If You Hear Her: A Novel of Romantic Suspense (8 page)

“It’s not Mr. King, it’s Detective King and I’d appreciate some simple courtesy here.” Hell, he didn’t even need any kind of professional courtesy. He just wanted the man to do his job.

Prather cocked a brow. “Detective? With who?”

“Detective with the Commonwealth of Kentucky. I’m
on official leave from the state and I’m pretty damn sure that nobody went and changed the laws on trespassing in the six months since I went on leave.”

“On leave for …?”

Ezra narrowed his eyes. “I’m also pretty sure you don’t need to know that information to get the damn complaint filed against those kids.”

“Look, Detective.” Prather sighed and scratched his chin. “I know these kids don’t have any right going out on your land with their four-wheelers without your permission. Your grandma didn’t much care for it, either.” He lifted the paper that Ezra had given him and wiggled it. “It’s just that I think the owner of this particular four-wheeler is Brody Jennings.” He glanced at Ezra as he said the name.

“I get the feeling that name should mean something to me,” he bit off. He paused for a few seconds. “It doesn’t.”

“He’s Hank Jennings’s son—Hank is the mayor.”

“Then the mayor needs to get his kid under control.” Ezra didn’t care if the kid was a blood relative to the Queen of England. He could be the president of the United States for all Ezra cared—trespassing was still trespassing. Destruction of property was still destruction of property.

But Prather wasn’t paying attention. The deputy gazed off behind Ezra, a frown settling on his round, ruddy face.

Automatically, Ezra glanced over his shoulder, following the deputy’s gaze.

He almost swallowed his tongue when he saw her.

Shit
.

Lena Riddle.

It wasn’t possible, but she looked even better now than she had when he’d first seen her three weeks ago. That deep red hair, gleaming under the harsh fluorescent lights. The pale, pale skin. She wore no makeup, and her unpainted mouth was set in a grim, hard line.

Man, that mouth, so full and lush—he could almost
feel it under his all over again. Looking at her mouth had him all but drooling for another taste, just like looking at her body had him wanting to touch.

No. Forget want. Need. He needed to touch.

Shit.

What was she doing here?

He hissed out a breath between his teeth, seriously glad the deputy’s attention was focused elsewhere just then. Ezra was having trouble thinking in coherent terms—much less speaking in them.

One of the deputies approached her. She said something and the deputy absently gestured toward Prather.

Prather mumbled under his breath, his words too low to hear.

But it sounded distinctly irritated.

“Mr.… ah … Detective King, I think I’m needed, so if you’ll …”

Ezra dropped into a chair. “Oh, by all means. I can wait a few minutes. We can take care of that report after you’re done.”

He certainly wasn’t in any rush to leave—he wanted to sit there a few more minutes and just stare at her. Drink in his fill. No—not just.

What he really wanted to do was walk over there and tell her,
I’m sorry. Sorry I didn’t call. Can you give me a second chance? My head’s all screwed up, though, so I can’t promise I won’t do the same thing again …

“Fine. Fine,” Prather muttered. Resigned, the deputy edged around Ezra and started toward Lena. Perfectly content to stare at her, Ezra crossed his arms over his chest and waited.

As Prather drew even with her, Ezra continued to watch. The deputy had a genial smile on his face—the same smile he’d given Ezra. “Hope you’re not here about anything important, darlin’,” Ezra muttered. Gomer didn’t seem too keen on the idea of doing actual work.

What in the hell was she here for?
he wondered as concern started to edge in, replacing the surprise.

They were too far away for her to have heard him, but her head turned his way. Something low in his gut started to heat, but he tried to ignore it. She might have good ears, but she couldn’t know he was in here, not from that far away.

Whatever she said had Prather shaking his head and then he stopped, glanced back at Ezra. Ezra smiled and saluted the deputy. Slouching down in the chair, he straightened his right leg out in front of him, absently massaging his thigh.

Tired as he was, he wasn’t leaving just yet. He had a complaint to file … and he figured he really should talk to Lena. Maybe it was just divine intervention that had them both here on the same day.

Prather’s shoulders rose and fell in a shrug and then he shifted, reached over to take her arm. But the second his fingers touched her, Lena stepped back.

That was when he noticed the man with her.

About the same age as well, Ezra figured. Light brown hair, tanned. Jeans, a T-shirt.

Ezra watched as the man moved to her side and offered his arm. Ezra scowled as she accepted and through narrowed eyes, watched as the man guided Lena to the conference room. He dipped his head to murmur in her ear. She smiled and said something back.

Ezra clenched his jaw as the bastard reached up to touch her cheek, his fingers lingering on her soft skin before he moved away. He strode away, head bent low.

Ezra remained where he was, battling an irrational bout of jealousy. He didn’t like seeing her touching somebody else. Even if it made sense.

“Looker, ain’t she?”

Ezra glanced up, realized somebody had noticed his preoccupation. He spun the chair around and met a pair
of amused blue eyes. Cocking a brow, he asked, “Excuse me?”

The man gestured toward the woman. “Lena Riddle. She’s a real looker, huh?”

Ezra cocked a brow and studied the man in front of him, looked him over from head to toe, taking in the suit and tie. Pretty-boy lawyer—blond, blue eyes, a suit that cost more than some people made in a month.

Pretty-boy lawyer held out a hand and said, “You’re June King’s grandson, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.” He glanced at the offered hand before giving it a brief shake. Then he went back to rubbing his aching thigh. “Ezra King.”

The blond leaned against a desk. He rubbed his jaw absently and said, “Last I heard, June had two grandsons—one was a carpenter, one was a cop. You’re the cop.”

“If I hadn’t made you for a lawyer the second I saw you, I might be impressed.” Ezra looked away, his eyes seeking out Lena one more time.

The blond laughed. “Guilty.”

Somebody across the room called out a name and the blond pushed away from the desk. “About time you showed up, Les.” He gave Ezra a friendly smile and said, “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Remy Jennings, by the way.”

Jennings—

But the blond was already striding across the office, entering a different office. In that moment, Ezra was more interested in Miz Lena Riddle than finding out if the lawyer was any relation to Brody Jennings.

Just what had brought Lena in here on Sunday?

He’d get the answer to that question. He knew who to ask, how to ask. He’d just have to bide his time and he could do that.

He was a patient man … usually. Generally, he was also one who minded his own business, but five minutes later, both traits were being put to the test as voices rose
in the conference room. Prather’s ruddy complexion was now a florid shade of red. The deputy stormed to the door, skirting around Lena. The door to the conference room opened and the voices grew louder.

“I told you—I wasn’t asleep,” Lena said stiffly. “Can’t you at least listen to what happened?”

Deputy Prather, his tone condescending as hell, replied, “I’ve read Sergeant Jennings’s report, Ms. Riddle, and I understand what you believe happened. Sometimes we can have dreams. Very realistic dreams. Is it so hard to think you just had a nightmare?”

“Yes.”

“What about cats?”

“Cats?” Lena repeated, dumbly. What in the hell did cats have to do with this?

“Yes. There are an awful lot of strays, or farm cats. If there’s a female in season and a tom catches her scent, well …”

She narrowed her eyes as she realized what he was implying. She clenched her jaw and mentally counted to ten.
He’s doing his job. He’s exploring all the angles. He’s—

He’s being an asshole
.

An insulting asshole.

“Deputy Prather, I’m pretty sure a couple of cats aren’t going to be able to scream ‘Help me,’ even if the female is in heat, not even if she’s being gang-raped by every fucking tom in the county. I heard screams,” she snapped, not bothering to keep the scathing tone out of her voice. “I heard a woman screaming. I heard her. It wasn’t cats and I wasn’t dreaming.”

“Nobody else reported hearing anything.”

“I live five miles outside of town,” Lena bit off. “My nearest neighbor is a half mile down the road.”

“You are pretty isolated. Perhaps … well, I realize it could be pretty unnerving, living out there all by yourself. Especially at night. Have you ever considered getting a live-in companion?”

Oh, you son of a bitch
.

Lena realized she was clenching her hands, her nails biting into the palms of her hands so hard it hurt.

A live-in companion.

“Why in the hell would I be unnerved to live by myself?” She just barely managed to keep her voice level. Barely.

“It is rather isolated. Big old houses like that, they can be spooky.”

“Spooky.” Lena spat the word out like it tasted bad. “I lived in that house until I was eight. I moved back into it nine years ago and I know it pretty damn well. Why in the hell would I have moved back to it if I found it spooky? Do I look like a damn middle-school kid?”

“There’s no reason to be so upset, Ms. Riddle. I’m just trying to cover plausible scenarios here.”

“And you think it’s more plausible that I’m imagining things? That’s more believable than something really happening? And you think it’s plausible that I should be unnerved to live alone, or that I’d need assistance. Because I’m blind.” She paused and then asked pointedly, “Am I understanding you correctly?”

“It stands to reason.”

“Actually, no. It doesn’t. I’m blind, Deputy. I’m not helpless, nor am I an idiot. I’ve been living on my own for quite some time now and that doesn’t have one damn thing to do with what happened last night.” She paused and took a deep, slow breath. It didn’t do anything to ease the rage inside, the insult. She was so deeply insulted, so furious, she wanted to hit something. Wanted to scream.

But it wouldn’t do a bit of good and if she knew a damn thing about Prather’s type, he’d just use that as more of an excuse to write her off.

In his mind, he already had plenty of justification to do just that. She’d be damned if she gave him any more.

In a stiff voice, she said, “I’d like to speak with somebody else.”

“Ms. Riddle—”

“Somebody else,” she snapped.

Lena couldn’t fucking believe this. Couldn’t believe him.

“Ms. Riddle, you’re the one who came wanting to talk to me, remember. I’m sorry if you don’t like what I have to say.”

“You’re sorry?” she demanded. “You stand there and insult me, imply I don’t know what in the hell I’m talking about, that I’m some helpless, useless, handicapped female, but you’re sorry I don’t like what you have to say?”

By her side, Puck shifted, his big body tensing as he reacted to her distress. Forcing herself to relax, she rested a hand on his head.

“Ms. Riddle, I don’t know what exactly you want me to do. You say you heard screams, but Sergeant Jennings didn’t find anything, didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Nobody else has reported hearing anything unusual. So what exactly do you want me to do?”

Lena smiled sweetly. “I already told you. I want you to find me somebody else to talk to.” She had brushed up against a chair when she came into the office and now, she turned, took a couple of small, slow steps forward. When her toe bumped against the chair, she slid a hand down the arm and then settled down. Crossing her legs, she lifted her face to the deputy.

“I’d be more than happy to wait. Right here.”

For as long as it takes
.

“It’s Sunday, Ms. Riddle. We don’t have a slew of people around right now.”

“Are you telling me there’s nobody else to speak with?”

“What I’m telling you is that there’s not much else we can do at this point. There is only so much we can do when one woman claims to hear screaming, but nobody reports it, and our searches turn up nothing unusual.”

Puck rested his chin on her knee and she reached down, stroked his head. “As I said, I’m more than happy to wait right here, Deputy.”

The heels of his shoes thudded dully against the floor and then stopped. “Ms. Riddle, around here, we work. We don’t have time to chase down every little imagined problem, spend hours following up just because one person insists she heard something weird—”

“Actually, that kind of is your job.”

A new voice. A deep, low rumble of a voice—and very, very familiar. Pretty much the last voice she would have expected to hear. Narrowing her eyes, she turned her head toward the sound of the voice. “Ezra King.”

“Hello, Lena.”

Don’t you “Hello, Lena” me
, she almost snapped. She managed to bite it back simply because she didn’t want him to know she’d been looking forward to him calling her … like he’d said he would.

Bastard.

“You okay, Lena?”

“Oh, I’m just peachy,” she drawled, resisting the urge to cross her arms over her chest. Just the sound of that low, sexy drawl had her body doing bad, bad things—her nipples beaded up, her belly went hot and loose, and her heart was racing.

Sexy, so damned sexy, the sort of voice a woman
wants to hear murmuring in her ear during just the right moment—hell, with that kind of voice, any moment would be right.

Like a phone call.

A phone call would have been nice.

But he never called—

Focus!
she told herself as Prather said, “Mr. King, if you don’t mind, this doesn’t concern you, so if you’ll just wait for me where you were …”

“Actually, I do mind—and I’ve already pointed out, it’s not Mr. King, Prather. It’s Detective King. Detective. Got it? It sounds rather obvious to me that you have some sort of problem doing real police work, Prather, but I feel the need to point this out—chasing things down is kind of what us cops do.”