Don't Trust Me

by Jessica Lynch

  He waited two minutes after she closed the door behind her before he pulled away from the curb.

  Lucas met Caitlin as she was storming out of her house. Having parked behind her cruiser, he climbed out of his car in time to intercept her before she got in her own vehicle.

  She was still dressed in her uniform. The bottom two buttons were undone, though, like she’d been in a rush to put her shirt back on and fasten them back up. Given the amount of time that passed since her visit to his office, he figured she’d already been home and changed out of her uniform before something enticed her to get dressed again.

  Lucas’s gaze strayed to her belt. Her holster was there, her pistol secured in its place. Interesting. If only he could remember if she’d been carrying earlier when she was in his office. Crime was so low in Hamlet, they rarely wore them as part of their standard uniform. He could count the number of times he’d seen her wear her gun out on a routine call on one hand. This wasn’t usual.

  Then again, he didn’t routinely get shot at either. As far as he was concerned, “usual” flew out the window a couple of days ago.

  She saw him waiting by her car, barely sparing him a second glance as she snapped at him to step away from the cruiser.

  “Caity—”

  “No, Luc. I don’t have time for you right now. Willie just buzzed me. There’s been reports of something sounding like gunshots on the mountain side of town. I’ve got to check it out.”

  “But—”

  “Wait.” Pushing off the cruiser’s window, she whirled on Lucas. “Your office is mountainside. Did you hear anything? Maybe like an hour ago?”

  This was going to be bad. He already knew it. It was why he angled his body so that most of the gauze bandage was shadowed. He covered the rest with his hand, purposely hiding the injury. Though he crossed his hands over his chest, he kept his stance light, relaxed. When Caitlin found out he’d been tagged, shit was gonna hit the fan.

  “Actually, yes. That’s why I’m here. I want you to promise me something first, though. Promise you won’t freak out no matter what I tell you, alright?”

  She waved her hand anxiously, indicating he should get on with it. “Yeah, yeah. Sure. But hurry up. I’ve got be to be going. If you heard something down by your office, I really gotta go check it out.”

  “Okay.” Slowly, dreading her reaction, he lifted his hand from his arm, revealing the gauze wrapped around his bicep.

  She sucked in her breath through tightly gritted teeth the second she realized what he was showing her. And he knew that he’d been right.

  “You promised you wouldn’t freak out,” he reminded her.

  Her eyes flashed angrily as she glared at him. “I lied.”

  Lucas started to unwrap the bandage. Maybe if she saw that he’d been barely nicked— “Look, it’s just a graze. I’m fine.”

  She never took her unblinking gaze off his face. “Who. Did this. To you?”

  He was used to Caitlin’s explosive temper. Throwing a temper tantrum, yelling, crying… that was her normal. He would never admit it, but when she shut down like this, her voice barely a whisper, it scared him. He never knew quite what his ex was capable of.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Lucas.”

  “Honest, Cait, I have no idea. Shots came out of the trees, I ducked and covered.” Lucas tightened his gauze, tucking the tail under the bandage so that it stayed secure. “I was more concerned with getting out of there in one piece. Getting the identity of the shooter was the last thing on my mind.”

  She nodded, her expression calm and collected. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll find them because there’s no way I’ll let them get away this. No one takes aim at one of mine. By the time I get through with them, they’ll wish they turned the gun on themselves. As for you, I want you under lockdown. Go home, Luc, and stay there. I need you safe. Until I finish processing the scene, I have to know you’re safe.”

  That was more like Caitlin. Taking control, certain that she could save the world. If she had to lock Lucas in his bedroom so that she knew where he was, she would do it. But Lucas would never let her.

  His lips thinning in frustration, he shook his head. “No.”

  “I am the sheriff, and if I tell you that you’re going under lockdown, Doctor, you will damn well listen to me.”

  If she thought he would let her win just because she brought their titles into it, she was wrong.

  “I have work I have to do. You can’t stop me.”

  “I can,” she retorted. “I’ll do a lot worse before I let some lowlife take another shot at you.”

  So that’s what this was about. He thought she understood. Obviously, he was wrong. “Caitlin. Cait,” he said, softening his voice in a bid to get her attention. Wild-eyed and fuming, her hand straying to the gun at her side, Caitlin looked ready to run headfirst into a firefight. “I don’t think you understand. They weren’t shooting at me.”

  That got through to her. She moved back as if he'd slapped out at her. In her world, Lucas was the only one who mattered. It wouldn’t have occurred to her that he hadn’t been the intended victim. He was everything.

  But if the bullet wasn’t supposed to hit him, then that meant—

  Her composure cracked. “You weren’t alone.” She blinked. “That Sullivan woman was with you.”

  For one second, he thought about lying. Caity already had it out for the poor widow. He didn’t want to give her any more ammunition. Then he remembered how quickly word spread that he’d taken Tessa for brunch. Just because he hadn’t seen anyone around his office when he got shot, it didn’t mean there weren’t any witnesses. Someone was bound to have seen them together. It would get back to Caitlin and she would wonder if there was more to his being shot than it seemed. With his luck, Caitlin would concoct some convoluted idea that Tessa was the one who pulled the trigger.

  No, it was better to tell the truth. Especially since, by Tessa’s own admission, she’d seen the sheriff as she walked up to his office. Caitlin knew she was there. And now she would know that she stayed a few minutes longer.

  “Yes, she was still there,” he admitted.

  “Okay. That’s it. I want her out. Gone. Today.”

  That was the last thing he expected her to say. As sheriff, Caitlin was fanatically devoted to keeping the peace in Hamlet. Even though Jack Sullivan was an outsider, his murder cast a dark shadow over their tightknit community. If Caitlin set loose her only lead, she was basically admitting that she was giving up on finding Sullivan’s killer.

  “But your case,” he argued. “Don’t you need her to figure out who killed Jack Sullivan?”

  “Right now, I don’t care. And what if I can’t? He was an outsider, he probably deserved it. Right, Luc?”

  His whole expression went flat. Caitlin was throwing his own words back at him on purpose. Standing over Mack Turner’s mangled remains more than a year ago, he’d said the same exact thing to the sheriff. For what he tried to do to Maria, he deserved far worse than to accidentally run his car off the road and into the gulley. Lucas didn’t regret the man’s death, and Caitlin repeating his callous words didn’t make him change his mind.

  “It’s not the same and you know it.”

  “Why?” she demanded. “Because Turner slipped into Maria’s room and she didn’t want it? Then, yeah, it’s not the same because Sullivan’s wife is practically begging for it. From you, from Mase, it don’t matter who. She doesn’t plan to be without a husband for long.”

  Lucas fought the urge to lash out at her. “This again? It was an office visit, med pick-up—”

  “And the coffeehouse visit was just brunch, right? Come off it. She's no good for you, Luc. Me? I would wait for you forever and you know it. That girl doesn’t know the meaning of loyal.”

  Caitlin was wrong. Dead wrong. Since he couldn’t explain his absolute certainty, he clamped his mouth shut. Probably a good thing, too, or he would feel pressed to point out that he neither asked her
to nor wanted her to wait for him. Divorce was final, he got that. He was beginning to think she never would.

  But it wasn’t about that. It wasn’t about them. So instead of antagonizing Caitlin, he tried to calm her by reaching out to place a reassuring hand on her shoulder. Lucas stretched too far, though, and a shock of pain shot up his arm. Cursing under his breath, he tried to hide his grimace and failed.

  Caitlin caught the flash of pain. Knowing he was hurting hit her like a suckerpunch to the gut. She immediately stopped fighting him.

  “Okay, I’m sorry. That’s not important right now. Finding the bastard who did this is. I don’t care if he was aiming for that outsider. He hit you, Luc, and I promise you this: he’ll pay.”

  Before he got the chance to reply, Caitlin snatched her communicator off her belt. She turned one knob decisively, changed to another channel, and gripped the receiver button so tightly, her fingers turned white from pressure. Her radio sent out a call, and then they waited to see if her buzz would be answered.

  Crackle. “Hart speaking.”

  “Rick, this is Sheriff De Angelis. You know how you’re always telling me that you’re willing to lend a hand if I ever need you?”

  A pause, followed by a very hesitant, “Yeah. I remember.”

  “Great. From this moment on, consider yourself deputized.”

  Rick Hart was ex-military. Everyone in Hamlet knew that. Just like they knew he was born there, left, and came back a different man. He settled not too far from the eastern edge of the gulley, where he lived by himself, spent his days working at the barbershop and his nights down at Thirsty’s where he tried to forget those long years in between.

  A big man, pushing six and a half feet with a frame that was still more muscle than solid fat, he wasn’t the type of guy you wanted to run into in the dark. But when it came to having a practiced eye scanning a crime scene involving a gun, there was no one better in Hamlet. He definitely knew his way around a weapon.

  Rick was crouching down, staring in the bushes that lined the front of Lucas’s office building when they drove up the street, Caitlin’s cruiser in the lead.

  When it became clear that he had every intention of following her back to the scene, she offered him a lift, not even a little surprised when he climbed back in his Mustang and revved the engine. Lucas always accused her of being the stubborn one in their marriage. Caitlin long ago decided that was only because he was too pigheaded to see just how stubborn he was.

  Because he had told her that he’d been standing in his driveway when he got shot, Caitlin kept it clear. She parked on the side of the road, Lucas coasting up right behind her. Grabbing her hat and her notepad, she clambered out of her cruiser and just observed the scene.

  Before they left her house, she made Lucas give her a rapid-fire interview. Putting her own emotions aside, she seamlessly slipped right into the role of Hamlet’s sheriff. Once she thought she had enough information, she drove over to Lucas’s office to see if Rick had made any headway in the investigation. It wasn’t worth it to fight Lucas over his following her so she barely tried. As long as he understood that she was in charge, and he was the victim, they would get along fine.

  On her initial sweep, Caitlin saw the divot in the brick facade where the first shot hit. Her stomach clenched. What if the shooter’s aim was better? Would she be standing over his dead body now?

  Ducking her head, staring blindly at the notepad she clutched in trembling hands, she tried to conceal that panic that overwhelmed her.

  It was one thing when it was an outsider. Turner. Sullivan. She could keep a cool, level head when dealing with their deaths. But to imagine Luc—her Luc… she gulped and forced herself to push it to the side. He came to her for help and, goddammit, she was going to do her job if it killed her.

  Rick rose to his considerable height when he realized he had company. He lumbered over to Caitlin, towering over her petite form as he moved closer to her. Very close, Lucas noticed. The newly-made deputy bent down, murmuring something under his breath. Whatever it was, Rick had meant it only for Caitlin’s ears. She brushed his concerns back with a flippant wave of her hand.

  “Yes, I know he’s here. I let him come with me,” she said. “Lucas was the one they shot at. I thought he might have a better idea where the shots were fired from, or what they hit.”

  With a small nod, Rick greeted Lucas with a curt, “Doc.”

  “Hart. How’s the search going? Did you find anything?”

  Caitlin’s eyes flashed angrily as she bobbed her head up from her notepad, glaring at him. She absolutely hated it when he tried to butt in on any of her investigations. It didn’t matter that he was actually involved in this one. She pointed at him, then flung her arm out wide. He got the drift and, his hands held up in front of him in a silent apology, backed off.

  “I’ll just watch. That better, Cait?”

  As if he hadn’t said anything, Caitlin flipped her notebook shut and tilted her head back so that she was looking up at Rick. “Tell me you found something.”

  “Yeah. I was gonna buzz you, tell you not to waste time making the trip but then I figured you might want to check out the scene yourself. I’m still looking for the slug in the bushes, but I got something alright.” Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out a sandwich bag with two spent shell casings. “I saw the chip on the brick and realized that the shot had to come from this direction. Since the doctor would’ve seen anyone shooting at him, it made sense to me that the shooter was in the trees. It didn’t take much searching to find these.”

  Caitlin took the bag from Rick, holding it up so that she got a better look at its contents. She recognized the casings at once. Hoping she was wrong—praying she was wrong—she glanced up at Rick again, this time in confirmation.

  He nodded. “Definitely a .40 caliber. You’re gonna want to send it out for ballistics to be sure, but I don’t think I’m wrong. Best guess, eyeballing it, is that it’s a Glock 22.”

  Her hand went right to her holster.

  A Glock 22. Her preferred carry, and the same model worn by everyone in the sheriff’s department. She closed her eyes and huffed.

  Fan-fucking-tastic.

  20

  At half past two the next afternoon, the intercom chimed.

  Tess was sitting in the armchair in her rented room, absently flipping through the pages of a magazine three months old. As soon as she heard the soft tinkling sound, she closed the magazine and rested it on top of the chair’s arm. She’d been waiting for this call.

  Truth be told, she expected it to come last night. As soon as Lucas dropped her off, making her promise that she wouldn’t tell Maria about the shooting because he knew it would only upset his sister, she thought someone from the sheriff’s department would want to talk to her.

  She knew the doctor was only protecting her by leaving her locked in the bed and breakfast, but she already had a good idea how Sheriff De Angelis saw her. It would be a damn miracle if the red-haired she-demon didn’t immediately book Tessa for attempted murder of her beloved ex-husband.

  Tess was well aware she was being bitter. A threatening note one night, being shot at another, all on top of the sudden shock of losing her husband so violently… Tess decided she was owed a little bitterness. If she wasn’t the temptress trying to seduce the local men, then she was a black widow who was leaving bodies in her wake. Whatever happened to the kindhearted former kindergarten teacher just trying to have a little love in her life?

  The intercom chimed again. It sounded more impatient this time.

  With a huff, Tess pulled herself out of the armchair and shuffled over to the bed. Her slippers were crusted with mud, leaving a trail of flakes of dried mud behind her. Maria offered to wash her slippers after her sprint through the trees. Tess told her no. She needed the visual reminder that, no matter what she thought, she wasn’t really safe here.

  She engaged the intercom button. “Yes?”

  “Tessa, sweetie, I ha
te to bother you, but Sly is at the door. He’s in uniform so it’s gotta be police business. He says to make sure you’re decent because he’s here to pick you up.” Maria’s confusion became even more obvious as she blurted out, “Were you expecting him?”

  “Not him, no,” she admitted, plucking at the belt poking through the nearest loop on her cozy robe. “I actually thought she might send Deputy Walsh over.”

  “She? Caity? Oh, no.” Maria’s trill of a laugh seemed even higher through the tinny speaker of the intercom. “She wouldn’t do that. She’s convinced you have poor Mase wrapped around your finger. No wonder she sent Sly. Mase would just coddle you, and we both know Caity wouldn’t like that. Not after the way he hid the story of the note you got from her.”

  As if she wasn’t feeling bad enough that Deputy Collins was here to take her to see the sheriff. The last thing she wanted was a reminder that Mason seemed convinced that there was something between them—and that Sheriff De Angelis was all too aware of that fact.

  “Hey, um, I was kinda hoping they’d forgotten about me. I’m still wearing my pajamas and a robe. Do you think you could tell Deputy Collins that I’ll be right out as soon as I get changed?”

  “Of course. No worries, sweetie.” Her chuckle turned husky. “I’ll keep the deputy company until you’re ready.”

  After thanking Maria, she stripped off her robe and tossed it on her rumpled bed. As she pulled on the dresser drawers, looking for something clean to change into, she thought about how Maria’s whole mood changed when Tess told her she wasn’t exactly expecting Deputy Collins.

  Maria sure sounded happy to spend some time with the tall, dark and handsome deputy, she realized.

  For the first time since Lucas got grazed by that bullet, Tess grinned. And maybe she took a little bit longer than necessary to get dressed.

  Having experience with the sheriff’s interviewing style, Tess thought she knew what to expect this time around. Like Sunday, the deputy brought her into the only room with a closed door. She assumed it was an office of some sort for the sheriff, since both times she was told to sit in the plastic chair opposite of a solid oak desk. Sheriff De Angelis sat on the other side, an open notepad in front of her.