Return of the Lawman

by Lisa Childs

  “Always the reporter, Lindsey? You’re about to fall on your face but you still fire questions at me.”

  “Are we just a reporter and a lawman, Dylan?”

  He closed his eyes again and debated his ability to drive the dark roads to Winter Falls. He already knew there was no way Lindsey was getting behind the wheel. After a mental shake, he held out his hand for the keys to the car.

  With a sigh she dropped them in his palm. “You’re all chauvinists.”

  “No, we’re too smart to ride with you. You were dangerous enough before your brains were scram bled.” He held the passenger’s door for her and steadied her as she stumbled a bit while sliding into her seat. “Are you all right?”

  She nodded and slumped back. He pulled the seat belt around her, sliding the strap over her shoulder, over the enticing curve of her breast under her black turtleneck sweater, and snapped it into the clasp at her hip. Her quick, shallow breaths whispered against his cheek. “Dylan…”

  He jerked back, ignoring the flash of pain from the metal of the car roof connecting with the back of his head. He slammed the door and stalked around to the driver’s side. Before he could find the ignition, she skimmed her fingers lightly over the bandage on his forearm.

  “Someone saw to your arm.” The harsh parking lot lights illuminated the interior of the car, heightening the white of his bandage and the paleness of her face. A faint smile twisted her lips. “Your sweater—”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “I think it’s with the sheriff’s things.” He’d made them keep it. “I’m sure it’s ruined. I’ll buy you another.”

  “Doesn’t matter. It was just a sweater.”

  “I’ll reimburse you.”

  “And they say I’m stubborn. Okay, reimburse me. It was a hundred dollars.”

  “For a sweater?”

  “Why are we discussing a sweater?”

  He maneuvered the car onto the street and pointed it in the direction of Winter Falls, although he’d rather have gone anywhere else. “Because I need conversation to keep me awake. What did you have to tell me? How’d you get the car back?”

  “First, why the guard?”

  “I can’t trust anyone.”

  “Even me?” Her voice broke with pain and in dig nation. The indignation he could handle.

  “Even you. You’re keeping strange company nowadays. I checked out Hutchins and Quade right after Chet’s murder.”

  “And?”

  “Off the record for now?”

  “That was our deal, but can you really trust me?”

  “That’s what I’d like to know.” He sighed. “Hutchins always gets what he goes after. He’s in credibly rich and powerful. Sarah’s father worked for him in Chicago, which is where they moved after—” he forced himself to go on “—after Jimmy and Steve died.”

  “And Quade?”

  “I don’t trust him. I guess Hutchins is like every extremely wealthy business man who likes to have his own guard dog, his own protection…”

  “I thought Quade was his real estate adviser.”

  “That, too,” Dylan conceded. “And?”

  “And his hired gun.”

  “Quade doesn’t carry a gun.” She snorted.

  Dylan shrugged. “He has a dangerous back ground. Some people believe he murdered his wife. Nobody would hire him because of that, except Hutchins. He must feel an awesome loyalty to this man, perhaps enough to do whatever Hutchins re quests.”

  “Even kill?” Her tone was too mild for him to believe he’d gotten through to her. “But he was acquitted of his wife’s murder?”

  “He was never brought to trial. A body was never found. But an investigation was done. Friends of mine in the Chicago department believe he’s just too smart to be caught.”

  He thought of Lindsey alone with him, in danger. He fought down the panic. Then he glanced in the rearview mirror and was reassured by the head light beams behind him. As he’d ordered after the explosion, Deputy Jones was sticking close to Lindsey.

  “He lived in Chicago all those years I lived there.” She sighed.

  Dylan’s heart clutched with fear again. “And you regret that you never met? You move fast, Lindsey. You’ve made up for lost time. Can’t you under stand why you should stay away from him? He’s a dangerous man!” He tore his eyes from the road to glance at her pale face, luminescent in the dim lights of the dashboard.

  “He’s my brother.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “WHAT?” Dylan managed to say after a few moments of silence. He didn’t know if he dared to continue this bizarre conversation while he drove the dark roads. But he had to know.

  “Yes, Evan Quade is my brother. All these years, in her madness, my mother sought her son, and all these years, he sought her. But Evan’s not mad. He’s methodical.”

  “I still think he’s dangerous. And I want to say I don’t care who he is, but I can’t.”

  “It matters to you that he’s my brother?” Her fingers brushed over his bandaged arm.

  Hope swelled in her voice, the echo of her youthful crush from all those years ago. He wanted to quash it, but for selfish reasons he couldn’t. “I don’t know, Lindsey. How can you believe he’s not involved?”

  “Not in the deaths of Chet and the mayor. No, but he’s involved in other things….”

  Dylan’s shock had his fingers tightening on the steering wheel. “You knew about his wife?”

  In the reflection in the wind shield, Dylan caught her waving a hand in dismissal. “Not like you’re thinking. She ran off. Her murder was just a rumor. No proof existed. It never even came to trial. You just admitted that.”

  “Yeah.” His admission accompanied a heavy sigh. Rumor had made him a killer, too. “So what did he do?”

  “He found my mother.”

  “What?” He worried that the conversation should have waited until the car was parked. He didn’t need to be involved in another accident. He thought of pulling off the road, but they were only minutes from his motel room. “You mean he kid napped her?”

  “No, but he had an inside connection at Arborview. This guy called him, warned him she was out again. He got to my house first. She was sitting in her car in the driveway.”

  “And he didn’t take her back to the sanatorium? He didn’t notify the police or you?” Anger surged through him. How could the man who claimed to be her brother have put Lindsey through such anguish?

  “Well, he thought she was in danger. She didn’t get out on her own. Someone was framing her as someone framed him a few years ago. He wanted to protect her.”

  “Nice guy,” Dylan sneered. “So does he know who’s been getting her out?”

  Her ragged sigh stirred the air near his arm. “No. He had to take her to a private psychiatric hospital. She’s pretty messed up.”

  Alarm shot through him. “Hurt?”

  “No. She’s un communicative.”

  “So Quade couldn’t possibly have shot at us because he was busy kid nap ping your mother.”

  “He did not kidnap her. He found her. And she went with him willingly.”

  “She’s cr—” He caught himself, but the damage was done. No comeback emanated from Lindsey but a hurt-filled silence. “I’m sorry,” he said, and meant it.

  “Normally I’d agree with you. She’s crazy. She’s been crazy for years, but Quade doesn’t think so. He thinks that Arborview kept her over medicated. He thinks he can help her. He has her under the care of a highly respected private psychiatrist.”

  “And you trust him with your mother’s care? You believe he’s who he says he is?” Conversely Dylan wanted to protect and shatter her innocence.

  “Hell, no, not on his word alone. I checked it out. He has the missing records from Arborview. He has his original birth certificate.”

  “And he shows all this to you after you’ve been knocked out by an explosion. He gets you at your most vulnerable, and you believe him. He broke into Chet’
s office.”

  “No, he didn’t. He bribed a guard—”

  Dylan struck the steering wheel. “The conveniently vanished guard. The one person who could corroborate any of his story. I can’t believe you’re buying this.”

  “I’m not a fool, not anymore. I don’t believe in heroes, in the goodness of man. I don’t think it’s there. I think you accept what you get, and you grow up. I grew up a while ago, Dylan.”

  He chuckled. “You’re not the tough, cynical reporter you pretend to be, Lindsey. You’re a marsh mal low inside, and you’re going to get hurt.”

  “Again? Probably. But it’s better to risk that than to lock up all my emotions and never experience anything life has to offer. Not the hap pi ness. Not the pain. If I’m a fool, oh, well. But you’re a coward, Dylan Matthews. And I’d rather be a fool any day.”

  Dylan clenched his jaw and spoke succinctly. “You ever figure that maybe the hap pi ness isn’t worth the pain?”

  Lindsey sighed. “I’d like to argue with you, but then I don’t know.”

  “You’ve never been happy?” He thought of the diamond ring she’d carried in her bag.

  “I don’t know. Have you ever been happy, Dylan? I guess you already answered that question.”

  “I guess I have.” He turned the car toward the section of town where new motels had been constructed.

  “I should take you home,” he said. “You’ve been through a lot today, yesterday, probably tomorrow. It’s not safe for you to be around me. And it seems like this killer never sleeps. But I don’t want to take you home, Lindsey.”

  “You want to talk some more?” A teasing lilt ac companied her question.

  He groaned. “I’m tired of talking, and I’m tired of thinking.”

  She laughed. “Then what does that leave for us to do, Dylan?”

  He laughed, too. She never failed to amaze him. Even with all she’d been through in the last week, she kept her humor and her spunk and her determination.

  Perhaps simply being around her would inspire him to find those qualities within himself. Yet, the pure selfish ness of risking her safety for his own purposes told him he’d never be half the person she was. And eventually she’d leave him, as everyone else had.

  He pulled the Bonneville into the lot beside his black Expedition. Few other vehicles occupied the lot and only a couple of lights burned in the nearby rooms.

  “I wonder,” he mused aloud, “if any of this would have happened if I hadn’t come back.”

  “What are you saying?” Lindsey’s fingers played lightly over his arm again. “It’s me.”

  She clenched her fingers, but he welcomed the sting of pain.

  “You’re not—”

  “Oh, God, no!” he ex claimed, and his heart hurt that even for a moment she could believe him capable of murder. “You thought—”

  “No! Absolutely not!”

  He twisted his mouth but doubted it resembled a smile. “What’s that about protesting too much?”

  “I’m not. I don’t think you’re involved. I never did,” she insisted.

  “But others do. This town has always thought the worst of me. I should be used to it.”

  “But you’re not.” Her fingers slid from his arm. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

  “I know.” He caught her hand and brought it to his mouth to brush a kiss across her knuckles. “It’s okay.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “I meant that I’m the catalyst. I’m the reason this all started. I’m the reason you’re in danger. And the sheriff. And the mayor and Chet are dead.”

  “So the mayor was inside the house?”

  “It was confirmed tonight. A candle burning in the kitchen and a gas leak from the stove.”

  “You’re not suggesting it’s an accident.”

  He shook his head. “No. No town can have this many accidents. But someone’s very clever and very dangerous.”

  He slid the key back in the ignition. “I really should take you home.”

  She clasped her hand over his and pulled out the key. “No, you shouldn’t. Let’s go inside, Dylan.”

  As they’d driven up, he’d surreptitiously scanned the area. He couldn’t see anyone lying in wait for them. Jones’s car pulled to the curb on the side street. But he was careful as he stepped around the car and opened her door. Then he kept her sheltered between his body and the white stucco motel.

  “I know what you’re doing.” She leaned into him and chuckled.

  “You’re not supposed to know. It makes you mad.”

  “When you’re protecting me? I’m getting used to it, and that’s the sad part.”

  “Because you’ll be leaving soon…”

  She turned her head and gazed up at him. But his shadow obscured her eyes. He couldn’t read whatever emotion lurked there.

  “That’s for the best.” He tried to convince himself. “This town was never what you wanted.”

  “No, the town never was…” She laid her hand over his. “You already rented a room?”

  “I’m not staying at the sheriff’s anymore.” He wouldn’t be welcome. He’d packed before he’d searched his old friend’s house.

  “The taxidermy get to you? Or did you talk to the sheriff about owning the land?”

  He blew out a ragged breath. “There are things I should tell you….”

  He slid the key into the door lock and pushed it open. He guided her just across the thresh old, and closed and locked the door behind her. Then he strode into the bathroom for a quick check.

  “All clear?” She lifted a brow.

  He nodded. “It’s not funny.”

  “I know.” She sighed. “It’s just that this is Winter Falls. It’s not Detroit or Chicago. It’s supposed to be safe, secure. You shouldn’t have to lock your doors.”

  “And we were safer in those big cities than we are in our own hometown,” Dylan concurred. “Yeah, sad.”

  “It’s not your fault,” she said. “Whoever is behind this would have committed these crimes even if you hadn’t come home.”

  Dylan shrugged off the hope her words inspired. “I’d like to believe that, but I can’t.”

  “You don’t even know who—” She narrowed her dark eyes. “You do.”

  Dylan shook his head. “No, there’re too many suspects.”

  “Tell me who they are. I can help you narrow it down.”

  “I don’t think so.” He longed to confide in her, to pour out all his suspicions and listen to the quick work of her clever mind. But to do so would put her in danger. He couldn’t bear to see her hurt again.

  “What are you up to?”

  “Police work,” he said. “I have to get evidence.” He hoped he lived up to the citations he’d been awarded—the ones that the sheriff had kept in a scrap book on top of murder evidence. “I have to figure this out before someone else gets hurt.”

  Lindsey smiled. “And you won’t give a scoop to a reporter.”

  Dylan crossed the remaining feet separating them. “I’ll tell you when I’m sure.”

  He slid a hand into her hair, brushing the tangle of curls from the bandage on her forehead. He dropped a light kiss against the gauze. “Do you want to leave?” He caught her chin in his hand and tipped her face up to his. Circles as dark as her eyes bruised the skin beneath them. Exhaustion.

  She shook her head, wobbling her chin in his grip. “No! I want to stay, Dylan. I want you.”

  “You’re exhausted, con cussed.”

  “But I still want you. I guess some things never change.” She rose on tiptoe and pressed her mouth to his.

  Dylan struggled with the pleasure coursing through his body. His pulse leaped. His heart raced. He wanted her. But more than that, he needed her.

  One kiss followed another, lips locking, tongues sliding over each other. Unable to shut away his feelings, his desires, he lifted and carried her to the bed.

  “Lindsey.” He followed her down on the hard mattres
s. “I—”

  She silenced him with her fingers across his lips. “No talking. Remember? You’re tired of talking, and you’re tired of thinking. Just feel.” She wriggled out from underneath him enough to pull her shirt over her head. Her dark curls danced around her naked shoulders. Sinuously she slid her pants down over her hips, leaving her clad only in the briefest pieces of silk and lace.

  “Lindsey…” She’d been hurt. He didn’t want to hurt her more.

  Her mouth silenced him next. He pressed her into the mattress, as he took the kiss deeper. She pushed against his chest. “Lindsey?”

  “Too many clothes.” She tsked, then yanked his shirt over his head and dragged his sweats over his hips.

  “I forgot.” He pulled away. “My run. I need to take a shower.”

  “Later.” Her lips ran across his chest, targeted a nipple and made him shudder with his desire for her. “We’ll take one together. I like to watch you in the shower.”

  “Lindsey, you’re going to rush it.”

  “Rush it. Rush it,” she urged. She snagged his navy briefs next, pushing them down with the glide of her nails over his skin.

  He needed to taste her, really taste her. He started at her throat, running the tip of his tongue over her jumping pulse. With his teeth he dragged down the strap of her bra from one shoulder until her freed breast thrust toward him. Then he lapped at it, circling the erect nipple until she slid her fingers into his hair and pulled him closer. He took the straining tip in his mouth, and she moaned.

  “Dylan.” A ragged breath sighed out of her parted lips. “Please, rush it.”

  “No rushing.” And he took his time. He tasted every inch of her until she tore the sheets from the mattress, writhing beneath his lips.

  From the shaving kit he’d tossed next to the bed, he pulled out a condom and donned protection.

  Then he rushed it. But her keening cry of pleasure told him he didn’t go alone into ecstasy. He stroked the tangled curls back from her face and pressed another light kiss to the gauze on her forehead.

  He wanted to give her words he’d never given another. He wanted to express feelings he’d never felt. And it hadn’t been because he hadn’t allowed himself, but because there had never been anyone like Lindsey.