Jaci’s lips tightened. After the humiliation she’d endured the last time the lockets had started to arrive, she’d hoped to keep her latest harassment from making the rounds of the town gossips.
“I’m glad he feels the need to share my private business with the whole neighborhood,” she said.
“It wasn’t the whole neighborhood, it was me.” Andrew didn’t bother to hide his concern. “He wants me to keep an eye out when I’m in the fields.”
She stubbornly refused to be soothed. “It’s not his place to ask you to do anything.”
“He’s worried about you.” Andrew stepped forward, tugging her rigid body in his arms. “Just like I’m worried about you.”
She heaved a rueful sigh, laying her head against his broad chest. “I’m fine, Andrew,” she told him. “I’m being careful.”
He dropped a brotherly kiss on the top of her head. “I want you to know that I’ll be working in the back fields for the next few days. If you need me I can be at the house in less than five minutes.”
The knowledge was reassuring even as it was slightly terrifying. The last thing she wanted was for Andrew to be put in danger because she had some crazed stalker.
“Thank you,” she said.
Without warning the sound of a male voice sliced through the air.
“Am I interrupting?”
Jaci jerked as if she’d been struck, wondering why her dogs hadn’t warned her there was an intruder. But Andrew took his time lowering his arms and stepping back. Then slowly he turned toward the door where Rylan was standing.
Her heart gave a familiar flutter, even as Jaci realized that this man wasn’t the same boy who’d left Heron. Not only had he physically changed, with broader shoulders and features that had been honed to a stark beauty. But there was a ruthless air of command that seemed to fill the shop with his sizzling power.
“Nope. I was about to head out,” Andrew said, slapping his hat back on his head. “See you tomorrow, Jaci.”
A silence filled the shop as Andrew crossed the room, nodding to Rylan as he stepped aside to let him through the doorway.
Jaci instinctively slammed her hands on her hips, her chin tilted to a defiant angle.
Prowling forward, Rylan lifted his brows at her aggressive posture.
“What’s up?” he demanded. “I haven’t said anything to earn that frown.”
“You’ve been talking about me behind my back.”
He blinked, as if caught off guard by her accusation, then his eyes narrowed as he realized what she was talking about.
“Andrew is quiet, he’s not stupid,” he said.
“I know that,” she snapped.
Rylan moved until he was standing directly in front of her. “He saw the sheriff and the deputies looking around the house.”
“So you asked him to keep an eye on me?”
“Yes.” He paused, his expression still hard. “But that doesn’t mean I fully trust him.”
She blinked. “Andrew?”
“Until he’s proven innocent, he remains on the suspect list.”
Her mouth parted to remind him that she’d known Andrew since they were both in diapers, only to snap her lips shut. She didn’t think Andrew would ever do anything to hurt her, but he was right.
She had to be careful.
“What are you doing here?” she instead demanded.
“I installed a few more cameras around the property,” he said.
“More?” she asked, her gaze skimming over his thick jacket and down to the damp jeans that clung to his legs. His boots were thick with mud, indicating he’d been doing the work himself.
His lips stretched with a dangerous smile. “These are far more high-tech than those we put in yesterday. Anyone approaches your place and they’ll be caught red-handed.”
Jaci swallowed a sigh. It was obvious that Rylan was in his element.
“What am I supposed to do with them?”
“Nothing,” he assured her. “I’ll keep them monitored, and when this is over I’ll have them removed.”
She gave a slow nod. No point in arguing.
“Is that all?”
“No.” A portion of his tension eased as he flashed his most charming smile. “I hoped to beg for my dinner.”
She battled back an answering smile. “Aren’t you eating with your dad?”
He shook his head. “The library board members are meeting to make plans for the yearly spaghetti dinner.”
“I forgot the fund-raiser was coming up,” she said. The town library depended on state grants and local donations. The spaghetti dinner was the biggest source of funding to keep the doors open three days a week. “Tell Elmer I’ll donate two-dozen cupcakes and four loaves of garlic bread.”
An indefinable emotion darkened his eyes. “Are you always so generous?”
She furrowed her brow. Elmer had told her that Rylan and his partner, Griff, had given away millions of dollars to charity. A few cupcakes and some bread didn’t seem like much in comparison.
“I like to support the library,” she said. She still remembered the day her grandmother had taken her to get her library card. The old building was long and narrow with warped floors and lights that flickered from a cavernous ceiling. But Jaci had felt as if she was walking into a secret paradise. Her heart had missed a beat at the sight of the endless rows of books that lined the walls, and the scent of aging leather that had laced the air. “It was my home away from home when I was young.”
He chuckled, his gaze moving over her face. “I remember. I used to tease you for always having your nose stuck in a book.”
“You weren’t the only one. My friends used to warn me that carrying around books made me look like a dork.” She grimaced, abruptly struck by an unwelcomed memory. “And once Christopher grabbed my favorite book and tossed it into the boys’ bathroom. The jerk.”
He reached to brush the damp strands of hair that clung to her forehead.
“Pride and Prejudice.”
Her eyes widened in surprise.
“How did you know?” she demanded. As far as she knew, Rylan had never paid enough attention to her to know the name of the worn book she’d carried around like a security blanket. Then, she was struck by another memory. This one far more pleasant. “You,” she breathed. “It was you.”
“Me?”
“You left the new copy of Pride and Prejudice in my school locker.”
Ancient anger clenched his jaw. “I would have beat the crap out of the little pissant, but he was younger than me and half my size. So instead I bought a new book.”
She shook her head. At the time, the thoughtful gesture had meant more to her than she could ever express. Not just because she had a new copy of the book she loved. But the kindness had helped to ease the sting of her half brother’s cruelty.
“Why?” she demanded.
“I knew how much it meant to you.” His fingers lingered, tracing the line of her brow.
She felt a flutter in the pit of her stomach. A dangerous sensation.
“Why hide it in my locker?” she pressed. “Why not give it to me?”
He hesitated, as if searching for the right words. “I didn’t want a fuss.”
A fuss? What was that supposed to mean?
It was the hint of regret in his eyes that finally made her suck in a sharp breath.
“I get it,” she said. “You didn’t want me to think you actually cared about me.”
His hand slid to cup her cheek. “Jaci, the truth is that I always cared about you,” he said, his voice rough. “Just as I knew you were special in my life. I simply wasn’t ready to accept what it might mean.”
The flutter intensified, spreading through her body until she was shivering.
Aggravating ass. He’d known she loved Pride and Prejudice. And had eased her pain after Christopher had hurt her. And now he was doing everything possible to protect her. Including mucking through the mud to put up more cameras.
How the heck was she supposed to remember she didn’t want anything to do with him?
“It’s no wonder your partner made you the salesman of your company,” she said dryly. “You have a golden tongue. I don’t doubt that you could convince anyone to buy your products.”
His fingers drifted down the side of her neck. “Can I convince you to share your dinner with me?”
With a roll of her eyes, she turned to head out of the shop. “Come on.”
Mike deliberately waited until dinnertime to approach the old Johnson farmhouse.
Sid’s background check on Vera Richardson had revealed what Rylan had already told him. The woman had died three years ago of lung cancer and had been buried in a small town forty minutes away. A deeper dig revealed that Vera had one son, Paul, who’d been caught up in a meth bust in Hannibal. The reason Vera’s name had been familiar to Mike was that she’d actually turned in her son when she discovered he and his buddies were cooking drugs in her basement.
Paul had been released from jail six months ago. And Mike was willing to bet good money that the idiot had returned to his former profession.
Pulling the patrol SUV to a halt in the darkness of the trees, Mike glanced at the deputy sitting next to him.
“Is everyone in place?” he demanded.
“Yep.” Sid nodded, his fingers fidgeting with the holster of his gun. The younger man had only been on a handful of busts. It was no wonder he was a little twitchy. “Hal and Bobby will keep a watch on the back.”
There’d been no way in hell Mike would approach the house without backup.
“You warned them that there might be guns?”
“Yeah.” Sid sent him a wry smile that was barely visible in the darkness. “’Course, around here there’s always guns.”
“Isn’t that the truth,” Mike said, shoving open the door and stepping out of the SUV.
Local townsfolk were notorious for having multiple weapons in the house. The upside was that they very rarely felt the need to use them for more than hunting.
Sid joined him as they moved out of the trees and crossed the yard, which had turned into a disgusting bog.
Instantly there was the sound of barking.
“Dog,” Sid said, his voice tense.
“Great.” Mike worried more about a dog attacking him than getting shot. “Let’s try to keep this friendly.”
They were climbing the steps to the sagging porch when the newly installed door was yanked open and the light from inside spilled out.
The man standing in the doorway was average height, with a body that was so slender it looked gaunt beneath the filthy T-shirt and jeans. His hair was lanky and hung to his shoulders. His thin face was lined with wrinkles that made him look closer to sixty than to the thirty Mike knew him to be.
Because there was no mistake that this man matched his mug shot.
He was Paul Richardson.
“Whaddaya want?” Paul growled. A straggling patch of hair grew on his chin.
“I don’t think friendly is going to be an option,” Sid said, moving to stand at Mike’s side.
“Nope.” Keeping his motions slow, Mike pulled out his badge despite the fact he had on his uniform. Tweakers weren’t famous for their intelligence. “Sheriff O’Brien. I have a few questions.”
The man licked his lips, his eyes darting from side to side. He was higher than a freaking kite.
“I haven’t done nothing wrong,” he rasped.
“This will only take a few minutes.” Mike tucked away his badge, glancing over Paul’s shoulder to the shabby interior of the house. “Can I come in?”
“No, you damned well can’t come in. Not without a warrant,” the man snapped. “This is my property.”
“Actually the property belongs to Frank Johnson,” Mike corrected.
Paul hunched a thin shoulder. “I pay my rent and I know my rights.”
There was the sound of movement toward the back of the house. Unfortunately, the man had hit the proverbial nail on the head. Mike couldn’t force his way in.
“The rental agreement was made between Frank and a Vera Richardson,” he said. “Is she here?”
The eyes darted faster. “Not now.”
Mike smiled. “I can wait. What time will she be home?”
There was the sudden sound of shouting coming from the backyard.
“Sid, keep an eye on him,” he commanded.
The deputy pulled out his gun, holding it at his side. A silent warning.
“Got it,” he said.
With a last, warning glance toward Paul Richardson, Mike jumped off the porch and cautiously made his way around the corner. He wasn’t going to stumble into a potential shootout.
Reaching the rear of the house, he found the back door wide open, with four miserable people lying face-first in the muddy yard. His two deputies were standing over them with their guns drawn.
“What’s going on?” he demanded, his gaze turning to Hal.
The older man offered a rare smile. “These four yahoos took off through the back door. I told them to stop and they tried to get rid of their stash.” He nodded his head toward a camouflage backpack that’d been tossed toward the nearby culvert.
Mike reached into his pocket to snap on a pair of latex gloves as he walked across the soggy ground. Using the tips of his fingers, he pulled the pack open just far enough to catch a glimpse of the tiny plastic baggies that had been stuffed inside.
Straightening, he turned toward the people lying on the ground. In the light from the back door he could make out that there were three women and one man. They all looked as thin and sickly pale as their host.
The man lifted his head, his body twitching as if it was impossible to lie still.
“He’s lying,” he shouted, as if he talked loud enough and fast enough, Mike would believe his accusations. “I’ve never seen that stuff. This is police brutality.”
Bobby gave a sharp laugh, pointing toward the patrol vehicles. “It’s on the dashboard cameras, you—”
“Put them in cuffs, and take them to the station,” Mike interrupted. The sooner he had them locked down, the better. “Hal, you take Mr. Chatty and one of the women. Bobby you take the other two women in your vehicle. And when you get back to the station call animal control to come and pick up the dog. I don’t want the poor creature left alone here.”
Mike waited for the deputies to get the suspects off the ground and cuffed and wrestled to the separate SUVs. Then, moving up the back steps, he paused and keyed the mike on his walkie-talkie.
“Sid, I’m going through the back door,” he warned. He tried to avoid spooking his deputies. They were great guys, but inexperienced.
Sid’s voice crackled back, “Okay.”
He pulled his gun before stepping directly into the kitchen and calling out. “Sheriff’s Department. Come out with your hands in the air.”
He waited to the count of a hundred, then he moved forward. Instantly the hairs on his nape stood upright. There was a familiar, pungent stench of chemicals that permeated the house.
A stench that only came from the manufacturing of meth.
Trying his best to hold his breath, he moved from room to room, checking in closets and under beds to make sure there was no one hiding inside. Only when he was certain that they had all the bad guys, he moved to the living room, stepping over piles of pizza boxes and empty beer cans.
Christ. The house had once been the pride of the Johnson family. Every inch had been scrubbed clean and freshly painted every year. Now it was fit for nothing more than a bulldozer.
A shame.
Moving to the doorway, he slapped his cuffs on Paul Richardson.
“Call in the Drug Task Force,” he told Sid, shoving his prisoner forward. “Don’t let anyone go in there.”
Sid took a hasty step backward, his nose curling with disgust. “Meth?”
“Yep. A full working lab.”
Mike did his best to ignore Paul. The idiot shouted ob
scenities from the time he was placed in the back of the SUV until Mike had him in the interview room.
It wasn’t until he’d read the man his Miranda rights and had the video set up to tape the session that he finally sat across the table and started his questions.
“Now.” He leaned back in his seat, emphasizing his own comfort in his surroundings. He was top dog here. A silent intimidation that made Paul slump lower in his seat. “Who is Vera Richardson, and what’s her connection to you?” he asked.
Paul stuck out his lower lip, looking like a petulant child. “I don’t have to tell you nothing.”
“True,” Mike easily agreed. “You have the right to remain silent.”
Paul licked his lips. Mike waited. In his experience, tweakers could never keep their lips shut.
The clock on the wall ticked. Less than two minutes later, Paul leaned forward, placing his hands on the table.
“If I answer your questions will you tell the judge that I cooperated?”
Mike gave a lift of his shoulder. “It depends on what you give me.”
Tick, tock. Tick, tock.
“Vera was my mother,” he abruptly burst out.
Mike studied him with an unwavering gaze. “Was?”
“She died a few years ago.”
“How did her name end up on the lease?”
“I was fresh out of jail.” Paul’s eyes darted from side to side. Guilt? More likely he was trying to think how to admit the truth without confessing that he was in the wrong. Long-term drug use destroyed any morals the man might once have had. “I knew no one would rent me a place.”
“So you used the name of your dead mother?”
“She owed me,” he said. “It was because of her I was arrested in the first place.”
Mike hid his grimace of disgust. “Why choose the Johnson farm?”
“I wanted someplace without a bunch of nosy neighbors.”
“Yeah, hard to keep a meth lab secret when the neighbors are complaining about the stench,” Mike drawled.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Paul’s lips tightened, and Mike sensed he was going to clam up. He had to soothe the man’s agitation. “I’m not interested in your kitchen experiments.”
Paul frowned. “Then whaddaya want? I admitted I used my mom’s name to rent the house. That’s not a crime.”
Pretend You're Safe Page 15