Return of the Lawman

by Lisa Childs

  “I’ll just leave you two kids to hash this out….” Quade took a few side steps toward the door.

  Dylan covered Lindsey’s mouth with the palm of his hand, worried for a moment if she’d bite, and called out to her brother. “Wait. I want you to look at something first.”

  “Muzzling her? Do you think that’s wise?” He lifted a brow as he retraced his steps to Dylan’s desk.

  Dylan slowly drew his hand away from her lips.

  “What?” she snarled. “Showing him a display of brute force? Police brutality? Macho—”

  Dylan pressed a quick kiss to her lips, knowing that was the most effective way of shutting her up. Then, with a shaking hand, he pulled a file from under the box on his desk. He flipped it open and handed it to Quade. “Are those the township charts you and Oliver went over for alternative sites for the mall?”

  Quade studied them. “Definitely. You can compare my handwriting. See, I made notations here and here.” He gestured a few inches above the papers. “Evidence. Of course, my fingerprints are already all over them. You got these from the crime scene, then?”

  “And denied having them,” Lindsey mumbled as she rose on tiptoe to peer over her brother’s shoulder.

  Dylan didn’t bother to contradict her. For her own safety, it was better she didn’t know everything.

  “You don’t trust me,” she muttered. “Afraid you were going to see this in print, too? I was seriously trying to help you, stupid me. And you were holding out, keeping stuff back from the press.”

  “Lindsey.” Dylan sighed. “Come on. This is a police investigation. You know how that goes.”

  “I know I got more information from officers in Chicago than the man I’m sleeping with here in Winter Falls. Yeah, I know how it goes.” And she strode out of the office.

  “You’re not going after her?” Quade handed the folder back.

  Dylan tossed the file on his desk and ran his hand over his face. “I should just let her go again.”

  “Again?”

  “This is an old argument,” Dylan grumbled. “Aw, hell…”

  Quade’s mocking laughter followed him as he slammed the door of the police department behind his back. Lindsey had her hand on the door to the diner, two buildings down. “Lindsey!”

  She glanced up but pulled open the door.

  “Come on!” he said as he caught up with her. “Don’t drown your sorrows in black coffee and cinnamon rolls.”

  “I have no sorrows to drown,” she said with a shrug. “I missed lunch today, and I’m hungry.”

  “You’re always hungry. Let’s talk about this, privately.” He grabbed her free hand and tugged her around on the sidewalk. He led her away from Marge’s Diner, toward the out skirts of Winter Falls’ city limits.

  Lindsey dragged her feet beside him. “I thought you were tired of talking,” she said softly.

  Dylan shivered. He hadn’t stopped to grab his jacket, and a brisk autumn breeze blew. Leaves scattered on the sidewalk and landed in the street.

  Lindsey wore a sweater, a fuzzy red turtle neck that lovingly embraced her curves. Dylan remembered doing that himself the night before. He wasn’t so cold anymore.

  Even if she intended to leave town, she deserved more from the man she’d given so much to. “I’m sorry,” he began.

  “What? What was that?” Lindsey halted in front of the bank and dramatically cocked her ear toward him.

  Dylan kept walking, tugging her along with him. “You heard me.”

  She stumbled into his side, and Dylan caught her close. “You deserve to hear it again,” he admitted, and pulled her into his arms in front of her father’s news paper building. “I’m sorry.” He lightly kissed the angry-looking bruise on her forehead. Of course, she was too stubborn to leave the gauze on the wound.

  He sighed and hugged her closer. “I’m sorry for dragging you through town when you have a concussion.”

  “They couldn’t prove that,” she murmured into his shirt front. “You’re only sorry for dragging me through town?”

  Dylan rubbed his hands up and down the softness of her sweater-covered back. “No, you know I mean more than that. I’m just— Okay, I really didn’t keep much from you.”

  Lindsey shoved her arms between them and created a wedge of space. Her dark eyes narrowed on his face. “Much?”

  Dylan slid his hand into his hair. “I really shouldn’t tell you this. This is a police investigation. We’re in front of the very reason why I shouldn’t tell you anything.”

  Lindsey tilted her head over her shoulder. “Jeez, the Gazette.” She caught his hand and pulled him farther down the sidewalk, past the old brick-and-frame buildings that had stood the test of time, even beyond the new buildings with their bright awnings.

  She stopped by the wrought-iron fence of the Winter Falls cemetery. Dylan wished she’d kept walking even though his muscles pro tested with aches from his strenuous run of the previous evening.

  He caught her hand before she could reach for the gate. “Let’s just stand here.”

  She raised a brow at him. “Superstitious?”

  Dylan watched a crimson leaf fall from an ancient oak just inside the fence. When it drifted to the sidewalk, he tagged it with the toe of his boot. “We’ve gone far enough. Your father can’t see us here.”

  “You think that’s why I wouldn’t stay in front of the news pa per building? That I’m hiding you?” A small smile curved her sassy mouth.

  Dylan shrugged. “I know your father doesn’t approve of me. He knows I’ve put you in danger. He’s right.”

  “I just didn’t want to be by the paper right now,” she admitted with a sigh.

  Dylan slid a finger down her cheek to the corner of her mouth. The smile was gone. “Why not?”

  “He wants me to take it over. He wants to concentrate on Mom now. He wants to help her over this. He thinks he didn’t do enough for her before….”

  Dylan nodded. “And you’re not staying.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You said—”

  “I know. I know. And I got a call today. The paper in Chicago wants me back. They fired him.”

  Dylan laughed. He didn’t need to ask who “him” was. “Feel good?”

  She laughed, too. “Yeah, feels pretty good.”

  “It would make it sweeter to take his job while he’s out there pounding the pavement looking for another one.” Dylan fought to keep his tone light. But his heart was so heavy with dread, he could hardly catch a breath.

  She was leaving. He’d known it, but it still hurt to think of his life without her. How empty it would be again.

  “Yeah, well, I thought about that.”

  Dylan nodded. “Of course. So you told them yes.” He could even imagine her little victory dance after she hung up the phone. Her ego saved. He couldn’t blame her for rejoicing about it.

  “Naw. I told them I’d think about it. There’s a lot going on here. There are a couple of murders to help you solve. My mom to think about…” She knocked her boot against his, crushing the leaf underneath the rubber sole.

  “She’s doing better, then?”

  Lindsey shrugged. “Not according to Evan. I haven’t seen her yet. My next stop is the private hospital where Evan took her.”

  She shivered, and Dylan struggled with the need to hold her again. To tuck her head under his chin and protect her from all her struggles.

  He squeezed the bridge of his nose. He was the last person capable of protecting her from anything. “Well, I’ve got to get back to the department. Your brother dropped off that box….”

  “And identified those charts.”

  “They weren’t at the crime scene. I didn’t lie to you about that.”

  “But you’ve lied to me about other things?”

  “Damn it, Lindsey. Can you stop being so difficult for once?”

  She shook her head. “’Fraid not. ‘Difficult’ is what I do best. Where’d you find the charts?”r />
  Dylan rubbed his hand over his chin, the stubble biting into his palm. “I really don’t feel—”

  “Like you can trust me. Yeah, we’ve already established that.” She spun away, but Dylan caught her arm.

  “I don’t feel that it’s significant. I found them in the sheriff’s desk. At his house. In the den where I’ve been sleeping.”

  “And you don’t think he’d kill a man and then be stupid enough to leave evidence where you’d find it?” Lindsey was astute. He’d known that ten years ago. “I could play devil’s advocate.”

  “You could.”

  “I could say that he wouldn’t suspect you’d go through his desk, that he would never believe you could suspect him.”

  “I thought of that,” Dylan conceded. “I got a search warrant when I found out he was trustee of the property.”

  Lindsey nodded. “Yeah, you would. You think of everything. You think someone else planted them there?”

  Dylan shrugged. “I’d like to believe that.”

  “Who would do that?”

  “Someone trying to throw suspicion off himself.”

  “You don’t think Evan—”

  “Lindsey—” He never finished the thought. Beyond the gate he glimpsed a dark figure behind an enormous oak. An arm extended. The afternoon sunshine, sneaking through the trees, bounced off the barrel of a gun.

  “Get down!” he shouted, but he didn’t wait for Lindsey to comply. He knocked her to the sidewalk with his body, covering her just as the first shots fired. A branch snapped from the tree overhead, raining leaves and twigs on them, as shot after shot rang out.

  He drew his weapon from the holster under his arm, but he couldn’t leave Lindsey.

  “Go! Go!” she urged, her lips moving with the words against his neck.

  The firing stopped. Dylan acted before the gun could be reloaded. He leaped to his feet and vaulted over the wrought-iron gate, a spire snagging the leg of his uniform as he cleared it and entered the cemetery.

  Chapter Fourteen

  LINDSEY couldn’t draw a breath as she listened for the popping sounds of more gunfire. “Dylan,” she whispered as fervently as a prayer on a lonely night. “Be safe.”

  Her heart hammered wildly against her ribs, but no sounds rang out from inside the cemetery except for the whine of the wind through the trees and the rustling of falling leaves.

  She rolled from her back to her side and lay her cheek against the concrete of the sidewalk, feeling the bite of it against her skin. Beneath her sweater, she ran her fingers over the scrape against the curve of her spine. She’d have more bruises in a while. But Dylan had saved her life…again.

  “Dylan,” she said louder, and she rolled to her stomach to rise up on her knees. Then she reached her trembling hands toward the fence and struggled to her shaky legs.

  She caught the top of the gate as she walked through it, and her hand came away with blood. But it wasn’t her blood. She was bruised, not scratched.

  Dylan had seen to her safety. But had he taken a bullet for her? He’d completely covered her body with his.

  “Dylan!” She screamed his name now and ran down the path through the grave markers and statuary. “Dylan!”

  Behind another massive oak, she caught the glow of his golden hair in the afternoon sun. He stood over a grave, his expression stunned as he stared down at it.

  Her rubber soles were silent on the asphalt path as she trotted up to him. She had to touch his arm to gain his attention. “Are you all right?”

  He didn’t even look at her, didn’t look up. “I’m fine, fine.”

  She looked down, too, at the shell casings lying amid the leaves and fresh flowers on a grave. The stone drew her gaze next, and she saw the letters. “Steve Mars.”

  Dylan shuddered. “The shooter stood here.”

  She nodded. “Yeah. It wasn’t Steve Mars. He’s dead, Dylan. I’m not superstitious.”

  Dylan expelled a ragged breath. “I know. I know he’s dead. I’m not superstitious, either.”

  “Who is it, Dylan? You saw him?”

  He shook his head. “No. No, the shooter was gone before I ever made it through the gate.”

  “But you know who it is. Tell me,” she pleaded.

  Dylan turned away from the grave of his brother’s killer, and his blue eyes were intense but indecipherable. “I don’t know. It doesn’t make sense.”

  “What doesn’t? Tell me,” she insisted.

  He shook his head. “I can’t say for sure. There are too many suspects, Lindsey, and not enough proof.”

  She could read the conviction in the tension of his firmly set jaw. He knew. “You’re sure you’re not hurt?” She raised her bloodied hand.

  He caught it quickly in his. “You’re hurt!”

  “No.”

  He smeared the blood on his fingertip. Then he touched the back of his thigh. His hand came away with more blood.

  “You’ve been shot!” She leaned down and examined the tear in the back of his uniform and the flesh of his leg. “Damn gate!”

  “You need medical attention.”

  “I need to get that rookie Jones out here with an evidence bag. I have an investigation to handle.”

  Lindsey nodded. He didn’t want her help anymore. He’d discovered on his own what he needed to know. He didn’t need her. No one ever had. She hated the insipid surge of self-pity.

  “Do you want—” But she wasn’t able to finish.

  A police car, with sirens wailing, lurched to a stop at the cemetery gate.

  “I’ll tell him where you are.” She started toward the street. But she turned back to find Dylan staring once again at the grave of Steve Mars.

  She threw her arms around him and pressed a quick, soft kiss to his lips. “Thank you! I don’t know if I have ever thanked you. You’ve saved my life so many times now.”

  He shook his head. “Don’t thank me, Lindsey.”

  “I know. You’re just doing your job.” She pulled back, but he caught her chin before she could turn away again.

  He rubbed one finger over her cheek. She fought to hold in a tear from falling on it.

  “Don’t, Lindsey. Don’t think I’m some kind of hero. I’m nobody’s hero. I’m the worst thing that’s ever happened to you. I’m worse than a bruised ego and stinging pride. I could cost you your life.”

  She pressed a finger over his lips. “You saved my life, Dylan. You are a hero, whether you admit it or not.”

  “Promise me something.”

  She lifted a brow. “What?”

  “Stay safe. Don’t be alone with anyone. Watch out for yourself.”

  “I’ve got you to do that for me, Dylan. Should I wait for Jones? You do have him following me?”

  His fingers slid over her cheek and into her hair. He pressed his lips to hers in a gentle kiss. “Your safety is my biggest concern.”

  DYLAN’S STOMACH GROWLED in sync with the elevator music playing in his ear while he waited on hold. A glance out the window confirmed night had fallen. He’d missed dinner. Heck, he’d missed lunch, too. And he couldn’t even remember break fast.

  But he could remember Lindsey’s face, the scrape on the milky skin of her cheek from the sidewalk outside the cemetery. And he cringed when he imagined the bruises on her back from his shoving her to the concrete. He’d hurt her again.

  All he could ever do was hurt her. He had nothing to offer her but pain. Good thing she was leaving. Once he wrapped up this murder investigation, she’d head out of town. He’d accepted that.

  Despite the ache in his heart, he smiled over the thought of that bastard who’d dumped her reading her byline where his had been. Being vindictive had its merit. And then it didn’t. Two men had died because of vindictiveness.

  The music stopped, and another confirmation sounded in his ear.

  “Thanks for staying over, for getting this done. It’s vital,” he said into the receiver before replacing it on the desk.

  T
hen he leaned over to dig more files from the box Evan Quade had brought in earlier. Hours ago. He’d been busy, getting shot at, almost getting the woman he loved killed. He was so careless.

  And she thought he was a hero. How could such a smart woman be so wrong? He shook his head and pushed his chair back to thumb through another file.

  The pieces were adding up. It wouldn’t be long now.

  LINDSEY KNELT BEFORE her mother’s chair and took her scarred hand between both of hers. “Hi, Mom. How are you doing?” The guilt clawed its way through her.

  She’d not loved her mother enough, not cared enough about what she’d become. Retha Warner appeared childlike despite her graying hair. The over stuffed chair enveloped her fragile body. Lindsey drank in the sight of her, the simplicity, the sweet ness, and something new—the peace.

  Perhaps she should call Dylan, tell him her mother had had a miraculous recovery. She would be lucid enough to question now. She sighed and tasted him on her lips. Dylan would have to wait.

  Lindsey struggled with the truth in her heart but finally allowed it free. She’d hated this woman. She’d hated her for making Lindsey “that poor Warner girl.” Because she hadn’t been able to forgive the town for gossiping about and pitying her, she’d harbored the biggest grudge against the woman who’d made all the rumors possible.

  “I’m sorry, Mom,” Lindsey said softly, and pressed a kiss to her mother’s hand. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what, honey? You’re always such a good girl.”

  Lindsey smiled. “I like you believing that, but it’s not true. I’ve been mad at you, Mom, and I had no right to that anger.”

  Retha leaned forward and patted her daughter’s head. “You have every right to your anger, dear. It’s kept you strong. Self-pity and despair, they weaken you. I know that. And I failed you. You should be angry with me.”

  Lindsey shook her head. “You have a right to self-pity and despair. They stole your baby.”

  A single tear trailed down Retha’s scarred cheek, but a small smile curved her mouth. “But he’s back. He’s a man now. I have to remember that. There’s so much I have to remember.”

  Lindsey glanced around the beautifully appointed private psychiatric hospital. Evan had spared no expense. A private nurse sat on a chair near the door, and Evan had just left. “You’ll remember. You’ll get better here. Evan will see to that. I wish I could have helped you.”