If You Hear Her: A Novel of Romantic Suspense (34 page)

Sighing, he brushed her hair back from her face. “You’re a smart-ass, Lena Riddle.”

“You bet.” Leaning in, she pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Relax. The Inn’s always got plenty of people around. And I’ll have Puck with me. It’s not likely anybody would mess with me with him around.”

S
CUFFING HIS SHOES ALONG THE SIDEWALK
, B
RODY
tried not to think about the argument with his dad and Uncle Remy.

He wanted a cigarette. Needed it.

But he couldn’t get his hands on any cigarettes and none of the guys who would usually buy them for him would do it now. Curling his lip, he wondered if his uncle had gotten ahold of them.

He might have thought it was his dad, but he knew better.

The only time his dad cared about him was when Brody was causing trouble.

Hunching his shoulders, he tried to block out the memory of their voices. His dad’s raised, Remy’s soft, and low, as though he realized it was all the more effective for not yelling.

The worst of it, though, was that look in his dad’s eyes. The look that made him wonder if maybe his dad did still care. That sad, heavy weight.

The disappointment.

Probably wished Brody had been the one to die instead of Mom.

Brody wished it, too.

Ever since she’d died, things had been different. Real different. His dad, man, he was hardly ever home. Gone all day, sometimes half the night. It was as though there were two strangers living in their house, not father and son. There were days when his dad couldn’t even look at him.

A familiar engine caught his ears and he looked, watched as an old white Ford work truck rumbled down Main Street.

Ezra King.

That ugly, dark rage took root inside him. Uncle Remy was good and pissed at him—all over a bunch of fucking flowers.

Bastard.

Paranoia was bad anywhere.

A drive into town proved that, actually, Ezra wasn’t as paranoid as he’d thought he was. He was actually doing just fine. These people? They were paranoid.

It was ugly. It was bad.

Bad for business … unless you owned a hardware store or sold guns.

It was bad for customer relations, as evidenced by the constant sniping that led to a catfight breaking out between two ladies at the Community Bank on Main Street. It might have been amusing, except the ladies were in their sixties and one of them had possibly broken her hip when she fell.

Paranoia, in under a week, had turned the small, tidy little town of Ash into a fricking nightmare.

Ezra climbed out of his truck and watched as eyes slid his way, danced off to the side the minute he made eye contact, only to lock on his back as he headed into the café.

It was Thursday afternoon and he was hungrier than hell. The café was his best bet, unless he wanted to trek
out to the Inn, and even though he and Lena had made up after their argument, he figured it would be better if she didn’t feel he was hanging around her every step.

He was tempted, though.

“… in jail already. Just don’t understand.”

“No proof. Everything has to have proof these days. A shame, that’s what it is.”

Ezra was careful not to turn his head and look, although he didn’t need to. He wasn’t hearing anything he hadn’t heard before over the past week.

Half the town was ready to lynch Law.

Even though he hadn’t been there.

Shit, what would they have done if Law had been around?

No fucking telling.

His appetite faded and a lead weight settled in his gut, but Ezra didn’t get up. Law wasn’t coming into town much and neither was Lena. Ezra wasn’t quite settled into town life just yet, so if he wanted to hear gossip, he had to do it the old-fashioned way.

Eavesdrop.

“What more proof does he need? They found the … the … body.”

“I heard she was violated.”

Ezra curled his lip. Violated. That was such a civilized word for what had been done to that girl. Prettied it up—sounded so much nicer than raped. Assaulted. Sodomized. Beaten.

“What can I get you?”

Lifting his head, he met the curious gaze of the teenaged waitress.

She paled, and backed up a step.

Taking a deep breath, he blanked his expression and gave her a weak, lopsided smile. “Sorry. I was distracted there. Just give me whatever is up for the lunch special.”

Not like it mattered. Whatever they served him, it
would taste like sawdust, it would go down like sawdust, and it would sit in his stomach like sawdust mixed with lead for the next few hours.

As she walked off, he tugged the phone off his belt and studied the time.

It was just after four.

He had a good four hours before he could head out to the Inn, and another six hours before he could hustle Lena out of there, take her back to her house and get her naked, get her into bed, and make love to her.

Wrapped in her arms, he could maybe get some sleep, forget about the ache in his head, the weight on his shoulders, and the unsolved mystery of a dead girl’s body.

A dead girl who still had no name.

“We have a name,” Nielson said quietly, addressing the few men he’d selected to help work this team. “There was some sort of computer error, otherwise we would have had a name before now—this woman’s been listed as a missing person for the past three weeks.”

He was keeping it close and tight—one screwup, that was all it would take for somebody to try to get this away from him. But the memory of that girl’s face …

Focus, man. Focus. The job
.

“We have a name,” he said again. “Jolene Hollister, aged twenty-nine. Engaged to be married. She disappeared twenty-one days ago from Cherokee Park in Louisville, Kentucky. She’d gone there to go running—her car, her purse, her keys were all found there by her fiancé, who reported her missing. I’m still trying to contact her next of kin. Her only family is a cousin—out of the country.”

He took a picture of Jolene from the folder he held and studied it.

Young. Pretty.

She looked like she had her whole life ahead of her.

She’d only had months.

Setting his jaw, he pinned the image of her smiling face up on the board, next to one of the images taken at the scene.

It was almost obscene, the difference between the two.

Obscene.

There was something else about her that bothered him, but he wasn’t quite ready to discuss that with anybody yet. Wasn’t sure if anybody besides him had noticed.

Turning back, he studied the faces of his men.

Sadly, one of those faces was Prather. He hadn’t had much choice—if he didn’t let Prather in, considering Prather had found her, it was going to cause problems.

Nielson just hoped letting the fool in didn’t prove to be more of a problem.

“So. Let’s see what we can do to help find some justice for Miss Jolene,” he said, turning away from the image of her smiling hazel eyes.

“Shit, business had better pick up,” Roz muttered.

Lena rotated her neck, wincing a little at the stiffness there. “It will. Give it a few more days.” She grimaced. “This is … unusual … for Ash. Only type of violence people see around here is the occasional barfight or a drunk-driving accident every now and then.”

“Don’t forget about Pete Hamilton.”

Lena scowled. “Shit. Why not? I say we throw that bastard in a dark hole filled with rats and forget completely about him. Until he’s nothing but bone.”

“Oh … gory image. Nice.”

“Sorry.” She finished wiping down the counter and said, “Bastards who knock their wives around set me off.” She washed her hands and turned back to face Roz. “I heard the daughter saw it all.”

“That’s what I heard, too. Word is Remy Jennings is
planning on putting that bastard behind bars for a good long while.”

A smile tugged at Lena’s lips. “If anybody can, Remy can do it.”

He was sharp, determined, and focused. She’d admired that about him, respected it.

“So … think he might have any idea on who else he might be putting behind bars?”

Roz’s attempt at subtlety fell flat. Shoving off the counter, Lena tucked her hands into her pockets and balled them into fists. “Meaning … who?”

Long, awkward, awful minutes of silence passed. “Lena, you know who.”

“You actually think Law could have killed somebody?”

“Well, no. But, Lena … the body was found at his house,” Roz said.

“Yeah, and he wasn’t there.”

“You’re sure about that?”

Lena opened her mouth, closed it because she wasn’t sure she could say anything coherent—except a long, nasty stream of swear words. Finally, she managed to say, “What do you mean, am I sure about that? Hell, yes I’m sure. He wasn’t even in town, and besides, it’s Law. He wouldn’t ever do that to a woman.”

“I don’t want to think he would, either,” Roz murmured.

But Lena heard the doubt. And it twisted her stomach and made her see red. “Then you don’t think it, Roz. If you believe in him, if he is your friend, it shouldn’t be that fucking hard.”

“Lena, he is, but …” Roz’s voice trailed off.

An awkward silence fell between them. As the knot in her gut twisted tighter and tighter, Lena finally shoved away from the counter. Under her breath, she muttered, “Fuck it.”

“Lena, I want to believe in him, too, you know. And if you’re sure he was out of town …”

“Roz? Do me a favor and be quiet,” Lena said. She made her way around the kitchen until she reached one of her cabinets. The rum she kept in there was generally just used for baking, but right then, she didn’t care. She pulled the bottle down and got herself a Diet Coke and some ice.

“Yes, Roz. I’m sure he was out of town, attending the funeral of a friend. He wasn’t anywhere in the state, so yes, I am sure.”

“Lena, don’t be mad. He’s my friend, too—”

“Don’t,” Lena said quietly, her voice trembling just a little with rage. She set the glass down. Carefully. Very carefully. Because she was tempted to slam it down, just to hear the glass shatter. Curling her fingers around the edge of the cool marble countertop, she said again, “Don’t, Roz. Don’t stand there and tell me that he’s your friend right after you ask me if I’m sure he didn’t brutally rape and murder some woman. You don’t have the right to call him a friend.”

Abruptly, she yanked her tunic off and grabbed her phone from her pocket. “I’m going home.” She dialed Ezra’s number, ignoring Roz’s stammering voice as he came on the line. “Hey, I’m done here. How soon can you be here?”

“Five minutes, actually. I was already on my way. I had planned to get a bite to eat.”

“I’ll make you something at my place,” Lena said. She had to get out of there before she exploded. All night, she thought, steaming. All night, she had felt some of the weird looks coming from people. Most of the people who worked at the Inn knew Law well enough to realize he wasn’t a psycho, even if they did think he was a little weird.

But Roz … hell, Law considered her a friend. And this was what she thought of him?

“Lena, it’s only eight-thirty. You can’t leave.”

“Want to bet?” she asked, baring her teeth in a sharp smile.

“Lena, honey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you …”

“Upset me?” Lena’s jaw dropped. Snapping it shut, she took a slow deep breath, tried to get her temper under control. “You think I’m upset? Roz, what I am is fucking
pissed
. Law’s being treated like a pariah in this town because some psychotic pervert decided to fuck around with him. You should know him better. You’re supposed to be his friend, but you actually think he could do that to a woman. You think he’s capable of that.”

“Lena, of course I don’t. I don’t really think he could kill somebody …”

Lena laughed. Even to her ears, the sound was cold, harsh, and brittle—as though it might break in her throat, shatter, cut, and choke her. “Shit, Roz. Almost anybody could kill under the right circumstances. Self-defense, to protect somebody you love? I’d certainly try. But what happened to that girl? That wasn’t killing.”

Ezra knew the details. He hadn’t shared them all, but she’d pried a few of them loose. Besides, the grief, the rage she heard in his voice? That spoke more than any words possibly could.

“What happened to that girl is something only a monster is capable of,” Lena said softly. “And you stand there and make implications that Law, one of my best friends, could be that monster. One of your friends. But you’re sorry.”

“Damn it, Lena. What else do you want me to say?” Roz shouted.

A warm, furry weight pressed against Lena’s legs and she reached down, rested a hand on Puck’s head. His big body was tense, and she could feel his unease. He growled softly and she whispered to him, “It’s okay, boy. Calm down. We’re just pissed off.” She couldn’t do this around
him—he was too sensitive to her moods and she didn’t need him developing a dislike for one of her best friends. Although damn it, right now,
she
had a dislike for her best friend.

“Nothing,” she said, focusing her attention back on Roz. “You don’t need to say anything.”

“Damn it, Lena,” Roz said.