Watch Me (14 page)

“You’re both unmarried, Sheridan. It doesn’t look right. You need to come home before Pastor Wayne or someone else hears about it. That Granger boy has a terrible reputation—you know what folks will think.”

“I’ll talk to you about it later.” She was hesitant to meet Cain’s eyes for fear he’d immediately realize they were talking about him, but she chanced it—and found him sitting with one arm hooked casually over the back of his chair, watching her while waiting for their game to resume.

Clearing her throat, she pressed the handset closer to her ear.

“What does he get out of helping you?” her dad asked.

“Nothing. That’s just it.”

“He’s in it for
something.”

At that point, Cain got up and left the room. Sheridan wanted to believe he’d thought of some chore he had to do, but she was pretty sure he understood that she was in an uncomfortable spot.

“Would you guys quit?” she whispered once he was
gone. “Cain’s been a good friend to me since I returned.” Knowing how soon they were likely to find out about the past, she cringed. They’d be publicly humiliated in front of all their old friends, friends they’d hoped to impress by devout example. But that wouldn’t be the worst of it. The worst of it would be the sense of betrayal they’d feel because she’d never confessed the truth.

She considered breaking the news to them now, before they could hear it from someone else, but decided against it. There was always the small chance that they wouldn’t find out. She doubted she’d be that lucky but, just in case, she wasn’t about to tattle on herself.

“You have to be careful not to get involved with the wrong man, Sheridan. You don’t know how much unhappiness that would bring. You need to meet someone who’s as religious as you are.”

“You mean as religious as
you
are.”

“Look at your sister. She’s five years younger and she’s starting her family. You want a family, too, don’t you? If you married a man like Cain, you’d wind up divorced and miserable—if he even married you in the first place. And what if you had children? It’s so important to marry a man who’ll be a good father to your children.”

“He’s changed,” she said, keeping her voice low. “He’s not what you think he is.”

“People don’t change that much, Sheridan. He doesn’t have the same background and beliefs you do.”

It was no use. Nothing Sheridan could say would make the slightest difference. She could tell her parents that he’d saved her life, stayed with her during her
darkest hour, defended her from everything, even ridicule. But he didn’t go to church so it wouldn’t matter.

They were probably right about one thing. Even if she got involved with Cain, their relationship wouldn’t go anywhere. He wasn’t the marrying kind. He belonged out here, alone in the forest with his dogs. “Gotta go,” she said. “I’ll call you later.”

“So are you coming home?” her mother asked.

Had she been unclear in any way? “Not until I find out who hurt me.”

“That could take days. Weeks.”

“It might not happen at all,” her father chimed in.

“So you think I should let him get away with it?”

Silence. Of course they didn’t. Her folks were big on justice.

“If he’d been caught when he killed Jason, this wouldn’t have happened,” she added.

“You don’t even know it’s the same person, do you?”

“It has to be. It’s too much of a coincidence that someone would come after me twice.”

“Okay, but can’t you stay with a woman?” her mother asked.

“What woman?”

“One of your old girlfriends.”

“Lauren Shellinger moved shortly after we did. I checked when I first came to town. She’s the only one I’d feel comfortable asking. You wouldn’t allow me to keep in contact with any of my friends, remember?”

“The therapist said to make a clean break.”

So much for that. Now she was back in Whiterock, and nothing had changed. Even her attraction to trouble.

“I’ll bet Pastor Wayne would offer you a room,” her mother said. “We still exchange Christmas cards every year.”

Pastor Wayne was probably the one who’d wind up telling her mother that she’d lost her virginity to Cain at sixteen. “I’ll keep that in mind, Mom. Wish Leanne luck with the baby.”

“I will.”

“What a scare you gave us,” her father muttered.

“I’m sorry, Dad.”

“I’m just glad you’re okay, honey.”

Her mother spoke again. “We’ll call you when Leanne goes into labor.”

“I’d appreciate that. Love you both,” she said and disconnected. Then she sat in silence, wondering how she was going to find someone who’d already gotten away with murder and eluded detection for twelve years. Especially when she wasn’t strong enough to get around on her own.

Had she overestimated what she’d learned about police work at The Last Stand?

Doubt was as big an enemy as fear. She had to do what she could—figure out
some way
to bring the culprit out in the open. She owed it to Jason, to Cain, to herself.

“Are you coming back?” she called.

Cain made no response. Careful not to fall, she moved into the living room, where she found him standing to one side of the window, peering through the blinds.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Someone’s here.”

“Why aren’t the dogs barking?”

“That’s what I want to know,” he said. Then he went to his room and brought back a rifle.

Amy had dog biscuits in her pocket, but she didn’t need them. As far as she could tell, Cain’s hounds weren’t in their pen. Which was good. Before Sheridan was attacked, Cain hadn’t been particularly quick to come running every time the dogs barked. There were too many coons, skunks and possums in the area for that. But he was apt to be more vigilant now.

The constant jealousy Amy lived with jabbed her sharply as she thought about Cain looking after Sheridan so conscientiously. Mary Martinez had mentioned just this morning that Cain had told her he was taking a week off, so she’d have to take her cat to Peter Smoot.

Cain
never
took time off because his job wasn’t like a regular job. It was his life. He did what he loved, what he’d do even if he wasn’t getting paid for it. But for Sheridan, apparently, he’d stop the earth from spinning.

Grinding her teeth, Amy crept up to the back of the house, then around to the side to squint through the window into Cain’s bedroom. His neighbors lived so far away he rarely bothered to lower his blinds. He’d come into his room, peel off his shirt and jeans, flop onto the bed in his boxers and turn on the TV. She loved catching him in those unguarded moments. Somehow it was enough just to
watch
him.

But he wasn’t in his room tonight. The light spilling in from the hallway illuminated an empty bed.

Amy was creeping past the deck, hoping to catch a glimpse of Sheridan or Cain through the kitchen
windows, when she heard the rattle of a chain-link fence—and froze.

Was it the dogs? She didn’t think so. She didn’t hear so much as an accompanying whimper. But she couldn’t see them inside the house, either. What was going on?

Planning to check their pen, she came around the corner—and ran right into Cain. With a yelp of surprise, she jumped back. She would’ve darted away but he’d already seen her.

“What’re you doing here?” he growled.

Calling up every ounce of nerve she possessed, she straightened her police uniform, which she’d donned for just such an eventuality. “Making sure the man who attacked Sheridan isn’t paying you a return visit. What do you
think?
Jeez, you scared the shit out of me, Cain.”

He hesitated, seemed to consider her response. “So you didn’t shoot the dogs?”

“
Shoot
the dogs?” she echoed, shock in her voice.

“Someone put them to sleep, and I’m guessing it was with my own tranquilizer gun. There aren’t a lot of those around.”

“They’re not dead—”

“No.”

“Why would anyone want to put them to sleep?”

Cain was no longer looking at her. His eyes were scanning the darkness around them, checking the shadows, the trees. “To take them out of the equation. The real question is why whoever it was didn’t just shoot them and be done with it.”

“Maybe we’re dealing with an animal lover.”

“More likely we’re dealing with someone who
knows a tranq gun is quieter. Whoever it was didn’t want to alert me too soon.”

There was a loud crack, then something whizzed past Cain and struck the side of his cabin with a
thwap.
Amy knew instantly that it was a bullet, but she didn’t have time to check. Cain jerked her down and pulled her over against the shed, where they had some cover. “We have company. Do you have your gun?”

“Y-yes.” Amy had her police-issue firearm. After what’d happened to Sheridan, she wasn’t about to go skulking through the woods without it. But she’d never dreamed she’d actually have to use it. She’d been on the police force for six years and hadn’t fired it once—except at paper targets hammered to a post in her brother’s yard.

Rustling in the trees made Amy’s heart skip a beat. There really
was
someone out there, trying to kill them.

“I’m going to flush him out,” Cain murmured. “You go inside and stay with Sheridan. Don’t let anyone get in. And keep low to the ground.”

Amy nodded, but she had no intention of protecting Sheridan. Despite the adrenaline that made her legs as unreliable as if she’d consumed half a bottle of whiskey, she managed to stay on her feet as she headed around the front as Cain expected. Then, when he plunged into the foliage, she hurried around the dogs’ pen instead. Moving close to the fence, she could see their inert bodies, which sent another chill down her spine.

Her car was parked about a mile away by road, near the Matherleys’ cabin. She cut across state land, already planning what she’d say if Cain caught her. She’d tell
him she’d left her keys in the car and was afraid the gunman might get away in it. Why should she huddle in the cabin with his real target? The sooner someone shot Sheridan, the better.

But Amy was terrified for Cain. It was entirely possible that he could die trying to defend the bitch who’d caused all this trouble. If only Sheridan had gone home….

Deciding to radio her brother from the car, she held up a hand to protect herself from the branches that scratched at her face as she ran. But when she reached the road, a dark figure darted out of the trees ahead of her.

Heart pounding, she raised her gun and placed her finger on the trigger. If it meant saving herself or Cain, she could kill without a doubt. But in that split second the moonlight hit the man’s face and she recognized him.

“It’s you,” she said, holstering her gun in relief. “Damn, you scared me. What are you doing out here?”

He lifted the rifle he was carrying. “Probably the same thing you are. Cain called me about half an hour ago. Said he’d heard a strange noise. I came to help him check it out.”

Breathing a huge sigh of relief, she studied the surrounding land. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“I thought we could handle it.”

“You haven’t seen anything?”

He leaned his gun against her car. “No. And I’ve scoured this whole place. If somebody was here, they’re gone now.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Why not?”

She rested her hand on the butt of her gun as she
continued to eye the trees. “He nearly hit me a few minutes ago.”

“You’re kidding!”

“I wish I was. We have to keep searching.” The sooner they apprehended whoever it was, the sooner Sheridan might be satisfied and go back to California.

“Then let’s go.”

He shoved off from the car and came toward her.

She opened her mouth to respond, but before she could say anything he grabbed her and yanked her back, pulling her pistol from its holster. Then he pressed the barrel to her temple.

“What’re you doing?” She tried to resist, but it was useless. He was too strong. “Stop it! You—you’re scaring me. This isn’t funny.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

The anguish in his voice terrified her. But this had to be a joke. He wouldn’t really shoot her—he wouldn’t shoot anyone. “Let go!”

“I can’t. Say your prayers, Amy.”

Tears scalded her eyes. “But…I—I don’t understand. W-why are you doing this?”

“Because you’re in the wrong place at the wrong time,” he said and pulled the trigger.

T
he crack of gunfire made Cain halt in his tracks. What was the reason for
that
shot? It wasn’t aimed at him; it hadn’t come from anywhere nearby. And it hadn’t come from the direction of the house. Both of these facts brought him comfort—but not complete relief. Someone was still out there. Someone with a gun, and this time it hadn’t sounded like a rifle.

Following the sound, he hurried through the woods, but when he reached the road he saw nothing unusual. Amy’s car was there, but that was all.

With his rifle ready, he stepped cautiously beyond the cover of the trees, into the open. Silence. No movement or light or sound except for a sluggish wind that caused a dry leaf to skitter across the ground. He seemed to be the only person here. But he was positive that shot had come from this direction.

What was going on? Backing up so he could keep an eye out in case someone tried to surprise him, he felt the rear panel of the cruiser on the driver’s side, then took two more steps and opened the door.

The keys hung in the ignition, but the cabin light revealed nothing other than an empty car. Everything
looked just as it should—until he closed the door and crept to the front. Then he could make out the shape of a person lying on the ground about ten feet away, partially in the road, partially in the underbrush. And from the dark pant-legs of a police uniform, he knew exactly who it was.

Cain rushed back to the house. He wasn’t leaving Sheridan alone, unable to defend herself or even run, the dogs out cold. He couldn’t do anything for Amy; he’d already checked. She’d been shot in the head at close range and the bullet had probably killed her instantly.

Whoever had shot her had to be covered in blood, which meant he couldn’t go unnoticed.

Or maybe he could. It was dark. All he had to do was slink off somewhere and wash up.

Cain wanted to search for the bastard before he could get away, but without his dogs he could tramp around the forest all night and find nothing. He couldn’t risk the possibility that the culprit hadn’t run away and was, right now, making another attempt on Sheridan’s life.

“Cain! Cain, where are you?”

It was her. He could hear her calling him before he reached the clearing.

“Get in the house!” he shouted, but she was so unsteady on her feet he caught up with her before she managed to climb the porch steps. She was clomping around in his boots, which were way too big for her, and dragging his tranq gun.

“Why the hell are you out here?” he snapped. He was angry she’d made herself such an easy target. But he didn’t
wait for her answer. He grabbed her around the waist with one arm, carried her the last few yards to the house, and slammed the door behind them. Then he turned the dead bolt, brought her into his bedroom and sat her on the floor next to him, where he might be able to protect her. At least in the bedroom he had only one window to worry about and he could use the bed as a barrier.

“Did you call the police?” he asked.

“Y-yes.” She was ghost-white and shaking. Was she in shock? It had to be
much
too soon to deal with something so traumatic.

“Where’d you find my tranq gun?”

“On the—the ground, at the edge of the clearing.”

He took it and checked it over. His first thought was that he’d arm Sheridan, too, but it was out of darts. “Shit.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Everything’s going to be fine.” He still had his rifle.

“You c-call this f-fine?” she said, laughing a little hysterically.

“Let me clarify. We have a weapon, and I’ll use it if I have to.”

The minutes passed with no noise from outside. Fairly certain that whoever it was had fled, he finally lowered his rifle and took one of her hands. It was ice-cold. “Are you okay?”

“The dogs…the dogs are dead.” She sounded like she was hyperventilating. “I saw them—”

“No, they’re just drugged. They’ll be okay when it wears off.”

That didn’t bring her the relief he’d hoped. “But I was
afraid…I thought you were dead, too.” She gulped for breath. “Or that you were lying on the ground somewhere, b-bleeding, and I w-wouldn’t f-find you in time.”

She’d heard the gunshot and, when he didn’t return, assumed he’d been shot. That was why she’d come after him, dragging a gun she wasn’t strong or healthy enough to lift.

“I’m safe. I’m here.” Gathering her to him, he held her tightly, telling her not to worry, that everything would be all right.

She started to calm down, but he didn’t let go. He needed her for comfort as much as she needed him. No matter what he did, he couldn’t block out the image of Amy’s lifeless body dumped near his neighbor’s long, winding drive, bathed in her own blood.

Cain had realized Ned wouldn’t take the news well. But he hadn’t expected the police chief to break down in tears. Because he and Ned had never liked each other, Cain didn’t know what to say—what to do—when the other man’s shoulders began to shake and he buried his face in his hands. Standing to one side, he waited for Ned to come to grips with his grief.

It was Sheridan who stepped forward to offer him solace. “I’m so sorry,” she murmured over and over, rubbing his back. But when Ned looked up, he didn’t acknowledge her.

“Why was Amy here?” he demanded, wiping his eyes.

“She said she was making sure whoever attacked Sheridan wasn’t coming back,” Cain told him, “but I don’t know why she chose tonight. Maybe she’s been
patrolling regularly. Or maybe someone called her.” He shrugged. “We didn’t have the chance to say much. I went to see why everything was so quiet, found the dogs out cold and bumped into her while I was trying to figure out what was going on.”

“You didn’t ask her to come here?”

Cain chafed beneath such visible signs of Ned’s grief. He hated tears, even from a woman. They made him feel so helpless. “No. As soon as I realized she wasn’t the one who drugged my hounds, I knew someone else must be around. Then there was a shot and a bullet whizzed past my ear.”

“So you sent Amy back to her car? That doesn’t make sense.”

She was a cop, she had a gun—and he’d been concerned about leaving Sheridan unprotected. “No. I didn’t even know where she’d left it. I told her to go into the house and stay with Sheridan. I have no idea why she didn’t.”

“She never came to the door,” Sheridan said, sounding as mystified as Cain felt. “I heard two gunshots, several minutes apart. That was it. No one knocked or called out.”

When Ned didn’t speak, Cain reluctantly met his red, swollen eyes. “What?”

“You never saw anyone else out there? Never spotted a vehicle?”

“Only Amy’s cruiser. It’s parked thirty yards or so from the turnoff to Levi Matherley’s place, right by…right where it happened.” His voice softened. Ned’s job required him to go to the crime scene, where he’d
meet the coroner and begin gathering evidence. He’d have to see his dead twin’s body, document the scene with photographs, write notes about it….

“That’s awful convenient, don’t you think?” Ned’s gaze lowered to Cain’s shirt. Until that moment, Cain hadn’t noticed that he had Amy’s blood smeared across his chest. He’d rolled her over and pulled her into his arms to see if there was any hope. And then all hope had disappeared.

“What’s convenient?” Cain heard the suspicion in Ned’s voice but managed to hang on to his temper by telling himself that Ned wasn’t thinking clearly. He was reacting to the pain and grief.

“People keep getting hurt up here. But you never see a damn thing.”

“I live on 200,000 acres of forestland. How am I supposed to see everything?”

“It all happens within a mile of your house.”

“That’s not fair,” Sheridan said. She tried to hold Cain back, but he stepped close to Ned, anyway.

“What’re you saying?”

Fresh tears filled Ned’s eyes but his voice remained truculent. “I think it’s strange, that’s all. That Amy was killed here, of all places. That there were no witnesses
again
. And that whoever did this had no compunction about killing a human being, yet merely tranquilized your precious dogs.”

Cain clamped his jaw shut so he wouldn’t say anything that could make the situation worse.

“What, no excuses?” Ned taunted.

With a sigh, he stepped back. “It wasn’t necessary for
him to kill the dogs. He rendered them useless a far easier way.”

“It would’ve been just as easy to shoot them.” His eyes narrowed. “Unless whoever did this loved them too much.”

“What if he was trying to set me up? Then he’d know better than to kill my dogs,” Cain said. “Listen, you’ve blamed me for every bad day Amy’s ever had, and I’ve let you do it. I wasn’t a good husband, didn’t love her the way she wanted me to, wasn’t interested in trying to patch things up. I take responsibility for all of that. But I didn’t kill her, Ned. If you continue to plow through this investigation with blinders on, you’re going to miss something important. And none of us can afford that.”

“Cain’s right,” Sheridan said. “You have to forget about holding a grudge. Try to be more objective.”

“Just stay the hell out of my way,” Ned snapped at them. “Whoever did this is going down, even if I have to kill him myself.”

The slamming of the door echoed in the ensuing silence.

“It’s not every day you hear a police chief threaten murder,” Sheridan said as Ned’s engine roared to life.

Cain couldn’t conjure up a smile at her sarcasm, so he shook his head. “Poor dumb bastard. He’s so busy trying to punish me he could be brushing elbows with his sister’s killer and never know it.”

Cain had often wished he’d never have to see Amy again, but he hadn’t wanted anything like this. Her death was so sudden, so senseless, so…unbelievable. It was
disgusting, too. He already knew he’d never forget the sight of her, missing one eye and half her head.

After checking his dogs for the fifth time to make sure they were all breathing and beginning to revive, he drifted around the house, searching for something to occupy his mind—the newspaper, paying bills, generating invoices for his sideline veterinary business. He couldn’t focus long enough to finish a single task, however. He heard the police outside, digging that bullet out of the siding on his house, and wondered what was happening at the murder scene. And his thoughts kept returning to Sheridan. She’d gone to bed shortly after Ned’s departure, but she wasn’t asleep. Cain could hear her tossing and turning, knew she was as unsettled as he was. She’d left her door open as if she didn’t want to be alone, and he felt the same way.

When he went to look in on her, she must’ve heard his footsteps because she rolled over to face him.

“You okay?” he asked, standing in the doorway.

“I think so. You?”

“I don’t know.” He’d never felt so at odds with reality.

“What you saw had to be gruesome.”

“It was.”

“But shouldn’t you try to get some rest?”

“No point. I can’t sleep.” What he really wanted was to crawl into bed with her and pull her close, feel her breathing against him. But he knew what she’d think if he sought that kind of reassurance. “Want to watch a movie?” he asked.

She sat up. She’d put on a tank top—and what was she wearing below it? He couldn’t help speculating.

“As long as it’s not remotely violent,” she said.

“A comedy?”

“What do you have?”

“I get satellite, so I’m not sure. But with over two hundred channels, we should be able to find
something.”

He wanted to support her as she made her way to the living room but didn’t. She was capable of getting around on her own now. And, needy as he was feeling, it would be best to keep his hands to himself.

“So, what do we have?” She sat at one end of the couch and he sat at the other, reading the options listed on the programming guide.

“There aren’t any comedies right now,” she said. “At least no good ones.”

“What about a drama? I’ve never seen
The English Patient
.” He probably hadn’t seen it because it looked like a chick flick. But he was in the mood for something sentimental, something that might fill the empty hole inside him. He’d found a woman murdered in cold blood not half a mile from his home. A woman he’d known most his life, someone he’d once created a child with. Before tonight, he’d felt safe living in the forest, safe and in control of his surroundings.

“I haven’t seen it, either,” she said.

“It started fifteen minutes ago, so we’re coming in a bit late.”

“But that’s going to be the case with everything.”

With a nod, he changed the channel and they began to watch the movie. It turned out to be so thoroughly entertaining that his tension finally began to ease—until Ralph Fiennes and Kristin Scott Thomas made love.

As Sheridan saw the lead characters take off their clothes and touch, it was as if she was experiencing the same desert heat, feeling the same passion and desperation they did. But she sat there rigidly, refusing to move, refusing to even turn her gaze in Cain’s direction. Until Kristin Scott Thomas groaned in ecstasy. Then she couldn’t stop herself from glancing at Cain. She wanted to catch a glimpse of his expression, see what he was feeling.

But he wasn’t watching the film.

He was watching her.

“This might not be the best movie for us to see tonight,” she said when their eyes met.

He didn’t answer.

“Don’t you agree?” she prompted.

“Why not?” he asked.

He knew, but he wanted her to spell it out for him, to see if she’d admit her own desire. “We’re feeling a little…shaken and…disoriented after everything that happened tonight.”

“Disoriented,” he repeated.

“Yeah.”

“I’ll go with shaken, but I’m not disoriented. I know exactly what I want.”

“Right. Well, I think I’ll go to bed.” She started to get up, but he reached out to stop her, and the moment his fingers closed around her wrist she felt reluctant to pull away.

His eyes ran over her tank top, then settled on the blanket she clutched around her waist. “Let go,” he said.

She swallowed hard. “No.”