Her Eyewitness

by Rita Herron

  Collin’s silence came as a welcome relief; his probing eyes showed her more understanding than she could accept. Finally he turned on the engine and pulled out of the lot.

  Dark thunderclouds rolled across the sky. Lightning streaked jaggedly above the distant palms. Sydney welcomed the storm, taking refuge in the sounds of thunder, as if the sky’s angry roar cried out her own pain. Then the rain began to fall and she felt the release of her own tears. Embarrassment heated her cheeks and she turned away, facing the window, hoping the road conditions would hold all of Collin’s attention. Pressing her hands to her cheeks, she swiped away the moisture, hating herself for crying over Doug, for grieving over his death when she’d been grieving for their marriage months before he’d been killed. No, she wouldn’t feel guilty for moving on with her life, she decided. Knowledge of Doug’s numerous lies had obliterated any feelings she’d harbored for him.

  And when they crossed the mile-long bridge over Johns Island, she pulled the wedding ring off her finger, opened her window and threw the meaningless band into the raging sea, tossing with it the last vestiges of her love for Doug.

  COLLIN KNEW THE MOMENT Sydney’s tears began to fall, and his chest tightened painfully. He started to reach for her, but she shrank away as if she didn’t want his comfort. He ground his teeth, frustration filling him. If he hadn’t been a gentleman, trained as a cop, he would have belted Roxy DeLong right on her two-thousand-dollar nose job for her cruel barbs. But Sydney had surprised him with her courage and the way she’d left the apartment, with her head held high.

  When he heard the window slide down and the whistle of the wind, he glanced sideways. Sydney tossed something out of the window. She fidgeted with her left hand and he noticed the missing wedding band. So, she’d finally taken it off.

  A strange feeling of relief washed over him, but guilt quickly followed. Sydney was vulnerable. She needed understanding and compassion, not passion or jealousy. And he’d better remember it.

  The rest of the drive passed in awkward silence, the howling wind and slashing rain forcing him to keep his attention on the road. His fingers ached from clenching the steering wheel, and he wanted to draw her in his arms so badly he thought he’d die. When they reached her house, he had no idea what to do.

  Sydney bolted from the car as soon as he parked in front. He jumped out and followed her up the drive. She was fumbling with the keys when he reached the entrance. He eased the key ring from her fingers and opened the door, then flipped on the light, bathing the foyer in soft light. He placed his hand at the back of her waist, ushering her in from the downpour, shuddering with restrained emotions.

  “Sydney, I’m sorry you had to go through this,” he said softly. “But now we have another suspect besides McKenzie. Roxy might have killed Doug.”

  She turned to him then and the look she gave him reeked of anguish. And need. He could sense the pain Roxy’s words had caused, knew the kind of insecurity you could feel when your sexuality was disparaged. He couldn’t let her think she was undesirable when she was the most desirable woman he’d ever met.

  “I can’t believe I didn’t know,” she said, her voice breaking. “I was such a fool.”

  “Shh, no, don’t,” he whispered. He touched her shoulders lightly, then pulled her into his arms and she whimpered, her big blue eyes lost and troubled. He cupped her chin, lifting her face so he could brush her mouth with his own, so he could taste the sweetness of her lush lips and breathe in her essence. She parted her lips, desire and vulnerability shadowed in the soft flutter of her eyelashes, and he lowered his mouth, hungrily drinking in her dewy taste. One kiss meant to comfort, only one, then another. His need grew, pressing into her, her soft compliance like a dam bursting between them, her eagerness trapping him with want. She dug her nails into his back and moaned, trembling and leaning into him as if she could no longer stand being without his touch.

  He drove his tongue into her mouth, taking, accepting her passion, their hands clinging and seeking. A shudder rippled through her. He drew back, saw the shadows still haunting her lovely face and knew he couldn’t take her, not like this, not when she was so vulnerable.

  She would regret it. She would wonder tomorrow why she’d let herself be seduced, and he would feel like a heel. And the memories of their lovemaking would be tainted. It had been so long for him and he wanted her desperately, but he wanted her to want him. Not as a replacement for the husband she’d lost, nor a figure to erase a traumatic day, but as a friend, a lover....

  Her hands caressed his back and he eased his own around her face, gently stroking her jaw, kissing her cheeks, slowing the pace, allowing them both time for their raging emotions to dissipate. Then he pulled her into his arms and simply held her, resting his hands at her waist. “Sydney, I want you—you know that.”

  She closed her eyes and nodded against his chest.

  “But not like this, not tonight when you’re upset.”

  “But I—”

  He silenced her protest with a gentle kiss. “I do want you. You can feel how much.” He pressed his arousal against her. “But if we make love tonight, you’ll be sorry in the morning.” He paused, hating it when she lowered her head as if embarrassed.

  “Don’t,” he whispered, kissing her eyelids. “We’re both adults, we both want it, but the timing isn’t right. When we make love, Sydney, and we will make love,” he said, lifting her face and forcing her to look into his eyes, “I don’t want you to have regrets the next day. I want you to wake up in my arms and yearn to do it all over again.” He kissed her nose, her cheeks, her mouth. “Again, again and again.”

  Her lips curved into a smile beneath his and he pulled away. “You look tired.” The remnants of his passion lingered in his husky voice. “Maybe you should rest for a while.”

  Her voice sounded rough when she spoke. “What are you going to do?”

  He shrugged, then tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ll take a drive, give you some time by yourself.”

  “I guess I could use that,” she said softly.

  He squeezed her arms, then forced himself to release her and walked to the door. “Do you mind if I come back later? I’d feel better if you weren’t alone.”

  “I’m fine,” she said in a weak voice.

  “But you may still be in danger,” he said, knowing he would never forgive himself if he let his personal attraction to her interfere with his determination to protect her.

  She chewed her bottom lip, the gesture provocative and vulnerable at the same time. “I guess you’re right”

  He smiled. “Good. Now lock the door when I leave.”

  She clutched the doorknob and he kissed his finger, then pressed it to her cheek. “I’ll be back in a little while. You get some rest.”

  He felt her watching him as he strode toward his car. The rain had slackened considerably, but the air hung thick with shadows and heat and darkness as more clouds rolled in. The skin at the back of his neck prickled, and he paused, his instincts warning him something was amiss. Was he wrong to leave her alone?

  He stopped a few feet from his car, pivoting to scan the surroundings, then glanced at Sydney, his uneasiness growing. She lifted her hand in a smell wave and his gut tightened. Maybe he would sit in the car and watch her place for a while, make sure no one had been waiting for him to leave. He turned to cover the small distance left to his car and pressed the remote unlock button on his key chain.

  Suddenly a deafening explosion rent the air. Metal and glass pelted the walkway. Sparks and fire splintered in front of Collin. He was thrown backward, buried through the air. Seconds later he hit the pavement with a painful jar and realized, just before his head connected with concrete, that a bomb had blown up his car.

  Chapter Eleven

  Sydney staggered in the doorway, her heart thundering at the sight of Collin’s body being thrown backward. Bits and pieces of burning metal and rubber rained through the air. Flames and smoke billowed like a thick,
black cloud. She ran forward, stumbling over the fiery parts of the car. “Collin!” She screamed his name over and over, coughing at the stench of the smoke.

  Collin groaned and she dropped down beside him, ignoring the sting of the pavement on her knees as chaos descended around her. Neighbors ran out of their houses screaming, “Everyone okay over there?”

  “Call 911!” she shouted as she ran her hands over Collin’s face, then down his arms. “Oh, my God, Collin. Are you hurt?”

  He groaned again. “I’m all right.” Raising slightly, he pulled her into his arms.

  Sydney strained against him, trembling and wanting to hold him, but anxious to make sure he hadn’t been hurt. “Are you sure? You’re not burned or cut?” She pressed her hands down his chest, probing and feeling for injuries, then gasped at the bloody gash on his forehead. Other small nicks and scrapes marred his arms. “Your forehead, it’s bleeding.”

  He caught her hands in his and sat up, hugging her against him. “It’s not bad, Sydney, just a flesh wound.”

  “That was a bomb, wasn’t it? You could have been killed.” Her voice broke.

  “Shh, don’t cry.” He thumbed the tears from her cheeks. “Come on, help me up. Let’s move away from the heat.”

  She nodded, sliding her hands under his arms, the heat from the blaze scalding her back. Relief filled her when Collin stood and leaned against her, unharmed except for the cuts and minor scratches.

  “I don’t understand what’s happening. Why would someone want to hurt you, Collin?” She dropped her head against his chest on a sob. “You’re a stranger here in town. No one here even knows you.”

  “I don’t know why, either.” Collin gently wrapped his arms around her but anger hardened his voice. “But I’m going to find out.”

  “Gracious alive!” Seventy-five-year-old Millie Blake yelled from across the street, “The fire truck’s on its way. Are you okay, Sydney?”

  “Yes,” she shouted back, waving at Millie as she tried to come down her porch steps, hampered by arthritis.

  “Stay back, ma’am,” Collin yelled. “Everyone, please stay back.”

  Sydney noticed Mr. Zimmerman watching from his porch. Two other neighbors huddled together in their yards, looking anxious and worried. She gave a silent thanks Kelly hadn’t been out taking Megan for a stroll when the explosion had hit.

  Together she and Collin walked back to the house, the crackling of the car fire behind them, the acrid smell burning Sydney’s nostrils. When they reached the porch, Sydney turned and saw pieces of charred black metal scattered across the lawn. Slivers of metal and rubber had hit the porch. Her heart constricted. Collin could have died.

  “I wonder who did this,” Collin said matter-of-factly, scanning the area.

  “And why.” Sydney’s breath caught as a frightening thought dawned. “It’s because of me, isn’t it? Because you’ve been helping me ask questions about Doug’s murder.” The realization horrified her. Who would want her dead badly enough to come after her and Collin?

  “We don’t know that, Sydney.” Collin stroked her hair from her face. “Just try and stay calm.”

  She traced his jaw with her finger, memorizing the strong lines of his face. “I can’t believe how close you came to being kill—”

  He pulled her into the doorway, away from the neighbors’ eyes, and captured her lips with his, cutting off her words, his mouth devouring hers hungrily as if he needed to feel her warmth as much as she needed to know he was alive. She clutched his back, angling her head sideways, parting her lips and moaning when he slipped his tongue into her mouth and explored the tender recesses. The rest of the world faded into oblivion as her need flowed into his.

  The brush with death, the flames hissing behind, the memory of Collin being hurled through the air, the danger--all culminated in a desperate desire to hold him. She wanted him, all of him, wanted to feel his bare skin against hers....

  But if Collin was in danger because of her, she should make him leave here, leave Beaufort, go back to Charleston.

  She ended the kiss, her body throbbing as she pulled away. A siren wailed and flashing blue lights bounced across the planes of his face. The conversation would have to wait.

  “I guess the cavalry has arrived,” Collin said. He was trying to calm her with his light tone. He had no idea how endearing the gesture. was.

  The police car screeched to a stop in front of her house, the fire truck on its heels. Firefighters rushed from the truck, the bomb squad and Sergeant Raeburn quickly following. The men snapped to business, yelling orders. “First put out the fine,” the fire chief called.

  “Seal off the area. Evacuate the people.”

  “Check the surrounding area for other bombs!”

  Sydney watched as a team of men searched the area for other explosives while the firefighters douched the flaming car. A paramedic insisted on examining Collin and cleaning the cut on his forehead.

  “Ma’am, we need to search the house and your property,” one of the men said.

  She waved them forward, the enormity of the situation settling in as she watched the team explore the neighboring yards. Whoever had planted the bomb had meant to hurt Collin, and maybe her, but they could also have hurt her neighbors, innocent people.

  Once the fire was extinguished, Collin moved to stand beside her. “They didn’t find another bomb,” he said, sounding relieved “They’re going to start investigating the blast site, take samples, bag evidence and examine the remains of the car. It may take a while.”

  Sydney sank onto the porch swing, her mind a jumbled mess.

  “Are you okay, Sydney?”

  She nodded, too numb to speak as she tried to make sense of all the horrible things that had been happening lately.

  He patted her shoulder. “I’m going to talk to Raeburn, see if they have any idea what kind of bomb was used.”

  Collin went to talk to the investigators and she fought tears. He had wanted to help her find Doug’s killer, but now he’d put himself in jeopardy. Because of her.

  She studied his back, his muscular physique, the powerful way he walked. Desire curled in her belly, strumming her nerve endings with a want so basic and primitive it shocked her.

  But she couldn’t follow through on the attraction. If she wanted Collin to be safe, she needed to send him packing. As soon as the chaos ended and Raeburn finished talking to him, she would tell him to go.

  COLLIN TRIED TO REMAIN focused on the men examining his car, aware that Sydney was sitting on her porch looking pale and terrified as police roped off her house with yellow tape and turned it into a crime scene. For once, he was glad to see Raeburn and the bomb squad, grateful not to be the prime investigator. Being emotionally involved definitely clouded his thinking. He’d almost picked up a piece of suspicious-looking wiring with his bare hand, a mistake he hadn’t made since his early days on the force.

  “What triggered the explosion?” Raeburn asked Collin.

  “My remote key,” he said, studying the pieces of metal piping scattered in the wet driveway. “You think it was black powder?”

  Raeburn nodded. “Probably. Rain may hinder things, but I’ll let you know after the team reconstructs the bomb.” He rubbed his hand over his belly, his girth stretching the buttons on his uniform to the limits. “Any ideas who did this, Cash?”

  Collin shook his head. “It has to be related to Green’s murder,” he said. “But if the bomber used black powder, I know it’ll be hard to trace. Any Tom, Dick or Harry can buy it at the local hardware store.”

  “Probably used that piping.” Raeburn pointed to several scraps on the ground. “And bits of electrical tape are everywhere. Simple stuff, easy to buy.”

  “How about McKenzie?” Collin asked. “He’s a scientist. Wouldn’t be too hard for him to figure out how to construct a bomb.”

  Raeburn stuffed a piece of gum in his mouth. “Could be. We’ll bring McKenzie in for questioning.”

  Collin couldn
’t believe Raeburn was actually agreeing with him.

  The sergeant glanced back at Sydney, his ruddy complexion turning bright red with the afternoon heat. “What have you and Mizz Green been up to today? You been nosing around?”

  Collin recalled the conversations with Doug’s ex-wife and mistress. If Raeburn were any kind of cop, he already knew about them. The affair with Roxy would definitely give Sydney a motive for killing her husband, except he really believed Sydney hadn’t known about the other woman. And Roxy, of course, was another suspect. Deciding he’d better not withhold information, he forged ahead, determined to end the case as soon as possible. “We rode over to Charleston. Sydney’s husband was married before.”

  “I know about his ex.” Raeburn’s bushy eyebrows shot up. “But Mizz Green, did she know?”

  “Not until I told her.” Collin narrowed his eyes at a fragment of piping one of the investigators was examining. “There’s more. A mistress by the name of Roxy DeLong.”

  Raeburn chomped on his gum, unimpressed. “Anything else you’ve been holding back?”

  Collin shook his head as he thought about Marla, but decided to wait until he had a chance to question Sydney about her and the husband from whom she said she was separated.

  “You should talk to Roxy DeLong. She thought she was next in line to marry Green. She might have killed him for spite.”

  “I think I’ve got me a pretty good suspect already,” Raeburn said. “Money, infidelity.” Raeburn shaded his eyes with his hand and lumbered toward the front porch. “All I need is the murder weapon.”

  Collin blew out his breath angrily, following Raeburn as he ambled up the steps. Sydney rose, her face anxious as she watched them approach.

  “Mind if I ask you a couple of questions?” Raeburn propped one hip against the porch railing.

  Dust streaked Sydney’s face and stained her clothes where she’d wiped her hands. Her big eyes widened with fear.