by Elle Kennedy
“That’s not any of your business,” she answered coolly.
“He’s almost twice your age,” Finn grumbled.
A shocked laugh escaped her lips. “So what? Travis is a friend. Who cares how old he is?”
Those dark eyebrows rose slightly. “Just a friend?”
“Yes, though I really don’t need to explain myself to you.” She spun on her heel and made her way to the cot, flopping down and avoiding Finn’s eyes. She figured he’d just walk away, but he surprised her by unlocking the cell door and marching inside.
“Get up,” he muttered. “I’ve got dinner in my office.”
Surprise moved through her. “You’re letting me go upstairs?”
Pure misery flashed in his eyes. “I’m not your warden, Sarah. No matter what you think, it kills me seeing you in here, okay?”
Her throat went tight. Sincerity rang in his voice, and there was no mistaking the pain flickering across his face. No, she supposed he didn’t like this any more than she did. The only difference was—she was the one in this position. Not him.
Story of their lives, wasn’t it? She fell apart, and he stood there, strong and stoic in the background.
She straightened her shoulders, banishing that pang of self-pity from her head. Screw that. She was strong. She might have fallen apart all those years ago, but this time she refused to cave under the pressure. She’d been arrested for a crime she didn’t commit, and she’d be damned if she didn’t keep fighting this injustice until her last breath.
Without a word, she stood and followed Finn out of the cell.
“I saw your daughter,” he said as they climbed the narrow staircase.
Sarah almost tripped over her own feet at the quiet confession. Unable to stop herself, she looked directly into his vivid blue eyes. “You did? Is she all right?”
“She’s fine,” he said gruffly. “Jamie said Lucy is the sweetest baby in the world.”
Tears stung her eyes. “I know.”
She tried to rein in her emotions as they headed to Finn’s office. The bull pen was empty, so fortunately she didn’t have to face the curious eyes of Anna or Finn’s second deputy, Max. Blinking a few times, she took a deep breath and sat down in one of the chairs in front of Finn’s cluttered desk.
He’d gotten takeout from the diner—she recognized the brown paper bags with Martha’s red logo printed on them. Neither of them said a word as they tackled their food, though Sarah felt Finn’s eyes on her as she ate. Was he thinking about the last time they’d shared a meal together?
She was trying not to, but the excruciating memory found its way into her brain no matter how hard she tried to stop it.
You don’t want to be here, do you?
She heard her own voice in her head, the lifeless words she’d uttered, the anger that followed.
Leave then. Take the coward’s way out and leave!
She’d proceeded to throw his plate against the wall, staining the white wall with spaghetti sauce, sending clumps of noodles onto the hardwood floor. And then she’d sunk onto the floor herself, as hot tears poured down her cheeks, as she cried for everything they’d lost and everything he refused to give her.
“I shouldn’t have left that night.”
His rough voice sliced through her thoughts, and she realized as she met his tortured expression that he had indeed been thinking the same thing.
“But you did,” she said flatly, pushing away her half-eaten dinner.
Finn reached for the bottle of water on the desk, unscrewed the cap and took a long swallow. After he set down the bottle, he continued to speak, his blue eyes avoiding her face.
“My mom used to do that, during her episodes. She’d curl up into a ball on the floor and sob, and I would stand there, unable to do a damn thing about it. I tried to comfort her once, but she slapped me so hard I never did it again.” His voice cracked. “I didn’t know what to do, when I saw you like that.”
Her lungs burned so badly she could barely get out any words. “So you left.”
“I left,” he echoed. “And I’ve regretted it every day, every damn second, of these last four years.”
Sarah couldn’t look at him. She couldn’t go down this path. It had taken two years of therapy to convince her that her reaction to everything that happened had been natural. That sometimes even the strongest of people collapsed under the strain. But it was still hard to reflect on that time in her life and not feel shame. Embarrassment.
Why hadn’t she been stronger?
Why hadn’t he been stronger?
“Sarah, look at me.”
She swallowed, blinking through a shimmer of tears. No, don’t look at him. She couldn’t. This man had crushed her. He’d left her battered and broken and hadn’t even looked back.
His hand was on her face.
Her head jerked in shock. She hadn’t even heard him get up, yet here he was, on his knees in front of her chair, his warm, calloused hands cupping her chin. Forcing eye contact.
Breathing hard, she met his gaze and was floored by what she saw there. Regret. Anguish. Passion. Always with the passion. From the moment they’d collided into each other at the lake, the attraction between them had been impossible to control.
Even now, when she ought to despise him, when she ought to be concentrating on her own self-preservation, her body reacted to Finn. Her palms went damp, her breasts became heavy, and the tender spot between her legs began to throb.
“Sarah…”
His timber-rough voice sent a shiver along her spine. She felt the heat of his body, searing right through the thin material of her turtleneck.
His strong throat worked as he swallowed. “I miss you.”
Shock filled her chest. The longing surrounding those three words stole the breath right out of her lungs. She struggled to inhale, but then Finn’s head moved closer, closer, until his warm breath fanned over her mouth.
Until she knew without a doubt that he was going to kiss her.
Chapter 5
He was lost in Sarah. Drowning in the intoxicating lilac scent of her, the sight of her tousled dark hair, the way her lush lips parted in surprise. Finn’s heart drummed a frenzied rhythm against his ribs. Every muscle in his body went taut, rippling with anticipation, with need so strong his vision grew cloudy. But through the haze, he still saw her. Sarah. His Sarah, with her high, regal cheekbones and satin-soft skin and that sweet, sensual mouth.
He leaned closer.
He wanted to kiss her. Just once. Just to see if that uncontrollable fire between them still burned strong.
His lips hovered over hers. He could almost taste her. Almost feel the softness of her mouth—
Her chair scraped back with a loud grating sound.
“No, Finn. No.” Her voice contained a hint of desperation, a twinge of confusion.
Disappointment rushed through him like a flash flood. His hands shook as he staggered to his feet, the promise of reconnecting with Sarah blown away by the ragged breath that exited his mouth.
“I’m sorry,” he rasped. “I didn’t mean to do that.”
Yes, you did.
Fine. He’d wanted to kiss her. For four very long years.
But she’d wanted it, too. He’d seen the desire swimming in her brown eyes. Heard her intake of breath. Seen her pulse throbbing in her graceful neck. He’d witnessed those same telltale signs years ago, the day they’d met at the lake, as he’d walked her to where she’d parked her car. He didn’t normally make a move on women he’d just met, but something about Sarah had made him delirious with desire, desperate to feel her mouth pressed to his.
He’d kissed her, right there in the little gravel parking lot near the lakeshore, and when they’d pulled apart, she’d given a little laugh and asked him if he was always that forward. The attraction to Sarah had been daunting. She was gentle, smart, her eyes always full of laughter; he was serious, easily angered, a loner. He hadn’t expected to fall in love with someone like Sarah.
Hell, back then he’d gravitated toward bold, flashy women like Teresa Donovan.
But from the moment he’d heard Sarah’s soft, throaty voice, from the moment he’d brushed his lips over her warm, sexy mouth, he’d been a goner.
And still was.
“Whether you meant it or not, it can’t happen again,” she said in a shaky voice. “I won’t let it happen.”
His legs felt weak, limp, so he leaned against the edge of the desk, casting a sad look in her direction. She’d pretty much flattened herself against the wall, as if expecting him to ambush her at any second. But she didn’t look scared, just wary, and that was far more disheartening.
“Would it be so bad?” he had to ask. “Starting over?”
Her eyebrows knitted in disbelief. “Starting over?” she echoed. “We can’t start over, Finn.”
His heart dropped to the pit of his stomach like a sinking rock. “Because I left.”
“Because I don’t trust you. Because I can’t forget.”
Her quiet admission grabbed hold of his heart and twisted it in his chest. Hard. He wasn’t sure he’d ever experienced such overwhelming pain.
“And forgiveness? Can you forgive?” he found himself murmuring, practically holding his breath for her answer.
She sighed, her rigid shoulders sagging into a posture that resembled defeat. “I forgave you a long time ago, Finn.”
His gaze flew to hers. “You did?”
She nodded. “But that doesn’t change anything.”
“It’s something,” he said hoarsely.
“It’s nothing,” she corrected, her voice equally hoarse.
Their gazes locked. She meant it, he realized, as frustration filled his gut and sorrow knotted around his insides. And she was right. Her forgiveness meant nothing, not if the trust she’d once had in him was gone.
“Okay.” He cleared his throat. “Okay, then at least I know what to do now.”
She glanced at him, wary again. “And what’s that?”
“Make you trust me again.”
The pressure weighing down on his chest lifted a little. All wasn’t lost. Her lack of faith in him hurt, but it only gave him something to strive toward. She hadn’t said she hated him, hadn’t disregarded the chemistry they evidently still shared. If this was about trust, then he could work with that. He could fix it.
A tired laugh slipped from her lips. “You never give up, do you, Finn?”
“I did once,” he said, holding her gaze. “I gave up on us. But I promise you, sweetheart, I won’t do it again. I’m older. Wiser. And if it’s the last thing I do in my miserable life, I’m going to win your trust back.”
His declaration got to her. He could see it in her eyes. Some of the tension had even left her body. Not the wariness, but he would change that.
“I can’t talk about this right now,” she finally said. “I have bigger problems to deal with.”
“I know, and I promise that—”
“Well, isn’t this cozy.”
They both looked at the door, just as Agent Mark Parsons strode into the office as if he owned the place. Finn’s jaw instantly tensed, a spurt of anger erupting in his belly as Parsons studied the scene with condescending eyes. Finn knew what it looked like—remnants of their dinner on his desk, Sarah out of her cell. He didn’t feel an ounce of remorse, though. Maybe he was giving her preferential treatment, but Parsons could go to hell.
With a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, Parsons turned to Sarah. “You must be Ms. Connelly.”
She stole a glance at Finn, then focused on the federal agent. “Yes…”
“I’m Special Agent Mark Parsons.” He made a move to extend his hand, then stopped when he saw the look in Sarah’s eyes.
Finn bit back a laugh. He knew that look. It said touch me and I’ll rip your eyes out. He remembered being on the receiving end of it plenty of times, usually when he pissed Sarah off by forgetting to load the dishwasher or leaving his wet towels on the bathroom floor.
Parsons continued as if Sarah’s rebuff hadn’t affected him, but the annoyed flicker in his pale blue eyes told another story. “I must admit, I was looking forward to meeting you this morning, but the sheriff wasn’t so open to the idea. I’m assuming that’s why he sent me on what he believed would be a wild goose chase.”
Finn didn’t bother trying to look repentant. Had he wanted to keep Parsons away from Sarah? Hell yes. Had he sent him on a task that he knew would probably amount to noth—wait a second. He suddenly realized what the agent had said. What he believed would be a wild goose chase.
Parsons offered a pleasant smile. “That’s right, Sheriff. I happened to uncover something on my assignment today.”
Finn stifled a sigh. “Maybe I should take Ms. Connelly back to her cell so you and I can—”
“No need for that,” Parsons interrupted. “I’d like to question her about this anyway, so we might as well do it now. Have a seat, Ms. Connelly.”
With a suspicious cloud in her eyes, Sarah sat down in the visitor’s chair, while Parsons took her place by the wall, his arms crossed over his lanky chest. Finn stayed by the desk, too wound up to move. He didn’t like the expression on the agent’s face. Parsons resembled a predator about to go in for a kill.
“As the sheriff probably told you,” Parsons began, his tone implying that Finn was whispering police pillow talk in Sarah’s ear, “I’ve been tracking the origins of the weapon that killed Mrs. Donovan. A .45 Smith & Wesson.”
If Parsons had been expecting a reaction from Sarah, he didn’t get it. Rather, she shot him a cool look and said, “And?”
“I still haven’t been able to trace it, but I did come across some very interesting information….”
There was a long pause, which only irritated the hell out of Finn. “What did you find?” he snapped.
“Your deputies checked if any weapons matching that make and description had been reported stolen in Serenade.”
“And nothing came up in the system,” Finn retorted.
“No,” Parsons agreed. “But I used the Bureau’s database to search other precincts in the area to see if any missing weapon reports popped up.” Parsons gave a smug smile. “A man in Grayden, your neighboring town, reported a .45 Smith & Wesson missing about a month ago. Four days before Mrs. Donovan was murdered, in fact.”
Finn refused to let the other man see just how much the new information rattled him. “So?” he said, putting on a bored face. “What’s the connection, other than the make of the gun?”
“Turns out this man, a Mr. Walter Brown, used to work at the paper mill that Cole Donovan tore down when he moved here.” The federal agent smirked. “Apparently, Mr. Brown keeps in touch with some of his old friends here in town. The night his gun was stolen, he was hosting a party to celebrate a promotion at his new position in Grayden’s textile factory.”
Finn got a sick feeling in his stomach.
“And he claims that several Serenade citizens attended the festivities,” Parsons finished, looking so damn pleased with himself that Finn wanted to clock him. The agent glanced at Sarah. “Did you happen to be in attendance, Ms. Connelly?”
Her shoulders stiffened. “No, I was not in attendance. I don’t even know Walter Brown.”
“Interesting.” Parsons cocked his head. “Because I pulled your credit card records for the time period in question, and what do you know, you purchased gas at a station in Grayden—the same day as Brown’s party.”
Finn’s heart dropped. From the defensive flicker in Sarah’s eyes, he knew Parsons was telling the truth. She’d been in Grayden that day.
“I was visiting an artist,” Sarah finally admitted. Hostility hardened her features as she stared Parsons down. “His name is Frank Bullocks, you can call him up and he’ll confirm that we met that day.”
“Oh, I will definitely be giving him a call, Ms. Connelly. Tell me, how long did this visit last?”
She shrugged. “An hour, maybe two. He show
ed me some of his new pieces, and I took a few back to the gallery. He’s one of the artists I have on consignment. I can’t say for sure what I did when I got home, but I know I never went back to Grayden that night—and I didn’t attend some stranger’s party.”
“If you say so.”
Finn dragged a hand through his hair, then moved from his perch on the desk. “I’m going to take Sarah back to her cell now.”
“I’m not done with her, Sher—”
He silenced Parsons by raising his hand. “She answered your questions and explained why she was in Grayden that day. You can follow up with Brown and get a guest list from him. If Sarah’s name happens to be on it, you’ll get another chance to speak to her. But right now, I’m taking Ms. Connelly to her cell.”
He didn’t wait for another objection, simply took Sarah’s arm and led her out of his office. In the bull pen, she opened her mouth to speak, but he used that same silencing hand. She didn’t try again until they were descending the narrow staircase leading down to lockup.
“This is bad, isn’t it?” she said in a hushed voice. “They’re going to say I stole the gun from that man’s house and used it to kill Teresa! God, Finn, you can’t let that happen! I didn’t steal anything!”
He heard her panic, saw the fear trembling in her shoulders, and before she could protest, he yanked her into his arms.
She went rigid for one long moment, then sank into the embrace, pressing her face against the front of his blue buttondown. Pure joy spread inside him, warming every inch of his body. She was in his arms again, and that feeling of rightness nearly knocked him over like a gust of wind.
Stroking her lower back with his hands, he held her, breathing in the sweet scent of her hair. “This is bad,” he murmured against the top of her head. “I can’t deny that, but I told you I was going to fix this. I promised you, Sarah.”
She burrowed her face in the crook of his neck. Moisture coated his skin. She was crying. Lord, it tore him up, feeling her tears soak his flesh. The last time she’d cried, he’d walked out the door.