Anything but Mine (2 page)

A sheriff involved with the public defender.

Could anyone define “political suicide”?

They stared at each other a moment, the silence and intimacy, with all its memories, pressing in around them. That last weekend before everything had gone to hell…Stanton rubbed a hand over his nape. Focus. He needed focus.

He dropped his gaze to her foot, red seeping through the hand towel. “You said ‘him’. Who did you think ‘him’ was?”

Her body stiffened. “I told you, no one. I thought someone was trying to get in. The first logical—”

“Main breaker was switched off.” Tick’s voice filled the small space. He leaned against the doorjamb opposite Stanton. “Footprints under the box, around the side of the house. Looks like someone tried to jimmy the dining-room window. Neighbor’s dog may have scared him off.”

Autry’s face paled further. She swallowed, the muscles in her slender throat spasming. “There was really someone trying to get in.”

She seemed to crumple, folding in on herself, knuckles whitening as she clutched the towel closer around her foot. Stanton’s chest tightened, a combination of protectiveness and anger. The idea of what could have happened coated his mouth with a foul taste. Her very real fear raised his instincts to their highest level.

And a matching fear kicked off low in his gut. “Autry. Come on. Tell us what’s going on.”

She massaged her forehead, rumpled chestnut hair falling forward to shield her face. “My briefcase is by the armoire. The letters are in there.”

Letters? The dread turning icy, Stanton glanced at Tick. He nodded and slipped into the bedroom, returning in moments with a short stack of lined notepaper in his gloved hand. Stanton took them and unfolded the topmost. Careful block lettering filled the page, line after line of filthy names, filthier threats. And the stack in his hand held at least ten of the notes. Bile rose in his throat, mixing with the anger and apprehension.

He swallowed hard and handed the letters to Tick. “We’ll need a bag for those.”

Tick lifted an eyebrow, but didn’t demur at being dismissed. “I’ll just…” He cast a glance between Stanton and Autry. “Run back to the car.”

“Thanks.” Stanton let him clear the room before opening his mouth again. He cleared his throat, attempted to pitch his voice to a gentle tone and not let his alarm show. “Autry?”

A visible shudder ran over her body, huddled still on the toilet, arms clutching her midriff.

“I thought it was nothing,” she said, her voice small and shaky in the bathroom.

Watching her and keeping his movements slow, Stanton hunched down and picked up the shards of ceramic littering the floor. “It. The letters?”

She shrugged, a stiff uncomfortable gesture, and fiddled with the hem of her robe. “I had some late night calls, just breathing. He didn’t say anything. I-I had the number changed, left it unlisted, and the calls stopped. I didn’t…I never thought he’d really come after me, Stan.”

Her voice broke and he fought an impulse to sweep her up, hold her close and soothe the fear and the bad memories away. Instead he dropped the pieces from the broken cup in the wastebasket. He glanced up at her face. She bit her lower lip, but her chin trembled anyway.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” He focused on keeping his voice even. “I could have set up a detail, offered you some protection—”

“No.” A wistful expression chased some of the terror from her eyes. A tremulous smile twisted her mouth and she clutched the robe tighter, elbows on knees, her entire posture closed to him. “Not you. I thought about talking to Tick, but it was just a few letters. I had the security system and I’ve been careful.”

“Not careful enough. What if the guy hadn’t gotten scared? What if he decides to come back?” The worry-induced anger threatened his professional control and he pulled it back in, the same way he’d smothered the spurt of hurt that she’d considered calling Tick, but not him. Rising, he rested his hands at his gun belt. She didn’t look up at him, but he hadn’t missed the flash of dread in her eyes. “Autry, keeping this to yourself was not smart. Did you at least mention it to your dad?”

She reacted then, posture straightening, narrowed gaze flying to his. “No, I didn’t, and you’d better not.”

“What is with you?” This time, he let the frustration leak into his words. “What’s more important, your safety or your pride?”

Slumping again, she opened her mouth, closed it, and shook her head. She pressed her fingers to her forehead. “What am I going to do?”

Her voice trembled and tore at him again. “Tonight, you’re going to find somewhere else to stay.”

She nodded, a hint of relief in her expression. “You’re probably right. I don’t think I’d get any sleep if I stayed here.” She grimaced. “Like I will anyway.”

“Want to call your parents?”

She pulled at the ends of her hair, the chestnut mass tumbling around her shoulders. “Mama’s not feeling well lately. I really don’t want to bother them—”

“You can go to my place,” Tick said, and Stanton jumped at his deep drawl. With his normal loose-limbed posture, Tick leaned in the bedroom doorway. “I dusted the window and the fuse box. No prints on the window. Got a thumb and a smudged partial. Those will probably turn out to belong to a Georgia Power employee. I’m about to cast the footprints.”

Autry pulled her feet up to rest on the toilet’s edge, knees tucked to her chest. “You don’t think Cait would mind me crashing at your place?”

Tick lifted an eyebrow in an exaggerated grimace. “Why would she?”

Stanton shifted, bothered by the exchange without being sure why. Probably because Autry trusted Tick so easily. And why not? She’d known him all her life, spent her early teenage years tagging behind him in a blend of hero worship and puppy love. The two of them still laughed and teased over that crush fifteen years later.

“Why don’t I give you a ride over there?” Stanton ran a thumb along the vanity’s cool edge.

Her gaze darted to his, none of the easy trust present. Instead, wariness lurked in the blue depths. “I can drive.”

“Not until we have a chance to check out your car. No telling what this guy could have done.” Visions of bombs wired to ignitions, rattlesnakes under front seats and other memories from his days with the FBI’s Organized Crime Division danced in his head. He wasn’t taking any chances with her safety.

Autry blanched. “You think—”

“You can’t be too careful, Autry,” Tick said. “Let Stan take you. I’m going to be a while, processing the scene.”

She nodded, a slow, tentative movement, and picked at her hem. “I need to get dressed.”

“I’ll be right outside with Tick,” Stanton said, wanting to reassure her. “Let me know when you’re ready.”

She didn’t look up, but he caught the quick flash of white teeth sinking into her full lower lip. At the door, he glanced back. She’d wrapped her arms around her knees, forehead buried in the fold of her elbows. Every inch of her body screamed of tension, fear, dejection. He steeled himself against the wave of protectiveness. She wasn’t his to comfort. She was anything but.

Clad in loose sweats and the bulkiest jacket she owned, Autry huddled against the patrol car door. Fearful thoughts bumped and tumbled around her mind, a jumbled montage of what could have happened and the unknown threats around her. Under it all lay the secret she kept from the silent man in the driver’s seat.

The baby fluttering in her stomach, hidden by the Mercer sweatshirt and battered denim jacket, was his. She was four months pregnant with Stanton Reed’s child, and she had yet to breathe a word to him. As far as lies of omission went, this one was a whopper. Shame burned her cheeks.

She studied him, his strong features highlighted by passing streetlights. During the long nights without him, she’d lain awake, wondering if her baby would share his high cheekbones, the rugged point of his chin, his dark hair. Maybe even those weird elfin-pointed ears of his too. If she bore him a son, he would probably look as much like Stanton as his two sons did. Half-brothers. Her baby would have siblings, cousins, a grandmother on Stanton’s side. A whole family. How much longer could she justify keeping a secret of this magnitude?

Tears, something she’d never shed easily until her pregnancy, stung her eyes, and she blinked until the passing landscape of empty parking lots and vacant businesses cleared. She’d wanted to tell him, as soon as the home pregnancy test stick turned blue, but knowing how strongly he
didn’t
want another child made keeping this particular secret too easy. The awareness of how much he despised her for defending Jeff Schaefer made it that much easier. Even if Stanton wanted to embark on fatherhood again, she was the last woman he’d want bearing his child.

Depression pressed her deeper in the seat. Stanton glanced her way. “Autry? You feeling all right?”

She kept her gaze trained on the road in front of the windshield, the town behind them, the darkness of the country spreading around them now. “I’m fine.”

“You look…a little under the weather.”

Diplomatic bastard. She smothered a spurt of anger. If she looked a little under the weather, it was because his offspring, his
spawn
, refused to play the pregnancy game by the book. The damned nausea was
supposed
to have disappeared by month three.

She dug her nails into the car seat. “I think I’ve got a touch of that flu going around. I promise not to breathe on you.”

His deep chuckle held little humor. “If I haven’t gotten it by now, doubt I will. Half the damned department is out with it.”

That explained why he’d turned up to answer her alarm call. She hadn’t questioned it at the time, had merely welcomed his presence, his strength, the warm security of his arms around her. The father of her child, the man with whom she’d foolishly allowed herself to tumble into bed and into love, while she ignored the ramifications of getting involved with the local sheriff.

When those ramifications came home to roost, they’d bitten with very big, very sharp teeth. Lord, she’d been naïve to the point of stupidity, thinking they could separate their professional lives from the personal. Autry watched him, using the darkness and her lashes for cover. His strong hands with long, tapered fingers gripped the steering wheel, and his tall body, shoulders ridiculously broad, filled the car with his presence. His height, the raw strength of him, had always left her feeling breathless and feminine.

Heat flushed her face and she closed her eyes, a memory of him looming over her, pushing into her, making her come apart in his arms flashing through her mind.

Stop thinking about it. It’s over.
She took a deep breath and opened her eyes. Better to think about how she would stay safe. She couldn’t shrug off the letters anymore. A different picture flickered in her head, someone lifting the window, creeping through her house, approaching her bedroom. She shuddered. What if he hadn’t been scared away?

Stanton slowed, swinging the patrol car into Tick’s long driveway. A vapor light cast a blue glow over the big white farmhouse. A lamp shining in the living room spilled a golden pool on the back porch. He braked behind Caitlin’s Volvo and Autry reached for her small bag. Her wrist brushed his leg, the fabric of his slacks a little rough on her skin. Warmth traveled through her and something other than her baby flickered to life in her stomach. She straightened, clutching the bag like a shield. This was ridiculous. He didn’t
want
her anymore, and even if he did, he wouldn’t want her baby.

“Thanks for the ride,” she said, her voice emerging as a tear-strangled rasp, and reached for the door handle.

“Autry, wait.” His hand closed around her arm, sending heat tingling along her skin, even through the jacket and sweatshirt. The scent of him, male mixed with a crisp soap, enveloped her. “I wanted to—”

“I’m tired. I need to go.” She had to get away from him before she gave into the terror-induced weakness and launched herself at him again. Without facing him, she inched toward the door; he didn’t release her arm.

“Listen, please.” He eased nearer and she dared to look at him. Under the security light, his hazel eyes glittered, the shadows highlighting the angles of his face. She tried to tug her arm free; he tightened his grip and pulled her closer. Autry stared up at him, the old passion flaring. His features hardened and he sighed. “Oh, hell.”

He leaned toward her and Autry’s breath stopped in her throat.

What had he been thinking last night? He’d leaned forward to kiss Autry before his brain could overrule his habit. The level of anticipation had been scary. Only Caitlin’s opening the back door and Autry’s scrambling from the car had saved him from making a huge mistake. As far as he was concerned, Autry Holton was off limits, and no matter how her frightened eyes and the memories tugged at him, he wasn’t going there again.

Even if he had to continue finding refuge in the most lame-ass excuse known to man. Yeah, he didn’t like her defending Jeff Schaefer, but someone had to do it since the son of a bitch refused to plea out. Autry had defended obviously guilty clients before, always to the best of her ability. Stanton couldn’t imagine her doing it any other way. That stubborn determination to stand by her duty had won his respect.

It was just that not only had Jeff Schaefer tried to kill Stanton’s best friend, but Autry’s refusal to have herself recused from the case gave him a hell of a reason to stay away from her. That wasn’t an option anymore. He was going to have to interact with her, at least professionally, since that very same determination he admired seemed to be placing her in direct danger. His gaze dropped to the evidence bag on his desk, the notes she’d turned over to him lying face-up within the protective plastic. The threatening words in their big block letters glared up at him.

I’m coming for you, bitch.

Fury surged in his chest, strangling the air in his lungs. Someone threatening Autry. Someone attempting to get in her home.

Simply because she was doing her job?

He forced the anger down, locked it away in a tiny compartment. Right now, he needed to think more like an experienced cop and less like a protective lover—

Damn it, he wasn’t Autry’s lover anymore. They weren’t even friends. More like professional acquaintances, what they should have remained in the first place.

With a deep breath, he stared at the note and twirled a silver pen between his fingers. None of the missives, penned on plain lined notepaper, the kind from pads found in any Dollar General in the Southeast, mentioned Schaefer. Stanton couldn’t leap from A to Z, thinking the threats came only out of Autry’s defense of the former cop.

One of
his
former cops.

He shook off the guilt that always accompanied the thought. What had they missed in Schaefer’s background? What could they have seen to keep them from hiring him and turning him loose on an unsuspecting community?

“Think, Reed,” he whispered into the quiet of the deserted station. What other options lay between A and Z? He grabbed a legal pad and leaned back in his chair. Flipping past three pages of budget figures, he headed a blank page with Autry’s name. No, the simple act of writing her name didn’t give him a thrill, set off a clenching sensation low in his gut. Hunger. Just his stomach reminding him he hadn’t eaten since the night before.

A and Z. What came between?

He scratched a name and stared, a hoarse bark of a laugh escaping him.
Nate.
Now why the hell would he begin a list with Autry’s reprobate brother? He formed a dark question mark next to the name and underlined it. Would Nathaniel Holton gain anything from frightening his sister?

Satisfaction, probably, of his weird resentment. Sibling rivalry gone really insane, maybe. But Stanton doubted even Nate Holton, screw-up extraordinaire, was stupid enough to send handwritten threats.

He moved the pen to the next line. Other cases. He wasn’t privy to Autry’s life anymore, so he didn’t know everything she was working on, not like last spring, when he’d been so wrapped up in her that concentrating on anything else was difficult. But checking into her current and past cases was key. Maybe someone angry that she hadn’t kept him out of prison? He scrawled another note.
Check on release/parole of former clients.

An unknown stalker? Someone who’d formed an irrational attachment, a relationship only in his head? Those could be the most dangerous. Stanton’s grip on the pen tightened, the silver ridges biting into his fingertips.

The next line received a single name.

Jeffrey Schaefer.

“Is there a reason you’re strangling that pen?”

Stanton startled at Tick’s deep drawl. Damn, the guy was quiet. With an easy movement, Tick settled a cup of coffee at the corner of Stanton’s desk pad, covering a doodle of a six-pointed sheriff’s badge.

“Thanks.” Stanton tossed the pen aside and reached for the steaming cup. Tick dropped into the chair opposite, a mug cradled between his hands. Shaved and showered, dark hair combed, he appeared refreshed and relaxed, not like he’d spent the last four days pulling killer double shifts.

He waved a hand at the pad balanced on Stanton’s knee. “Any ideas?”

Stanton passed it to him. With cautious sips of the hot brew, he eyed Tick’s face while he read, gauging reactions.

Tick chuckled. “Nate’s at the top of your list?”

Stanton shrugged, the caffeine seeping into him but doing little to soothe the tension twisting in him. “Came to mind first.”

“Yeah. The little shit would love playing with Autry’s head, sister or not. He’s twisted that way.” Tick returned the pad to Stanton’s desk. “I’m with you on the Schaefer angle too. Her taking this case pissed off a lot of people. There’s bound to be at least one weirdo out there who wants to see her punished for it.”

With a harsh sigh, Stanton set his coffee aside. “You act like it doesn’t bother you at all.”

Tick made a face. “If I thought there was a snowball’s chance he’d walk, I’d be screaming as loud as the rest of the yahoos. But there’s no way, absolutely no way. She’s good, but not that good. What am I going to do? Stop being her friend because she’s doing her job?”

No accusation lingered in Tick’s voice, but Stanton shifted in unease anyway. “Is that what you think I did?”

His dark gaze steady, Tick lifted his mug. “I think you used the whole thing as an excuse. You’d been getting antsy about being with her for weeks. Y’all were headed for serious things and your skin crawled.”

Stanton glanced away. In the last ten years, he’d spent more time with Tick than with his own family and hiding anything was damn near impossible. The guy knew him too well after countless FBI stakeouts and operations, long hours spent trading tales in a BuCar. “I’d have ended up hurting her.”

“You did hurt her.” Steel and more than a hint of disapproval entered Tick’s tone. “I guess it’s just easier to tell yourself a little bit now is better than a lot later.”

Wasn’t it? If he’d let the involvement go further, they’d both have ended up in a world of hurt. Stanton straightened and met Tick’s gaze again. “I need you to get those prints and casts over to Moultrie ASAP this morning. See if you can light a fire under the lab.”

Seeming unimpressed with Stanton’s shift to total professionalism again, Tick shook his head. “Always the Steelman, huh?” They stared at each other until a weary grin curved Tick’s mouth. “Yeah, I’ll get everything to Moultrie first thing. You going to check back in with Autry or you want me to do it?”

“You call her.” Stanton reached for the topmost file in his inbox and lowered his gaze, sure Tick would pick up on the silent dismissal. As Tick left, Stanton flipped the folder open. He had a department to run, and checking up on victims and complainants was Tick’s job, not his.

Cowardice and self-protection had nothing to do with it.

It was all about doing what was right for Autry. It always had been.

Early morning sunlight glinted off windshields in the parking lot of the Haynes County Sheriff’s Department. The jail complex sprawled across an open field, isolated from the nearby town. The low modern building with its shining fence topped with gleaming razor wire seemed worlds away from the rundown, outdated jail Stanton had inherited with the Chandler County department.

Stan would kill for this building.

Stop thinking about him.
Autry removed her sunglasses and slid them into the case clipped to her visor. Gritty and dry from lack of sleep, her eyes burned. In Tick and Caitlin’s guest room, she’d lain awake the rest of the night, reliving the terror of thinking the stalker had come for her, relishing the safety and security of having Stanton’s arms around her once more.

She rested her forehead on the steering wheel, a muffled groan escaping her. Lord, she was weak where he was concerned. He walked in the room and she forgot he didn’t want her. Instead, she wanted to burrow close, soak up his warmth, share their baby with him, look for joy in his eyes.

Yeah. Sure. As open as he’d been about not wanting another child, joy would be the last emotion he’d feel once he learned of her pregnancy. Angry, maybe. Trapped? Definitely. Resentful. No, please. She rested a hand on her stomach. Not resentful. She didn’t want her baby to be anyone’s burden.

That was the way Stanton would view it. Not a cause of celebration, but a duty, an obligation. She sighed. Could her life be a bigger mess right now? Hard not to think about how thrilled Tick would be if Caitlin told him she was pregnant and contrast that to what Stanton’s reaction would surely be. Life possessed a weird, ironic sense of humor, sending her an unexpected, ultimately inconvenient pregnancy when that was what Tick and Caitlin wanted most in the world and seemingly couldn’t have.

Autry lifted her head, smoothing her loose chignon. Sooner or later, she had to tell him, regardless of his reaction. With her stomach pooching out, she couldn’t wait much longer, or Mr. FBI Eagle-Eyes would figure it out on his own. She shivered at that thought. Now that wouldn’t be a fun conversation, filled with her stammering apologies and Stanton’s cold fury. No. She had to tell him. Soon.

After Schaefer’s trial was out of the way.

After they’d caught the psycho sending her notes and trying to break into her house.

When everything was normal again, and she was on equal footing with him, not a frightened, needy woman. That was the last thing she wanted, to appear weak and—

Oh, screw how he viewed her! This was her baby she was talking about here. Her baby. She had a responsibility to keep it safe, and if telling Stanton made him more determined to keep her safe, to keep the psycho away, then she should have told him last night. Or months ago, when the test stick first turned blue.

“This is getting you nowhere,” she muttered. No closer to a decision, but late for her appointment. She pulled the keys from the ignition and grabbed her briefcase. Locking the door behind her, she strode across the deserted parking lot to the jail. Nervous nausea roiled in her stomach. God, she hated these meetings.

Heavy disinfectant hung in the stillness inside. Behind the bulletproof glass, the deputy manning the front desk looked up, a less-than-polite smile creasing her mahogany face. “Ms. Holton.”

Autry made herself smile back. Why did all cops look at defense attorneys like oozing pond scum? “I have a meeting scheduled with Jeff Schaefer.”

The heavy woman slid an attorney’s pass beneath the window. A loud buzzing followed by a heavy click signaled the opening of the locked door. Autry pulled the massive metal door open and stepped into the hallway. The deputy met her, handheld metal detector in hand. Laying her briefcase on a nearby table, Autry extended both arms, allowing the deputy to pass the electronic wand over her body.

Her stomach fluttered and she frowned. The wand’s rays couldn’t be dangerous, could they?

The deputy deposited the detector on the table and ran her hands along Autry’s body, performing a perfunctory search. Satisfied, she pointed at the briefcase. “Open that, please.”

Autry flipped the latches and lifted the lid, the fine leather smooth and cool under her fingers. A gift from her parents, the case matched her father’s, even down to the initials—VAH, for Virgil Autry Holton as well as Virginia Autry Holton.

The deputy glanced into the pockets, lifted the files within, and nodded. “All right.”

Shaking her head, Autry closed the lid and clipped the pass to her jacket. The routine search niggled at her this morning. What did they think, that she’d try to help Schaefer escape? Turn him loose on the innocent again?

Wasn’t she? Oh, she used the legal system to do it, but wasn’t providing a quality defense for a man she believed guilty of heinous crimes the same as breaking him out? The oath she’d been so proud of, defended so stridently to Stanton, reached out, wrapping her in strangling tentacles. She’d defended clients she believed guilty before, had even taken a couple to acquittal, but none of them had been anything like the man waiting for her in the meeting room at the end of the long, narrow hallway.

None of them scared the life out of her like Jeff Schaefer.

The walls, painted an institutional beige, pressed in, trying to squeeze the air from Jeff’s lungs. He hated being locked up like this, hated the loss of choices, freedoms, control. Didn’t they get it? Didn’t they know what a cop in jail faced, even under so-called maximum security? He shuddered, rubbing a thumb over the bruises at his wrists.

He didn’t deserve this, any of it. They couldn’t do this to him.