The Hunk Next Door (22 page)

“No time like the present,” Abby offered, checking Deke’s position again and spotting boots moving closer to him. Tied this time, there was no mistaking Riley’s footwear. If it was him, why wasn’t he defending himself? And her? Her heart turned as cold as the ground beneath her chest. Tears stung her eyes. She would cry later. Right now, she had a confession to gain and an arrest to make. Maybe two.

“I’m not sure you can handle the truth, sweet Abby,” Deke taunted.

Fury tightened her lips. “Your being here says it all. That email only went to my haters. That tells me a hell of a lot.”

“Are you sure, Abby? More than one federal agency has been watching Belclare. I was sent to keep an eye on things...to protect you.” He sounded as calm as he did over coffee in his parlor. “Do stand up and let’s discuss this rationally. You know me, Abby. Why would you hide from me? If I’d wanted you dead, I could have easily made that happen on any number of occasions.”

At least that last part was the truth. “Yes,” she said, pushing to her feet. She’d had enough. She wanted the truth. “Why don’t we all three discuss this right now.”

“Agreed.” Riley stepped clear of the trees he was using for cover, holding a gun aimed at Deke’s chest.

Deke’s gloved hands were raised and empty, palms facing out.

As if seeing him for the first time, she could tell by Riley’s stance that carpentry wasn’t his primary vocation. Questions ripped through her, not one of them relevant to this particular moment and all too painful. “Lower your weapon,” she ordered, her voice quavering.

“No.” He didn’t flinch. “Deke Maynard is a killer, the mastermind behind all of this. We just got confirmation.”

“The convenient lies of an expert assassin,” Deke countered, shaking his head as if the accusations were nothing more serious than the ranting of an unhappy child. “I saw the media footage of him with that poor woman’s car. Quite a heroic feat, designed to impress you, Abby. He’s been lying to you all along. I’ve been doing some research of my own and Riley O’Brien is not who he claims he is.”

“You know damn good and well I didn’t have anything to do with any of this, Abby,” Riley argued, fury darkening his face.

Deke made a disapproving
tsk-tsk.
“He got that close? You mustn’t blame yourself. His specific...
ah
...skills are well-known in unsavory circles.”

Abby tried to summon her voice but it wasn’t happening. All she could do was watch the two men who had fooled her so completely. Maybe she didn’t deserve to be Belclare’s chief of police after all.

“Deke is a terrorist,” Riley accused. “The dump of Filmore’s phone records shows a connection.”

“The man and I chatted frequently about what was best for the town,” Deke explained. “You know how obsessed he is with preservation.”

Abby struggled with the decision. They were both so convincing. She searched for a defining question, one that would expose the liar. “Someone convinced Filmore to set that fire.”

“A search of his home turned up nothing of consequence,” Deke said, dropping his hands to his pockets with a new measure of confidence that no one was going to shoot him. “I believe he thought he could save the town by making you look bad.”

Deke glanced beyond her, to her left. What was he looking for? She risked a glance in that direction, but she didn’t see any movement. If someone was closing in on them, the Lewiston guard would fire or, at the very least, warn her.

“Think, Abby,” Riley challenged, bringing her attention back on point. His gun was still trained on Deke.

“Lower the gun,” she repeated, the mixture of hurt and anger building in her chest making it hard to breathe.

Riley shot her a disappointed look but did as she asked this time. Abby looked from Deke to Riley and back again. Her heart screamed for her to make the right choice, her temper told her to drag them both to jail.

“Yes, do think carefully,” Deke said, his voice steady and smooth as silk while she wrestled with her indecision. “This man, this
stranger,
has used you to further a terrible cause.”

“How long are you going to listen to this crap?” Riley demanded. “How well do you really know him, Abby?”

Deke was the eccentric artist, the local recluse who only came down from his studio to grace the people with enough wisdom and charm to keep them satisfied. And perpetually curious. Beyond weekly coffee and the occasional canvas displayed in the gallery window, what did she know about how he spent his time or where his assets came from?

She didn’t want to believe he was the bad guy, but she couldn’t quite believe he was a federal agent.

A wave of guilt rushed over her. She’d enjoyed his attentions, believing his interest and supportive friendship had been genuine. Had his flattery made her blind to the facts of his true nature?

“Finish this, Abby,” Riley urged. “Don’t make a mistake that will get us both killed.”

His voice slid low and rough across her senses, much as those working hands of his had slipped over her body last night. If he was the assassin Deke claimed, Riley had certainly been close enough to take her out any number of times, as well.

It was the worst kind of standoff. She was staring at a hero and a killer. She only had to decide which one was which. Being wrong could very well cost her her life. Being right could cost her the love of her life. She nearly laughed at herself for ever thinking she enjoyed making the tough calls.

Sirens approached and brakes squealed, making the turn from the paved road into the gravel parking lot. Here was her backup—who would she send back in cuffs?

“Abby,” Deke coaxed. “You know me.”

“He’s a liar, Abby,” Riley insisted.

Her gaze locked with Riley’s and suddenly she knew. Heart and gut instinct aligned in one perfect moment of clarity. Riley had warned her there was more to this situation and he’d repeatedly asked her who stood to gain. She couldn’t prove it in legal terms, but she wouldn’t have to.
Unless she was wrong.

Her backup rushed into position next to her.

“Arrest Mr. Maynard,” she announced. She kept her gun trained on Deke until Officer Gadsden had him handcuffed. “I’ll notify Homeland Security.” She risked a look at Riley. “Mr. O’Brien?”

“Yes?”

“I’ll need you to come in and make a formal statement.” A statement that better include a thorough explanation of that confirmation he’d mentioned, as well as his surprise appearance out here.

He arched an eyebrow. Whether that silent, subtle gesture was about her official tone or something else, she didn’t care to analyze right now.

“I can do that. Anything else?”

Oh, there was a lot more, but this wasn’t the place to get into the other issues. “The city of Belclare thanks you.” She turned her back on him before she broke down entirely. The chief of police did not dissolve into a puddle of mush in front of terrorists and curious citizens.

“Hey, Chief!”

She looked over at Jerry Lewiston, the head of the Lewiston family. He was standing near the area Deke had been looking at. “Yes?”

“Can we keep the bomb?”

“I beg your pardon?” The shock of his words cleared away the emotional cobwebs. Thankfully.

“Way I figure, it’s a fair exchange for the damaged tree.”

“I’d have to disagree,” she said, striding over to see what the hell he was talking about. “It’s evidence.”

“But it was my boy who helped your friend in the red vest disarm it and save your life.”

She looked down, her knees wobbling. It had been a close call. Lewiston was right. If this had gone off... “You saw who planted it.”

“I did.” He lifted his chin toward Deke. “That fancy one. Probably thought we were all asleep. I guess he don’t know us Lewistons too well.”

The confirmation that she’d made the right choice should have been more satisfying, but all she could think about were how foolish she’d been to ever trust Deke Maynard and how many lies Riley had told her. “Just the one?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“It has to come with me.”

Lewiston was clearly disappointed. She motioned him to move closer, away from the bomb. “You realize this puts me in your debt.”

The man smiled, understanding. “All right then, guess that’s a fair trade.”

She relayed the details to the feds and assigned the appropriate instructions. When she finally settled behind the wheel of her car, she risked one more glance at Riley, who stood at the entrance watching her.

He would put Belclare behind him as soon as his statement was signed. Why wouldn’t he? He had obviously been sent here.

Fine. It was for the best. Amazing sex wasn’t enough reason for him to stay. Not when she couldn’t trust him. Obviously, she didn’t know him at all. If she were any other woman under normal circumstances, she would run straight to Riley and rest easy in the illusion of security she found in his embrace. Good grief, if she were any other woman, she wouldn’t have been stuck in this impossible dilemma to start with.

If she’d been any other woman, men like Deke Maynard and Riley O’Brien might easily have overlooked her. Power, duty and responsibility were as much a part of her as her blond hair and preference for candy-apple-red toenail polish.

Apparently Deke was the only person who sensed there was any lingering naïveté to exploit. She couldn’t wrap her head around how
that
revelation made her feel.

Well, she’d just have to count this a hard lesson learned. This incident marked the last time she trusted first and asked questions later—particularly when it came to men. No one else would ever be allowed close enough to hurt her.

She put the car in gear and followed the officers transporting Deke to the station.

It was over.

* * *

I
N HIS TRUCK
, Riley fumed every second of the short trip to the police station. “The city of Belclare thanks me, my ass.”

The only thanks he wanted was a paycheck for a good day’s work. He didn’t want any gratitude from Belclare or the chief of police.

Well, at least the latter was partly true. What he wanted was the woman behind the badge. He needed her. More, he needed her to understand what they’d shared was real, not another facet of the game that bastard Maynard had been playing with her.

Why couldn’t she tell the difference?

His hand flexed and released around the leather-wrapped steering wheel. He supposed if she couldn’t tell the difference to some degree he’d be listening to one of Belclare’s finest rattle off his Miranda rights about now. Her face danced across his vision. Not the lovely, poetry-quoting face of last night, but the accusing expression, full of doubt as she decided which man to believe and which to haul in.

He might be new in town, but she could hardly call him a stranger. Not after last night. Not after all that they’d shared before that. He had to find a way to make her listen.
Soul meets soul on lovers’ lips.
She’d been the one to quote Shelley as her body had been draped over his like a sensual blanket last night.

She’d said those words while he’d been thinking about the ramifications of his lifelong assignment to Belclare. To her. And he’d felt the truth of her words sink deep into his system. Accepted. Known. In that moment he understood to the bone who he was:
hers.

Nothing in his life had ever felt more perfect or so full of promise and potential than that moment. Damned if he was going to just give in and let her walk away from what they’d started. If the tables were reversed, she wouldn’t let him hide.

Riley stalked into the station, his irritation with her hovering like a dark cloud over his head. He gave his statement and accepted the thank-yous for saving her life and helping to solve the mystery. It seemed he wasn’t a stranger to anyone but her. He didn’t need a shrink to tell him why that stung so much.

His official task complete, he lingered at the station, knowing he had to talk this out with her now rather than later. They processed the artist-terrorist, though the man showed no signs of cooperating despite Gadsden finding a remote detonator for the bomb in his pocket.

While Abby remained locked in the conference room with the mayor and some suit from Homeland Security, Riley used his phone to check email.

She had no idea how good he was at the waiting game.

Chapter Sixteen

Abby closed the door, clinging to the last thread of her control. “You’ve been lying to me.” She pulled the cord on the blinds at the conference room window, blocking the curious gazes from her department. “About everything.”

“Not everything,” Riley countered.

“The only reason you aren’t in cuffs is because you saved Mrs. Wilks.”

“And you.”

Her breath stuttered at his audacity. She hated that he was right. That she’d been duped. “And me,” she agreed through clenched teeth. “Though I would have managed without you. My plan to draw out the terrorist worked.”

“Apparently, but you were up against—”

“What? Who?” She was shouting. Clamping her lips together, she stopped until she could regain control. “Sit down and tell me everything you think you know about the threats against me.” As he took a seat, she settled into her chair and carefully removed her .40 caliber Glock, placing it on the table. “Convince me you aren’t one of those threats.”

He glanced at the weapon before meeting her gaze. “I think you know better.”

She didn’t. Not now. She wanted to believe him, desperately, but that was thinking with her heart. Here, under these circumstances, being a cop trumped being a woman. Homeland Security had briefed her about a new task force that placed agents in suspect, high-risk areas.

Apparently Riley was a one-man task force. And though that didn’t make him the enemy, it made him the man who’d lied to her...used her. “You said you had confirmation of Deke’s involvement.” The feds had denied that claim. They were executing a search of his house now.

When this was resolved, when she knew what he was really doing in her town, then she could berate herself for sleeping with him, for falling for the lies—spoken and unspoken.