Return of the Lawman
Lisa Childs
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
LISA CHILDS
Bestselling, award-winning author Lisa Childs writes paranormal and contemporary romance for Harlequin and Silhouette Books. She lives on thirty acres in west Michigan with her husband, two daughters, a talkative Siamese and a long-haired Chihuahua who thinks she’s a rottweiler. Lisa loves hearing from readers, who can contact her through her Web site, www.lisachilds.com, or snail mail address, P.O. Box 139, Marne, MI 49435.
WARNING:
A first novel requires a long dedication.
To Mom, whose greatest gift was the love of reading.
To Ashley and Chloe, for accepting that gift from me.
To Paul, who gives unfailing support and praise even though he reads only the paper.
To my “BAD GIRLS”—
Kimberly Duffy, Susan Guadagno and Trish White,
the best writers and critique partners I know.
And for Carol, Kathy, Diana and June—
my “fan” club.
I love you all!
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Prologue
THROUGH THE SPRINKLING of white flakes on his windshield, Dylan Matthews noted the police cruiser parked in his driveway. The flashing lights cast a red-and-blue glow on the naked tree trunks lining the gravel drive.
His hand trembled as he jerked the shifter into Park and reached for the door handle. He’d heard the call on his radio. Disembodied voices tumbled out of the box on his dash. An ambulance was dispatched, but the sheriff told them it was too late. Jimmy was dead.
With a snap of his wrist he shut off the siren that wailed his arrival in his police cruiser. Dylan Matthews was a rookie deputy in the Winter Falls sheriff’s office. He had to perform his official duties as a deputy. He’d already failed in his duty as a brother.
With a deep breath, he forced himself to find the detachment that had helped him through all the ordeals in his twenty-two years. He closed his eyes and tumbled ten years back to the searing pain of being trapped in a wrecked car. He could hear the echo of his own cries, and then his father’s command. “Shut it off, boy. Don’t let the pain control you. Don’t let yourself feel it.”
With another deep breath he forced down the panic and despair, locked it in a deep part of his soul with all the rest. He’d deal with it someday.
Dylan stepped out of the car onto the leaves littering the drive and crunched the calling cards of autumn beneath his boots. Snow flakes glittered on the russet leaves, another sign of Dylan’s favorite season in northern Michigan.
He’d heard the crunch of leaves, but he barely noticed the screech of brakes as a Jeep jerked to a stop behind his car. Forcing himself out of his stupor, he turned to identify the new arrival.
Lindsey Warner. Over the last few months he’d forced himself to be detached about the teenage daughter of the editor of the Winter Falls Gazette. She was relentless in her pursuit of him, but either out of chivalry or self-preservation, he pre tended not to notice.
But he noticed too much about her. Her glossy black curls. Her curvaceous body. Her sassy mouth. She was too young. But Jimmy had told him to take what she offered. Jimmy…
“I just heard it on my dad’s scanner. It can’t be true!” The words burst from her mouth as she catapulted out of her vehicle.
He couldn’t deal with Lindsey Warner right now and turned away from her.
He had to go inside the house. His duty as a police officer was to secure the crime scene. And he had to know if the call was correct. He had to see that his brother was dead before he could accept the horror of it. Again he fought down the despair.
His heart pounded against his ribs as he walked blindly past the sheriff’s patrol car. He only made it a few more steps before she was at his side. She slipped her hand into his. Cold. Her fingers were cold, and her eyes were huge shadows in her face. She looked as horrified as he would feel if he allowed himself to feel anything.
“Deputy Matthews, Dylan, are you all right?”
Before he could answer, Sheriff Buck Adams joined them. “I’m so sorry, Dylan. Don’t go inside. Let the girl take you some place else. Anywhere else. I’ll handle this for you.”
But Dylan couldn’t let someone else handle Jimmy. For so many years, even before their dad’s death, he and Jimmy had faced the world alone. Could he face it without Jimmy?
He’d meant to drop her hand, but he still clutched her cold fingers in his. Only a few more feet lay between him and the back door. Somehow, on precariously shaking legs, he made it to the screen door of the kitchen. Through the old and snagged mesh, he saw Jimmy lying on the wooden floor in front of the half-open refrigerator. A bright red stain spread from beneath his body across the scratched maple boards.
Jimmy stared back at him. The wide blue eyes held no pain, only surprise. Was he surprised Dylan had let him down? He shouldn’t have been. Dylan had never been able to save anyone he loved. As a lawman, he had been deputized to protect and serve. But he had not protected his brother from murder.
He dropped Lindsey Warner’s hand. “Dylan, I’m so sorry,” she said softly, or maybe it just sounded soft over the roaring in his ears. In the glare of the porch light, tears streaked from her dark eyes to her trembling chin.
He should have been the one to weep. But there was not even the threat of tears. In fact, his eyes were so dry they burned as if he’d spent a windy day on nearby Lake Michigan. “I’m sorry, too,” he whispered. “You shouldn’t have seen this.” He gestured at the screen door.
“Dylan, you worry too much about everyone else. You calm down the old ladies who imagine stalkers are peeking in their windows. You try to slow down the reckless speeders for their safety.”
“It’s my job.”
“But who takes care of you?” She reached for him again.
He took a quick step back. “Sheriff,” he called out. “Please see she gets home safely. She shouldn’t have been here.”
Then he walked away from Lindsey Warner, from the crime scene, his home…. When he passed the sheriff’s car, he glanced at the man in the backseat. Jimmy’s best friend. Jimmy’s killer.
His police instincts screamed at him. This wasn’t right. But the sheriff had caught Steve Mars with the murder weapon in his hand. A knife from the block on the counter. For those two men it was over. For Dylan, the night mare had just begun.
Chapter One
Ten years later…
WITH WHITE KNUCKLES wrapped around the leather-covered steering wheel, Dylan drove past the cemetery. Ancient oaks shed colored leaves onto perfectly groomed graves, but Dylan didn’t slow to watch them fall.
He continued toward the heart of town, beyond the new hotels and motels and small strip malls to where the frame walls of the buildings were weathered and the brick was worn. He pulled into a parking lot behind an old Victorian house, which had been converted to a diner before Dylan was born.
For ten years he’d carried a picture of home in his head. And despite the night mares, it was home. This small northern Michigan town had grown. Dylan had not expected that. He’d thought everything would remain the same, perhaps as a shrine to Jimmy.
Before he stepped from his black Expedition into the lot of the local diner, he slipped the shiny badge onto the pocket of his tan uniform. Winter Falls deputy. He didn’t need to glance in the rearview mirror to witness the irony in his smile. His name and badge number were engraved below the title. Sheriff Buck had kept it for him.
For the last decade he’d hidden on the streets of Detroit. Rare had been the opportunity when he’d been able to carry the Detroit PD, Narcotics Division, badge. He’d been so deep under cover he’d thought he’d never come out. A few times he nearly hadn’t.
The last scrape had forced Dylan to face some hard facts. His commanding officer had given him an ultimatum—either get some psychiatric help for his death wish or take some time off. Dylan had turned in that badge and decided it was time to come home.
Although he’d hoped to slip into the diner unseen, he’d forgotten the sharp eyes of the proprietress. “Dylan Matthews!” She launched herself into his arms.
Interested faces turned toward him. Only a few, like the mayor and his old fishing buddy, were familiar. The town had grown, but Marge’s Diner was still the afternoon hub. “Marge, it’s nice to see you.” Awkwardly he reached down to pat her shoulder. Although she was petite, her grip was tight.
“It’s been too long,” she gasped when she finally released him. “You’re home, then?”
He thought of the new businesses, the new faces, the old night mares…. “Yeah.” He tapped the badge. “I’m home.”
A tinkling bell signaled another arrival. The sheriff slapped a hand on his shoulder. “Marge, get the boy something to eat. He looks half starved. Too skinny. I told him to meet me here. I promised him he’d get a good meal from you, not a lecture.”
“I wasn’t lecturing.” She sniffed and dabbed at tears with the edge of her apron.
Sheriff Buck Adams wedged his girth into the vinyl booth that had been “his” as long as Dylan could remember. When Dylan had been a boy, he’d sat on a phone book to share a milk shake with his idol.
Now Marge set a mug of coffee before him. “I’ll get you a special, Dylan. You need some fuel. You look worn out. I can’t believe the surprise. Both you and that little Lindsey Warner home from the big city. I thought we’d never see either of you again.”
The sip of hot coffee he’d taken scorched his throat as he choked. “Lindsey?” Ten years had passed, but he could still picture her wild mane of midnight curls and her snapping ebony eyes. And her sassy mouth.
“She wasn’t in Detroit, of course. She was in Chicago, working on some big news pa per when she got her heart broke. Should have stayed home and helped her daddy with the paper here, but I guess the Winter Falls Gazette wasn’t good enough. She’s back now, though, subdued I bet.”
Subdued? Lindsey Warner? He hoped not.
The sheriff waved Marge away. “Don’t get her started. She’ll be sending out wedding announcements if you show any interest. Of course, you never did, but Lindsey wasn’t so shy. That girl knew where your speed trap—”
“I thought we didn’t call it that,” Dylan teased the older man.
The sheriff waved his beefy hand again. “Whatever we called it, she knew where it was. How many tickets you give that girl?”
“I don’t remember.” Five warnings. Five citations. She’d been reduced to a restricted license because of him.
“Yeah, she was too young. What, sixteen?”
Sweet sixteen. And how he wished he’d kissed her.
“And you were what? Twenty-one?”
“Twenty-two when I left,” Dylan reminded him. But in his soul, so much older than those years.
“That was a heck of a mess, Dylan. I knew you didn’t have anything to do with that boy’s suicide. I should’ve searched him when he got back from sentencing. But after killing Jimmy, the guilt got Steve Mars to hang himself in jail, not you. There’s just a bunch of busy-bodies in this town with nothing better to talk about.” Sheriff Buck’s face reddened, and a vein jumped at his temple. “I should’ve—”
“You stuck by me, Sheriff. You always have,” Dylan assured him, and closed his eyes. Behind his lids flashed a memory from when he was twelve, and the sheriff had rescued him from the car accident that had left him motherless. “You always were…”
“I’m glad you’re home, boy. I need you around here. It’s not so quiet anymore. More to worry about now than some lovesick teenage girl speeding around town.”
Dylan nodded, but disappointment rose in his throat. After all those years of sense less violence in Detroit, he’d wanted to return home where but for that one night, he’d had nothing more dangerous to worry about than a sassy teenager.
“Lindsey Warner subdued?” he muttered.
The sheriff chortled. “Don’t show any interest,” he hissed as Marge slapped some steaming plates of beefy noodle casserole on the table.
“I haven’t had a casserole in years, Marge. Thanks.” Dylan reached for the fork. He hoped he could eat. Too many memories had his guts tied in knots.
She patted his head the way she had when he was eight years old. He had to smile. Nobody had patted his head in ten years. It was good to be home.
IT WAS HELL TO BE HOME, Lindsey thought as she leaned back in her father’s chair. Throughout the office a satisfying bang echoed as she swung the heels of her boots onto the surface of his old desk. She would have rather kicked something, though.
“Hey, brat,” her father teased as he poked his graying head around the door. “Taking over already? Or hiding out?”
