Love to Believe: Fireflies ~ Book 2 (31 page)

His arm came back and he swung the heavy flashlight, and the resultant smashing sound and thump against her vehicle had her flinging the door open and jumping from the driver’s seat.

“What the hell, Artie?” Rebecca stood beside the open door, arms akimbo, eyes flashing. “Since when does the sheriff’s department go around busting taillights?”

“Is that what you think happened here, Ms. Walker?” He clipped the flashlight onto his duty belt and approached her, one hand on his holstered weapon.

Rebecca blew out a sigh and knew from the heat bursting up her neck to her face like a tsunami that her skin splotches had erupted. “Are you the asshole who’s been watching my house? Have you added stalking to your list of things to do now?”

His answering smirk provided the answer. “I understand you carry a Smith & Wesson M&P Shield. You have that weapon with you today?”

Rebecca’s nostrils flared and she drew a calming breath, but her voice shook with anger. “I have a permit to carry concealed, which I’m sure you already know. But no, I’m not carrying today. My gun’s locked up at home.”

“I need to search your vee-hicle.”

“I need a winning lottery ticket. Looks like we’re both destined for disappointment.”

“Move aside, Ms. Walker.” Brewster took a step toward the car, and Rebecca positioned herself in front of the open door.

“Unless you have a warrant, officer, I’m declining your request. And if you feel you have just cause to do a search, then I want your supervisor present, so make the call and invite him to come on. And since you just smashed my taillight, I’m going to make a formal complaint to the sheriff’s department.”

His lips curved in a slow smile as he stepped closer. “You think I give a flying fuck about a complaint? It’s my word against yours, and honey I’m the one with the badge.” He moved back by a margin and rolled his gaze over her body. “You exited your vee-hicle without cause, you’ve refused to show me your concealed weapon, and I’m feeling threatened by your aggressive demeanor, Ms. Walker. Put your hands against the car where I can see them.”

Rebecca’s eyes shot fire. “Screw you, Artie. Go bully someone else.”

She made a move to return to her car and knew regret for underestimating him in the next split second when he manhandled her into position against the Civic, using the weight of his body to hold her still. His duty belt pressed into her back, and his body held her immobile.

“Don’t make this worse than it has to be, Rebecca.” His hot breath blasted against the skin of her cheek and reeked of tobacco. “Just let me do my job, and we’ll be through here.”

Rebecca considered her options. She could fight him, and probably get herself arrested--he said/she said, and who knew how that would turn out?--or she could calm down, let him play cops and robbers for five minutes, and then be on her way.

“Good girl,” he said, when her body relaxed. “Good girl.” He breathed hot and heavy against her cheek. “Forgot to tell you I found your cat. You should take better care. Old boy was confused, just wandering up the sidewalk.”

Rebecca’s eyes widened and a shudder rolled through her. Anger and disbelief pooled in the pit of her stomach. “You crazy sonofabitch. You took my cat? Why would you do that?”

“What’s the matter? He didn’t find his way home from where I dumped him?” His laugh snorted out of his nose. “I thought cats had some sorta sixth sense.”

Rebecca’s stomach pitched, and she thought it would serve him right if she threw up. But no, the medicine she’d taken worked as advertised. The threat of hurling chunks didn’t materialize.

She trembled with roiling fury and the effort to be still, expecting him to move away, give her space, since she cooperated. When his hands slid up her rib cage and over her breasts, she bucked and let out a howl of outrage which earned her another push against the car. His hands, tight on her wrists now, pressed her arms up and against the Civic’s roof.

Rebecca’s jaw tightened and she reined her anger into steady control. Enough playing nice. This asshole was going down.

Man up. Focus. Position.

“You’re hurting me,” she whined. “Please, Artie, give me some breathing room. I won’t fight you. You’re too strong. You can do whatever you want. Just, please, back off a little. I can’t breathe.”

“Keep your hands against the vee-hicle.” He released his hold when she nodded.

He rubbed his groin against her backside and his hands skimmed her breasts, pausing for another slow squeeze, then he eased away and took a step back. Rebecca turned her head farther to the left to gauge his position and swung out with her left arm flexed as she spun. The solid point of her left elbow connected to his neck just below his ear, a strike to his carotid artery that would have felled him had she enough space to land the blow with the full force of her forearm. Still, she caught him by surprise. He stumbled back, howling in pain and outrage. In a fluid move she completed her spin and slammed her right fist with might, landing a blow against the side of his nose just below his eye. Blood erupted and gushed from his nostrils. In less than a second, she delivered a second blow to his nose on contralateral side with her opposite fist.

Doubled over, Brewster screamed, “Goddamn bitch! You broke my fucking nose!”

Rebecca credited him for fortitude but she wanted him on the ground, so she leveled him with a solid kick to the balls.

He dropped to the pavement, curled up like a boiled shrimp. His nose gushed blood and tears streamed from his eyes.

“That’s for Mr. Peabody, you sonofabitch.” Rebecca stared down at him, arms akimbo. “You’re lucky I’m so out of practice and my aim was off, you bastard. Two years ago I’d have put you down with the first blow.”

Blood continued to flow from his nose, and his eyes had begun to swell, but he managed to activate the radio mic clipped to his collar. “Officer down!” he choked out. “Officer down, requires assistance--”

Rebecca’s smugness evaporated. This wouldn’t end well. She dropped to the driver’s seat of her car and fumbled in her purse for her cell phone. Assailed now by uncontrollable shaking, she dialed the one person she believed might be able to get her out of this mess.

***

Sean unlocked the front door and stepped into the foyer with Belle. He commanded her to sit and shut the door before unclipping her leash. She lay down and rolled onto her back, legs splayed, tail swishing, eyes warm and gooey with adoration.

Sean squatted to remove the lead and provided the belly rub she craved, told her she was a pain in the ass, and headed for the kitchen. Belle raced around him to sit in front of the pantry door, guarding the location of her dog food before he even rounded the corner.

Or possibly acting as a marker to ensure he remembered the location of her dinner.

He loosened his tie, tossed his suit jacket over the nearest chair, and sorted through his mail, carried in earlier by his cleaning lady. Junk mail, a few bills, a thank you card from the lovely and allergy-ridden Emma--he could’ve tapped that and was probably an idiot for not taking advantage of the situation--and a reminder card from his internist that his annual physical was due.
Great. A voluntary prostate check. Because self-imposed celibacy isn’t torture enough.

His cell phone rang and, tired and hungry, he wished he could ignore it even as he dug the phone from his pants pocket and answered without bothering to check the caller ID. It didn’t matter who, he’d answer it regardless. He’d ignored a call once years ago, and the ensuing regret had created his only compulsive obsession. If his phone rang, no matter what time of the day or night, he answered it. Always.

“Sean?”

Rebecca’s voice poleaxed him and a powerful wave of awareness washed over him, several things manifesting at once: She had the power to slay him with a single word, she sounded shaken and scared, and this must be serious because she hadn’t initiated contact with him even once since their split. A quick flash of their brief, but passionate, coming together at the gazebo stabbed into his gut, as did her statement before she retreated. ‘
I can’t do this
,’ she’d said, and he assumed she meant she couldn’t cheat on Nate. Which didn’t negate the fact that she’d been as involved in the kiss as Sean had been, but, he reminded himself for the thousandth time, just because he and Rebecca shared history and a powerful physical attraction didn’t mean that Nate hadn’t managed to win her heart, or at the very least, her loyalty. In either case, she didn’t belong to Sean. He needed to remember that.

“Sean? Are you there?”

“You sound upset.” He heard sirens through the phone and his heart damn near stopped beating as icy fear sluiced over him. “Are you okay? Have you been in an accident?”

“No, but I need you, Sean.”

His heart started pumping again and relief flooded through him. “Where are you, sweetheart? I’ll be right there.”

“No, no. Its--I need you, but I’m not asking--I need a lawyer, Sean. I’m about to be arrested.”

Comprehension doused him like an unexpected cold shower. She didn’t need
him
, she needed his legal expertise.
Ouch.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Arrested for what?”

“Resisting arrest and assaulting a police officer.”

A surprised laugh escaped him. “Are you serious?”

“Can I count on you or not?”

“Jesus, yes. Of course. Are you still at the scene of the...uh...crime?”

“It’s not funny, Sean.”

“I’m not laughing.”

“The paramedics just showed up and there are three--no, five, now--cop cars that pulled in.”

A chunk of the sheriff’s department, he thought, minus the sheriff himself. Bright Hills, too small to warrant its own police department, made use of the Truheart County Sheriff’s Department when necessary, and this was apparently one of those times.

Sean prioritized his thoughts. “Okay, listen to me. You don’t talk to anyone, and you don’t answer any questions. Do you understand? From now until you talk to me again you only know four words: I want my lawyer. Don’t say anything else, don’t answer any questions, and I don’t care who’s doing the asking. If you’re asked if you want to use the bathroom, your answer is, I want my lawyer.”

“Oh, thank god. Nate just got here.”

“Rebecca, listen to me. You can’t even talk to Nate. I know he’s your--” Sean scrambled for the words, but
goddammit
, they were hard to say out loud. His chest tightened and his throat constricted around the words. “I know you and Nate are intimate,” he managed, “but he’s a cop. What you tell him isn’t privileged and, aside from your own situation, you could compromise him. Don’t put him in a position of choosing sides.”

“I would never do that.”

“Good. So what are you going to say?”

“I want my lawyer, no matter who I’m talking to. I get it. What’s going to happen to me?”

“They’ll bring you in for questioning and booking, but I’m on my way right now. I’ll talk to Earl--Sheriff Brannigan--when I get to the sheriff’s department. I want to talk to you first, before they question you or charge you with anything. It’s going to be okay, Rebecca. We’ll get it sorted out.”

“I know. I trust you.”

That didn’t come close to what he wished he could hear from her lips, but under the circumstances, it would have to do.

Sean made it to the sheriff’s department in record time and blew through the double glass doors, a man on a mission.

“Well, how do, Sean? What are you doin’ in such a rush? You lookin’ for Earl?”

Sean slowed his pace with an effort and directed the weight of his attention at the woman sitting at the scraped-up reception desk, circa 1970-something. Her pale hair, combed away from her round face into a thin ponytail, skimmed her shoulders, and she wore the look of a middle school teacher yearning for summer break in the middle of January.

“Hey, there, Marybeth. You look pretty as a daisy as usual, no small feat in this harsh lighting and at the wrong end of the day.”

“You’re so full of shit,” Marybeth said with a bright smile, “but it’s amazin’ how pretty it sounds comin’ out your sweet mouth. You must be here about the Rebecca Walker incident.”

Sean leaned on the edge of her desk. “You are both beautiful and smart. You have any information to share before I go ask Earl for a favor on behalf of my client?”

“Well--” She leaned forward and dropped her voice to a church whisper. “--he’s on a diet, so don’t be pokin’ at him about his weight. And he’s late for his daughter’s ballet recital because of this dust-up and his wife is pissed, so whatever you’re askin’, make sure it will help him get outta here in a hurry.” She scooted her chair a few feet so she could see down the hall to the sheriff’s private office, and then she scooted back, her piano-leg calves flexing from the strain. “And remind him that Big Will Walker backed him in the last election. He’s runnin’ for county sheriff again next year and he ain’t gonna piss off Big Will for nuthin’.’Course, our sheriff’s a fine and honest lawman before anything else, so if Rebecca done what I heard she done, Earl may not be able to help much, sheriff or no.”

“What, exactly, have you heard?”

Marybeth’s eyes rounded and her cheeks flushed with excitement. “That she kicked Artie Brewster’s sorry redneck ass, that’s what. Broke his nose and kicked his balls so far up his throat they’re hanging out his nostrils.” Dimples appeared in her cheeks.

Sean swallowed a grimace. “Look the other way, beautiful, so we can both honestly tell Earl you didn’t see me go down the hall to his office. I don’t want to get you in trouble for letting me through without warning him.”

“You’re such a sweet talker, Sean Kinkaid. Too bad I’m already happily married.”

Sean winked at her and smiled as she presented him with her back.

Sean rapped on the office door and stepped in without waiting for an invitation. Earl Brannigan, Sheriff of Truheart County for twenty years and counting, stood at the window peering into the parking lot while dumping into his hand an unknown number of white pills from a bottle labeled “antacids.” He tossed the tablets into his mouth and chewed, pounded his chest with his fist, and belched.