Falling Into Right (Redemption County Book 2)

by Sharon Kay

  “There is no such thing. And if I ever thought so, I was wrong.” He shook his head. “In my career, no matter how much time passes or how deeply I try to bury it, I’ll always be known as the guy whose fiancée embezzled. In this day and age, those things are never forgotten.”

  “But you announced your damage control plan everywhere. You made it crystal clear that you ended things. That I had personal issues.”

  “Yes, but I can’t make it go away completely. There will always be a news article somewhere, if someone digs deep enough. And if you do anything stupid like this again, my name might get dragged into it. So I need you at my side, to keep an eye on you. To keep you from making a dumb mistake again and if you do, to quash it before anyone knows.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the engagement ring she had returned. “Put this on.” He gave her an encouraging smile.

  She stared at the huge, sparkling diamond, aghast. She’d once adored the two carat solitaire and thought she was lucky to have the man who gave it to her. But now, it represented something dark and ugly. Did he honestly expect her to put it back on her finger? She slid along the wall, trying to put space between them. The need to escape exploded in her mind. “Kirk, no. You ended things, and I think that’s how they should stay.”

  “What you think doesn’t matter!” he shouted. “What you think. Ha. Did you think before you took that cash? No! ‘I don’t know why I did it,’” he mimicked her with a sneer.

  “I want you to leave.” She laid her hands on the wall for support because her knees were about to buckle. “Now.”

  “No. You belong with me.”

  “You might think so, but I’ve worked hard to deal with all the things that happened last year,” she said, still scooting along the wall. “I’m trying to move on with my life.”

  “You don’t get to just move on!” he yelled, eyes huge. “How the fuck do you think you get to say that to me? You did the worst thing my fiancée could do to me. And you think you just get to dust yourself off and walk away? Oh no, Becca. You made my life hell, and you don’t get to act like it’s all over and put away in a neat little box.”

  “I’ve said I’m sorry a hundred times—”

  “Saying that isn’t enough.” He grabbed her bicep, stopping her. “I came here for you. And I’m not leaving without you. So put this back on.” He yanked her hand from behind her, tipping her off balance so she wobbled into him. He shoved the ring on her finger. “And walk your ass down the stairs and outside to my car.”

  “No. Kirk, stop!” She tried to pull away, but his hold was like iron.

  “I’m not asking.” He grabbed something at the back of his pants, and she looked on in horror as he brought his .38 around to his front. “Let’s go.”

  Chapter 32

  Shane stood in his kitchen as Denver ate, and frowned at the clock on the stove. Becca was twenty minutes late. She was never late, and even on the days she stopped at her house to get her mail, it didn’t affect her time. All she had to do was step out, grab the mail from the mail box, and get back into that tiny car of hers.

  He’d texted once, and she hadn’t replied. Again, odd. She might have been delayed at work, but she would probably have called to tell him. He pulled out his phone and dialed her number. It rang four times and went to voice mail.

  He frowned and dialed Silver Springs. The cheerful sounding receptionist answered. “Thank you for calling Silver Springs Assisted Living. How may I direct your call?”

  “Is Becca Gable there, by chance?”

  “I’m sorry. She’s gone for the day. May I take a message?”

  “No. Thanks anyway.” Shane blew out a breath as confusion morphed to concern.

  Denver drank from his water bowl then scanned the kitchen. Tongue lolling, he sat and gave Shane an expectant look.

  “I don’t know where she is, boy.” He grabbed Denver’s lead. “But we’re gonna start looking.” He snapped the lead onto Denver’s collar and took him outside just long enough for him to take care of business.

  Back inside, Shane grabbed his Glock and tucked it into the back of the jeans he’d put on when they got home. Trepidation grew with every minute that passed. Becca’s absence made no sense. Maybe there was a logical explanation, and if so, he’d be insanely glad to hear it. But warning bells clanged in his mind.

  He and Denver headed out and climbed into his Ford. Twenty minutes later, they reached the Hamilton town limits and sped to Becca’s street. Her silver Prius was parked at the end of her driveway.

  A wave of relief surged through Shane’s muscles. She’s here. Thank god. He parked his truck next to her car, and he and Denver got out.

  But the car was empty. Shane tried the door and found it unlocked. A pile of mail was on the driver’s seat. Her unzipped purse was in the passenger seat, and tucked into a pocket of it was her phone.

  Denver stuck his nose in and sniffed at the seat, the door frame, the floor mat. Shane scanned the interior. Mail, purse, phone—but no keys.

  He closed the car door softly and walked around it once, inspecting out of habit. Denver did the same, nose to the ground, utterly focused even though Shane hadn’t given him a specific command. Nothing seemed amiss—

  Denver gave a short bark, and his demeanor instantly changed from investigative to the urgent, knowing prowl of discovery.

  “Whatcha got, boy?” Shane studied his dog, marveling for the hundredth time at the things he could detect with his super sniffer. “Go on.”

  A low growl rumbled in Denver’s throat as he trotted away from the car. Shane followed as Denver led him around the side of the little house. Dormant grass crunched under their feet in the quiet yard. This was the garage side of Becca’s house, and it had no windows.

  Reaching the backyard, Denver headed straight for the back door and growled. Shane’s heart imploded in his chest. “What the fuck?”

  Broken glass littered the cement beneath the door. The door itself had a solid lower half, while the upper portion contained a paned window that stretched from the middle of the door up to the top. The panel closest to the door handle revealed a gaping, jagged hole.

  Shit, shit, shit. Had she gotten locked out? But no. She’d driven, so she had her keys. And Denver’s posture radiated all kinds of cluster fuck.

  Entering an unfamiliar house was one of the most dangerous things police did. Usually, they didn’t know the layout and didn’t know how many people were inside. Houses had many places to hide and multiple entries and exits. But this time, Shane had the advantage of knowing Becca’s floor plan.

  The only question was, who the hell had broken in?

  He pulled his phone from his pocket and called Brant, his senior deputy. Even though Shane was off duty, protocol stated that he ought to alert his superiors that there was a potential situation that he was about to look into.

  “Marlow?” Brant answered.

  “I’m at a friend’s house, and it appears to have been broken into. Busted rear window. I’m going to check it out. Wanted to call this in.”

  “Where are you?”

  Shane recited Becca’s address. “Also, Denver picked up a scent he didn’t like almost as soon as we exited our car.”

  “All right, son. Got your service weapon?”

  “Yes. I’ll call with more details once I have them.”

  “Be careful.” Brant, gruff as ever, ended the call.

  Shane had no idea how many people were inside, what their motives were, or if they were armed. He pulled his weapon from his waistband and tried the door, but it was still locked. Cautiously he reached through the broken pane to the handle and opened it.

  Shane knelt, commanding Denver to wait as he inspected the floor. Yep, glass shards were scattered on the inside floor as well. He nudged the biggest pieces aside with his foot and stepped over the rest.

  Past the gla
ss, Shane stood in the center of Becca’s kitchen and listened. Raised voices came from somewhere upstairs. A man’s voice, shouting, and then a woman’s. Becca.

  Shane’s heart kick-started in his chest. Close at his side, Denver panted, shoulders tense, staring at the doorway out of the kitchen.

  Shane fought the urge to tear up the steps, forcing himself into calculating mode. It wouldn’t do Becca any good if he got himself injured. On silent feet, he moved to the kitchen entry. If he went straight, he’d end up in the foyer. To his left were the stairs. Here, at the base, the urgent words crystalized into syllables he understood.

  “Kirk, stop!”

  Hatcher? Shane’s vision hazed over at the thought of that asshole being here and at the obvious fear in Becca’s voice. He crept up the stairs, Denver at his knee. The dog’s ears perked forward and his eyes locked on the top step as if he knew exactly where his prey was.

  Weapon at the ready, Shane reached the top and turned to Becca’s bedroom. Holy fucking hell.

  Hatcher had one arm around Becca’s shoulder, and in his other hand, he held a gun pressed to her side.

  Glock pointed at Hatcher’s sorry head, Shane called out, “Put the gun down, Hatcher.”

  Hatcher’s focus shifted from his scowl at Becca. Outrage lit his eyes with a crazy glint. “Well, look who’s here. If it isn’t Redemption County’s golden boy war hero and his trusty sidekick.”

  “Shane!” Becca gasped.

  Denver barked furiously. Shane commanded him to be quiet, though he wanted nothing more than to let Denver bring a serious amount of pain to Kirk Hatcher. But the lunatic had a gun on Becca.

  “You’re the one who needs to drop your weapon.” Hatcher’s voice was oddly calm. “I’m about to leave with my woman.”

  “The fuck you say?” Shane glared at Kirk.

  “Becca and I had a nice little talk.” Kirk tugged her even tighter to him, jostling her shoulders. “We’re going to pick up where we left off. See? Just like old times. Show him your ring, sweetie.”

  Becca swallowed and tugged her left hand free from where Hatcher had it trapped at her side. On the third finger, a large diamond shone brightly in the last rays of sunlight that filtered into the room. Shane looked from her hand to her face, where misery and fear mixed together.

  He didn’t believe for one second that she put that thing on willingly.

  “Lower your weapon, Marlow. Your heroics aren’t needed here,” Hatcher said. “Becca and I are leaving. You can go on home with your mutt. Your time of playing house with my fiancée is over.”

  Shane’s anger spiked, matched only by rampant concern for Becca. He slowly lowered his arms, but not his wariness. He trusted his reflexes and, more importantly, Denver’s speed, if the asshole made a mistake. He fought through the storm of emotion raging in his head and forced calm into his voice. “If you’re back together, and she’s wearing your ring, fine. Congrats. Then why do you have your gun to her ribs?”

  Hatcher scowled. “None of your fucking business.”

  “What kind of man holds a gun to the woman he promises to love and cherish?”

  “The kind who’s gonna watch out for her. Help her when she makes mistakes. Make sure she doesn’t make them again.”

  “By threatening her?” Shane gritted the words out, failing to stem the rising fury.

  “By doing whatever it takes.”

  Denver stood still, muscles bunched. All it would take would be one word and he would latch onto Hatcher’s arm like it was ground beef.

  But he couldn’t risk Becca’s safety, and Hatcher was obviously deranged. Shane needed a distraction. Just for one second.

  “So, you and Becca have been separated for a while,” Shane said, grasping for anything to get the guy thinking about something else. “How do you know she’s staying with me?”

  “I know everything about her,” he murmured. “I make it a point to learn all about the things I care about. Where she works, where she shops, anywhere she goes, who she talks to, what she buys, when the lights go out in her bedroom each night.” He squeezed Becca’s shoulders again. “Everything.”

  An incredulous thought popped into Shane’s head. “You’re the one who dumped that money all over her car.”

  “Well, well. You’re really racking up the PhD points today, aren’t you?” he sneered.

  Becca let out a tiny squeak. “You?”

  “Oh, darling.” Kirk’s voice dropped with condescension. “How did you get your numbers brain but completely miss out on other life skills?”

  “Y-You sent the letters too?” she asked, trembling. “Why? You’re telling me you love me and want me to wear your ring. But Kirk, those things scared me. Embarrassed me.”

  “You don’t get to talk to me about being embarrassed,” he growled. “Try having a press conference to explain that you had nothing to do with the theft your fiancée committed. Try answering questions for weeks regarding your personal credibility and integrity, because of something someone else did.”

  “You’re angry about how her misdemeanor affected you?” Shane fought the sheer incredulity of Kirk’s self-centeredness. Did the guy have no concern for what Becca had endured when they were together?

  Obviously not. Narcissistic psychopaths were like that.

  “She made my political life a nightmare.” Kirk said it like his actions were one hundred percent justified.

  “What you’re doing now carries far worse penalties than her embezzlement ever did,” Shane said. “Aggravated battery, breaking and entering, not to mention stalking charges. You’re worried about your career? You just nailed that coffin shut.”

  “You can’t prove anything, Marlow. For all anyone knows, this is a domestic situation. You walked in here with a gun and a vicious animal. We reconciled and were just trying to leave and rebuild our life together.”

  The man had lost his grip on reality. Shane focused on Becca, whose eyes were wide, blinking at him like she wanted to tell him something. She still had her left hand free of Hatcher’s grip. As he watched, she twisted the ring around on her finger, so the diamond was on the inside of her palm. Then she raised her hand to Hatcher’s cheek, caressing his jaw with her fingertips. “I understand, Kirk. It’s okay. I know you’re looking out for me.”

  Hatcher tore his stare from Shane to Becca’s upturned face. Surprise, delight, and a flash of triumph flickered across his perfect politician mug. “Yes. Yes, Becca that’s it. All I ever wanted was to—”

  Becca pressed her fingers flat to his cheekbone and shoved her hand upward, digging in. Kirk howled, and his grip on his gun loosened.

  Shane charged. He crossed the small length of the bedroom in two strides. Yanking Becca away from Hatcher, Shane commanded Denver to attack.

  Black and tan hurtled through the air. Kirk’s howl tuned into a full-on scream as Denver brought him to the carpet.

  Shane cupped Becca’s face in his hands. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes.” She nodded and wrapped her arms around him. “Oh my god, Shane, I was so scared.”

  “Call off your dog!” Hatcher whimper-yelled from the floor behind them.

  Shane glanced over his shoulder to see rivulets of blood running down Hatcher’s forearm. Shane stood and reflexively reached for the handcuffs he didn’t have on him. Shit.

  Because who would have expected this cluster fuck?

  “Becca, do you have duct tape or zip ties?” Shane stalked to the gun Hatcher had dropped and pushed it out of reach with his foot.

  “I have duct tape.”

  “Can you go get it for me?”

  “Yeah.” She darted out of the room.

  Shane let Denver keep his powerful jaws locked on Hatcher. No one could break that hold. A German shepherd’s bite exerted two hundred thirty-eight pounds of pressure.

  He pulled out
his phone and dialed Sheriff Morris, filling him in on the situation. He left Hatcher’s name out of it, keeping the details as brief as possible. They would be in for the surprise of their careers to learn that the intruder was the county treasurer.

  Becca returned with the tape and handed it to Shane, who stalked over to Hatcher. “I’m gonna tell him to let go, but if you even think about getting up, or getting away, I will put him right back on you faster than you can finish that thought.”

  Hatcher mumbled something whiny into the carpet. Shane gave the command for Denver to release, and he instantly did. Shane dropped to the floor, rolled Hatcher to his stomach, and secured both hands behind his back with a length of duct tape as he rattled off Miranda rights.

  He turned to Denver and patted the dog’s shoulders then scratched the top of his head. “Good boy, Denver.” Denver panted and gave Shane’s cheek a lick.

  Shane stood and went back to Becca, who huddled with her arms wrapped around her stomach. He wrapped her in a tight embrace. “Jesus Christ, Becca. You sure you’re okay?”

  “Y-Yes. Shane, I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. I-I just was going to grab my winter coat and a few sw—”

  “Shh.” Shane pulled back to look into her beautiful green eyes. “None of this is your fault. It never was. And I will tell you that every day for the rest of our lives if I have to.”

  “How did you know to come here?” she whispered.

  “I guessed you must’ve come by after work. Couldn’t figure why you were delayed, but it took Denver all of two seconds to find a scent he didn’t like.”

  “Shane.” She buried her face in his chest, her shoulders shaking.

  “Shh, baby. It’s all over.” He stroked her hair and breathed her in.

  “I’m so glad you’re here. I need you.”

  “You have me,” he murmured. Forever. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  She made a sound halfway between a sigh and an acknowledgement, and held him even tighter. Shane’s veins buzzed with the let-down of adrenaline. She was safe. He had come way too close to losing her. Somehow, their lives had woven together in the best way, as old hurts were soothed by both new happiness and the innate understanding of deep loss.