Carla Cassidy

by Scene of the Crime Killer Cove

  *

  IT TOOK BO an instant to recognize the imminent danger to Claire when he stepped outside. He didn’t think, he simply reacted. He leaped from the curb and when he was close enough he lunged at Claire, the momentum of his speed catapulting them to the other side of the street where Claire slid up to the sidewalk one way and he rolled the other way.

  He’d felt the heat of the car engine, still smelled the scent of burning rubber and oil in the air. He remained unmoving for a long moment, his breath stolen and his brain frozen by the near-death experience they both had just endured.

  His head cleared and mentally screamed Claire’s name. He rolled over to see her pulling herself up to a sitting position, a stunned expression on her face.

  Ignoring pain in his hip and elbow, he rose to his feet and rushed to her side. “Are you okay?” He crouched down beside her, hoping he hadn’t broken any of her bones with his tackle.

  Her knees were bleeding and raw, as were the palms of her hands. Still, she got to her feet. “I’m okay. A little bruised and battered, but...” Her voice trailed off and in the waning light of deep twilight, tears suddenly sparkled in her eyes. “What just happened?”

  Bo quickly pulled her into his arms, bloody knees and all. She clung to him for a long moment, her body radiating the heat of adrenaline and the coldness of fear.

  She pulled back and he reluctantly let her go. “You probably have gravel in your knees and hands. We need to get you to the doctor,” he said.

  “I don’t need a doctor,” she replied and quickly swiped away any remnant of tears. “All I need is my purse. I’ve got some tissue inside that will clean up the blood.” She looked around and spied it not far from where she’d fallen.

  Once she’d grabbed it, Bo gestured her to the passenger side of her car and he got in behind the steering wheel. “And now we’re going directly to the sheriff’s station.”

  “Why? I just want to go home.” Her voice held the heaviness of tears ready to be shed.

  He hesitated a moment, wondering if he should soft-pedal what had just occurred. Instead he decided to be painfully honest. “We need to talk to Trey because somebody just tried to kill you.”

  He felt the weight of her stare. “Surely you’re mistaken. It had to have been a drunk driver, or somebody who just didn’t see me in the road. Why would anyone want to kill me?”

  Good question, Bo said to himself. But he couldn’t deny the fact that the car didn’t swerve in an effort to miss her, that brakes hadn’t been applied to stop the terrifying forward movement of the car.

  “I’d just feel better if we report what happened to Trey,” he said.

  She opened her purse and pulled out several tissues and cleaned off her palms and knees as best as she could without the aid of water. “Maybe the driver was on his cell phone and got distracted for a minute,” she said, still looking for answers to explain away what had just occurred.

  “Maybe.” Bo didn’t want to push the issue and upset her even more than she already was.

  They remained silent for the rest of the short ride to the sheriff’s station. The station was a one-story building and as Claire and Bo walked into the small reception area they were greeted by Betsy Rogers, who worked as both receptionist and dispatcher.

  “We need to talk to Sheriff Walker,” Bo said.

  “He’s in his office. You can go on back,” Betsy replied.

  Bo placed an arm around Claire’s shoulder as they walked by the desk where Betsy sat and pushed open the door that led to the squad room. There were a total of eight desks and only Deputy Josh Griffin was present at one, apparently doing paperwork.

  He glanced up at them as they walked toward the back of the room where Trey’s glass-enclosed office was shrouded in secrecy by closed blinds along the front.

  Bo didn’t bother knocking. He dropped his arm from around Claire’s shoulder and opened the door to reveal Trey leaned back in his chair with his feet propped up on his desk and Ray McClure slouched in the chair in front of him.

  “What the hell?” Trey pulled his feet off the desk and sat up straight in his chair. Ray remained in place, an obvious show of disrespect to both Bo and Claire.

  “Somebody just tried to run over Claire in the middle of Main Street in front of the diner,” Bo said. “If you get somebody over there now there should be witnesses.”

  Trey motioned Ray up. “Take Josh with you and see what you can find out,” he said. Once Ray had left the office, Trey gestured Claire into the empty chair. She sank down and Bo stood just behind her, a hand on her shoulder. “Now, tell me again, in detail, what happened.”

  “Claire and I ate dinner at the diner and when we were finished, while I paid, she went outside and headed for her car, which was parked across the street,” Bo said and then continued to explain the car that had seemingly come from nowhere aimed directly at Claire. As he spoke he felt a small shudder move through Claire.

  Trey’s gaze softened slightly as he looked at Claire. “I can’t imagine anyone in this entire town wanting to hurt you, Claire.” His gaze hardened and shifted to Bo. “But I can think of plenty of people who might want to run you down. In fact Mac Sinclair was in here just yesterday complaining about your presence back in town. Are you sure that car wasn’t aimed at you?”

  Had he been farther into the street than he’d thought? Had it been the intention of the driver to swerve at the last moment and strike him? Bo just didn’t know.

  “Maybe it was some drunk coming from Jimmy’s Place, or some stupid teenager drag racing down the street,” Trey added. “But I can’t imagine Claire being the target of whatever happened out there tonight.”

  “It doesn’t matter who the target was,” Bo countered. “That car almost killed Claire.”

  “What color was the car?” Trey asked.

  Claire looked up and back at Bo, and then gazed at Trey. “I have no idea. All I saw were bright headlights.”

  “It was dark...black I think.” Bo frowned. “I was a little busy getting Claire out of the way to pay attention.”

  “So, I’m guessing you didn’t get a plate number,” Trey said.

  “That would be a good guess,” Bo replied. It had been stupid to come here, he realized. They had no real information to give to Trey in order to identify the vehicle and no idea of anyone who might want to harm Claire.

  “I’ll write up a report and we’ll see if Ray and Josh can find a witness who might be able to give us more information. Other than that, there’s nothing much else I can do.”

  “You’ll let me know if they find out anything?” Bo asked. “I’ll give you my cell phone number.” When that was completed, he squeezed Claire’s shoulder. “Come on, let’s get you home where we can properly clean up your hands and knees.”

  She didn’t hesitate. She popped out of the chair as if she couldn’t wait to leave. There was no question she was still shaken up. Her face was unusually pale and her eyes appeared larger than usual.

  Once again Bo took the driver’s seat while she slid into the passenger side. “We’ll take you to my place and get you cleaned up,” he said.

  “No, just take me home, Bo. I want to be home. You can drive the car back to your place and pick me up tomorrow,” she replied. Bo turned around and headed in the direction of her home.

  “Maybe it was just some stupid drunk,” she said. “Or a reckless teenager racing down the street.” Her own words seemed to calm her.

  “Or somebody who intended to swerve at the last minute to hit me,” he added. “I know I have a target on my back with some of the people here in town, but like Trey said, I can’t imagine anyone wanting to hurt you. I’ve seen the way people react to you. You’re a favorite among everyone.”

  “I don’t know about that, but I would be hard-pressed to come up with anyone who would want to see me dead,” she replied.

  By that time he’d pulled to the curb in front of her house. He got out of the car, ignoring the fact that with each pa
ssing minute his body was radiating with more aches from his violent tumble across the street.

  He could only assume that Claire was feeling the same thing. By tomorrow they would both be dead-tired.

  He walked with her to her front porch, where she unlocked her door and turned back to him. “Thank you for saving my life, Bo.”

  “If you think you’re getting rid of me that quickly, you’re mistaken.” He pushed past her and into her living room. “Since you didn’t want to go to the hospital to take care of your hands and knees, I’m assuming you must have a first aid kit of some kind around here.”

  “I can take care of it. It’s not necessary for you to do it,” she protested.

  “I say it’s necessary,” he said firmly. “I’ve let you be boss of this partnership long enough.”

  Her eyes widened. “I haven’t been bossy,” she exclaimed. He raised one of his brows and her cheeks grew pink. “I’ve just been organized and had a plan each day.”

  “Right now I’m the one with the plan. Now, where are your first aid items?”

  “Under the cabinet in the bathroom.” She closed and locked the front door and led him to the bathroom just off the living area. He went directly to the sink and began to run the hot and cold water, turning the faucets until he was satisfied with the temperature.

  He then turned to where she stood just behind him and moved her in front of him, wrapping his arms around her. He took her wrists and held her hands under the running water.

  For a moment he was nearly overwhelmed by the feel of her warmth and curves so close to him and the sweet, fresh scent of her hair. He steeled his mind and focused on the task at hand. He was grateful to see that as the dried blood slowly left her palms, there were only minor scrapes that wouldn’t even require any bandages.

  Once her palms had been cleaned, he motioned her to sit on the commode so he could attend to her bloody knees. He used a warm washcloth to gently remove the blood, once again grateful that he found no grit or gravel embedded in her skin.

  After washing both knees, he applied antibiotic cream to them and then topped each with a bandage that sported a happy face. He gently kissed each bandage and then rose to his feet. “Boo-boos not only cleaned but properly kissed,” he said lightly.

  She looked up at him with new tears shimmering in her eyes. “I’ve always wondered what it would be like to have somebody kiss my boo-boos,” she said at the same time a soft sob escaped her.

  In a flash of memories, Bo thought of every night his mother had tucked him into bed with a good-night kiss, how many times she’d fixed a boo-boo with a gentle press of her lips. He’d taken for granted all of it, and the thought that Claire had never had anyone to tenderly tuck her into bed or kiss away the pain of a scratch or scrape broke his heart.

  He pulled her to her feet and into his arms, wanting to kiss every wound she’d ever suffered in her life, needing to be her soft place to fall that she’d never had as a child.

  She clung to him, and when she raised her head to look at him he slanted his lips against hers. He meant the kiss to be soft and soothing, to comfort and calm after the trauma she’d suffered.

  However, the moment he tasted her velvet-soft lips, he was lost. It was impossible to keep the kiss sweet and simple as she tightened her arms around his neck and opened her mouth to him in invitation to deepen the kiss.

  He accepted the invitation, his tongue swirling with hers as his blood fired through his veins. The instantaneous desire that flared inside him shocked with its intensity and unexpectedness.

  She must have felt it, too. She dropped her arms from around his neck and stumbled back from him, one hand reaching up to touch her own lips. “You should be boss more often,” she said.

  He’d love to kiss her again. He wanted to kiss her until they were both mindless with desire, eager to fall into bed together, but he didn’t.

  Despite her light words, she looked exhausted and battle-weary. Now wasn’t the time to do anything but encourage her to get a good night’s sleep.

  He reached out his hand and took hers and led her out of the bathroom. There was only one door in the house he hadn’t been through and it was that door he opened... The door to her bedroom.

  “What you need more than anything right now is to get into your pajamas and get some sleep,” he said, even as his gaze swept the room that he would have instantly identified as belonging to her.

  The walls were a pale gray, but the bedspread was an explosion of electric-blue flowers on a gray background, giving the room vibrancy. A vase of fake blue and yellow flowers sat on the nightstand, along with a yellow-based lamp.

  Once again he was struck by the fact that when she’d renovated the old shanty into her home, she’d chosen bright, cheerful colors for every space.

  “I’m going to get out of here and I’ll lock up on my way out,” he said.

  “What about tomorrow?” she asked and sank down on the edge of her bed.

  “I’ll pick you up around eleven.”

  “But I haven’t had a chance to plan what we need to do,” she said.

  “Don’t worry. I’m playing boss again tomorrow and I’ll have a plan. Now, get into your jammies and get some sleep.” He left the bedroom and had just opened the door to leave the house when she called his name.

  She stood in the bedroom doorway. “Just for your information, I don’t sleep in jammies. I always sleep naked.” With these surprising words, she closed her bedroom door.

  Chapter Seven

  The car careered toward her, the bright headlights blinding her as the acrid scent of burned rubber and hot oil filled her head. Then she was airborne, knowing that when she fell to earth death awaited her.

  Death was her shanty where she shivered beneath her favorite blue blanket on a thin mattress on the floor. Outside the thin plywood walls she heard the slap of a creature in the water and feared that creature would creep in the darkness and through the slats in the wall and eat her.

  Claire awoke with a gasp and sat straight up in the queen-size bed. Sunshine poured through the single window, and a glance at her clock told her it was just after nine.

  She normally didn’t sleep so late, but she’d had trouble going to sleep the night before. First she’d played and replayed through her mind that moment of being frozen as the car had headed directly for her, then she’d been plagued with thoughts of Bo’s kiss.

  Oh, that kiss. She drew in a tremulous breath and fell back against her pillow, remembering the fire, the absolute mastery of his lips against hers.

  She couldn’t lie, she’d wondered what it might be like to be kissed by Bo, but there was no way her imagination had been able to conjure up how hot, how utterly breathtaking it would be.

  She shouldn’t think about it. She’d watched Shelly and Bo together for years and had dreamed of finding what she believed they’d found in each other. She’d believed they’d been each other’s happily-ever-after and they might have been, had Shelly not been murdered.

  Claire wanted that happily-ever-after for herself. She wanted that special man who loved her as desperately as she loved him. And she knew in her heart that man wasn’t Bo.

  Bo would have already been gone from Lost Lagoon if she hadn’t talked him into hanging around for a while to try to find the real killer.

  She had a feeling that with each day that passed with no answers about the murder, Bo moved closer to heading out of town. She didn’t want him leaving behind her broken heart.

  She got out of bed, grabbed her robe and pulled it around her, then padded into the bathroom and stared at her reflection in the mirror. It was as if she expected the imprint of Bo’s lips to still mark hers.

  Her mouth looked normal, no sign of the earth-shattering kiss they’d shared the night before. “It can’t happen again,” she said aloud to her reflection.

  She started the water in the shower stall and once it was a warm temperature she disrobed and stepped beneath the spray. She could not allow
Bo to kiss her again. If he did she’d want more, and then her heart would spiral out of control. She had to keep her physical distance.

  After showering she dressed in her usual fare of a pair of shorts and a sleeveless blouse. She took off the bandages on her knees, satisfied to see that the scrapes had already begun to scab over. It wouldn’t be the first time in her life that she’d sported scabby knees or elbows.

  She ate toast and drank a cup of coffee and scanned the names of the people they’d spoken to so far. She wrote notes and frustration niggled at her as she recognized they had really discovered nothing that moved them any closer to the truth of what had happened at the lagoon two years ago.

  The irony wasn’t lost on her that she wanted to do everything in her power to help clear Bo’s name, but in doing that she was also helping him move on from Lost Lagoon.

  At a few minutes before eleven she stood at her front door waiting for Bo to arrive to pick her up. She wondered what he had planned for the day. Although Lost Lagoon was a small town, there were still plenty of people to talk to who might have known something about the murder, somebody who could unravel the mystery of Shelly’s “sticky situation.”

  The one person she didn’t want Bo to speak to or have anything to do with was Mac Sinclair. Shelly’s older brother was known to have a volatile temper, especially since the murder of his sister. The fact that he’d already contacted Trey to do something to get Bo out of town indicated his continued hatred for the man he believed murdered Shelly.

  She hated the way her heart lifted at the sight of her car pulling up front. She hated that as she left her house her head filled with the memory of that damned kiss.

  Sliding into the passenger seat she gave him a bright smile and determined not to think about the kiss for the rest of the day. “Good morning,” she said.

  “Back at you,” he replied and pulled away from the curb. “I heard from Trey this morning. Ray and Josh managed to find three eyewitnesses from last night. One said the car was black, another said it was blue and the third person was certain it was dark gray.”