In Shelter Cove

by Barbara Freethy

  She needed to tell him to go. Why wouldn’t the words come?

  “Feel like making me a cup of tea?” he asked as the kettle began to sing.

  She hesitated, then grabbed another mug.

  He met her gaze as she slid it across the counter. A sharp gleam entered his eyes. “You must be spooked to let me stay. Is there a reason?”

  She shrugged, not wanting to get into a discussion about her motives. “So you said your father remarried a couple of times?”

  “You’re not going to answer my question, are you?”

  “Are you going to answer mine?” she countered.

  “All right. The first couple of years after my mom died, my father was destroyed. He couldn’t get out of bed in the morning, and when he did get up, he drank too much. He lost his construction business and the house he’d bought with my mother. We would have ended up on the streets if my uncle hadn’t shown up and dragged us here to Angel’s Bay. My dad got better eventually, recovered his desire to be married, and has since tied the knot a couple of times. Even though he’s devastated with each failure, he keeps going back for more pain. I suspect he’s headed for his fourth trip down the aisle as we speak.”

  “Maybe this one will work.”

  “That’s what he said. He’s always optimistic. I’ll give him that.”

  “He doesn’t sound at all like you.” She lifted her mug to her lips as she leaned against the counter.

  “We’re very different,” Jason agreed. “It was just the two of us for a while, and someone had to be practical. It wasn’t going to be him, so if I wanted to eat, I had to look out for both of us.”

  “You don’t have any other siblings?”

  “Nope. Only child. You, too, right?”

  “Yes,” she said without elaborating.

  For a moment there was nothing but quiet in the room. Even the puppy had fallen into an exhausted sleep.

  “So what have you been doing the last five years?” Jason asked.

  “Surviving,” she said shortly.

  “Are you sure coming back here was a good idea? Angel’s Bay can’t hold many happy memories for you.”

  “It’s where the Kanes are.”

  “What about your parents?”

  She cleared her throat. “They’re not part of my life anymore.” He stared back at her, a myriad of questions running through his eyes, none of which she wanted to answer. “But I didn’t just come to Angel’s Bay for the Kanes—I came for the truth. I won’t find it anywhere else.” She paused. “And I think it’s time for you to leave.”

  He met her gaze head-on. “Is it really that simple to blame me for everything?”

  His words hung in the air for a long moment. “It was simpler when you weren’t standing in front of me,” she admitted.

  He drew in a quick breath at her words. “That’s a start.”

  She immediately shook her head. “No. I might be willing to concede that you were part of a larger investigation, but you led the charge, Jason. You took the stand and testified against Derek. You were the last one to speak before the verdict came in. Besides all that, you were his friend. Your betrayal hurt him and the Kanes beyond measure. The relationship you had with them should have mattered. You should have tried to help Derek fight the charges. Instead, you went after him.”

  He paled at her harsh words. “I had to do my job, Brianna. If I could have taken myself off the case, I would have. But this is a small town with a small police department, and I saw Derek on the museum grounds. I talked to him minutes after the guard was assaulted. I was subpoenaed to testify. I had no choice but to tell the truth.”

  “You shaped the truth to fit the case. You were a young cop, and you needed to prove yourself. You used Derek to do that.”

  “Is that what he told you?”

  “He didn’t have to tell me. I was there.”

  “You heard only one side.”

  “And you saw only one side, the side that sent Derek to jail. What was a job to you was the end of my dreams.”

  “Derek is the one who destroyed your dreams—why don’t you blame him?” he challenged.

  “Because . . . because he’s dead.”

  All the emotions of the past few years assaulted her at once. She’d been trying to hold it together for Lucas and the Kanes, but she couldn’t do it anymore. The room began to spin, and the mug slipped from her hand, hot liquid splashing her fingers. She was almost glad for the physical pain; at least it would pass. It was something she could make better.

  Jason grabbed her arms and pulled her up against his solid chest. His body was warm, his embrace secure, comforting. She hadn’t had anyone to lean on in a very long time. She’d been holding herself up for so long, and she was so tired. But she had to fight the temptation to linger. Jason was the wrong man to rely on.

  She pushed him away and staggered to the kitchen table, sitting down quickly. Drawing in several deep breaths, she forced herself not to look at him, even though she was acutely aware of his gaze.

  “Please go,” she said, staring at the tabletop.

  “Are you all right?”

  She had no idea how to answer that question. Finally, she lifted her gaze to his. “I will be.”

  Clearly concerned, he said, “I’m sorry, Brianna. I know it’s been a rough day. I didn’t mean to make it worse.”

  “It’s been a rough five years.”

  “I wish you could see that I’m not your enemy.”

  “I wish you could see that it doesn’t matter to me what you are.”

  His lips tightened. “Okay. Make sure you lock the door behind me.”

  After he left, she let out a breath, completely drained by the encounter. She got up and slid home the dead bolt on the back door. The puppy barked, drawing her attention back to him. He’d woken up and looked ready to play again.

  She knelt down on the floor next to the crate. “This was your fault. Jason never would have been here if it hadn’t been for you charging into the yard next door.” He barked in reply, his adorable face too sweet to bear. “Okay, not completely your fault, but we need to stay away from him.” She didn’t want Jason to try to convince her that Derek was guilty. She didn’t want him to confuse her. She had to believe she was right about Derek, and tomorrow she would start figuring out a way to prove it.

  “Without any new evidence, I have no reason to reopen the case,” Joe Silveira told Brianna late Tuesday morning. He’d listened patiently to her impassioned declaration that her husband had been set up for a crime he hadn’t committed, but she hadn’t told him anything he didn’t already know.

  “The stolen paintings were not found in Derek’s possession,” she persisted. “The police searched his apartment and mine, the Kanes’ house, and the gallery where Derek worked in L.A. He didn’t have them.”

  “He could have handed them off,” Joe suggested. “But this case wasn’t just about stolen art. A security guard was assaulted and injured. You know that.”

  “I also know that Derek swore he was innocent. Not once in five years did he waver from that position.” She paused for a moment. “My husband was killed in a prison fight three weeks before he was supposed to be released. Everyone says it was an accident, but I’m not completely convinced.”

  Joe had found the timing interesting as well. “Why would you have doubts?”

  “Because Derek was a model prisoner. He didn’t fight. He got along with the other prisoners. And he was looking forward to his release date.”

  “It’s my understanding he didn’t instigate the fight but was provoked. In the process, he slipped and hit his head on the concrete, suffering a fatal blow.” Brianna flinched, and he wished he’d chosen his words better. “It was ruled an accident.”

  “I know, but I wonder if someone didn’t want him to get out.”

  “Why?”

  “Maybe Derek had something on someone else, information he could use when he was released. I just want someone to take an objective look a
t the case. It’s been five years. A new perspective might bring a new conclusion.”

  He appreciated her determination. He even found himself wanting to help her—not because he was under the impression that her husband had been wrongly convicted but because she was willing to fight so hard for the man she’d married. He hadn’t seen that kind of loyalty in a long time. Unfortunately, he couldn’t give her the answer she wanted.

  “I’ve read through the file, and I also noted that we shared our reports with an independent investigator hired by your in-laws. I’m sorry, Mrs. Kane. I don’t see any suggestion that the case was handled improperly.”

  Her blue eyes filled with frustration, but there were no tears, thank God. She was hard enough to resist, with her fragile, haunted beauty. But he couldn’t allocate department resources to reinvestigating a case that had already been prosecuted to a satisfactory conclusion.

  “What about the fact that Jason Marlow was Derek’s friend? Wasn’t that a conflict of interest?”

  “Several officers worked the case. But as I said before, if you bring me any new information, I’ll be happy to take a look at it.”

  “Then I’ll be back,” she said, lifting her chin as she got to her feet. “Because I don’t believe that we know everything about what happened that night.”

  After Brianna left, Joe gathered the loose papers together in the file, his eye falling once again on the photographs of the paintings. There was something about the mysterious Eve that intrigued him. Or maybe it was the artist’s torment that got to him—Delgado’s inability to see the woman he loved for who she really was.

  And suddenly, Joe wasn’t seeing Eve’s face anymore but his wife, Rachel’s. Rachel, with the long black hair, the white skin, the enormous dark eyes, the full lips, and the soft body that had once welcomed him home.

  Rachel had had more than three faces; she’d had half a dozen, and lately he hadn’t seen any of the happy ones. The woman he’d loved at fifteen, married at twenty-five, and lived with for fourteen years was more a mystery to him now than she had ever been. He didn’t know how to make her happy. He didn’t know if he even wanted to try anymore.

  He’d thought the move to Angel’s Bay would be a fresh start for them, but it hadn’t turned out that way. Rachel was tied to L.A., to her real-estate business, her friends, and a life that she couldn’t seem to give up for him.

  He’d fallen in love with a life here that he couldn’t seem to give up for her.

  Was it time to cut their losses and move on?

  Or was it time for him to give up Angel’s Bay, go back to L.A., and be the husband she wanted him to be?

  Shaking his head, he refocused his gaze on Eve. There was something about her eyes that seemed angry and disgusted, as if she couldn’t believe the artist was getting it so wrong.

  “Maybe you should have just told him who you were, Eve,” he muttered. “Save him from having to guess and getting it wrong. But that would have taken all the fun out of it, wouldn’t it?”

  His door opened, and his assistant walked in. Betty Jones was a no-nonsense fifty-five-year-old mother of three, who kept the department running like a well-oiled machine. She was one of the few people who didn’t find him intimidating.

  “Who are you talking to?” she asked.

  “No one. What do you need, Betty?”

  “Charlotte Adams is here. She wants to know how many spots we’re taking at the chili cook-off on Friday. The fire boys are putting up three entries. We’ve got Hamilton and Laughton signed up, but Lynch is out this year, and no one else around here can cook worth a damn. Are you up to the challenge?”

  He’d heard something about the long-standing rivalry between the police department and the fire department at the chili cook-off, but he had no idea exactly how it worked. “Why don’t you send Dr. Adams in?”

  Betty rolled her eyes. “She’s just going to tell you what I did.”

  “Then I’ll hear it from her.”

  He got to his feet, ignoring Betty’s knowing smile as he tried to calm the sudden jump in his pulse rate that always seemed to occur when Charlotte was nearby.

  Charlotte had on a black suit, and her expression was all business. He was disappointed. He liked seeing her in her jeans or, better yet, her running shorts, her thick blond hair blowing in the wind, her cheeks pink, her blue eyes bright. Actually, he just liked seeing her—but she’d been avoiding him for a few weeks, ever since Rachel had left town. At least, he thought she was avoiding him. Maybe she just didn’t find him as fascinating as he found her.

  “I didn’t want to bother you,” Charlotte said as Betty closed the door behind her.

  “It’s fine.” He waved her into the chair in front of his desk and sat down again. “Is your medical practice so slow that you have time to run the chili cook-off?”

  “I’m on my lunch break. The cook-off is my mother’s baby, but she’s been down with a cold, and she’s now frantic that we don’t have enough chili makers. So I was told to find more entrants or don’t bother to come home.”

  Joe grinned. Monica Adams was a force of nature; he doubted anyone could say no to her. He could see why she and Charlotte butted heads so often. But one thing they had in common was a desire to help people.

  “So what’s it going to be, Chief? Are you going to let the fire department send three entries while you only send two?” Charlotte challenged.

  “I have no idea how to make chili.”

  “There are lots of recipes on the Internet. I’m sure a smart, capable, and community-spirited man like yourself could find a way to whip something up.”

  “Nice job on the flattery. You really are desperate, aren’t you?”

  “I am,” she admitted with a guilty smile. “Some of the regulars dropped out this year, and if the hall isn’t filled with chili pots, my mother will lose face, and many other bad things will happen—mostly in her head. But I’ll have to hear about them. And it will be completely my fault.”

  “I’ll tell you what. Find me a recipe, I’ll put it together.”

  “It’s a deal.” She got to her feet with a happy smile.

  He came around the desk and extended his hand.

  She hesitated and then put her hand in his. Her warm touch made his fingers tighten around hers. One swift pull, and he could have her in his arms. He could almost taste her sweet mouth under his.

  She yanked her hand from his and cleared her throat, her eyes a little too bright. “I’ll drop off a recipe with Betty tomorrow. I’d better run. I’m meeting Annie at the church. Andrew thinks he might have found a couple to adopt her baby, ” she added, quickly changing the subject.

  “I didn’t realize Annie was interested in giving her child up.”

  It probably wasn’t the worst idea. A pregnant eighteen-year-old, Annie Dupont had no family support and would have been on the streets or in a shelter if not for Charlotte and her mother.

  “She’s considering her options. It might not be easy to find a couple willing to adopt her baby without a release from the biological father, whom Annie is unwilling to name.”

  “I don’t understand why she’s protecting him. Unless she doesn’t know who the father is.”

  “Oh, I think she knows. But so far she’s been very good at keeping the secret.”

  “She’s lucky to have you looking out for her.”

  “It’s actually nice having her in the house. She’s a good buffer between my mother and me.” She paused, her gaze thoughtful. “You never talk about your family. Do you get along with your parents?”

  “Yes, very well. I’m one of six kids, though, so no one got too much attention.”

  “It sounds fun and chaotic.”

  “Add in my mother’s Irish temper and my father’s Spanish passion, and you get even more drama.”

  “So where do you get your calm demeanor?”

  “I put it on with my suit and tie when I come to work,” he said with a small smile.

  “Really? So I
’m not looking at the real Joe Silveira right now?”

  “You’re looking at the chief of police.”

  She nodded, her gaze meeting his, a charge of electricity flowing between them. “It’s too bad both of you are married.”

  She was out the door before he could tell her that he might not be married for very much longer.

  FOUR

  Charlotte thought she’d grown out of being impulsive, but telling Joe she wished he wasn’t married hadn’t been one of her smartest moves. They’d been casually flirting with each other for months, but both had been careful never to step over the line. She’d even kept her distance since Rachel left town. She hadn’t wanted to put herself in the middle of their troubled marriage, but deep down she had to admit she missed him, missed that little tingle that ran through her body when he turned those dark, sexy eyes in her direction. He was always unfailingly polite, but once in a while she caught a glimpse of a far more passionate nature.

  As she drove away from the police station, she couldn’t help wondering what Joe’s wife was thinking. Why was Rachel so determined to conduct her marriage long-distance? And why was Joe allowing it to happen? She didn’t get it. If they loved each other, why wasn’t one of them willing to sacrifice? Not that she wanted Joe to leave, but obviously someone had to budge.

  As she turned into the church parking lot, she saw Andrew Schilling on the steps, talking to the gardener who’d worked at the church for as long as she could remember. She shut off the engine and sat for a moment. It still felt odd to see Andrew as the minister, a position her father had held for more than thirty years. In high school Andrew had been a smooth-talking, party-loving jock.

  She had no idea what he’d been up to since then—not because he wasn’t interested in telling her but because she kept putting him off. She wasn’t sure how to handle his renewed interest in her. Their breakup had been messy and ugly and filled with adolescent angst. While they’d both grown up, she was reluctant to rekindle their old flame.

  High school had been a painful time for her, a period of rebellion, indecision, restlessness. The role of minister’s daughter didn’t suit her well, not like her older sister, Doreen, or her younger brother, Jamie. Her mother had been continually disappointed in her behavior, and her father, while much more kind and compassionate, had been frustrated by her inability to accept that certain behaviors were required of a minister’s family.