by B. J Daniels
When he reached the front steps, though, he froze at the sight of Florie with a baseball bat in her hands and Charity holding what looked like a gun. Both women were standing on the porch, looking scared—and scary.
“There was a man in the house!” Charity cried.
“Did you see which way he went?”
They both pointed across the street toward town.
“Get back inside. Lock the door. And put that gun away.”
The street was empty. He took off running in the direction the women had indicated down a narrow alley. He hadn’t gone far when he spotted a dark figure walking ahead of him. Not running. Just walking in long strides toward Main Street.
“Freeze!” Mitch leveled his weapon at the retreating back.
The man stopped but didn’t turn around. He was tall, about Mitch’s height, and strong-looking. He wore a biker’s black leather jacket, jeans and biker boots.
Mitch moved quickly down the alley, keeping the weapon leveled at the man’s back. “Put your hands behind your head.” The light from a street lamp at the other end of the alley barely reached down here, so he still couldn’t see who the man was.
Slowly, almost contemptuously, the man raised his hands, elbows out as he locked his fingers behind his head in a stance that was obviously familiar to him.
His hair was dark, long and pulled back into a ponytail. An earring glittered in his left lobe, and he wore a ring of thick gold on his right hand. It reflected the dim light as Mitch advanced.
But it was his stance that put Mitch on guard. He was used to bikers occasionally coming through town in the summer. Most were doctors or lawyers or computer whizzes, the kind of people who could afford a big motorcycle and the leather clothing that went with it, so there was never much trouble.
Seldom did Mitch see a biker this time of year. And this guy was no doctor or lawyer. Worse, there was something familiar about the way he moved.
“Turn around. Slowly,” Mitch ordered, weapon still trained on him.
The man emitted a deep chuckle, then turned very, very slowly, grinning as he did. In the dim light, Mitch saw that his face was tanned and lean, his features strong. A woman, any woman, would have found him damned handsome. Many had. “Evenin’, Sheriff.”
Mitch had been right about one thing. This was no doctor. No lawyer. And certainly no computer whiz kid. Mitch shook his head and lowered his weapon. “Jesse.”
“Hey, bro,” Jesse Tanner said, dropping his arms and holding out his hand.
Mitch holstered his gun and reluctantly took his brother’s hand. Jesse didn’t seem to notice his reluctance as he threw his arms around him, slapping Mitch on the back. “Great to see you again, man.”
Mitch stepped back from the embrace. It had been a long time and Jesse hadn’t left under the best of circumstances. “What are you doing here?” he asked, telling himself it couldn’t have been Jesse who’d been in Charity’s house a few minutes ago.
“This is home, remember?”
“I remember you saying it would be a cold day in hell before you’d ever come back here,” Mitch said.
Jesse shrugged and smiled, flexing those Tanner dimples. “People change.”
Not Jesse, Mitch thought. Not his older brother, the hellion. “Someone just scared the living daylights out of Charity Jenkins. Were you in her house?”
His brother lifted a brow. “Already looking to bust me again?”
“You just happened to be in the neighborhood?”
“I was just seeing how much the town had changed.” Jesse grinned. “It hasn’t.”
“Checking out the town at four in the morning?”
“I like the quiet.”
Mitch stared at his brother, surprised how much he wanted to believe him. “How long have you been back?”
“Three days. I’m staying out at the house,” he added, knowing that was going to be Mitch’s next question.
He’d gotten back Saturday or Sunday? Odd that no one had mentioned seeing Jesse back after almost five years. Also, he was staying with their father.
“How is Charity, little brother?”
Mitch felt his stomach tighten.
“I hear she hasn’t changed a damn bit. Still cute as a bug’s ear and all spit and vinegar. She always was something. Too bad she’s been hung up on the wrong brother for so long.”
Mitch could remember all too well a time when Jesse had tried his best to steal Charity’s heart—without any luck. Jesse had left town shortly after that—in handcuffs. He’d gotten into trouble with the law as usual, but Mitch remembered how upset Charity had been.
“So what are you driving now?” Mitch asked, thinking about the black pickup Charity thought had been following her.
“Got me a bike. A Harley.”
“Know anyone who drives a black pickup?”
“I know a lot of people who drive black pickups.”
“This one has dark-tinted windows.”
Jesse seemed to think about that for a minute, then shook his head. “Doesn’t ring any bells. Sorry.”
Mitch couldn’t be positive that the black pickup Charity had seen was Kyle L. Rogers’s. She might not have gotten the plate number right. And mostly, he couldn’t imagine his brother hiring a private detective to spy on her, but then, he’d never understood his brother. And the truth and Jesse seldom crossed paths.
“Someone in a black pickup’s been following Charity, and the newspaper office was broken into earlier tonight,” Mitch said.
He could imagine Jesse breaking into the newspaper to steal a strip of negatives. Jesse had left Timber Falls after being acquitted of burglary only because the old man had given Jesse an alibi that Mitch knew damned well was a lie but couldn’t prove it.
But Mitch couldn’t see his brother attacking Charity. If Jesse had wanted those negatives, he would have tried to sweet-talk Charity out of them. He wouldn’t have had to bind her with tape and put her in a storage room.
Or maybe Mitch just didn’t want to believe Jesse was capable of doing anything like that. Especially to Charity. “The thief locked Charity in a storage closet.”
Jesse frowned. “Sounds like you got a regular crime spree going on here. Any other unsolved crimes you’d like to pin on me?”
At least Jesse hadn’t lost that chip on his shoulder, Mitch thought. “I guess I’m just wondering what you’re doing in Timber Falls.”
“Isn’t it possible I got homesick?”
“No.”
Jesse laughed softly. “I told you, bro, people change.”
But for the better?
“Okay, I’ll level with you,” Jesse said, and grinned. Like Mitch, he had the Tanner dimples. “I was down in Mexico and I started thinking about Charity. I figured she was probably damned tired of carrying a torch for my brother by now, and I knew you sure as hell wouldn’t have done anything like marry her, so I thought, Jesse, why don’t you get on your bike and go see Charity? I thought she might want to run off with me.” Jesse’s laugh filled the alley. “You don’t have a problem with that, do you, little brother?”
Mitch gritted his teeth.
“I didn’t think so,” Jesse said. Then he sobered. “I got homesick, Mitch. Plain and simple. I knew our old man wasn’t getting any younger and I wasn’t proud of the way I left things between you and me.” His dark eyes were serious and he sounded so damned sincere. “You should come out and see Dad. He’d like that.”
“But I wouldn’t,” Mitch said.
“Still carrying all that, are you?” Jesse shook his head. “It’s been years, man. And he’s changed.”
“Yeah, everyone’s changed. But I haven’t.”
“Maybe that’s the problem.” Jesse shook his head again. The grin returned. “Tell Charity hello for me. I won’t kid you, man. I’m looking forward to seeing her.” He turned and sauntered down the alley. “See ya ’round.”
Mitch watched him stop in a deep shadow. The rumble of a big motorcycle echoed down the a
lley. A few seconds later Jesse roared off toward the place Mitch had once called home, the streetlight glaring off his helmet and shield, completely hiding his face.
Jesse was back in town, and just at the start of the rainy season. Mitch doubted it was because Jesse had gotten homesick, or that there was any chance Charity would just climb on the back of his bike and take off for parts unknown. She wouldn’t, would she?
Mitch swore as he started toward her house. How was Charity going to take having Jesse back in town? Mitch hated to think that his brother could be right. Not that Mitch could blame Charity for getting tired of waiting around for him. But the last person he wanted to see Charity with was his brother!
Chapter Ten
Thursday, October 29
Charity awoke the next morning after hardly sleeping a wink all night. Mitch had come back and insisted on sleeping on the couch downstairs. Just knowing he was downstairs, only yards away, had made sleep impossible.
Worse, he’d come back in a horrible mood, hardly saying two words. He’d found a back window that had been broken into but no sign of the intruder except for some shuffled papers on her desk.
Maybe that was why he was so upset. He was obviously worried about her. She was starting to get worried herself. What had the person been looking for? A letter? That was the only thing that made any sense.
Charity realized she must have dozed off at some point toward daybreak because she awoke to the sound of pots and pans rattling in the kitchen below her bedroom. She jumped into the shower, made herself as presentable as possible and rushed downstairs. Breakfast with Mitch would make eating whatever her aunt was cooking worth it.
“Where’s Mitch?” she asked when she didn’t see his lanky frame at the kitchen table.
“He was gone when I got up,” Florie said. “He sure seemed in a foul mood last night, and I didn’t like the look of his aura this morning one bit.”
Just then the doorbell rang. Charity smiled, letting her imagination off its leash. She imagined Mitch standing on the porch, looking sheepish and apologetic, holding a bouquet of flowers—no, not flowers, a pie, a banana-cream pie from Betty’s.
She swung open the door, her imagination so powerful she thought she could smell bananas.
Mitch wasn’t standing on her porch.
And there was no pie.
“Jesse?” He was a darker version of his younger brother but had the same dimples. And right now his grin was all dimples.
Before she could utter another word, he dropped his bike helmet, picked her up and swung her around in a hug. “Damn, it’s good to see you!” Still grinning, he set her down.
“What are you doing here?” His leather jacket was damp and cold with rain, and beyond him, she could see his motorcycle parked out front in the drizzling rain.
“I got lonesome for you,” he said.
She ignored that. “Does Mitch know you’re back in town?”
“Ran into him last night not far from here.” He grinned again. “He didn’t seem happy to see me.”
“Not far from here?” she cried, latching on to his words. “You!” She swatted at him a couple of times in quick succession. “You were in my bedroom last night! It was you!”
He ducked out of her reach. “Whoa. If I’d been in your bedroom last night, you’d have damned well known it. In fact, I’d probably still be there this morning—” his grin broadened “—and so would you.”
“Are you telling me you haven’t been following me?”
He shook his head, the grin gone. “Mitch told me someone in a black pickup’s been following you?”
She nodded. “Leaving me presents, too.”
“Really?” He was grinning again.
“It was you!” She cuffed him again.
“Hey, you liked them, didn’t you, sweetheart?”
“No, and don’t call me that. What are you doing here?”
“I came back for you.”
She stared at him. “No, seriously.”
He flashed those Tanner dimples again, reminding her too much of Mitch. “Run away with me.”
“Are you high on something?”
He laughed. “I just drove two thousand miles to see you. The least you could do is invite me in.”
“I’m not sure you haven’t already been in,” she said, eyeing him suspiciously. But she moved back to allow him entrance.
“I’ve missed you like crazy, Charity,” he said as he stepped into her living room. “I’ve even missed Timber Falls and Mitch. Can you believe it?”
“No,” Charity said, closing the door.
“Jesse Tanner?” Aunt Florie cried from the kitchen doorway, a wire whisk in her hand.
“Florie!” In two strides, Jesse reached her, picked her up and swung her around, making her squeal.
Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were shiny when he put her back down. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, young man.” Jesse had always been Florie’s favorite.
“It’s nice that someone is happy to have me back,” he said, shooting a glance at Charity.
“I was just whipping up breakfast,” Florie said. “Come have some with us.”
Charity could not imagine what her aunt had whipped up.
“I’d love to have breakfast with you,” Jesse said. “That is, if Charity doesn’t mind.” He gave her a wink.
“Not in the least.” She was already reaching for her purse and car keys. “Wish I could stay, but I have to get to work,” she said over her aunt’s protests as she backed toward the front door.
She left Florie and Jesse and headed toward the newspaper office, which she drove right past when she saw Mitch’s patrol car parked in front of Betty’s.
MITCH WAS SITTING at the counter in his usual spot when Charity stormed in. She marched over and sat down on the stool next to him.
Too busy to stop and talk, Betty set a diet cola in front of her, a fork and a piece of butterscotch-cream pie, then bustled off.
“Why didn’t you tell me Jesse was back in town?” Charity demanded, keeping her voice down.
Mitch looked over at her, pretending surprise that she was next to him. “Good morning to you, too. How do you know about Jesse?” He took a sip of his coffee as if his brother being back wasn’t big news.
“He came by for breakfast.”
Mitch cursed under his breath. “I figured you’d find out soon enough, since he says he’s here because of you.”
“And you believe him?”
Mitch looked over at her again. “Don’t you?”
She made a face at him. “Some professional investigator you are.” She took a sip of her diet cola. It calmed her a little. “He’s been leaving the presents.”
“He admitted that?”
She nodded. “And I think he was in my room last night, though he denies it. I just felt a presence there, looking at me in the dark.”
Mitch stared at her. “But you can’t be sure.”
She shook her head.
“One of your back windows had been jimmied open,” Mitch said and frowned, obviously thinking the same thing she was.
“Why would Jesse break into my house?”
“Why does Jesse do half the things he does?”
“Did he say how long he’s been back in town?”
“Three days.”
“So what’s he been doing? Hiding out? Or hiding behind tinted pickup windows and keeping to the cover of darkness?”
“You make him sound like a vampire,” Mitch said. “He’s been staying out at the old man’s.”
Charity raised a brow. “And until last night, no one had seen him?”
Mitch rolled his eyes. Charity could be so dramatic. But she had a point. In a town the size of Timber Falls, news of Jesse’s being back would have spread faster than a wildfire. Yet, other than their father, Mitch had been the first to see him last night. Or maybe Charity, if it really had been Jesse in her room. Sneaking into Charity’s bedroom, though, sounded very unlike Jesse.
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“Well, it definitely wasn’t Jesse who broke into the newspaper office. He had no reason to want the negatives,” she said. “But his timing bothers me.”
Mitch couldn’t agree more. After five years away, Jesse had come back to town the night before Nina Monroe disappeared and Charity had seen the black pickup following her.
He watched Charity take a bite of pie and close her eyes, savoring it. A small smile curled her irresistible lips. She opened her eyes and looked right at him, a satisfied gleam in her eyes that made him nervous, as if she knew something he didn’t.
Normally one of his greatest pleasures was watching her eat since that was the only pleasure the two of them shared, but this morning he had other things on his mind.
Her eyes met his. He looked into those warm honey-brown depths and felt his body leaning of its own accord toward her. He could already taste her mouth on his.
The café phone rang. “It’s for you, Sheriff,” Betty called.
He blinked and jerked back. Charity had that damned knowing look on her face again. He got up and walked stiffly to the phone, afraid of who’d tracked him down at Betty’s. He had a pretty good idea, but maybe it would be good news. Like Nina Monroe had shown up for work today.
“HOW’S THE PIE?” Betty asked, coming up to lean against the counter. It was obvious from her expression that she had some good gossip.
“Amazing,” Charity said, and watched Mitch on the phone across the room. He’d almost kissed her, she was positive. “I think I like butterscotch pie better than banana-cream.” When she’d taken a bite, she’d seen it, clear as day. Mitch in a tux standing beside her at the altar.
“What’s this I hear about the paper being broken into and you being hog-tied?” Betty asked.
“Where did you hear that?”
“Twila told me that Kinsey told her that Shirley told her that Lydia told her after Florie told her,” Betty said.
Charity groaned. “Florie.” Sure as the devil Mitch would think it was her fault Florie had blabbed.
In truth, she did blame herself. She’d let Mitch see how frightened she’d been. Big mistake. Now he’d want Florie to stay with her until this thing with the black pickup was resolved.