If You Hear Her: A Novel of Romantic Suspense (14 page)

“Can’t give you any points for subtlety—you don’t even make an attempt,” he said.

Lena lifted a brow. “I don’t see the need to pretend. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Not talking about it doesn’t solve the problem.”

“Talking about it doesn’t solve it, either,” she snapped. Then she sighed, a soft, weary sound.

Ezra watched as she lifted a slender hand, rubbed at her temple. Then she lowered it to the table, curled it into a fist. A tight, white-knuckled fist. “I’m sorry. Look, I just don’t want to talk about this. I really, really don’t.”

“I can understand that.” He could—and he did. But his spine was itching. She hadn’t wanted to talk to him yesterday at the sheriff’s office, but that hadn’t kept him from asking around.

He knew how to ask around, and what little he’d picked up was enough to leave his skin crawling. That, combined with the fear he’d glimpsed on her face, the fear and the worry, added up to one thing in his mind: bad news.

Screaming—in the dead of night.

Prather might want to write her off, but Ezra wasn’t about to do the same.

Not with this burn in his gut. As much as he’d like to believe it was just indigestion, he knew better. His instincts might have let him down a time or two in the past, but he knew to listen when they were singing like this.

Something was going on.

Leaning forward, he covered her fisted hand with his. “You don’t want to talk about it. I get that, I really do. But think about it—is hiding from it the smartest thing to do?”

“So what can I do?” Her mouth twisted in a scowl. “I already called the police and a fat lot of good that did. What more can I do?”

Rubbing his thumb along the back of her clenched fist, he said, “Well, you could start by telling me what you told the county sheriff. Tell me what happened.”

“Why?” she asked quietly. “What’s the point? You said it yourself, you work for the state.”

“Yeah, but I’m still a cop. And unlike that prick, Prather, I don’t always have my head up my ass—I know how to listen. Maybe … well, maybe I’ll think of something they didn’t.”

“Like what?” she muttered. She tugged her hand away from his.

The loss of contact left him with a weird ache inside, one he couldn’t entirely explain. He was prepared for her to tell him to just let it go, tried to find another argument to convince her.

But to his surprise, she just sighed and said, “There’s not that much to tell, Ezra. I was sleeping. It was late. Something woke me up and it took me a minute to figure out what it was. But it was screaming. A woman. She was screaming for help. I heard her call out four more times. And then … nothing.”

“Where did you hear her?”

“In the woods, off to the west of my house. Probably in a hundred feet or so. It couldn’t have been too far, or I wouldn’t have heard her.” A faint smile curled her lips and she said, “I can hear well enough, but not that well.”

“Any idea if she sounded young? Old?”

“I … don’t know. A woman, not a kid. But she could have been in her twenties, her thirties, forties … she wasn’t old as in needing a walker old, but for all I know she was in her fifties or sixties. I just don’t know.” She shook her head. “All I can say for sure is that she sounded … terrified. Desperate.” She averted her face and he watched her throat work as she swallowed. “Completely terrified.”

When she faced him again, she had a cocky, somewhat forced smile in place. “So, Sherlock, any brilliant deductions?”

“Not just yet, Watson.”

Roz leaned over and wrapped an arm around Lena’s shoulders. “Lena, sweetie, are you sure you don’t want to come stay at the house for a while? Man, I’m scared just thinking about it.”

“I’m sure.” Lena reached up and patted Roz’s hand. “But thanks.”

She reached for her coffee, and closed her hands around it, lifting it slowly to her lips. “Sergeant Jennings came back out, took a look around, but he didn’t find anything,” she said.

“Jennings?”

“Yes. He’s with the sheriff’s department,” she answered. “He wanted to take a look at the woods when he had some light, but he couldn’t find anything.”

“Hmmm. Actually …” Ezra reached up and scratched his chin.
What in the hell are you doing?
“I was kind of thinking of coming by your place. Having a look around myself.”

I’m trying to be a friend. Remember?

Then he grimaced and glanced out the window at the deluge. “Not that I expect I’ll find a whole hell of a lot with all this rain. But still. A look around in the daylight, even after a downpour like this, who knows … maybe I’ll see something they missed.”

“Why do you think you’ll find something when the deputies didn’t?”

“Sometimes people don’t see things because they don’t expect to see things,” he said, shrugging.

For a long, quiet moment, Lena said nothing. Then slowly, she lowered her coffee cup to the table. “You believe me.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

She swallowed, shook her head. “I …” Licking her lips, she took a deep breath and murmured, “It’s just that … well, Sergeant Jennings listened, but I’m not all that sure he believes what I’m saying. I think he believes
I
believe but … that’s not the same thing as
believing
me. And Prather sure as hell didn’t believe me. Why do you?”

Reaching out, he caught one of her hands and this time, when she tried to tug it free, he wouldn’t let her. “Lena, you just don’t strike me as the type to dream up something like this, and you definitely aren’t the sort to make up something like this. If you say you heard a woman screaming, then that’s exactly what I think happened.”

A slow, shaky smile curled her lips. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

In fact, he was pretty damn sure of it.

Maybe it was because of the tight, strained look on her face as she’d been talking to Deputy Dickhead Prather.

Maybe it was the grim, worried look on her face.

Or maybe it was because he could all but feel something buzzing inside him.

He didn’t know, didn’t entirely care just yet.

But something was going on.

He wouldn’t be much of a cop if he didn’t listen to his gut.

He wouldn’t be much of a man, if he could look at Lena’s tight, drawn face and not feel … something.

Luck was with them. By the time Law was done at the post office, the rain had stopped. He arrived back at the café just as Ezra had finished eating. The two men didn’t speak more than three words to each other, but that didn’t surprise her, especially not on Law’s part.

“What do you think about him?” Lena asked as she walked with Law back to his car.

“Who?”

She frowned. He sounded … irritated. “Ezra.”

“Beats me. Just met the guy. Didn’t hang for the breakfast chat, either.”

Sighing, Lena said, “Law, you notice people. You notice things about people that people probably don’t even notice about themselves. Geez, you probably know what color socks our waitress had on. Wouldn’t surprise me if you’d noticed if she was wearing a thong or regular panties.”

A few seconds of silence passed and then Law sighed. “Actually, she wasn’t wearing either, I don’t think.”

“Eww. Okay, that was a little TMI, buddy.” She jabbed at his side with her elbow.

He grunted as her elbow bounced off—it was a lot like she’d bumped into a wall.

“He limps when he walks,” Law said. “Did something to his right leg. Noticed him rubbing it a few times. Looks like he notices just about every damn thing, too. Wouldn’t surprise me if he was a cop.”

“Hah. See? You do notice things. He is a cop—he’s with the state police. Maybe you should be a cop.”

“Hell, no. The pay sucks and the hours aren’t any better.” Law was quiet for a few seconds and then he added, “He was checking you out. Just you. Watches you, like he doesn’t really see anything else, even though you can tell he sees everything.”

“What do you mean … like he was checking me out?”

“Shit, Lena. What in the hell do you think?” Hot temper edged his words, and under her hand, the muscles of his arm were tense and tight.

“What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” Law stopped in his tracks and turned to stare at her. There was barely an inch’s difference in their height and he was so close, he could see his face
reflected in the dark surface of her shaded lenses. She rarely took them off, even around him.

One of her best friends.

Fuck, that hurt.

Five years and she still hid herself from him.

Five years and he’d been half in love with her the entire time. She was clueless about it, too. So fucking clueless, as evidenced by the fact that she was standing there with a mixture of temper, hurt, and concern on her pretty face as she tried to figure out what the hell his problem was.

His problem. What would she do if he showed her just what his problem was? If he tried to kiss her?

Shit, he was too messed up to do this today. Worried about Lena, worried about Hope. Half sick with jealousy at what he was hearing in Lena’s voice when she mentioned that guy. Half sick with fear over how long it was taking Hope to get here.

Get it together
, he told himself. He had to get it together, or just outright tell Lena what his problem was—or at least part of what his problem was, and wouldn’t that go over swimmingly?

You. It’s you. I’m shit-faced in love with you, and you can’t even see it and you’re wanting me to give you details about some other guy who’s got a thing for you … and you’ve got a thing for him, too
.

He could tell. He’d seen it on her face.

Yeah, he noticed things, all right.

Reaching up, he cupped her cheek in his hand, brushed his thumb over her silken skin. So soft. So strong.

I’m not ever going to have a chance with you, am I?
he thought miserably.

She reached up, curled a hand around his wrist. “Law, what’s going on? Are you okay?”

“Just dandy,” he muttered, his voice hoarse. No. He
wouldn’t have a chance with her, even if he could ever work up the courage to try. She wasn’t into him, and he wasn’t about to ruin a friendship. Wasn’t about to strain a friendship. Leaning in, he pressed his lips to her brow. “Come on. Let’s get back to the car before the rain starts back up.”

They finished the walk to the car in silence. He opened the door for her and waited until Puck had jumped inside. But when Lena would have climbed in, he caught her arm. “I guess I’m just worried about this mess you’ve got going on. Reckon the last thing I want to think about is you hooking up with some strange guy.”

An amused grin on her lips, she said, “He’s June King’s grandson, Law. It’s not like he just dropped down out of nowhere. I don’t exactly know him, but people around here do. And he’s a cop.”

Snorting, Law said, “You know, I realize this ‘He’s June King’s grandson’ is kind of like some sort of written seal of approval for some people, but you’re forgetting something. I never really got to know June. Besides, even if she was a great lady—and yes, I’ve heard she was a great lady—but even if she was, that doesn’t automatically mean her grandkids are all great by default.”

“You’re such an optimist,” Lena said, grinning. “I really, really admire your upbeat, positive outlook on life and mankind.” The humor on her face faded and she leaned back against the car, sighing. “Besides, there’s nothing there. We … ah, actually had dinner a few weeks ago. He was going to call me, changed his mind. We’re friends.”

He heard the mocking sarcasm in her voice, thick and heavy, but it didn’t quite hide the disappointment.

“Shit, Lena, if that guy wants to be just friends, then I’m a chorus line dancer.”

“Really? Do you wax?” A reluctant smile curled her lips. “Look, we’re just friends. I’d thought there was
something there, but we’ve talked, and we’re just going to be friends.”

This was killing him. Seriously. Law figured it might be less painful just to ram his head against a brick wall until he either passed out or drew blood … or both. “Hell, maybe he wants to be your friend, but it’s not just that.”

“You don’t like him.”

He just barely managed to keep from swearing. Just barely managed to keep from snarling. Just barely managed to keep from punching something—like the nearby metal light post. Instead, he jammed his hands into his pockets and said, “I don’t know him one way or the other—can’t say if I like him or not.”

Her shoulders slumped.

Law’s heart squeezed inside his chest and he blew out a breath. Closing his eyes, he muttered to himself, “I’m going to so fucking regret this.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Just muttering to myself.” Rubbing the back of his neck, he shifted so he could stand next to her, leaning against the car, their shoulders almost touching.

At that moment, a fat drop of rain fell down and plopped right on his nose. It was followed closely by another. The coward in him wanted to beg off—they could get in the car, be nice and dry—have this conversation later. Never sounded good.

“So the fuck what if he’s saying he just wants to be friends? You might not be able to see the way he’s looking at you, Lena, but I do and trust me, honey, it’s not the same look you give your friends.” He took a deep breath, blew it out. “If he’s pulling back, maybe he just needs some space, maybe he needs his head examined, I don’t know. But he’s not looking for a fishing buddy, I promise you that.”

Her brow creased and she scowled. “So … what, you think I should ask him out? Just leave it alone?”

“Hell, I don’t know. Look, I don’t know him. But he seems like a pretty stand-up guy. If that’s what you’re wanting to know.”

She leaned against his arm. “Stand-up, huh? Like a comedian act?”

“Har-har.” He reached over and tugged on a lock of her thick, gleaming hair. “I don’t know if this little town is big enough for two stand-up acts.”

She was smiling again.

The knot in his chest eased a little and he figured it was probably worth it. Hell, he’d already accepted the fact that she wasn’t ever going to be interested in him anyway, right?

“So he seems pretty decent, you think?”

“Yeah.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and hugged her. “But I think you’d already figured that much out or you wouldn’t be interested in him. So why are you giving me the third degree? What does it matter what I think?”