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First she had to deal with Sheriff McClain.
Once Gordon explained about the house, the sheriff would have to let her go. But she had a disquieting feeling her association with the man wouldn’t end there. He seemed the type to press, to find challenge in uncovering secrets. Her heart skipped a beat. Maybe the sheriff could help.
She sat up abruptly.
No. She couldn’t trust anyone, save God. Even this man who’d sounded so sincere when he’d offered his help, who had cared enough to supply another blanket, who’d…she glanced down.
On the floor, next to her feet, sat a tray with juice, cereal and milk. Surprise and a good dose of pleased warmth suffused her.
Her gaze sought out the sheriff. He sat leaning over his desk with his cheek resting on his forearms. Asleep. He looked boyish, with waves of ebony spilling over his forehead and dark lashes splayed across his cheeks. Kate shook her head in wonder. Just when had Sheriff McClain brought the tray in? She’d heard the squeak of the cell door only once, when he’d brought her the blanket.
A violent shudder swept her body. She’d spent a dreamless night within the cell, lulled to sleep by a false sense of security. Anyone could easily have killed her in her sleep. Anyone being the sheriff.
But he hadn’t.
Sheriff McClain was not the enemy. He hadn’t known Paul. The man was simply a small-town sheriff doing his job. In her heart, she acknowledged that as truth, but her brain wasn’t so sure.
Trust no one.
“Get a grip, girl,” she muttered as she opened the milk carton and poured the liquid into the bowl of corn flakes. Paul’s warning couldn’t have extended to the sheriff. There was no reason she couldn’t trust Brody McClain.
As she finished the cereal and was about to open the orange juice, a pained grunt split the air. Kate’s gaze jumped to the sheriff. His once-relaxed features pulled back into a grimace, his head jerked and a moan slipped from between his lips.
She realized he was gripped within a nightmare. She knew what it was like to feel helplessly lost in the dark swirl of fear, memory and sleep. Compassion filled her chest until it ached with the need to relieve him of his dreams.
“Sheriff McClain?” Her voice bounced off the walls but held no power. “Sheriff?” she tried again, but to no avail. His head thrashed across his bent arms, his big body tense.
Taking a deep breath, Kate used her diaphragm to add more strength to her voice. “McClain!”
Her voice snapped through the station like the slam of a door.
As a wake-up call, it worked well.
Brody jerked his head up and blinked several times before he realized he was at the station, not on a darkened street in the middle of a storm facing the barrel of a gun.
His gaze met that of the woman occupying the cell. Red curls framed her face, emphasizing her large, compassion-filled eyes. She’d witnessed his nightmare. Great.
Taking a shuddering breath, Brody composed himself and rose from his chair. Rigid, stiff muscles objected to the stretching. His limbs ached. The need to work out the kinks demanded his attention, but Brody had a job to finish first. The gym would have to wait.
He moved away from the desk to the coffee machine. With each step of his right leg, pain shot into his hip. He refused to allow himself the luxury of limping when meadow-green eyes followed his every move.
By rote, he went through the process of making strong coffee. Soon, the sound and smell of brewing French roast filled the air. Brody inhaled the rich scent for a moment, and pushed away the unease of Kate having witnessed what he worked so hard to keep beneath his heel. He walked steadily to the cell and opened the door. “Good morning.”
His charge stared at him. Her head listed to the side and questions fairly radiated from her expression. “Good morning.”
The corners of her mouth kicked up in a tentative smile that sneaked inside his chest and made it difficult to breathe.
“Thank you for breakfast…and the blanket.”
He swallowed against both her gratitude and the effects of her smile. He didn’t want either one. “I hope you slept well.”
“I did, actually.” She stood and stepped past him, then stopped in the center of the room. She looked around uncertainly. “Is there a restroom I could use?”
“Down the corridor, on the left.” Brody watched her disappear before he shifted his feet and took his weight onto his left leg, easing the ache in his right hip. Why was he bothering? It didn’t make sense; vanity wasn’t usually one of his faults. But letting her witness his weakness was…out of the question. He didn’t want her to look at him with pity.
Most everyone in town knew vague details of how he’d acquired his limp. Few dared approach the subject and even fewer knew the truth of the situation. Taking a bullet was a hazard of the job that every law-enforcement officer faced. Only for Brody it was so much more and so much worse.
Forcing his torturous thoughts to recede, Brody limped over to his desk, sat down and tried to boot up the computer. The screen remained blank. He made a mental note to call the local computer expert and have him take a look at the infernal machine, which was always on the fritz. Somewhat ruefully, he figured he’d have to check out his guest the old-fashioned way.
As he reached for the phone, it rang, the shrill sound ringing hollow in the small station. Picking up the receiver, he answered, “Havensport County Sheriff’s Office, Sheriff McClain speaking.”
“I understand you have Katherine Wheeler in your custody.” The gravelly voice boomed in Brody’s ear, the tone sharp, the words clipped.
“And you are?”
“Gordon Thomas, Katherine’s attorney.”
Figured a Beverly Hills address could buy attitude. “She was caught breaking into one of our residents’ summer home.”
“The Kinsey residence?”
“Yes.”
“The house belongs to my client.”
Brody didn’t like the condescending tone in the man’s voice. “I’ll need proof of that.”
“What’s your fax number?” the man asked curtly.
Brody rattled off the number and a few seconds later the machine in the corner beeped and hissed. Paper rolled out; sheet after sheet until finally it gave one final beep and remained silent.
“Sheriff McClain, I’d like to speak with Ms. Wheeler.”
“Sorry, she’s indispos…” Brody’s voice trailed off as he noticed Kate standing beside his desk. Even with her wrinkled clothes and finger-combed hair, she radiated a quiet confidence. He’d give the lady credit; she was no fragile flower.
“Here she is.”
Kate took the phone and turned away. He could hear the urgent note in the low tones of her voice. Picking up the fax, he flipped through the pages and realized Katherine Wheeler, though he liked Kate better, had been telling the truth. She now owned the house.
“Here, he wants to talk with you.”
Kate’s little smile grated on Brody’s nerves. So she hadn’t been lying. Big whoop. The fact that one female had the ability to tell the truth should make him happy, but he couldn’t stop the unsettled feeling that something wasn’t right. How did Pete Kinsey fit into this?
“Everything seems to be in order. I still have questions.”
“I’m sure you do, Sheriff, but first things first. Release Mrs. Wheeler. There’s no need for her still to be in your custody.”
Brody wasn’t so sure about that. He couldn’t deny Kate’s name appeared on the copies of her late husband’s will and the deed to the house. She had every right to walk freely away and go about her life, yet he hesitated.
Mentally, he reviewed what he knew: Kate Wheeler’s husband had been murdered, she’d inherited the Kinsey home. According to the paper faxed to him by the lawyer, the L.A.P.D. was investigating Paul’s death but had yet to produce a suspect. All in all, the lawyer had supplied Brody with more information than required.
Legally, Brody had no reason to hold Kate, but it didn’t sit well just to let her walk out. His protective impulses demanded he take her back to the house himself. For crying out loud, the woman had been terrified that someone was out to kill her, too.
Brody glanced at the blank computer and fervently wished the contraption hadn’t gone on the blink. He would have liked to gather a bit more unbiased information.
Into the phone, Brody said crisply, “Mrs. Wheeler is free to go. I assume I can count on you to answer further questions?”
“Of course, Sheriff. Always happy to cooperate with the authorities.”
The veiled sarcasm in Thomas’s voice rang clear. Brody’s hand tightened on the receiver. “I’ll be in touch.”
As soon as he’d put the receiver back in the cradle, Kate piped up. “I told you I owned the place. You should have given me the benefit of the doubt.”
He slanted her a sideways glance. “Just doing my job, Mrs. Wheeler.”
“I thought people were considered innocent until proven guilty?”
“Not in any reality I know.” Brody’s mouth quirked with a self-effacing grimace.
He’d been young and idealistic enough once to believe in the system, to believe that good triumphed over evil, that right always won out in the end, and that justice for all wasn’t selective. But it was and he’d spent his adult life dedicated to making sure the innocent received their justice.
“But that’s how it’s supposed to work.”
“Supposed to being the operative phrase.”
Emotions flickered across Kate’s face—anger and a touch of sadness. The impulse to take her into his arms and hold her until only joy reflected in the depths of her green eyes rose up sharply. He clenched his jaw. Been down that road. Not going again.
She shook her head. “This isn’t the way God planned it, you know.”
Her words poked at an old wound. He raised a brow. “What makes you think God gives a rip?”
Little creases appeared between her brows. “Because the alternative is unthinkable. Without God, there’s no hope. Without hope, what’s the point?”
“The point is to make it through each day.” Refusing to let slip any of the betrayal he felt, he kept his voice neutral. “And if you live to see another day, you make it through that one.”
“That’s not living.”
He shrugged. “It’s surviving.”
“That’s missing out on all that God has to offer.”
Her earnest expression tugged at him, but he could never forget or forgive. “Yeah, like heartache and pain. No, thanks.”
“Who hurt you, Sheriff?”
The sincerity in her quietly asked question hit him in the chest like the business end of a nightstick. No way was he going to open up to her. No way was he going to allow anyone close again.
“I’ve seen more than my share of heartache and pain.”
Compassion and skepticism warred in her eyes. Tension coiled in his veins. The moment she decided to let it go he released a concentrated breath.
Amusement entered her gaze. “Havensport doesn’t exactly seem like crime central.”
“Normally, it’s not. You’re the most excitement this town has seen in a while.”
An auburn brow arched. “Oh, really.”
Heat crept up his neck. Real smooth, boyo.
She was exciting in a dangerous way that had nothing to do with the law and everything to do with attraction. Not a good thing.
He cleared his throat. “I meant the breaking and entering.”
Kate smiled and his gaze snagged on the cute little dimple in the middle of her chin. What would she do if he kissed her there?
His expression must have given away his thoughts because her smile faltered and a blush deepened the contours of her cheeks. She didn’t look away.
“I’m sorry I scratched you.”
Back to business, McClain. Forget about kisses. Kisses only led to betrayal.
“Are you ready to tell me what had you so scared?”
She lifted her delectable chin. “May I leave now?”
She was a tough little cookie. He liked that. “Come on, I’ll take you back.”
“I’ll walk, thanks,” she replied and headed for the door.
“I’ll drive you.”
With her hand on the doorknob, she glanced over her shoulder. “It’s not that far.”
“Doesn’t matter, I’m taking you back.”
With her hands on her hips, she glared at him. “I’m perfectly capable of seeing myself to my house.”
She was beautiful with her face framed by red curls and those green eyes sparking with fire. He had no intention of getting burned no matter how beguiling the flame.
“Are you always this stubborn?”
“You’re the one being stubborn,” she declared with a huff.
She reminded him of a rookie cop with a chip on her shoulder. “Humor me, okay? Let me do my job and take you back to your house.”
She regarded him steadily for a moment. “All right, fine. Do your job.” She opened the door and walked out.
Brody picked up a fax data form and wrote out a request for information on the investigation of Paul Wheeler’s murder. He dialed in the number for the L.A.P.D. and sent the fax. He turned to go and his gaze landed on Kate’s purse sitting on the floor next to his desk.
