by Gayle Wilson
She could sense his tension, like a spring that had been wound too tight. “Coming,” she affirmed finally.
“Then stay close. And don’t go off on your own.”
After getting shot at, that was unlikely. She thought she was ready to move, but when he exploded into motion, she had to scramble to keep up.
His limping run zigzagged across the yard. As she struggled to follow it exactly, she realized he was taking advantage of every shadow, every bush that offered concealment. Winded, she stopped behind him at one of those, as he again examined the moonlit house.
“There’s an open window at the back.” His eyes flicked down to her face as he whispered the information. “We go in there.”
She nodded, at the same time wondering if she could talk him out of this. Or if she wanted to.
Whatever the result of Jake’s actions, whoever was inside his house had started this confrontation. And shooting at the Chief of Police was pretty much understood to put you on the wrong side of any situation.
Then Jake was on the move again, forcing her to run to keep up.
AS HE WORKED his way around to the back of the house, sticking to the shadows, Jake considered the information Eden Reddick had just given him. He should have known that what he’d told her would become public knowledge. And that as soon as it did, he would become the prime suspect in the eyes of the town.
Even so, he wouldn’t have expected what was happening out here tonight. An angry crowd calling him out, maybe. But a nighttime raid? Shots fired at a woman?
In spite of Eden’s title, that’s how he thought of her. Despite the starched precision of the uniform she wore, she was still very much a woman.
Because of that, his every instinct had been to protect her. Which complicated the hell out of what was going on.
He had reached the far corner of the house, so he stopped, shielding his body as he peered around it. The backyard looked peaceful in the moonlight. The only movement was the occasional flutter of the aged lace curtain at the window he’d crawled out of.
He looked over his shoulder to find Eden pressed against the wall behind him, her hands still wrapped around her weapon. He shook his head to indicate that he couldn’t see anyone, and she nodded her understanding.
If he could be sure that whoever had fired those shots was inside, he’d leave her out here. Convince her to be lookout or something. The trouble was he couldn’t be sure.
It made no sense for whoever this was to hang around, now that the authorities were here. Of course, it hadn’t made much sense for them to shoot at those authorities, either.
Amateurs, he reminded himself. New to the world of stalking people rather than animals. A description that, unfortunately for them, didn’t apply to him.
“I’m going in,” he whispered, again turning to gauge her reaction.
Her mouth opened, drawing his eyes. The parted lips looked as if they were waiting for his kiss. He felt a wave of need and desire disproportionate to that unintended provocation.
Too damn long without a woman, he acknowledged. He’d probably have responded to any woman he was this close to.
So close he could smell her. Her hair maybe. Something floral. Sweet. Clean. And underlying that, the sharp, unmistakable scent of fear.
“Stay right behind me. I mean that.”
She nodded, her throat working as she swallowed.
Fighting the urge to reassure her, he turned around to make a final scan of their surroundings before he left his position. At the back of the yard, almost to the distant line of trees, something moved.
He raised his weapon to his shoulder. As he tracked the shadowy shape, the woman behind him reached out and pulled the barrel down.
“He’s leaving.”
“How the hell do you know what he’s doing?” Furious, he jerked the rifle out of her hold.
“It doesn’t matter. He’s not inside your house.”
“He’s not. But someone else may be.” He rounded the corner and, back pressed against the wall, edged toward the window, marked in the darkness by that flutter of lace.
After a quick scan to determine the bedroom was empty, he put his leg over the sill and ducked inside. He sensed rather than felt Eden moving in behind him.
With a couple of strides, he crossed the bedroom and positioned himself by the door to the hall. When Eden slipped into place beside him, he put his arm across her body to push her back. His forearm inadvertently brushed her breasts, reawakening the desire he’d acknowledged outside.
He turned to mouth, “Stay here.” Once more, she nodded to show that she understood.
Then he stepped into the hallway and began moving toward the front of the house. As he did, he made an effort to avoid the heart-pine floorboards that would creak under his weight.
His grandmother’s front parlor was deserted. As was the connecting dining room. Beyond it, the refrigerator gleamed like a ghost in the moonlight.
The house was empty. He could feel it.
“I don’t think—”
Startled, Jake whirled, automatically bringing up the rifle. Eden raised the muzzle of her own weapon, her knees bent as she assumed a shooter’s stance.
A trained reaction to the threat of his gun? Or did she really believe he was crazy enough to shoot somebody who’d come out here to help him? “I thought I told you to stay put.”
Her eyes were wide in the darkness, but she didn’t apologize for her gaffe. “I don’t think there’s anyone inside.”
“If there was, there isn’t now.” He deliberately lowered the rifle. After a second or two, she did the same, allowing the Glock to fall to her side.
“I called in the tags on the truck out front. I didn’t know if it was yours, but I couldn’t figure out why you’d park so far from the house.”
That’s what had awakened him, he realized. Either the sound of the engine or the lights, as somebody pulled into the drive.
“Mine’s in the garage.” At least it had been when he’d gone to bed.
“This one’s out by the road. A dark blue Ford.”
He shook his head, trying to imagine someone being stupid enough to park in his driveway while they attempted a raid on his property. Amateurs, he thought again, almost amused this time.
“They should have the ownership information by now.” She pressed the button of the radio on her shoulder, identifying herself before asking for the results of the trace she’d initiated.
He could tell that she didn’t like what she was hearing.
“Are you sure?” she asked. And then, “Thanks, Dean.” And after another response. “I’ll let you know when I leave.”
She released the button, raising her eyes to his. “One of our upstanding local citizens.”
“That’s a pretty obvious calling card for a nighttime raid.”
“He didn’t have any way to know I’d be coming out here. Or anybody else, for that matter. Your place is pretty isolated.”
That was true enough, but still, the idiocy of the mischief-maker parking his car in the driveway seemed almost cartoonish. Or maybe a little too convenient.
“And when you challenged him to come out and talk?”
She shrugged, apparently committed to making this work. “I think he figured it was too late by then.”
She sounded almost too calm. Too rational. Somebody had just shot at her. Somebody she knew. Maybe even somebody she liked.
“You okay?” The question was out before he could stop it.
Whether she was or not wasn’t his concern. As she’d said. She’d just been doing her job.
Hell, maybe somebody taking potshots at her was routine. Even as he thought that, he remembered where they were. His grandmother had never locked her doors. Not even at night.
“You think somebody’s still out there? Or is it safe to turn on the lights?”
He weighed the wisdom of doing that, but some undercurrent in her voice made the decision for him. He headed toward the house’s
bathroom. It might be old-fashioned and cramped, but more important right now, it was windowless.
He pulled the chain on the globe over the medicine cabinet. When he turned, he realized why she’d made this request.
Blood streamed from a cut on her temple. At some point she’d rubbed it, smearing a streak of red across her cheek and into her hair.
His assessment was quick and certain. Not a bullet wound. She had probably struck her head on something when he’d taken her legs out from under her.
He stepped forward to grip her chin in his hand. Tilting her head into the light, he made the next conclusion as rapidly as he had the first. “This is going to need stitches.”
She pulled free of his hold to look in the mirror, lifting the blood-stained hair away from the injury. “You have a Band-Aid?”
“Probably. But if you don’t get it stitched, that will leave a scar.”
She let her hair fall over the cut and turned to face him. “I have to meet Dean.”
“Dean?”
“My chief deputy. He’s going to Greene’s house.”
“Greene?” He felt like a fool, trying to keep up with the plot without knowing the cast.
“Lincoln Greene. That’s his truck outside.”
“And you think he’s just going to go home and get into bed, like nothing’s happened?”
“Where else would he go?”
She made it sound as if that action was the only one that made sense. Maybe in Waverly it was.
“Band-Aid?” she prodded.
He opened the door of the medicine cabinet, the space in the room so tight he had to lean across her to do so.
Suddenly he was physically aware of her again. Of her smell. Of the shape of her slender body. Of the fact that she was a woman.
And God knew, he needed one.
He fumbled with the Band-Aids he’d found, searching for the right size. When he had it, he closed the box and dropped it into the sink before he ripped the paper off the one he’d selected.
Then he hesitated, reluctant because of his growing attraction to touch her. Not even to play medic.
“I can do it.” She reached out to take the bandage from his hand. Looking into the mirror, she began to position it over the abrasion.
“That needs to be cleaned first.”
Her hands stilled. She turned to face him, eyes slightly widened.
Did she think he was deliberately trying to prolong this? To make some kind of move on her?
Would she be wrong?
Once more he reached across her, his fingers trembling as they closed around the dark brown bottle of peroxide. What the hell was wrong with him? Eden Reddick wasn’t the only attractive female he’d ever been around. At one time, he’d actually been someone who was considered to know his way around women.
A lifetime ago.
He tipped the peroxide onto a cotton ball. “Hold still.”
She obeyed, letting him dab at the cut until the broken skin foamed. When he began to clean up some of the smeared blood, she took the cotton from his hand.
He stepped back as, using the mirror to guide her, she completed the operation far more efficiently than his suddenly awkward hands would have allowed him to do. “I’m sorry.”
She met his eyes in the glass. “About what?”
“Knocking you down. Doing that.” He tilted his chin toward the cut.
“Yeah, I’d much rather have been shot.”
He couldn’t argue with her logic, but he still felt guilty. Despite the situation, he should have thought of some other method of putting her out of harm’s way.
“Actually, I don’t think I said thank-you for saving me from my own stupidity.” She turned to face him, the Band-Aid now in place. “I mean that,” she added, when he didn’t respond. “I never dreamed any of them would fire on me.”
“I think he panicked.” Jake couldn’t figure out why he was defending the bastard. Other than the distress he saw in her eyes.
“Of course, I also never thought any of this could happen in Waverly,” she added. “The kidnapping?”
“That. The mob scene at the station. This, out here tonight.” She shook her head. “It’s not what we’re like. Not what the people here are like.”
“You aren’t responsible for their actions.”
“No. Only for my own.” The upward tilt of her lips was a little tremulous. “Which means I need to get out to Lincoln Greene’s like I told Dean I would.”
“You want me to go with you?”
The sound she made was part laughter, part derision. “Despite my earlier ineptitude, I think I can manage to get myself over there in one piece.”
His inclination was to argue with her, but he had sense enough to realize her ego had already taken a major hit tonight. Seeming to doubt her competence would be another.
“Then I’ll walk you to your car.”
“You think he’s still out there?” She sounded surprised.
He didn’t. Despite that conviction, however, Jake found himself wishing that the bastard might be. Especially when he considered the square of plastic covering Eden’s temple and the fair, bloodstained hair that fell over it.
If not tonight, I hope to God that one day I get another chance at that coward.
Chapter Seven
“All I know is what I told you. It was in the carport when I went to bed. Laurie’s told you the same thing.”
“You hear anything after you turned in?” Dean asked.
Lincoln Greene ran a hand through his thinning hair. “I told you that, too. Carport’s on the other side of the house from the bedroom. You couldn’t hear a bomb if it went off out there. Not from our room.”
“Link wouldn’t hear a bomb go off if it was in the bedroom,” Greene’s wife said. “Not as sound as he sleeps.”
“You didn’t hear anything either, Laurie?” Eden asked.
As angry as Lincoln had been earlier, she believed he might have done something stupid like going out to Jake’s place. She didn’t believe, however, that his wife would connive with him to cover it up if he had. Laurie Greene was front row center at every service of the Pentecostal church and highly respected in the community.
“I heard Link snoring from about nine on. I promise you, he didn’t go anywhere. If his truck ended up out at the Wells’ place tonight, somebody else drove it.”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,” Lincoln said. “You know me better than that, Dean. I’m not gonna go out there and do something stupid. I’ll speak my piece, but whatever happens with Underwood, that’s up to the law. I’m no hothead.”
“You seemed pretty hot this afternoon,” Dean said mildly.
“Yeah, well, everybody was worked up. Just the thought of some pervert doing something to that little girl…” Greene’s lips tightened, but he didn’t finish the sentence.
“Was the truck locked?” Eden asked into the silence that had fallen, as, unwillingly, they were all forced to remember what this was really about.
Greene laughed. “Parked in my driveway? Never saw any need. Not around here.”
“It might be a good idea from now on,” Dean cautioned.
“Will y’all give me a ride out there, so I can bring my truck home?”
“I think the last thing you want to do tonight is to set foot on Mr. Underwood’s property,” Eden said. “Let’s just say he wouldn’t be welcoming visitors right now.”
“Then how am I gonna get my truck? I got to have a way to get to the store in the morning.”
“You get Laurie to take you in,” Dean suggested.
“I don’t see why we should be inconvenienced—”
“Whoever was driving that truck tonight took a shot at me,” Eden said. “That makes the vehicle part of a crime scene. We’ll return it to you as soon as the department has had a chance to check for prints and anything else that might tell us who drove it out there.”
“And how long will that take?” Lincoln’s tone was alm
ost as belligerent as it had been this afternoon.
“It’ll take as long as it takes. That’ll be up to the chief.” Dean’s words were clearly a warning. One Greene was smart enough to heed.
“You all call me when you’re done with it. All right?”
“Of course,” Eden said. “By the way, anybody but you and Laurie ever drive the truck?”
Greene looked at his wife, who shrugged. “Laurie won’t drive the thing. Too rough riding for her. If you’re looking for prints, you’ll find plenty of mine, but…” He shook his head. “I don’t guess anybody but me’s been behind the wheel since I bought it from Steiner’s over in Moss Point. They might can tell you the name of the previous owner.”
“You come on down in the morning and let us take your prints,” Dean suggested. “Maybe on your way to the store.”
“You want to fingerprint me?”
“Just so we can see who else’s are on the wheel,” Dean assured.
“And what if nobody else’s are? What if they wore gloves or something? Y’all gonna come back at me about this?”
“We’re going to take a good look at everything,” Eden said. “And when we have, you’ll get your truck back. Laurie.” She nodded at Greene’s wife. “Y’all get some sleep. We’ll see you in the morning.”
AS SOON AS THE front door closed behind the Greenes, Dean asked, “You want me to send somebody out to the Wells’ place to pick up that truck?”
“And get ’em killed?” Eden asked. “Underwood was out stalking whoever had pulled Lincoln’s truck onto his road when I got there. My impression was that it wouldn’t much have mattered to him if they’d been wearing a uniform.”
“Is that how you got that cut on your head?” Dean asked as he climbed into the driver’s seat of the cruiser.
“This?” As Eden settled into the passenger seat, she raised her hand to touch the gash she’d forgotten and winced at the resulting pain. “I got this being naive enough to think I knew what everyone in this town was and wasn’t capable of.”
“What does that mean?”
She was aware that, in the dimness of the interior, Dean had taken his eyes off the road to look at her. “It means I called out to whoever drove that truck out there. Asked them to come out and talk.”