Sarah's Secrets

by Lisa Childs

  A sin she had passed on to him.

  “You know that I follow this stuff…anything police-related. I didn’t recognize him at first…he looks different. But I started thinking. And when you sent me upstairs to wash up, I pulled out my scrapbook. He’s in there. I’ve cut out articles on him, on all his cases. He’s here for a reason, Mom. Because of me?” The quaver traveled from his voice to his chin, and fear widened his eyes.

  She shook her head. “No, not because of you.”

  He swallowed hard. “Why? Don’t lie to me. You’ve always promised you’ll never lie to me.”

  Tears burned behind her eyes. Her son was the only one to whom she made promises now. She had to keep them. “Royce came here for me.”

  And again she damned him for it.

  “Why, Mom?” The fear in his eyes didn’t abate. For so many years, she’d been all he’d had, as he still was for her.

  She drew in a quick breath. “You know he’s a private investigator now. Someone hired him to find me.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know, and I don’t care.” Although she spoke the truth, her callousness shamed her for her disregard for an invalid. She had become a nurse to help others. How could she forgive herself for not granting the wish of a dying man?

  Then she stared hard at her son, her love for him washing over her and washing away the guilt. He was her number-one concern.

  “But—”

  “I’m sure it’s a mistake, Jeremy. I don’t recognize his name. I’m sure he’s looking for some other woman. Not me.” Again, the truth.

  He blew out a breath, and it danced through his bangs. “So this has nothing to do with me?”

  Sarah had no answer for that question. Was a lie of omission still a lie?

  AS HE CLIMBED the railroad-tie stairs built into the steep hillside, Royce glanced back at the lake glistening in the amber rays of a steadily dropping sun. Not long before sunset. He bet it was a spectacular sight.

  He had checked the gate at the beach. Secure. For the moment. But it wouldn’t take much for someone to get over the fence without setting off the alarm. He could do it. Same for the gate at the end of the paved drive by the road.

  From his years in law enforcement, he’d learned nothing was impenetrable. If someone really wanted to get Sarah’s son, they would. The last defense against a kidnapping would be an armed guard. And he hadn’t brought a gun.

  But they’d already said he wouldn’t get in their way. He stretched, but the muscles in his gut still cramped. He staggered on the step and nearly lost his footing. Rocks and driftwood dotted the beach below before sand met water. Losing his focus could get him killed.

  But what was his focus now? To bring Sarah to a dying man’s bedside or to protect her child?

  How did the would-be kidnappers know him? Because they’d followed him straight to Sarah? He hated to think that he’d gotten that sloppy, even if worry for Bart had consumed him. But what was the likelihood of a genuine coincidence?

  What were the alternatives?

  Someone had overheard something from the park?

  Dylan had called him the Tracker then. And later at the ice cream parlor, Dylan had mentioned the nickname again when the young deputy had protested Royce sitting in on the questioning of the teenager who’d nearly slashed his tires.

  A curse rolled off his tongue over the teenager’s ignorance. The kid knew nothing of the man who had slipped him that ripped half of a hundred-dollar bill. He hadn’t even been able to describe his voice.

  All during the interrogation, the deputy had simmered with resentment, too. What was his part in this? Could he be behind the phone call? Did he hope that the threats would propel Sarah into his arms?

  When a wave of resentment rolled through his stomach, Royce cursed again. He couldn’t be jealous of some young guy’s crush on Sarah. And he couldn’t accept the deputy’s involvement, no matter how much he wished he weren’t partially responsible himself.

  Despite the cool breeze blowing in off the lake, sweat dampened his brow. He should have gotten a damned haircut already. But it wasn’t too much hair overheating him. It was Sarah. Sarah pressed against his chest, trembling in his arms.

  He’d wanted to hang on to her. He’d wanted to offer her promises he had no business making. Another thing he’d learned on the job was that promises couldn’t be kept.

  He rubbed a hand over his unshaven face. After setting Sarah away from him and seeing her safely inside the house, he’d made a couple of calls on his cell phone. Maybe he had another agenda where Sarah Mars was concerned, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t help her. Especially since he was probably the one who’d led danger to her. Damn it!

  The front door stood open, but the police car in the driveway reassured him. An expensive foreign car was parked behind it. When he shut the door, the hum of conversation subsided.

  “So this is the private investigator? I don’t understand why he’s gotten so involved, Dylan,” an unfamiliar male voice said.

  “He’s a friend.” Dylan’s answer. Not Sarah’s. “Despite being on a case of his own, he stepped in to help.”

  And obviously Sarah had not clued the sheriff in on Royce’s real agenda.

  Royce stared at the stranger, a tall, dark-haired man who’d already dismissed him. His mouth twisted with distaste over the guy’s perfectly pressed suit. Even when he’d been required to wear a suit and tie, he’d never looked like that. His grimace turned into a smirk, the defense he’d used since childhood to combat disapproval.

  The stranger’s dark eyes burned into Royce. “You arrived in town just when all the threats began. Funny timing.”

  And the guy was astute, too much so. “Yeah, I’m laughing my ass off. Who are you?” He unwrapped a candy and popped it into his mouth.

  “Evan Quade, Mrs. Hutchins’s business partner.” The smooth guy held out a hand, a dark brow lifted expectantly.

  Royce shoved his hands in his pockets, his fingers rustling the candy wrappers. “Royce Graham. So who called you over? And why?”

  His gaze flicked to Sarah who stood with her back to them, her gaze directed toward the sun setting on the lake. Was this yet another admirer of hers? Was there something more between them than business? And why did the thought of it cause his stomach to burn?

  Evan Quade’s jaw clenched, a muscle jumping. “I don’t need to explain my presence to you.”

  “I asked him to come with Dylan,” Sarah admitted, finally turning toward her guests. “I just finished telling them about the call.”

  But not all of it. If they knew he’d been mentioned by name, he figured Sheriff Matthews would have already directed the hot lights on him, and Quade would be only too happy to turn the screws.

  Dylan began, “We’ll figure out where it came from. I’ll have someone trace—”

  Royce held up a hand. “I called in a favor. It’s been done. Phone booth near the ice cream parlor.”

  “Good work, Royce. Thanks!” Dylan reached for his cell phone. “Sarah, when you called you should have told me the kidnappers had contacted you.”

  He turned away to bark some orders into the phone.

  “How’d you find that out so quickly?” the businessman asked, his dark eyes intense.

  Royce shrugged. “I’ve got connections.” He hadn’t burned all his bridges.

  “You have experience with this sort of thing?”

  “He used to work for the FBI, Evan.” Weariness thinned Sarah’s voice; she’d apparently tired of their male posturing.

  But Royce hadn’t.

  And from his next question, neither had Quade. “So what’s your professional take on all this then, Mr. Graham? If the threats are, God forbid, real, where do you look for suspects?”

  “In my experience, these types of threats are usually made by someone close to the victim.” He returned the businessman’s assessing stare.

  Sarah’s heels clicked on the slate floor as she stepped closer to him,
and Royce caught a slight movement under the silk of her blouse. She involuntarily shivered as if she’d just awakened in bed to find she’d kicked off the covers. If he’d been in it with her, he would have kept her warm. He shook his head, trying to dislodge the wild thought and the erotic image of her naked in his arms.

  He dragged in a deep breath, drinking in the scent of orange blossoms. He could almost taste the citrus explosion on his tongue. But the contrast with the butterscotch candy would leave a bitter taste in his mouth.

  With an effort, he finished his observation, “Like business partners. Like friends.”

  Evan Quade continued to study him. Royce fought not to squirm. The guy reminded him of his father, too judgmental, too high-powered. Too capable of ruthlessness. Maybe his cynicism in discounting coincidence had caused him to overlook a very obvious suspect.

  “What are you implying?” Quade asked, his dark brow lifting again.

  “Business partners don’t always have amicable relationships, especially if inheritance figured into that partnership.”

  Sarah’s inheritance from her late husband. Sarah was a lot smarter than his mother had been. But he had to remember she was the same kind of woman. Mercenary. The only trait separating them was Sarah’s unquestionable love for her child.

  Evan sucked in a breath, but Sarah laughed. “I’m not his business partner. He says that…”

  She lifted a hand and dropped it. “The company is his. It’s been his for a long time now.”

  Evan shook his head. “Without you, Sarah, there’d be no company.”

  Gossip had not told him why Quade would claim such a thing, and he suspected neither business partner would reveal the reason.

  Sarah sighed. “Evan, that’s why I called you over. To discuss the business.”

  “Why?”

  Quade could ask. Royce didn’t care. How could she discuss business at a time like this? With her son threatened and an old man dying to see her? Mercenary didn’t begin to cover Sarah Mars-Hutchins.

  “I know I’ve been trying to sign my half of the company over to you—”

  He mentally smacked his forehead. Someday he’d learned to not jump to conclusions about women.

  “And I told you that’s ridiculous. If you want out, I’ll buy you—”

  “Okay.”

  “What?” he and the businessman asked in unison.

  “I need to be prepared for anything. The amount they asked for…what with building the house…I don’t have that much cash immediately available. Do you, Evan?”

  He nodded. “Of course, but I’ll give it to you. Forget the company.”

  Pride tilted her chin. “No. I don’t want charity.”

  “Hell, Sarah, this isn’t charity. And I’m sure it’s not going to be necessary. But if you need the money, it’ll be available.”

  Royce swallowed a sigh. Evan Quade had just ruined his suspect potential.

  Sarah’s gray eyes churned with frustration. “No, that’s not enough. I want the money in my account now. And I want it to be my money. Not borrowed.”

  Control. She wanted control. Royce understood, but he suspected her effort was futile. From his years with the FBI, he knew parents of kidnapped children never had control. They had unending nights of sleeplessness and constant anguish. Acid churned in his stomach. Damn ulcers.

  Quade nodded. “Whatever you want, Sarah.”

  “So draw up the papers.”

  “Sarah…”

  Royce turned away from their brief argument to where Dylan had wandered into the kitchen, the cell phone clenched to his ear. What had he learned that had his face pinched with such concern?

  When the sheriff wrapped up the call and tapped the phone into his pocket, his hand shook.

  “Dylan, what’s wrong?” Sarah asked, breaking off her discussion with Quade in mid-sentence.

  “Lindsey. She’s been taken to the hospital by ambulance.”

  Sarah’s breath hitched. “Labor again?”

  He nodded. “And it doesn’t look good…for either of them.”

  Quade cursed.

  Sarah blinked back tears of concern. “Get going. Both of you!”

  “But Sarah, my duty as a lawman—”

  “Doesn’t mean a thing against your duty as a husband and a soon-to-be father. Get out of here!”

  He squeezed her shoulder. “Sarah…I’ll call…later.” His stride long and desperate, he headed for the door.

  Sarah turned on Quade, whose deep tan had blanched. “You, too! Go! Drive him!”

  “Sarah—”

  “Go!”

  Royce waited until the door closed behind the businessman’s back before he expelled a breath. He sought for something to say to dispel the nerve-wracking tension. “Whew…so that’s what a bossy mother sounds like.”

  She wrapped her arms around her midriff, drawing on her mask of composure again. “Yours wasn’t?”

  He shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t know.”

  “Jeremy has no doubt.”

  “It’s not that. I didn’t know—” He cut off the admission, surprised he’d almost made it. “So how serious do you think this is with Dylan’s wife?”

  Her hands trembled where she clutched them against her sides. “I hope not very…but…”

  “Dylan was upset. Quade, too.”

  “Lindsey is the love of Dylan’s life. And she’s Evan’s sister. He just found her a couple of years ago. To lose her now…like he lost his wife…. It’d destroy him.”

  “He lost his wife in childbirth?”

  She shook her head, the red tresses dancing around her shoulders. “No. He just…lost her.”

  Royce lifted his eyebrows, but Sarah’s lips compressed. He knew she’d say no more, that she already regretted what she had revealed. “Jeez, it’s true what they say about small towns.”

  She didn’t ask what he meant. Sarah would know all about small-town secrets. She kept enough of them.

  “So…where’s the kid?” he asked.

  “Upstairs. I let him have his dinner up there, in front of the TV.” Guilt weighed heavily in her words.

  “That’s not usual?”

  “Not in this house.”

  The fading sunset silhouetted her against the patio doors, casting a slender, fragile image.

  “Did you eat?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “I—I can’t.”

  He sighed but resisted the urge to lecture. He had no business giving out advice he never took himself. An awkward silence fell between them with the shadows, as the last light of day stole away.

  “You don’t need to stay,” she said, finally speaking.

  “I can’t leave…not yet. Not alone, Sarah.”

  She shuddered. “I’m not going with you.”

  “Sarah…”

  “Lindsey’s my friend. As well as Dylan’s wife, Evan’s sister—she’s my friend now. I want to be by her side, too.” In the faint glow of dusk, tears glistened on her silken cheeks. “I can’t go to her. I can’t hold her hand. I can’t be there with my friends…because of this threat against my son. This threat that came to Winter Falls with you.”

  He crossed the couple of feet that separated them and pulled her trembling body into his arms. “I’m sorry, Sarah.”

  She stiffened, her fists clenched against his shoulders. “Just go away! Go away, so I can have my life back!”

  SARAH HAD SUNK to some real lows in the course of her twenty-eight years, but she doubted any were as low as those few moments when she’d melted into Royce Graham’s arms. Again.

  She’d found the strength to push him away, to push him out of her home. But not out of her life. She couldn’t sweep him out like sand Jeremy had tracked in from the beach.

  He’d left deeper gouges in her life than some small scratches on the slate floor. His presence filled her with fear, fear that would increase instead of abate with his absence.

  When he’d first complied and closed the door behind him, pan
ic had pressed in on her lungs, cutting off her breath. But the engine of the big silver truck never rumbled to life. He sat behind the wheel but didn’t start the motor.

  He had no intention of leaving, and contrarily she found herself grateful. Another low. She was grateful for the presence of the man who’d turned her life upside down.

  After an awkward goodnight where she hadn’t quite met Jeremy’s bright gaze, she had descended the stairs into the depths of despair. She was truly alone now. Cut off and at the mercy of a security system an ex-FBI agent had deemed inadequate. But for that agent…

  The phone jangled, startling her to jump up from the leather sofa where she’d briefly settled. Nerves frayed, she summoned the last reserves of her courage and reached for the cordless handset, holding it to her ear without a greeting.

  “Sarah?”

  “Dylan.” A relieved breath sighed out, but she couldn’t stop trembling.

  “Are you all right?”

  “How’s Lindsey? I’ve been so worried.” And she had. Thoughts of her friends had never left her mind despite all else that swirled through it.

  “She’s stable now. They’ve stopped the labor. But the doctors are concerned.” And from the hoarseness of his voice, so was he.

  “She’s a fighter, Dylan. You know that!”

  “Yes, I do.” He cleared his throat. “What about you? Any other calls?”

  “No.”

  “I had Jones check the phone booth where Royce had the call traced. It had been wiped completely clean. Nothing, Sarah…”

  “A public phone with no prints?”

  “Unlikely, I know. Did Royce stay?”

  She slipped down the hall to the front door and peered through the side windows to the truck gleaming in the moonlight. “Yes.”

  “Good. He’ll keep you and Jeremy safe. I’ve gotta go, Sarah. The doctor’s here.”

  “Tell Lindsey I’m thinking about her.” She clicked the off button on the cordless phone but continued to hold the cold plastic against her cheek. Her prayers for Lindsey had been answered, now for those she’d said for Jeremy’s safety…

  Through the soles of her stockings the cool slate chilled her feet. In northern Michigan, even in spring, the temperature dipped to near freezing at night. Royce wore only the knit polo shirt and worn-out jeans. Was he warm enough?