Deceived (Unlikely Heroes Book 3)

by Leslie Georgeson

  “Do you know this man?”

  Meg shook her head. “I’ve never seen him before.” Before yesterday, anyway.

  “Did you touch the body?”

  “I fell on top of him.” She cringed again. “So, yeah, I guess I touched him.”

  “Do you know what he’s doing here?”

  Yes.

  “No.”

  His gaze held hers for a long moment, searching. He knelt over the body and glanced down at the man’s face.

  He jerked back, his gaze locking on hers. “I know this man.”

  All the blood drained from Meg’s face. “You do?” Oh God. Was the sheriff part of the corruptness she’d run from?

  “Yes. He’s a cop from Spokane. I used to work with him. Years ago.”

  Terror gripped her, stealing her breath. “Y-you’re from Spokane?”

  “Not originally, no. I’m from around here. But I worked for the Spokane County Sheriff’s Office until I became sheriff here.”

  “Oh.” It came out as a soft squeak. That meant he knew Larry, had worked underneath him. Meg inhaled sharply. She had to tread very carefully from here on out. She couldn’t trust this man for a second. “H-how long have you been the sheriff here?”

  “A little over three years.” He straightened away from the body. “My first big case after I became sheriff was the disappearance of a young girl who lived just on the other side of the river.” He let out a breath. “Her father rescued her three years later at this very house. Just a few months ago. She’d been held prisoner in the basement along with another woman who had escaped.”

  Meg shivered. “A crime was committed in my house?” Her stomach churned. “How terrible for those girls. Are they okay?”

  He gave a curt nod. “They are now. And it looks as if a second crime has now occurred on your property.” He reached for his police radio and spoke into it. His gaze remained on her the entire time. Meg nervously inched farther into her house away from him, tuning out his deep voice as she tried to figure her way out of this nightmare.

  The sheriff hooked the small radio back on a pocket clip on his shirt. He came forward, stepping into her house. Meg’s heart galloped out of control as she stared up at his too-serious face. Oh shit.

  “The forensics team is on its way out here, along with the coroner. Since they are probably going to come to the same conclusion I did, I think it’s time you and I had a little talk.”

  She stared up into his unreadable face, unable to breathe.

  He stopped directly in front of her. “Now I have probable cause.” He pulled a set of handcuffs from his belt.

  Meg scrambled backwards as terror gripped her. “No,” she whispered. “I have a broken arm. Please. You can’t handcuff me.”

  Ignoring her, he reached down and snapped a handcuff over her right wrist, the uninjured one, then snapped the other handcuff over his own wrist. Securing them together.

  The breath whooshed from her lungs. She gasped, pulled on her arm.

  “W-what are you doing?”

  “Keeping you from running away. There’s a dead man on your porch, remember?”

  She felt a tic coming on and couldn’t stop it.

  “Cops are bad, bad, bad.” Her arm twitched in the handcuff. Once, twice, jerking against his hand.

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “You keep saying that. Why?”

  Heat washed over her face. “I don’t mean to. Sometimes I can’t control it.”

  He studied her a moment in silence. “You sure you’re not high on something?”

  Meg glared. “Positive. When you get my bloodwork back, you’ll see.”

  His gaze never left hers. “Yes, we will.” His big hand slid over hers, swallowing it whole. He pulled her to her feet.

  As soon as she was standing, Meg yanked her hand from his grasp. She was now bound to the county sheriff by a metal handcuff. The only way she was getting free was if he let her go. Oh dear God. Her legs trembled.

  He steered her into the kitchen.

  “Let’s go have a seat and you can tell me what really happened last night.”

  * * *

  Though Zach had known it would probably be useless, he’d checked out “Kim Johnson” after dropping her off last night. He’d searched for women with that name between the ages of twenty-five and thirty-five. There had been hundreds of them. But not one of the profiles he looked into resembled this woman at all.

  Which meant this woman was hiding her true identity like he’d expected.

  And he wanted to know why.

  The thing was, he didn’t know if “Kim” was her real name and “Johnson” was fake or if “Johnson” was her real name and “Kim” was false, or if the entire name “Kim Johnson” was a pretend alias. He hadn’t been able to get the damn woman out of his head all night.

  He gently pushed her into a chair at the kitchen table. A glazed look came over her face. Zach tapped her shoulder. Her cloudy, unfocused gaze turned in his direction. He snapped his fingers in front of her face.

  Her eyes slowly cleared. Color settled into her cheeks. She lowered her gaze.

  “Sorry,” she whispered. “Just a bad memory.”

  What did that mean? She was acting strange again. She was acting high. What would the bloodwork reveal? Zach would just have to wait and see.

  He sank into the chair at the head of the table. He wanted this angle so he could watch her face when he asked questions and she responded. Their handcuffed wrists kept her from scooting too far away from him. Her actions indicated she was terrified. The thing was, he didn’t know if she was frightened because she’d committed murder and may have been caught. Or if she was afraid of him. He didn’t like the sour feeling that gathered in the pit of stomach at the thought of her being scared of him. It made him wonder about the cop who had allegedly assaulted her. Was that why she kept saying cops were bad?

  “So here’s what I think,” he began, watching her face. “I think that for whatever reason, that man out on your porch came here to see you, the two of you got into an argument, you hit him over the head with the shovel my deputies found last night, then you tied him to your horse, dragged him to the river, and tossed him in.” He raised a brow, waiting for her to meet his gaze. “Is that about right?”

  “Shovel?” she whispered, paling. She slowly lifted her gaze to his. “You said you didn’t have any evidence last night.”

  “True. But we didn’t know for sure what we’d found last night. For all we knew, someone could have hit you with the shovel, which would explain your head wound. But now we have a body. Now everything and anything can be evidence.” He paused. “Did that man hit you over the head with the shovel?”

  Her frightened turquoise gaze remained on his for a long moment. Then she looked away. Her arm—the one that was handcuffed to his—shook slightly.

  “No.”

  He waited.

  Her gaze bounced to his, then jerked away. “I don’t know that man, I swear.” Her hand clenched into a fist next to his.

  Zach studied her face. “Try again,” he said softly. “The truth this time. Tell me what happened.”

  She remained silent, staring at the tabletop.

  Several minutes ticked by. Zach watched her the entire time. Her fingers twitched nervously, her eyelashes fluttered, she squirmed in her chair. But she never once looked directly at him.

  He decided to try a different tactic.

  “How about you tell me your real name now.”

  Her head jerked up. Her gaze flew to his. Her turquoise eyes were round with fear and then…relief. What was that all about? Fear that he might have discovered who she was and then relief that he really hadn’t found out? Who the hell was she?

  Zach’s gaze never wavered from her face. “Who are you? What are you hiding from?”

  All the color drained from her face. Her arm jerked next to his, pulling on the handcuff. Once. Twice. “Cops are bad, bad, bad.”

  Zach stared, comprehension begi
nning to dawn on him. Every time she uttered that phrase, or a different one, her arm jerked or she pulled her hair. Holy hell. She wasn’t high. She had a medical condition. Shit, why hadn’t he figured that out before?

  She took a deep breath, then exhaled. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  Zach raised a brow. “You didn’t kill that man out there?”

  Her lips tightened. She didn’t answer.

  “Either you answer my questions here, or I’ll have to take you down to the jail to an interrogation room. Which would you prefer?”

  She swallowed hard, the sound clearly audible in the small kitchen. She squeezed her eyes shut. Her breathing quickened. Zach watched all of this while he waited. She had to cave eventually.

  He rose abruptly, his chair screeching across the hardwood floor. “Okay. Let’s go down to the jail.” He tugged on her arm.

  “No!” She pulled back, refusing to rise from the chair. Her frightened eyes stared into his.

  Zach hesitated. He could easily yank her up from the chair and drag her out to his car. But he didn’t want to. He wasn’t a brute. He sighed.

  There was one tactic he hadn’t yet tried.

  “If you tell me what happened, tell me what you’re so afraid of, I’ll see if maybe I can help you, okay?” He made his words as gentle as possible.

  A stunned look crossed her face. He knew he’d made the right decision. Gentleness, caring, understanding…if she got those things from him, she might talk. He’d never really cared for the tough cop routine, anyway. At least not when he was questioning a woman.

  Her gaze searched his, as if she was trying to decide if he was being honest with her. Which made him wonder why she was so distrustful of him. Again he thought of the cop who had allegedly assaulted her.

  “Tell me about the cop who assaulted you.”

  She lowered her gaze. “I’d rather not.”

  He sat down in his chair and pulled it close to hers. She stiffened and leaned back.

  “I want to help you.”

  She eyed him with distrust. “Why? Why would you want to help me?”

  “Because I don’t believe you’re a bad person. I just think you got mixed up in something bad.”

  She blew out a breath. “You got that right.”

  Zach held his breath. He sensed she was about to talk to him. He didn’t dare speak, didn’t dare move, for fear she might clam up again. He’d never wanted to help a suspect more than he wanted to help her, but he couldn’t contemplate right now why she would be any different than anyone else. Or why he felt that way about her.

  “I honestly don’t know that man on my porch,” she said. “I swear it.”

  Zach closed his eyes. He let out the breath he’d been holding. He’d been wrong. She wasn’t about to talk. And they were back to square one.

  “If you tell me what you’re running from, I can try to help you.” He tried for gentleness again.

  Her gaze darted to his again, her eyes filling with fear. “I can’t involve you in my problems. It’s too dangerous.”

  “I want to help you,” he repeated, holding her gaze. “But I can’t do that if you won’t tell me.”

  “No,” she whispered, lowering her gaze. “I can’t tell you. I can’t tell anyone.”

  No matter how much Zach tried, he couldn’t get her to talk after that. She wouldn’t respond to any more of his questions. She simply sat in the chair and ignored him.

  Then the forensics team and the coroner arrived.

  Zach let out a loud sigh. He was disappointed in her. He had hoped she would open up and talk to him. But the woman remained stubbornly silent. Now he had no choice but to take her down to the jail for questioning. The nice guy act hadn’t worked. He wondered what it would take, how far he’d have to push, to get her to talk.

  Zach tugged her along outside with him while he spoke to the officers who’d arrived. She remained silent beside him, though her eyes were wide and fearful, her gaze darting about.

  He headed for his car. She reluctantly followed, having no choice since her arm was still attached to his by the handcuffs. He reached the vehicle. He had to be at the title company in an hour to close on his house. What was he supposed to do with her? He couldn’t leave her here. He had no doubt she’d flee before he came back.

  He’d just have to take her down to the jail and lock her in a cell until he got back. Maybe then she’d be more willing to talk.

  Zach opened the back door of the patrol car and told her to take a seat. She reluctantly slid into the vehicle. He removed the handcuff key from his belt and released the handcuffs from both his wrist and hers, freeing her.

  He closed the door before she got any ideas about fleeing. They drove to the jail in silence. When they arrived, Deputy Ted Bailey, Zach’s newest employee who had just completed his POST training, was on duty. Zach didn’t know much about the kid, except that he was eager to please. He told the deputy to book her and that he’d be back later to question her. He told him he might not be back until later in the day and to treat her like he would any of the other prisoners. She went into the cell without protest, but when Zach turned to leave, he glanced back. She eyed him through the bars with a frightened look on her face. For some reason, that made his heart clench.

  You’re doing the right thing.

  Zach tried to convince himself of that as he walked away. He hoped she’d be more willing to talk when he got back.

  He had just enough time to head across town to the title company for his appointment to close on his new house. Then he had to hurry home so he’d be there when the movers arrived.

  As he headed out the door, he couldn’t help but wonder if his new neighbor would be more cooperative when he got back to the jail.

  Or what kind of trouble she might cook up next.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Larry Cummings glanced at his cellphone when it buzzed on his desktop. It was the prepaid phone, not his county issued cell.

  An unknown number. Which could mean only one thing.

  Someone had found Meg.

  “I need to take this call,” he said to his assistant. Mary took the hint, smoothing her skirt as she rose from the chair, notepad in hand. Larry glanced appreciatively at her long legs as she walked out in high heels and closed the door behind her.

  He snatched the phone up. Time to get down to business.

  “Cummings.”

  “I want to collect on that bounty,” an eager young male voice said. “Where should I bring her?”

  Larry’s heart thundered. Yes! He’d been waiting over a month for this call. “You sure it’s her?”

  “Positive.”

  “Excellent. I’ll text you a time and location to meet. She better be alive.”

  “She is,” the voice assured, “though she has an injured arm. It’s in a cast and some kind of sling.”

  Larry grunted. “Good. She won’t be able to put up too much of a fight with only one arm.”

  “You’ll bring the reward money?” the guy asked.

  “Yeah. Wait for my text. Then lose this number.”

  Larry ended the call and dropped the untraceable cellphone back on his desk. Meg had disappeared over a month ago, not long after Evan had slinked away. He was pretty sure his threat had sent Even into hiding, but he had no idea if Evan was still alive, or—if he was—if Meg knew where he was. He guessed that she’d somehow discovered the truth and fled for her own safety.

  It appeared his bounty had proved fruitful. He’d upped the bounty that morning from five grand to ten grand and it seemed to have worked. Someone had located her. Larry wanted her brought to him unharmed. He had big plans for Meg. She just wouldn’t let it go. She thought she was smarter than him. But no one fooled Larry Cummings.

  Larry chuckled. She’d been smart to flee. When he got a hold of her, he’d have to teach her a lesson.

  He’d left her alone the past fifteen years, thinking she’d gotten over it. But then he’d discovered she was i
nvestigating him, which could only mean she was trying to build a case against him. Stupid bitch. He couldn’t have that. He’d already taken care of the private investigator she’d hired to trail him. But no one would trace the murder back to him.

  It was time to teach Meg a lesson. Time to bring her to heel. If all went well, she’d be in his clutches in a few hours.

  His to punish however he chose.

  * * *

  Meg glanced up when the young deputy stopped outside of her cell. His blond hair was cropped short and his baby face eager as he eyed her through the bars. He couldn’t be any older than twenty-one or two and looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t place him.

  Her stomach growled. She hadn’t had breakfast yet. The sheriff had whisked her off before she’d even had a cup of coffee.

  “You have any food around here?” she asked. “I’m starving.”

  “Lunch isn’t served until 11:30,” Deputy Bailey said. “But there’s been a change of plans, so you won’t be eating with the other inmates. We’re moving you to a different location.”

  Like hell.

  Meg’s heart pounded. She doubted Sheriff Sullivan had ordered the deputy to move her. More than likely the young man recognized her and planned to collect on the bounty. Which meant Meg was in deep shit. Maybe she should have told Sheriff Sullivan the truth earlier. If she had, he might have offered his protection instead of locking her up with this guy as her guard. But she wasn’t sure if she could trust the sheriff yet. He’d once worked for Larry. She’d much rather take her chances escaping from this young deputy than from the formidable sheriff. She could outsmart this idiot, while she doubted she could pull anything over the sheriff’s eyes. That man was too astute.

  The deputy unlocked her cell door. Meg stepped back, keeping her injured arm close to her chest. She needed another pain pill, but the medication was back at her house on the kitchen counter next to her purse. Maybe she could convince the deputy to drive her home so she could get her pills.

  “Don’t be trying anything stupid, now,” he said as he moved aside. “If you’re good, I won’t have to tase you.” He lifted his Taser pointedly.

  “Tase isn’t a proper verb,” Meg corrected.