If You Hear Her: A Novel of Romantic Suspense

by Walker, Shiloh

  This woman in front of him, though, whom he had seen exactly three times, now? She hit him, knocked the breath out of him, and left him standing on uncertain ground.

  “I came back to Ash because I needed to get my head on straight—went through some bad shit not too long ago. And it dawned on me that the last thing I needed was to get involved with anybody.”

  “I wasn’t aware we were anywhere close to getting ‘involved,’ ” Lena said. “We had dinner once. You had my number. That’s a far cry from a declaration of marriage. It’s not even anything we could call a casual dating relationship—I think we’d need at least two or three dates for that.”

  “I look at you and feel anything but casual,” Ezra muttered. “Shit.”

  “Ahh … what?”

  “Nothing. Look, I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry, okay?”

  She looked like she wanted to say something, but then she just sighed and averted her face. “Fine. You’re sorry. It’s over and done with.”

  “Yeah. Over and done with.” He hesitated a second and asked softly, “Friends?”

  A deprecating smile curved her lips. “Friends. Sure. Why the hell not?”

  Shit, what a fucking mess. Ezra absently rubbed the heel of his hand over his chest. The forlorn, tired expression on her face did bad, bad things to him. He’d backed away from her after one fucking date because she made him feel things he knew he wasn’t in any shape to feel—not while his head was still so screwed up over Mac.

  Don’t think about that right now, he told himself. It was the last thing he needed—the absolute last thing he needed.

  “I had some idiot kids out joyriding on my property last night, did some damage. Came in here to file a report on it. What brings you in here?” he asked.

  Lena grimaced. “Don’t ask.”

  “Too late. Already did.” He’d heard some of it … and it hadn’t settled that well. Screaming. She’d heard somebody screaming. “Why don’t you tell me about it?”

  “Why?” Lena asked wearily. What in the hell did he care? Shifting in the chair, she crossed her legs and listened as Ezra moved across the linoleum floor, his footfalls a bare whisper. If it wasn’t for the faint unevenness she detected in his gait, and those rubber-soled tennis shoes squeaking on the linoleum, she doubted she would have heard him at all. “What does it matter what I’m doing here?”

  “Isn’t that kind of what friends do? Ask how the other is doing?”

  Friends. Lena curled her hand into a fist and tried not to think about the knot of disappointment that had settled somewhere in the vicinity of her heart. He hadn’t called because … what was it again?

  Irritated all over again, she started to tap her fingers on the arm of the chair. “Look, you know what, Ezra? I don’t think friends will work. I’ve got plenty of friends. If you’re here to get your head on straight, fine. You do that. But you don’t need some mock ‘friendship’ with me to do that. So you can shelve the mock concern, too.”

  Ezra was silent for five seconds, but she could feel the intensity of his stare, all but burning into her. “Did it occur to you for even five seconds that I could have just walked away when I saw you in here? I didn’t need to come over here. Didn’t need to humiliate myself and admit to anybody—much less a beautiful woman that I’m seriously attracted to—that I’m a total asshole.”

  “And exactly when did you humiliate yourself?”

  “Oh, fuck it,” he muttered, shoving upright. He started to pace, but the muscles in his leg decided he wasn’t going to pace and the leg tried to buckle under him. Swallowing the groan of pain, he slammed a hand down on the table and managed, just barely, to stay on his feet.

  “Ezra?”

  Blood roared in his ears and he barely heard her soft voice above it. His heart raced in his chest and a cold sweat broke out all over him. Carefully, he eased his weight back against the table—it was either that or end up on the floor. Breathing shallowly, he waited for the wave of pain to pass and that was when he realized Lena was on her feet and moving closer.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Fine,” he gritted out.

  She brushed her hand against his arm. Ezra nudged her away and said, “I’m fine.”

  “No, you’re not. You’re sweating. What’s wrong with you?”

  “Nothing,” he bit off. Sourly, he added, in an echo of her earlier question, “What does it matter?”

  She scowled. “Are you sick?”

  “No.” Snagging a chair, he spun it around and used the table and his good leg to maneuver himself into it. “Look, I messed my leg up a few months ago. Acts up sometimes. Pushed myself too hard yesterday and now I’m paying for it. That’s all.”

  “What … what did you do?”

  With a dry laugh, he said, “Careful, Lena. You’re almost acting like a concerned friend there, you know.”

  “Jackass.” She glared at him and then sighed, returning to her chair. “Let’s try this again, okay? I mean, I liked you a few weeks ago. And even right now, when I’m trying to not like you, I find myself still wanting to like you … even when I don’t want to, and yes, I know that doesn’t make sense. So let’s just wipe the slate and try this again. Maybe we can try … well, being friends.”

  Studying her from under his lashes, Ezra debated on whether he should tell her or not—there was no way he could look at her and think friends. But he could fake it. After all, how likely were they to be around each other?

  “Okay. Friends. So, about my leg … I messed it up on the job a few months ago. It’s still trying to heal.”

  “A few months ago? You must have messed it up something awful,” Lena said, her brow puckering in a frown.

  Yeah. Steel plates. Two surgeries. Safe to say he’d torn it up something awful. But he didn’t go into detail. “Okay, so I gave. Now it’s your turn. You want to tell me why you’re here? What’s the deal with this screaming you say you’re hearing?”

  “I don’t say I’m hearing it. I heard it,” she bit off.

  “Okay. What’s the deal?”

  Frowning, she said, “Why?”

  “Call me curious. Besides … isn’t this what friends do?”

  Was it wishful thinking or did he not sound quite so … dismissive? Annoyed with herself, Lena started to swing her foot back and forth. Prather had gotten under her skin with those sly little jabs. And having Ezra here? Man, that was making it worse … so much worse. He got under her skin, too. In so many ways … oh, so very, many ways.

  “Friends or not, Ezra, I’m already freaked out by this, and I don’t want to have to go into detail about it any more often than necessary,” she murmured.

  Besides, she’d just met this guy.

  Even if she’d had one rather nice date with him, she didn’t really know that much about him, and those screams had her … unbalanced.

  WELL.

  Law hadn’t been kidding, Hope decided as she slowed to a stop.

  Ash, Kentucky, had a roundabout.

  A town square.

  More stop signs than stoplights and she’d actually had people waving at her as she drove through town. It didn’t make her feel welcome, although she imagined the smiling townfolk probably hadn’t planned to freak her out.

  It wasn’t exactly their fault that small towns made her teeth grit and her skin crawl and her hair stand on end.

  If there was one thing that Hope Carson had hoped to avoid, it was small towns.

  They absolutely freaked her out.

  She felt trapped in them.

  Hell. She had been trapped in one.

  A horn honked behind her and she jerked herself back to awareness, realized she’d been sitting there, staring stupidly at nothing for the past minute or so. Waving at the driver behind her, she pulled forward and found a parking spot off to the side of the county building. Although it was Sunday, there weren’t many open spaces and she could see people bustling all over the place.

  It might be a small town, but
it was a lively one.

  With curious, curious people.

  Feeling the weight of the stares, she debated about whether to just turn around and leave town.

  She could get in touch with Law and tell him she’d changed her mind.

  Yeah, she knew he was expecting her—he hadn’t been at home when she’d gone by his place. She hadn’t been able to just sit there and wait.

  Hope wasn’t too good at sitting and waiting.

  She’d spent too much time doing just that.

  Don’t think about that right now, she told herself. She couldn’t think about that and make any sort of logical decision and she needed to be logical right now. Logical, not emotional.

  Taking a deep breath, she unclenched her fingers from the steering wheel and made herself climb out of the car. She’d just take a walk around. Judging by the number of little shops and restaurants around, this town probably saw plenty of weekend tourist traffic from Lexington or Louisville. Hope and Law had grown up in a town not too different from this one. If she just wandered around, she’d blend in. But if she sat in her car like a freak, people would stare at her. Pay attention.

  She didn’t like it when people paid attention—

  Stop it.

  Her hands were sweating, she realized.

  Wiping them off down the sides of her jeans, she tucked her keys in her pocket, checked to make sure she had her cash, the one credit card she had in her name—for emergencies only—and her ID. It was all she ever carried.

  Everything she owned was in that car.

  She’d left all her belongings in another small town. A beautiful home, a closet full of lovely clothes, and a life that had been a lie.

  People said taking the first step was the hardest, but they were wrong.

  She’d taken that first step more than two years ago when she’d finally decided she couldn’t keep living that life and she was still walking, putting more and more distance, more and more time between herself and that life—him—and it was still hard.

  Because of the memories …

  Because of locked doors and white rooms and whispering voices …

  Stepping away from the car, she started toward the sidewalk. For some reason, it felt like she was severing a lifeline.

  It hadn’t been this hard before.

  She knew it hadn’t.

  She had no trouble leaving that small, cramped hunk of junk when she was crashing in some no-tell motel for a night, or when she was bussing tables, cleaning houses, whatever she could find in exchange for quick and easy cash. There were times when she hated that car.

  Because it was so hard to walk away, she made herself do it. Absently, aimlessly, she wandered down the sidewalk, staring blindly into the glass-fronted shops and fighting the urge to turn back to the car—run back to it, dive inside, and drive away.

  Get away from this little town.

  Why?

  Was it just because it was a small town so like the one where she’d been trapped?

  Was it because of Law and his determination to get her to stop running?

  Logically, she had no reason to keep running. There was no legal reason and if she was honest, probably no tangible reason.

  Do you really think I’ll let you leave me? You’re mine, Hope. I don’t let go of what is mine …

  Working on a Sunday was the last thing on earth Remy wanted to do, but sometimes, a man had to do things he didn’t want to do. Since he’d rather get it over with early, he’d attended the early service at Ash Methodist and headed into the office, dealt with his business, and swung by the sheriff’s department.

  The church service, like the work and the visit to the sheriff’s office, was necessary. If he didn’t go, his mother would know. And he would then have to answer to her. Nobody could work a guilt trip quite the same way a mother could.

  Besides, there was something … soothing about it.

  He wasn’t entirely sure if he believed in any greater power—he believed in justice and he believed in the law, but more than that? He didn’t know.

  But it was peaceful, and Remy didn’t find peace in many places.

  Since it was peaceful, and since it only took forty-five minutes or so, and it kept his mother happy, he attended church, and he did so willingly.

  He’d needed that bit of peace, too, as he dealt with his business.

  Especially today.

  There were times when he wished he wasn’t a lawyer.

  There were times when he wanted to use his fists, instead of his wits and mind.

  Especially today.

  Moira Hamilton was in the hospital again, this time with a busted jaw and a broken arm.

  Her damned husband had beaten the shit out of her. Again.

  The kids were now out of the house and if Remy and Social Services had anything to do with it, they would not be going back. The twelve-year-old, poor kid, had seen the whole thing and he knew that girl was going to relive that night in her dreams for years.

  Possibly her entire life.

  Before, Pete Hamilton had always whaled on his wife when the kids were either asleep, out of the house, or just out of the room. But this time, Bethany had seen it. She had been crouched on the landing with a phone in hand, calling the police.

  Poor girl.

  Brave girl.

  Smart girl.

  She’d seen what her mother couldn’t. Or wouldn’t.

  The mom wouldn’t get help for herself, or for them, so the girl had taken matters into her own hands.

  He’d spent the past hour going over the report at the sheriff’s office. As the Hamiltons’ big old house was outside the city limits, the sheriff’s department had to handle the call—and apparently they’d had another call last night.

  Ash was a quiet town. They had their share of crazy nights, but it wasn’t unusual for them to go a night or two, even an entire weekend, without much of anything happening.

  This weekend had been different.

  Very different.

  Pete’s brutal attack on his quiet, soft-spoken wife, in front of their kids.

  Then the very, very strange call from Lena Riddle.

  Very strange, from what Remy had been able to put together.

  Lena … he ran his tongue along his teeth, thinking about her. The thoughts were enough to bring on a wave of nostalgia, and not a little bit of lust. He hadn’t had another woman in his life since he’d broken up with her and he missed her—missed the sex definitely, but he missed her, too. Missed that lazy, easy humor of hers, that sexy laugh and her smile.

  If he hadn’t been so damned tired, he might have joined her when he saw her talking to Prather.

  But he had been too tired, Prather grated on his nerves, and he had a few more things to follow up on with the Hamilton case.

  By the time he’d finished, Lena had been gone and he figured it was best if he stayed out of it anyway.

  All she had was an unusual—very unusual—complaint. It was weird enough that he was glad she had that dog of hers, but he had his hands full. Besides, things between them, while their relationship hadn’t ended badly, were strained.

  Remy had wanted … something more, although he didn’t really know what.

  Lena had liked the status quo and when he’d pushed—awkwardly, he could admit now—it had changed things between them. The easy friendship they’d shared before they started dating had changed.

  Jumping in would probably just stress her out more, he had figured, and he could tell she already had enough stress going on, just by looking at her. He suspected she could have used a shoulder, but Law could handle that.

  Remy had seen the other guy on his way into the station. Law had been waiting in the lobby, fiddling around on his iPhone, seemingly oblivious to the world. Remy knew better. He hadn’t been too surprised when he’d seen Lena—one thing could make Law wait patiently, and that was Lena.

  Weird that Lena hadn’t ever realized that. She was so insightful about things, but ab
out that particular thing, she was clueless. It was clear as day—the word “smitten” probably had Law’s picture next to it in the dictionary. But Lena didn’t seem to have any idea.

  He finished up his business in record time and headed out of the small municipal building shared by the minuscule city police and the county sheriff department. Outside, the sun was blazing down with brutal intensity. It hit him like a fist. Slipping out of the summer-weight jacket, he threw it over his shoulder and started toward his car.

  He had half a mind to spend the rest of the afternoon napping out in the hammock on the balcony. The next few days would be busy as hell for him. Whether Moira Hamilton cooperated or not, he planned on busting that bastard husband of hers and come Monday, things would really start rolling.

  Maybe he should spend the day in the hammock—likely wouldn’t have many chances to do it again anytime soon. If he knew anything about his town, it was that when one weird thing started, it was followed by another, and another.

  Hamilton’s arrest was probably the start of another flood.

  Yeah, he really should enjoy the day while he could … maybe pick up a book from Shoffner’s, spend the afternoon emptying his mind. He probably needed to do just that.

  With his mind set, he turned east instead of heading to the car he had parked just a few yards away. He almost changed his mind when he recognized a familiar form—

  Prather.

  Remy curled his lip.

  Man, he couldn’t stand that bastard.

  He was a throwback to the days when small-town America consisted of nothing but the good ol’ boy network. Anybody who wasn’t a white male who fit society’s version of normal was placed in the “inferior” category.

  He was condescending, he was an idiot, he was oblivious, and very often, he was a pain in the ass for the sheriff, Remy, three-fourths of the town council, and just about everybody else who came in contact with him.