Till Justice Is Served (9 page)

"I hope using your name doesn't get you in trouble."

"I'm on leave, so where I spend my time is my business. Use me any way you want."

Pink rushed up from her neck and disappeared into her hairline. The double entendre had been accidental but oddly enough, he didn't regret a word.

"Rafe, thank—" The doorbell rang, interrupting the moment and sending her rushing to open the door.

Harold stormed into the room. "If you're not going to take my advice, why bother calling?"

****

Erin held back an angry retort. "What are you talking about?"

"You spoke with Detective Beckett?"

"No. Rafe gave a statement. I waited for you." She gave him a short version of last night's events and timeline.

Harold's stance relaxed. "The detective is out front talking with a reporter. If your facts check out, you've probably taken yourself off the suspect list."

She glanced at Rafe. "That's what Rafe said."

Leaning against her breakfast bar, Rafe looked right at home. He winked, and she totally lost track of Harold's words. Rafe holding her close, his arm around her shoulders—none of those actions had frightened her. She'd relaxed and leaned on him, feeling safe so near to him. People touching her often brought back bad memories, but his tenderness and strength had been welcome. Well, not just welcome. His touch, sensuous and seductive, shouldn't have sent heat blasting through her bloodstream, but it had.

She'd become an expert at accepting the things in life she was responsible for and recognizing those she had no control over. It had taken years of love and understanding from Jeff and Lotty, plus a number of therapy sessions, but she'd finally learned to like herself. Sending her stepfather to prison had been cathartic. Patching up childhood misunderstandings seemed to be having the same effect.

Harold's hand waved in front of her eyes. He'd asked her a question. Erin gave him her full attention. "I'm sorry. Say that again."

"Do you believe these notes indicate that you're in danger?" Harold spoke slowly, as if he thought she wouldn't pay attention. "If so, I'll formally request you have police protection. Don't know if we can get it, but I'll ask."

Erin turned to Rafe. "What do you think?"

"It's hard to say. Will you be returning to work soon?"

"I hope so. I need to bring the Professional Educators Organization's attorney up to speed. Schools don't like scandals. I don't know what will happen."

The doorbell rang again. This time, Erin ushered Beckett and his partner, Carl Henry, inside.

Detective Henry's scowl drifted past Erin and settled on Rafe. "Was breaking the photographer's arm necessary? As far as we know, he wasn't a threat to Ms. Brady."

"He fell." She inserted herself into the conversation. Of course, Rafe had jerked the guy out of the tree and let him fall. The jerk deserved a broken arm. "I take that to mean you located the photographer?"

"It does," Henry answered.

"Did you get a copy of one of the pictures?" Rafe asked calmly.

Again, Henry answered, "That may take a warrant."

Erin's tempered flared. She opened her mouth to ask why Carl Henry had such a crappy attitude, but Beckett stepped between her and his partner.

"We got his statement. The picture would be nice to have, but he gave us a timeline. We'll get his statement on paper."

She wasn't finished with Carl. "So you're sure the phone calls and notes are just pranks."

"Good." Harold spoke up. "Are we done here?"

"Looks like it." Beckett and his partner said their good-byes and left.

"Jackass," she muttered as she closed the door behind the detectives.

Harold cleared his throat. "I think Wade Beckett is a good man."

"He probably is. Hell, they're both probably wonderful people. It felt like Carl Henry cared more about the broken arm than my innocence."

"I'm going, too," Harold said, "but I'll stop for a chat with the media. They'll be disappointed to hear you have an alibi for last night. But they'll gobble up a front-page story in which an FBI agent helped clear a schoolteacher of murder charges."

"The police didn't file charges," Erin protested.

"You obviously haven't been keeping up with the news. If you had, you'd know the media had already found you guilty." Harold picked up his briefcase and left.

All of a sudden, her house was empty except for her and Rafe. The quiet took her breath away. She lowered herself to a barstool in front of the counter. "I can't believe it's over."

Rafe scrubbed a hand across the stubble on his chin. His dark eyes briefly studied her from across the room, sending chills up her arms. "I hope you're right."

"After Harold gets finished spinning his tale, the media will have me nominated for mayor."

"There's still the drugs. And who did kill those girls?"

"I'm glad you're going to keep working the drug angle. You'll want the list I made of Penny and Sara's friends." Erin ripped off the page and hurried back to her office. She made a copy and carried it to Rafe. "The first two names complete Penny and Sara's circle. I heard they were all backing their friend."

"Thanks. The detectives may have already spoken with them, but these two girls should be trembling in their shoes today. Maybe they'll open up to me."

"I can see how they might. What red-blooded teenage girl wouldn't be thrilled to talk with a hunk like you?"

"I'm no such..." He took a menacing step toward her. "Are you being funny?"

"Please." She waved him off. "It's not like you haven't heard that all your life."

He pulled his keys out of his jeans pocket, twirled them around his index finger, and walked to the door. "Call if you need me."

"I will." She followed him to the door.

He covered her hand with his. Heat from his body washed across hers. God, how she wanted to bury her face in his neck and just breathe. He didn't move closer, nor did he touch her anywhere except her hand, so she didn't.

"So you think I'm a hunk? I'm flattered." One corner of his mouth quirked into a smile. "Lock the door."

Erin watched as he strode across the lawn to his car. His wide shoulders swayed with each stride. His jeans strained to contain muscular thighs. He moved with power and authority, a man to be reckoned with, yet each movement was graceful, almost as if choreographed.

He glanced back and caught her looking. She slammed the door and flipped the deadbolt. She'd been running on fear and adrenaline for days. Suddenly, all the energy leaked out of her.

The quiet in her house felt odd. After all the talking and male voices in the house, she missed having them around. She wandered through each room, looking for something to keep her mind occupied.

First thing in the morning, she was going to the Y. Just as the school had sent her home, Domingo Ramirez, the administrator at the YMCA, had removed Erin as coach of the girls basketball team. She believed his sincerity when he'd said the staff and the young women would miss having Erin as a volunteer. She counted on him allowing her to return a lot quicker than the school.

She called the attorney handling the school board and then her friend Carla. Who, after she stopped squealing, decided she wasn't canceling tonight's trip to the school board meeting. Maybe if the group pressed for Erin's reinstatement, the board's resolution would come faster. Then Erin settled down on the couch and dialed Jeff and Lotty's number.

By the time Erin had hung up, she was happily exhausted. She made herself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, selected a book from her unread pile, and then stretched out on the couch. Trying hard to concentrate was a failure. Nothing held her attention.

The silence was making her jumpy. The wind was gusty, or as the weatherman liked to describe it, breezy, this time of year. Still, every brush of a tree branch across the roof spooked her. She fished out Jeff's nine-millimeter pistol from her purse and put it on the coffee table. If anyone tried to break in, she'd be ready.

She turned on the TV and settled back. One of her favorite shows filled the screen, giving her the perfect temporary escape.

****

Using the reporters who'd grouped around Erin's attorney, Casanova had blended in with the crowd and listened. He'd formulated a believable story, just in case somebody recognized him, but as usual, people had been too caught up with their own wants and needs to notice him.

He'd breathed a sigh of relief to hear that Erin's alibi had removed her from the suspect pool. At the same time, anger at himself had bubbled up to the back of his throat. He should've planned better. If he'd killed those little bitches while Erin was with someone who could vouch for her, she'd have been spared the trauma, and he could've professed his love sooner. Damn it. His oversight had allowed the FBI man to come to her rescue.

Waiting to approach her got harder every day. However, proving his love and gaining Erin's gratitude were critical to his plan. She wasn't the type of woman to rush, not his Erin. She was level-headed and cautious, which behooved him to rein in his desires and proceed slowly. The reward would be wedded bliss.

Now that there were only two of Penny's venomous friends left, were they through causing Erin trouble? It was troublesome that the police had kept his messages from the press. Why would the authorities not alert the public? The other girls needed to know that lying about Erin wouldn't be tolerated.

Casanova had been mingling with the media over the past couple of days, biting his tongue when they made comments about the killer teacher. The idiots had believed him when he'd said he was on assignment, sent to do a personality profile on Erin.

He'd overheard one of the photographers talking about what happened to his arm. The man had admitted to sneaking into Erin's backyard last night. He'd taken a series of pictures of her. Her boyfriend had shown up and jerked him from his hiding place.

Hearing that she'd been spied on, startled, and had fallen, sent flashes of heat in front of Casanova's eyes. Rage had the blood rushing through his veins. Anyone who'd hurt her would suffer his wrath, but this photographer had lied when he said Erin's boyfriend had saved her. The bastard had sealed his own fate.

Casanova had to get away from the media crowd before he blew his cover. As calmly as he could, he walked down the street, then circled back to the vacant house on the corner.

This place provided him with the ideal vantage point. Once he was safely inside, he lashed out with his foot and kicked a hole in the sheetrock. God, the release felt great, but the act of losing his temper wasn't a good sign. Besides, venting wouldn't save the photographer's life, but for now, the rage had to be relieved.

He went to the window facing Erin's house, picked up his binoculars, and watched through the small window in the kitchen.

Relief had settled on his heart when all those men left her house. Had she been treated with respect and dignity? She needed him with her to protect her. Waiting was hard on her, too.

His legs and back grew tired, but he refused to budge. Comfort played no part in this exercise. Keeping an eye on the woman he loved was worth any sacrifice. After all, soon they'd be together. He hardened just thinking about it.

"Damn it," he yelled, the sound reverberating off the walls. That Hollywood-looking neighbor had just jogged across the lawns carrying a sack from the local fried chicken hut. He knocked on her door. Erin would turn that guy away. There was no logical reason for her to allow him inside.

She opened the door. A big smile spread across her face as the bastard entered her house. Casanova's stomach knotted. No. She wasn't that kind of woman. He'd kill anyone who said differently. No one would question her virtue.

The cameraman walked into Casanova's line of vision. It appeared the media were closing up shop as camera equipment was being stowed in the back of a van. Between his job and keeping up with construction on his house, it was difficult to keep an eye on her. But he had to know where to find the camera guy later tonight. He stuffed the binoculars in his bag and ran for his car.

****

"For me?" The aroma rising from the sack in Linc's hands sent Erin's salivary glands into overdrive.

"I know it's late," he said, flashing a grin. "I brought enough chicken for two people."

"Oh." Erin stepped back, feeling stupid for not recognizing he'd brought enough for them both. "Sorry. I didn't realize—"

"It's okay." Again, he hit her with his sparkling smile. "I'm not hitting on you. Just looking for a dinner companion. And I figured you could use a friend."

"Now, I really am sorry." She waved him inside. "Come sit down. I'll get a couple of plates and something for us to drink, and then I'll join you." Erin bolted to the kitchen, fighting the heat in her cheeks.

Oddly enough, she wasn't disappointed he hadn't used food to make a pass. Not that he wasn't model perfect with his square jaw and sea-blue eyes. She guessed him to be at least six-two. She liked Linc, but her blood didn't heat up like it did when... God, why had Rafe's name popped into her thoughts?

Linc had emptied the sack and was dividing the packages of ketchup when she joined him at the table. "Thanks." He took his bottle of water from her and pushed a bucket of fried chicken toward her. "Ladies first."

Erin selected a chicken breast and piled french fries on her plate. "How's the job going?"

"I ran into a few glitches, but isn't that always what happens with a new installation?" He closed his eyes and bit into a piece of chicken. "Nothing like greasy food to soothe the nerves after a day at that school."

"I wish I had that problem." Erin longed for the everyday problems. Most of all, she missed the kids streaming in and out of her office. "I'm hoping my appeal will be heard by the school board soon."

"I'm sorry. That was insensitive of me." Linc wiped his hands on a paper towel.

"Not at all. The school may take awhile, but in the morning, I'm marching into the YMCA and asking for my volunteer spot as coach back."

"Good for you."

"I miss the team," she said, taking another bite of fries.