Convictions (32 page)

She straightened and look around, hoping to catch a glimpse of Hank. For a moment, she ached to be with him, his arms around her and his body providing a comforting sanctuary. She didn't see him, and disappointment erased the expectancy, leaving her drained.

Olivia retrieved her cane from the vehicle. Although she could've done without it, she was tired enough that she didn't want to take the chance of stumbling.

As she plodded across the yard, she noticed the farrier in the corral. Fascinated by the contrast between Ted's brawniness and his gentle touch with the horses, she paused to simply observe him working. Her father had remarked one time that Ted cared more for horses than people. Olivia figured that was merely the nature of his job.

She wondered what Hank had learned from him. For a moment she considered wandering over to the farrier and talking to him herself. But then she wouldn't have the excuse to see Hank later... alone.

Expectancy buoyed her as she limped to the dining hall. As she approached the building, she took an appreciative sniff. Smiling to herself, she figured the men were glad to have Connie back. Olivia, herself, planned on eating dinner here rather than in the house. The lonely silence would only remind her of her father's absence.

The sound of Connie and Dawn's voices, along with the rattling of pans, brought a twinge of regret. She'd come to enjoy the cooking and the camaraderie she shared with Hank's sister. The job had been her stepping-stone out of the whirlpool of depression she'd been caught in. It was here her self-confidence had been given a chance to regroup and gain momentum as she'd experienced a renewed sense of accomplishment. However, after everything that had happened lately, she was grateful for Connie's return. And thankful Connie's mother was recovering from her stroke.

Connie caught sight of Olivia and hastily wiped her damp hands on the towel around her waist. "Sit down," she ordered, motioning to one of the chairs by the small kitchen table.

Olivia sank into it gratefully.

"How's your dad?" Dawn asked, her usually smooth brow creased in worry.

Olivia smiled. "He's doing fine. In fact, he wanted to come home today, but Dr. Norby vetoed it."

"What have they found?" Connie asked.

"The tests showed a nearly eighty percent blockage of a coronary artery. They're going to do an angioplasty tomorrow."

"So he's going to be all right?"

"Almost as good as new. Of course, he's going to have to change his eating habits. The dietician has already talked to him." Olivia rolled her eyes heavenward, remembering her father's opinion of the new diet. "He's also been warned to take it easy for a month or two. Dr. Norby doesn't want any undue stress placed on him until things have stabilized."

"I hope there aren't any more killings," Connie said, visibly shuddering. "That's hard enough on people with healthy hearts."

"When did the FBI agents leave?"

"Around three," Dawn replied.

Olivia nodded. She knew what would happen next. The agents would pull together their interview notes and the forensics evidence retrieved from the three murders and start putting the puzzle together. They would take their reports to their supervisor, and the decision would be made whether to file an arrest warrant or not with the current evidence. As much as she wanted to deny it, she suspected it was only a matter of time until Hank's name showed up on a warrant.

"It's almost time for the men to eat," Connie said to Dawn.

Olivia considered offering to help, but she didn't have the energy to get to her feet again. So she remained in the corner, out of the way, as Connie and Dawn completed the final preparations for the meal. Moments after they were done, the men arrived for dinner.

Tucked away in the kitchen, Olivia could see into the dining room. She found Hank and drank in her fill of his denim-clad slim hips and lean legs, and his soft chambray-covered shoulders and chest. She recalled all too well what the well-worn jeans and shirt hid. But more importantly, she remembered the tenderness veiled behind his cool veneer. That was the man she was fast losing her heart to, despite her inability to set aside the pesky doubts.

A plate was placed in front of her, and she glanced up to see Connie's concerned face.

"Eat," Connie said, leaving no room for argument.

Olivia gave in gracefully, since she was hungry. After cleaning her plate and emptying her glass of milk, she glanced out into the dining room to see most of the men had finished their meal. A few sat around drinking coffee and talking, but the majority left, probably to either watch TV or use one of the two computers in the bunkhouse. Hank was one of those who stayed, although he sat back, not participating in the conversations, only listening with his head cocked to the side.

She had to set up a meeting time tonight so he could tell her what he learned from Ted. The anticipation of being close to him, if only just to talk, clashed with unwanted wariness. She didn't believe he killed the two women—
couldn't
believe it. However, Mantle was another matter. That Hank hated him was obvious, and his fingerprints on the leather strap were damning. But would he go so far as to murder him? Would he risk his chance of freedom?

"Do you need some help?" Olivia asked Connie and Dawn.

"No. Go to the house and rest," Connie replied with a shooing motion.

Olivia smiled and pushed to her feet. "Thanks. I'll see you tomorrow." She glanced at Dawn. "I'll see you later in the house."

There were only a handful of men remaining when Olivia ventured into the dining room area. Hank did a quick double take. Obviously, he hadn't realized she was in the kitchen. He stood as she approached the table.

"You're using your cane again." His eyes revealed the concern that was absent form his voice.

"Been a hell of a day," she said with a tiny shrug. "Walk me to the house?"

"Sure," he said offhandedly.

Olivia contemplated his coolness and wondered if it was because of their shadow, the man Buck had assigned to watch Hank. Or if it was caused by the lingering hurt she caused when she'd been unable to give him her total trust.

Unwilling to upset their precarious truce, she remained silent as they strolled to the house in the cooling evening air. He brushed her arm with his, and awareness shot through her. Hyperaware of his proximity, Olivia tried to distract her growing arousal. But flashes of their lovemaking made it impossible to ignore the liquid heat spreading through her veins.

He walked up the porch steps behind her as Olivia attempted to cool her stampeding desire. She glanced into the lengthening shadows and couldn't help but see Hank's "escort."

"We need to talk." Hank kept his voice low.

Olivia nodded. "How about tonight?"

Hank eyed her. "Are you suggesting I lose my guard and meet you?"

She didn't know if the shivers slaloming down her spine were caused by anticipation or fear. "That would be an accurate assessment."

His lips quirked upward in a crooked grin. "Spoken like a true lawyer." He glanced away. "The hay shed at midnight?"

Her heart warred with her mind. Was she naive enough to meet him alone in the middle of the night? Of course, she'd been alone with him before—numerous times—and he'd treated her with respect and gentleness. Besides, the temptation to be near him and free of prying gazes was too much to resist.

She nodded. "All right. I'll be mere."

He gazed at her a long moment, as if he'd witnessed her internal debate. "Don't oversleep." Then he spun around and strode away without looking back.

Olivia sighed and entered the house. She might as well try to catch a nap before midnight.

The phone rang, and she hobbled over to answer it. "Hello."

"Ms. Kincaid, it's Sheriff Jordan."

Her stomach dropped. Had he learned something more about the murders? "Good evening, Sheriff."

"How's your father?"

"Fine. They've decided to do an angioplasty."

"When?"

"Tomorrow." Olivia suspected her father's health wasn't his chief reason for calling. "How is the investigation coming?"

A long pause increased Olivia's apprehension.

"The FBI hasn't made any decisions regarding the two women's deaths," he replied as if picking his words carefully.

"I thought all the victims were murdered by the same person."

"That might be so, but there isn't enough to arrest anyone for all three."

Olivia's hand tightened around the phone, and she closed her eyes. "They're going to arrest Hank for killing Mantle, aren't they?"

"Not exactly.
I'm
the one who has to serve the warrant."

Olivia stumbled back and dropped into a chair. She forced herself to think like a lawyer rather than a lover. "They're treating Mantle's death as a separate crime, which takes it out of federal jurisdiction."

"That's right." Jordan paused. "I'm sorry, Olivia."

She resisted the urge to lash out at the messenger. "I am, too. Will you be here tonight to pick him up?"

"Actually, since no one is around to sign the warrant, I'll have to wait until morning."

Olivia sat up straight. Sheriff Jordan could easily have gotten the needed signature that night, but he was giving Hank one more night of freedom. "Thank you," she said quietly.

"To be honest, I think he's innocent."

"What changed your mind?"

"I finally started listening to my gut." There was a reluctant smile in his voice. "I'm trusting you to make sure he's still there in the morning, Olivia."

"He will be," she promised. "And I want to warn you, he's already retained a lawyer."

There was a second of silence, then a rueful chuckle. "Switching teams?"

Olivia thought about that a moment, then shook her head. "No. I've always been on the side of justice."

"You have a lot of your father in you. I'll see you in the morning."

"Good night," Olivia said and punched the Off button.

She laid the phone on the counter and massaged her temples. Sheriff Jordan had put his job on the line to postpone Hank's return to jail, as well as warning her of the impending arrest. In fact, it seemed she and the sheriff had switched roles. He was now certain of Hank's innocence, and she was the one with doubts. But not enough to miss her midnight assignation with Hank.

After taking some aspirin, she went to lie down. Despite the melange of thoughts racing through her mind, she drifted off to sleep.

Hank knew the door would be locked, just like last night. He suspected Olivia didn't realize Buck was locking the prisoners in their barracks overnight. That way the guards could get some rest, too.

He rose from his bed with a silent, fluid motion. Carrying his boots, he tiptoed to the door and tried the knob, although he'd heard Buck turn the key in it earlier. Definitely locked. Setting down his boots, he reached into his pocket and withdrew two pieces of wire. He squatted down and eased one. wire into the keyhole, then the other one.

When one of his prison mates had offered to show him how to pick a lock, Hank had gone along with him just to kill some time. He never thought he'd be using the skill.

Five minutes later he heard the distinct click of the lock disengaging. He grasped the knob, and this time it turned easily in his hand. With muffled footsteps, he slipped out and closed the door behind him. He tugged on his boots and kept to the shadows as he made his way to the hay shed.

He entered it warily. Not that he expected Olivia to set a trap for him, but her inability to trust him made him cautious.

Empty silence greeted him, as well as the near blackness of the shed's interior. Moonlight shone in through two windows, and Hank's eyes adjusted enough that he could make out the hay tiers.

"Olivia," he called out softly.

There was no answer. Obviously, he'd arrived before her. Remembering what happened to Mantle two nights ago, Hank cursed himself for agreeing to meet Olivia here in the dead of the night. What if the killer was out there, waiting for another unsuspecting victim?

He slipped across the yard and found a dark corner by the barn, where he could see the front door of the house clearly. He'd ensure that no harm came to Olivia.

Leaning against the barn, he crossed his arms and ankles and breathed in a slow, deep rhythm to calm his racing nerves. The thought of being alone with Olivia sent an arrow of heat straight south of his belt buckle. He'd spent a lot of time thinking about their lovemaking. And every time he did, his body reacted. It was like some damned Pavlovian response. Hell, maybe all those years in the pen had made him more animal than human.

No. He didn't buy that. Being honest with himself, he admitted his lust for Olivia, but there was much more to it than animalistic urges. When he'd walked her to the house earlier that night, he'd wanted nothing more than to embrace her. Of course, if he could've gotten a kiss out of the deal, he wouldn't have refused. Instead, she'd kept her arms wrapped around herself like she'd done when he first met her. She was protecting herself... from him.

He had to find the real murderer if not for any other reason than to get Olivia to trust him again. Reviewing what he'd heard between the men and what Ted had told him, Hank waited for Olivia to come out of the house.

Some minutes later, the door opened. He straightened and watched Olivia step onto the porch. Her motions were tentative, and she lifted her head, looking around like a wary, wild creature. How much courage did it take for her to step into the darkness after her assault? Especially after the murders that had occurred here?

He tried to take a deep breath, but his chest felt tight. She was doing this for
him
—to help
him.
It was the strength of her convictions, of believing in right and wrong... and justice.

Not wanting to frighten her, he moved out of the shadows and called out softly, "Olivia."

Her head came up sharply. "Hank?"

"Yes. Come on."

She approached him without hesitation, and he took her hand in his. It was cool and dry. Without speaking, he led her to the hay shed, to where some bales were stacked at just the right level to sit comfortably. She lowered herself to one, and he sat down beside her, leaving about a foot between them.