Return of the Lawman

by Lisa Childs

  Marge smoothed a hand over her apron. “But people have been talking foolish, Dylan. The girl’s right about that. Every body should know you wouldn’t burn down your old family place, not after having kept it all these years.”

  Lindsey slid her fingers over Marge’s hand. The older woman had seen what Lindsey had not, and she was supposed to be a professional observer.

  Dylan had hung on to his home despite all the bad memories surrounding it. Because it was his home. Unlike her child hood home that had only been briefly scarred by fire and then rebuilt, his was only ashes now.

  She waited until Marge bustled away with a promise to bring Dylan a slice of pie. Under the table she rubbed her knee against his.

  “You okay? Where you staying?”

  Dylan smiled but didn’t remove the dark glasses. “The sheriff put me up. He has a pullout bed in his den. Of course, I feel like I’m in a taxidermy shop. There are stuffed animals and fish mounted all over the walls. I go to sleep with all those eyes watching me.”

  Lindsey had to laugh. “I wouldn’t be able to sleep at all. I’d be afraid of them laughing at my snoring or something.”

  Dylan rubbed his knee farther up her thigh. “You snore?” disappointment deepened his voice. “Well, that’s it. You and I can never be.”

  Was he joking, or did he mean it? And why should she care either way? “You must have said that to me a million times all those years ago.”

  Dylan chuckled. “I should have sued you for sexual harassment.”

  Marge joined in his laughter as she slid a plate of Dutch apple pie next to his coffee cup. “She still giving you trouble, Dylan?”

  “She’s just jealous, Marge. She knows you’ve al ready stolen my heart.” He patted the older woman’s hand. The fiftysomething blonde woman faintly blushed and laughed.

  Lindsey rolled her eyes.

  Marge turned to her. “Hear anything new about the developers? They were in yesterday—the rich guy and his young right-hand man. Never had such big operators in this place before. Smart phones. Laptop computers…”

  “Yesterday?” The day of the fire. The pungent odor of it still clung to Lindsey’s curls. She’d washed and rinsed over and over, but still the scent lingered and haunted her.

  She hadn’t slept the night before as images of a different outcome had chased through her mind. And this fire had blended into the other, and she, Dylan and her mother had all been lost to the flames.

  Dylan leaned across the booth and touched her face. “You okay?”

  She nodded in sharp jerks. “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. Some coincidence, though. When were they here, Marge?”

  “Morning. Pretty early. They had a meeting with the trustees. Now there’s only Mayor Reynolds opposing the new development. Chet’s nitwit nephew inherited his seat on the board. He’s already been bought off.”

  “Marge,” Dylan cautioned.

  “I’m not making un founded accusations, Dylan,” she defended. “It’s a fact. Art Oliver is handling some of their legal business now.”

  Lindsey jotted a note on a legal pad at her elbow. “I’ll ask him about that.”

  “Who?” Dylan picked up his fork.

  “Evan Quade, the right-hand man. I’m inter viewing him in about thirty minutes.” She’d have to drive her mom’s car. Borrowing it un settled her, but Retha Warner had no further use of the old Bonneville.

  “What?” Dylan pushed away his plate. “I don’t want you going alone to see this man. Where are you meeting him?”

  Lindsey narrowed her eyes and leaned back in the booth. “At his office in Traverse City.”

  “By the time you get there it’ll be after hours. No way. You’re not going.” His fingers caught her wrist.

  “Thinking about hand cuffing me?” She turned her wrist in his grasp. “You’re going to have to if you think you’re stopping me from doing my job.”

  His deep blue eyes narrowed. “We talked about this, Lindsey. I don’t want you stirring anyone up with your questions. This is a murder investigation.”

  “Oh, really? And I thought I was reporting on the local bake sale.” She stuffed her notepad in her leather bag and slung the strap over her shoulder. When she stood, so did Dylan, his tall, lean body blocking her exit.

  Marge stepped between them and reached for the pie. “Let me box this for you.”

  Dylan waved her away with a folded bill. “Thanks, Marge, but I’m not letting her go off alone. And I’m definitely not letting her drive, so I won’t have time to eat it.”

  Lindsey gritted her teeth. She really hated being told what she could or could not do. “It’s not up to you to let me do anything, Dylan. I do what I want. Have been for a long while. What do you think I did in Chicago? You don’t think I ever got myself into a tight situation there?”

  He brushed a hand through his hair, tousling the golden strands. “Knowing you, I’m sure you did get in trouble.”

  “And I got myself out.” She caught him with her bag as she pushed past him and slipped through the door. A jerk on her shoulder strap pulled her up short.

  He ran his fingers up the leather strap to her shoulder. Then his fingers slid over her cheek, his touch as warm and soft as the late afternoon sunshine washing over her face.

  “Lindsey, I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  She opened her mouth to protest, but he slid his fingers over her lips, pressing them closed.

  “I know you can take care of yourself. But this is my investigation. I don’t want you putting yourself in danger over it. I’m going with you.”

  Her lips curved beneath his fingers. She wanted to taste him, but she re strained herself. “He didn’t agree to a police inter view.”

  “I’m off duty.”

  “So you’re what? My assistant?”

  He laughed. “I’ll be your driver. That’s something I don’t trust you doing.” With his hand cupping her shoulder, he guided her to his black Expedition, parked by the curb.

  His garage had been spared from yesterday’s blaze. Miraculously his vehicle had survived with all its spit and shine. She wished her Jeep had been so lucky.

  “Miss your Jeep?” He held the passenger door for her.

  She sighed. “Yeah. It was costing me a fortune in repairs and insurance, but I miss it.”

  “Yeah, me, too.” He closed the door behind her and walked around to the driver’s side.

  When he slid into the seat beside her, Lindsey leaned over to brush a kiss across his cheek.

  “What was that for?” He touched his skin where her lips had been.

  She slid her fingers down his strong chin. “For thinking of me when you lost so much more.”

  He shrugged and turned the key in the ignition. “I should have sold it years ago. It was just a house. They’ve all been gone so long.”

  “You were what? Twelve? When your mother died…” The horror of the car accident that had cost him his mother was Winter Falls legend.

  She doubted he’d answer her. She couldn’t read his eyes behind the dark lenses, but he faced the road and seemed intent on the small-town traffic.

  “Yes. We’d gone out for her birthday. Dad had too much to drink. She tried to get the keys from him, but he insisted he was fine. He wasn’t.”

  Despite her reporter’s soul, it wasn’t why she had to know more. She had to know the man and the heart of the man. Perhaps heroes did exist. “And you were trapped in the backseat?”

  “The sheriff got me out. Jimmy wasn’t there. He’d skipped school that day, so Mom made him stay home.” Did he envy Jimmy? After years on the police beat, she could imagine what he had seen from the backseat. Her heart ached for him.

  “The sheriff was there when your dad died, too?”

  “The sheriff’s always been there.” Affection softened his deep voice. “People say he wanted to marry my mom, but she chose my dad instead. He never married. I think he always loved her.”

  Lindsey smiled at the romanticism in a man
outsiders considered in capable of emotion. “The sheriff’s a good guy,” she agreed.

  “He’s really upset about Chet. I have to find out who did this. And I really have only one solid lead.” He turned briefly to her, then back to the road.

  “My mother.” She sighed and tamped down the little catch of fear in her heart. He had to be wrong.

  HUTCHINS ENTERPRISES occupied an entire ware house that had been converted to opulent offices. From the top floor, the clear blue Grand Traverse Bay stretched out below, spark ling in the glow of the late afternoon sun.

  Dylan took an appreciative deep breath as he and Lindsey were escorted into the office of Robert Hutchins’s right-hand man, Mr. Evan Quade.

  The dark-haired man stood before the windows, gazing out over the bay below him.

  “In an hour the sun will set over the water. It’s a spectacular sight.”

  He turned toward his guests. “Ms. Warner, I’ve been looking forward to our inter view. We’ve been having the Winter Falls Gazette delivered to our office, and you have a most re mark able turn of phrase.”

  She laughed, and the rich ripple of it tightened the muscles in Dylan’s stomach. “Is that a nice way of calling me a hack?”

  “Hardly. I wouldn’t have agreed to this inter view if I thought you couldn’t be fair.” His dark gaze swung toward Dylan. His eyes narrowed.

  Dylan smiled. “Deputy Dylan Matthews.”

  Lindsey sighed.

  “Deputy Matthews. We haven’t met, but I’ve heard about you.” His deep voice hinted at what rumors he’d heard. “I’m sorry we haven’t been able to match our schedules, so I could answer your questions.”

  “It would probably help if you returned my calls.”

  Over the days since Chet Oliver’s murder, Dylan had done some checking. He’d heard rumors, too. When he “officially” inter viewed Quade, he’d figure out the truth about those rumors. Until then he would not trust the man alone with Lindsey.

  When Quade turned back to Lindsey, he lifted a dark brow. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding, Ms. Warner. I thought you were coming here on behalf of the paper to discuss Hutchins Enterprises’ mall proposal.”

  “I am.” She dragged out her notepad.

  “And why are you here, Deputy?”

  Dylan let his gaze slide over Lindsey, from her unruly black curls to her scuffed hiking boots. “To keep an eye on an old friend.”

  He had to ensure her safety. But he didn’t doubt she could take care of herself. He’d checked out her history in Chicago. Officers on the local force spoke highly of her, and he didn’t know many police officers who thought highly of reporters. Absently he ran his hand over his stomach and fingered the jagged scar beneath the soft material of his plaid shirt.

  “Personal, then?” Quade lifted a dark brow again and straightened the crease in his suit sleeve.

  Dylan nodded. “For now.” A time would come when he had to ask those official questions. But not now, not with Lindsey present.

  “I’m really not here so much to discuss your development as the opposition to it,” Lindsey began.

  By scheduling an appointment late in the day, Quade had not given Lindsey much time. He hadn’t offered them seats. He leaned against the front of his massive desk, and they stood before him.

  Even while Dylan resented it, he could admire the other man’s control. He had no intention of answering her questions. Of course, the man had never met Lindsey before.

  “I’d rather talk about the mall itself. It will be an enormous boon to this area, to the economy by way of in creased tourism and employment opportunities.” Dylan glanced at the man’s hands. Did he have notes scribbled on them? From his rehearsed little speech, Dylan wouldn’t have doubted it.

  She wrote something on her pad. “I’m sure you have information on the mall project, the number of shops and names of them. But that’s not what Winter Falls cares about right now. Chet Oliver’s murder is what’s news. He was one of the trustees opposed to the new mall. Now he’s dead.”

  Dylan groaned and wrapped his fingers around Lindsey’s arm. He’d warned her about stirring up a suspect. She’d just put the man in a blender.

  Quade straightened his stance and the fit of his tailored suit. He dropped the facade of charming business man. “We have a team of lawyers, Ms. Warner. I wouldn’t want to have them file a libel suit against you, but there’s no telling what Mr. Hutchins could decide if you go any further with this.”

  “I will not print any part of this investigation until there’s a suspect in custody.” Lindsey jerked her elbow from Dylan’s hold.

  Dylan hadn’t accepted it as fact. He’d been burned before when he’d trusted a reporter. “Lindsey, Mr. Quade has no obligation to answer your questions. When he’s officially questioned, he will be entitled to legal representation, and there will be no reporter present.”

  Quade chuckled and eased back against his desk. “Thank you, Deputy, for reading me my rights.”

  “That’s not it at all—”

  “Dylan! You promised you wouldn’t interfere….”

  Dylan shook his head. “I never promised that.”

  “Hey, kids.” Quade held up a hand. “I’m curious. Ms. Warner, what would you like to know?” But he glanced at his wrist watch again.

  Dylan smiled over the not-so-subtle hint.

  Lindsey pressed her pen to her pad. “When was the last time you had contact with Chet Oliver?”

  “On behalf of Mr. Hutchins, I met with Mr. Oliver at his home a few days before his death. We were to attend the monthly Winter Falls township meeting, which was being held yesterday. Initially we wanted to see if we could reach a compromise with Mr. Oliver.”

  “Compromise?” Lindsey asked.

  Quade nodded. “Perhaps there was an alternative location he would prefer to the proposed site. There’s a lot of vacant farmland around Winter Falls. We have an option to purchase the three hundred acres on the main road, but if Oliver’s concerns regarded in creased road congestion, there were other suitable sites we could option.”

  Quade plucked at the crease in his trousers. “Our meeting was amicable. He was impressed that we were open to his suggestions. He promised to consider approving some alternative sites we suggested. We parted on friendly terms.”

  Lindsey snorted. “Any wit nesses to this amicable exchange?”

  Quade narrowed his dark eyes. “No. It was only Mr. Oliver and myself. I left the township surveys on his desk with the alternative locations marked. We even made some notes on them. He promised to consider them.”

  “Nothing like that was found.” Dylan’s search of the lawyer’s home and old office had been extensive.

  “And why would whoever killed him take those notes?” Lindsey added.

  Quade risked a wrinkle in his tailored suit with a shrug. “I couldn’t answer that, Ms. Warner. I am un familiar with the workings of the criminal mind.”

  Dylan nodded and bit off the remark about the business men he’d known being crooks. Lindsey had already antagonized the man.

  “Thank you for your time, Mr. Quade.” Dylan extended his hand. The strength of the businessman’s grip and the rough ness of his palm surprised Dylan.

  “I have more questions,” Lindsey objected. “Where were you the night of Chet Oliver’s death?”

  “Lindsey.” Dylan’s warning was wasted. He should have brought a muzzle.

  Evan Quade chuckled. “Who’s asking? The cop or the reporter?”

  Dylan pushed his hand through his hair and almost wished he’d let Lindsey come alone. But Evan Quade wasn’t a man he’d trust easily, with business or a beautiful woman. Especially this beautiful woman. “This is not a police inter view, Mr. Quade.”

  “It’s my inter view.” Lindsey lifted her chin.

  Quade risked another wrinkle with a shrug. “Actually, Mr. Hutchins and I were working late that night. You can ask the security guard on your way out. He clocks in everyone’s arrival an
d departure times.”

  Dylan nodded. “Let me try this again, Mr. Quade. Thank you for your time.” He escorted Lindsey to the door. Over his shoulder he said, “See that you return my calls. I do need to speak with you in an official capacity.”

  “Interested in investing in the mall?” A smirk slid over the businessman’s face.

  Dylan chuckled. “Not on my salary.”

  Lindsey managed to wriggle around and shoot one last question at Quade. “Where does Mr. Hutchins live? I’d like to inter view him, too.”

  Quade flashed a fierce glare. “Mr. Hutchins does not receive visitors at his home. If you would like to speak with him, he will be in the office at approximately eight-thirty tomorrow morning. To be honest, though, Ms. Warner, he never talks to reporters.”

  Dylan nodded and pulled Lindsey into the reception area. He closed Quade’s office door and caught Lindsey in his arms.

  She sputtered out a couple of protests, which he silenced with his mouth. His lips took hers, moving over the smooth, satin flesh.

  Instead of pushing him away, she placed her hands around his neck and pulled him closer. A murmur emanated from her throat. Even in a kiss, the woman was unable to stop talking. But he took advantage of her parted lips to slip his tongue inside and taste the sweetness of her.

  Shaken by the depth of his desire for her and remembering where they were, he lifted his mouth from hers.

  “What was that for?” Her dark eyes narrowed.

  He wanted to laugh, but his heart pounded too hard for amusement. “To stop some of those.”

  “What?” She brushed a hand through the curls his fingers had tangled. “questions.”

  She flashed him a glare. “You stopped me before I was through with all mine. You completely destroyed my inter view. I got nothing.”

  He ran a hand through his mussed hair. “Lindsey, that was supposed to be an inter view? It was more like an interrogation. You’re a reporter, not a cop.”

  “I’m an investigative reporter after a story. Evan Quade knows more than he’s saying.” She turned for the elevator. Dylan spied her touching her thoroughly kissed lips.

  He smiled and swallowed his admission that she was probably right. Where was the sense in encouraging her? If she pursued this story with as much passion as she had pursued him ten years ago, she’d risk more than bruised pride. She’d risk her life.