“Yes, sir.”
He was quiet for a minute, and maybe Kelsey was out of line in asking what she was about to ask, but she was tired, hungry and felt oddly chilled even though she wasn’t cold at all. The night was hot and sticky, like any June night in Treasure Point. “Is there anything else, sir?”
The chief’s heavy eyebrows did raise in surprise, but she didn’t see any judgment or anger in his eyes at her abrupt question. He’d always been very understanding.
“That’s all for tonight.”
Kelsey stood and walked toward the door.
“One more thing.”
She turned back to her old boss. “Yes?”
“Is that Hamilton boy still here?”
She laughed a little at his description. The chief was well into his sixties, though, so it made sense he’d refer to Sawyer that way.
“He’s waiting around here somewhere,” Kelsey admitted.
“If he’ll take you home, take him up on it. It’s less likely anyone will try something if there are two of you.”
“There were two of us when I was shot at.”
“I know, Kelsey, but I can’t spare anyone for a protection detail right now, so this is the best I can do.”
“I’ll ask him,” she conceded, mostly because the chief was looking at her with that protective look on his face that she recognized from her time on the force. He was a man who was never okay with one of his own getting hurt, and sexist or not, he had always seemed to be even more careful with Kelsey and Shiloh, the only two woman officers. Kelsey was afraid if she didn’t agree to ask Sawyer, the chief himself would insist on giving her a ride home.
“You do that. Good night, Kelsey. Stay safe.”
She nodded, then moved away from his door. She’d barely made it out of that hallway into the main area of the building when she spotted Sawyer. She’d half hoped he’d gone and she could find another ride, but that was apparently too much to wish for.
“Ready to go home?” he asked her.
Actually, it was about the last thing she was ready for. But she didn’t have many other options, because while running from this town, this situation, might seem unbearably tempting, it also wasn’t an option. Her job, her dreams, her life away from here depended on her sticking this out, finishing the work she’d come here to do.
“I’m ready.” She tried to sound convincing.
Thankfully, Sawyer didn’t seem to notice everything she wasn’t saying. Like the fact that she wasn’t really ready at all. The fact that she was scared.
And the fact that facing Treasure Point again, after all that had happened, was almost as scary as someone wanting her dead.
* * *
Sawyer had only just dropped Kelsey off when he heard the screams.
He turned the truck off, threw the door open and ran to where she was standing on the front porch.
“What?”
“I, uh, I thought I saw a spider.”
“You didn’t.” Sawyer didn’t believe that for a second.
“I really did. He went back in that corner.”
She motioned to a darkened corner of the porch filled with who knew what. “What is all that?” She’d always seemed so organized and attentive to little details, he was surprised she was able to live here with that mess.
“I’m not sure.”
“This is your house, right?”
“My parents’ house.”
“Where are they?”
“They moved to Savannah when I finished high school. They’ve been renting the house, but the last renters did a number on the place, as you can see, so my folks want to sell it and get out of the landlord business.”
Sawyer couldn’t stop the raising of his eyebrows. “And they’re going to sell it like this?”
“No, of course not. When I told them I would be working in the area for a few weeks, they asked if I’d start getting the place cleaned up while I was here.”
He took in the chipping blue paint—really, blue?—the unidentified mess in the corner and the general disrepair of the place. There was nothing structurally unsound as far as he could tell. It wasn’t in awful condition. But it wasn’t in great shape to sell, either. That he did know something about since, as his dad always said, “Hamiltons know real estate, son.” He decided not to comment on it, changing the subject instead. “So, what are you doing in town? You never said.”
She explained about her insurance job and the work she was doing with the museum. “I’ve got an assignment lined up in St. Simons next, so I’ll be staying in town for that, too.”
He nodded. “That explains why you were at the museum tonight—but not why someone was shooting at you. Or what happened to make you scream just now, because I know you don’t expect me to believe it was a spider.”
“I really did think I saw one.”
Something about the way she said that...
“Is that all?”
“No. And if you’re going to ask me what it was, you may as well come in. I didn’t get to eat much at the party and I’m starving.”
“You’re cooking?”
“If you consider bologna sandwiches cooking, then yes.”
“Any chance I could get one of those?”
Kelsey’s snort of laughter wasn’t quite ladylike, but it was cute when she did it. She shook her head as she stuck her key in the doorknob and pushed the door open. “Sawyer Hamilton eats bologna?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” He followed her inside, noting that the inside of the house was in better condition than the outside. That made him feel better about her staying here.
“You’re a Hamilton.”
“Who still has to eat to stay alive.”
“But bologna is such...such peasant food.”
The ridiculousness of this conversation was getting to him. At least, that’s the only excuse Sawyer could formulate for what he did next. He reached for Kelsey’s hand, laid it on top of his own palm and brushed her fingers over the calluses on his fingers and palm.
Their eyes met. Held. Sawyer swallowed hard. He hadn’t expected touching her to focus all his senses quite this way, narrow his gaze to where he only saw her. Her green eyes. Staring right at him.
He dropped her hand, tried to recover his composure. “Those are a working man’s hands, Kelsey. When I’m not at work, I’m outside, doing things in the yard, working with my hands as much as I can. I guess I’m just a ‘peasant’ like you. Now, how about that bologna while you tell me what really had you spooked?”
She locked the front door behind them and nodded. “Okay, give me one minute.” And she ran up the stairs.
Not two minutes later she was back, dressed in jeans and a sleeveless button-down shirt. He couldn’t blame her. He was suffocating in his suit. He tugged at his tie, rolled it up and put it in his suit pocket, then slid out of the jacket. “Good idea with the clothes.”
“Yeah, I don’t stay dressed up any longer than I have to. Besides, I needed my gun.”
He didn’t see any gun.
Kelsey grinned, patted her hip. “It’s a good concealment holster. I got my permit as soon as I wasn’t law enforcement anymore. I let the cops do their job and I’m not out to be a vigilante with it, but as far as protecting myself goes, I’d prefer to be able to.”
Sawyer nodded. It was a common attitude in the South, and one that gave him great relief when it came to Kelsey’s safety.
“So, tell me why you really screamed.” He finally brought the subject back to the one she’d managed to dance gracefully away from two different times now.
“Any chance you’ll just let it go?”
“Nope.”
“Fine. There was another note on the door.”
“And you just stood there? Di
dn’t the shooter use a note earlier to get you to stay in one place so they could shoot at you?”
“Possibly—we can’t really say for sure that that was his method the first time. At any rate, he obviously didn’t shoot at me this time.”
“What did the note say?”
“Basically the same as the other.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a crinkled piece of paper. “I balled it up after I read it and held it in my fist while you and I were talking.”
Back when she’d been trying to convince him that she’d been scared enough of a spider to scream. Sure.
Sawyer took the note she was offering.
YOU SEEM TO HAVE A HARD TIME LISTENING. THOSE SHOTS WERE WARNING SHOTS, SO YOU’D KNOW TO TAKE THE NOTE SERIOUSLY. YOU HAVE UNTIL SEVEN TOMORROW. NO ONE ELSE HAS TO DIE.
BUT IF YOU CHOOSE NOT TO LISTEN... YOU WILL.
“This is why you screamed?”
She shook her head. Reached into her pocket again. “I bagged it as soon as I took it upstairs.” She slid a paper bag out of her pocket and reached inside.
And pulled out a picture printed on computer paper. It was a picture of Kelsey, from tonight at the museum event. And it was marked through with something red. And sticky.
“That’s not real blood, right?”
She shook her head. “I don’t think so. But I called the police when I was upstairs. They’re sending a couple of officers over to retrieve it and process the outside of my house for any trace evidence left on the porch.”
Sawyer took it all in, absorbed the way she said it all, so matter-of-factly and full of confidence. Kelsey had been smart in high school. Quick-witted. But he didn’t remember her being this sure of herself.
“I’m glad you called them.”
“Of course I did. I wouldn’t try to handle this myself...” But her voice trailed off in a funny way, like that was exactly what she was considering doing.
She’d always been independent—he remembered that from school. He also remembered the way it had isolated her, keeping her from being really close to anyone. She’d only ever had casual friends. He doubted she’d kept up with much of anyone from high school...which meant there was no one in Treasure Point for her to lean on for support now, especially with her parents no longer living in town.
Sure, there was her cousin, Clay, but he’d be focused on police work, logging evidence and following procedure. If Kelsey did any investigating on her own, Clay wouldn’t be able to help her. So who did that leave?
Me.
The idea was crazy, but there was no question in Sawyer’s mind that Kelsey Jackson was in danger, and she didn’t need to face this on her own, even if that was how she was used to doing life. Sawyer had to be in Treasure Point, anyway, to be the face of his family at the events surrounding the museum’s opening.
When he wasn’t doing that...
He may as well be talking Kelsey into letting him tag along wherever she was going. Not that he didn’t think she could handle herself, but maybe he’d serve as a good distraction while she shot at the bad guys.
In any case, he was going to stick to her like glue, whether she liked it or not.
Sawyer was pretty sure it was going to be “not.”
FIVE
She dreamed about the gunshots that night, and woke with a feeling of pressure on her chest that made it hard to breathe, almost like a physical weight that reminded her of the truth that weighed on her mind—someone had threated to kill her. He’d made it clear that he would make good on those threats if she wouldn’t be bullied into leaving.
And Kelsey had no intention of going anywhere. If she left town with her work undone, she’d lose her job. Not to mention, she’d lose her self-respect if she let this town make her run away again. Logically, she knew that leaving would be the smart choice...but she couldn’t bring herself to do it.
Which meant today, tomorrow, as many days as this took...things were only going to get worse.
She climbed out of her car—the officers had processed it for evidence and then Clay had brought it home for her—after parking in front of the museum, and stopped to look up when she heard a noise. Her whole body tensed, ready to run or fight or whatever she needed to do. She put her hand on her hip where she could feel the reassuring lump of the gun concealed inside her waistband.
But there was no need for alarm. It was a truck pulling into the parking lot, one she recognized immediately from all the time she’d spent in it last night.
What was Sawyer Hamilton doing here?
She tried not to watch him as he parked the truck and stepped out, but like it or not, her eyes were drawn to him. He reached back into the truck for something. Sawyer stepped back out with coffee.
“What are you doing here?” She voiced the question that she hadn’t stopped mentally asking since she saw him.
“I figured you’d be here and thought you might have had a rough night.”
She stared, understanding not dawning until he reached out with the coffee cup. That was for her?
“You used to get cappuccinos in high school. I hope that’s still okay.”
“In high school?” She reached for the coffee, feeling like she could use the caffeine to get her out of this fog that seemed to have descended with Sawyer’s presence. This concern for her was the last thing she would have expected from him.
“Thank you,” she said, allowing herself a small smile. “And cappuccinos...yes, that’s still my favorite.” They hadn’t spent time together outside of their classes in high school that she could remember. Ever. So how had he...?
“I saw you order it more than once when you’d study at the bookstore.”
The old bookstore had been the only place to get coffee in Treasure Point all those years ago, and the fancy espresso machine had only lasted five years or so before the owners of the bookstore had sold it, since it wasn’t making them much of a profit. At the time, Treasure Point—with the exception of Kelsey—seemed to prefer its coffee plain. It was only recently, when Claire Phillips had returned to town after college, that more people had accepted the idea of “fancy” coffee.
“Well...thanks, then,” she repeated, then shook her head and took a long sip of that cappuccino. She closed her eyes for a second. So good.
Unfortunately, after a second, Kelsey acknowledged she had to open her eyes and get to work.
She turned away from Sawyer and walked toward the front door of the museum. She’d been scheduled to work with Michael Wingate. With him dead... Kelsey wasn’t sure how this was supposed to work anymore. The rules had changed. Would she even be allowed to work today, or was the museum still being treated as a crime scene?
The door of the museum opened just then, and a dark-haired woman stepped out. Gemma O’Dell, the marketing manager for the museum. Kelsey had met with her briefly when she’d first arrived back in town.
“Kelsey, you came.”
“Were you doubting that I would?”
“We weren’t sure with...” she shot a glance at the two police cars parked at the edge of the lot “...with everything that happened yesterday,” she finished. “Matt almost didn’t let me come to work today.” She said the last part with a grin and Kelsey knew she didn’t really mind the overprotectiveness of her husband, Matt O’Dell.
“So, will I be working with you today?”
Gemma shook her head and moved her hand to the baby bump that was quite obvious. “Even though I don’t officially go on maternity leave until the baby comes—”
“You’re due any day?” Kelsey guessed. She didn’t have much experience with babies or childbirth, but she was fairly certain that Gemma’s stomach had no more room for expansion, so she figured it must be close.
Gemma nodded. “Yes, and Matt wants me to do as much work from home as I can
these last couple of weeks. Or days. I’m voting days.”
Kelsey laughed. “I’m sure you are.”
“Anyway, especially with the murder, here at the museum is not somewhere he wants me spending a lot of time. Not that there’s any reason to assume there will be more crimes. You shouldn’t be worried.”
Oh, if only Gemma knew.
“I’m not going to let it stop me from doing my job,” Kelsey reassured the other woman.
“Great. I’ll let you get started and I’ll be in my office for about an hour. After that, I’m headed home, but you can call me if you need anything. Do you need any help from me, or do you know where to get started today?”
“You can head to your office,” Kelsey assured her. “I know where to go and what to do.” As exhausted as Gemma looked already, Kelsey was relatively certain she wasn’t going to be bothering her. Gemma was one of the few full-time staff members at the museum, which meant that she was in for a day of answering worried phone calls and dealing with the public response in reaction to the murder. Clearly, she had enough on her plate, and Kelsey wouldn’t add to it.
With a relieved smile, Gemma went back inside, heading toward her office. Kelsey started to enter the building as well, but the manners her mother had drilled into her made her turn around to finish her conversation with Sawyer first.
“Are you coming in?” she asked. “Did you have some business with the museum today?”
“No, I just came by to check on you.”
Kelsey blinked. “You...what?”
He shrugged, looking uncomfortable but sincere. “I just came by to check on you,” he repeated. “And to make sure you wouldn’t be here by yourself, after those threats last night.”
That was unexpected. But she tried to brush it off. “I’ll be fine,” she insisted. She pointed to the cop cars. “I won’t be here alone.”
“Good—that’s good.” He looked awkward, as if he had something to say, but wasn’t sure how to phrase it. Finally, he blurted out, “Let me know if you’re going to be on your own later, okay?”
“Why?”
Perilous Homecoming Page 4