The Homecoming (20 page)

“Just do her,” Jake said. “So we can all get on with the damn mission.”

“Which would be?” Sax tried yet again to get one of them to say why they seemed determined to haunt him. It would be one thing if they seemed pissed that he was alive and they were dead.

He could get that.

Hell, he’d probably feel that way himself, if their situations were reversed.

The problem was, they were acting just like they used to, when they’d hang around shooting the bull and talking about women.

“Did you say something?” Kara asked from the doorway.

“Just talkin’ to myself, I guess.” Sax blew out a breath. “How’s the kid?”

“You nailed it. He’s out like a rock. I think a typhoon could hit the coast and he’d sleep right through it.”

Without waiting for an invitation, she sat down on the chair next to him and rubbed the back of her neck. “I was worried that all the talk of heroes, not to mention what happened to Danny, might have had him thinking about his father. He didn’t sleep for weeks after the shooting.”

“He talked about Jared,” Sax said. “About him being a hero and all. He talked about you, too.”

The words were out before he could call them back.
Damn
. What was it about this woman that always had him acting on impulse?

“Oh?” The slender lady hand that he was still having trouble imagining holding that nine-millimeter she wore on her hip stilled. Her shoulders tensed. “What did he say?”

“Nothin’ much.” He shrugged. “Other than giving away all your deep, dark secrets.”

“Nice try, Douchett.” She relaxed again. Slightly. “But I don’t have any deep, dark secrets.”

She was good. He suspected she’d developed that ability to prevaricate while interviewing bad guys in the box at her police station. But his own time in the military had taught him to spot a lie. Because when you were dealing with an enemy who didn’t wear a uniform, your life might depend on your instincts.

“How’s Danny?” he asked, deciding not to call her on it. There was time to find out what happened to her down in Oceanside. And there was always Google, though he’d rather just have her tell him herself. “And John?”

“John’s a basket case. Danny should go right out and buy himself a lottery ticket, because tonight, anyway, he’s the luckiest guy on the planet.”

She told him about the bullet. And the pieces.

“You still looking at it as an accident?”

“I don’t know. It’s the logical answer. But . . .”

“You’re thinking it’s a bit of a coincidence. Two accidental shootings in a town that hasn’t had one for the past six years.”

“How would you know that?”

“Not much you can’t find online these days. The monthly county police report—going back years—is archived on the newspaper’s Internet site.”

“There’s still no connection. And unless someone gets a guilty conscience and decides to come forward, my father’s case is pretty much closed.” She rubbed the back of her neck again. “Then there’s your body to deal with.”

“Feel free to deal with it any way you’d like.”

She paused. Opened her mouth. Shut it. He could almost hear her processing the double entendre she’d probably been so exhausted she hadn’t even realized she’d said.

Sax could have let it go.

Probably should have.

Hell, any woman who had a lick of sense would probably choose the easygoing Danny Sullivan over a former SEAL haunted by dead battle buddies.

If he had a sister, Sullivan would sure as hell be the guy Sax would want her to hook up with.

“I didn’t mean it in any sexual way,” she said.

“I know.” He smiled. “I just figured it was too good an opportunity to pass up.”

“That’s odd.”

“What?”

“That you’d mention passing up an opportunity.”

So they’d both been thinking about that kiss. Which, if her thoughts had gone anywhere along the lines of his, gave him an advantage over Sullivan. Which only had Sax feeling even guiltier than he had been since surviving that shoot-out in the Kush, since even thinking about moving in on a guy who was lying in a hospital bed after getting shot in the head was just lower than a rattlesnake in a rut.

“My mother and I were talking about you tonight.”

So much for the perceived advantage. Dr. Faith Blanchard had always considered him the Antichrist. “Well, that couldn’t have been good.”

“Actually, it was.” She rolled her shoulders. Rubbed her neck again. Despite her looking dead on her feet, the lady’s nerves were stretched so tight, he wouldn’t have been surprised if she snapped like an overtightened guitar string.

“Hell, I’m being a lousy host. How would you like a drink?”

“I’m beat. And I’m driving. Throwing alcohol into the mix would be asking for trouble.”

“My mom brought over some sweet tea this afternoon.”

“That sounds perfect.”

He stood up and went into the house to retrieve the drinks, determinedly ignoring the ragging coming from his ghostly teammates for having girlie tea in his fridge.

When Sax returned to the porch, the guys were blessedly gone and Kara was talking on her cell phone.

“That was your friend,” she said when she snapped the phone shut. “The former FBI agent.”

“Cait.” He handed her the glass.

“Yeah.” She took a sip and sighed as if she’d just taken a taste of magic nectar. “I’d forgotten how much I love your mother’s sweet tea. Needless to say my mother doesn’t allow it in the house.”

“Your mama always did run a tight ship.”

“Tell me about it.” She took another, longer drink. “She’s coming by the office tomorrow.”

“Not your mother.” He took a pull from the bottle of beer he’d brought out with the tea.

“No, Cait McKade. She says her forensics friend is interested in the skull. Seems he likes puzzles, too.”

“Which that sure as hell is.”

“True. I also told her about what happened tonight at the park.” She frowned at that. “I’m still not exactly sure how it came up.”

“Cait was a homicide cop before she was FBI. She was also supposedly one of the best interrogators in the business. Which means she’s probably pretty good at getting people to volunteer information.”

“As a cop I should know better, but it sure worked on me. And guess what?”

“What?”

“She says that she might be able to get some prints off the bullet pieces.”

“Really? After they’ve been inside someone’s head?”

“The slug never actually entered the brain, which was the lucky part. But yeah. Something to do with the acid in perspiration etching fingerprints into the metal that can survive weather and all sorts of other stuff.”

“Interesting.” He took another drink. Pondered that. “Course, if the shooter was wearing gloves, the tests wouldn’t work.”

“It was a warm day. If the shooter was wearing gloves, not only would someone undoubtedly have noticed, but we can probably rule out its being an accident.”

“Good point.” He lifted his bottle in a salute. “Guess that’s why you’re the sheriff and I’m the out-of-work vet.”

“You fought a war. Were held prisoner in what had to have been horrific circumstances. I’d say that entitles you to some time off.” She glanced over at the mahogany guitar. “That’s funny.”

“What?”

“It never occurred to me before, but that’s the wrong instrument. With your name, you’d think you’d play a saxophone.”

“That’s what my folks were hoping,” Sax revealed. “Lots of people just assume it’s for Saxton, but Dad’s a sax player himself, so he was hoping it’d rub off on me if he started me out right from the beginning.”

“Which was pretty much guaranteeing you’d refuse to go along with the plan.”

“Rebel without a clue,” he laughingly agreed. “I do play a little tenor sax. From time to time. But I’ve always felt more at home with the guitar. Back to when Dad and Mom would let me sit in at Bon Temps.”

“So, are you going to play at Cole’s wedding reception?”

“Mom and Dad are going to sing. So, since it’s a family gig, I’ll probably sit in for a set or two.”

“That’s nice.” She sipped the tea and considered the idea. “One of the problems with eloping is that I missed out on a reception.”

“You’ll have to come to this one with me. Drink some champagne and pass yourself a good time. I’ll bet your dance card would fill up fast enough.”

“I can’t remember the last time I danced.” She thought about that. “Jared wasn’t a dancer.” She shook her head. “So, God, it must’ve been the night of the prom.”

“Which is one of my fonder memories of this town.”

“It was just one dance. And since you were playing your guitar in the band that night, I’ll bet the only reason you danced with me at all was because Jared probably asked you to. As part of that watching-out-for-me deal the two of you had going.”

“Yeah. He did.”
Make sure my girl has a good time, Douchett. We can’t have her sitting around like a wall-flower, feeling sorry for herself.
“And believe me, it was the hardest thing I ever did.”

Lines furrowed between her expressive eyes. And damned if law-and-order sheriff Kara Conway didn’t appear to be pouting. “Well, that’s certainly complimentary.”

“It’s the God’s honest truth.” He raised his right hand to emphasize the statement. “Just swaying to the music, feeling your body against mine, and wanting to touch you, all over, was the closest thing to torture I’d ever known.”

Up until that time, anyway. Later, while he’d been held prisoner, he’d discovered the real meaning of the word.

“There were about three layers of starched petticoats between us,” she pointed out. “And I had no idea you ever thought of me that way.”

“You weren’t supposed to know. And for the record, if I’d had a clue I was going to end up feeling that way about you, I would’ve figured out how to get out of the deal when Jared brought it up. But then you started to grow on me.”

“Be still, my heart.” She patted her breast. “Another compliment like that and you’ll risk my melting into a little puddle of girlish need at your feet.”

“Never happen. Your son’s proof that you’re one tough cookie. You’ve done real well where he’s concerned, Kara.”

“Okay.” Although the fog was beginning to rise, Sax thought he saw a mist of moisture in her eyes. “Now you’ve hit my soft spot.”

“That’s probably the way it should be between a mother and son. . . . I know you said your personal life isn’t any of my business, but I guess you know about those TV shows he’s been watching?”

“All those damn disaster programs?” She leaned her head against the back of the rocker and closed her eyes. “Yes. I know about them.”

For a long, silent time there was only the sound of the surf crashing against the cliff, and white, paper-winged moths flinging themselves against the glass of the porch light.

“The therapist we were both seeing back in California assured me that it’s natural behavior for kids of his age. That after the death of a parent, or someone else close to them, they can develop an interest in the various causes of death.”

“Like natural disasters.”

“Exactly. For very young children, death is too remote a possibility. It’s just something they read about in fairy tales, or see on a Disney video. Or even when they see a dead animal on the side of the road. There’s no immediate connection. But children the age Trey was when Jared was killed begin to personalize death. Which is why they can obsess over disasters or worries about bad guys or bogeymen hiding in the closet or under the bed.”

“Okay.” Sax blew out a breath. This entire relationship with Kara and her son was turning out to be one conversational minefield after another. “I wasn’t going to bring this up, but I think this is where I need to tell you that along with that whacked-out guy killing Jared, Trey said something about a bad guy trying to kill you, too.”

“What?” She was obviously shocked by that revelation. “Trey couldn’t possibly know that.”

“So it’s true?”

“Unfortunately, yes. But there’s no way he could know about that. I was always careful to keep it from him.”

“My mom used to have a saying about little pitchers having big ears.”

“My mother used to say that to my father, too. Whenever she’d catch me eavesdropping.”

“Which is what kids do. Apparently Trey overheard you and your mom talking about the bad guy who hurt you being sent off to jail, and you being afraid he could end up an orphan.”

“Damn.” She shook her head. He saw the muscles tighten in her shoulders. “That’s why I came back here: so that, short of mailbox bashers, he wouldn’t have to worry about any more bad guys.”

She dug in the pocket of her trousers. Pulled out a Kleenex and dabbed at her eyes.
Hell
. Although he’d never considered himself a coward, Sax would rather face an entire village of armed jihadists than a woman’s tears.

“You don’t have to tell me about it if you don’t want.”

She shrugged. “Despite my apparently failed attempt to keep it from Trey, it’s not any big secret. I screwed up a traffic stop. They’re usually routine, but they can also be dangerous, because you never know if you’re pulling over a mom late picking a kid up from soccer practice or someone with felony warrants out on them.

“It was night and I saw this guy with a broken taillight who wandered across the centerline. Which sometimes I might have given a pass, but it was a slow night, so I ran a check on the license plate and the car didn’t show up stolen. We later found out that was only because it had been taken from a shopping center and the owner hadn’t discovered it missing yet.

“So I flipped on my overheads, pulled him over, and called in my location to dispatch. So far, so good.”

Sax felt his gut clench. He knew how it felt when you were about to put yourself in harm’s way. It was really weird thinking that he and Kara would grow up to have that in common.