by Stacy Finz
Jace snorted. With Photoshop and a piece of heavy card stock he could be Buster Posey. But why a fake ID? Unless she was trying to disappear, which was nearly impossible in this day and age.
“Is a social worker talking to her?” Jace asked. It was protocol.
The doctor pinched his lips together. “She refused.”
“I’ll talk to her.” But if she’d already refused to talk to the doctor, Jace didn’t expect he’d have any better luck. It wasn’t atypical for victims in these types of cases to refuse to report their abusers. “Are you releasing her tonight?”
“We’d rather not. She’s passed most of the fetus and placenta. I gave her something to pass the rest and for the pain. But she should be monitored. She says she doesn’t want to stay.”
No one could force her to.
“Let me see what I can do,” he said, though a female social worker would’ve been better equipped. He grew up on a cattle ranch and was raised by a rough-and-tumble cowboy. Needless to say, Jace didn’t have a lot of finesse in these situations.
And the woman had just lost her child.
“I’ll check to see if she’s ready for a visitor.” The doctor left the office and Jace went in search of a men’s room.
He took a leak, washed his hands and face, and checked his phone. Grady had sent a miss-you emoji, which probably meant Cash or Aubrey had given him a nine-year-old’s equivalent of a time-out for misbehaving.
He went outside, leaned against the wall, and called his cousin. “Everything okay?”
“Yep, we just had dinner. How ʼbout you?”
Jace couldn’t remember the last time he ate. Breakfast maybe. “I’m gonna be a while. The boys behaving?” They were probably celebrating Mrs. Jamison’s last day. They’d managed to run her off too.
“They’re good, Jace. They did their homework and are now watching TV. Why don’t we keep them overnight and get them to school in the morning?”
Jace looked up at the sky. Lots of angry clouds. A storm was definitely coming, he could feel the electricity in the air and smell the sharp scent of ozone. “If it’s not too much trouble, I’d appreciate that.”
“You got it.”
He signed off and went back inside.
“Doctor Madison says you can go back,” Kay told him. “She’s in exam room five.”
Jace passed through the double doors again and the duty nurse waved to him from behind her station. “When are you taking me dancing, Sheriff?”
“As soon as I learn how to two-step.” He winked, crossed the floor, and knocked on number five’s curtain.
“Come in,” came a weak voice.
When he got inside, she was gathering up her coat and purse from the chair. She was pale and her eyes were ringed with deep, dark circles. But even in her pallid condition, she was beautiful. He could tell that right away. Not the kind of woman he was usually drawn to, too understated. She was a little younger than him, maybe in her early thirties, with long dark hair, almond-shaped brown eyes, and a slight overbite. She seemed petite but it was hard to tell in the oversized scrubs she had on.
“Mrs. Rogers”—his eyes slipped to her ring again—“you mind if we talk?”
She rested a trembling hand on the exam table. Jace got the impression she was using it to hold herself up.
“I would like to get to my car now, please.”
“It’s securely parked at the station, about twenty minutes away. Nothing will happen to it. Why don’t you sit down for a second?”
She did, but Jace suspected only because standing was difficult.
“You can’t drive in your condition.” He pulled up a chair and straddled it. “The doctor thinks you should stay here, let the nurses monitor you.”
She didn’t respond, staring vacantly at the wall.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Rogers. I’m terribly sorry for your loss.” He started to reach for her hand and thought better of it.
She swiped at her eyes. “I need to go.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.
He tilted his head so they were eye level. “You’re safe here.”
She shakily got to her feet, clutching her purse, coat, and a plastic bag with her soiled clothes to her chest. “Please…take me to my car.”
There wasn’t a whole hell of a lot he could do to keep her here, short of arresting her.
“Ma’am, I have to ask you a few questions first. Okay?” He looked at her, hoping to compel her to sit back down, even though she was dead set on leaving. But to where? That was the question.
She let out a huff of frustration, waited a beat, and finally took the doctor’s stool in the corner of the exam room.
“Is your home safe?” he asked softly, knowing he sometimes came off gruff and he didn’t want to frighten her. Although he’d been trained in how to handle victims of domestic violence—and that’s what he thought she was—he’d only done it a handful of times.
“Yes,” she answered quickly, not meeting his eyes.
“Is there someone in your life who makes you feel unsafe?” He tried to make eye contact with her, but she lowered her gaze to her short brown leather boots.
“No.” She swallowed and lifted her chin defiantly. “Why are you asking me these questions?”
He took a deep breath and, in that instant, decided to take off the kid gloves. “Are you being abused, Mrs. Rogers? Because Doctor Madison thinks you are…He thinks it’s the reason for your miscarriage.” She started to protest and he held up his hands. “No one’s judging you, Mrs. Rogers. All we want to do is keep you safe.”
She started to respond but clutched her stomach instead. “I have to use the restroom.” She winced while trying to unfold herself from the stool. He jumped to his feet to help her but she rejected his hand. “I’ll meet you in the waiting room.”
In essence, she was telling him his Q&A was over. He watched her leave the exam room, hunched over in pain, then scooped up the rest of her belongings and made his way to the lobby.
He waited by the glass doors. It was raining now and even from inside he could hear the wind howling.
“It’s really coming down,” Kay said.
The waiting room was as quiet as when he had gotten here. An elderly man now sat in the place where the mother and child had been.
“Yep, looks like we’re in for a soaker.” He stared out the window, thankful that his SUV was still parked at the curb.
The woman…Mrs. Rogers…emerged a few minutes later and Jace joined her at the desk. She signed a release form and paid her bill—in cash. Jace watched as she counted out more than a thousand dollars. No wonder she’d freaked out about her purse when they’d first arrived.
He grabbed his hat off the rack, helped her with her coat, and held his own over her head as they rushed outside to his vehicle. “Not a good night to be out on the road,” he said, hoping she would see the foolishness in him taking her to retrieve her car.
She responded with stony silence and wrapped her arms around herself.
“Cold?”
She nodded. He cranked up the heat, then pulled out of the parking lot onto Highway 49. The rain was coming down in sheets, lashing his windshield. He turned the wipers to full force and still had trouble seeing the road in the glare of the headlights from oncoming traffic.
He slid her a sideways glance. It was difficult to see in the dark, but under the glow of an occasional streetlamp her face still appeared ashen. “You okay?”
“Yes,” she said, then took a long pause. “Thank you for waiting for me.”
Once they got out of Auburn the constant pelting of rain made visibility worse. Afraid of hydroplaning, Jace took the road much slower than he usually would. Next to him, she sat motionless, perhaps asleep.
About halfway to Dry Creek, she stirred. “I’m sorry I kept you from your family.”
> “It’s part of the job,” he said. “How about you? Do you have someone expecting you tonight?”
She didn’t answer. No surprise there, but he wanted to open the line of communication and hoped that away from the hospital she might feel more comfortable telling him what was going on.
A bolt of lightning lit the sky, followed by a clap of thunder. Beside him, he felt her tense.
“Mrs. Rogers, why don’t you let me take you to a motel? Even in the best of circumstances, it’s not a night for driving. I can have a deputy deliver your car.”
She silently rested her head against the passenger window and let out a long, low sigh. “All right.”
He’d like to think that she’d finally come to her senses, but was more inclined to believe that she just didn’t have the wherewithal to drive in this weather after what she’d been through. He should’ve been more persistent about her staying overnight at the hospital. The idea of her being alone in a hotel room didn’t sit well with him, but he supposed it was at least something.
“There’s a place about three miles from here,” he said. “Nothing fancy, but it’s clean and family operated.” The Goldilocks Motor Lodge. He’d gone to high school with the owners’ son.
“Okay. Thank you.” Her voice sounded broken.
Up the road he took the turnout to the motel, a long row of stone cottages that hadn’t been updated since the ʼ90s. There was a pool in the courtyard where the wind had blown a deck chair onto the cover.
He pulled under the wooden porte-cochere over the office. “I’ll go inside and get you a room, if that’s okay?”
She nodded but followed him inside the lobby anyway. There was a fire going in the woodstove at the other end of the room and a wreath left over from Christmas.
Nell was working the desk. She raised her head from the book she was reading and looked curiously at Charlie Rogers’s blue scrubs.
“Evening, Sheriff. Miserable outside, ain’t it?”
“Yep, but we could sure use the rain.”
“Ain’t that the truth.”
“Nell, Mrs. Rogers here needs a room.”
Nell shook her head. “’Fraid we’ve got no vacancies. Between the weather and that Teddy Bear Convention in Nevada City, we’re all booked up.”
Shit, he’d forgotten about the International Teddy Bear Convention at the Miners Foundry. It was an annual event and brought thousands of collectors to Gold Country, including historians from all over the world.
“You know if the Prospector Inn has rooms?” It was more expensive than the motor lodge and off the beaten path, but it would serve.
“Nope. They’ve been sending folks here.”
Okay, well that posed a problem. There were a number of B and Bs in the area, but he suspected most of those were full too. He could call around, but typically the local innkeepers turned on their answering machines after eight.
“There’s the Swank,” Nell offered, and Jace silently groaned. Back in high school they used to call it the Skank, and unfortunately it hadn’t changed since then. The motel, an old Howard Johnson’s from the 1950s, was off 49, next to a bar that catered to bikers.
“Thanks, Nell, we’ll check it out.”
They got back in his SUV and he sat there for a few minutes, considering the options. Everyone stayed at those Airbnbs now, but he didn’t know anyone with a room to rent. He blew out a puff of air, knowing he was about to break one of his hard-and-fast rules of never taking the job home with him. But in this situation he didn’t see any way around it, other than to drop her off at the station and let her sleep in one of the jail cells.
No way would she make it to Roseville where lodging was plentiful. Even in good weather, the Sacramento suburb was forty-five minutes away, and she was in no condition to drive. It hadn’t escaped him that on the short ride from the hospital, she’d gone from bad to worse, stooping over in her seat and holding her belly.
He started the engine for the heat and turned to her. “I live in a big house with five bedrooms. The guest rooms are in a separate wing. It’s warm, it’s dry, it’s safe, and it’s relatively clean. And it looks like it’s your only option.”
Her eyes grew wide and she wrung her hands. “We’re strangers.”
He waved at the raging storm outside. “It’s strangers or that.” If it was anyone besides himself he might not be so cavalier about a woman going home with a man she didn’t know. “May I be blunt, Mrs. Rogers? Staying in the home of the county sheriff appears to be less risky than whatever…whoever…you came from.” He gave her a pointed look.
She swallowed hard and gave an imperceptible nod. The poor woman could barely keep her eyes open. He suspected it was the painkillers.
Jace pulled away from the Goldilocks Motor Lodge. The turnoff to Dry Creek Road was five miles away and they drove it in silence while the rain turned to hail pellets the size of bullets. With only her soft breathing in the background, he wondered if she’d fallen asleep.
As he climbed his muddy driveway, the motion lights on the garage went on.
She lifted her head and became suddenly still. He wasn’t sure if it was her reaction to the grandeur of the ranch house or a statement about how unsettled she was with coming here.
“It was my grandfather’s,” he said about the house, trying to be conversational to put her at ease. “He left the ranch to me and my two cousins when he died.”
“It’s lovely,” she said quietly.
“Come inside.” He pulled his hat down lower on his head and got out. The dogs must’ve wandered over to Cash’s to keep watch over the boys. They usually greeted him with exuberant barks and bathed him in slobber.
He went around to her side. She bristled when he touched her arm but reluctantly let him help her out. Either she’d accepted that he wouldn’t hurt her or was too weak to resist. They went through the mudroom and he flicked on the light in the kitchen.
She stopped and glanced around the room. Mrs. Jamison had cleaned because the usual pile of dishes was no longer in the sink. Jace remembered the flowers in the back seat of his SUV. He’d have to deliver the bouquet to her house in the morning.
“You want something to eat or drink?” he offered.
She sagged against the center island, clutching her purse, and he noted she was still pale.
“Thank you, but I’d just like to go to bed now.” A little color rose to her cheeks, reaffirming the awkwardness of staying in a stranger’s home.
“Let me show you to your room.” No one had used that wing of the house in a while. Jace hoped it wasn’t too dusty.
He guided her through the great room, flicking on lights as he went. She studied her surroundings as they made their way to the guest wing. Jace thought she was mapping out an escape route. He was about to tell her she was safe here and realized how empty those words would sound. He continued through a long hallway where a series of Western landscapes hung on the wall, and pushed open a door.
“You’ll be in here.” He made room for her to cross the threshold and her eyes immediately flicked to the French doors that opened onto the porch. “The bathroom is through there. Help yourself to anything you need.”
“Thank you.”
He started to leave, then stopped at the door. “Mrs. Rogers, if you tell me what you’re up against, the law can get involved. We can go to the DA and press charges.”
She stared down at the hardwood floor but said nothing.
Chapter 2
Rays of light bounced off the walls, and Charlotte slowly opened her eyes. For a few panicked seconds she thought she was home in San Francisco, next to Corbin. But slowly, the events of the past few days came back to her and she reflexively rested her palm on her stomach.
Her baby was gone.
She closed her eyes again and took a few deep breaths, refusing to let herself cry. There woul
d be time for that later. Time to mourn the loss of her child, the loss of life that had been growing inside her for fourteen weeks. But now she had to figure out how to get her plan back on track.
She rolled to her side, where a bronze clock in the shape of a horseshoe sat on the nightstand. Three o’clock. No, that couldn’t be right. She got off the bed and padded to the chair where she’d left her purse the night before and checked her phone.
It was dead.
There was an outlet next to the chair and she rummaged through her purse, found a charger, and plugged the phone in. That’s when the door squeaked and she whipped around, shielding her face.
“Who are you?” A young boy stood in the doorway. He had to be the sheriff’s son. Same blue eyes and dark hair. Even his stance—thumbs hitched inside his jean pockets—was the same.
“Char…Charlie, Charlie Rogers. And you?”
“Charlie’s a boy’s name.” He came deeper inside the room.
“Not always.” Despite herself, she smiled. He had a smudge of dirt on his nose and she yearned to wipe it clean. “Do you know what time it is?”
He shrugged. “School gets out at two thirty and that was like a long time ago.”
She glanced back at the horseshoe clock, then at the French doors. The blinds were down but there was a good amount of light streaming though the spaces between the slats. She walked over to the window and peeked outside. It had stopped raining but it was definitely late afternoon, judging by the sun’s location.
“Why are you here?” he asked, eyeing her blue scrubs with interest.
“I got sick last night and your dad found me by the side of the road. All the hotels were booked for a convention, so he brought me here.”
“Oh.” He didn’t seem to think it was odd that his father brought home a total stranger in hospital clothes. Perhaps the sheriff did stuff like this all the time.
The weirdest part was that Charlotte had managed to sleep soundly in a stranger’s house—or anywhere for that matter. Maybe it was her overwhelming grief or the medication the doctor had prescribed. But for the first time in more than a year she felt rested.