Читать книгу Double Deception - Terri Reed - Страница 11

Sunshine streamed through the barred window of the jail cell, spilling slanted lines of light across the cement floor and onto the cot where Kate lay. The warmth of the golden rays touched her cheek, and roused her from sleep.

Turning her head fully into the light, Kate frowned at the faint scent that clung to the air. She couldn’t place it, but she knew it. A masculine fragrance, which stirred up images of a hard body pressed against her, a handsome face and a tender gesture.

The sheriff.

Kate’s lids popped opened, her body tensed on the hard cot. Now she remembered where she was and why. Staring up at the gray ceiling of the jail cell, she listened for movement. Only the sounds of her own breathing met her ears. Was she alone in the jailhouse? She only had to turn her head to see through the black bars, but she stayed motionless, assessing her situation.

Strangely, she hadn’t dreamed last night. One would think being locked up in a cold jail cell would bring her nightmares on full force. But she felt rested and ready to tackle the task of discovering why Paul had been murdered.

First she had to deal with Sheriff McClain.

Once Gordon explained about the house, the sheriff would have to let her go. But she had a disquieting feeling her association with the man wouldn’t end there. He seemed the type to press, to find challenge in uncovering secrets. Her heart skipped a beat. Maybe the sheriff could help.

She sat up abruptly.

No. She couldn’t trust anyone, save God. Even this man who’d sounded so sincere when he’d offered his help, who had cared enough to supply another blanket, who’d…she glanced down.

On the floor, next to her feet, sat a tray with juice, cereal and milk. Surprise and a good dose of pleased warmth suffused her.

Her gaze sought out the sheriff. He sat leaning over his desk with his cheek resting on his forearms. Asleep. He looked boyish, with waves of ebony spilling over his forehead and dark lashes splayed across his cheeks. Kate shook her head in wonder. Just when had Sheriff McClain brought the tray in? She’d heard the squeak of the cell door only once, when he’d brought her the blanket.

A violent shudder swept her body. She’d spent a dreamless night within the cell, lulled to sleep by a false sense of security. Anyone could easily have killed her in her sleep. Anyone being the sheriff.

But he hadn’t.

Sheriff McClain was not the enemy. He hadn’t known Paul. The man was simply a small-town sheriff doing his job. In her heart, she acknowledged that as truth, but her brain wasn’t so sure.

Trust no one.

“Get a grip, girl,” she muttered as she opened the milk carton and poured the liquid into the bowl of corn flakes. Paul’s warning couldn’t have extended to the sheriff. There was no reason she couldn’t trust Brody McClain.

As she finished the cereal and was about to open the orange juice, a pained grunt split the air. Kate’s gaze jumped to the sheriff. His once-relaxed features pulled back into a grimace, his head jerked and a moan slipped from between his lips.

She realized he was gripped within a nightmare. She knew what it was like to feel helplessly lost in the dark swirl of fear, memory and sleep. Compassion filled her chest until it ached with the need to relieve him of his dreams.

“Sheriff McClain?” Her voice bounced off the walls but held no power. “Sheriff?” she tried again, but to no avail. His head thrashed across his bent arms, his big body tense.

Taking a deep breath, Kate used her diaphragm to add more strength to her voice. “McClain!”

Her voice snapped through the station like the slam of a door.

As a wake-up call, it worked well.

Brody jerked his head up and blinked several times before he realized he was at the station, not on a darkened street in the middle of a storm facing the barrel of a gun.

His gaze met that of the woman occupying the cell. Red curls framed her face, emphasizing her large, compassion-filled eyes. She’d witnessed his nightmare. Great.

Taking a shuddering breath, Brody composed himself and rose from his chair. Rigid, stiff muscles objected to the stretching. His limbs ached. The need to work out the kinks demanded his attention, but Brody had a job to finish first. The gym would have to wait.

He moved away from the desk to the coffee machine. With each step of his right leg, pain shot into his hip. He refused to allow himself the luxury of limping when meadow-green eyes followed his every move.

By rote, he went through the process of making strong coffee. Soon, the sound and smell of brewing French roast filled the air. Brody inhaled the rich scent for a moment, and pushed away the unease of Kate having witnessed what he worked so hard to keep beneath his heel. He walked steadily to the cell and opened the door. “Good morning.”

His charge stared at him. Her head listed to the side and questions fairly radiated from her expression. “Good morning.”

The corners of her mouth kicked up in a tentative smile that sneaked inside his chest and made it difficult to breathe.

“Thank you for breakfast…and the blanket.”

He swallowed against both her gratitude and the effects of her smile. He didn’t want either one. “I hope you slept well.”

“I did, actually.” She stood and stepped past him, then stopped in the center of the room. She looked around uncertainly. “Is there a restroom I could use?”

“Down the corridor, on the left.” Brody watched her disappear before he shifted his feet and took his weight onto his left leg, easing the ache in his right hip. Why was he bothering? It didn’t make sense; vanity wasn’t usually one of his faults. But letting her witness his weakness was…out of the question. He didn’t want her to look at him with pity.

Most everyone in town knew vague details of how he’d acquired his limp. Few dared approach the subject and even fewer knew the truth of the situation. Taking a bullet was a hazard of the job that every law-enforcement officer faced. Only for Brody it was so much more and so much worse.

Forcing his torturous thoughts to recede, Brody limped over to his desk, sat down and tried to boot up the computer. The screen remained blank. He made a mental note to call the local computer expert and have him take a look at the infernal machine, which was always on the fritz. Somewhat ruefully, he figured he’d have to check out his guest the old-fashioned way.

As he reached for the phone, it rang, the shrill sound ringing hollow in the small station. Picking up the receiver, he answered, “Havensport County Sheriff’s Office, Sheriff McClain speaking.”

“I understand you have Katherine Wheeler in your custody.” The gravelly voice boomed in Brody’s ear, the tone sharp, the words clipped.

“And you are?”

“Gordon Thomas, Katherine’s attorney.”

Figured a Beverly Hills address could buy attitude. “She was caught breaking into one of our residents’ summer home.”

“The Kinsey residence?”

“Yes.”

“The house belongs to my client.”

Brody didn’t like the condescending tone in the man’s voice. “I’ll need proof of that.”

“What’s your fax number?” the man asked curtly.

Brody rattled off the number and a few seconds later the machine in the corner beeped and hissed. Paper rolled out; sheet after sheet until finally it gave one final beep and remained silent.

“Sheriff McClain, I’d like to speak with Ms. Wheeler.”

“Sorry, she’s indispos…” Brody’s voice trailed off as he noticed Kate standing beside his desk. Even with her wrinkled clothes and finger-combed hair, she radiated a quiet confidence. He’d give the lady credit; she was no fragile flower.

“Here she is.”

Kate took the phone and turned away. He could hear the urgent note in the low tones of her voice. Picking up the fax, he flipped through the pages and realized Katherine Wheeler, though he liked Kate better, had been telling the truth. She now owned the house.

“Here, he wants to talk with you.”

Kate’s little smile grated on Brody’s nerves. So she hadn’t been lying. Big whoop. The fact that one female had the ability to tell the truth should make him happy, but he couldn’t stop the unsettled feeling that something wasn’t right. How did Pete Kinsey fit into this?

“Everything seems to be in order. I still have questions.”

“I’m sure you do, Sheriff, but first things first. Release Mrs. Wheeler. There’s no need for her still to be in your custody.”

Brody wasn’t so sure about that. He couldn’t deny Kate’s name appeared on the copies of her late husband’s will and the deed to the house. She had every right to walk freely away and go about her life, yet he hesitated.

Mentally, he reviewed what he knew: Kate Wheeler’s husband had been murdered, she’d inherited the Kinsey home. According to the paper faxed to him by the lawyer, the L.A.P.D. was investigating Paul’s death but had yet to produce a suspect. All in all, the lawyer had supplied Brody with more information than required.

Legally, Brody had no reason to hold Kate, but it didn’t sit well just to let her walk out. His protective impulses demanded he take her back to the house himself. For crying out loud, the woman had been terrified that someone was out to kill her, too.

Brody glanced at the blank computer and fervently wished the contraption hadn’t gone on the blink. He would have liked to gather a bit more unbiased information.

Into the phone, Brody said crisply, “Mrs. Wheeler is free to go. I assume I can count on you to answer further questions?”

“Of course, Sheriff. Always happy to cooperate with the authorities.”

The veiled sarcasm in Thomas’s voice rang clear. Brody’s hand tightened on the receiver. “I’ll be in touch.”

As soon as he’d put the receiver back in the cradle, Kate piped up. “I told you I owned the place. You should have given me the benefit of the doubt.”

He slanted her a sideways glance. “Just doing my job, Mrs. Wheeler.”

“I thought people were considered innocent until proven guilty?”

“Not in any reality I know.” Brody’s mouth quirked with a self-effacing grimace.

He’d been young and idealistic enough once to believe in the system, to believe that good triumphed over evil, that right always won out in the end, and that justice for all wasn’t selective. But it was and he’d spent his adult life dedicated to making sure the innocent received their justice.

“But that’s how it’s supposed to work.”

“Supposed to being the operative phrase.”

Emotions flickered across Kate’s face—anger and a touch of sadness. The impulse to take her into his arms and hold her until only joy reflected in the depths of her green eyes rose up sharply. He clenched his jaw. Been down that road. Not going again.

She shook her head. “This isn’t the way God planned it, you know.”

Her words poked at an old wound. He raised a brow. “What makes you think God gives a rip?”

Little creases appeared between her brows. “Because the alternative is unthinkable. Without God, there’s no hope. Without hope, what’s the point?”

“The point is to make it through each day.” Refusing to let slip any of the betrayal he felt, he kept his voice neutral. “And if you live to see another day, you make it through that one.”

“That’s not living.”

He shrugged. “It’s surviving.”

“That’s missing out on all that God has to offer.”

Her earnest expression tugged at him, but he could never forget or forgive. “Yeah, like heartache and pain. No, thanks.”

“Who hurt you, Sheriff?”

The sincerity in her quietly asked question hit him in the chest like the business end of a nightstick. No way was he going to open up to her. No way was he going to allow anyone close again.

“I’ve seen more than my share of heartache and pain.”

Compassion and skepticism warred in her eyes. Tension coiled in his veins. The moment she decided to let it go he released a concentrated breath.

Amusement entered her gaze. “Havensport doesn’t exactly seem like crime central.”

“Normally, it’s not. You’re the most excitement this town has seen in a while.”

An auburn brow arched. “Oh, really.”

Heat crept up his neck. Real smooth, boyo.

She was exciting in a dangerous way that had nothing to do with the law and everything to do with attraction. Not a good thing.

He cleared his throat. “I meant the breaking and entering.”

Kate smiled and his gaze snagged on the cute little dimple in the middle of her chin. What would she do if he kissed her there?

His expression must have given away his thoughts because her smile faltered and a blush deepened the contours of her cheeks. She didn’t look away.

“I’m sorry I scratched you.”

Back to business, McClain. Forget about kisses. Kisses only led to betrayal.

“Are you ready to tell me what had you so scared?”

She lifted her delectable chin. “May I leave now?”

She was a tough little cookie. He liked that. “Come on, I’ll take you back.”

“I’ll walk, thanks,” she replied and headed for the door.

“I’ll drive you.”

With her hand on the doorknob, she glanced over her shoulder. “It’s not that far.”

“Doesn’t matter, I’m taking you back.”

With her hands on her hips, she glared at him. “I’m perfectly capable of seeing myself to my house.”

She was beautiful with her face framed by red curls and those green eyes sparking with fire. He had no intention of getting burned no matter how beguiling the flame.

“Are you always this stubborn?”

“You’re the one being stubborn,” she declared with a huff.

She reminded him of a rookie cop with a chip on her shoulder. “Humor me, okay? Let me do my job and take you back to your house.”

She regarded him steadily for a moment. “All right, fine. Do your job.” She opened the door and walked out.

Brody picked up a fax data form and wrote out a request for information on the investigation of Paul Wheeler’s murder. He dialed in the number for the L.A.P.D. and sent the fax. He turned to go and his gaze landed on Kate’s purse sitting on the floor next to his desk.

Her wallet still rested on the desktop. He picked it up. Maybe it was curiosity, maybe instinct, but instead of returning the wallet to the purse, he flipped it open. Plastic sheaths of photos, including her ID, separated the two halves. One side was lined with credit cards, gold and platinum. The other side held her checkbook.

He thumbed through the photos, a knot forming in his chest as his mind registered what he saw. There was a picture of Kate in a white wedding dress standing beside a tall, blond man. There was a photo of an older woman who he guessed to be her mother. Another picture of an older man in military uniform. Another less formal picture of the blond man. Brody slipped the picture out of the plastic. On the back, someone, Kate he presumed, had written the name Paul and the date of when the photo had been taken.

Brody tucked the picture into his shirt pocket. One question had been answered, but now he had others. He wondered how much Kate knew. And if she didn’t know? Dread crept up his spine. He didn’t want to be the one to tell her. But it looked like he had no choice.

Stepping out into the morning sunshine, Brody found Kate waiting on the sidewalk, her arms akimbo and one Italian-loafer-clad foot tapping. His mouth twisted. She was doing a bang-up job of looking like a woman used to getting what she wanted, when she wanted it, but the effort she was putting into the display made him think it wasn’t her usual M.O.

The brief summer storm left the air with a crisp freshness. But the telltale signs of raindrops still beading on his car reminded Brody of the night before and of what Kate would find when she went back to the house. He stopped in his tracks.

“Kate?”

She looked over her shoulder at him, her steps slowing to a halt and her brows drawn together. “Now what?”

“Did you get everything?”

Her brows rose. “I didn’t bring anything.”

“This, maybe?” He held up her purse.

She snatched it from him. “Thanks,” she mumbled.

She wouldn’t be thanking him when he told her what he’d discovered. With a pleasureless twist of his lips, he followed her to his cruiser and held open the passenger-side door. She gave him a tight smile and slid in.

As he headed the car down Main Street, he tried to formulate the best way of saying what needed to be said. But every time he tried to tell her, he couldn’t get the words to form.

“Okay, out with it.”

“Excuse me?”

Kate sighed. “You obviously have something on your mind. You’ve looked like a fish out of water ever since we got in the car.”

He slanted her a glance. “And how is that, exactly?”

“You keep opening your mouth to say something, then shutting it tight.” Kate demonstrated with exaggerated movements.

Brody’s rich laughter filled the cab of the car. Kate sucked in a breath. She liked the sound of his laugh: deep and warm…and inviting. She forced the thought away. She couldn’t let down her guard no matter how pleasing she found the sheriff.

“So, what is it?”

Brody sobered, his expression turning grim. A sense of impending doom filled Kate. What could he possibly have to say that would warrant such a reaction? Nothing, she decided, now that they’d determined she wasn’t going to be arrested.

“How long were you married to your…late husband?”

She frowned. “Four years.”

“How do you know Pete Kinsey was his business partner?”

That seemed like an odd question. “Paul told me after I found an invoice for a piece of office equipment. It had Kinsey’s name on it.”

He slanted her a quick glance. “You never met Pete Kinsey?”

She hated the pinprick of hurt needling her. “No. I didn’t even know about him until a year ago. Paul hadn’t invited anyone he worked with to our wedding.”

He didn’t comment, as his hands gripped and re-gripped the steering wheel.

“Why?”

He shrugged, then asked, “How well did you know Paul?”

An even odder question.

“As well as one could, I suppose. Paul wasn’t your open and friendly type.” Thinking back over the course of their relationship, she wondered how she’d missed his coldness in the beginning. Or had he been just that good at hiding it?

“He changed from when you first met him?”

Unnerved that he’d practically read her thoughts, she replied, “Yes, he did.”

“He traveled a lot.”

It wasn’t a question. “Yes. How did you know?”

Without answering, Brody slowed the vehicle and turned down the narrow dirt drive leading to the house.

In the bright morning sun, the cottage-style home and surrounding area held a charming appeal. A far cry from her impression last night. The blue-gray shingles, quaint dormer windows edged in white, and the wraparound porch were very welcoming. The shrubs and foliage of the yard held a certain rustic charm. And beyond the bungalow, the beach and frothy waves of the Atlantic Ocean gleamed in the sunlight. It was very picturesque and soothing.

Kate wished she’d been able to arrive in the light of day rather than the dead of a stormy night. The late flight out of L.A. and the subsequent drive to Havensport had made her arrival untimely.

She regretted she hadn’t rented a car instead of arranging for ground transportation. But at the time it seemed the best thing since she hadn’t a clue where she was going. Last night, the driver had dropped her off without so much as waiting to see if she’d made it in the house okay, leaving her stranded without any way to get around.

Brody parked and got out. Just as Kate opened the door, he was there offering her his help. She laid her hand in his. Warmth spread up her arm and around her heart. She hadn’t felt anything but coldness in so long.

Quickly, she disengaged from him and stepped away. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“And what question was that?”

She put her hands on her hips. “How did you know Paul traveled?”

Brody ran a hand through his dark hair. She watched the motion with a good dose of curiosity. How would his hair feel beneath her hand? Uncomfortable with the course of her thoughts, she averted her gaze and concentrated on the unseen bird singing from high in the large birch tree to the right of the house.

“I knew your husband.”

Snapping to attention, she frowned. “You did?” Wariness coiled tight in her chest. She looked at the house and tried to rationalize how they could have met. “He did own the house even if Pete Kinsey lived here. They were business partners, after all.”

“Not partners, exactly.”

Apprehension chilled her skin like a cold wind. “Meaning?”

Brody shifted his feet in a restless gesture before saying, “You see, your husband and Pete Kinsey were, well…”

“Yes?”

“Man.” His hard jaw tensed. “I’m botching this up.”

The wind turned into a full-blown hurricane. Could he have the answers she sought? “What? What should I know?”

Locking his gaze with hers, Brody stated, “They were the same man.”