Final Verdict

by Jessica R. Patch

  “Thinking of your sister.” But Aurora wasn’t Meghan, and it wasn’t fair to compare them.

  “Not so much of her as his perceived failure to save her. She was gone before he could arrive.” He pointed at her. “And he’s right, whether you want to hear it or not. If this guy wanted you and was good enough, he could have taken you without making a peep. Tossed you in a laundry cart and wheeled you out of here.”

  “That’s a comforting image.”

  “It’s reality, Aurora. Let Beck do what he does best. Why do you think I hound him all the time? Purely selfish. I need him on my team. Be glad he’s on yours.”

  Wilder was right. Beckett was right. It wasn’t the smartest decision she’d ever made, and Beckett struggled with guilt. Aurora understood that better than anyone. She hadn’t thought about what it would do to him if something happened to her. “I need to go in there and talk to him. Would you mind...?”

  “I’ll be right here.” He scoped out the table. “Eating your snack cakes and brownie bites.”

  She liked this guy. It was evident he cared for Beckett like a brother. The thought of Beckett leaving Hope sent a blip to her pulse. She laid a hand on the doorknob. “How long will you be in town?”

  “One day, maybe two—unless work calls me away.” He rummaged through the snacks. “Go in there. His bark is way worse than his bite.”

  She scoffed. “You don’t know me well. I’m not scared of Beckett Marsh’s barks or bites.”

  “No,” he said, and paused, amused. “I can see you’re not, but I suspect he might be scared of you.” He thumbed toward Beckett’s door.

  Aurora knocked, then slid inside Beckett’s room. What exactly did Wilder mean by that last statement?

  “Beckett?”

  He stood with his back facing her, only his profile in her line of sight. His arms were crossed over his chest, pulling his shirt tight enough to see his well-formed back. “We’re changing rooms. Immediately.”

  “Yes, of course.” Whatever he wanted. She trusted him. “I shouldn’t have opened the door without consulting you. It wasn’t an intelligent decision. I apologize.”

  “You scared me, Aurora. When I’m scared...I get mad.” He shifted slightly, his jaw working overtime.

  That was twice he’d said her name. Not counselor. These past few days, things had gotten personal between them. At least, they had for her. More than she wanted to admit. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” She tiptoed across the room, unsure if it was the right move to make, until she was in his personal space, feeling safer by the second.

  Someone was coming for her.

  Toying with her.

  She touched his bicep, and it flexed like boulders jumping under his skin. “I don’t know what else to say.”

  He turned and fixed his eyes on hers. “I find that hard to believe, Counselor.”

  “You called me Aurora twice.” She liked the way he said her name even if he was scared. Angry.

  He studied her face until everything inside her shifted and collapsed. No. She could not be spiraling into love with the sheriff.

  He trailed his index finger down her cheek, setting off an explosion of feelings. “So I did. You’re supposed to be the enemy.”

  “But I’m not,” she murmured. She just saw the law differently from Beckett.

  “That’s what worries me.” He dropped his hand from her cheek and put a measure of distance between them. “I need to get that letter and gavel to the lab. Find out whose or what kind of blood is on it.”

  It appeared Beckett also knew they could never work—not in a million years—and he was ending something before it began. Which was the smarter move to make. Clearly he had a more level head than she had in the last twelve hours.

  “Right. Good.”

  Disappointment drowned her heart.

  * * *

  Beckett sat in his plush office chair staring at a lukewarm cup of coffee. After attending Kelly Marks’s funeral this morning with Aurora and the lunch afterward, he’d spent the rest of the afternoon recapping yesterday’s events and giving Aurora some grieving space. He rolled around the significance of giving Aurora a bloody gavel. Could definitely be Trevor. Waiting on the lab results for prints and the type of blood on the gavel was agonizing. He’d stopped in at Trevor Russell’s house earlier, too.

  According to Trevor’s dad, he was back in town but staying at his cabin near Hope Lake. His son, Quent, had been staying with the grandparents. Beckett ruled out Quent for these last escalating events, though he didn’t rule him out for throwing that whiskey bottle or keying Aurora’s car the day of the motion. Unfortunately, he couldn’t rule out Trevor. It was too convenient being out of town with zero alibi. He’d been in the military—army. He had a vast knowledge of vehicles. Even if Beckett couldn’t quite make him fit, he kept him in the back of his mind. Which was why he needed to go out to Hope Lake and have a chat. At least to feel Trevor out. See where his head was.

  But then it was easy to lie, to hide true feelings.

  Much like he’d done when he’d told Wilder he was fine after Meghan had died and her killer roamed scot-free. Beckett had claimed he’d let the process take its course in bringing Parker Hill—Meghan’s murderer—to justice. Wilder had assured him things would be handled properly.

  It was then Beckett realized he’d lost all of his faith. In justice. In God. It had terrified him but, with that absence, given him the fuel to seek his own vengeance for Meghan’s death. He’d stalked the stalker. While Wilder had used other methods of investigating and worked with law enforcement, Beckett had gone off the deep end, becoming obsessed himself.

  He blinked out of the dark place. He never wanted to go back there again. He’d asked for God’s forgiveness, but he still hadn’t reconciled why bad things happened to good people. To him. He promised himself he’d never lie about how he felt again. That he’d keep Wilder in the loop.

  And yet he’d already begun once more.

  Wilder had called Beckett on his feelings for Aurora and he’d denied them. The thought of Aurora being kidnapped, killed...set off a frenzy. Not because it brought back his feelings for Meghan or losing her. The guilt of being too late to save her? Yes. But not the ache and longing for her that had persisted long after her death.

  That was when he knew he was at peace with letting her go. Not the way in which she went, but that she was gone.

  And that he was open to love again.

  But Aurora Daniels? Could he be falling in love with her? In the short time they’d spent together?

  No. No, it wasn’t the tight company they’d been keeping these past several days. It was all the prior months of admiring her strength. Her determination. Her confidence. Maybe it wasn’t only her occupation that had put Beckett at arm’s length all this time but the fact that, deep down, he was aware he could love her. He could easily fall and fall hard, so he’d made her out to be the enemy when really she was a vulnerable woman working to make something she felt wrong right. She’d let her own guilt fuel her passion to defend those who needed defending. Did she get it wrong on occasion?

  Yes.

  Did Beckett?

  Yes. What was he going to do about it now? These feelings. Did she reciprocate a single one? The way she’d touched his arm, sending off a flood of sensations through him yesterday when she’d sincerely apologized. When she’d let him stroke her cheek. When she’d seemed let down as he pulled away.

  He sprang from his office chair, grabbed his coat and keys and stomped to his Tahoe. Time to clear his head, and the best way to do that was to ride out to Hope Lake and talk to Trevor. Wilder was keeping vigil over Aurora. Beckett was thankful he’d arrived when he had. Questioning suspects had to be done, and Aurora had no business going with him.

  Slowing as he reached the dirt paths that led
up to Trevor’s cabin, he whispered a prayer. “God, I don’t have a clue what I’m doing. I’m still trying to figure out what You’re doing. But please. Please don’t...don’t take Aurora away.” The words from me, he left off. Because she didn’t belong to him, and he wasn’t even sure he’d pursue anything. How in the world would they make it work? He’d arrest someone and she’d grab her coffee and kiss Beckett goodbye to run and defend the guy, assuring him she’d be home in time to eat pitiful snack foods and watch crime TV, to which they’d argue the entire time.

  He pressed his fingers across his brow, working to relieve tension. No go. He ambled out of the vehicle, noting Trevor’s car wasn’t anywhere in sight, and crunched dead leaves as he worked his way up to the porch. He knocked and rubbed his hands together for warmth.

  No answer.

  Beckett peeked inside the two front windows. Dark. Empty.

  A sinking feeling formed in Beckett’s gut. He suspected Trevor never had been up at his cabin. And his family might be covering for him, whether they knew what he was doing or not. He was family. Family took care of their own.

  He dug out his phone and called Wilder. They were at Aurora’s office so she could get some work done. See a few clients—criminals—and catch up on paperwork. Beckett listened to Wilder dote on her professionalism and legal mind all the way back into town before he couldn’t stand it any longer and cut the conversation short, then checked in at the station. Lab results came in on the gavel. Animal blood.

  Clomping up the steps, he entered Aurora’s office. The smell of fresh coffee and cinnamon lightened his mood. Wilder sat in the cramped waiting area, phone to his ear. He pointed at the phone and flashed a dramatic eye roll then mouthed, Caley.

  Beckett nodded and pointed to Aurora’s office.

  “She’s alone,” Wilder whispered.

  He waltzed down the hall and knocked on Aurora’s door. At her invitation to come inside, he opened it. Hair pulled back in a tight bun on her neck, she’d dressed in black pants and a light blue sweater. A bit more casual than he was used to, but then most of her clothes had been shredded. Someone had attacked her identity. Basically, told her to quit her profession, to stop while she was ahead. But Aurora had more tenacity than that.

  “How did things go at the cabin?” she asked.

  “They didn’t,” he said as he plopped into the chair across from her desk. He filled her in, including the lab results on the gavel.

  “I’m glad it’s not human blood, but it’s still sadistic.”

  “Agreed.” He studied her organized desk. “What have you been up to?”

  Aurora pushed her chair back and crossed her legs. “I just got off the phone with an old friend of Richie’s. Got an extended list of suspected names for those poker games. One of them might have had a beef with Gus.”

  “What’s the friend’s name?”

  “That’s confidential. But I can share the list. I say we take another trip to Richfield and have a tête-à-tête with each participant in those games.”

  Beckett couldn’t help the smile. Sometimes her choice of words did things to him. “I think we can do that.”

  “One of the men who attended those games is Wig Hardy.”

  “Wig?”

  “Wiggins Hardy. Wig is a mechanic, and when he and Gus were in their thirties, they co-owned a shop together. According to what I could dig up, it didn’t end well. He claimed Gus swindled him out of several thousand dollars.”

  “But he came to the poker games. Why would he do that if he was angry at Gus?” Beckett cracked his knuckles.

  “Keeping enemies closer and all that. Or maybe if he’d been swindled he was hoping to make some money back. Detective Holmstead said the games probably weren’t more than fifty bucks, but my source says sometimes it was as high as fifteen thousand dollars. That’s a lot of cash.”

  “And motive for murder.” They needed to talk to this Wig Hardy guy. Or do a little more snooping. “I may have a way to get into his financials without a warrant.”

  “Which won’t hold up in a court of law if it incriminates him. The case will get tossed, Beckett. If he’s responsible for my brother’s conviction and for attacking me, he’s not getting off the hook on inadmissible evidence in court.” She tapped her fancy fountain pen on her sleek desktop.

  Once again, she was proving they worked from opposite sides of the law. Beckett would snoop, then find another way to gain that hard evidence to convict. “Then what do we do, Counselor?”

  “Well, it’s not against the law to hire surveillance as long as no bugs are used. And I happen to know a guy who has a PI license in about twenty-five states, including Mississippi and Tennessee. He also happens to be sitting in my waiting area...doing surveillance on me.”

  Beckett chased her trail of thinking. Good idea. He rose from the chair and ambled to the door. “Looks like you and Wilder have been having a nice get-to-know-you tête-à-tête yourselves.” He poked his head into the hall and hollered for Wilder. When he appeared, he asked, “How long did you say you were going to be in town?”

  Wilder groaned. “I know that face. What do you want?”

  EIGHT

  It was Friday afternoon, and Aurora might go stir-crazy. The weather had cleared up to sunny and in the high fifties. Felt warmer though. The last two days had been nothing but rain. She was sick of rain and clouds and gloom.

  Aurora stewed and paced her room like a caged animal, running down the events from the last few days. Wilder had been following Wig Hardy since Tuesday night when they’d decided to put surveillance on him. Most of the court cases had been pushed back; she’d only had to be in court twice. It was the nights that were extremely difficult, after Beckett retired to his room when she was left alone with thoughts of Kelly—seeing her family grieve by the casket. Aurora would make sure her killer was arrested and convicted, but that might not erase her own guilt.

  Her freedom had been stolen. She had been driven from her home and was stuck here. While the inn was beautiful and comfortable, she wanted her life back. Aurora needed some space. Fresh air. Fresh hope. “Counselor?” Beckett knocked on the adjoining room door.

  “Come in.”

  Beckett entered.

  “Any news? Wilder come up with anything on Wig?”

  “Not so far. He says the guy is boring other than his daily trips to the casinos in Tunica.”

  Which proved he was a gambler, and losing money could motivate someone to murder. That’s when Aurora became aware Beckett wasn’t in sheriff’s clothing. He wore faded jeans, frayed around the ankles, cowboy boots with squared toes and a flannel shirt with a white T-shirt underneath. It was topped by a heavy denim jacket lined with wool and brown corduroy collar and cuffs. He did casual extremely well. Her pulse spiked.

  “What are you about to do?” She gestured to his attire.

  “What we’re about to do. Throw on some jeans. You do own jeans, right?” A lopsided grin slid across his face.

  “Yes. Where are we going?”

  “You need a break. So we’re getting out for a while and going to your dinner buddy’s place.”

  She frowned. “Mitch Rydell is not my—You know what, forget it. Why are we going to Mitch’s?” His very name seemed to ruffle Beckett’s feathers.

  “Horseback riding. Fresh air. Countryside. Knock when you’re ready.”

  “Does he know we’re coming?”

  “I made sure to call.” A challenge of some sort flickered in his eyes. She wasn’t going to get into Mitch Rydell again. It wasn’t worth it, so she let it drop.

  “Fine with me, but I don’t have jeans here. I need to go home.”

  “Fine.” Beckett grabbed his keys and drove her home to change. In thirty minutes, they were at Mitch’s stable and saddling the sweetest Appaloosa horses on the p
lanet.

  “I should tell you, I haven’t been on a horse since I was a teenager.” Aurora climbed on and grabbed the reins, noticing Beckett watching her a little too closely.

  “Well,” he said, and cleared his throat, “you look like you remember pretty well.” He mounted his horse like a guy from a cologne commercial, then kissed the air twice and nudged his horse on the sides with his foot. Aurora nudged her horse, too, and they set out across Mitch’s pasture.

  “So, where are we going?” Aurora asked as the horses went at an easy pace.

  “Where do you want to go?” Beckett asked softly. “We can go wherever you want.”

  Was that a bit of subtext?

  “I’d like to go to the beach. Can we ride to one?” she teased.

  “You’re a fan of warm weather?”

  “Yes. Definitely. I could live in Florida or Cancun.” She laughed as they moseyed across pure pastureland. Cows grazing. Enormous hay bales dotting the hills, the air crisp but not uncomfortable. The smell of spring ebbing and flowing, but the fear of someone watching never far from the back of her mind. She scoped out their surroundings just in case. “Are you sure we should be out here in the open like this?”

  “You’ll be fine.”

  He tucked his hand inside his coat pocket and retrieved a pair of dark sunglasses. Talk about being the front-runner for a cowboy magazine cover model. Aurora fought the urge to drool like a moron.

  “I thought we might ride out by Hope Lake. They have some great trails. Lots of nature. You a fan of nature?”

  “I like the outdoors, but I won’t turn down a weekend at the spa.” She could use a massage, with all her coiled muscles, but this ride was definitely helping. So was the company. “This was exactly what I needed, Beckett. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  The jittery feelings wore away as they settled into a nice pace and rode to the lake.

  “So you like the beach. You have a beach house, Miss High-Cotton?” he teased.

  She snickered. “No, but I’ve considered it. Maui. The Virgin Islands. I don’t care where.”