by Lara Lacombe
Micah studied Bea’s face, sympathy welling in his chest. “It’s possible she’s trying to disguise herself by changing her hair and clothes. Adding a distinctive perfume that she only wore last night would further confuse any potential witnesses.”
Bea considered that for a moment. “But someone said your witness from last night is dead. Why go to the trouble of killing that man, but leave me alive?”
It was the question that had been bothering Micah ever since he’d found her on the floor of her boutique. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Maybe she heard Chunk bark and realized the police were close. She had to get away before we came in.”
Bea shook her head. “It doesn’t take that long to shoot someone,” she said matter-of-factly.
A chill raced through his limbs at the reminder. Bea was right. It was the work of a second to pull a trigger, a twitch of muscle, really. A small, insignificant movement that had profound consequences, as he’d learned all too well during his time in both the Army Rangers and on the police force.
He steered his thoughts away from the desert and back to the present. “Maybe she panicked,” he offered. “Or maybe she got cold feet at the idea of killing her cousin.”
Bea lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Maybe. But to be honest, we’ve never been that close. If she had no problem killing Bo, the man she loved, I doubt she’d have an issue shooting me.”
“You didn’t break her heart and leave her pregnant,” Micah pointed out. “Hell hath no fury, as I’m sure you know.”
The strangest expression crossed Bea’s face, and for a second, he thought she was going to either burst into tears or start laughing.
“Yes, I’ve heard that line before,” she said dryly. She leaned back and studied him as he finished his burger. “Look, I know I’m not giving you much to go on here, but I know in my bones the person who attacked me isn’t Demi. And since I have a hard time believing my little boutique was the scene of so much illicit traffic last night, I think whoever killed Joey is the same person who hit me.”
But that would rule out Demi as the Groom Killer. And he couldn’t make that leap just yet. “Once we get the lab results back we’ll have a better idea of how many people traipsed through the shop last night. But I tend to agree with you—the killer and your attacker are likely one and the same.”
“And since I know it wasn’t Demi, then she can’t be the one who killed Joey or the other men.” Bea’s expression was triumphant, but Micah shook his head.
“That’s taking it too far. I know you want Demi to be innocent, but there’s quite a bit of evidence against her at this point.”
Bea’s face fell, and Micah kicked himself for having to disappoint her. But he couldn’t let her get her hopes up when it was likely her cousin was guilty of at least one murder, if not all four. Three grooms, killed the night before their wedding, black cummerbunds stuffed into their mouths. The MO had been the same in all three murders. Only the fourth murder, Tucker Frane’s, was different—no cummerbund—but he wasn’t a groom. Just a witness.
He knew the Coltons didn’t want to believe one of their own was responsible for such heinous acts. Still, it was a possibility that couldn’t be ignored, and Bea and the rest of her family needed to start coming to terms with the fact that practically anyone was capable of committing murder, if pushed too far.
But were last night’s killings really the work of the Groom Killer? Or had someone wanted Joey McBurn dead and decided to stage the scene to lead the police down the wrong path? The idea seemed a bit far-fetched, but Micah had to admit it was a possibility. Hopefully the forensic results would shed more light on the case and help him figure out which questions to focus on and which were nothing more than speculation.
He wiped his mouth and tossed the empty wrapper and bag into the trash can by his desk. “I need you to do something for me, please.”
Bea nodded at once, causing a tendril of blond hair to fall in front of one eye. Micah’s fingers itched to brush it back, but he fought the urge to touch her. Bea likely wouldn’t welcome the gesture, and if any of the other officers saw he’d never hear the end of it.
He had to keep things professional between them, now more than ever. If his fellow squad members thought he was getting personally involved with Bea Colton, they might doubt his impartiality and ability to work on the Groom Killer case. It was difficult enough having so many of Demi Colton’s relatives on the force—the last thing Micah wanted was for his judgment to be called into question because of his personal life.
“What do you need from me?” Bea’s voice broke into his thoughts and he focused on her face again. Her expression was a mixture of interest and determination, and Micah realized she wanted to help him. It was clear she wouldn’t be content to bring a book and read while he worked in the afternoons, so he was going to have to figure out a way to safely incorporate her into his activities.
Micah pulled a notepad and pen from a desk drawer. “I know I asked you questions last night in the hospital, but I don’t have an official statement from you yet. I’d like you to write down everything you remember from last night, starting from the time you began to close up the shop. No detail is too insignificant, so please include everything. And if something strange happened earlier in the day, write that down, too.”
“Okay.” Bea took the pen and pad from him and glanced around. “Is there someplace I can sit so I’m out of the way? A spare office, maybe?”
Micah stood. “I’ll unlock a room for you. It’ll be quiet in there, so you can focus.” He led her down a hall to one of the interrogation rooms, located at the back of the building. “The bathroom is farther down this hall on your right, and you know where the break room is. Feel free to help yourself to coffee or soda while you work.”
Bea took a seat and placed the pad of paper in front of herself. “This might take me a while,” she said doubtfully. “Will that be a problem for you?”
“Not at all,” he assured her. “Take your time. I don’t want you to feel rushed at all. I’ll keep myself busy while you take care of this, and when you’re done we’ll go back and check on the boutique.” The cleaning crew had told him it would only take one day to finish the job. He and Bea could swing by on the way home to make sure everything looked good before she reopened the store tomorrow morning.
He left her to it and headed to the break room, needing something to drink before he got back to work. He felt unsettled and a little antsy, and it wasn’t just Bea’s presence that had him off-balance.
Something about Joey McBurn’s death and the attack on Bea didn’t add up. Micah felt like there was a key piece of information staring him in the face, but he wasn’t recognizing it for what it was.
The chief’s words echoed in his mind: The clues to solving these murders are in front of us. We just have to put them together in the right way.
It was that simple and that complicated.
* * *
“I can’t believe it.” Bea turned in a slow circle, staring wide-eyed at the boutique. “It looks completely normal!”
Micah smiled at her reaction. “I told you these guys were good.”
“You did. But I never thought they’d be magicians.” She walked over to the fitting room and shook her head. “The carpet looks brand-new.”
Micah joined her, peering over her shoulder. The small room was completely transformed, and if he hadn’t seen the state of things beforehand, even he would have had trouble believing they were looking at what had recently been a crime scene.
“I wonder what happened to the chair?”
“Probably too tough to adequately clean without ruining it,” Micah commented. “I know you can’t tell, but they ripped up the carpet and cleaned the padding and the floor underneath, as well. They likely would have had to rip open the chair to clean the stuffing inside, and that’s not an easy repair.”
> “Well, it’s a small price to pay,” Bea said.
He smiled, pleased that she was happy with the results. She’d been so upset this morning about the state of her shop, he was glad the company he’d recommended had done a good job in restoring things to their usual state. He knew from talking to other crime victims that a swift return to normal helped them recover from the trauma they’d experienced.
“Do we need to take care of anything before you close up for the night?”
Bea shook her head. “No. I’ll start unwrapping the dresses tomorrow morning. It will give me something to do between customers.”
“Fair enough. Any thoughts on what you’d like to do for dinner tonight?”
She wrinkled her nose. “No fast food, please.”
“Ah, okay.” His thoughts raced as he tried to come up with another option. He didn’t have much in the way of groceries at home, and he doubted Bea was in the mood for a TV dinner. Red Ridge had several decent restaurants, but he didn’t want to go anywhere too fancy...
“Can we stop at the store? I’ll get a few things and whip up something for us.”
It was on the tip of Micah’s tongue to refuse. He didn’t want her to get into the habit of cooking for him, and having her in his kitchen was a little too domestic for his liking. Still, it was a better option than eating out, and she really didn’t seem to mind...
“All right,” he decided. “But I’m buying the groceries.”
“We’ll split the cost,” Bea answered. “After all, I’m eating the food, too.”
Knowing he wasn’t going to win this one, Micah nodded and held the door open for Bea. She stopped to lock the boutique for the night, and a breeze caught her hair, sending the strands dancing. He caught a whiff of his shampoo, and a wave of possessiveness surged through him.
Mine.
The word popped into his head without warning, a roaring claim that startled him with its intensity. Something about smelling his soap on Bea’s body short-circuited his brain and made him respond like a caveman. Fortunately, his self-control kicked in and stopped him from tossing her over his shoulder and striding off into the sunset in search of privacy and a flat surface.
No, not mine, he thought firmly. Not anymore.
“Ready?” Her hazel eyes stared up at him, her gaze open and trusting. She had no idea how she affected him, and he was going to do everything in his power to keep it that way. If Bea knew Micah still had feelings for her she’d regard him with pity, and his pride couldn’t take that blow.
He cleared his throat, forcing the unexpected wave of emotion back into its box and slamming the lid closed. “After you.”
Chapter 7
“This is amazing.”
Micah forked another bite of pasta into his mouth, then leaned back and closed his eyes, his expression blissful.
Bea smiled, pleased at his obvious enjoyment of the meal. “I’m glad you like it.” Spaghetti carbonara was one of her go-to quick meals, and she’d made a simple tossed salad to accompany the pasta. It wasn’t a fancy dinner, by any standards, but Micah’s reaction made her think he didn’t cook for himself very often.
“Where did you learn how to cook like this?” he asked between bites. “When I had dinner with your family all those years ago, your father had a personal chef.”
Bea’s smile slipped as she recalled that evening and her father’s behavior. She’d invited Micah to dinner, wanting him to meet her father and siblings. Her sisters had been friendly, if a bit indifferent, toward Micah, but Fenwick had been downright nasty. He’d made it clear that Micah was not welcome and that he wasn’t good enough for Fenwick’s daughter. To his credit, Micah hadn’t argued or tried to defend himself, and to her shame, Bea hadn’t been able to stand up to her father. Micah had left immediately after dinner, and Bea had retreated to her room, too upset to speak to anyone.
“My grandmother taught me,” she said, shifting her thoughts in a more pleasant direction. “She made it a point to teach me basic life skills, because she knew I’d eventually move out of my father’s house. She always said she didn’t want me to grow up to be one of those useless people who don’t know how to fix a meal or sew on a button.”
Micah smiled. “Sounds practical.”
Bea nodded. “Oh, yes. She also taught me everything I know about the boutique. I used to spend a lot of time there when I was a child, and I think that’s why she left me the store in her will.”
“She knew you’d take care of it.”
“That’s true, but I think there was more to it.” Bea wiped her mouth with a napkin and took a sip of water. “I think she wanted to give me a way out, a means of independence from my father. He didn’t want me to take over the business, but I insisted. And I think Gram knew I would. She gave me a way to support myself, so I wouldn’t be under my father’s thumb my whole life.”
Micah tilted his head to the side, studying her as he finished eating. “I think you would have made your own way, regardless,” he said thoughtfully. “You’ve always been independent.”
Bea’s cheeks warmed at the compliment. She’d worked hard to distance herself from her overbearing father, but thinking about her relationship with Micah made her wish she’d pushed back a little harder while they’d been dating. Would things have been different if she had done a better job of defending Micah, of calling her father out on his rude behavior in the moment, instead of waiting until they were alone?
“I owe you an apology,” she said, taking a deep breath. Maybe it was silly of her to bring up the past, but Micah deserved to know she hadn’t forgotten the way he’d been treated and that she didn’t agree with it. She couldn’t change what had happened, but she could let him know she was ashamed of her father’s behavior and her failure to act.
His eyebrows shot up and his green eyes went wide. “Oh?” He shifted a little in his chair, looking wary.
Bea nodded. “Yes. I’m sorry for the way my father treated you when we were dating. And I’m sorry I wasn’t brave enough to stand up to him when he was being so horrible to you.”
Micah’s shoulders relaxed and he shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. You’re not responsible for your father’s actions.”
“I know, but I should have defended you more, instead of arguing with him when we were alone.”
“We were kids.” He shrugged and gave her a half smile. “Besides, you and I both know your dad wouldn’t have tolerated that kind of insubordination. If you had given him a hard time about his behavior, he probably would have cut you off.”
Bea considered his words, knowing he was right. But would that have been so bad? She entertained a brief fantasy of what it would have been like to live with Gram, working in the shop and spending time with Micah free from the heavy weight of her father’s disapproval.
It was a nice thought, but she realized it wouldn’t have been fair to her grandmother to ask her to step in like that. And there was no sense in dwelling on what might have been, no matter how much Bea wished things had turned out differently.
Micah’s voice broke into her thoughts. “Don’t let your dad’s actions bother you. I stopped thinking about it a long time ago.”
Sensing he was done talking about the issue, Bea nodded and pushed back from the table. She gathered up dishes and walked over to the sink. A second later, Micah’s arm slid around her side as he placed his own dishes on the counter. She jumped a bit, startled, and turned to find him standing close. He leaned forward and her heart flip-flopped in her chest. Was he going to kiss her? Her muscles tensed and her lips parted in anticipation.
Micah reached around her and turned the water on, then leaned back. “I’ll take care of the dishes,” he said.
“Oh.” Disappointment flooded Bea’s system, followed quickly by embarrassment. Of course Micah wasn’t going to kiss her. It was foolish of her to think otherwise. H
er cheeks heated and she glanced down, hoping Micah didn’t notice her reaction.
“Let me get out of your way,” she murmured. He angled his body so she could slide past. Bea flattened herself along the counter, careful not to touch him as she moved away from the sink. She returned to the table, clearing the rest of the dishes for Micah. Then she stood in the kitchen, feeling useless as she watched him work.
The light over the sink made the copper strands in his hair glow. It was a little longer than she remembered him wearing it, the ends curling at the nape of his neck and over the tips of his ears. Micah had always kept his hair short, even before joining the military. This more casual look was likely a testament to his busy schedule rather than a sign he was embracing a new style.
“You need a haircut,” she said, speaking without thought.
He sighed, his shoulders shifting under the fabric of his shirt as he scrubbed a pot. “I know. I just haven’t had time. I might just shave my head and be done with it.”
“No!” Bea took a step forward, dismayed at the thought of Micah losing his beautiful red hair.
He cast a glance over his shoulder, apparently picking up on the distress in her voice. “I’ve had it shaved before, when I was in the army. It took a few days for me to get used to it, but it was a lot more convenient than what I’m dealing with now. I was one of the lucky ones, too. My head doesn’t have a funny shape to it, like some of the other guys.”
“Please don’t do that,” she said. He shrugged, as if he didn’t care one way or another. Bea struggled to find something persuasive to say that wouldn’t make her sound like a crazy person. How could she explain that she’d always loved his hair without revealing that she still had feelings for him? Micah was no fool. If she was too insistent, he’d want to know why she cared so much. And that wasn’t a question she could simply ignore. She had a terrible poker face, and Micah knew it. If he asked her a question like that, her expression would tell him everything he wanted to know before she could even open her mouth to speak.