Читать книгу Silent Witness - Diane Burke - Страница 10

ONE

The person who coined the phrase “you can’t go home again” apparently forgot to tell Adam Morgan.

Sheriff Elizabeth Bradford tossed the remnants of her half-eaten sandwich to the ducks and wished she could figure out a way to avoid running into him. She’d rather have a root canal without Novocain, or break up a barroom brawl. She’d buried this chapter of her life. Was it too much to wish it would have stayed buried?

Liz watched the Missouri residents pass by from her spot on the park bench. Children played on swings and hung from monkey bars. Owners walked their dogs. People rested under trees reading books or they huddled together having quiet conversations. Everything appeared like any normal summer day—except it wasn’t, was it?

Adam Morgan was back in town.

Her stomach clenched.

This was crazy.

They broke up over fifteen years ago. She’d put it behind her and moved on, or at least that’s what she kept telling herself.

The radio transmitter on Liz’s shoulder crackled and the dispatcher’s voice called out her personal identification code. “Bravo 24.”

Liz rose and headed toward her patrol car. Putting her personal issues aside and, in full sheriff mode, she hit the transmit key on her shoulder.

“Bravo 24. Go ahead.”

“Code 187. Location 145 Creek Trail.”

She stopped abruptly. Her heart skipped a beat. Double homicides? Here? Nothing ever happened here. Nothing bad, that is.

Sure, they had some problems with drugs. All towns did. Their first drug-related homicide had happened just last week. A small-time dealer was murdered and his body left in an alley behind Smitty’s bar. But, overall, Country Corners was a quiet, off-the-beaten-path kind of town.

Liz hit her transmit key. “Dispatch, give Darlene a call. I know it’s her day off but I want all hands on deck. Send the rest of the team to the site. And don’t forget to notify Matt.”

“Team already dispatched, Sheriff, as well as the coroner. Sal handled it. He called Darlene in, too.”

“Good. En route in five.”

Code 187. Location 145 Creek Trail.

Liz knew this address. She knew these people. Kate Henderson sang in her church choir. Her husband, Dave, had done work for her at the station. Sliding behind the wheel of her patrol car, she washed a hand over her face and offered up a silent prayer.

Dear Lord, please be with me this day. Guide me. Strengthen me. Give me the wisdom and courage to face what lies ahead.

She was ready—or as ready as she ever would be. With a sigh and a heavy heart, she turned the key, felt the powerful engine surge to life and pulled away from the curb.

Liz passed the post office, Ms. Willowby’s general store, the pharmacy and Clancy’s hardware store as she drove through the center of town. People bustled up and down the street—business as usual.

How could this be happening here?

Almost everybody knew everybody. The town was like one big family—dysfunctional at times, sure—but still a family.

Liz chewed on her bottom lip. That’s what was bothering her the most. She couldn’t wrap her mind around the idea that one of their own might have been responsible for three murders.

She looked at her whitened knuckles and loosened her death grip on the steering wheel. As she reached the outskirts of town and drove into more rural territory, she tried to remember the conversation she’d had with Kate after church on Sunday. Kate had seemed preoccupied and Liz had asked if everything was all right. Kate said they had a big decision to make and asked Liz to say a prayer that they would make the right one. Now Kate’s address was a murder scene.

The patrol car bucked and bumped as Liz turned off the highway and onto the dirt road leading to the Henderson house. She hugged the right side of the narrow road to let the coroner’s van pass on its way back to town and breathed a sigh of relief. She wouldn’t be human if she didn’t admit she was grateful she was arriving here after the bodies had been removed.

Liz made a sharp right and drove down the graduated bend of the graveled circular driveway. It was hard not to catch your breath when the two-story house came into view. The white-clapboard pillared colonial rested at the top of the curve like a sentinel keeping watch on comings and goings. The black shutters and the deep burgundy front door provided a sharp contrast to the stark white. The house and property spoke money. Not rich, upper-crust money. Liz could count on one hand how many people in Country Corners filled that bill. But comfortable money, the kind that said, We’re living the American dream.

Look where that dream had gotten them.

She caught a glimpse of parked cars and bustling activity as she pulled her car to a stop.

“Sheriff.”

Paul Baxter, her youngest deputy, called to her as she stepped from her vehicle. His slim build and fair complexion reminded her of her brother, Luke. Maybe that’s why she carried a soft spot for him. His eyes darted back and forth between Liz and the house. His facial expression told her he’d rather be anywhere, even cleaning out sewers barefoot, than here. But she gave him credit. He was doing his best to remain calm and professional.

“Baxter.” She strode past him, walking toward the house, and he fell in step behind.

“Matt carted the bodies to the morgue less than five minutes ago, ma’am.”

“I know. I passed him on the road.”

Paul caught up and matched his stride with hers. “We’ve cordoned off the crime scene.”

More nervous, useless words since Liz could already see the yellow tape roping off the entire front porch. Pausing a second to take a good look at her deputy, she noted the pallor of his skin, the slight trembling of his fingers against his belt.

“Are you okay, Paul?”

When he looked at her, she was taken aback for a moment by the wetness glistening in his eyes.

“I’ve never seen anything like it, ma’am.” He drew in a deep breath. “Who could do something like this?”

She placed a comforting hand on the young man’s shoulder. “That’s what we’re going to find out, Paul. Now, why don’t you head back to the office? The others can walk me through the crime scene. You start writing up your report and we’ll talk later.”

The deputy grabbed at that lifeline, turned and almost sprinted to his car. His reaction made Liz steel herself for what she was about to see.

“Hello, Tom.” Liz ducked under the crime scene tape and greeted her most veteran officer, Tom Miller, near the front door. She looked at the ugly bruise on his cheek. “What happened to you?”

“Danny Trent had a few too many at Smitty’s bar last night and took a swing at Ralph. I tried to stop it and my face got in the way.”

Liz sighed. Danny Trent was becoming a regular customer at the jail these days. She’d had a couple of altercations with him herself. Even had to ticket him just last week for DUI. “Did you run him in?” Liz asked.

“Nah. Just booted his butt out the door. Told him to go home and sleep it off.”

One look at the older man’s bruised knuckles told Liz just how Tom had booted Danny out the door. She almost felt sorry for Danny…almost.

The older man tilted his head. “Where’s Paul going?”

“He looked a little green around the edges. I sent him back to the office.”

“You baby him too much. Your father would’ve kicked his butt around the block. How else you gonna make a man out of him?”

Her father, Arthur Bradford, the former sheriff for over thirty years, controlled his town with an iron glove resulting in minimal crime activity and making Country Corners an ideal place to raise a family. But as much as she’d loved her father, she also knew he had bullied anyone different, creative or fragile. Liz had witnessed one too many times how officers like Tom and her father had toughened boys up. She wanted no part of it on her watch. She ignored Tom, adjusted her sunglasses and turned her attention to Detective Sal Rizzo, her right hand…and best friend.

“What have we got?”

“We’ve got a slaughter, that’s what we got.” Tom spoke before Sal had a chance to answer. He lifted his hat and raked a hand through his gray hair. “I worked for your daddy for almost thirty years, Sheriff, and we ain’t never seen the likes of this.” He lowered his voice and whispered in a protective, almost fatherly way, “Are you gonna be all right? Nobody would fault you none if you decide not to do a walk-through on this one. I can tell you what you’d see inside and you can get the rest from pictures.”

Ever since she’d stepped into her father’s shoes as sheriff, she’d been trying to prove her own worth and not be seen as Bradford’s kid. She knew her lithe figure, blond hair and blue eyes didn’t paint a picture of a tough, mean, legal machine, but she could hold her own and then some.

Liz peered over the top of her sunglasses and stared at the man eyeball to eyeball. At times like these, she was grateful for her five-foot-eleven-inch height. “I’m going to accept those remarks as well-meaning concern, Deputy Miller, and not that you question my ability to do my job.”

A flush rose on the officer’s neck. “Course not, Sheriff. You’re great at your job. Your daddy would be proud.”

Liz sighed. She knew that was the best she was going to get out of Miller. He was from the old school. It was difficult for him to see women as cops and more difficult to have one as his boss—particularly one he’d tripped over for years as she crawled and romped under her daddy’s feet.

Her radio crackled. “Bravo 24. Code 117—15 Briarcrest Road, Apartment seven.”

Code 117. Domestic dispute.

Danny Trent must have woken up with a hangover and decided to wipe the floor with his wife, Cathleen—again. This was turning out to be a busy morning.

“Tom, call it in. Since you’ve already had one run-in with Danny, you can have the pleasure of handling this one. Sal and I will finish processing the crime scene here.”

“Suits me. I saw enough of that mess in there to last me a lifetime.” The older man shuffled away, speaking into his mike as he went.

Sal escorted Liz the few remaining steps to the house, filling her in on the way. “The place has been ransacked top to bottom. Every drawer opened. Things tossed and smashed. But as far as I can see, it wasn’t a robbery.”

“How can you be sure?”

“The television and surround-sound system are still standing there large as life in the living room. The lady’s purse is lying on the kitchen floor with about fifty dollars’ cash still in it. A nice-size diamond ring was still on Mrs. Henderson’s left hand when we found her. Mr. Henderson’s wallet with cash and all his charge cards are still inside, too. If the family interrupted a burglar and it went bad, he would have at least scooped up that stuff before he took off.”

“Makes sense. Let’s take a look.”

Sal opened the front door and stood to the side.

Liz slipped her hair inside a net. She accepted the paper booties that Sal handed her and put them over her shoes. With the use of DNA results in court, combined with advances in forensic testing, it was more important than ever to keep a clean crime scene. She was thankful that when she’d been elected to office she’d put those procedures into play and her investigation team honored them, even if they did have to ship things to state labs because they couldn’t afford their own equipment.

“Where’s Darlene?”

“She’s inside placing the evidence placards and taking pictures.”

“Okay. Let’s get this over with, shall we?” Then she stepped inside.

Liz didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath until the ache in her chest reminded her that her lungs were about to explode. She coughed out the pent-up air and quickly inhaled, pulling in lifesaving oxygen, only to realize that it was tinted with the coppery scent of blood.

She paused for a moment in the foyer, so stunned by the chaos that she didn’t know where to look first. She found it difficult to absorb the total destruction. What hadn’t been tossed around looked like it had been shoved aside or turned over. Liz stepped to the bottom of the staircase and her eyes traced a path toward the top. She stared at the white chalk outline about halfway up.

“That’s where we found Kate Henderson,” Sal said. “Four gunshot wounds to the back.”

Liz couldn’t picture the singing-in-the-choir Kate with the outline sprawled on the stairs. A deep sadness came over her. She hadn’t known the woman well but no one should die like this.

“Morning, Sheriff.”

Liz turned toward the voice and saw Darlene standing by the kitchen. She held yellow placards in her gloved hands. Her pale complexion, framed by short carrot-colored curls, looked even paler than usual.

“I think it started in here.” Her deputy gestured behind her.

When Liz reached the kitchen doorway, her eyes widened but she fought hard not to let any other sign of emotional distress cross her face. The dozens of yellow evidence placards looked out of place—almost like a field of spring flowers planted in a valley of destruction. The kitchen, a place for happy family gatherings, was now a gruesome crime scene depicting violence and loss. It was one she wished she hadn’t had to witness and one she knew she wouldn’t soon forget.

“Darlene and I talked about it, boss.” Sal came up behind her. “Best we can figure, Mrs. Henderson came in the back door unexpectedly.”

“Yeah,” Darlene said, stress evident in her voice. “See…” She pointed to a woman’s purse and bags of spilled groceries strewn by the back entrance. “We think she surprised her husband and his assailant while they were in the middle of a fight. She got scared and dropped everything.”

“It looks like she tried to run past them. Almost made it, too.” Sal pointed to the stain on the door frame. “But the killer must have grabbed her. Looks like she slipped and hit her head against the doorjamb. But it didn’t knock her out.”

Darlene picked up the conversation. “Mr. Henderson probably jumped this guy from behind and tried to pull him off his wife. We figure that’s when she raced past them and headed up the stairs.”

The three of them retraced their steps and returned to the foyer. Sal pointed a finger at the chalk outline. “She made it halfway up before she was shot.”

They climbed the stairs and carefully skirted the chalk outline.

At the top of the stairs, there was a loft. At the end of a six-foot railing was a short hall that led to the bedrooms. The three of them stared down at the foyer below for a better view of the crime scene.

“This doesn’t make sense.” Sal’s puzzled expression twisted his lips in a frown and left deep parallel creases across his forehead.

“When does murder make sense?” Liz asked. “But killers always have a reason that makes sense to them—even if it’s illogical to us. Our job is to do our best to figure it out.”

Liz swept the area again with her gaze and offered up a silent prayer.

Dear Lord, please help me bring the person who did this to justice.

“Still…” Sal looked at Liz. “You’d think she would have tried to run out the front door. Why was she running upstairs?”

“Maybe this might have something to do with it.”

Darlene, standing in the hallway entrance, held up a large plastic bag filled with a white powdery substance. “I spotted the edge of this bag sticking out from between the box spring and the mattress in the master bedroom.”

Sal took the bag and opened it to examine the contents. “Cocaine. Looks like we have our motive. Drug deal gone wrong.”

Liz chewed on her lower lip. “The Hendersons? Drug dealers? I don’t know, Sal. It’s hard to believe the Hendersons were involved with drugs.”

“Just how well did you know these people, Sheriff?” Sal asked. “Didn’t they just move here this year?”

“I didn’t know them that well. I knew Kate from casual encounters at church. All of us have met Tom. He’s done some computer work for us at the station.”

“Isn’t he the guy who installed the new software and GPS system in our patrol cars?” Darlene asked. “He updated the software on our desk computers, too. He didn’t look like a druggie to me.”

“You know what all druggies look like?” Sal mocked. “I’ve been wasting my time. I should drive you around town and let you point out the possible druggies who may have killed that dealer behind Smitty’s bar last week.”

“Knock it off, Sal. There’s a time and place for teasing and this isn’t it,” Liz reprimanded.

Sal raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Just saying, boss. These days drugs are everywhere.”

Liz sighed. Sal was right. Whether she liked the idea or not, drugs had crept into her quiet little community. But she also agreed with Darlene. It was difficult picturing the Hendersons as part of that seedy side of life.

Needing to get back to the station to begin organizing the investigation, Liz glanced at her watch and asked, “Who did you call to take Jeremy and how long ago did they leave?”

Sal and Darlene glanced at each other and then gave her a blank look.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, Sheriff.” Sal shot her a hard stare. “Who’s Jeremy?”

A sense of dread raced up and down Liz’s spine. “Jeremy is their five-year-old son.”

“The Hendersons had a son?” Darlene asked.

“Yes. A special-needs child.”

“I checked the house myself, Sheriff. There’s nobody else here.”

“He has to be, Sal. Kate homeschools him. They don’t have any relatives living nearby that would be taking care of him.” Liz pushed past Darlene frantically. She raced from one bedroom to the next, checking the closets, looking under the beds. She came up short in the doorway of the master bedroom and looked hurriedly around the room. Trying to keep the panic out of her voice, she called his name.

“Jeremy.”

Silence.

Liz dropped to her knees beside the master bed and looked underneath. Nothing. She raced to the closets. Tom’s closet was filled with shirts, pants, sneakers and polished shoes all organized and in their proper place—but no Jeremy.

Her eyes made a quick sweep of Kate’s closet, skimming over the shoe racks and storage bins. Her hands brushed aside the dresses, blouses and slacks.

She raced to the bathroom and looked inside the shower stall, even opened the linen closet.

“Jeremy.”

“I told you, boss,” Sal called from the doorway. “There isn’t any kid.”

A sense of unease crept up her spine. She suddenly remembered something Kate had told her about Jeremy. He liked to burrow under things. She raced back to Kate’s closet.

“Jeremy?”

Her eyes searched the contents on the floor. The storage bins. The pile of folded blankets in the back corner.

Then she froze.

* * *

Dr. Adam Morgan’s tall, imposing presence and crisp stride made people move out of his way without the need to ask. He didn’t pause at the nurses’ station or pull a chart or even speak to anyone for directions. It wasn’t necessary. He could see the police officer sitting on a chair outside the corner room at the end of the hospital corridor and he didn’t waste any time getting there.

He flashed his identification badge and shifted his weight from one foot to the other while he waited for the officer to check his name against the list of people allowed access to the room. When he received the okay, he pushed open the door, strode into the room and then came to an abrupt stop.

Lizzie.

When he delivered his medical report to the sheriff’s department later today, he fully expected her to ask him to come in and answer some questions. Knowing her first impression of him after all these years would be important to what he hoped to achieve now that he’d moved back, he’d been trying to brace himself for it, trying to prepare how he’d act, what he’d say. But he hadn’t expected the encounter to be this soon.

Not here, sleeping in a chair beside the hospital bed with her arm outstretched protectively over the sedated child.

Not now.

His heart skipped.

Her features were exquisite—smooth skin, gently sloping nose, cheeks rosy with sleep. Her teenage lankiness had blossomed into softly rounded, female curves. The golden highlights in the loose bun tucked behind her neck caught the sunlight from the window. She was even more beautiful than he remembered.

He didn’t think he had made a sound but her eyes shot open.

The electric shock of sky blue looking back at him pierced his heart and froze him in place. A slow, sleepy smile tugged at the corners of her mouth when she saw him. Happiness lit her eyes, basking him in sunshine. He had missed this so much over the years—and then she came fully awake. The smile faded. The brightness dimmed. Being a psychiatrist, Adam recognized the flash of pain and hurt that danced across her features before she masked her emotions with another one—anger.

“Adam.” He tried not to wince at the cold tone in her voice.

“Good morning, Lizzie.”

He knew it would be difficult seeing her again, but even years of studying human behavior hadn’t prepared him for the waves of shame and pain that engulfed him. After what had happened to her brother, Luke, Adam had believed he was doing what was best for Lizzie when he left. At the time, he’d convinced himself that he’d be the only one who would be hurt.

It took just a glance at her face to make him realize just how wrong he had been—about everything. He’d abandoned her when she’d needed him most. He had made a huge mistake and compounded it with more wrong choices. He’d failed her. After all these years, there was probably nothing he could do to fix it.

But he was going to do his best to try.

“Good morning.” The soft, wistful sadness in her tone made him feel as if someone had reached inside his chest and squeezed his heart. “I heard you were back in town.”

“I didn’t expect to see you this morning.”

She smiled sadly and shrugged. “Why would you?”

It was the words not spoken that filled the room and heightened the tension between them. The mild censure in her last question was understandably deserved. He’d left without a word and he had returned—still, without a word.

She stood up, stretching her arms and back like a cat after a summer nap, and stepped forward. “I suppose we should talk.” She nodded toward the tiny body covered with white sheets lying on the bed. “About Jeremy.”

“How long have you been here?” He moved toward the bed to check his patient’s monitors.

“All night.”

That surprised him and he turned to look at her. “Why? Doesn’t he have any family? Grandparents?”

“No. Kate told me that Dave lost his family in a car accident when he was a teen. Her father died of a heart attack a couple years back. Her mother’s alive but has dementia and is living in a nursing home in Poplar Bluff.”

“Aunts? Uncles?”

“My team will check it out but I don’t think so.”

“Poor little guy. As if autism wasn’t a big enough challenge for him.” He brushed his hand over the sleeping boy’s head and then turned his attention back to Liz.

“So, why did you stay? You have a guard right outside the door.”

“He’s afraid of uniforms.”

“What?”

“Jeremy.” She stretched again and rubbed her lower back as though trying to work out a kink. “Kate…that’s his mother…was his mother…” She bit her lower lip, frowned and looked across the bed at him. “Anyway, she told me once that Jeremy is terrified of people in uniforms. I thought the sight of the medical and police uniforms might send him over the top. I’ve met Jeremy a couple of times when Kate brought him with her to church. He might remember me. I thought I should stay close by to see if I could help when he wakes up.”

Adam gave her a closer look and noted for the first time the loose flowered blouse covering her uniform. Only the bottom of her holster peeked from beneath the edge. If the boy did wake up, what he’d see was a pretty lady and lots of flowers—not a cop.

A wave of respect washed over him. She’d grown up to be a caring, intelligent woman. But then, he’d always known she would because that’s what she’d always been. Most teenagers are self-serving and selfish until they find their place in the world. Lizzie was an exception. She was always loving, kind, trusting. It was the trusting part that made another wave of guilt wash over him.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here when the boy arrived last night. I had an emergency in Poplar Bluff. But the hospital staff updated me by phone.”

“That’s okay. The staff sedated him almost immediately and he’s been sleeping ever since.” She gently brushed the boy’s hair off his forehead and then raised her eyes to his. “I was surprised to hear that you’ve moved back to town.”

“Why? This is my home.”

“Really?” She tilted her head and studied him. “It didn’t seem to stop you from leaving it the first chance you got.”

Ouch. There it was. The elephant in the room.

He recognized the challenge behind her words. She had a chip on her shoulder and she was daring him to address the issue or try to knock it off. He knew anything he said right now would open old wounds and change nothing, so he remained silent.

“I’m sorry,” Liz said. “That was mean.” She chewed on her bottom lip, something he remembered her doing when she was nervous or upset.

“Forget it.” He smiled at her and hurried to change the subject. “Right now, I’m filling a temporary consultant position in Poplar Bluff. It’s not that long a drive from here. They had a real need and I owed a friend a favor. But as soon as they hire a replacement, all my attention will be here. I have big plans for Country Corners.”

Liz grinned. “Really? You sound pretty excited. What kind of plans?”

For an instant, it felt like old times again.

When they were in high school, Liz had always been willing to listen and often offered sage advice beyond her years when he needed it. He thought he’d burst with his need to tell her about his plans for the community. His plans included her. He’d done his research before returning. He knew she was still single and not seeing anyone special. He was here to make amends, to right wrongs, to win her back.

One look into her steely, challenging gaze told him it was going to be more like Mission: Impossible than the uphill battle he had expected. But he was going to try.

“I’d like to tell you all about it. Maybe over coffee?” He hoped she’d still be able to read him, to sense his sincerity, at least.

Indecision and wariness flashed across her face. She opened her mouth to respond but he spoke first.

“But this isn’t a good time. Give me a rain check?”

She closed her mouth and just stared at him.

He nodded at the tiny body lying on the bed. “Right now, I’m only interested in what you can tell me about this boy.”

When she looked across the bed at him, there was a telltale glistening in her eyes. He wasn’t sure if it was his words or the child’s situation that caused her such pain. His gut twisted when he realized it was probably both.

“This little boy has lost everything and everyone,” Liz said. “He’s so young and vulnerable and…”

“Autistic?”

“Yes, autistic. Kate told me that he was making great progress with his verbal skills. And even though he still wasn’t a fan of eye contact or light touch, he would crawl into her lap and allow her to hug him or sit quietly while she rocked him.”

She blinked several times and her eyes hardened. “I need to get the guy who did this. I’m going to get this guy no matter what.”

Adam nodded his understanding and empathized with her. A person capable of destroying a family as though they were without value or worth did not belong on the streets.

“Was the boy a witness?” Adam asked.

“I don’t know. I think so, but I’m not sure. We found him hiding in the back of his mother’s closet beneath some folded blankets and clutching his teddy bear. His hair was plastered to his head with sweat and his clothes…” She took a deep breath. “His pajamas were splattered with…” She tried to shake the image out of her head and sighed heavily. “After we found him, we took a second hard look at the crime scene. Some of the smears could have been his footprints near his mother’s body and, again, in the kitchen by his father.”

Adam looked at the sleeping child and his heart constricted. It would be hard enough to help a small boy rid himself of the fear of monsters after the experience he’d had. An autistic boy would present a bigger challenge. Anger simmered right beneath the surface. In his profession, no matter how often he’d come in contact with the face of evil, it still never ceased to surprise him. “Did he say anything when you found him?”

Liz shook her head. “Sal and I found him. He took one look at our uniforms and got hysterical. Remembering what Kate had told me about uniforms, I slipped on one of his mother’s blouses. I told Sal to call the paramedics and to go into Dave Henderson’s closet and find shirts, hopefully large enough, for everyone to wear until we could get the child calmed down.

“But Jeremy continued to scream and thrash about so much I had to forcibly hold him down until the paramedics arrived so he wouldn’t hurt himself. I wrapped my arms around him and held him against me as tightly as I could. After a few moments, it seemed to calm him.”

Adam nodded. “You did the right thing. Many autistic children can’t tolerate light touch but crave deep pressure. Just like we swaddle infants in blankets to provide them with a sense of security, sometimes autistic children experience sensory overload and need swaddling as well to help them calm themselves.”

She washed a hand over her face and Adam realized just how exhausted she was.

He walked around the bed and stood beside her. He had to fight the urge to pull her into his arms and comfort her. But after what he’d done, the poor choices, the mistakes, he didn’t deserve her friendship or her forgiveness—yet. But that wasn’t going to stop him from trying. What he needed was time to prove he had changed and convince her that he was worth a second chance.

Instead, he placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “You need to go home, Lizzie, and get some sleep. Doctor’s orders.” He grinned, trying to lighten the somber mood.

“I can’t. I have to get to the office. I’m sure the state boys have arrived by now. We have to form a task force and discuss investigation strategies.”

“Call your office on the way home. Delegate tasks to other people.” He clasped her forearms and gently pulled her up to face him. “I’ve heard you are a good sheriff, Lizzie Bradford. Rumor has it that you are a great sheriff. But an exhausted, dead-on-her-feet sheriff isn’t going to get the job done. Go home. Grab a couple of hours’ sleep. The state police will still be here when you wake up.”

“You’re right.” She smiled at him and there it was again, that bolt of sunshine hitting him in the face. Her smiles had always had that effect on him. They looked into each other’s eyes. Slowly, a tension, an awareness of past relationships, past hurts surfaced between them and he watched again as memories stole her smile away. She broke eye contact, glanced over her shoulder at the boy and said, “Please take good care of him, Dr. Morgan.”

She crossed the room and paused in the doorway. “And Adam…” When she had his attention, she continued. “Call me Liz. You can even call me Sheriff. Nobody calls me Lizzie.”

He arched an eyebrow. “That’s all I ever called you.”

“I know.” Her words held a sadness that almost broke his heart. “But not anymore.”

Then she slipped out of the room.