Lisa Childs - Return of the Lawman

His response came softly but succinctly. “I didn’t call anything a suicide.”

“No, you didn’t.” She narrowed her eyes. “You sent your flunky to do your dirty work, to deal with the press.”

He had the audacity to laugh. She wanted to belt him, but she suspected he’d arrest her for assaulting an officer. With an effort she grappled for control, amazed she’d almost lost it.

“So you’re not denying it?”

“Denying what? I didn’t send my flunky to do anything. I don’t have a flunky. I told a young deputy to tell you to come by the station today, that we’d have more information then. Nothing was said about suicide. The deputy must have drawn his own conclusion. But none of that matters.”

“No.” A heavy sigh followed her agreement. “It doesn’t. A man is dead, murdered, and you lied about it.”

He chuckled again, but she shivered over the coldness in his tone. “You don’t give up, Lindsey. I didn’t lie about anything. You’re trying to twist my words. Now I have some questions.”

Imitating his gesture she raised a brow.

“I thought you just came home for a visit?” His voice dropped. “There was something about a broken heart?” He brushed the back of his knuckles over her cheek.

Heat climbed into her face, so she dipped her chin. “I guess the rumor mill is still as active as ever. I came home because I wanted to, not because I’m hiding or licking any wounds.” She lifted her chin.

“So why are you covering this story?”

She’d flown out of her father’s office the previous evening on the scent of a story. She hadn’t thought beyond it. Was there any reason for her to stay in Winter Falls? Was there any reason for her to return to Chicago?

“Because there’s a story.”

He nodded. “And your father can’t cover it on his own?”

She really needed to belt him. “No, my father isn’t used to covering murder, Deputy.”

“And you are?”

“I assisted on the police beat in Chicago. Yeah, I’m used to it. So you’re admitting Chet Oliver was murdered?”

“No, you’re saying that, Lindsey Warner, which makes me wonder how you would come to that conclusion if Jones told you suicide. What information or evidence has led you to believe this and how did you come by this evidence? You wouldn’t have intruded on a crime scene? As a reporter who has covered a police beat, you would know better than that. You would know better than to possibly contaminate evidence.”

She glared at him.

“Yeah, I would. I would never contaminate evidence. I’ve been gone awhile, but a good reporter has sources every where.” She waited a full second while she carefully studied his handsome face. He wasn’t giving. Neither was she.

After taking a hope fully calming breath, she asked, “Are you going to give the public the truth?”

“You’re the public now, Lindsey?”

“Damn it, Dylan!”

“After I get the coroner’s report, I’ll give you more details. Anything I said before then would be merely speculation.”

She couldn’t curb her mocking smile.

“He’s your source? You’ve already got the coroner’s report or an idea of what will be on it.” He sighed.

“A reporter protects her sources.”

Behind his dark lenses, she sensed he care fully studied her. What did he speculate about her return to Winter Falls? Did he believe the rumor mill?

Before she could ask, a call sputtered from his police radio. Without a goodbye, he strode back to his cruiser.

He still had her license and wasn’t above writing her up a citation. Because she was curious about the police call, she followed him.

She recognized the code for a missing person. Then Sheriff Buck spoke clearly. Her father often laughed about the sheriff not bothering with the codes. “Mrs. Warner has run away from the sanatorium. She’s been missing since yesterday afternoon, Dylan. After searching the grounds and the surrounding area, the sanatorium finally contacted Warner, and he’s been searching all night.”

Lindsey’s heart clutched with fear. Her mother. Her poor, deranged mother had wandered off and spent the cold autumn evening outside. She sprinted toward her Jeep but didn’t manage three steps before Dylan caught her arm.

“Lindsey, you can’t drive away without your license.”

“Watch me!”

“Come on. Come with me. We’ll find her.”

She listened for the pity the town had always drowned her in. She didn’t hear it. But then Dylan’s life was more deserving of pity than hers.

He directed her to the passenger side of the police car and opened the door for her. Before she could be touched by his gesture, she realized he regularly opened doors for people in police cars. Usually the people were criminals.

When he slid behind the wheel, he turned to her. Finally he removed the dark glasses. His blue eyes were as dazzling as they’d been in her dreams. Now, instead of pity, they were filled with concern. “Where would she be, Lindsey?”

Lindsey sighed. “I haven’t seen her in nine years, Dylan.” The guilt clogged her throat. “I know that sounds awful. You probably think I’m a selfish brat. But I couldn’t…” Her heart hadn’t been able to handle any more of her mother’s rejections. Before Lindsey had left for college, Retha Warner hadn’t even recognized her only child.

He took her hand in his and gently squeezed her fingers. The last time they’d held hands had been after a murder.

“Okay.” She dragged in a jerky breath and fought the urge to put her head between her knees. Panic danced through her stomach. “Okay. She would go home. Wouldn’t she go home? God, would she remember where it is? She hasn’t been there in almost ten years.”

“I didn’t know your mother was in a sanatorium.”

“But you knew she was nuts. Every body knows she’s nuts. After she tried to kill herself, Dad had to put her in that place. She was a danger to herself. He had to.” She winced over the defensive tone. The guilt danced with the panic. “You don’t care about that.” She dragged in another breath and hoped she wouldn’t hyperventilate.

“Yes, I do, Lindsey.”

She shrugged and then shivered. “Let’s go home first. Maybe she’d get there. The last few years before I left, she didn’t know me half the time, but maybe she’d remember how to get home.”

Dylan squeezed her fingers again. “I know where your house is. And if she’s not there, we’ll keep looking. We’ll find her.”

She appreciated his calm assurance. Lindsey had never been good at serenity. While in the throes of her deep depression, her mother had always appeared too serene. She’d sit for days without moving, or even blinking, Lindsey had suspected.

“It’s not the same.” Dylan pulled into her father’s drive way and turned off the ignition of the patrol car.

Lindsey glanced at the vinyl-sided Dutch colonial. “Not since you left, no. She set it on fire. She was inside.” She hated the sting of tears behind her eyelids. That had been so long ago. She shouldn’t still be able to smell the smoke in the air. She shouldn’t remember the struggle for breath when she’d fought the heat and flames for her mother.

“I’m sorry.” Dylan trailed a finger from his free hand down her cheek.

Lindsey let out a shuddery breath. “Why? You weren’t here.”

“That’s why.”

Despite not wanting him to see the tears swimming in her eyes, she turned toward him. He was so strong, so solid. “You’re not responsible for me, Dylan. You had good reasons for leaving.”

He didn’t respond, but he didn’t release her fingers, either. He hadn’t even while he’d driven over the rutted country roads.

“She’s not here, you know.” Lindsey couldn’t imagine where her mother would be. To get here from the sanatorium, she’d have had to walk miles. Did she have a jacket to keep her warm? Where had she slept? Lying in some rotted leaves in a ditch on the side of the road? Had they passed her?