by Laura Scott
For a moment, the small yet cozy house in Dalton, Georgia, that she’d shared with her mother and sister flashed in her mind. An intense longing hit hard. She desperately wished they could go back to the way things were. To the time of her life before her mother died. Before Kate had disappeared.
To the career she’d once loved.
Now her mother was gone, her sister was missing, and her home was a dingy motel room.
Tears pricked at her eyes. Stop it, she told herself sternly. No sense in focusing on what she’d lost. Her priority was to find Kate and from there to move forward with supporting her sister. She shook off the flash of self-pity and met the officer’s gaze in the rearview mirror. “Thanks. Will Officer Murphy be there too?”
Finley hesitated. “He’ll be giving his statement to another officer.”
She figured that meant she and Sawyer wouldn’t be able to talk to each other. It was understandable that the police would want to hear both of their stories separately, for accuracy and to prevent any sort of collusion.
But knowing she couldn’t see him sent a fluttering of panic coursing through her. And it only reinforced how accustomed she’d gotten to having Sawyer’s support.
For the first time, she wondered what her life would be like after finding Kate and returning to Dalton.
One thing was for certain, there would be a gaping hole in her heart when she was forced to leave Chattanooga and Sawyer Murphy behind.
Sawyer sat calmly in the interrogation room of the precinct located near East Ridge, his sopping wet clothes sticking uncomfortably to his skin. He knew the drill and had been on the other side of the interrogation more than once.
He reiterated how the events had unfolded resulting in his fatally shooting Melvin Curtis. He answered every single question they asked, even when they were the same questions over and over again.
The only part of this process that worried him was how Naomi was holding up. She wasn’t accustomed to this sort of thing, and he could see her losing her patience with the repetitive and tedious process.
It was still incredulous to him that she’d escaped Melvin’s grip in the first place. The officer kept pressing him on that issue, and Sawyer had repeatedly told him he didn’t have any clue how she’d accomplished that feat. All he could say for certain was that he saw the muzzle of Melvin’s gun turning toward her, an act that caused him to fire twice to save her.
After what felt like an eternity, the officers finally left him alone. Sawyer knew full well someone was likely watching him on camera or through the one-way mirror, so he didn’t let his facial expression change. However, he did wring out his clothing the best he could, making small puddles of water on the floor.
When the door opened revealing his boss, Lieutenant Watkins, he inwardly groaned as he rose to his feet. “Lieutenant.”
“Murphy.” His boss eyed him warily for a moment before gesturing to the chair. “Sit down. Why hasn’t anyone brought you dry clothes?”
He suspected it was because they wanted him to remain uncomfortable and off balance, hoping he’d mess up his story. He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”
Watkins grimaced, then leaned forward putting his elbows on the table. “Murphy, didn’t I warn you about letting this get too personal?”
“Yes, sir. But that’s not why I fired at Curtis. He ignored my demand to drop his weapon and turned to shoot Ms. Palmer. I had no choice but to take action.”
“We don’t even know Curtis is involved in the missing girls,” his boss said sharply. “And now we never will.”
Sawyer desperately wished things had gone down differently. He’d wanted to take Curtis alive, to get him to tell him where Louisa and Kate were being held. It burned to know the man’s secrets had died with him.
Yet he hadn’t been willing to sacrifice Naomi’s life to get the information either. And there was nothing he could do to change what had happened. “His dying is regrettable. But I don’t see how I could have avoided shooting him.”
“Are you sure about that?” His lieutenant’s gaze was skeptical. “You may have overreacted to Ms. Palmer being in danger.”
He did his best to ignore the flicker of anger. Drawing every ounce of self-control he possessed, he repeated his statement for the millionth time. “Curtis refused to drop his weapon. When Ms. Palmer broke free of his grasp, the muzzle of his gun swung toward her. Believing he intended to shoot her, I fired twice, aiming at center mass and hitting him in the chest as we are trained to do.”
Watkins sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. “That’s your story.”
“That’s the truth. Sir.” He met his boss’s gaze head-on.
A heavy silence fell between them. Finally, his lieutenant pushed away from the table and stood. “You’ll be on paid leave until you’re cleared by IAB.”
“Yes, sir.” His gut clenched at hearing the dreaded initials referencing the internal affairs bureau, but he tried not to show his reaction. Watkins was following formal protocol, so he couldn’t blame him. “Uh, sir?”
The lieutenant paused at the door. “What?”
Sawyer tried to choose his words carefully. “I don’t believe Detective Turner has had a chance to interview Ms. Palmer about her missing sister and the possible connection to Louisa Marchese’s disappearance.”
His boss’s gaze bored into his, likely reading between the lines that Sawyer didn’t think Turner was doing a good enough job on the case. The lieutenant finally spoke. “I’ll request an updated report from Detective Turner in the morning.”
Sawyer nodded, knowing his boss wasn’t going to share anything more. Turner wouldn’t be happy, but Sawyer didn’t care.
Although he wished he knew what the unknown female’s cause of death was. Could he make a quick call to the ME’s office before they learned he was on paid leave?
“I’d like to use the restroom,” he said loudly.
The door opened a minute later. “Officer Murphy, you’re free to go. But we respectfully request you stay in the area until the investigation is complete.”
“I understand.” He left the interview room, pulling his phone from his pocket. Thankfully, he used a waterproof case, or he doubted the stupid thing would work.
Outside the station, he swept his gaze over the area, searching for Naomi. He tried not to panic when he couldn’t find any sign of her. He called her cell phone, relieved when she answered.
“Sawyer? Are you okay?”
Her concern for him was heartwarming. It had been a long time since a woman had been worried about him. “I’m fine, where are you?”
“Officer Finley drove me back to the motel.”
“Okay, that’s good.” No one had bothered to offer him a ride, but hopefully his SUV was still at the gas station. He didn’t see any reason why it would be considered part of the crime scene. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“Okay. I’m glad you’ve been released.”
“Take care and don’t open the door to anyone,” he cautioned.
“I won’t.”
He disconnected from the call and then dialed the ME’s office. It was late, but thankfully someone answered.
“This is Officer Murphy with the Chattanooga PD. I’m wondering if the ME has identified a cause of death on the unknown female found outside of East Ridge.”
“It will take time for the toxicology results to come in, but the initial cause of death is blunt force trauma to the back of the head.”
Interesting. A blow to the back of the head could indicate the victim was running away from her attacker. Although the body still could have been dumped there if the escape had taken place elsewhere. “Okay, thank you.”
Tucking his phone back into his water-laden jeans pocket, he turned and headed back inside. The least his fellow officers could do was give him a lift back to his car.
One of the two officers who’d interrogated him for the past several hours grudgingly agreed to take him to the gas station.
Now he knew how helpless it felt to be the family member of a victim. To sit back and wait to hear what if anything came out of a police investigation.
It was super frustrating to be left out of the communication loop.
After sliding in behind the wheel of his SUV, Sawyer turned around and headed back to downtown Chattanooga and the motel where he’d secured a room next to Naomi’s.
He showered and changed into his uniform, which was his only dry clothing, before knocking lightly at Naomi’s door.
“Sawyer.” Stark relief was etched on her features. She opened the door wider, wordlessly inviting him inside. She’d showered and changed too, her hair soft around her face. “Why on earth did they keep you so long?”
He shrugged, downplaying the endless interrogation. “They wanted to be sure my story was accurate.”
“You’re a police officer just like they are.” She looked troubled. “I don’t understand why they wouldn’t believe you.”
“A man is dead.” The words came out sharper than he intended. He sighed and softened his tone. “It’s their job to prove my shooting him was justified.”
“It’s my fault,” Naomi said in a low voice. She sank down onto the edge of the bed. “I shouldn’t have let him grab me.”
Sawyer dropped into a chair across from her. “I’m curious as to what happened. Did Curtis get to you inside the store?”
“Yes. The restrooms were located way in the back. There was an exit nearby, so when I came out of the restroom, he grabbed my arm and pressed a gun into my side. Before I could blink, he’d pushed me through the exit along the very back of the building.”
It was all too easy to imagine the chain of events. “I’m sorry you had to go through that,” Sawyer murmured. “But I don’t understand how he knew you were there in the first place.”
“I don’t know, and Officer Finley asked me the same thing. I don’t remember seeing him when I went inside.” She frowned. “And I don’t think he could have followed us.”
Sawyer had chosen to use his SUV specifically to avoid that scenario. Although maybe Curtis had been hanging around the crime scene where they’d found the dead girl. Some perps got off on that. He focused on Naomi. “I knew something was wrong when you called me.”
The corner of her mouth lifted in a halfhearted smile. “And I knew you’d understand something was wrong if I didn’t answer.”
He reached over to take her hand in his. “I lost several years of my life believing he was going to kill you.”
All hints of a smile faded from her features. “I feel awful you had to shoot him, Sawyer. That couldn’t have been easy.”
“It was the first time I’ve been forced to shoot a man while being a law enforcement officer.” The admission slipped out before he could stop it.
“I was afraid of that.” Naomi came up off the bed and knelt beside him. “I’m so thankful you saved me, Sawyer. But I wish it hadn’t been necessary.”
He didn’t deserve her sympathy. Her kindness. But he didn’t have the willpower to push her away either. “I told him to drop his weapon.”
“Yes, you did, more than once. And he didn’t obey. Not even when he was lying on the ground, bleeding.” She cupped his face in her hand. “I know in my heart God sent you to protect me, Sawyer. I will forever be in your debt.”
A lump filled in the back of his throat, making it impossible for him to speak. Her kindness floored him, but she didn’t know the truth.
That Melvin Curtis wasn’t the first man he’d killed.
And deep down, he couldn’t believe God had forgiven him for what he’d done the evening the cabin had started on fire thirteen years ago.
Chapter Thirteen
“Please don’t feel guilty for what happened.” Naomi held Sawyer’s gaze, silently pleading with him. “You’re a good man.”
“Not that good.” The hint of bitterness caught her off guard.
“You are.” She really didn’t understand why he didn’t seem to believe in himself.
He blew out a heavy sigh and shook his head. “You don’t know what happened that night.”
She froze. “What night?”
“The night of the fire.” He grimaced. “It’s my fault the Preacher and his wife died that night.”
She did her best not to show any reaction. “What do you mean? I can’t imagine you’d start a fire on purpose.”
“No, not the fire.” He hesitated, then blurted out, “I poisoned their food.”
The news shocked her. “What?”
He swallowed hard. “Exactly what I said. I poisoned him and Ruth, using pokeweed berries.”
Her heart squeezed in her chest. “Oh, Sawyer, I’m so sorry. You mentioned abuse, but it must have been worse than I imagined. I’m sure you must have been desperate to escape.”
He let out a harsh sound. “Yeah, you could say that. The Preacher ranted and raved at us, hit us with a switch as he preached about the fires of hell and how we were such awful sinners. He also made us sleep in the cellar, which is why I reveled in working the garden.” He hesitated, then added, “I was fourteen when we finally managed to escape.”
“Oh, Sawyer.” Her heart broke for him.
“Don’t you see? If I hadn’t mixed those poisonous berries in with the blueberries Ruth made into a pie, they’d both still be alive.”
“You don’t know that.” She took his hand in hers. “He may have died in the fire regardless.”
“No, all seven of us managed to escape, I’m sure they could have too. If I hadn’t poisoned them.”
Sawyer’s guilt-ridden expression tore at her heart. “Sawyer, that man tortured you and the other foster kids while his wife did nothing to stop it. You were young, I’m sure your intent was only to escape, nothing more.”
“Yeah, but in law enforcement, we call that manslaughter in the first degree.” Sawyer drew his hand from hers. “I performed an act that I should have reasonably known could have caused his death.”
She didn’t know what to say or what to do to help him. “Sawyer, you couldn’t have reasonably expected a fire to break out in the cabin on the same night he ate some poisonous berries baked into a pie. You need to understand this may have been God’s way of helping you and the other kids escape an impossible situation.”
Sawyer gently pushed her away and rose to his feet. “You honestly don’t think I’m responsible for the Preacher’s and his wife’s deaths?”
“You’re not responsible for the fire.” She stood to face him. “And really, how many of those berries could he have eaten?”
For a moment, Sawyer looked uncertain. “I don’t know. They’re extremely bitter, so I made sure to mix them in with blueberries and of course sugar to mask the taste. I worried he or Ruth would figure it out, but they didn’t. None of us kids were impacted because they never gave us dessert. That special treat was only for the two of them, especially the Preacher.”
“So that means the man who physically and emotionally abused you, kept you and the other kids locked in a cellar, may have simply gotten sick.” She desperately wanted Sawyer to realize he wasn’t responsible for the Preacher’s and his wife’s deaths.
“Maybe. But the end result was that they died in the fire, probably because they were too sick to escape the cabin.”
“You don’t know that for sure, Sawyer.” She tipped her head to the side. “How did the fire start anyway?”
He slowly shook his head. “I don’t know. We all scattered in the woods afterward, there wasn’t time to compare notes. I figured a log from the fire rolled out into the cabin and they were too sick to notice.”
“You had nothing to do with the fire,” she pressed.
“No. Hailey woke me up
saying she smelled smoke. I remember we woke up the rest of the kids and headed up the stairs to the main cabin.”
“The door wasn’t locked?”
He frowned. “No, I don’t think so. Jayme was there, helping to pull us out of the cellar. It’s all a little hazy. The place was already engulfed in flames, and we were all so terrified. We barely made it out alive.”
She reached over and gripped his hand. “Sawyer, if the fact that you got out alive is partially because the Preacher and his wife were sick in bed, then I’m glad. Very glad you and the others didn’t die that night.”
“But . . .” His voice trailed off.
“God helps those who help themselves, remember?” She stepped closer so that she could put her arms around his waist. “You only wanted to escape, Sawyer. No one would ever blame you for that.”
“I’m—not sure that’s true.”
“It’s true.” She tightened her grip. “Think about it from a cop’s perspective. If you had come upon a fire in a cabin, with seven foster kids hiding in the woods, one of them only fourteen, explaining the horror they’d lived in, wouldn’t you believe their actions to be self-defense?”
“There has to be an imminent threat of harm to count as self-defense.”
“You were kids, Sawyer. Doing your best to survive a horrible situation.” She tightened her grip around his waist. “Please consider the idea that God was watching over you that night. That God wanted you and the others to escape.”
“I want to believe that.” His voice was so soft she could barely hear it.
“Trust me, Sawyer.” She went up on her tippy toes and kissed him. Her goal was to offer comfort and support, but in a nanosecond, heat flared between them.
Sawyer deepened their kiss as if he needed her to survive.
As she needed him. Her head spun from the impact of their embrace. She clung to his broad shoulders, secretly thrilled when he gathered her closer still. Sawyer’s embrace was so different from Tony’s. Sawyer made her feel desired yet safe at the same time. She had the sense he’d never pressure her for more than she was ready to give.