NOT QUITE touching her back, Finn guided Annabelle into his office. His dog, a rescue mutt, part German shepherd, part Labrador with maybe a touch of golden retriever in the mix, lay sprawled on the wooden floor in a square of sunlight, blocking the chairs in front of Finn’s desk. He gently nudged him with one boot, cutting off the dog’s snore. With a start, Sarge raised his head. “Move over, pal. Give the lady some room.”
“I didn’t know you had a dog.”
Why would she? He and Annabelle barely knew each other. They weren’t even friends, and his awareness of her was Finn’s to ignore. If Annabelle felt drawn to him too, that was her problem. The less she knew about him, the better for Finn.
“Saved him from the pound over in Farrier a month or so ago,” he said. “We’re still in the adjustment period.” They watched Sarge come to life again, blinking, before he managed to stand, rearrange his bones then shuffle closer to the window. “The sun’s better there anyway, bud,” Finn told him and pulled out a chair for Annabelle.
“That was nice of you,” she murmured, “to give him a home.”
“Sarge is kind of the office mascot.” He gestured toward the chair. “Take a seat.”
Finn looked toward the outer room where Emmie had been placed on a desk. She was swinging her feet plowing her way through a doughnut with sprinkles and chatting with Sharon, his deputy, whom she’d taken to last night. “How did it go after I left your house?”
“As well as it could, I suppose. We ended up sharing my bed.” Annabelle told him about an incident with some cereal at breakfast. They shared a brief smile before she said, “I couldn’t leave her at the diner and I didn’t know what else to do but bring her with me.”
“Because all cops like doughnuts?” Finn couldn’t resist teasing her if only to see her blush.
She actually laughed, then sobered. “Why did you want to see me?”
Finn looked away. Annabelle’s pink cheeks made her seem more than appealing, like the innocent look in her eyes as if she didn’t quite get his joke. Never mind, he thought. His solitary life suited him, and with luck would help him forget Chicago, as much as he could. It allowed him to focus on what mattered most—nailing Eduardo Sanchez’s hide to the wall, even from a distance—and he had no room for Annabelle. Or, for that matter, little Emmie. The very thought of holding her last night at the accident scene made him sweat, made him remember...
Finn pulled a form from his desk drawer. “I need your statement. Any information you can supply about Sierra.” He searched for a pen then began to fill in the basic stuff. Time, date, interviewee’s name... “I never understand why people don’t wear their seat belts,” he muttered, half to himself.
Annabelle blinked. “Sierra wasn’t wearing hers?”
“No,” he said.
“She never did like doing things that were good for her—at least in my parents’ opinion. Whenever she spent summers with us, she drove them crazy. To me, she was a hero for daring to challenge them.”
It sounded as if Annabelle herself never had. Finn stopped writing. The few times he’d heard her mention her family, Annabelle got that tight sound in her voice and looked past the person she was talking to. Maybe he wasn’t the only one with issues to avoid. He wouldn’t let himself think about that drawer in his bureau, wouldn’t probe his memories like a sore tooth.
“Sierra was thrown from the car,” he told her. “Ned Sutherland’s life was saved by his seat belt.” Finn frowned. “But his granddaughter was right. He shouldn’t have been behind the wheel of that old pickup. In fact, when he took off last night she tried to stop him. Ned’s not talking yet this morning, but—” He cleared his throat. “Annabelle, how well do you know Sierra?”
She studied her hands in her lap. “As girls we were inseparable into our teens, but as adults we’ve had almost no contact. Why?”
He tapped his pen against the desktop. “Number one, her driver’s license, while still valid in the state of Wyoming, has an address that’s no longer hers and I suspect hasn’t been for some time. No forwarding one with the DMV there. Wherever she lives now, she should have changed her license. Most states have reciprocity.”
“Wyoming?” Annabelle bit her lip. “Actually, I don’t know where she lives. Sierra’s a corporate events planner—or she was the last I heard—and because of her job, she travels around a lot.”
That seemed to interest Annabelle but didn’t help Finn now. “Second, in Sierra’s glove compartment I found several notices from the court in a different state, but Missouri doesn’t seem to be her home base either. After she failed to appear, they issued a warrant for her arrest.”
Annabelle leaned forward. “A warrant?” she repeated, as if he’d spoken in a foreign language. “Well, maybe she didn’t pay some parking tickets...”
He had to admire her quick defense of her cousin, but his mouth tightened. “The warrant isn’t for parking violations. It references a felony for fraud and embezzlement. I’m waiting for further details from St. Louis.” The distressed look on Annabelle’s face threatened to melt his resolve. For an instant he wanted to reach across the desk, cover her hand with his. Trying to refocus his attention, he glanced at Sarge who was snoring again in the sun, his once dull coat now a glistening brown, tan and yellow. Thanks to a better diet, his liquid dark eyes were also bright, or would be if they were open. “If Sierra was on the run last night, fleeing from Missouri, feeling desperate—”
“You think the accident was her fault? Not Ned’s?”
“We’re still processing the scene.” Finn offered a theory she probably wouldn’t like. “But consider this: Sometimes a child in the rear seat cries, throws a temper tantrum, a parent gets distracted while driving—”
“Not in this case.” Annabelle sat back in her chair. “Sierra wouldn’t jeopardize her child. I know my cousin.”
“Really? You haven’t seen her in quite a while,” Finn pointed out mildly.
“And you don’t know her at all.” Her eyes clouded. “Sierra couldn’t possibly be in legal trouble like that. There must be some mistake.”
* * *
THE NEXT MORNING, as soon as Annabelle slipped into Sierra’s hospital room, her steps faltered. Annabelle had hoped to find Sierra awake, to ask her about Emmie’s father. She’d visited twice now and found little change in her cousin. All around monitors beeped and buzzed, but the information on the displays next to Sierra’s bed might as well have been written in Greek. Annabelle’s brief stop at the nurses’ station hadn’t provided much information beyond the fact that, although she’d been moved from ICU last night, Sierra was still listed as critical.
What if she didn’t survive? What would happen to Emmie?
Her throat feeling tight, Annabelle stood beside the bed then took Sierra’s limp hand. It was like touching, looking, at a stranger. Her blue eyes were swollen closed, her blond hair, usually so like Emmie’s, instead looked dull and stringy and she didn’t move at all. Harsh cuts and bruises covered her face and neck, and a bulky bandage slanted across her forehead. She was thrown from the car, Finn had said.
Annabelle’s spirits sagged. It
