Whispers Under a Southern Sky

by Joanne Rock

  The game was over if they disturbed their mother.

  “Good. I’m up early. Come anytime.” She disconnected the call, forgetting to say goodbye. Regretting it.

  She didn’t mean to be rude. She was just out of practice being a sister. A friend.

  But she was here, damn it. Back in Heartache, trying to do better.

  Unable to get back to sleep, Amy slid out of her sleeping bag to walk around the cabin. Finding her purse, she searched for her retractable baton, a weapon she’d carried with her since the early days in Atlanta. She’d found it in a pawnshop, where the old couple who ran the place had given her a good deal that she still hadn’t really been able to afford. Holding it in her hand now, feeling its familiar weight, helped settle her nerves. Seeing the boar and having the disturbing dream had stirred old anxieties. Hell, just being in Heartache was an anxiety.

  Baton in hand, she forced herself to unlock the front door—the original lock as well as the new dead bolt she’d installed her second day in residence. She wasn’t crippled by her old fears. She’d learned tangible ways to own them, manage them and keep them at bay. The locks helped, as did the assortment of self-defense devices. Plus she was more physically equipped to handle herself now than she had been as a teen.

  Her first year in Atlanta, she’d taken a free class at the YMCA to learn how to get away from an attacker. Each year, around the anniversary of The Incident, she rewarded herself with a new class. Karate. Kickboxing. Krav Maga. She still wasn’t strong, but she was a whole lot smarter than that paralyzed, silent teen in the woods had been.

  Breathing in the cold night breeze, she leaned against the porch rail and hoped the fresh air would help her sleep. In the distance, when the wind blew the trees a certain way, she could just catch a glimpse of a light farther down the hill. It had to be Sam’s house, the only other residence within half a mile from hers.

  Would he be awake right now, too? Did worries about his son have him pacing the floors? She hated that someone had threatened that tiny baby simply because Sam was good at his job. It also unsettled her to think that whoever had made that threat was not behind bars. Sam didn’t believe he had the wrong man in jail, but who else besides the man who had assaulted Gabriella Chance and the others would want to stifle new evidence in the case?

  The attacker—whoever he was—might still be free.

  Her gaze slid from the light in the woods to her car parked out front. She could leave whenever she wanted. Whenever she needed to. She wouldn’t allow this trip to Heartache to undo all her hard work to put the past behind her.

  But for now, she would stay. She still wanted to reconnect to the family she had since she’d never have one of her own. Life was too short to live with regrets.

  Slipping quietly back into the cabin, she locked and bolted the door before settling back in her sleeping bag. Tomorrow, she’d see one of her siblings face-to-face for the first time in a decade. She’d offer whatever help she could to Heather since her big sister had proved braver than her to testify against a local menace. If Covington went to jail, maybe her nightmares would end. But as she laid her head on the pillow, Amy didn’t think about vindication or revenge, or even her family. Instead, the image that settled into her tired brain was the moment in the woods when Sam Reyes had stood between her and everything scary. The moment when he’d touched her with shocking intimacy that had stirred long-forgotten pleasure.

  After the fear and dread of the nightmare, she didn’t bother to fight thoughts of Sam. Reality would set in soon enough that he was off-limits to her now.

  But not in her dreams.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “DOESN’T IT MAKE you even a little bit nervous to watch the baby in a house full of foster kids?” Bailey chewed a fingernail as she stared up at the white clapboard Colonial where she and Megan had been hired to watch Aiden Reyes for a few hours after school.

  A bank of wire cages sat in the shade of a side porch that had been added on to the original house. A colorful patchwork quilt shaded the cages, preventing her from seeing what was inside. A heap of bicycles in a rainbow of colors lay under a hickory tree in the front yard.

  The sheriff had told them to wait for him out front and he would introduce them to his foster mother, Lorelei Hasting.

  “Are you listening to yourself right now?” Megan snapped across the roof of the Volvo. She bent down and pulled a stack of textbooks from the car so they could study in their downtime. “You remember I’m adopted, right? You say ‘foster kids’ like it’s a synonym for delinquents.”

  The knot in Bailey’s stomach tightened. The last thing she wanted was to alienate her last friend in the world. A girl she really admired.

  “I’m sorry.” And she was. “I just remember that some troubled kids lived here at different times, right? That Damon dude, who robbed the pizza shop?”

  The story had been in the news. The boy had been kicked out of their high school afterward, and Bailey hadn’t seen him since.

  Megan slammed the car door and came around the vehicle to stare up at the house with her.

  “In all fairness, my dad brought him up this morning over breakfast, too.” Meg shook her head, a strand of newly purple hair brushing her cheek. “And I’m going to tell you what I told him. That was an isolated incident. And perfectly traditional homes raise kids who are just as likely to be bad apples. Witness J. D. Covington.”

  “Right. Agreed.” She understood to a far better degree how much of a bad seed J.D. was since he’d been the one to leave bruises on her throughout their relationship. But Megan knew only that J.D. had helped his father try to kidnap Meg and her music teacher, Heather Finley, a few weeks ago. Which was plenty bad enough. With any luck, J.D.’s role in the kidnapping attempt would send him to jail, where she wouldn’t have to worry about him.

  “Speaking of J.D., did you hear his lawyer asked for another bail hearing?” Megan passed half the stack of textbooks to her while they waited for Sheriff Reyes.

  “He won’t get it, will he?” Bailey feared for Megan as much as for herself.

  “I don’t know. The cops have been trying to dig up more evidence against both J.D. and his dad, but my father said they’re having a hard time. That’s why Sheriff Reyes came to the school last week, remember?” Meg pointed to the car slowing down a few hundred yards away. “I think he’s here now. We can ask him.”

  She followed her friend’s gaze to the black pickup pulling into the driveway.

  “How can he find more evidence when there haven’t been any other kidnappings?” Bailey muttered, her nerves eating her from the inside out. She hadn’t eaten lunch today because she didn’t want her stomach to launch a full-out panicked protest when she talked with the sheriff. Even so, the stress of seeing him mixed with her guilt over not coming forward about J.D. combined to send a shooting pain through her gut.

  “J.D. helped his father find girls online, hacking into their accounts. The police call it... I forget the charge. Something like accessory to cyberstalking?” Megan shrugged and pulled Bailey forward toward the sheriff. “We should ask around to see if anyone else has been harassed online.”

  “I can do that.” Latching on to the idea, Bailey promised herself then and there that if anyone in their school had been hassled online, she would find out about it. “We’ll ask everyone we know. And we’ll keep J.D. in jail.”

  “He’s not in a real jail, though,” Megan answered under her breath as they neared the sheriff. “He’s underage, so he went to juvie.”

  “Don’t ask him about J.D.,” Bailey asked softly, hoping Meg heard her. She didn’t want to draw attention to her interest in the case and what happened to her ex-boyfriend. “Not our first day on the job, okay?”

  “Hello, Sheriff,” Megan said brightly as their new employer stepped down from his truck.

  B
ailey had seen her give a quick nod, though, so she knew Meg had heard her. Agreed not to say anything.

  Thank you, God.

  Her stomach stopped roiling a little, especially as she looked into the truck where a bright blue blanket squirmed. She was only too glad to focus on an adorable baby for a few hours and not worry about secrets and abuse.

  Nearby, a screen door slammed. Bailey glanced up to see an older woman in worn jeans and a bright sweater wave to them from the porch. She’d met Mrs. Hasting at the pizza shop she owned with her husband, a guy who sat on the town council with Meg’s father and—before she was jailed—Bailey’s mom.

  Her mother had called Mrs. Hasting “unkempt,” a snide assessment delivered with her mother’s trademark Botox frown—a stiff glare that only made her look ridiculous. But the sheriff’s foster mom was kind of like that rainbow pile of bikes—untidy in the way that made you want to smile. Even now, the woman was grinning, her face full of lively wrinkles that suggested she was no stranger to happiness.

  “Hello!” She hurried up the path toward the driveway, dark curls bouncing out of a headband. “Samuel Reyes, you’re taking far too long unloading my grandson.” She edged the sheriff aside and clambered into his truck to work the belts and buckles of the baby’s car seat. “I hope you warned these nice girls they might have to fight me to hold him.” Pausing from her work, she leaned back out of the truck cab to wink at Meg and Bailey. “Not really, girls. I will share.”

  “Mom, this is Bailey McCord and Megan Bryer. Girls, my mother, Mrs. Hasting.”

  “Nice to meet you, ma’am.” Bailey tried not to cringe at the introduction. Lately, people in town tended to do a double take when they heard the McCord name.

  “Of course.” Mrs. Hasting carefully handed Aiden out to the sheriff while she climbed back out of the truck. “The McCords are two double cheeses and the Bryers are a single pepperoni family. Running the pizza shop, I can tell you almost everyone’s usual order. Come on in, girls, and I’ll get you settled.”

  Doing as they were told, Bailey noticed the imposing sheriff fell in line, too, making him seem a little less scary. He tucked his aviator shades in his shirt pocket as he followed them toward the door.

  “She’ll slow down for a breath soon—don’t worry,” he told them quietly, brushing a knuckle over his son’s cheek with a tenderness that melted her heart.

  Seeing that made her regret her words about foster kids all the more. The sheriff had grown up here, and he’d obviously turned out to be a good guy.

  They bypassed the front door to walk up the steps to the railed side porch she’d noticed earlier. As they approached the wall of stacked cages, Bailey saw a few rabbits inside. Three of the cages had elaborate houses that looked like craft projects for elementary kids. Made out of empty Kleenex boxes and covered in watercolor paint, the houses had bunny-size doors and carpets made of old pot holders. One fat gray rabbit sat inside his cardboard castle under a painted sign that said Clover’s Crib.

  Distracted by the cuteness, she hadn’t noticed a teenage boy emerge from the house. She just turned and suddenly there was a tall, lanky kid on the porch flanked by two younger boys playing tug-of-war with a plastic car. Bailey stilled, feeling awkward to be caught ogling the rabbits, her skirt riding up her calf as she leaned over the cages. Straightening, she tried not to stare at the older boy, whose brown hair fell over one hazel eye.

  “Girls, I’d like you to meet my sons.” Mrs. Hasting put a hand on the teen’s arm. “This is Dawson. He’ll be starting at Crestwood after the holidays. And that’s Tucker.” She pointed to the dark-headed boy who’d won the car he’d been wrestling over. “And Nate.” She ruffled the ginger hair of the smaller child. “They know to keep out of your way, but if you need anything and I’m not around, Dawson can help you.”

  “Cool shirt,” Megan said to the guy. He wore a T with the silhouette of a dinosaur on a spaceship that must be a video-game reference.

  Megan Bryer was not only an A student; she was also a gamer girl extraordinaire. She held the record high scores for just about everything. This gave her a lot more to work with when it came to talking to most guys. She could dazzle anyone who’d ever picked up an Xbox controller in the first five seconds of conversation. Bailey had no such superpower.

  “Hi,” she finally said, and probably only managed that because Mrs. Hasting and the sheriff were both standing right there.

  Her cheeks heated.

  “Good to meet you.” Dawson nodded, making eye contact briefly before stepping aside. “I’ll round up the rug rats.”

  He jogged across the lawn after Tucker while Mrs. Hasting invited them into the house. Bailey followed her, eager to move past the awkwardness of meeting new people so she could start her job.

  Between what had happened with her mother and her new mission to find anyone who might have been harassed by J.D., she wouldn’t have thought it possible that some random stranger could make her feel even remotely interested in boys again.

  She definitely was not.

  So about an hour later when she found herself looking out the nursery window to watch Dawson throw a football with the other kids, she couldn’t account for the fluttery feeling in her stomach. It was different from the burn of acidic fear that had been her constant companion for weeks.

  It was almost pleasant.

  “He’s cute, isn’t he?” Megan’s voice startled her. The sheriff and Mrs. Hasting had left them alone with Aiden.

  Embarrassed to be caught staring, Bailey spun from the window.

  “I don’t know. I guess,” she blurted. “He’s okay.”

  “I thought you loved kids.” Megan tipped her head to one side to study her, frowning. Too late, Bailey realized that her friend held Aiden in her arms.

  She’d been talking about the baby.

  Realization hit Meg the same moment it hit Bailey. Her friend stood, crossing the large wool braid rug to stand next to her at the window.

  A slow smile spread across her face.

  “He’s okay is right.” Meg passed Bailey the baby, and she gladly took comfort in holding the warm, sleepy infant. “Something tells me you’re going to become a convert on the topic of foster kids.”

  “I should have never said that,” she admitted. “But just because a boy is cute doesn’t mean...whatever you think it means.”

  “Relax. I won’t tease you again about that—I promise.” Meg slung her arm over Bailey’s shoulders. “But after having dated J.D. myself, I can tell you how awesome it is to be with a real guy. A kind, decent, amazing guy.”

  “I’m so not interested in being with anyone right now.” She couldn’t imagine trusting someone not to yell at her. Hurt her.

  And even if she could? Who would want to date the town jailbird’s daughter?

  “Don’t give J.D. that kind of power over you, Bailey. If you stop having fun because of him, he wins.”

  Easy for Meg to say. She had been born kick-ass strong. But Bailey was just a normal, regular girl. She couldn’t just stop being scared because Megan said so.

  And yet being scared didn’t have to mean she was powerless.

  “He’s not going to win.” The fierceness of her words surprised even her. “Because we’re going to canvass the entire school starting tomorrow and find out if J.D. harassed anyone else.”

  “We are?”

  “Damn straight.” She whispered it, though, because she didn’t believe in swearing in front of children.

  Not even sleeping newborns.

  “Then you’d better put that baby in his crib so we can get a jump on that homework.”

  Bailey did just that, tucking Aiden’s blanket around him before she moved to the stack of texts she’d carried inside. Only when she was sure Meg wasn’t looking did she risk one last glance out the window.

/>   Dawson wasn’t out there anymore, which was just as well since she didn’t need any distractions. She’d probably only imagined that moment of connection when their eyes had met.

  And even if she hadn’t? Once he found out who she was, he wasn’t going to like her anymore.

  * * *

  BABY CARRIERS WERE a godsend.

  Sam vowed to write a personal thank-you to the creator of the invention. It kept Aiden safe and sleeping against his chest while leaving his hands free to hammer away on his laptop at the kitchen table. Finally—finally—he could get some work done at home.

  Staying up most of the night, he’d inputted all the incidents of assault in a five-mile radius of the quarry into a spreadsheet. He had already used it to confirm no incidents had ever been reported while Jeremy Covington was out of town—a narrow window at best since he only had access to a small portion of the guy’s vacation dates from the town council. But, more interesting, he’d discovered a higher number of incidents during the annual social-studies teachers’ conference that Covington’s wife attended every year.

  All circumstantial, of course, but given how little he had to work with, he considered every nugget a victory. Especially with almost fifteen years’ worth of data to look at.

  He would begin cross-checking the cases against the list of victims they’d already interviewed, then identify anyone else he needed to speak to. He would review the MO of all the assaults and then double-check physical descriptions to see how many of them matched Jeremy Covington.

  Sam emailed the file to himself to examine further at work just as his doorbell rang. Clamping a protective hand against the carrier, he practically sprinted to answer it, hoping Aiden would stay asleep a little longer.

  Flinging open the door, he found...the mayor? Sure enough, Zach stood on his front step looking as disheveled as if he’d stayed up all night. In other words, he probably looked as bad as Sam.