advantage of the opportunity. Freeing a hand, she lashed out, aiming for his eyes. She fell short, her nails raking sharply down his face, evoking a yowl of pain.
“That’s it!” The harsh words echoed through the house. He held her hands in a grip so tight she knew she’d never get free.
“No!” But still she fought, determined not to give up until the last breath left her body. Too many questions remained unanswered, too much pain still lived in her heart. Blind fear made her body convulse, desperate to break free.
The chink of metal somewhere above her head made her close her eyes. She didn’t want to see the torture device he would use on her and she prayed for oblivion. Oblivion and a painless death.
She cried out in surprise as he twisted her arm behind her and flipped her over. Cold metal encircled her wrists. A sharp snap filled her ears. And only then, from the far reaches of sanity, did she realize she’d been handcuffed. The man spoke in low, smooth tones, but her terror-fogged mind couldn’t grasp the words.
“Do you understand?” The steady cadence of his words, the richness of his voice, washed over her and a sense of unreality set in. Closing her eyes tightly, she readied herself for the journey to heaven.
The man grasped her shoulders and gently shook her. “Do you understand? Answer me!”
“No.” She didn’t understand why she was about to die. She didn’t understand how she’d come to this point in time. And she didn’t understand how she could have been so wrong about Paul. Who had she been married to? What kind of man had he really been? And why had he allowed this to happen to her? Unfortunately, she would die without the answers.
“Lady, how hard is it to understand? You’re under arrest.”
TWO
The woman beneath him stilled.
“Arrest?” The word came out in a dry croak.
“Yes, you’re under arrest.” Brody couldn’t see her face but he heard the rapid labor of her breath, felt the rise and fall of her chest where their ribs connected. And he was all too aware of the fact that his intruder was female. Soft and full of curves. The smell of lilacs he’d detected earlier wasn’t a remnant of the owner’s last visit, sporadic as they were.
The scent clung to his captive’s hair.
Pushing away, he came to his knees and helped her to a sitting position.
“You’re…you’re not here…to kill me?” Her voice faded to a hushed stillness and Brody heard the fear behind the words.
“I’m not going to kill you,” he said in a calming tone. “Do you understand that anything you say can be used against you in a court of law—”
She made an odd noise. “You’re a cop?”
“Yes, ma’am. You have the right to an attorney. If—”
“I haven’t done anything,” she interrupted.
Brody ignored her protest and finished her Miranda rights then helped her to her feet as a bolt of lightning whitewashed the room. He caught a glimpse of an impish face and large, luminous eyes. The tip of her head barely reached the top of his shoulder. So much spirit in one so little. A spark of admiration for the way she’d fought him flared hot.
The light faded and the shadows returned, leaving him feeling unsettled. She certainly didn’t look like a criminal.
He heard her test the strength of the metal links between the cuffs.
“Are these really necessary?”
In the blackness, her voice rang cool and clear, yet Brody heard the underlying tension in her tone. Why did she think someone was out to kill her?
“I’ll take them off when we get to the station.” His natural caution took precedence. Regardless of the gender of his intruder, experience had taught him how deceptive people could be—especially the female sort.
“The police station?”
“Actually, the county sheriff’s office. Let’s go.” His terse answer harbored no room for discussion.
“My purse!”
Brody paused by the grouping of luggage. He picked up the leather bag that he’d mistaken for a carry-on piece of luggage. “This?”
She nodded.
The damp shirt on his back itched and the house grew colder by the minute, making his hip hurt and his limbs grow numb. He resisted the urge to limp by placing a hand on her arm to guide her out of the house. She tried to pull away but he tightened his hold.
Beneath his palm, she trembled as he helped her into his cruiser. Her flowery, lilac scent once again reminded him of his mother’s garden. A place where he used to find a sense of serenity. Even if he took up Mom’s constant invitations to come home, he doubted he’d find that kind of peace now.
With the heater cranked high, they rode in silence through the small town of Havensport, Massachusetts, the quaint buildings of the New England community surveyed by Brody with a sheriff’s eye.
Stores dark and locked tight, no suspicious characters roaming the streets. There never were. Until tonight. Havensport was as boringly safe as a small town could get, but old habits were hard to break.
The sheriff’s office kept keys of all the summer homes in case of emergencies. Lucky for Pete Kinsey that Mae Couch, the elderly lady who lived next door, had been looking out her window and seen someone lurking about. So unusual an occurrence was it, Sheriff Brody McClain had immediately responded.
He glanced in the rearview mirror. The woman’s face was turned toward the window, but he could make out the straight line of her nose, which tilted upward slightly at the tip and a wide, generous mouth set into a firm crease. She hadn’t spoken since they’d left the house.
Within the enclosed space of his cruiser he couldn’t tell the color of her hair. The lights of the station would tell him soon enough. He returned his gaze forward as he slowed to park the car in his spot by the door of the station.
The Havensport County Sheriff’s Office stood at one end of town like a sentinel on guard duty. Though the redbrick building, built in the early part of the century with a high peaked roof and multipaned windows, had withstood updates both in and out, it still remained a historical landmark, due mainly to the fact that the first sheriff’s family still owned most of the property within a thirty-mile radius around the town.
Brody got out and opened the back door. The woman refused his help and struggled out of the vehicle on her own. With reluctance, he again felt admiration for her grit.
Rain poured from the sky, rolling in rivulets down his face. Quickly, he ushered his charge into the station.
Her hair was copper. He’d always liked redheads. He should have stuck with them instead of being tempted by Elise’s willowy blond good looks.
The station’s warmth seeped through his drenched clothing, bringing life back to his numb limbs and chasing away the cold reality of Elise.
