by Elle Kennedy
“What is the matter with you?” Jamie asked, disbelief dripping from her words. “You know Sarah didn’t kill Teresa, Finn. I can’t believe you arrested her.”
“I had no choice.” He resisted the urge to rip out his own hair. “You both seem to be in denial over the fact that I’m the sheriff. On paper, I’m not supposed to answer to anyone, but that’s bull. This is politics, and the mayor and D.A. are pulling my damn strings.”
“The D.A. actually thinks he’s got a case?” Jamie demanded.
Finn nodded, then waited until Sarah shifted her attention to the baby before giving Jamie a pointed look. He does have a case, Finn communicated silently, and Jamie’s lavender eyes widened slightly as she received the transmission. As a federal agent, Jamie understood law enforcement procedures, and when her expression softened, flickering with sympathy, Finn knew she understood why he’d had to arrest Sarah.
“Okay.” Jamie squeezed Sarah’s arm, then moved to lean against the edge of the desk. “Okay. So what’s the next move? How do we get Sarah out of this?”
“All we can do is wait for the bail hearing,” he said grimly. “And if this goes to trial, Sarah’s attorney will build a defense for her. In the meantime, you and I will be busting our asses trying to find the real killer.”
Tension hung over the room, finally broken by a tiny wail of displeasure. Finn turned his head and noticed the baby’s cheeks had turned beet red. As Lucy began to cry, hiccupping between sobs, Sarah rocked her in her arms, but the gentle motions did nothing to soothe the suddenly cranky infant.
“You should take her home,” Sarah whispered, glancing over at Jamie.
It was clear that the last thing Sarah wanted to do was relinquish the child, and it nearly tore out Finn’s heart as he watched her hold Lucy in front of Jamie’s waiting hands. The baby’s cries only grew louder as she found herself in an unfamiliar pair of arms. Jamie rubbed the baby’s back and murmured a few words of comfort, which only seemed to further agitate the red-faced, squirming baby.
“Go,” Sarah choked out.
“Sarah—”
“Please, just go. There are diapers and bottles in the bag on Anna’s desk, and if you need more formula, you can stop by my house—the spare key is under the red flowerpot beside the porch.” Sarah seemed to be fighting tears. “Did you get the car seat?”
“Yeah, I stopped by the gallery like Finn asked and took it from your car.”
“Then you’re all set.” Sarah gave a bright smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Sarah…I’ll take good care of her,” Jamie murmured. “I promise.”
“I know.”
As Lucy continued to wail, Sarah moved closer to brush her lips over the baby’s forehead. “Be good for Jamie,” she said softly.
Holding the crying infant, Jamie walked to the door, pausing only to shoot Finn a look that said, Fix this. Now. She left the office, and they could hear her footsteps in the bull pen. Lucy’s distressed cries grew muffled and then eventually faded as Jamie left the station with the baby.
Sarah stared at the door for an impossibly long time, before finally turning to Finn.
His stomach clenched at her lifeless expression. She looked as though someone had ripped the one thing she cared about right out of her arms, which, in fact, was what had just happened.
“Sweetheart,” he started, the old endearment slipping from his mouth before he could stop it.
The dull shine to her eyes exploded into a smoldering burst of anger. “Don’t you dare call me that.”
The vehemence in her voice had him stepping back, stricken.
“And don’t you dare pretend you’re going to help me get out of this,” she continued, her cheeks flushed with fury. “You got me into this. I don’t care what the evidence says, or what the D.A. thinks, you know I didn’t kill anyone!”
“And I’m going to help you prove that,” he said hoarsely.
“Don’t bother,” she snapped. “You’ve already proven that you’re incapable of standing by me when things get a little too tough for your liking. So, frankly, I don’t want or need your help, Patrick.” She was breathing heavily now. “Now take me back to my cell.”
“Damn it, Sarah—”
“Take me. Back. To my cell.”
Chapter 3
Sarah woke up the next morning feeling downright disoriented. When she stuck out her arm to fumble for the alarm clock, she felt nothing but cold air. When she instinctively turned to the right to glance over at Lucy’s crib, she found herself staring at a cement wall.
She shot up into a sitting position, shoving strands of hair from her eyes as she realized she wasn’t in her cozy bedroom—she was in a jail cell.
She still wore the turtleneck and jeans she’d had on yesterday, which she’d opted to sleep in because the alternative had been too humiliating to accept. The light blue prison-issued jumpsuit was still where she’d left it—on the floor next to the metal bars. The very thought of putting on that garment had brought a wave of nausea to her belly. She might be stuck in jail, but no way would she allow Finn and his deputies to dress her up like a common criminal.
Yesterday’s meeting with her new lawyer, Daniel Chin, had been a total disappointment. The mild-mannered Korean man had been unable to get in touch with the judge and, in a rueful voice, he’d told her that she had no choice but to spend the weekend in lockup. After he left, Anna had taken her back to her cell. Dinner had consisted of sandwiches from the town deli, a luxury she doubted other prisoners got to experience. She’d fallen asleep at ten, though she’d spent most of the night tossing and turning on the thin, uncomfortable cot.
Rubbing her tired eyes, she rose to her feet and stretched her legs, wondering when someone would come down to take her to the washroom. Just as she thought it, a door creaked open, and then Finn strode up to the cell.
He looked exhausted, his blue eyes lined with red, and she noticed his clothes were rumpled, as if he’d slept in them. “Anna will be down in a second to take you to wash up,” he started roughly. “But first I wanted a moment alone with you.”
Her heart did an unwitting flip. She knew she wasn’t allowed to feel anything for this man, but there was just something about him this morning that brought a rush of warmth to her stomach. Maybe it was the messy hair, or the hard glint in his eyes. He might be polite and pleasant when he was on duty, but Sarah had known him before he’d been elected sheriff, back when he’d had the whole bad-boy thing going on.
She still remembered the day they’d bumped into each other at the lake. Finn had been a few years ahead of her in high school, but their paths had never crossed until that day. She’d been twenty-two, just back from college, and she’d been walking along the lakeshore, debating if she should use part of her inheritance to buy the art gallery that had recently come up for sale in town. So lost in thought, she hadn’t noticed Finn until she’d stumbled right into his hard, muscular chest. The attraction between them had been fast, primal. For a good girl like her, the pull of desire toward the rough and sensual deputy had been disconcerting. And Finn hadn’t been so diplomatic back then. He spoke what was on his mind, no matter how crude, and his bold, sexy words had thrilled her. She’d fallen head over heels for him, captivated by his gruff nature and magnetic sexuality, even though she knew her feelings for him were too damn dangerous.
She caught a glimpse of that rough edge now, and those old feelings of desire rippled through her.
Ignoring her body’s traitorous reaction, she met Finn’s gaze and said, “Do we have to do this first thing in the morning? I just woke up.”
“And I never went to sleep,” he muttered back. “I was in the chair in my office all night, trying to figure out how to say this, so—”
She wrinkled her brow. “You slept in your office?”
He glanced at her as if he couldn’t believe she’d even ask. “You honestly thought I could go home and get into my big comfortable bed knowing that you were spending
the night in a cell? Jesus, Sarah.”
Her heart lurched again. Lord, why wouldn’t it quit doing that? And why did the image of Finn squished in his desk chair, as he sat awake all night, make her pulse speed up?
“Anyway, I did some thinking,” he went on, awkwardly resting his hands on the bars, “and I realized the direct approach is the way to go.” Frowning, he held her gaze. “I am going to help you, Sarah, no matter how many times you tell me you don’t need my help. Because you know what? I don’t give a damn what you say—you do need me. And you have me, whether you like it or not.”
She arched both eyebrows. “You haven’t changed at all, have you? Still get off on ordering people around.”
A ferocious expression darkened his face. “I have changed. I’ve changed more than you know. In fact, that leads me to the other thing I wanted to say.”
“I can’t wait to hear it.”
“Drop the damn sarcasm and listen.” His tone was low, almost urgent. “You need to know something, Sarah.”
“Yeah?” she said warily. “And what’s that?”
“I’m sorry.”
Those two words came out strained, and his chest heaved, as if the mere act of uttering them had taken a physical toll on him.
Before she could reply, he hurried on. “I’m sorry for what happened between us. For the way I ended things. But you have to know that I didn’t do it out of malice.” He raked one hand through his tousled black hair. “I was young, Sarah. Young and scared and the situation was too familiar. It reminded me too much of what I went through with my…”
Mother, she nearly finished. She’d heard it all before, in the parting speech he’d recited before walking—no, running—out of her life. Oh, he’d run, all right. As if he was being chased by the damn bogeyman, as if her depression could infect him like some airborne disease.
Resentment prickled her skin. “I understand that the situation with your mom was messed up, Finn, but you weren’t the only one with parent issues.”
The memory of her own parents filtered into her mind, bringing a rush of sorrow. She’d been orphaned at the age of four, after her parents died within months of each other, her mother in a car accident, her dad from a heart attack nobody saw coming. Her mother’s older sister had taken Sarah in, but Aunt Carol hadn’t been the most maternal woman. More like a hermit, locked away in her isolated house and painting dismal landscapes that usually featured black, ominous swamps or mountains shrouded by dark mist. Finn might have grown up with a mentally ill mother, but at least he’d had someone.
“And your past doesn’t excuse the choices you made,” she finished.
“It doesn’t,” he agreed, “but I’m trying to make amends for those choices now. I want to be here for you, Sarah. The way I wasn’t back then. I’m going to get you out of this mess.”
A myriad of emotions spun through her body. Anger. Pain. Hope. The last one grated the most, because she didn’t want to hope. Didn’t want to believe Finn’s promise that he’d help her. He’d already proven that he couldn’t be counted on. What if she put her life in his hands, the way she’d put her heart there, only to have him let her down again?
She couldn’t. But she couldn’t say no, either. Not when she had Lucy to think about. As much as it pained her to admit it, she did need him.
Yesterday, when Finn had mentioned the possibility of a trial, fear had streaked through her like a bolt of lightning. She couldn’t go to trial. If she did, child welfare would snatch Lucy away faster than Sarah could say wrongfully accused. And there was no way she was giving up her baby. She’d waited two years for Lucy, and nobody was going to take her from Sarah.
And so she managed a silent nod of acceptance, unable to look at him.
He frowned again, sensing her reluctance, then released a humorless laugh. “You might not like it but I’m going to fix this, no matter what you say—or don’t say—sweetheart.”
A spark of heat tickled her spine. She had to force herself to snuff it out. So what if he’d called her sweetheart. So what if those two husky syllables reminded her of all those lazy mornings in bed, when he’d used that same word to cajole her into opening the gallery late so they could indulge in another round of hot, sweaty sex.
They were over. Done. And she refused to react to this man, no matter what he called her.
“Can you just call Anna so I can use the restroom?” she said abruptly.
His shoulders stiffened at her harsh tone, but before he could reply, a tentative female voice sounded from the end of the corridor.
“Sheriff?” Anna called. “I think you need to get up here.”
“What’s going on?” Finn called back, eyes narrowed.
“There’s an FBI agent here. He says he’s taking over the case.”
Sarah noticed the visible shock on Finn’s face. Without another look in her direction, he stalked off, his heavy black boots thudding against the cement floor.
Wariness climbed up her chest. An FBI agent had arrived to take over the case? On a Sunday?
That didn’t sound good. At all.
When Finn marched into his office, he found a tall, fair-haired man in a crisp black business suit standing by the minuscule window overlooking the brick wall of the building next door. The man turned when the door opened, offering a tight smile as he said, “Sheriff Finnegan. Pleasure to meet you.”
Finn advanced on the man, wincing when he noticed the grease-covered Chinese food containers littering his desktop and the white dress shirt slung over the back of his chair. He hadn’t bothered to tidy up yet, and the slept-in office definitely didn’t offer a good first impression.
But the agent made no mention of the mess, simply leaning forward for a handshake that Finn reluctantly returned. “I’m Special Agent Mark Parsons,” the man added. “I’ve been asked to assist you on the Donovan investigation.”
Finn smothered a curse. He could probably take a wild guess as to who had contacted the Bureau. Or maybe two guesses, since the M.O. fit both the mayor and district attorney of Serenade. Apparently, the bastards didn’t trust him to stay impartial.
“Assist, huh? Because my deputy just said you told her you were here to take over the case.”
Parsons’s smile didn’t even falter. Finn decided, right then and there, that he didn’t like the guy. There was something predatory in those pale blue eyes, something that Finn frequently glimpsed in the D.A., that power-hungry glint characteristic of a man desperate to climb all the way to the top. He wondered if Parsons was new, some rookie looking to make a name for himself. Finn made a mental note to ask Jamie if she knew the man.
“She must have misunderstood me,” Parsons said smoothly. “I simply relayed the instructions given to me by my supervisor—that this investigation required a new pair of eyes.”
Since Anna had a better read on people than most psychics, Finn doubted his deputy had misunderstood. Parsons was here for one reason—to stick his nose into places it didn’t belong and try to punch another notch in his glory belt.
Christ, and just when he thought things couldn’t get any worse.
“Mayor Williams said we’ve got a suspect in custody.”
Finn bristled at the we. “Yes, I arrested the owner of the town’s art gallery yesterday. Sarah Connelly. Her hair was found at the scene, along with a partial fingerprint on the table near the body.”
“Yes, I was informed of that, as well.”
As Parsons sat on the edge of the sheriff’s desk, making himself comfortable, Finn battled a burst of anger. He had no intention of working with this man. Parsons was too cocky, too smooth in his expensive suit. He had slime bag written all over him.
“I was also told there’s still the matter of the murder weapon,” Parsons went on in a brisk, professional voice. “So our first order of business is finding out exactly where the gun came from, and how it wound up in Connelly’s hands.”
“Look.” Finn took a breath. “With all due respect, Agent Parsons,
I’m not sure what you could possibly do that my staff and I haven’t already done. The gun is untraceable, wiped of any prints. And if we’re being forthcoming with each other, I have to tell you, I don’t think Sarah Connelly killed Teresa Donovan.”
A knowing glimmer entered Parson’s eyes. “Does the fact that she’s your ex-girlfriend have anything to do with that conviction?”
“No,” Finn snapped. “But our past association does come into play here. I know Sarah. She’s not a killer. She runs a gallery, she’s involved in community events, and she just adopted a baby. She’s a good person.”
“Good people have been known to snap and commit murder.” Parsons stared at him with a condescending expression that made Finn want to deck the guy. “Sarah Connelly has a history of instability. She is certainly capable of killing Teresa Don—”
“So it’s true!” a female voice shrieked.
Both men spun around to gape at the raven-haired woman who’d burst into the office without knocking.
Finn tamped down an irritated sigh as Valerie Matthews barreled toward him, her gunmetal-gray eyes blazing with what could only be described as perverse satisfaction. “I knew that crazy bitch was up to something! The way she befriended Agent Crawford so she could squeeze information out of her…”
Valerie trailed off deliberately, which only succeeded in pissing off Finn even further. Like her younger sister, Valerie was the nastiest, most unlikable woman Finn had ever met. She and Teresa had been two peas in a despicable pod, determined to make the lives of everyone around them miserable, as if that could make up for the crappy childhood they’d endured.
When Cole Donovan had been shot, Finn had actually begun to think that Valerie might have changed, that she was starting to let go of some of her craziness. Valerie had been knocked unconscious when Teresa’s ex-lover had taken Jamie hostage, and when Finn visited her in the hospital, where she was being treated for a concussion, Valerie had been…pleasant. Sweet, even.