Читать книгу The Heartbreak Sheriff - Эль Кеннеди, Elle Kennedy - Страница 10

Sarah woke up the next morning feeling downright disoriented. When she stuck out her arm to fumble for the alarm clock, she felt nothing but cold air. When she instinctively turned to the right to glance over at Lucy’s crib, she found herself staring at a cement wall.

She shot up into a sitting position, shoving strands of hair from her eyes as she realized she wasn’t in her cozy bedroom—she was in a jail cell.

She still wore the turtleneck and jeans she’d had on yesterday, which she’d opted to sleep in because the alternative had been too humiliating to accept. The light blue prison-issued jumpsuit was still where she’d left it—on the floor next to the metal bars. The very thought of putting on that garment had brought a wave of nausea to her belly. She might be stuck in jail, but no way would she allow Finn and his deputies to dress her up like a common criminal.

Yesterday’s meeting with her new lawyer, Daniel Chin, had been a total disappointment. The mild-mannered Korean man had been unable to get in touch with the judge and, in a rueful voice, he’d told her that she had no choice but to spend the weekend in lockup. After he left, Anna had taken her back to her cell. Dinner had consisted of sandwiches from the town deli, a luxury she doubted other prisoners got to experience. She’d fallen asleep at ten, though she’d spent most of the night tossing and turning on the thin, uncomfortable cot.

Rubbing her tired eyes, she rose to her feet and stretched her legs, wondering when someone would come down to take her to the washroom. Just as she thought it, a door creaked open, and then Finn strode up to the cell.

He looked exhausted, his blue eyes lined with red, and she noticed his clothes were rumpled, as if he’d slept in them. “Anna will be down in a second to take you to wash up,” he started roughly. “But first I wanted a moment alone with you.”

Her heart did an unwitting flip. She knew she wasn’t allowed to feel anything for this man, but there was just something about him this morning that brought a rush of warmth to her stomach. Maybe it was the messy hair, or the hard glint in his eyes. He might be polite and pleasant when he was on duty, but Sarah had known him before he’d been elected sheriff, back when he’d had the whole bad-boy thing going on.

She still remembered the day they’d bumped into each other at the lake. Finn had been a few years ahead of her in high school, but their paths had never crossed until that day. She’d been twenty-two, just back from college, and she’d been walking along the lakeshore, debating if she should use part of her inheritance to buy the art gallery that had recently come up for sale in town. So lost in thought, she hadn’t noticed Finn until she’d stumbled right into his hard, muscular chest. The attraction between them had been fast, primal. For a good girl like her, the pull of desire toward the rough and sensual deputy had been disconcerting. And Finn hadn’t been so diplomatic back then. He spoke what was on his mind, no matter how crude, and his bold, sexy words had thrilled her. She’d fallen head over heels for him, captivated by his gruff nature and magnetic sexuality, even though she knew her feelings for him were too damn dangerous.

She caught a glimpse of that rough edge now, and those old feelings of desire rippled through her.

Ignoring her body’s traitorous reaction, she met Finn’s gaze and said, “Do we have to do this first thing in the morning? I just woke up.”

“And I never went to sleep,” he muttered back. “I was in the chair in my office all night, trying to figure out how to say this, so—”

She wrinkled her brow. “You slept in your office?”

He glanced at her as if he couldn’t believe she’d even ask. “You honestly thought I could go home and get into my big comfortable bed knowing that you were spending the night in a cell? Jesus, Sarah.”

Her heart lurched again. Lord, why wouldn’t it quit doing that? And why did the image of Finn squished in his desk chair, as he sat awake all night, make her pulse speed up?

“Anyway, I did some thinking,” he went on, awkwardly resting his hands on the bars, “and I realized the direct approach is the way to go.” Frowning, he held her gaze. “I am going to help you, Sarah, no matter how many times you tell me you don’t need my help. Because you know what? I don’t give a damn what you say—you do need me. And you have me, whether you like it or not.”

She arched both eyebrows. “You haven’t changed at all, have you? Still get off on ordering people around.”

A ferocious expression darkened his face. “I have changed. I’ve changed more than you know. In fact, that leads me to the other thing I wanted to say.”

“I can’t wait to hear it.”

“Drop the damn sarcasm and listen.” His tone was low, almost urgent. “You need to know something, Sarah.”

“Yeah?” she said warily. “And what’s that?”

“I’m sorry.”

Those two words came out strained, and his chest heaved, as if the mere act of uttering them had taken a physical toll on him.

Before she could reply, he hurried on. “I’m sorry for what happened between us. For the way I ended things. But you have to know that I didn’t do it out of malice.” He raked one hand through his tousled black hair. “I was young, Sarah. Young and scared and the situation was too familiar. It reminded me too much of what I went through with my …”

Mother, she nearly finished. She’d heard it all before, in the parting speech he’d recited before walking—no, running—out of her life. Oh, he’d run, all right. As if he was being chased by the damn bogeyman, as if her depression could infect him like some airborne disease.

Resentment prickled her skin. “I understand that the situation with your mom was messed up, Finn, but you weren’t the only one with parent issues.”

The memory of her own parents filtered into her mind, bringing a rush of sorrow. She’d been orphaned at the age of four, after her parents died within months of each other, her mother in a car accident, her dad from a heart attack nobody saw coming. Her mother’s older sister had taken Sarah in, but Aunt Carol hadn’t been the most maternal woman. More like a hermit, locked away in her isolated house and painting dismal landscapes that usually featured black, ominous swamps or mountains shrouded by dark mist. Finn might have grown up with a mentally ill mother, but at least he’d had someone.

“And your past doesn’t excuse the choices you made,” she finished.

“It doesn’t,” he agreed, “but I’m trying to make amends for those choices now. I want to be here for you, Sarah. The way I wasn’t back then. I’m going to get you out of this mess.”

A myriad of emotions spun through her body. Anger. Pain. Hope. The last one grated the most, because she didn’t want to hope. Didn’t want to believe Finn’s promise that he’d help her. He’d already proven that he couldn’t be counted on. What if she put her life in his hands, the way she’d put her heart there, only to have him let her down again?

She couldn’t. But she couldn’t say no, either. Not when she had Lucy to think about. As much as it pained her to admit it, she did need him.

Yesterday, when Finn had mentioned the possibility of a trial, fear had streaked through her like a bolt of lightning. She couldn’t go to trial. If she did, child welfare would snatch Lucy away faster than Sarah could say wrongfully accused. And there was no way she was giving up her baby. She’d waited two years for Lucy, and nobody was going to take her from Sarah.

And so she managed a silent nod of acceptance, unable to look at him.

He frowned again, sensing her reluctance, then released a humorless laugh. “You might not like it but I’m going to fix this, no matter what you say—or don’t say—sweetheart.”

A spark of heat tickled her spine. She had to force herself to snuff it out. So what if he’d called her sweetheart. So what if those two husky syllables reminded her of all those lazy mornings in bed, when he’d used that same word to cajole her into opening the gallery late so they could indulge in another round of hot, sweaty sex.

They were over. Done. And she refused to react to this man, no matter what he called her.

“Can you just call Anna so I can use the restroom?” she said abruptly.

His shoulders stiffened at her harsh tone, but before he could reply, a tentative female voice sounded from the end of the corridor.

“Sheriff?” Anna called. “I think you need to get up here.”

“What’s going on?” Finn called back, eyes narrowed.

“There’s an FBI agent here. He says he’s taking over the case.”

Sarah noticed the visible shock on Finn’s face. Without another look in her direction, he stalked off, his heavy black boots thudding against the cement floor.

Wariness climbed up her chest. An FBI agent had arrived to take over the case? On a Sunday?

That didn’t sound good. At all.

When Finn marched into his office, he found a tall, fair-haired man in a crisp black business suit standing by the minuscule window overlooking the brick wall of the building next door. The man turned when the door opened, offering a tight smile as he said, “Sheriff Finnegan. Pleasure to meet you.”

Finn advanced on the man, wincing when he noticed the grease-covered Chinese food containers littering his desktop and the white dress shirt slung over the back of his chair. He hadn’t bothered to tidy up yet, and the slept-in office definitely didn’t offer a good first impression.

But the agent made no mention of the mess, simply leaning forward for a handshake that Finn reluctantly returned. “I’m Special Agent Mark Parsons,” the man added. “I’ve been asked to assist you on the Donovan investigation.”

Finn smothered a curse. He could probably take a wild guess as to who had contacted the Bureau. Or maybe two guesses, since the M.O. fit both the mayor and district attorney of Serenade. Apparently, the bastards didn’t trust him to stay impartial.

“Assist, huh? Because my deputy just said you told her you were here to take over the case.”

Parsons’s smile didn’t even falter. Finn decided, right then and there, that he didn’t like the guy. There was something predatory in those pale blue eyes, something that Finn frequently glimpsed in the D.A., that power-hungry glint characteristic of a man desperate to climb all the way to the top. He wondered if Parsons was new, some rookie looking to make a name for himself. Finn made a mental note to ask Jamie if she knew the man.

“She must have misunderstood me,” Parsons said smoothly. “I simply relayed the instructions given to me by my supervisor—that this investigation required a new pair of eyes.”

Since Anna had a better read on people than most psychics, Finn doubted his deputy had misunderstood. Parsons was here for one reason—to stick his nose into places it didn’t belong and try to punch another notch in his glory belt.

Christ, and just when he thought things couldn’t get any worse.

“Mayor Williams said we’ve got a suspect in custody.”

Finn bristled at the we. “Yes, I arrested the owner of the town’s art gallery yesterday. Sarah Connelly. Her hair was found at the scene, along with a partial fingerprint on the table near the body.”

“Yes, I was informed of that, as well.”

As Parsons sat on the edge of the sheriff’s desk, making himself comfortable, Finn battled a burst of anger. He had no intention of working with this man. Parsons was too cocky, too smooth in his expensive suit. He had slime bag written all over him.

“I was also told there’s still the matter of the murder weapon,” Parsons went on in a brisk, professional voice. “So our first order of business is finding out exactly where the gun came from, and how it wound up in Connelly’s hands.”

“Look.” Finn took a breath. “With all due respect, Agent Parsons, I’m not sure what you could possibly do that my staff and I haven’t already done. The gun is untraceable, wiped of any prints. And if we’re being forthcoming with each other, I have to tell you, I don’t think Sarah Connelly killed Teresa Donovan.”

A knowing glimmer entered Parson’s eyes. “Does the fact that she’s your ex-girlfriend have anything to do with that conviction?”

“No,” Finn snapped. “But our past association does come into play here. I know Sarah. She’s not a killer. She runs a gallery, she’s involved in community events, and she just adopted a baby. She’s a good person.”

“Good people have been known to snap and commit murder.” Parsons stared at him with a condescending expression that made Finn want to deck the guy. “Sarah Connelly has a history of instability. She is certainly capable of killing Teresa Don—”

“So it’s true!” a female voice shrieked.

Both men spun around to gape at the raven-haired woman who’d burst into the office without knocking.

Finn tamped down an irritated sigh as Valerie Matthews barreled toward him, her gunmetal-gray eyes blazing with what could only be described as perverse satisfaction. “I knew that crazy bitch was up to something! The way she befriended Agent Crawford so she could squeeze information out of her …”

Valerie trailed off deliberately, which only succeeded in pissing off Finn even further. Like her younger sister, Valerie was the nastiest, most unlikable woman Finn had ever met. She and Teresa had been two peas in a despicable pod, determined to make the lives of everyone around them miserable, as if that could make up for the crappy childhood they’d endured.

When Cole Donovan had been shot, Finn had actually begun to think that Valerie might have changed, that she was starting to let go of some of her craziness. Valerie had been knocked unconscious when Teresa’s ex-lover had taken Jamie hostage, and when Finn visited her in the hospital, where she was being treated for a concussion, Valerie had been … pleasant. Sweet, even.

Looked like she was back to her old self.

“I expect you to send that woman to the gas chamber,” Valerie spoke up, pure loathing in her voice.

“I’m not a judge,” Finn answered with a sigh. “I can’t sentence Sarah to death just because you demand it.”

Those silver eyes fumed. “All I’m demanding is justice,” she snapped. “I’ve been sitting around for a month, waiting for you and your incompetent department to find justice for my sister, and—”

“And now you have it,” Agent Parsons cut in effortlessly.

Finn’s hand tingled with the urge to punch the man in the jaw. “Isn’t that a little premature to say, Agent? Sarah hasn’t even been indicted yet.”

But Valerie’s entire face had lit up from Parsons’s reassurance, and both of them ignored Finn as she stepped closer to the other man. “And who might you be?”

Finn stifled an incredulous groan. Flirting? She was flirting? During a discussion about her sister’s murder?

“Special Agent Mark Parsons.” Finn half expected the guy to puff out his chest like a damn peacock. “And you must be Valerie. Your name came up in the case file I read on the plane.”

“So you’re leading the investigation now?” She held her hand up to her heart. “Thank heavens. You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for someone to take charge.”

It irked Finn like no tomorrow how Parsons didn’t correct her, even though he’d “assured” Finn just minutes ago that he had no intention of taking over. It was clear the man hadn’t meant a word of it, and even clearer that along with being a pretentious jackass, Parsons had a thing for trashy women.

“Don’t you worry,” Parsons drawled. “I’m here to make sure Connelly pays for her crimes.”

Unable to stand there a second longer without throwing up, Finn stepped toward Valerie and placed a not-so-gentle hand on her arm. “You need to leave now,” he told her. “Agent Parsons and I have a lot of work to do.”

She spared him a pithy glance, then turned to Parsons and smiled sweetly. “Please keep me informed about the case.”

“My pleasure.”

Finn’s jaw was tighter than a drum as he ushered Valerie out the door. Her high heels clicked against the tiled floor and as she disappeared into the corridor off the bull pen, Finn turned on his heel and frowned at the federal agent.

He’d had enough. The mayor was driving him insane, the D.A.’s smug certainty made him want to kick something, and now those two boneheads had deposited this unprofessional ass on his doorstep. His patience was beginning to wear thin and he feared he was nearing his breaking point. The very thought of Sarah stuck in that cell downstairs brought a hot wave of agony to his gut.

Powerless wasn’t an emotion he did well. He’d always been tough, capable. Even when he didn’t feel it, he put on the act, daring people to cross him. But right now, he felt out of control. Sarah was in trouble—and he couldn’t seem to do a damn thing about it.

Well, it was time to change that.

His frown deepening, he advanced on the agent and snapped, “You shouldn’t be discussing the case with anyone outside this office. Especially not with the victim’s sister.”

Parsons shrugged. “There’s no harm in keeping the lady informed.” He crossed his arms over the front of his tailored suit jacket. “Now, I’d like to go down to lockup and speak to Connelly.”

A protective rush seized Finn’s chest like a vise. No freaking way was he allowing this jerk to get within ten feet of Sarah. She was already emotional enough as it was, stuck in jail and separated from her daughter. Even a second with this pompous ass would undoubtedly fuel her anger. And when Sarah was angry, she ranted. And when she ranted, she often said things she shouldn’t, things like, oh, If you don’t leave my daughter and me alone, you’ll regret it.

His lungs burned as he inhaled. Christ, she didn’t know how bad this was. That one threat, whether she meant it or not, might very well seal her fate.

Unless Finn did something to help her.

But what?

Frustration coiled around his insides like barbed wire. Now that Parsons had entered the picture, saving Sarah would be drastically tougher. Not that he even had a plan. What he did have, though, was determination. Like he’d promised her, he was going to fix this, no matter what she said. He’d move heaven and earth for her. Sacrifice anyone or anything for her.

And maybe if he did that, maybe if he managed to get her out of this, he could finally, finally earn her forgiveness.