walked away. Barely, but he walked.” She reopened them and got back to work on his arm. “So you see, I do need to get over there. We’re all each of us has.”
“No dad in the picture?” He felt odd asking, as if it was any of his business.
“Not needed.” Her answer was even stranger.
But then Ian thought of his own old man, and understood her statement perfectly. “The man who raised me died recently. I hadn’t seen him in ten years. Not needed. I get it.”
“So, you’ll let me take you?”
“I have a feeling that’s not really a question.”
“It’s not, and every second that goes by is making my son feel abandoned.”
“Way to tack on the guilt. Fine. For your son’s sake. Let me grab another shirt, then my coat...what’s left of it.”
Sylvie taped the gauze in place and he reached for his duffel bag, his clothes still jammed inside, unpacked.
“Did you just arrive in Norcastle?” she asked pointedly, obviously fishing.
“I came in on the bus yesterday.”
“Were people shooting at you before you came to town?”
“Nope. Is this how your town welcomes newcomers?”
“Hardly. I’d lose my job for sure. Any idea who did this?”
“Yup.” He grunted as he slipped his arms into a chambray shirt, stained with dirt from many hours on the job.
“Well, do tell. I can’t help you if you’re withholding information.”
“The Spencers.”
Sylvie let out a laugh. Such a loud, robust sound for one so small. Ian pictured the chief of police issuing orders in the same tone. People would take notice of her, although she’d had his attention long before she opened her mouth to speak. Still, he didn’t like her laughing at him, and that’s what her reaction felt like.
“What’s so funny, Chief?”
“You are. Roni and her brother Wade are not trying to kill you. You’re completely wrong about that. Why would you think they want you dead?”
He snatched his MP3 player and headphones from the bag and stuffed them in his front blue jeans pocket. “Because they have something that belongs to me, and they don’t want to give it up.”
“Well, I don’t believe they’d put a bullet in your arm, no matter what they have of yours, but I do plan to find who did pull the trigger. There hasn’t been a premeditated murder in Norcastle in thirty years, and I want to keep it that way.” She opened the door and scanned the area before telling Ian to follow her to her cruiser.
“Who was the unfortunate victim, then?” Ian asked—as if he didn’t know.
Sylvie opened the passenger-side door for him, then came around the front of the car. Once behind the wheel, she replied, “Actually, it was Bobby and Meredith Spencer. Wade and Roni’s parents.”
And mine.
Ian faced front, revealing nothing to the local PD. He couldn’t be sure the police could be trusted. After all, his parents were murdered, pushed over the side of that mountain in their car, and the police thirty years ago called the crash an accident.
Had the police been a part of the crime?
Did they know why he had been taken from the scene?
Ian peered out from the corner of his eye at Sylvie. It was too soon to tell her.
He looked to her eyes again. Long lashes curled like a perfect Pacific Ocean wave. He didn’t believe them to be fake. She wasn’t wearing a swipe of makeup. Perfect, creamy skin, a hint of blush from the cold. She looked like a porcelain doll, so pale compared to his baked skin.
“You hanging in there, Stone?” she asked, giving her attention to him for a brief moment while she drove. “You look a little...off. Not feeling light-headed, are you?”
“Just a bit,” he said, but had to wonder if it was more from her presence than the loss of blood. He cleared his throat and scanned the mountains out his window. “I’m just not feeling the love in this town.”
“You’ll be safe with me, Ian. I promise I won’t let another shot find its mark. It’ll be me before it will be you.”
The emergency room buzzed with standing room only. Sylvie bypassed it and led Ian up to the front counter. “Good evening, Liz. I’ve got a GSW in the arm. Any way you can get him in? He’s bandaged well and the bullet is out, but he still needs stitches.”
“Anything for you, Chief.” The front-desk nurse pushed a clipboard over to Sylvie.
“Can you also tell me where Jaxon is?”
“Curtain three.”
“Great, you’ll find us waiting in there. Stay close and follow,” she said to Ian.
They passed by the waiting room and a familiar redhead jumped up from her chair and rushed their way. “Sylvie, hold up!”
“Walk with us, Roni,” Sylvie said without halting her steps. Her friend joined them down the hall. “How’s Jaxon?”
“He’s a champ, but what took you so long getting here?”
“Roni, meet Ian. Ian, Roni Spencer.”
“I know who Veronica Spencer is,” Ian said, his voice hard and condemning. Did the man still think Roni tried to kill him? She was watching the track when everything went down. She couldn’t have shot him.
“Have we met?” Roni replied.
“No, we haven’t,” Ian clipped.
“But you know me. Are you a fan?”
“Figures you would think so, but no. I don’t follow racing.”
Sylvie leaned into Ian. “You’re barking up the wrong tree, Mr. Stone. Watch it.”
“It’s all right, Sylvie,” Roni assured, but her normally bright smile dulled. However, Sylvie quickly noticed a mischievous glint spark up in the woman’s ice-blue eyes. Her friend never got offended, even when the joke was on her. She just angled those ice crystals on the other person and gave it back tenfold. A quick glance Ian’s way, and Sylvie noticed his eye color had the same hue. That’s where she’d seen it. Wade and Roni had the same eyes. Interesting that Ian’s eyes matched the Spencers’. Before Sylvie could speculate further, Roni said, “I’m sure your Ian will smarten up soon enough. It won’t take too long for him to realize what the town revolves around.”
“I assume we’re
