by Nash, Willa
What would have happened had Everly and I picked another hiking trail? Or if I’d found any other place to run but Calamity?
I wouldn’t have missed him. Somehow, eventually, our paths would have crossed. I wasn’t dealing with this alone, because he’d been meant for me to find.
“Do you believe in destiny? Because I was just thinking . . . I’ve caught a lot of lucky breaks. My career, mostly. But this one, finding you here, doesn’t feel like luck. It feels like something bigger.”
His gaze softened, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes deepening. “It sure does.”
“That was your chance to get rid of me, Sheriff.”
“Too bad I missed it.” He snaked his arms around me, pressing his hard body into mine.
“Yeah.” I ran my hands up and down the roped muscles of his back, then dipped into the back pockets of his jeans as he pressed his growing arousal into my belly. “Too bad.”
Chapter Thirteen
Duke
“Sorry I’m not much help,” Blake said.
“It’s okay.” I sighed. “Appreciate it anyway.”
“Want me to keep digging?” he asked. “I’d have better luck if I took a trip to Nashville.”
“Maybe. But not yet. I need to talk to Lucy first.”
Sending my friend to Nashville would undoubtedly lead to some answers, but it would mean contact with Detective Markum too. Maybe we could spin it and say Everly had hired him as a private investigator, but before we took that step, I wanted to run this by Lucy.
Blake worked for a security firm in Los Angeles. We’d gone to high school together and when I’d gone to the academy, he’d gone into the military. I’d always expected Blake to be a lifer in the Army, but after his last deployment, he’d returned to the States and reentered the civilian world. I wasn’t sure what had happened, and I hadn’t asked. My gut told me it was a sensitive—classified—subject.
He’d returned to our hometown in Wyoming, and I’d bumped into him on a trip to see my parents. I’d offered him my guest bedroom if he’d wanted to visit Calamity and explore the area. He’d taken me up on it. I’d been a deputy then and had more free time. The two of us had squeezed in a few hikes around the area and a couple in Yellowstone, including the trail where I’d found Lucy. Then a few months later, he’d called and told me he’d gone to work for a company in California.
We’d kept in touch and he’d told me about some of the jobs he’d taken. It seemed exciting and risky, and once, he’d asked if I’d consider moving. Though the money was good—it would cost me a fortune to send him to Nashville and investigate Lucy’s stalker—I much preferred my small-town life. Six months after he’d asked me about moving, I’d been elected sheriff.
Since Lucy’s wasn’t officially a Calamity Sheriff’s Department case and I knew Blake was one of the best investigators around, I’d phoned in a favor.
After a week of beating my head against the wall trying to find anything on Lucy’s stalker, I’d realized I needed help. It actually made me feel better that Blake, with all his legal and not-so-legal resources, hadn’t found anything in his week of digging either.
The news on Lucy’s stalker was nonexistent. It hadn’t caught the media’s attention. Mostly, the reports as of late had been in regard to her assistant. I’d looked into Meghan Attree and found a spotless record. Everly Christian’s background was more of the same.
Lucy would be pissed at me when I told her I’d pulled info on her best friend, but at this point, my suspect list included every name she’d ever given me. My instincts said Everly was honest and fiercely loyal to Lucy, but I wasn’t taking any chances.
Garrison, the company Blake worked for, had access to systems that I did not, and he wasn’t bound by my oaths and rules. However Blake got his information was his deal and I was turning a blind eye because I was desperate to solve Lucy’s stalker problem. I’d offered to pay Blake but he’d refused. If Lucy agreed to send him to Nashville, I would insist.
“Keep me posted,” Blake said.
“I will.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Tell me this. How’s Markum? Any reason I should worry he’s not doing his job?”
“From what I can tell, he’s good. He’s dealt with a lot of stalking cases, which is probably why his captain put him on Lucy’s. The problem is, whoever he’s dealing with is better.”
“Lucy doesn’t want to tell him she’s here. That makes me nervous.” If she didn’t implicitly trust the cop, I sure as hell didn’t.
“For a stalker to be this imbedded, he’s either got hacking skills or personal connections. There could be a leak.”
“Yeah,” I muttered. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“He was definitely connected to her assistant,” Blake said. “I’ve got all the emails sent from Meghan Attree’s personal account. I didn’t pull her texts, but unless there is a pile of them out there, it looks like mostly she communicated with the guy over email.”
I sat up straighter. “Anything there?”
“No. She’d send phone numbers. Schedules. No commentary. Just logistics.”
“Damn. What about the email recipient?”
“Dummy accounts, and they changed every time. My guess is the stalker would send her a text or deliver a physical note with the new email address and Meghan would send the next dump of info on Lucy. He was probably watching Meghan even more closely than your woman.”
Which would explain the suicide. If Meghan had been as scared as Lucy was and had been maintaining closer contact with whoever this guy was, it might have pushed her to the brink. Then when Lucy had fired her, it had been the final shove over the edge.
“You’ve got me interested in this case,” Blake said. “I’d be happy to spend a week in Nashville. No charge.”
“Thanks, but I’m paying you.”
He chuckled. “We’ll see.”
“I’ll call Austin.” His boss would probably decline too, but my chances were better.
“Good luck. I told him about this earlier and he’s on board to send me. He likes Lucy’s music.”
“Let me talk to her,” I said. “Thanks again.”
“No problem. See ya.”
I set the phone aside and swiveled my chair, taking in the wall of bookshelves behind me. I’d built those shelves myself a few years ago. I’d wanted something other than a painted cement wall to stare at when I turned around.
There weren’t any exterior windows in my office. There weren’t any exterior windows in the station, period, not even beside the front door. This building had been erected for function, not beauty, and the cement cube served its purpose.
The station was divided almost exactly in half—the front half for the staff, the rear half the jail. Next to my office, there were three interrogation rooms, then a small kitchen with a refrigerator, sink and industrial coffeepot. All function. No frills.
When I turned around and faced my desk again, Carla was weaving through desks, headed my way. Across from my desk, I had an interior window that overlooked the bullpen. I usually only lowered the blinds when I was having a confidential meeting with a deputy. Otherwise, they were up so that even if my door was closed, my team knew I was here, working on paperwork alongside them while the others were on patrol.
Carla reached the door and pointed to the handle, mouthing, “Can I come in?”
I waved her inside.
“Got a sec?” she asked.
“Always. What’s up?”
She whipped out the notepad she’d tucked under an arm, sat across from me and started firing off questions. Carla was a hell of a deputy but preferred dispatch to fieldwork. She’d also claimed the title of unofficial station manager since out of all the staff, she spent the most time in the building. We worked through her list, then she left me to tackle the work on my desk.
When six o’clock rolled around and my stomach grumbled, I realized I’d missed lunch. So I grabbed my keys, waved goodbye to the evening shift and le
ft.
My truck was stuffy from a day in the sun. The first week of September had been as hot as the last of August. The school year had kicked off with little fanfare and I was glad to see the decrease in traffic around town.
Not that I didn’t appreciate the tourists who came through every summer and helped support our small economy, but I loved these weeks, when nine out of ten cars parked on First Street had Montana plates. When the faces I saw each day were familiar. When the smiles and waves were from neighbors and friends.
This was the Calamity I wanted to share with Lucy, except I wasn’t sure how.
Someone might recognize her. Someone might blow this entire thing to pieces. I couldn’t keep her locked away at the farmhouse or my place forever. Lucy seemed to be enjoying the slower pace, but how long would that last?
She was a social person. Sooner rather than later, staying home each and every day was going to drive her nuts.
But I still made sure she locked up behind me every day. When she needed groceries, I insisted on going with her to the grocery store. We didn’t go out to eat. We didn’t go to the movie theater.
Ever since she’d told me about her stalker, I’d been plagued with the nagging sensation that danger was coming. We were on the precipice of a hurricane, and I wanted the windows boarded up before it hit.
I drove through town with the air conditioning cranked, heading straight for the farmhouse. I’d called Lucy earlier to see if Travis had shown up for his tutoring session. He hadn’t.
After Lucy had offered to tutor him, I’d pitched the idea to Melanie. Travis had barely passed his summer school class and much to my surprise, Melanie had accepted the tutoring idea immediately. Then she’d all but ordered Travis to meet Lucy at the farmhouse after school.
There had been disappointment in her voice when she’d told me he’d stood her up. I think she’d wanted the tutoring not only to build a relationship with a kid who was important to me, but also because she was going crazy at home. She was lonely and after two weeks of not talking to Everly, it was starting to get to her.
Maybe tonight I’d get over my own shit and we’d go downtown for dinner. Take another chance at the bar.
The front door was locked when I got to the farmhouse. I let myself in with my key as I did most nights, then tugged off my boots. I opened my mouth, ready to call through the house to let Lucy know I was here, when the faint sound of music drifted my way.
The soft notes of the guitar and the sweet croon of Lucy’s voice lured me to the kitchen’s back door, which she’d propped open with a wooden wedge.
She was sitting in a chair on the patio. Her legs were stretched out and only her toes were in the sun. Otherwise, she was shaded from the roof’s peak as she sang to the fields. In the distance, Widow Ashleigh’s old barn sat abandoned and weathered in a field of swaying grass—a classic rural Montana scene. With Lucy singing, the whole thing made a pretty picture.
I hadn’t heard her sing. Not a note. Not a hum. Nothing since we’d met. It had made it easier to forget she was a country music superstar. But right here, as my stomach plummeted, I knew.
She was Lucy Ross.
There was no way I’d keep this woman in Calamity. She had greatness pouring out of her soul, and trapping her here would smother this woman who’d consumed my life.
Lucy’s hair was up, revealing the long line of her neck. She was in those tattered denim shorts I loved so much, the ones that showed the smooth skin of her long legs. Her feet were bare and she’d applied a new color to her toes today. Neon orange. She loved her neon. Panties. Bras. Nail polish.
It was as bright as the music coming from her lips.
I hovered in the doorframe, staying quiet as I watched. Feeling like I was about to lose her. God, she could sing. She was meant for the radio. She was meant for the stage.
She was meant to make music.
The tune she played wasn’t fast but it was cheerful. It wasn’t one I’d heard before and when she hit a lyric about a small town in Montana, I knew she must have written it lately. When she got to a line about a potbellied chief of police with a comb-over, I couldn’t keep the laugh inside.
The sound of my chuckle caused her to turn and glance over her shoulder, but she didn’t stop singing. She just winked at me and repeated the chorus for one final round, ending with my applause.
“Well?” she asked, standing from the chair. “Do you think it’s a hit?”
“A little farfetched in some places but . . .”
She giggled and set the guitar aside, coming over and standing on her tiptoes to give me a kiss. “I didn’t want to write about a sexy sheriff who can pull off an olive-green shirt like nobody’s business. The last thing I need are all these single women moving to town and making this a competition.”
“Oh, I’d say you’ve already won.” My undivided attention and my heart.
“What do you want for dinner tonight?” she asked.
“Feel like heading to the bar? It’s ladies’ night. Might make some new friends.”
“No, thanks.”
“I’ve been monopolizing you.”
She ran her hands up my chest. “Really? I thought it was the other way around.”
I wrapped her in my arms, pulling her to me as I dropped my mouth to hers for a taste of that cherry sweet. We’d never really been much for inhibitions when it came to the physical stuff, but any hesitancy from either of us had vanished over the past weeks. She was as comfortable with my body as I was hers, and we held nothing back.
We made every kiss count. Every touch.
When we finally broke apart, she had a pretty flush to her cheeks and a puff to her lips. My cock was hard and if not for the hunger pangs, I would have said screw dinner and taken Lucy instead.
She collected her guitar, then brought it into the house, taking it to the living room.
“I didn’t realize you had a guitar here,” I said as she set it in the corner beside the fireplace.
“I had it in the guest bedroom.” She stared at the instrument as she spoke. “My dad gave it to me for my birthday when I was ten. It was too big for me but he promised I’d grow into it.”
“What made you take it out today?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. After everything that’s happened, I didn’t feel like playing. I needed a break. Then today, I just felt . . . ready.”
“When did you write that song?”
“Today,” she said, like it was no big deal.
Amazing. I’d never been around anyone with such talent. She had more in her fingers than I did in my entire six-foot-two body.
Lucy’s gaze stayed fixed on that guitar, like if she stopped looking at it, the thing might disappear.
I walked up to her and put my hands on her shoulders. “You okay?”
She nodded. “When my parents died, the music saved me. But this time . . . singing was something so ingrained in every part of my life. After Meghan, seeing her dead like that, the music was just gone. It was like someone took an eraser and rubbed it from my heart.”
It was that son of a bitch stalker. “I’m sorry, baby.”
“It’s okay.” She blew out a long breath and turned, falling into my chest. “I think I just needed time to grieve. Does that make sense? I needed some time away from the music so I could say goodbye. Then today, I was sitting in the living room, waiting for Travis, and it was so warm and sunny. I closed my eyes and took some deep breaths. And there was this song. It was funny and light. So I hummed it out and went straight for the guitar.”
Goddamn, it was going to hurt when she left. I’d known it all along, hadn’t I? But I’d let myself believe that she’d stay. She’d seemed so determined to make this her home and I’d turned a blind eye and a deaf ear. Lucy had come here to get back on her feet. She’d come here to lick her wounds.
But when they stopped gushing, she’d return to her life. The life where she belonged.
“I missed it,” she whispered. “
I don’t think I realized until today just how much.”
Every heartbeat was pained. “It’s a part of you.” A part I wouldn’t hold her back from.
Lucy was a shooting star. Vivid. Mesmerizing. Her voice and her abilities weren’t made for small-town life. Sooner rather than later, she needed to stretch her wings. When they weren’t bruised any longer, she’d fly home.
“I need to talk to you about something.” I took her hand and led her to the couch.
“That look on your face isn’t making me feel warm and fuzzy.”
I let go of her hand and laced my own fingers together in front of my knees. “Since that email came in, I’ve been trying to get caught up on your case.” Something I hadn’t told her about.
“Okay,” she drawled.
“As expected, there wasn’t much to find in the media. What I did, fit with everything you told me about Meghan. But the stalker . . .”
“None of it was released to the press.”
“Right. And without alerting Markum, there’s no way I can get looped in on the case. Even then, he might tell me to fuck off. So I called a buddy of mine who works in private security.”
“What does that mean? Won’t he find the same information as you?”
“Not necessarily. I’d hoped he might find something else because he’s not bound by the same rules.”
“And did he? Find anything?”
“No, but he offered to go to Nashville. And I think we should take him up on it.”
She hesitated. “Why?”
“Because he might have better luck at finding your stalker.”
“Better than the police?”
I shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
Lucy rubbed at a small stain on the hem of her shirt, probably from a dollop of spilled salsa. “Okay.”
“Good.” I breathed. “When you go back to Nashville, the threat needs to be eliminated and I think Blake’s our best bet.”
“When I go back to Nashville?” Her forehead furrowed. “What are you talking about? I’m not going back.”