by Gina Wilkins
Without comment, Brad shuffled off toward Mac’s truck.
Mac found Wade and two of his officers beside the storage building, Jimbo and Tommy handcuffed between them. Jimbo was sniveling, Tommy looked sullen and defiant.
Mac spoke to Wade. “Looks like you got your perps.”
“Yeah. Got ’em just as they were about to help themselves to your tools.”
Clicking his tongue, Mac shook his head at the boys. “Now, is that any way to treat a guest in your hometown?”
They both glared at him.
Turning his back to them, Mac looked at Wade again. “Thanks for tipping me off, Chief. I am, most definitely, pressing charges.”
“No kidding. Uh—we rather expected to catch more than two of them.”
Keeping his expression impassive, Mac shrugged. “I guess their friends had enough sense not to get involved in this.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
Mac was aware that Officer Gilbert Dodson was notably absent from the crime scene. “I’m sorry about your man, Wade. It always gets you when a cop goes bad, doesn’t it?”
His face strained, Wade nodded. “Yeah. It does.”
“If you don’t need me for anything else right now, I’ve got an errand to run. I’ll see you sometime tomorrow.”
“Yeah. See ya’, Mac.”
Brad was waiting in the truck, slumped down on the seat, the most miserable kid Mac had seen in a long time. He climbed behind the wheel and slammed his door. “Your buddies are in cuffs. Be glad you aren’t.”
“I am.” The admission was made grudgingly. “I guess I should thank you for what you did for me.”
Mac started the engine. “I didn’t do it for you, remember?”
“I know. You did it for Sharon.”
“Fasten your seat belt.” He drove the truck onto the road and headed for town.
“Are you going to tell her?” Brad asked after a tense pause.
“Don’t you think I should?”
The boy looked down at his tightly entwined hands.
Mac gave him another minute to worry, then said, “I’m not going to tell her. The whole point of this is to keep her from finding out what a moron you almost were.”
Though he obviously resented Mac’s blunt words, Brad was hardly in a position to protest. “What about when she hears about Jimbo and Tommy? If they’re going to jail, everyone will be talking about it.”
“And she knows you started the evening in their company. You’re just going to have to tell her you found out what they were planning and chose to go home rather than get involved with something you knew was wrong. Don’t lie to her, just stick to that story.”
Brad looked out the passenger window as Mac turned onto the street where he lived. He waited until Mac parked in the driveway before saying, “If you hadn’t stopped me, I’d have been in jail right now.”
“Are you just figuring that out?”
“No. I just—well, thanks, okay? I really didn’t want to go to jail. I didn’t have anything to do with those other break-ins, I swear. I didn’t even know Jimbo was involved until he told me tonight. He didn’t think I’d go along with them before, but he thought I might tonight.”
“Because it was my place they were hitting this time.”
“Yeah.”
“They thought you hated me enough to help them. Then once they had you involved, it would have been easy enough for them to continue to control you by threatening to turn you in for this one.”
“I guess.”
“Trust me, that’s how it works. I’ve seen it a hundred times. That’s how Gilbert Dodson was able to get the kids to steal for him. He got them involved, strung them along with money and gifts, then coerced them into staying with him. Not that your buddies tonight seemed to need much coercion.”
“I didn’t know Officer Dodson was crooked. I thought he was a straight-up cop. I knew a lot of the guys liked to hang out with him, but I thought he was just…you know, mentoring them or something.”
Sensing that the boy was still badly shaken from his near brush with the law, Mac kept his voice calm and steady. “He ‘mentored’ them straight into jail. Even cops can go bad when they let greed and stupidity take over. They start feeling superior to everyone else, for one reason or another, and they begin to think the rules that apply to ordinary folks don’t apply to them.”
“Jimbo told me tonight that they only stole from people who were jerks. And everyone had insurance, so nobody really lost anything.”
“Do you agree with that line of reasoning?”
After only a moment, Brad shook his head.
“The insurance companies lose—and so do the people who have to pay higher rates. The crime victims who have to pay deductibles and then scramble to replace their belongings lose. You saw what your sister had to go through to replace her car and the things in it. It cost her quite a bit—and it wasn’t her fault.”
“I don’t need the lecture. I didn’t steal anything. I wouldn’t have gone through with it tonight. Even against you. I’ve been raised better than that. But I probably would have gotten into trouble, anyway, because I’d have run after them and tried to stop them. Nobody would’ve believed me.”
“Probably not.”
Brad sighed wearily. “Jimbo said you wanted me out of the way so I wouldn’t interfere with you chasing after my sister. He said you would do anything you could to come between us. He said if I hassled you enough, you’d decide she wasn’t worth it and you would leave us alone.”
“If I wanted you out of the way, I’d have let Chief Davenport haul you off tonight, now, wouldn’t I?”
“Yeah. I guess.”
“Yeah. Go on in now. It’s late. And don’t scare your sister. Ring the bell and let her know who you are.”
“I will.” Brad didn’t seem to know quite what to say at that point. Mac knew the kid still had major issues with him. He was obviously torn between his previous dislike and his gratitude that he’d been spared a traumatic ordeal.
“Go on in, Brad,” Mac repeated quietly.
Brad apparently decided they’d said enough. He opened the door and slid out of the truck.
“Brad?” Mac spoke before the boy closed the door.
“Yeah?”
“This is two strikes against you now. Three strikes and you’re out. Is that clear?”
“There won’t be another one.”
“Make sure of that.”
Showing he wasn’t entirely cowed by the events of the evening, Brad shut the door with somewhat more force than necessary.
Mac backed out of the driveway, then stopped a few yards down the deserted street until he saw Sharon open the front door to her brother. Then he drove off quickly, hoping she hadn’t spotted him. It would be difficult for Brad to explain how he’d ended up riding home in Mac’s truck without telling her exactly where they’d met up.
Maybe he’d done something good tonight, he mused as he headed for his apartment. Maybe he’d put a confused kid on the right path. Or maybe by letting Brad off the hook tonight, he’d only contributed to the development of a juvenile delinquent.
All he knew for certain was that, whatever the results of his actions, he had done it all for Sharon.
He owed her that much, at least.
BY SATURDAY AFTERNOON, Mac had decided to leave town.
Though it wasn’t the way he preferred to do business, he could oversee the renovation project from a distance, leaving a foreman in charge of the day-to-day supervision. Maybe the job wouldn’t be handled with his usual, almost obsessive attention to detail, but it would be adequately completed. He could then put the place up for sale and forget he’d ever started this futile quest.
That would probably be the best move for everyone, he thought with the memory of Sharon’s smile haunting the shadowy back corners of his mind.
He stood in the master bedroom of the Garrett house. The workers had all left for the afternoon and the house was still, th
e silence as heavy as Mac’s mood. Since most of the work to this point had been upstairs and in the kitchen, this room had hardly been touched. It still looked almost exactly the same as it had the first time he’d seen it.
Sharon loved this room. The big fireplace. The high ceiling. The wide, detailed moldings. The wooden floor that would soon gleam with a satiny sheen again. She’d confided to him that she saw this room decorated in lace and antiques. A decorative white-iron bed. Old stained-glass shades on bedside lamps. A thick, handmade rug on the floor.
She wouldn’t actually be choosing the furniture for the house, of course—that would be up to the future owner. But she’d already talked about the wallpaper and lights she would select, as well as the fixtures for the attached bath. She’d made him see it all so clearly.
He could picture it now as he stood there alone in the dust and the shadows. The soft lights. The fire. The big bed, rumpled from lovemaking. The mental image made him yearn for things he couldn’t quite identify—or perhaps he just didn’t have the nerve to try.
A sound from behind him brought him out of his lonely thoughts. Someone was in the house with him. Though he wasn’t expecting anyone in particular, Trent McBride had said he might stop by with a sample cabinet door for his approval.
Yet somehow he knew it wasn’t Trent. He turned very slowly to face the door and wait for her.
Sharon looked a bit uncertain as she stepped into the room, her gaze locking immediately with his. She wore a sleeveless, scoop-neck, pale yellow knit dress. That particular shade of yellow was her favorite color. He knew that small detail about her—along with so many other tidbits he’d filed into his memory. Like the faintly floral scent of her shampoo. The way her pulse fluttered in her throat when he kissed her there. The way her fingers twined in his hair when he made love to her, and twined together in front of her when she was nervous.
They were entwined that way now, her knuckles almost white with the pressure she exerted on them.
“How did you know where to find me?” he asked, realizing she had walked directly to this room.
The question seemed to confuse her a little. “I don’t know.”
It wasn’t important, of course. “Why are you here?”
“I need to talk to you.”
“What about?”
He watched her take a deep breath, the movement stretching her thin knit dress across the breasts he had kissed until she sighed with pleasure. He raised his gaze from them with an effort.
“Brad told me what you did for him. I don’t quite know how to thank you.”
“Er—what did he tell you?” he asked cautiously, uncertain of what he should say.
“Everything,” she answered simply. “Starting with keying the side of your truck and ending with you stopping him before he broke into your place last night.”
He was frankly surprised. “Did he now?”
“Yes. If it wasn’t for you, Brad would be in jail today. Maybe he deserved to be—but I’m so very glad he didn’t have to go through that. We owe you so much—”
“You owe me nothing,” he said flatly. “I heard the boys talking. I knew Brad had not been involved in any of the previous break-ins. I could tell he was being led into something that deep down he wanted no part of. I just helped him make the right choice. I’m surprised he told you, though.”
“He said he needed to. He was so shaken by what almost happened that I don’t think he slept a wink last night. He cried when he told me about it. He was so disappointed in Jimbo and Tommy and Mike—another boy who’d been involved in the previous break-ins. So disillusioned by Officer Dodson’s involvement. And so stunned and grateful for what you did for him, even after the way he had treated you.”
“I told him I didn’t do it for him.”
“I know.” She took a couple of steps toward him, her eyes holding his. “He told me that, too. He said you did it for me. But I think you did it for both of us.”
Even though she stood close enough for him to catch a faint scent of her floral shampoo, he didn’t reach out to touch her. He had to fist his hands in his pockets to stop himself from trying. Gratitude and indebtedness were not what he wanted from Sharon—even though he still didn’t know what, exactly, he did want.
She seemed perplexed by his silence. She cleared her throat. “Brad didn’t know how you and Wade learned of the boys’ plans last night.”
“Wade got a tip. One of the kids spouted off to a friend, who got a conscience and told his father the whole story. Wade had already been following his own hunch on Dodson and he found a storage-warehouse in Carollton with a unit full of stuff taken in area break-ins. The unit had been rented under an assumed name, but the storage warehouse owner identified Dodson from a photograph. As for last night—the kid with the big mouth had been bragging about what they were going to do to the ‘cocky Latino’ who’d come to town and stirred up so much trouble. So Wade was ready for them last night.”
“And Wade told you?”
“He heard they might try to pull Brad in because of his antagonism toward me. Because of my friendship with you—and his own—he gave me a chance to intercede. Had Brad gotten all the way to the storage building with the other kids, there would have been nothing Wade could do. He was already skirting the ethical line to bring me in.”
“I’ll have to thank him—”
“No. As far as Wade knows officially, Brad was never there. I’ve never confirmed that he was, nor will I. The other boys won’t say anything, and even if they do, they have nothing on him. Brad was never involved. Let’s leave it at that.”
Her eyes were so sad and troubled, it made his chest ache to look at her. He wanted very badly to reach out to her. He contented himself with smoothing a strand of hair away from her face. His fingertips brushed her warm, flushed skin, and the temptation was strong to press his lips to hers, but he restrained himself.
If he kissed her now, and she responded, he couldn’t know if it was only gratitude motivating her actions. He couldn’t accept that.
He dropped his hand, shoving it back into his pocket.
Sharon moistened her lips, as if she sensed how close he had come to kissing them. And then she spoke again, her voice firmer this time. “Brad was involved in damaging your truck. He said he let Jimbo goad him into it because of a confrontation they had with you. One they felt they lost.”
“I’ve always known it was Brad. I saw him.”
“But you didn’t pursue it. Again, for my sake.”
He merely shrugged.
Her chin lifted in a show of pride. “I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you. And I am going to pay for your repairs.”
“You are not paying for anything and that’s the end of it. If Brad makes the offer, I’ll let him work it off doing cleanup around the site. I won’t take money from him that he would probably get from you, anyway.”
She didn’t look entirely satisfied, but she let it drop. Wrapping her arms at her waist, she chewed her lower lip, looking as though she couldn’t decide what to say next. The distance between them seemed suddenly more pronounced than the three feet or so that separated them physically.
He hated it.
“Caleb and Bobbie McBride got back in town this morning. I don’t know if you heard.”
“No. But I knew they were due soon.” He wished she hadn’t brought up the McBrides, reminding him of the biggest area of contention between them. It still stung that she’d so quickly taken their side, that she had seemed so judgmental of him for pursuing a goal she didn’t approve of. It appeared that the McBrides had everything—including Sharon’s loyalty and affection.
And if he kept thinking along those lines, he would digress into maudlin self-pity, he thought with a touch of disgust.
Her head lowered now, she looked up at him through her lashes. “Have you decided what you’re going to do? Are you going to ask Caleb if he’s your father?”
“I’m leaving town,” he said abruptly. “I’ll pro
bably be gone by the middle of next week.”
Sharon looked to be in shock. “You’re leaving?” she repeated, staring at him.
He nodded. “I’ll pick a foreman to be in charge of the project. I thought I’d ask Trent if he’s interested in the job. Then I’ll check in with him every day or two for reports, and make a personal visit every few weeks. Any decorating problems you encounter or questions that come up, you’d talk to him, and he’ll relay them to me. The same with the other subcontractors.”
“But, Mac, why? Why do you have to leave?”
“Because of the nature of this town,” he answered bluntly. “If I stay here, renovating my grandparents’ house, working side by side with my cousins or siblings or whatever the hell they are to me, something’s liable to get out. You figured out why I came here, there’s a chance others might do the same. Maybe I wanted to hurt someone when I came here, but that doesn’t matter now. There are too many innocents in the line of fire. Too little to be gained by continuing. You win. The McBrides win. It’s time for me to retreat.”
Looking distressed, she reached out to him, laying a hand on his arm, her fingers curling into the thin fabric of his shirt. “I can’t agree with you,” she said. “There’s no reason anyone should ever find out the truth, unless you want them to. All you have to do is put away your notes and be discreet. You have so much invested in this project. You know you want to see it through.”
He looked at her hand on his arm, thinking how easy it would be to pull her against him and crush her mouth beneath his. His voice was just a bit hoarse when he said, “I’m not leaving entirely because of the McBrides. It’s also because of you.”
Her fingers clenched spasmodically. “Why because of me?” she whispered.
“I’ve caused you enough trouble. I don’t want to make you feel awkward around your friends. Or around me.”
Her eyes suddenly swam beneath a sheen of moisture. His heart twisted as she leaned toward him, her lips slightly parted, her gaze beseeching. “Mac, I—”
From the front of the house came a sudden heavy pounding on the door. Drawn so abruptly out of their tense exchange, both of them jumped and turned instinctively in that direction.