* * *
“Counselor!” Beckett Marsh poked his nose through Aurora Daniels’s broken windowpane when she wouldn’t answer the front door. It had taken him ten minutes to get here after she’d called. While her words had come out clear, the speed at which she’d spoken told the tale.
She’d been shaken up.
Now she stood in the middle of her living room with one hand cupping her left shoulder. He did a double take. This wasn’t the confident professional in her typical attire of power suits and heels. Bare feet anchored to the hardwood, baggy gray sweatpants and an equally baggy Ole Miss Rebels sweatshirt masking her slender figure. And still something about the look, even with her signature tight knot at the base of her neck, rattled something loose in his chest. He refocused, uncomfortable with the powerful response to seeing her like this. Not like he hadn’t been attracted the first time he’d laid eyes on her a little over a year ago when he came back home. Anyone would be an idiot not to find her attractive. But her line of work put the kibosh on anything beyond admiring a beautiful woman. Ain’t no way he could follow that trail. “You hurt?”
She hurried to the front door, unlocking it and letting him inside. “Just my shoulder. Probably going to bruise, is all.” She gave it a haphazard rub. Nice attempt at the brave front.
That bottle could have hit her head, knocked her out, cut her up or worse. He fisted his hand to keep from touching her. “I got here as fast as I could.”
“I appreciate it. Guess you were correct about the threats.” She tossed out a weak laugh.
This was nothing to make light of, and he hated that he’d been right. He ignored the hint of chocolate and the faint scent of something flowery drifting from her skin or clothing. A bottle on the kitchen table snagged his attention. “Old Crow.”
“Like I said when I called, they threw a whiskey bottle. Drove a big truck, big engine. Could be a Hemi V8. Maybe even a Detroit Diesel 550 horsepower. Heard it when it turned on my street.”
Beckett inclined his head and studied her, unsure of what impressed him more. The fact Aurora Daniels had a handle on big engines or that she’d called him first—or at all. They butted heads often and he wouldn’t deny he was pretty tough on her. But for every five people he tossed behind bars, she’d cut three loose with her slick litigation skills. How was he supposed to keep his county safe when the shrewd counselor put criminals right back out on the street?
He’d seen what monsters free to prey the streets could do. Seen evil get away with murder when one had claimed his fiancée’s life the night before their wedding. Meghan’s lifeless body had been seared into Beckett’s mind forever. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t forgive himself for not coming to her rescue in time.
“Sheriff?” Aurora drew him from the nightmare that plagued him. “I asked how many people on your end know that Austin Bledsoe was drinking Old Crow whiskey.”
Good question. Same one that had popped into his mind. That brain of hers was incredible. Sharp. Too bad it wasn’t being used for a better cause. “Officers on the scene the night Bethany Russell was killed. Whoever was working evidence. I can’t think of anyone else. The judge.”
Aurora quirked her lips to the side. “The Russell family and anyone they told.”
Beckett’s gut clenched. He couldn’t rule out Trevor Russell or his teenage boy. But he hated to have to question them. They’d been through enough already with Bethany’s death and funeral only four short months ago. They’d been clinging to the hope of justice today, but it had miscarried. However, he knew firsthand what time soaked in grief could do, and it wasn’t pretty. He’d been on that end of the stick. “I’ll talk to Trevor.”
Aurora sighed and tapped her nail against the tip of her nose. He’d noticed that before. In the courtroom. Her thinking habit. “I guess I need to get some plastic over that. I can call Mitch in the morning. Have the glass replaced.” She bounded for the door leading to the garage. Beckett followed.
“Plastic isn’t safe. Anyone could cut through it.”
Aurora paused. “I think that guy’s threat at the courthouse today was meant to scare me. Mission accomplished. If he’d wanted to hurt me, he’d have already gotten into the house. If this was him.”
Fire pulsed in his chest. “What threat?” Aurora had said she was used to unkind words, and he could easily imagine. She’d worked in a high-profile law firm that repped some shady clients. But a bottle had made direct impact on her body. This wasn’t idle threats and unkind verbiage.
“A guy in the crowd today. I didn’t recognize the voice and couldn’t match a face to the words, but he told me to be careful or I could end up in a car accident like Bethany Russell. Just words.” She shrugged, but Beckett wasn’t born yesterday. Aurora was trying to talk herself out of being afraid. Fear wasn’t always a bad thing. Fear had kept him alive and alert on all his tours and missions as a SEAL.
“Well, I’d feel better if we didn’t use plastic. Besides, it’s gonna get down in the twenties tonight. Plastic won’t keep the nip out.”
She pointed to the far side of the sparse garage. “I have some plywood. That work?”
“Yup. And you need to put some shoes on. Protect your feet while we get the glass cleaned up.”
She pursed her lips but said nothing.
Beckett grabbed several boards in the corner and Aurora retrieved a hammer and nails and followed him inside. “Got a broom?”
“The one I use for sweeping or the one I ride on?” Aurora tilted her head and pierced him with a maybe sort of accusing glare.
So that’s what she assumed he thought of her. Hardly. He wasn’t sure what to think. This was the longest he’d spent in a room with her other than a courtroom, and they didn’t converse much inside. Besides, he never allowed himself to see her as anything but the enemy. Now, she was a target who trusted him to protect her. And that’s exactly what he planned to do.
“Sweeping will be fine.” He smirked. “I don’t want to put you out a vehicle.”
“Hmm...” Aurora snagged a broom and dustpan from the pantry, slipped on a pair of house shoes that had been lying under the kitchen table, and they went to work cleaning up the glass and boarding up the window.
When it was finished he noticed her fire was dying. “You got any wood? I can get a fresh fire going before I head out.” No way was he letting her do it. Instinct told him this wasn’t over. But he didn’t want to scare her further, and it didn’t technically warrant putting a detail on her.
Meghan had begged and pleaded with the sheriff in her small Georgia town to patrol her house. But they couldn’t prove she was in danger. Her stalker had been cunning, averting the law yet tormenting her. When it first started, Beckett had been on an extended tour in Afghanistan with Meghan’s brother, Wilder. He’d had no idea, not until he came home. He’d been powerless.
He had the power to do something about this.
“I’ll do a few drive-bys through the night. Make sure everything’s safe.” He might not be able to use taxpayers’ dollars for a deputy to sit outside, but Beckett could on his own time.
Aurora met him with a delicate smile. “I appreciate that. But I don’t think it’s necessary, and I have some self-defense training, as well as gun-range time. I’m a pretty good shot.”
Brave. Resilient. But Beckett had seen fear on thousands of faces. “I believe you, Counselor. Now, about that firewood?”
“Oh.” She scratched at the base of her neck. A dainty neck. Smooth. “It’s under the tarp on the side of the house, but I can do it. Really. I mean, I started that one.”
“I don’t feel comfortable letting you haul wood in out of the dark. Just in case. Precaution, is all.” He flipped the collar on his coat up and stalked to the woodpile. Doing a slow scan with his flashlight, he checked out the woods that surrounded the house. No footprints
. The branches rustled. Critters slunk around, crunching dead leaves. Something was off. Puffs of night air plumed in front of him as he patrolled the yard. He couldn’t spot anyone, but red flags waved.
Someone was out there.
Watching.
Or maybe he was paranoid after what had happened to Meghan.
Beckett hauled in the firewood and a few extra logs. Inside, freshly brewed coffee uncoiled one of the many knots tightening his neck and shoulders.
Aurora handed him a steaming cup. “It’s brutal out there. Warm you up. Least I can do.”
He dusted his hands on his pants and accepted the cup, her fingers brushing his. He cleared his throat. “Thanks.”
“It’s black, like you like it.”
He sipped, the French roast warming all the way down his throat. “You know how I like my coffee?”
“I’m in the coffee business.” She shrugged, but her cheeks flushed a pretty shade of rose and she broke eye contact. First time for everything. She held his glares quite well in the courtroom or at the jail.
“Why are you in the coffee business? You seem to be living in high cotton.” Driving that BMW, wearing fancy clothes, and the air about her simply smelled like money. He took another sip and squatted by the fire.
Aurora folded her arms across her chest and gazed into the flames. “To be honest, the coffee in Hope stinks. I drink enough that it dictated opening up a business.”
He snorted. “Uh-huh, now really, be honest.”
“How do you know I’m not?”
Her upturned and perky nose might give off an appearance of snootiness, but the averting gaze and body language said she had a more private reason and didn’t care to divulge. “I just know. But you don’t have to get personal with me, Counselor.” He stood and studied the few photos on her mantel. “That’s you. Can’t miss the hair.” Blondish red. Probably still long like the toothless little girl in the photo; he’d never seen it down before. She’d grown from adorable to beautiful. “That a brother or something next to you?”
“Yes. Richie. He died.”
The words punched his chest. “I’m sorry.”
She clutched the photo and seemed to slip down memory lane. “He’s why I do what I do. He committed suicide in prison when I was in my second year of law school.”
Beckett grimaced. “Went to school to get him out somehow?”
“He was innocent. What choice did I have? Someone had to give him decent counsel. Who better to advocate for him than someone who believed in him?”
“Ninety-nine percent of criminals say they’re innocent.”
Aurora’s eyes hardened and she set the photo back on the mantel. “Some are telling the truth. Like Richie.”
Beckett had worn out his welcome, but that suited him. He wasn’t diggin’ seeing Aurora as a victim. A really soft, beautiful woman who grieved her brother even if he was a criminal. “Thanks for the coffee.”
“When I clear his name, you’ll be the first to know, Sheriff.”
He opened the door and stepped onto the porch. “Lock it behind me and I’ll be by a few times. If you need anything—”
“I can handle it myself.” Brazenness and a need to prove her case held his gaze, but beyond that lay something else. Torment. Sorrow.
Okay, her view on the justice system got a rise out of him, but could he be a bigger idiot? He’d basically insulted her dead brother, whom she loved. What a jerk. He owed her an apology for his insensitivity.
“Look—”
Her cell rang. She held up an index finger and snagged it from the table by the couch. She studied the screen and frowned.
Someone she didn’t want to talk to? Beckett ought to go. He could apologize later. It was freezing out here. He should have moved to Florida. “I’m gonna—” The rest of his sentence nose-dived when Aurora’s cheeks blanched. She hadn’t said anything after her hello.
“Who is this?” Her voice trembled.
“What’s going on?” Beckett whispered.
“Hello? Hello...” Aurora hit the end button and stared at Beckett, eyes wide.
Beckett reentered the house and shut the door behind him. “Who was that?”
“Same gritty voice from this morning. In the crowd.” Her tone was too quiet, hollow.
Beckett’s neck muscles wound even tighter and he ground his jaw. “What did he say?”
Aurora clutched her throat. “Death is coming for me.”
TWO
Beckett snagged Aurora’s phone and checked her recent calls. Unknown number. “I’ll get a trace on this.”
“We both know that’s a long shot. Probably a burner phone.” She rubbed her temples and pursed her lips.
She was right. But if someone had done this on impulse, they might have only blocked her view of the number. It was a thin thread, but he was hanging on to it. “No one is going to get to you, understand?”
Aurora’s eyebrows tweaked and she gave a weak nod. She trusted him enough to call but not enough to actually protect her?
He pivoted her carefully, forcing her to face him. “No one.” He drilled into her gaze until she gave a solid nod. Better. Beckett needed her to have faith in him. He needed to have some faith, but after his failure with Meghan, his faith in himself—and in God—was shaky at best. This time, he couldn’t let someone take a life right out from under his nose. His trained nose. Guilt battered his ribs. “I’ll call one of my guys to come and get the phone—”
“No.” Aurora tapped her nose again. Something in that pretty head was cooking. “Someone on the inside knows what brand of whiskey Austin Bledsoe drank. I don’t trust anyone in your office to do right by me. Sorry not sorry. You do it. I trust you, Beckett.”
Beckett. He’d never heard her say his name. Not that he’d ever used hers. He liked the way it rolled off her tongue. “You sure?”
“I may not enjoy our conversations and you may not like me, but you’re honest to a fault.”
They didn’t have conversations. They had arguments. And he’d never said he didn’t like her. His fear at the moment was getting to know her and liking her too much. “All right. I’ll do it myself.” He didn’t bother to acknowledge her other statement. “And I have to make a few stops.”
“Question Trevor Russell?”
The woman was keen. “Yes.” Not that he was over the moon about it. But the situation warranted it. Beckett couldn’t take her with him. Couldn’t leave her here unattended, and she didn’t trust anyone but him, which made things difficult but also sent a swell of satisfaction through him. “Can you have a friend come over? Or go somewhere for the night?”
Her mouth dropped open and defiance slashed through her eyes. “Let him win? Let him run me out of my own home over a scary phone call? Hardly.”
He had a feeling she’d say something like that. She might as well be a walking billboard for the word resolute. He’d witnessed that time and again in the courtroom. Like a bulldog on a bone. “I can’t protect you if I’m not here. He’s already tossed a bottle through the window—and now the call. Maybe it is a threat to terrorize you.” No way he believed that, based on personal experience. “But maybe it’s not.”
She ran her hands over her face and groaned. “Kelly’s in Memphis for the night. New grandbaby.”
Judge Kelly Marks had hired Aurora as the court-appointed attorney. From what Beckett knew, she’d been one of Aurora’s law professors at Ole Miss and her mentor of sorts. She lived over by the Magnolia Inn, on the hill with an iron gate. Aurora would be more secure there, but that wasn’t an option tonight. “What about staying with Holt and Blair McKnight?”
Aurora gave him a cutting eye. “They’ve been married less than six months. I’m not intruding on the honeymooners.”
Beckett growled. “It�
�s one night. I’m calling them.”
Aurora pinched the bridge of her nose. “I feel like a child. Like...like I’m losing.”
“Not everything is about winning and losing, Counselor. This is about staying safe. Holt McKnight will make sure of it, and I trust him with my life. I trust him with yours.”
Beckett gauged her. She was just shy of stomping her foot and crying or throat punching him. He eased back in case of the latter. Surely, she’d see reason and let him drive her over to the McKnights’ for one evening. Tomorrow, she could stay with Judge Marks.
“Only for tonight.”
His muscles relaxed in thankfulness they weren’t going to butt heads again because, when it came to Aurora’s safety, he’d fight until he won. He called Holt, gave him the lowdown and hung up. “Blair’s making up the guest room now.”
“Then one night, it is. I’m not going to run scared.”
Beckett studied her. Seemed like that was what she’d done by coming to Hope. Why else would an uppity attorney like her move from Chicago to here? It was like she’d run as far away as she could from Franco Renzetti. “Nobody but you said you were. Pack a bag.”
She muttered about his barking demands and trudged to her room.
Like a child. But cute as all get-out.
A few moments later, Aurora had a bag hanging on her arm. “I need to take that box of files. I can’t risk someone knowing I’m gone and busting in here and ransacking the place—including the files.”
Beckett collected the ones lying on the table and added them to the rest in the cardboard box. Case files on her brother. “Hey,” he said, and turned, “I’m sorry for earlier. I know how much you loved your brother, and I basically told you he was guilty. I don’t even know the facts. So, I apologize for acting like a jerk.”
“Thank you.”
Final Verdict Page 2