“I turned myself in. The DA chose not to prosecute.”
“I see.” I really didn’t. I want to be supportive, but I could see now why Adam wouldn’t have any issues with laying aside his badge if needed. “Were you a cop at the time?”
“Yes. And before you ask, I don’t regret anything I did that night. Those guys made choices that ended their lives.”
“But would they still be alive if you hadn’t gone looking for a fight?” I’m angry and not just because of Adam’s actions. When he’d been forced to arrest me for shooting Mark, there had been a moment, however slight, that he’d judged me for not telling him. I should have been honest with him. Those were his words. Now, it seems as though the truth doesn’t run both ways.
“I need some air.” No, I need a break from the conversation even though I’m the one who pushed it.
“You wanted to know, Emily. Remember that before you judge me.” Adam walked out of the house before I can and slammed the door, leaving me alone and frustrated.
How was I supposed to have responded to the secret he’d been hiding from me? Maybe he figures it’s in the past and none of my business. But a relationship can’t be built on lies and distrust. And nothing would convince me that he hadn’t gone looking for those guys with the sole intention of killing them, that the result was exactly what he’d wanted.
My phone rings, and I answer it when my mind is still one hundred miles away. “Hello?”
“You don’t sound well,” Francine points out in her no-nonsense tone of voice.
“How are you feeling?” I don’t want to continue the conversation with her either.
“Nice deflection. I’m fine. Just got to Art’s house. Have I mentioned how much of a neat freak my brother is? No wonder he can’t find a woman. No one wants to be in constant competition with him to see who cleans the best.”
I hear Art grumbling in the background. “Listen,” Francine continues, “I wanted to apologize for what he said earlier. He was just upset, and it’s really not what he thinks at all. He cares as much for you as I do.”
My gaze stays on the door, and I wonder if Adam is pacing outside. “It’s okay. He has every right to want to protect you.”
“But not to act like a jackass about it.” She pauses before prodding. “Everything okay with you and Adam?”
“Of course.” Maybe I’m too quick to respond because Francine’s sigh on the other end is clearly suspicious.
“You’re a horrible liar.”
“That’s not what he thinks.”
“Ah-ha! I knew something was going on. So what is it? Did the two of you have a fight?”
The front door bangs open, and Adam crosses the threshold, hazel eyes blazing. His thoughts have forced him back inside, and he’s clearly ready to resume the conversation. “Francine, I need to go.”
Her next sigh is heavily dosed with irritation. She hates to be kept in the dark. “Fine, but call me the second he leaves. The least I can do while I’m recovering is help you sort out the mind games men play.”
When I hang up, I hold onto the phone without looking at Adam. “I guess we both made some mistakes in our past.” It’s not an apology because I don’t feel as though I owe him one. Maybe I’m being petulant, but I can’t fake what’s not inside me.
“I don’t want to fight with you.” His voice is deep, the words strained. “But if this is going to be an issue for you, I need you to let me know.”
“It’s going to take me some time.” He’d killed four men. How am I supposed to move beyond that? The district attorney’s choice not to prosecute didn’t mean Adam wasn’t guilty. And I couldn’t help but believe Adam had made a conscious decision to exact revenge. He had to have known going after them wouldn’t end well.
“Well, you let me know when you’ve had all the time you need. Until then, I’m still going to keep you safe, and I can’t promise you I won’t kill again. If it means saving your life, I will put a bullet into any suspect who comes within ten feet of you.”
As he starts to walk away, I call out to him. “I told you from the start I don’t want you crossing a line to protect me.”
He doesn’t stop walking. “It’s too late for that.”
“Why?” I follow him. “Why does it have to be too late? You can walk away from all of this, Adam.”
That stops him. He whirls, the glare in his eyes so vivid I almost take a step back. “Really? You think it’s that easy? Do you really think I can walk away from you now?”
Speechless, I can only look at him while his temper climbs.
“Would it be so easy for you to walk away from me?”
The question hits me in the heart, and through my own pain, I see his. “No.” I walk toward him, and though he stiffens, he doesn’t move. When I reach him, I put a hand against his chest to feel the rapid thumping of his heart against my palm.
“Then why do you think it would be so easy for me?” His voice croaks, and when I look up at him, his gaze is searching my face as though he’s not quite sure who I am.
“I don’t. I’m sorry.” His pain seeps through my fingers. “I shouldn’t have said that.” My hand curls into a fist that grabs hold of his shirt. “We both have secrets, issues from our past that still haven’t been revealed. Yours caught me off-guard. I wasn’t expecting…” I stop talking and shake my head. “You’ve become my saving grace these last few weeks.”
“I never asked to be put on a pedestal.” He covers my hand with one of his own.
“Yeah, I know, but this is new to me, Adam. I’ve never had someone—”
“Who really gives a damn?” His hands frame my face. “Well, I do. And if protecting you means I risk everything, I’ll take that chance.” His thumb caresses my lower lip. “Because I love you.”
Chapter Nine
He loves me. The three little words dance around inside my heart. Our gazes connect, and I see the truth in his hazel eyes. Somewhere along this crazy, wildly dangerous journey, he’s grown to love me.
With a sense of reverence, I reach up to touch his cheek, my fingertips like the kiss of a butterfly’s wing. Then I smile as the warmth spreads outward from my heart to my toes.
People may say this is too soon, that real love doesn’t happen this fast, especially with my past still so close in the rearview mirror. But other people aren’t living my life. They can’t see what I see when I look at Adam. Feel what I feel. Or know that the man standing in front of me owns a piece of my soul.
“Emily?” There’s a question in my name, a hesitation as though he realizes he’s spoken too soon.
I cover his lips with my fingertips to quell the notion, and the smile deepens. “I’ve been wanting to say that for weeks.”
“Why haven’t you?” He slides his hands down my arms to settle at the bend in my elbows.
“Fear mostly. Love hasn’t taken me very far in life.” Before he can speak, I shake my head. “Until now. I feel like I’ve been waiting for you my entire life.” When he continues to look at me, I add, “I’ve never loved like this, as much as I love you.”
He closes his eyes then bumps his forehead against mine. “Then maybe we should work on our compromising skills.”
I rub my arms up and down his. “How about we start with no more secrets?”
“What happened…it wasn’t a secret, Emily. The entire town knew about it. I didn’t dredge it up to share with you because it wasn’t relevant.”
“How can you say that? We’re dealing with a man trying to kill me, and you…” I stop talking. Even I can hear the judgment in my voice.
“I’m nothing like this guy.” His hard tone snaps my gaze to his face. “I killed those men because they gave me no choice.”
“And because you went after them!”
“Yoo-hoo!” Francine’s voice rings out loud and clear from beyond the front door.
“What in the hell is she doing here?” Adam whirls and heads to the door.
“Why didn’t we hear t
he car pull up?” I’m right behind him when he yanks open the heavy wood. “Francine, what are you doing here? You just called me from Art’s house.” How she’d managed to get her brother to drive her here would confound even the wisest of men since I’m sure this is the last place Art wants to be.
“You shouldn’t be out and about like this.” Adam glares at her. “Emily and I were going to stop by later.”
From over his shoulder, I see Art sitting behind the wheel of his battered pickup truck, a scowl on his face. I’d been accurate in my assessment. Clearly, this visit wasn’t his idea.
Shuffling forward slowly, Francine waves away our concern. “Well, just as I was getting comfortable at Art’s house, I realized I needed to tell you that Art is closing the diner for a few days. I tried to talk him out of it, but he thinks this bastard is trying to pick off all your friends which is absolutely ludicrous.”
Adam steps back to allow her to enter his house and lifts a hand to Art. The invitation is clear, but Art doesn’t move. “You could have called, Francine. What else is going on?” He closes the door.
She pats her dented coif before replying in a low voice. “Art is just livid. He’s mad at the whole lot of us. Says we’re being too casual about all of this and that no one is taking me getting shot serious enough. So he’s going to do something about it himself.”
With Adam’s full attention, she prattles on. “He wants to get me out of town and hide me out like some outlaw while he camps out at my house. He thinks the sniper’s going to show there again.”
“He won’t.” Adam heads to the door. “And we don’t need a damned vigilante to catch this guy. Your brother’s going to get himself killed.”
“Adam.” The chastisement in my voice doesn’t erase the tension from his jaw. I touch Francine’s arm. “I’m so sorry about all of this.”
“Well, it isn’t your fault.” She leans in close to whisper the rest. “I couldn’t tell you all of this over the phone cause Art’s been hanging all over me like a creeping vine.”
“He’s angry, and I don’t blame him.”
Adam yanks open the front door. “Maybe so, but I’m not about to let him channel his anger into stupidity.” He’s on the front porch before either Francine or I can stop him.
“As mad as they both are, they’re liable to kill one another,” Francine mutters before beginning another slow shuffle back toward the door.
I hear shouting before I can get around her. Art’s out of the truck and going nose to nose with Adam who is more interested in handing down edicts than listening.
“I’m a law-abiding citizen, and I have every right to stay at my sister’s house with my gun if I choose to do so. And I’m choosing to do so.” Art’s crimson face is jutting upwards to meet Adam’s glare.
“And I’m telling you if you don’t take your ass and your sister to your house and stay there, you and I are going to have a problem.”
“I think we already have one.” Art bows up his chest as though squaring off to fight with Adam. “You and I have been friends for a long time, Adam, but if you expect me to choose Emily over my sister, you don’t know me very well.”
“I’m not expecting you to do anything but obey the law.”
“Like you ain’t never stepped across the blue line.” Art gives a derisive snort. “Don’t stand there and preach to me. You’d do anything to protect Emily, and I’d do anything to protect Francine. So don’t get in my way, and I won’t get in yours.”
Adam inches closer to Art even though I didn’t think there was room for either of them to move. “That’s not how this works. I enforce the law here, Art, and as the sheriff, I’m telling you to go home.”
Art bristles. “And I’m telling you to kiss my ass.”
“Oh for heaven’s sake,” Francine grumbles. “Art, you know he can whip your ass with one hand tied behind his back so just back off.”
Her words only ignite a fire under Art, and he gives Adam a hardy shove which doesn’t move him very far. “Stay out of my family’s personal business, Sheriff.”
“I could arrest you right now for assaulting a police officer.” Handcuffs in hand, Adam is behind Art before the older man can blink. “Maybe a few nights in jail would calm you down, but I won’t leave Francine unprotected. So I’m going to give you one more chance to do what I’ve told you to do.”
Art spins to face him. “Go to hell.”
I can’t just stand and watch a friendship disintegrate. Though Adam and Art don’t spend much time together, I know the two men have respect for one another, and neither wants to lose that no matter how stubborn they are.
“Art, the sniper is going to follow me. I’m his target. And since Adam and I are returning to Broomtown in a few days, Francine will be safe.”
He pins me with a steely-eyed gaze that holds none of the former affection I’ve seen in his eyes. “You could have just stayed there, Emily. Then none of this would have happened. It’s a little too late to be trying to fix things now.”
“Art.” Adam’s voice holds a warning.
“I’m not listening to you, Adam. This isn’t just about Emily anymore. She’s brought this on all of us, put my family in danger. Francine could have died this morning, and you were more worried about getting Emily to safety than you were about making sure Francine was protected.’
“Arthur, that’s enough.” Francine’s voice goes up several octaves. “You’re trying to blame someone when there is no one to blame. Emily had no way of knowing Mark was going to hire someone to kill her. And as far as her staying in Broomtown, well, I’m not even going to dignify that with a response.” She wags a finger in his direction. “But I will say this. Had Emily not left that town, she could be dead now. Is that what you want? Would you rather she be dead?”
“I thought you weren’t going to dignify it with a response,” Art snaps, his eyes narrowing to slits.
Her jaw works like she’s chewing ten-penny nails. “There’s the smart-ass I know so well.” She points toward his truck. “This is over. You’re taking me home, and I don’t mean yours.”
“I’m not done talking to Adam,” he huffs, one eye on Francine’s approaching form.
“Then give me the keys. I’ll drive myself home.” She makes a show out of limping toward the driver’s side door.
“Oh, hell, hold on.” Art glares at Adam who glares right back. “I’ll be seeing you, Adam.” There’s the slightest hint of a threat in his voice.
“You will. Sooner than you think if you start taking the law into your own hands.”
Art’s hand closes around the door handle, but he keeps one eye on Adam. Francine huffs and returns to the passenger door. She has one hip on the seat when a shot slices through the windshield, shattering glass into her lap and Art’s.
“Holy hell!” he yells, pushing Francine’s head down below the dash.
“Emily, get inside!” Adam dashes around to the side of the truck and scoops Francine up into his arms.
I race up the steps and into safety, both Adam and Art right behind me. Once Francine’s feet touch the floor, Adam secures the locks on the door and closes the shades.
“Everyone stay down.”
“Haven’t been swept off my feet like that in a long time,” Francine whispers, her laugh a little shaky.
“If you’d lay off the hamburgers, you’d have more chances,” Art snipes. The click of a hammer draws everyone’s attention. Art’s moved to the large window close to the sofa, and he’s holding a black revolver. “Sure wish I’d brought something with a little more fire power.”
“Put that away.” Adam’s command doesn’t leave an opening for discussion. He waits until Art lowers the gun then adds, “You’re not going to be able to reach him with that anyway. He’s at least 500 yards out.”
“So what’s your plan then? We sit here waiting to get picked off?”
“Art.” Francine’s tone is sharp, but there’s a tinny edge to it that tells me she’s exhausted. “
I think Adam can handle this. He is the sheriff. And you’re the last one who should be talking about hamburgers. You ain’t exactly svelte yourself.”
I take her by the shoulders and steer her toward the couch. “You need to get off your feet. There’s no telling how much blood you lost today.”
“Not enough to need a transfusion,” she grumbles but doesn’t protest when I ease her down onto the cushions.
I adjust the pillows beneath her back and pull an afghan up over her legs. “I’ll go get you some water.” On my way to the kitchen, I pause to whisper to Art. “I know you’re pissed at me, but you need to table it until later. In case you haven’t noticed, Francine is exhausted. And regardless of what she says, she’s scared. Getting shot will do that to a person.”
The frown fades from his face when he looks at her. “Frannie, you okay?”
“I’m fine. Just need to rest my eyes for a bit.”
I leave the two of them alone and go in search of Adam who has disappeared from the living room. He’s in the guest bedroom, kneeling on the floor in front of a large cache of guns of various shapes and sizes. And ammunition. Lots and lots of ammunition.
“Is it normal for a small-town sheriff to have this much hardware?”
“Life isn’t about what’s normal, Emily. If anyone should know that, it’s you.” He lifts a shotgun and inspects it, although I’m not exactly sure what he’s looking for. Before I can ask, he puts it down and scoots the hard-shelled case out of the way to reach further underneath the bed.
He tugs a sold red case out next and releases the latches. Curiosity gets the best of me so I squat next to him then immediately jump back to my feet.
“That looks like a…” I’m not even sure how to describe it. I’ve seen many of them on TV but never one up this close.
“It’s an SR-25.”
“Are you even allowed to have that here?” I look over my shoulder like I’m expecting someone from ATF to be listening.
Being Lovers Page 8