Читать книгу His Arch Enemy's Daughter - Crystal Green, Crystal Green - Страница 9

Ashlyn Spencer was in a real fix this time.

“Emma, why don’t you put away that shotgun?” she asked while backing out of the insect-buzzed porch light and into the shadows. She felt erased, almost safe in the darkness cast by Mrs. Trainor’s roof.

The older woman’s outline didn’t budge from the screened door. “I’ll be darned if you play any April Fool’s jokes on Trainor property, Miss Spencer. You, me and my sawed-off friend will wait right here until the sheriff comes.”

Ashlyn wanted to speak up in her defense, to tell Emma that she wasn’t playing any pranks tonight—hadn’t played any for a long time now. In fact, this bundle of crisp one-hundred-dollar bills she held in her hand was sticking to her palm with the urgency of a cat clinging to a curtain for safety.

Right about now, they were all victims of worst-case-scenario shotgun nightmares.

“Emma, I—”

A deep voice rumbled over her protestations. “Lower your gun, Emma.”

Ashlyn could hear the woman’s sigh of relief, even through a screen mashed with Kentucky flies and a trace of dandelion down.

The sheriff and his boots thumped their way up the stairs, onto the porch. “You put that firearm away, Emma?”

A heavy clicking sound from behind the older woman’s door made Ashlyn start from her hiding place. Was Emma Trainor cocking the gun?

Ashlyn jolted backward and smashed right into the new sheriff, his chest as broad and as hard as a wall. Not literally, but it felt like so many hard bricks piled together—enough to make her see stars.

She turned to him, blinking, the towering shadow of the sheriff’s body eclipsing the moonlight with a heavy jacket. The stars blurring her sight settled into one dull glint on his broad chest. A lifeless, silvery badge.

Fleeting images of Sheriff Carson, the old law of Kane’s Crossing, flashed through her mind. He’d liked to give her a hard time for the way she’d run around town, getting into her share of mischief. And her father had paid the sheriff well to keep his daughter in line.

But Sheriff Carson had passed away a short time ago, and a new lawman had taken his place just last month. A man who’d been appointed by the prominent citizens of Kane’s Crossing.

Sam Reno had returned to town. The same man who’d been the object of Ashlyn’s star-in-the-eyes fantasies, her Teen Beat dreams.

She gulped and subtly tried to stand behind him, just in case Emma was aiming in her direction.

The other woman stepped onto the porch, and Ashlyn felt her face heat up when she realized that the “click” had merely been the screened door opening.

Emma nodded to the sheriff. “Thanks for answering so fast. I heard an intruder out here and found Ashlyn Spencer lurking around my door.”

Ashlyn hid her hands behind her back, hoping no one had seen the money, hoping no one would suspect that she was up to good for a change.

Sheriff Reno placed his hands on his lean hips, his silhouette dark against the moon’s silver light. “You’re going to get someone killed with your weaponry, Emma. Now, I know better than anyone that you want your protection, but pumping bullets into the town socialite won’t rid the world of evil. I’d hate to take you in for that.”

Ashlyn felt the sheriff shoot her a glance, but she bit her tongue, determined to let them think what they would about her reasons for being here.

Emma stuck her fists into the pockets of her oversize jeans. “Sorry, Sam. I didn’t even have a gun. Had to use a fire poker. The girl scared me, sneaking around like she was, creaking my porch boards.”

Truth be told, Ashlyn wished she hadn’t frightened Mrs. Trainor. The woman had suffered enough pain in her life, what, with her husband dying in the same factory accident that had killed Sam Reno’s own father. And she felt partly responsible, too, because it was her family’s factory. Her family’s responsibility—one that they’d never owned up to.

Sheriff Reno took a step forward into the faint porch light, affording Ashlyn a better vantage point.

He had the corded strength of a Remington sculpture, all rough edges and darkness. His clipped brown hair barely brushed his jacket collar, and it was longer on top, falling to just above his stern brow. The fullness of his lower lip gave her heart a lurch, and it wasn’t because he was frowning.

He shook his head, his voice as low and as dry as an endless stretch of desert road. “Well, I guess you can’t do a whole lot of damage with a phantom arsenal.”

A few more steps brought him closer to Emma. Softly, he asked, “How’re you doing?”

The older woman’s lips trembled, and Ashlyn had to avert her glance.

“As well as can be expected. Janey’s still in the hospital, for as long as the money’ll keep her there.”

Ashlyn tightened her grip on the hundred-dollar bills and looked up.

Sam Reno cupped his long fingers under the woman’s jaw, making Ashlyn’s throat ache. His touch was so gentle, so sympathetic, like a physical connection between two survivors who’d lost everything.

She felt invisible, surrounded by the darkness of cave walls, blocking her from the rest of humanity. Dank, lonely, so dark…

Ashlyn washed her mind of those thoughts. She needed to forget about the cave, about the scared seven-year-old girl who’d lived under the banner of town disapproval for so long.

But how could she forget that her family had caused such pain?

Unthinkingly, she cleared her throat, wanting to slap herself when it broke the moment between Emma and the sheriff. He turned to her, a glower of displeasure clearly marking his face.

“What the hell were you doing creeping around here in the dead of night?” he asked.

She tried to shine her most innocent smile, but it didn’t quite hold. “I’ll have to plead the Fifth on that.”

His gaze had focused on her hands, folded behind her back very suspiciously. “Drop it.”

That voice—so low, so cold, so deadly serious.

Maybe he thought she was packing her own heat. Heck, if one-hundred-dollar bills were bullets, she’d be absolutely riddled with holes.

She’d give anything for nobody to know what she’d intended to do with the money. Nobody had the right to know.

However, the sheriff’s fingers had tensed near his holster, the one with the gun in it.

Ashlyn dropped the wad of money and held her hands in the air, shrugging as she did so. “Whoops.”

“Yeah, whoops.”

He stepped near her, brushing her sweater with his jacket. As he retrieved the bundle of bills, she shivered, probably because the April night had a sudden warm thrill to it.

He moved in front of her and held up the money. “This should be an interesting explanation.”

Emma Trainor’s jaw almost hit the floorboards. Why was she so shocked? Was it so unthinkable that Ashlyn would want to help someone in their time of need?

Well, now she’d have to explain. Unless, of course, she desired an all-expense-paid trip to the sheriff’s office.

Actually, she thought, if Sheriff Sam was doing the driving, it didn’t sound all that bad.

Ashlyn sighed, donning her “bad girl” facade, planting a hand on her hip, quirking her mouth into a carefree grin. The town expected her to be contrary, running around causing her share of tongue clucking, so why not oblige them?

Her stance hardly reflected the hurt inside. Hurt caused by years of hiding in shadows.

“It’d probably be easier for all of us if I accepted blame and said that this is pocket money. That I was just about to vandalize the Trainor property with some April Fool’s flair.”

She’d rather die than let them know her real motive. Ashlyn hadn’t known Emma’s daughter, Janey, very well, but when she’d heard that the insurance company wasn’t covering all of Janey’s hospital bills, she’d gotten angry. Outraged, as a matter of fact.

She’d figured that it’d be the proper thing to do, leaving some anonymous cash so Janey could pay for her treatments. Breast cancer was costly in more than one way.

But now, from the looks of Emma and Sheriff Reno, Ashlyn knew she had a lot more explaining to do. Fat chance. They’d never believe that a dilettante like her cared about anything. No one in town had ever believed it.

When she focused back on Emma and the sheriff, they were looking at her as if she’d sprouted a tarnished halo—and it was pierced through her nose, to boot.

Couldn’t she have thought of a more creative excuse?

The sheriff hovered over Ashlyn, making her feel about two feet tall. He stuffed the money back into her hand. “Was it too common for you to simply ring Emma’s doorbell, maybe send a check through the mail?”

She wanted to blurt out that he was missing the point. She didn’t want anyone to know that she’d done a kind deed. Ashlyn Spencer was from a greedy family, and half of Kane’s Crossing wouldn’t pay credence to the rumor of her benevolence anyway. So why try to elaborate?

Sheriff Reno ran his gaze from her head to her curling toes, his expression lingering somewhere between a half-hearted sigh of mirth and a frown of suspicion. She got the distinct feeling that he wasn’t used to smiling.

“Let’s go,” he said, as if she had stolen the money from Emma Trainor and was a certified criminal.

Emma’s eyes had softened, her hand reaching out helplessly to Ashlyn. She opened her mouth to say something, then shut it with a smack.

Ashlyn felt like telling her to not apologize after all these years. It was natural to assume that she was up to no good. After all, she’d been making trouble a habit ever since her seventh year, ever since she’d stared at those cave walls and learned a hard lesson or two about life.

As she and Sam turned around to leave, Ashlyn bent and casually placed the bundle of money on the porch, not even pausing to mark Emma’s final reaction. Sam waited for her, then matched her pace as they walked away. When they were out of hearing distance, she couldn’t curb a self-protective shrug. “I suppose the fairies told me to do it, Sheriff.” She followed up with a sugar-sweet grin.

“Fairies,” muttered Sam Reno, shaking his head while he gestured toward his car.

Behind them, Emma’s porch light winked off, leaving a sense of moon-bathed quiet. “What, don’t you believe in that stuff?” she asked.

They’d moved down the lawn, toward Sam’s car. He must have cut his engine at some point, rolling the vehicle to a stop so he could sneak up on Emma and her trespasser with the utmost stealth.

You had to admire that kind of sneakiness, she thought. She would’ve done the same thing.

He hadn’t answered her flippant question, but this silence was killing her need to lighten the mood. So she continued.

“Understand, Sheriff? I’m talking about fairies, sprites, gremlins… You know gremlins are the worst. Downright mean suckers.”

More pressing subjects were obviously on his mind. “Trespassing isn’t looked on too kindly around here.”

That put Ashlyn in her place. “Okay, okay. So at the age of twenty-four, I should be doing more productive things, like sitting around in my baby dolls, popping chocolates and filing my nails. Yeah, that sounds more acceptable, more bourgeoisie. More Spencer-like.”

Night creatures serenaded them as they walked. She became very aware of her choppy breath, the feel of his large body tracking hers.

“What you did for Janey was real nice,” he said.

A sarcastic comeback tipped the edge of her tongue. Yeah, Emma fell all over herself thanking me for the trouble.

But she kept her peace, not wanting the sheriff to know how much the other woman’s judgmental first impression had hurt. Her unwillingness to imagine that Ashlyn could do anything decent was a slap in the face, leaving a mark as dark as her family’s reputation.

“Well, Sheriff Reno, I think you’ll find that the word ‘nice’ doesn’t exactly apply to me. Besides, I never admitted to doing anything back there.”

He stopped and looked at her, his eyes boring into her soul.

Was he a real cop? Sheriff Carson would’ve taken great umbrage at her blunt tone and shone the flashlight in her eyes in a misguided power trip. He would’ve hauled her into the jailhouse just for the fun of it.

She allowed her gaze to skim over Sheriff Reno’s hard body. Let’s see, he’d been two years ahead of Chad, her esteemed brother, in high school…maybe he was around thirty-three.

In her younger years she’d enjoyed making Sheriff Carson chase her around a little, just to get his goat. But this sheriff was in shape, would catch her in a minute flat. Not that being caught by him would be a horrible thing.

She grinned, her heart beating a little faster. He wasn’t bad for a thirty-three-year-old. As far as she could see, he had long legs, a flat stomach, arms and shoulders that filled his jacket to great effect…

Wouldn’t her father kill her if she got involved with Sam Reno, the foster brother of Nick Cassidy, the man who’d ruined her family?

The whole town had gotten into quite a snit when Nick had strutted right into Kane’s Crossing to give her once-wealthy father and brother, Chad, a taste of their own medicine. While both men had been in Europe, Nick had taken over the Spencers’ businesses, given them to the poor families in town, teaching her own family a lesson about compassion. Not that the Spencers had learned anything from the debacle. Even now, starch-collared lawyers were scrambling to get back their old properties, to place them back on their self-imposed throne.

And they’d been partly successful, too. The Spencers now had control of their toy factory again, a business they’d sneaked in and purchased with the cunning common to a snake.

She didn’t like to be thought of as a snake. Being a normal citizen in Kane’s Crossing would’ve suited Ashlyn just fine.

Sam Reno himself would probably end up with a girl from a normal family—one who reminded him of home-cooked dinners, hand-knit sweaters and white-lace kitchen aprons.

She had to admit though—he was tempting. Her stomach tingled just thinking about snuggling into his jacket, next to his chest, his arms enveloping her with strength.

Then again, Sam had his reasons for hating the Spencers. And he’d probably arrest her out of pure disdain if he could read her thoughts.

She tried to ignore the way his gaze combed over her, the way it slammed her heart against her ribcage. She started walking toward his car, sorry that she hadn’t taken her own vehicle out for a cruise tonight.

His voice surged from behind her. “Are you still in college?”

Ashlyn grinned at the small talk, tossing her words carelessly over her shoulder. “Been there, done that, got the T-shirt. Say, you’re just giving me a ride home, right? No arrests for trespassing or anything?”

She heard him shifting around his utility belt, adjusting his squawking walkie-talkie. For a minute she thought maybe he was going to cuff her.

“Please, Sheriff. I’ve got all the silver jewelry I’ll ever need.”

His long steps caught him up with her, and he stuck out his hand, car keys jangling. “We’re just going to my office.”

“You are arresting me?”

At this point, her golden-boy brother would’ve whipped out his business card, would’ve asked the new sheriff if he realized whom he was dealing with. But Ashlyn had never been held in the same esteem as her worshipped brother. Not by the town, thank goodness. And not by her parents.

Did Sam Reno want to make himself look good in front of an upstanding citizen like Emma Trainor? Well, he sure was doing a fine job of carrying out his sheriffly duties.

Sam Reno chuckled, even though she wasn’t sure what was so funny.

She said, “You’ve been living for this moment your whole life, haven’t you, Sheriff? You’ve just been chomping at the bit to arrest a Spencer.”

Darkness traveled his face, drawing down the edges of his lips, eclipsing the moonlight.

Ashlyn knew she’d opened her mouth one too many times.

Spencer.

The name ripped through his body with razor-blade agony. Seven years ago Sam’s father had died in the Spenco Toy Factory under mysterious circumstances. That death had killed his mother, too, from stress and heartbreak. And it’d changed Sam’s life. For the worse.

He watched Ashlyn Spencer, assessing the daughter of his worst enemy. She was surrounded by a bleak sky of looming clouds, a drab field of grass. The palette of his life. Even the road running past Emma Trainor’s home was empty and desolate.

But Ashlyn herself was a splash of colors—from her bright red sweater to the green and purple string of party beads dancing around her wrist.

Sam tried to feel unaffected as a cloud passed over the moon, almost as if the darkness wanted to hold on to her light for a minute more. She crossed her arms over her chest, her jaunty sweater bellying her obvious agitation.

He decided that the best course of action would be to ignore her comment about arresting a Spencer. “Why’re you still in Kane’s Crossing, Miss Spencer?”

“Why did you come back to Kane’s Crossing?” she asked, dodging his question.

He knew they were at a verbal stalemate, so he decided to get this business over and done with. After a moment of heavy silence, he reached out a hand to her. “Let’s go.”

“To the sheriff’s office?”

“It’s a hell of a lot warmer than keeping the ghosts company.” He allowed his hand to remain, hovering in the air, more of a command than a request.

Maybe he shouldn’t even be hauling her in like this, but he’d heard about Ashlyn’s propensity for trouble. Better to let her know that the new sheriff meant business. Better to put the fear of the law into her now than later. He could explain himself at the station, where he had the persuasive image of jail cells to back up his warning lecture.

Ashlyn scanned his body again. The first time she’d done it, Sam had merely chalked up the action to curiosity. This time his pulse pounded, awakening feelings he’d packed away over a year ago. Feelings his dead wife had numbed.

He gave Ashlyn Spencer a moment to hesitate, not wanting to make this more serious than it was. She’d been giving money to Emma Trainor, by God. Not only was it an act of someone with a soft heart, but this call was a joke next to the blood and chaos he’d seen as a cop in Washington, D.C.

Wiping away his memories, Sam concentrated on his current problem. Ashlyn took a step forward, the moonlight covering her pixie-featured face with a veil of silver, producing a glimmer in her eye, in her slight smile.

Her forced gaiety made him feel sorry for her, this young woman who’d been called on the carpet for trying to help Emma’s family. But the Trainors, like many other people in Kane’s Crossing, had been hurt by Ashlyn’s kin. Had been stung by their greed time and again.

Her reputation didn’t stop him from thinking that Emma had treated Ashlyn unfairly. Had judged her for the company she kept, rather than her actions.

Hell, he could use some of his own advice. Nobody could accuse him of liking the Spencers, especially since they’d been responsible for his father’s death.

Sam watched her again as they resumed walking. She’d cut her hair, from what he remembered, which wasn’t much. It’d gone from a long waterfall in her younger years to a sandy, short cut, tufts sticking out from her head as if she was a woodland version of Tinker Bell from a book he’d bought for…

Never mind who he’d bought it for. He’d come to Kane’s Crossing to forget about it.

They headed toward the patrol car, a gas-guzzling white Chevy behemoth that had seen better years.

“Lovely. Do I get the back seat,” she asked, a hint of laughter in her voice, “where all the criminals languish?”

He held open the passenger’s side front door in answer. She slid in, all grace and smooth curves. Years ago, she would’ve filled the definition of “coltish,” but now, the term seemed outgrown.

Sam took his place behind the steering wheel. The occasional beep and burst of static from the police radio was the only sound as he tamped down his urge to look at her again. Another glance at Ashlyn Spencer would frustrate him, make him want things he didn’t have a prayer of finding.

After he guided the car onto the silent country road, he saw Ashlyn lean her head back against the headrest.

Suddenly he was much too aware of her scent, a combination of innocence—almonds, honey and cream. Something in his chest tightened, almost sputtered to life then died.

“So, do you want to explain this lionhearted quest of yours?” he asked, filling in the blank spaces of their conversation.

She hesitated, then lifted up her hands in a what-the-heck movement. “It’s all pretty complicated, but…” She turned to face him, still resting her head. “Do you remember, years ago, when my family owned just about everything in town?”

He remembered with sharp clarity. “Yeah. I don’t think your brother ever let my family forget.”

Especially after the way Chad Spencer had treated Nick’s wife, Meg, like a pleasure toy. Rumor had it that Chad had gotten Meg pregnant after making her think he loved her. That’s when Nick had stepped in, claiming the resulting twins as his own children.

“Obviously you’ve talked with Nick,” said Ashlyn, a faint smile lighting her face. “He really gave it to Chad good by buying those businesses and turning them over to those families in need. And my brother deserved it, even if I ended up feeling pretty sorry for him in the end. It’s not easy having everything that matters taken away from you.”

Everything that mattered: his parents, his wife…

“Go on.” He relaxed his grip on the steering wheel, relieving the tight white of his knuckles, wondering why Ashlyn was still smiling. Could it be that she disagreed with how the Spencers had ruled over Kane’s Crossing? Even when Sam had lived here, the town gossips had whispered that she ran around town, causing mischief, just to get back at her family for their zealous ways.

Sam didn’t understand the concept, but it sure intrigued him.

Ashlyn continued. “To make a long story short, my family aims to get back all that they’ve lost. And I don’t care to return to those days when the Spencers ruled.”

Puzzlement shaped Sam’s frown. “Why do you cause so much trouble for that family of yours?”

She clipped a laugh. “If you’d talked to Sheriff Carson before he died, he would’ve told you that I make mischief a habit. Simple as that.”

Sam knew there was something more to it, but he doubted she’d reveal her intentions to him.

“At any rate,” she said, “I can’t stand the way some people in this town treat the Spencers like the second coming. And I don’t like how my family feels the need to own people in return.” She sat up, emphasizing the gravity of her explanation. “I’ll do almost anything to discourage this football-hero worship, this money-god thrall that my brother and father have encouraged.”

Sam wondered how her family felt about her protests. Funny, but he’d never looked at Ashlyn the way he had at Chad or her father Horatio Spencer. She’d always seemed to isolate herself. He’d never realized it until now, probably because he hadn’t cared enough to bother.

Ashlyn asked, “You know that we own the toy factory again?”

That razor sting assaulted his soul once more. “I’d heard about it.” Even if he’d moved back to Kane’s Crossing merely two months ago, folks had made sure he was caught up on all the gossip he’d missed—old and new.

“I have a bad feeling that my father’s not down for the count. He’ll take over everything again, and then Kane’s Crossing is back to the dark ages.”

Sam shook his head. “What about the citizens who own the properties now? I don’t think they’ll let that happen.”

He could feel Ashlyn’s appraisal of him, and he wondered if she knew why he’d come back to town after slinking away seven years ago, following his parents’ deaths.

“It doesn’t matter if the ‘new regime’ wants it or not. My father will be back in the game, Sheriff, buying all the properties he lost. He can’t stand the lack of power.” She clipped a laugh. “I wonder what my ancient granddad would say about all this. Founder of the town, the great Kane Spencer. You know he wanted Kane’s Crossing to be a communal area, right?”

“I didn’t know.” Sam leaned one elbow on the armrest, using the other to palm the steering wheel around a sharp corner. Casual. Be casual about this Spencer talk. “Then I guess I’ll be out of a job when your dad stretches his mighty muscles again.”

“He’d get you fired in a second flat,” she said in her colorfully blunt manner. “My family certainly holds no love for yours.”

The word “love” caught in the air, and Sam just let it hang, knowing it would always be out of his reach.

He cleared his throat. “Speaking of tender feelings, because I know how much your brother loves mine, how is Chad?”

Ashlyn’s voice seemed drained of its amused energy. “He’s hardly changed since you played football in high school. Still in Switzerland, married to a very forgiving wife. Coming back someday, I’m sure.”

Again, Sam thought about the rumors concerning Chad and Meg Cassidy. But that was tired news in Kane’s Crossing. His brother ignored it, and Sam did, as well.

“So,” she continued, switching the subject. “I know I asked before, but why did you decide to come back to town? I heard you lived in D.C.”

The new conversational topic put him on guard, not only because she’d done it so jarringly, but because he was doing his best to forget about the past.

Flashes of crying children, an explosion lighting their eyes, haunted him. Echoes of screeching tires racked his brain.

“It was time for a change,” he answered gruffly.

And she didn’t push it. She must have sensed his disquietude, because she shifted her position, turning to stare out the window at the passing night. A closed-down filling station and gnarled trees streaked past, all a part of the shaded world that probably held a lot more colors and excitement for her than it did for him.

Ashlyn watched the world go by. Kane’s Crossing and the town’s Saturday Evening Post ambience could have fooled anyone with its innocence—the pristine picket fences, the daisy-petaled flower gardens, the creaking porch swings moaning about darker stories underneath their perfect facades.

The sheriff was right. It was time for a change.

But she’d never be brave enough to take a chance, to move out of her big, expensive house to explore everything outside her gates.

It was safer at home, with her own wing of the mansion, her own studio where she could create sculptures and design jewelry without anyone to tell her it was second-rate or useless. Her self-esteem wasn’t ready to face the big, bad world. Besides, she couldn’t leave her mother, not with the way she begged her only daughter to stay by her bedside, to help her get through countless illnesses.

Sometimes Ashlyn disgusted herself. Yeah, she was Ms. Muscle when it came to tearing down signs welcoming her brother home when he’d last returned from Europe. Yet, she didn’t have the guts to admit that she wanted to help someone in need. Someone like Emma Trainor.

If she had any gumption whatsoever, she’d tell her father how much it hurt every time she came in second place to Chad. Every time he glowed when he introduced the favorite son. Every time his face fell when he introduced her, if he bothered.

Stewing about it wouldn’t help. She’d known that for years. That’s why she’d gotten into the habit of ingratiating herself with the townsfolk by poking fun at her family’s royal image, cracking jokes with the old men on the general store porch while sipping bottled sodas, running with her girlfriends in the nearby creek with her dress hiked over her knees. All so very un-Spencer-like.

What they didn’t know is how the flippancy had left her feeling a little dead inside.

“Miss Spencer?”

Sam. Sam Reno. She hadn’t forgotten he was in the same car with her. And how could she forget, with his woodsy cologne faintly lingering in the air? A mix of freshly fallen leaves and spice mingling to disturb her thoughts.

“You can call me Ashlyn,” she said, still facing the window, looking to her heart’s content at his reflection. She slowly turned to face him, cuddling into the seat, seeing if he reacted to her movements.

Of course he didn’t. Had his expression always been so stony, so devoid of animation?

She sat up a little straighter, game lost. At least she’d get a response from her father tonight, whether or not it was for the best.

He bit back his words with the tightening of his mouth, and she thought about how much moving to D.C. had changed him. His Doc Martens were too new, hadn’t been broken in just yet. The same went for his clean lawman-brown jacket, his unfaded blue jeans. He looked like a city boy who’d forgotten the small town part of himself.

Through the windshield she caught sight of the Reno Center for Children as it whizzed by, lights out for the night. Then they pulled up to the sheriff’s office, where the lamp was always burning.

He set the brake on the car and cut the ignition, turning to shoot a miffed gaze her way. And, in the car’s dim light, she saw what he’d been hiding at Emma Trainor’s.

Eyes the dead-hazel shade of desolation, like the muted colors of a predawn day when nothing stirs, nothing lives.

Sam Reno was hurting, no doubt about it.