The sheriff’s disgruntled voice brought her head back around.
“What’s up?” Warren asked, his wiry form unfolding from his desk chair.
“Computer’s down.” The sheriff straightened and rolled his massive shoulders.
“You look done in. Why don’t you head home? I’ll stay here with the prisoner.”
Kate stiffened at the deputy’s words. Staring hard at the sheriff, she held her breath, waiting for his reply. Don’t go. Lord, please don’t let him leave.
Sheriff McClain leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers behind his head. His lids dropped, hiding the darkness of his eyes. After a heartbeat he replied, “No, I’ll stay. But there’s no sense in us both being here. You go on home to your pretty wife.”
The deputy slanted Kate one last curious look, shrugged and picked up his jacket from the back of his chair. “Suit yourself. See you in the morning.”
Kate breathed a sigh of relief as the deputy disappeared through the station door. While probably capable, the deputy just didn’t seem as made for the task of protecting her as the sheriff did.
Her attention shifted back to Sheriff McClain. Didn’t he have a wife to go home to? A wife waiting, worrying and wondering if he’d return or would this be the day he died for his dedication to his job? What type of woman would claim the love of a man with a dangerous occupation?
A woman like her own mother.
A woman unlike herself.
She squashed her curiosity. The sheriff’s private life was none of her business. If he left his wife alone and lonely while he gave his job the attention his wife craved, what was that to her? Right now Kate needed him to do his job. She was thankful he’d stayed, but she wasn’t going to dwell on the sheriff or why his presence was comforting.
Instead, she lay down on the cot and pulled the blanket to her chin. She doubted sleep would come, but closing her eyes and pretending sure beat staring at the too-handsome man who’d arrested her.
The storm’s wrath didn’t seem to penetrate the station walls and the room fell silent. Feeling relatively safe for the time being, Kate tried to relax. Unaccountably, she felt the sheriff would keep her from harm. God had put her in his care. She’d face her worries again with the new day.
Her body grew heavy and her lids felt weighted down as sleep settled in. Faintly, she heard a rustling of noise. The sheriff finally moving from his reclined position. His quiet footfalls echoed inside her head, but she was too groggy to open her eyes to see what he was doing.
Even when she heard the quiet click, then the slight squeak of the cell door opening, she couldn’t muster up enough panic to rouse her from slumber.
She felt the added weight of another blanket being laid across her. With a sigh, she snuggled beneath the cocoon of rough material and drifted completely to sleep.
Brody stared at the sleeping woman.
Katherine Wheeler. No, he much preferred the informal Kate that she’d referred to herself as.
Why did he care if she grew cold? It shouldn’t matter. But it did.
There was something compelling about her, something that pulled at him. Maybe it was the vulnerability he saw in her large, springtime eyes or the fact that she’d felt safe enough to allow herself to rest. Whatever the case, it had to stop. He couldn’t allow himself to be drawn in by her.
Until Kate’s story checked out, he had to think of her as a criminal. He half hoped she did own the house; he’d hate to see her end up in Walpole. Massachusetts Criminal Institute Cedar Junction was no place for such a pretty woman.
But then again, if what she said was true…what if she decided to become a resident of Havensport? Brody had an uneasy feeling that having her in the same town for any length of time would be hazardous to his carefully tended solitude.
Ha! As if you’d ever let a woman get close to you again, reprimanded his inner voice. As if this woman, who drips with class, would ever want to get close to you.
Brody drew back from the sleeping woman on the cot. He rubbed the spot on his hip where he bore the constant reminder of what trusting a woman could do. Old anger and helpless rage roared to life and Brody let out a compressed breath. He spun away and stalked back to his desk to stare at the blank computer screen.
The quicker he cleared up the mess with his guest, the better. Then his nice quiet life could resume the way he wanted it.
Alone.
THREE
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
