Final Verdict

by Jessica R. Patch

“Oh, it’s good. It’ll be at Mitch Rydell’s again. In that big ol’ barn of his. It’s heated out there—did you know that?”

  “No.” Aurora shook her head. “I’ve only been to Mitch’s twice. Dinner. Not held in his barn.”

  “You had dinner with Mitch Rydell?” Beckett’s voice deepened and he held her with what would be an intimidating stare—if Beckett intimidated her.

  “Twice. Not in the barn.” She smirked. “In case you didn’t hear me the first time.”

  Virginia pressed her lips together, amusement twinkling in her eyes. “I’m gonna top off my cup.” She excused herself. Beckett continued to pin Aurora with a daggered look.

  “What? I’m single. He’s single. And he’s a nice guy.” Not that she had any interest in Mitch. He was a handsome man, but Aurora wasn’t interested in a romantic relationship. And she and Mitch didn’t have chemistry.

  Unlike the chemistry that popped and sizzled around Beckett. Chemistry that couldn’t be acted upon.

  Beckett tossed his arm carelessly behind his chair, reclining. “I don’t care who you have dinner with. I just don’t see the two of you happening.”

  “Well,” she mused, “I didn’t say we were happening. I said I had dinner with him.” No dessert, now that she thought about it. Unlike Beckett—who shoved a sweet down her after every meal.

  Virginia returned. “You asked about the dance. It’s going to be a big hit. Each ticket is fifty dollars, but you can donate more. You should come to this one.”

  “Maybe Mitch will ask you,” Beckett muttered.

  Aurora squinted. Was Beckett Marsh jealous of Mitch? “Maybe he will.” And she’d say no. Like last year. “Are you going?”

  “I go every year. Civic duty and all that mess.” He shrugged. Who was he taking as his date? He stood. “We gotta go, Mama.” He leaned over and pecked her cheek. “See you soon.”

  Virginia walked them to the door, making sure Aurora took the muffins. “I have some paperwork to do,” Beckett said as they got in the car.

  “Can we run by my house and grab some clothes and toiletries first?”

  He nodded, suddenly in a surly mood. They drove in silence to her home. She missed her own bed. Her own shower. They entered, Beckett first, and she started to her room.

  “Stop,” he commanded.

  She was exhausted, but she turned on her heel. “What?”

  “Where do you think you’re going?” He pushed past her. “I haven’t even cleared the bedroom.”

  She’d argue over his gruff commands if he wasn’t right. After what had happened to Kelly... She shuddered. “Fine, but diplomacy is a real thing. Invest in it.”

  He cracked a smile, then gestured with his chin to back up. She acquiesced and gave him the “are you happy?” snarl.

  He pushed the door open with his foot and raised his weapon, sending a flood of panic through her. “Stay,” he demanded, and disappeared into Aurora’s bedroom.

  She waited anxiously until he came into the hall.

  “Well? What’s wrong?”

  Tight-lipped and scowling, he hesitantly motioned for her. “Come inside.”

  Aurora’s room had been ransacked. Clothes were strewn all over. That’s when she noticed it.

  Beckett, too. He picked up one of her navy blue power suits.

  It had been shredded.

  Like all her clothes that had been hanging in the closet.

  * * *

  Beckett scanned the room as he held Aurora’s blue suit. He’d seen her wear it in court often. The dark blue contrasted nicely with the powder blue of her eyes. Her sweet scent still lingered on the slashed material. He laid it on the bed and stalked to the closet. Everything had been sliced, most pieces tossed around the room in disarray. A few articles were barely hanging on satiny hangers. Aurora Daniels would use plush, satiny hangers.

  He stormed from the closet and jerked open a drawer on a tall, skinny chest.

  “Hey!” she shouted.

  Undergarments.

  Heat flushed his cheeks. “Sorry.” He slammed the drawer shut. “Check the drawers, see if anything else has been shredded.”

  He gave her some privacy as she methodically searched through her chest of drawers and dresser. “Only my suits and dress clothes.” She tapped the tip of her nose and stared into the dark closet.

  “What are you thinking?”

  Aurora scratched the base of her neck, under the tight bun she wore consistently. “My suits define me. When I’m in them, I’m an attorney. I have a task to do. Someone doesn’t like my job. Who I am. So they destroyed them.”

  Perceptive. Smart. Great point. “I think you’re right. Let’s check the rest of the house. Be sure nothing else has been disrupted or taken. Any clothing missing?” Meghan had noticed a few items from her personal drawers missing, but she’d chalked it up to losing them at the Laundromat. He should have caught on to something sinister then. He wouldn’t make that mistake this time. “Double-check your girlie drawers.”

  “My girlie drawers?” Aurora rolled her eyes and grumbled something about men, then did a recheck. “Nothing is missing.”

  A small amount of relief filled him, but not taking personal items didn’t mean she wasn’t in grave danger.

  She was.

  Bounding into the hall and toward the living room, Beckett said, “You think whoever killed Gus McGregor did this? It could have been—and I hate to say it—Trevor Russell. Or whoever chucked that Old Crow whiskey bottle through your window. Trevor could have done both.”

  “I thought the same thing on all accounts.” She picked at her thumbnail. “I need to pack a bag. I have a couple suits at the inn. I can make do.”

  Beckett sat on the couch and massaged his neck. She pointed to the kitchen. “Feel free to grab a soft drink or something.”

  She padded down the hall and her door clicked shut. Beckett surveyed the house. He wasn’t thirsty, but he was curious. He proceeded to the kitchen and nosed through her refrigerator and cabinets until his phone rang.

  Wilder.

  He growled and declined the call.

  “I’m ready when you’re done snooping around.” Aurora stood in the kitchen doorway, an amused expression on her face. Busted.

  “I was curious.”

  “About my food choices?”

  About her in general. He wished he wasn’t, but Aurora was a beautiful mystery, and he had always been fascinated by a good mystery. Chuckling, he took her bag and nodded toward the door. “You’re quite the healthy eater. Minus the chocolate-filled pantry.”

  “Which reminds me...” She beelined it to the pantry and grabbed a few junk-food items. “I like to snack when I’m thinking.”

  “Then how do you stay fit? Because you’re always thinking.” He swept his gaze over her figure, working not to linger too long, but he could if he let himself, and it drove him crazy. Let her have dinners with Mitch Rydell. What did Beckett care? It’d surely be less complicated if she were with Mitch. Beckett and Aurora were like oil and water. But the jealousy that rose up when he heard that Aurora had shared dinner with Mitch—at Mitch’s place—nearly consumed him. It had been so long since he’d had fierce feelings for someone.

  He’d always have a love for Meghan, but the way he was feeling about Aurora—and this fast—terrified him. They drove back to the inn without any conversation. Aurora was probably trying to figure out who had wrecked her bedroom and shredded her clothing while Beckett struggled to overcome these emotions stirring up inside him. At the inn, he carried her bags inside.

  Beckett’s phone rang again.

  Wilder.

  “You ever gonna answer that?” Aurora asked as he declined Wilder’s call.

  “Yeah, you ever gonna answer that?”

  Becke
tt swiveled to the left as his oldest and dearest friend—whom he’d been dodging—stood from a chair in the lobby, something between irritation and a pout on his face. He held his phone up high and shook it dramatically.

  “Wilder.”

  “Avoider.”

  Beckett snorted and shook his head as Wilder pulled him into a fast and hard hug, slapping his back and putting some sting on it.

  “How long have you been sitting there? How did you know I was even here? Never mind. You talked to Celia.” His secretary. She’d met Wilder on a few occasions, and Wilder had a way of sweet-talking a locked door into coughing up who was behind it.

  “I had to play dirty.” He brushed invisible lint from his shirt pocket and sniffed. “I might have brought her flowers.”

  “Pitiful flirt.”

  Wilder set his sights on Aurora and extended his hand. “This loser hasn’t introduced me properly. Wilder Flynn. Bachelor at large, but aiming to settle down with a beauty like yourself.”

  Aurora shook his hand. “Aurora Daniels. Defense attorney. When someone sues you for harassment.”

  Beckett laughed. Wilder hooted, completely relaxed. But his trip here wasn’t for fun. He was on a mission. “You must be the reason Beckett’s camping out here. Celia told me you were on protection detail. Those were her exact words, Beck. She didn’t tell me why, though.” Concern flickered in his grass-green eyes. Was he having flashbacks of Meghan being stalked?

  “Come on up and we’ll talk and eat some of Aurora’s preservative-laced snack foods.” Beckett signaled Wilder to the stairs.

  Aurora followed Wilder, and Beckett brought up the rear. He unlocked the door to his room and welcomed them inside, dreading the conversation that lay ahead.

  “Beckett tells me you two were SEALs together.” Aurora slid off her shoes. In his room. The gesture did peculiar things to his gut. Habit for her, but it felt...strange. Good. Wilder noticed, too, and raised a few questions with his eyes. What would Wilder think if he knew Beckett was having feelings for someone other than his sister?

  “We were. I’ve been trying to get this old coot to come work for me, though I don’t know why. He’s not very sharp.” Wilder collapsed on a paisley-covered wingback chair and leaned his elbows on his knees. “I guess I’m a sucker for brotherhood.”

  Aurora dug into the bag of items she’d taken from her house. “I admire loyalty. I’ll leave my snack food, minus the brownie bites, and let you two talk. Nice meeting you, Wilder.”

  “I don’t want to be sued, so I’ll just say nice meeting you, too.” He winked and stood as Aurora excused herself. Beckett followed.

  “I’ll sweep your room first.” He didn’t ask her to stick around. He was afraid Wilder might pick up on his feelings. After securing her room, he left her and sat across from Wilder.

  “She being stalked?”

  “Yes and no.” Beckett ran his hands through his hair and briefed Wilder on everything.

  “She’s brave.”

  Beckett gave a haphazard shrug. “She eats eggs.” He chuckled at the inside joke, realizing how much he enjoyed having an inside joke with her.

  Wilder rubbed his chin as if contemplating life’s greatest secret. “You’re falling for her.”

  “I’m not.” But he was terrified that he was.

  “Yes, you are, and it’s all good. What’s not gonna fly is if you let it keep you from coming to work for me. I don’t have an explosives man. With so many bomb threats, you’d be a major asset. You’d get to travel, which I know gives you all the tingles.”

  Beckett wasn’t ready for this conversation. “How’s Caley?”

  Wilder huffed. “Why are you changing the subject and asking about my baby sister?”

  Because he didn’t know what to do. The offer appealed more than anything, but with the past looming over him—what he’d tried to do to Meghan’s killer—and his desire to give Mama the time and security she deserved, he couldn’t jump on it. And he did love being sheriff. Loved the town. The people. “Just curious. She still in Florida saving sea turtles?”

  Wilder nodded, a strand of coal-black hair slipping into his eyes. He shoved it back. “Quit trying to change the subject. What’s holding you back? This attorney? This defense attorney?”

  Beckett didn’t need reminding of that one horrible word between them. “No. You know why I can’t. And I can’t leave Mama worrying. Not again.”

  “I get it, Beck. But I think it’s a cop-out.” He raised a hand. “I’m not here to argue. And I’m not opposed to you and the attorney. No one expects you to pine the rest of your life for Meg. We won’t forget her, man. It’s why Covenant Crisis Management exists. But you can’t stop living.”

  Is that what Beckett had done? Stopped living? He’d come home and settled into a safe routine where he wouldn’t ever lose himself to that darkness that had tormented and provoked him to seek retribution. Had he simply gone on autopilot?

  A shriek sounded from next door.

  Beckett snapped to attention and bolted for Aurora.

  SEVEN

  Aurora shrieked again as Beckett and Wilder burst through the door. She held up a manila envelope, her hand shaking uncontrollably.

  “What is it?” Beckett demanded.

  “A note. And—”

  Beckett turned to Wilder. “Stay here. Watch her.” He blasted past her and out the inn door.

  Aurora stood in the middle of the room, gaping.

  Wilder scanned the room, grabbed Aurora’s scarf and used it to take the envelope.

  “He just left. I didn’t even get to tell him what’s inside.” Aurora shook her head, her mind reeling.

  Wilder peeked inside the manila envelope, about the size of a novel, and scowled. “He didn’t have time to waste on hearing what the contents were. He’s after who left it.” He said it as if he’d casually told her his favorite color. No emotion. Didn’t he see what was inside? Her knees turned to water, and she crumpled onto the edge of the hotel bed.

  The killer knew she was here. He’d been brazen enough to inch the corner of the envelope, containing the note and the bloodstained wooden gavel, under the door so she’d notice it. The same gavel that Kelly had kept on her desk in her chambers. The same one Aurora had given her as a Christmas present last year. Whoever killed Kelly had stolen it from her chambers and was now reiterating his message that Aurora was guilty. But whose blood was on the gavel? She hadn’t seen any blood on Kelly. Had someone close to Aurora been killed, someone they hadn’t yet found?

  Wilder read the note aloud. “‘More people are going to die. It will be your fault. You did this.’” He laid the note and envelope on the desk. “This isn’t your fault and you didn’t do anything to cause it. Remember that.”

  She laced her fingers and stared at the door. “I need to call my parents.” They weren’t close, but what if the killer had... She couldn’t finish the thought.

  Wilder nodded. “We don’t know that this is human blood.”

  “But it is blood, isn’t it?” Aurora dug through her purse and grabbed her phone.

  “Yes,” Wilder said. “I’ll be out in the hall. Give you some privacy.” He paused, and his voice lulled. “I won’t leave you. Not until Beck gets back. You’ll be safe.”

  She didn’t know this man, but as she studied his emerald-green eyes, the resolute set of his squared jaw and pursed lips, she believed it. Word for word. “Thank you.” He exited and she called her parents. Her mom answered and confirmed they were both home and fine. Without going into too much detail, Aurora made a second or two of small talk and hung up.

  Wilder knocked quietly and slipped back inside. “Beck hasn’t called, but he’s probably out there kicking butt and taking names. It’s kind of his way. Move first. Ask questions later.” He pointed to the chair by the
table. “May I?” Not quite the flirt he was earlier.

  “Of course, have a seat.”

  “Beckett explained what’s been going on. I hope that’s all right with you.” He crossed an ankle over a knee. The chair seemed like a preschooler’s seat underneath him. “I admire your tenacity. To seek justice for your brother. I understand. My career—it’s a memorial to my sister every day.”

  The door opened and Beckett entered, frustration in his eyes. “Whoever did it is long gone. No one saw anything. No security cameras. Might get some prints but, since we haven’t so far, it’s a long shot. The guy is meticulous and careful.”

  Aurora paced to the window overlooking what would be a gorgeous garden come spring. Now it was brittle and cracked. Much like Aurora’s heart.

  “Get away from the window, Counselor!” Beckett barked, and lowered the contents of the envelope he’d been examining.

  Aurora startled and jumped out of the window’s view.

  “So he knocked and you opened it? I told you not to open the door. For anyone.” Beckett’s words came off as menacing as his command to move from the window; his eyebrows pinched, forming creases along his brow.

  Aurora thrust a finger his direction. “First of all, I’m sick to death of you telling me what to do or not to do as if I’m a child. Secondly, he didn’t knock. He slid the corner of the envelope under the door. I heard it. I waited a beat and then I opened it. Yes. I did. Against your wishes, because I didn’t want to interrupt your conversation next door. I was trying to be considerate. And if he had wanted in, he would have gotten in. You would have heard it and come running. No chance for him to get away. So I. Opened. The door.”

  “He could have pulled you out into the hall. Drugged you. I wouldn’t have heard squat, and guess where you’d be, Aurora? Dead. You’d be dead and once again it would be my fault! Mine,” he bellowed as he shoved a thumb into his chest, then stomped through the adjoining room door and slammed it so hard the pictures on the walls shook.

  Wilder clucked his tongue and stood. “Well, that wasn’t awkward at all.” He clasped his hands together at his chin. “He’s—”