Through the Sheriff's Eyes

by Janice Kay Johnson

  Her spurt of anger surprised her.

  I was a good wife. I didn’t deserve the back of Rory’s hand, or his fist.

  And she had never, never, ever deserved the raised blade of that wicked knife.

  Assuming, the voice whispered again, that he ever intended to use that knife for anything but to scare you.

  No! She hadn’t deserved even that. Still, Faith was chilled.

  “May I use your phone?” she asked politely, at the foot of the stairs.

  “It’s in the kitchen.”

  She followed him, conscious of the late afternoon sunlight pouring in the west-facing bay window. Ben leaned against the kitchen counter and crossed his arms, unapologetically listening when she dialed and said, “Dad?”

  “You okay, honey?”

  “Yeah. I just, um, came to Ben’s house, and we got talking, and…” I fell asleep. He made me. Yep. She was going to say that. “I’m sorry I didn’t call.”

  “It’s fine. I’m glad you went. Char came by and helped me close up. She brought hamburgers, fries and milk shakes. We went ahead and ate. Don’t know what shape yours will be in…”

  “I suppose I’ll stay here for dinner, then,” Faith said grudgingly. “Ben suggested it, but I didn’t want to desert you.”

  “I’m fine,” her father said gently. “I was just going to turn on the news.”

  Did he sound pleased? Her gaze shifted to Ben, who wasn’t trying to hide a certain smugness.

  “I’ll see you in an hour or so, then,” she told her father, and ended the call. Then she raised her eyebrows at Ben. “What do you plan to feed me?”

  He smiled. “Do you mind simple? I was just going to have a hamburger and baked beans.”

  “If I’d just gone home, I could have had a hamburger from Tastee’s,” Faith grumbled. “Char brought some by.”

  “Mine are better.”

  They were, too. He chopped up onion and added it with a splash of Worcestershire sauce before shaping the patties and putting them on to cook. Faith opened a can of baked beans and cut up some broccoli. Ben produced a package of buns and a nice ripe tomato to slice on top of the hamburgers once he melted cheddar cheese on them. Everything smelled fabulous; she was swallowing saliva before they even sat down.

  It must have something to do with the tiny pop of champagne bubbles in her veins, Faith thought. She’d slept soundly, and now she was hungry.

  They talked during dinner, but not about Rory or anything profound. It was more as if they were feeling each other out, exchanging tastes in movies and music and books, political convictions, things like that. As if, she was disconcerted to realize, this was a first date and they were trying to discover whether they meshed. But it was more than that, at least on her part. Now that she’d surfaced from her own misery enough to realize she really didn’t know anything about Ben, she felt an urgency to find out everything. This was all superficial, but necessary.

  A little stunned by her burst of understanding, she eyed him shyly and wondered if this whole conversation was completely casual for him, or whether it was possible he felt something similar. Only…if he was really attracted to her, the way she was to him, why had he stayed away so long? It had to be guilt on his part, the way she’d already decided.

  The light in his brown eyes as he watched her didn’t look like guilt, though. It gave her a shivery, stomach-clenching feeling that scared her.

  He pushed his plate away and said, in a deeper, rougher tone, “We really didn’t talk.”

  She began to shred what was left of her hamburger bun. “That’s not true. It helps just to hear that what I’ve been going through isn’t unusual.”

  “It isn’t. But I can help you only so much. I didn’t know the men I killed. I’d never cared about them. And I’m a cop. I chose a job that meant carrying a gun, and I’ve spent the past twenty years prepared to use my weapon. I’m guessing it’s the last job in the world you’d have chosen.”

  She couldn’t look at him now. She felt ashamed. “It’s true it wouldn’t be my nature. I suppose I never would have gotten in such a mess if I’d been brave enough to stand up to Rory in the first place.” Her shoulders jerked. “To kick him out when he hit me a second time. Char never would have tolerated…”

  Ben reached across the table and took one of her hands, holding tight. “You aren’t Charlotte. There’s nothing wrong with that, Faith. Her nature isn’t better or worse than yours. The first time I met you, I thought—” He stopped.

  She looked up, saw the muscles in his jaw knot.

  He let go of her hand abruptly. “It doesn’t matter. My point is, the world wouldn’t be a better place if everyone was a fighter.”

  She opened her mouth to say, I should have had more pride than to let him think it was okay to hurt me when he felt like it.

  It was her great shame. Why hadn’t she had more inner strength, more sense of her self-worth?

  Faith didn’t know. Yes, she’d always measured herself by Charlotte, and had always come up short. She felt as if her twin, her other half, didn’t want to be with her, didn’t even like her….

  But that was just an excuse, and she was getting tired of making excuses. Which might be a good sign, Faith thought. People did change. She could be stronger. Maybe she already was, in a way. She couldn’t imagine ever again putting up with anything close to what Rory had dished out. In fact, she hadn’t. She’d done what she had to to stop him. Maybe, horrible as it had been, she should be proud of herself that she had finally fought back.

  Ben’s gaze had never wavered from her face, although he’d stayed quiet and let her work things through in her head. Now he said, “There you go again, off by yourself.”

  “What did you think, the first time you saw me?”

  “That’s what you were thinking about?”

  She narrowed her eyes. “You shouldn’t start something if you’re not going to finish it.”

  After a minute, he said slowly, “Spring. One of those first days when the sun feels warm on your face if you stand in just the right spot and tilt your face up. A few of those early flowers are opening, so pretty but somehow…tender. Tiny green shoots opening bravely even though they’re not sure they’ll survive late frosts.” He cleared his throat. “That’s how I saw you.”

  She stared at him, stunned. She would never have expected anything so poetic from him. And…about her. Faith wished she could be sure it was a compliment, that he wasn’t saying that he’d known on sight she was too emotionally fragile to handle any problems. Well, she hadn’t handled what had happened very well.

  Damn it! There she went again. She’d shot and killed her ex-husband. Of course she hadn’t handled it well! There’d be something wrong with her if she had.

  “That’s…” The words dried up. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Nothing.” Was that color tinging his cheeks? “I just…wanted to protect you. I can’t decide how I feel about the fact that I failed.”

  “Guilt,” Faith said flatly.

  His dark brows drew together. “Some, sure. But I’m realistic.” He shrugged. “I’ve been a cop a long time. We can only do so much.”

  “That’s why I bought the gun and practiced. I didn’t expect round-the-clock protection.”

  “Do you know what I felt when Charlotte told me what you were doing? When I walked in at the range and saw you shooting?”

  She shook her head, her breath catching in her throat.

  He looked uncomfortable but said it anyway. “I thought you might be the gutsiest woman I’d ever known. And I had a suspicion you were doing it as much to keep Charlotte and your dad safe as for your own protection.”

  “You must have known women cops,” she whispered.

  “Sure. But they were risk-takers to start with. You’re a kindergarten teacher who stepped way out of your comfort zone. That takes courage.” His voice had dropped to a gravelly timbre. “Don’t ever doubt that, Faith.”

  The terrible pres
sure in her chest made her want to cry again, but this time, she refused. Instead, she shot to her feet. “I really do need to go. Why don’t I help you clean up quick, Ben. I can’t leave you with the mess after you’ve been so nice….”

  “Sure you can.” He smiled crookedly. “You don’t have to wash dishes, honey. I’ll walk you out.”

  She wished he wouldn’t call her “honey.” He hadn’t done that before today, had he? What did it mean? Did it just slip out, because she was a woman and they were socializing?

  He’d admitted to feeling guilt at not stopping Rory. Don’t let your imagination get carried away, she told herself.

  She all but bolted to the front door and down the walkway. Ben’s hand on her upper arm stopped her when she reached the Blazer.

  “Faith,” he said in that soft rumble.

  Taking a deep breath, she faced him.

  “I’m going to kiss you,” he said.

  “That’s not a good idea.” Panic made her quiver. “I’m not ready for anything like that. And…and why would you want to?”

  He laughed, a low, oddly contented sound. “I can only talk myself out of it for so long.”

  “What…?” she started to say, but gave up when his head bent.

  His kiss was gentle but not at all tentative. He just claimed her mouth, as if by right, rubbing his lips over hers, nipping, sliding his tongue along the seam until she let him in. And then he groaned with pleasure, pulling her against him until they stood thigh to thigh, her breasts pressed to his broad chest, his erection against her belly. He didn’t push against her, nothing that blatant, just held her firmly in place with one hand on the small of her back while the other roamed.

  Faith lost all sense of place and time. She’d never felt anything like this. The champagne in her veins had been replaced by honey, thick and sweet and languid. If not for his grip and her arms, which had somehow wrapped themselves around his neck, she doubted she could have stood. Her knees had gone liquid.

  He was the one to ease back, look at her with hot dark eyes, take her mouth another time as if he couldn’t help himself before slowly, a finger at a time, releasing her. She actually fell back against the Blazer.

  “I’ll stop by school with lunch tomorrow,” he said.

  “You don’t have to… You shouldn’t…”

  He only smiled. “Drive carefully, Faith.”

  She was probably staggering when she circled the Blazer and got in on the driver’s side. Ben waited on the sidewalk, big and alarmingly patient in the waning light. He was still standing there when she pulled away from the curb and turned at the next corner.

  “Damn,” she whispered. She could deal with his guilt, but this… What was this? It scared her more than anything had since she’d heard that whisper of sound in the hall and known that Rory had come for her after all.

  If she let herself fall in love with Ben, and he didn’t mean what his eyes and kiss implied, she’d never be able to put the pieces back together.

  FAITH HAD REGAINED all of her poise and then some by the time Ben showed up in her room at lunchtime on Monday. Her eyes were clear, the bruises beneath them less obvious.

  “How nice of you,” she said briskly, when she saw the deli sandwiches and cookies. “It really isn’t necessary, Ben. You saw me pig out last night. I seem to have my appetite back.”

  True or false, he didn’t know, but she had eaten a decent dinner last night, and now she ate the sandwich and half a cookie.

  “Dad signed with a real-estate agent this weekend,” she told him. “The for-sale sign is up. Dale—that’s the agent—has even gotten a nibble or two of interest already. He knew a couple people in the market for land.”

  Her chatty tone suggested this was all good news. And it was, in one way—but not necessarily for her. Ben’s gut feeling was still that she might do better if the whole process of selling the farm dragged out until she’d said her emotional goodbyes.

  Or maybe not. He’d never been in that position, never cared so much about a place, or even really a person. So what did he know?

  Faith kept the desk between them, even when he rose to leave.

  “Did you sleep at all last night?” he asked.

  “Yes, I took one of those sleeping pills. You were right, most of my anguish has probably been exhaustion. So quit with the guilt, okay? You don’t have to feed me and tuck me in anymore.”

  “Have to?” He smiled at her. “I know I don’t.”

  She’d risen to her feet, too, as if prepared to dodge him if he tried to circle the desk, so he only said, “Glad to see you looking better today, Faith,” and left.

  That afternoon, Ben finally succeeded in tracking down Jimmy Reese, one of Hardesty’s elk-hunting buddies. It hadn’t been easy. The address and phone number that Information had weren’t current; a Bremerton officer had agreed to drive by the rental house and reported that it was empty and that the neighbors weren’t chummy and had no idea where the guy who’d lived there had moved to. Reese was still employed at the shipyards, but on a two-week vacation. Eventually his supervisor called to say that a coworker of Jimmy’s had mentioned him calling. Did Ben want his cell-phone number?

  Yes, Ben did. And Jimmy answered on the second ring.

  “What do you think I’m going to tell you?” he asked, when Ben had identified himself.

  “Sounds like you were pretty good friends.”

  “I haven’t seen him in almost two years. I mean, we’ve talked on the phone a couple of times, but that’s all.”

  “Mrs. Hardesty said that you and Rory and Noah Berger went elk-hunting together every fall.”

  “We used to,” Jimmy agreed, “but then I couldn’t get away from work the year before last, and Noah’s wife was pregnant anyway. They’ve got a couple of kids now. And Rory, yeah, he was pretty tied up about Faith. He didn’t seem that interested in anything else.”

  The guy sounded uncomfortable but not defensive, Ben thought. He’d rather have been interviewing him in person, but a trip to Bremerton would have taken damn near all day, what with the ferry ride across Puget Sound. He couldn’t justify the time without more reason to think it would be worthwhile.

  “Do you have a phone number where I can reach Noah Berger?” Ben asked.

  “Uh…sure. But I don’t think he heard from Rory any more than I did.” There was a pause. “Rory’s dead. What’s the deal?”

  Ben fell back on cop-speak. “We’d like to ascertain where he was living the last couple of months before the shooting. Maybe get a clearer idea of his intentions.”

  “You mean, you’re not sure he really was going to hurt Faith,” Jimmy said thoughtfully. “Shit, it must be really hard on his mom, thinking Rory…” He stopped. “Yeah, let me get you that number.”

  No answer at Noah Berger’s house that day. Ben didn’t leave a number. He tried again in the evening and a woman answered.

  “I’m sorry, he’s not available,” she told him. “May I take a message?”

  “My name is Ben Wheeler. I’m the police chief in West Fork. I was hoping to talk to him about Rory Hardesty.”

  “Rory?” she said. “I heard what happened. I couldn’t believe Faith shot him.”

  “You knew Faith?”

  “Not that well, but we all camped together once. I liked Faith. But Rory was, like, this laid-back dude. And supposedly he hit her? I don’t know.”

  It wouldn’t matter to Faith if he leaped to her defense, but irritation made him say in a hard voice, “There was no question that he physically abused her, Mrs. Berger.”

  “Oh, wow. Well, that’s too bad. I mean, Faith was nice.”

  “I’d really like to speak to your husband,” Ben said.

  “His mom just died, and he’s having to settle things, you know? So he probably won’t be home for, like, another week.”

  “He’s back in West Fork?”

  “No, his mom remarried and…” She was silent for a moment as if realizing how much information she�
��d given freely. Sounding considerably warier, she said, “I can take your phone number and pass the message on to him. I’m sure he’ll call you, um, Officer Wheeler.”

  He didn’t ask her if she knew where Rory had been hiding out. Ben didn’t want his hand tipped. Not very happy, he gave her his cell-phone number and emphasized the urgency of his need to speak to her husband. “But Rory’s dead,” she said, with just about exactly the same intonation as Jimmy Reese had used. “So why… Well, I mean, I’ll tell Noah.”

  Ben had to settle for that, although he didn’t like it.

  Hardesty’s truck had to be somewhere. He’d stolen a car from a hardware-store parking lot in Everett, only a couple of blocks from the bus station. The county had damn good bus service. Or he could have hitchhiked from anywhere.

  Sooner or later, though, someone would notice that pickup. The registration still listed Rory’s address in West Fork. Ben would hear when it caught someone’s eye. The fact that it hadn’t yet made him guess it was in a garage, or at least a driveway. He half regretted not asking Lisa Berger about it.

  He talked to a couple more of Rory’s slow-pitch buddies that week. Ken Carlisle, who built fences and decks for a living, told Ben he’d come to dislike Rory. “I knew Faith, too,” he said. “In high school. She’s sweet. But after they were married, Rory’d get a couple of beers in him and talk shit about her. He got really ugly. I felt sorry for her.”

  Ben knew there was a reason he had liked Carlisle when he’d hired him to build a fence around his backyard.

  “Don’t suppose you refinish hardwood floors?” he asked.

  Ken laughed. “I could do it, if it were my own house. But I’d have to rent the sander and, honestly, you’d be better off getting someone who does it all the time. I wouldn’t want to put a gouge in the middle of your living room.”