Through the Sheriff's Eyes

by Janice Kay Johnson

  Monday morning, she realized in dismay, was tomorrow. Oh, God. Could she laugh, or even smile, with the kids? Offer gentle hugs, wipe faces clean, feel genuine pleasure if Kevin finally gained the hand dexterity to shape his capital A?

  She could take a day or two of sick leave. No one would mind.

  Yes, but what would she do—sit at home and replay events? Work in the barn, and wonder if every person who stopped by came to gawk?

  Would people come to gawk?

  Faith didn’t realize she’d asked the question aloud until Ben, who’d sat directly across from her at the table, said, “Yes.”

  Her eyes widened. “Yes, what?”

  “I’m guessing half the people in town will make an excuse to stop by the farm. And you’re going to get reporters, too, the minute you’re home. The only thing holding them off today is that they don’t know your sister is involved with Gray, so they haven’t managed to track you down.” He sounded grim.

  “Oh, no,” she whispered. “I didn’t think of that.”

  He reached across the table and took her hand. His was large and warm and enveloping. “We can go one of two ways.”

  Char, in the background, had been listening. Now she brought a plate of sandwiches and set it between them. “Two?”

  “Well, three, I suppose.” His eyes met Faith’s, all but forcing her to focus on him. “You can say, ‘No comment.’ Over and over and over.”

  She nodded, imagining hordes of reporters complete with TV cameras chasing her from her car into the school, sitting outside the farmhouse waiting for her to emerge. Which was silly, of course; what had happened to her, what she’d done, wasn’t so very unusual. It wasn’t as if People magazine or CBS news would have even the slightest interest in her. No, all she’d have to worry about was someone from The Herald, and maybe The Seattle Times. Oh, Lord. And possibly local television news crews. She had a sudden, awful picture of a KOMO news helicopter hovering over the house.

  “Or you can talk to reporters one by one. Give them what they want.”

  She shuddered, ignoring the bowl of soup Char placed in front of her.

  “Or—” Ben’s gaze penetrated her defenses “—my recommendation, which is that you hold a press conference of sorts. Get it over with, get them off your back.”

  She stared.

  Char snapped, “Or option four, she can stay here until they lose interest.”

  He shrugged, his eyes never leaving Faith’s. “That might work, if Faith is willing. It means not going to work, though. Not going anywhere.”

  Already she was shaking her head. “I can’t just…sit. I’d go crazy.”

  His fingers tightened on her hand. “We can set it up for tomorrow. At city hall if you’d rather not have them at the farm.”

  I can’t do this. I can’t.

  She wanted to hug herself again and begin rocking, but she didn’t want to retrieve her hand from Ben’s. She would never again ask for comfort from him, but found she was too weak not to accept it when he pressed it on her. He was so large and solid and sure of himself, she felt as if she was borrowing some of that strength when they were touching.

  Charlotte had poured them each a glass of milk now.

  “I have school tomorrow,” Faith said.

  Ben shook his head. “In fairness to the district, you’ve got to get this out of the way before you go back.”

  Her spurt of rebellion fizzled quickly. She seemed not to have the fuel needed to keep it alive. After a minute, Faith nodded. “All right.”

  “I’ll make the calls,” Ben said. “And I’ll be right there with you to answer as many of the questions as I can.”

  “All right,” she said again, numbly.

  “What I want you to do,” he told her, “is stay here with Charlotte one more night. You and your dad both. Out of sight. Call and ask for a substitute to take your class tomorrow. We’ll do the press conference, and then I’ll ask that your privacy be respected thereafter. It might be best if you hang a big closed sign at the barn—”

  “I can’t!”

  “Or hire someone else to work there. Keep staying out of sight, just for a week or two.”

  “I’ll take over,” Charlotte said, sitting down with them. “I can run anyone off who isn’t whipping out a checkbook to buy something.”

  “I hate to ask you…”

  “Damn it, let’s not do this again.” Her sister’s jaw had set in a familiar way. “One for all and all for one. Remember?”

  Faith sniffed, a pathetic sound she despised herself for making. “Yes, but it seems to have been awfully one-sided lately.”

  “I’m doing it for Dad, too.”

  Faith knew perfectly well that was a sop to her conscience. Char was rescuing her, not Dad. Dad, she increasingly feared, would have been willing—might actually like—to sell out. Her determination was all that was keeping the Russell Family Farm in Russell hands.

  Part of her wanted to give up, too, but Faith had the dim sense that she’d have nothing left if she surrendered. Work and more work, the steely determination that kept her going, was all that kept her from having to acknowledge the emptiness of her life. It was as if she hung from a cliff, her hands slipping on the rope, burning her flesh, but if she let go she’d be in dizzying free fall. If she managed to keep her grip, she kept thinking maybe eventually she’d be able to start climbing. Or even discover that someone was pulling her up.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  Char’s eyes narrowed. “Now eat.”

  Ben let go of Faith’s hand. Reluctantly, she thought in surprise and puzzlement. She saw his fingers flex and almost curl into a fist for a moment, before he reached for his spoon.

  Obediently Faith dipped her own spoon into the cream of tomato soup and began sipping at it.

  PEOPLE WERE SUCH GHOULS.

  Charlotte wasn’t shocked, unlike Faith, who would have been. Charlotte was getting pissed, though. Even people who’d known the Russell twins their entire lives were stopping by with the thinnest of excuses to ask questions, their eyes avid. Charlotte knew damn well they were grabbing their cell phones the minute they got into their cars so they could tell everyone they knew, “I was just talking to Charlotte Russell…”

  As if she’d told a single one of them anything of interest.

  The only plus was that they felt obligated to buy something. What other legitimate excuse was there for walking into the barn? Most spent peanuts; they picked up a jar of jam, or a head of lettuce, or a couple of potted asters to replace flagging summer annuals. Still, it added up. Monday’s receipts would be, she was willing to bet, among the highest of the summer, for what was normally the slowest day of the week.

  At two o’clock Marsha arrived to take over so that Charlotte could be at the press conference.

  “Tell anyone who asks that you don’t know a thing,” she told their part-time employee.

  “I don’t.” Her face creased in worry. “Um…is Faith okay?”

  “She will be.”

  I hope.

  Faith was not okay right now. Charlotte would have been relieved if her sister had broken down sobbing, or wanted to get drunk. Anything but her single-minded insistence on going back to her life exactly as it had been. When she wasn’t repeating that yes, she was sure she wanted to go home, and of course she’d be ready for the classroom tomorrow morning, Faith tended to sit with her head bent, gazing at her hands. Charlotte didn’t know what she was thinking, or if she was thinking at all.

  Ben had stayed for a couple more hours yesterday, although Faith had mostly ignored him. He’d left when Gray got home. Gray had walked Ben out to his car, and they’d stood there talking for quite a while. Gray had been frowning when he finally came in.

  “I hope he knows what the hell he’s doing.”

  “Do you think this press conference is a bad idea?” Charlotte had asked, after stealing a glance to be sure Faith couldn’t overhear.

  His gaze resting on her sister, G
ray said slowly, “I don’t know. God knows how she’d stand up to being stalked by a bunch of reporters.”

  “Not well.”

  “No.” But Gray’s frown had lingered, even when he’d bent his head to kiss her.

  Charlotte knew Gray didn’t trust Ben the way he had before Rory started terrorizing Faith. She wasn’t sure what had actually been said, but the tension between them when they were together was strong enough to give her goose bumps. Gray blamed Ben, whom he had hired, for not keeping her and Faith safe. She didn’t think that was entirely fair; in between attacks, Rory could have been anywhere. But Gray wasn’t rational on the subject, and she hadn’t tried to intervene.

  Something had changed, she thought, the other night when Gray had seen how affected Ben was by Faith’s devastation. But it might have been a case of too little, too late. When they were children, Gray had lost his twin brother in a tragic accident. In the aftermath, his parents had divorced. The man Charlotte was going to marry took family seriously. Faith was her sister, and therefore he’d take care of her, too. He wasn’t any happier than Charlotte was about the way Faith had been working herself to the bone.

  Charlotte had never been to a press conference of any kind, so she didn’t know what to expect. Ben had arranged to use the room at city hall where council meetings were held. When she slipped in unnoticed at the back of the room, she found about a dozen people waiting with reasonable patience. Two local TV channels had sent reporters and camera operators, and a couple more photographers, presumably from newspapers, held cameras with huge lenses at the ready.

  Charlotte jumped when someone placed a hand on her lower back, but turned her head to see Gray. He looked sexy in a dark suit that emphasized his broad shoulders and lean, athletic build. He nuzzled her ear briefly, not saying anything.

  Ben and Faith entered from a door behind the tables where the city council members sat during public hearings, his hand on her elbow. He was in uniform, and Faith wore a skirt and blouse borrowed from Charlotte. Her hair was rolled smoothly into a chignon on the back of her head. She’d applied makeup, but it didn’t help much; her bones were still painfully prominent, her pallor and the deep purple circles beneath her eyes impossible to hide even with foundation. She looked utterly composed, which made Charlotte’s heart ache.

  Ben steered her to a seat, then took the one be side her.

  He introduced himself, then in spare, unemotional language described the events that had led to Faith having to shoot her ex-husband.

  “Ms. Russell will make a brief statement,” he said, “after which we’ll take questions.”

  Faith looked at the reporters calmly, as if there weren’t flashbulbs going off and TV cameras pointing at her.

  “I was in an abusive marriage,” she said starkly, her voice husky but also steady. “Like too many other women, I thought I could change so that I didn’t make him angry. Or he could change. Fifteen months ago, my then-husband beat me so severely that I couldn’t lie about how I’d gotten hurt. I wasn’t willing to lie anymore. I had to stay in the hospital for over a week with a fractured skull, broken arm, broken collarbone and broken ribs, one of which had punctured my lung. If a neighbor had not called 911, I would not have survived. I left Rory and filed for divorce. He chose not to accept my right to leave him. Two months ago, his attempts to convince me to come back to him escalated into violence. He attempted to burn down the barn on our family farm. He broke in and assaulted my twin sister in the belief that she was me. At that point, I purchased a handgun and began practicing at a range. I knew the police could not offer me twenty-four-hour-a-day protection, nor did I expect them to do so. I believed…” Here her voice hitched for the first time. “I still believe, that Rory intended to kill me. For the past two months, I have existed in fear of my life. Two nights ago, I woke up just as he entered my bedroom with a knife. I shot him. It was…” her throat moved in a swallow, and Ben laid a hand on her shoulder “…it was something I prayed I would never have to do. He gave me no choice. I now have to live with that horror.”

  Questions flew, many of which Ben was able to answer. What was the reaction of Rory’s family? Had Faith gotten a restraining order? Was there any question about whether the shooting had been in self-defense? Was she angry at how ineffectual the police had been in protecting her?

  Charlotte felt Gray tense at that question. If Ben did the same, it wasn’t visible.

  “No,” said Faith calmly. “When an abusive man is obsessed enough, something like a restraining order means nothing to him. It’s a piece of paper. Yes, it gives police a tool under the right circumstances. As for police being ineffectual… Do you have any idea how many women in our own county currently have restraining orders in an attempt to stop a man who wants to hurt them?” She paused. “Do your research and find out. There is simply no way the police can protect all those women. Or know which ones are truly threatened. It became apparent to me that only I could save myself, if Rory came after me again. That’s what I did.”

  Ben rose to his feet, his hand still resting on her shoulder. “No more questions. I’m going to ask you to respect Ms. Russell’s privacy as she recovers. If you have follow-up questions, please call me, not her.” He nodded, waited until she stood, too, and then ushered her out of the room with a hand between her shoulder blades.

  Gray murmured in Charlotte’s ear, “Time for us to make a getaway, too, before anyone notices you.”

  She nodded vigorously and turned to leave. “Though there’s not as much resemblance between us as there used to be, is there?”

  “No, she looks like hell.” Gray glanced down at her. “You heading home? Back to the farm?”

  “Farm.”

  “I’ll walk you out.” He was silent and appeared preoccupied until they reached Don Russell’s rusty old pickup truck that Charlotte was currently driving. Her own car was still garaged in San Francisco where her condominium was up for sale. She supposed she ought to fetch it, but she hadn’t wanted to leave Faith long enough to fly down and drive back. Gray had been so busy with his two jobs, she couldn’t ask him to take several days off to keep her company. And Dad wasn’t ready to get back behind the wheel of his pickup yet, anyway, although he would be soon.

  Maybe, Charlotte thought, she could talk Faith into going with her. It would be good for her to get away. And the drive back would give them time to talk. To really talk.

  Something told her that right now, Faith would say no. She didn’t want to confide in anyone, not even her twin sister. She had sounded self-possessed and even forceful when she’d given her statement today, but Charlotte knew perfectly well that her sister had only done what she had to do to get rid of the press. How much of what she’d said she actually believed was another question.

  Charlotte felt quite certain, for example, that Faith was still unsure about Rory’s intentions. She was not convinced that shooting him had been her only choice. Those doubts infuriated and frustrated Charlotte, who knew that Faith would be dead if she hadn’t had that gun under her pillow and been willing to use it.

  Faith, she believed, had crept inside herself where no one would gainsay her right to feel guilty. She wanted to go home partly so she could be alone. Dad was a quiet man; he’d watch her worriedly, but he wouldn’t say much. Mom had always been the talker, Dad the silent support.

  But silence wasn’t what Faith needed right now, in Charlotte’s opinion.

  “You can lead a horse to water,” she muttered.

  Gray raised his eyebrows. “Should I even ask the context of that?”

  Charlotte sighed. “Faith.”

  “She and Don are really going home this afternoon?”

  “So she says. I think Ben has been persuaded to drive them.”

  “I don’t like it.”

  Charlotte let herself lean against him, just for a moment, and felt his arms close securely around her. “Who does?” she mumbled against his red-and-black striped silk tie.

  “She won’
t listen, will she?”

  “No. Not yet, anyway.”

  He swore, kissed her and stayed where he was on the sidewalk until she’d started the truck and pulled out.

  How did I ever get so lucky? Charlotte asked herself, looking in the rearview mirror at the man she loved. And why can’t Faith, who deserves happiness more than I do, be as lucky?

  CHAPTER SIX

  FAITH DIDN’T WANT HIM. Didn’t want to believe she needed him.

  Not that Ben could blame her. Hadn’t he done his damnedest to shut her out these past two months? To make clear that he was available only in his capacity as a law-enforcement officer? She’d gotten the message, loud and clear. Why would she look at him now with anything but surprise when he tried to be a friend—or more?

  But she did need him. Even Gray conceded as much, when he stopped by Ben’s office on his way to work on Friday.

  “Did you know she went back to teaching Tuesday?” he demanded, standing in the open doorway. “For God’s sake, she could barely put one foot in front of the other!”

  “Yeah, I know,” Ben said wearily. He wasn’t sleeping well. He’d had one hell of a nightmare last night, one that had him racing through the night toward the Russell Farm, knowing Hardesty was in the house, unable to warn Faith. In the dream, he had heard the gunshots just as he broke through the back door. He wasn’t prepared, sleeping or waking, for the anguish. Too late… He’d awakened gasping for breath, swearing.

  “Don says she’s refusing to talk about it. She wants to pretend nothing happened. She makes dinner, chatters about her day. Moves her food around on her plate. He doesn’t think she’s eating enough to keep a field mouse alive.”

  “If she’ll listen to anyone, it’s Charlotte.” But he knew better, even as he said it.

  Gray shook his head. “She’s dodging Charlotte.”

  Ben gritted his teeth and met the mayor’s stare. “What is it you think I can do?”