Linda Castillo - In The Dead Of Night

“You wouldn’t dare,” Laurel breathed.

“Try me,” Nick shot back, but he never took his eyes from Sara.

“No.” Shaken and embarrassed, Sara started for the door.

The older woman’s gaze swept over her as she brushed past. An emotion Sara could only describe as hatred gleamed in her eyes. “You’re just like her,” Laurel said icily. “You look like her. You sound like her. You lie just like her.”

“That’s enough,” Nick snapped.

Sara told herself the words didn’t hurt. But deep inside, they cut as proficiently as any knife.

By the time she reached the door she was dangerously close to tears. There was no way in hell she’d let Laurel Tyson see her cry.

She yanked open the door. Nick called out her name, but Sara didn’t stop. She barely noticed the slashing rain as she ran to her car. Opening the driver’s-side door, she slid behind the wheel and jammed the key into the ignition. All the while, Laurel’s words rang in her ears.

…your father was a killer and your mother was a whore.

Those were the words that hurt the most, she realized. She’d loved her parents desperately. To have their names tarnished when they weren’t there to defend themselves outraged and offended her deeply.

“You’re wrong about them.” Sara jammed the car into Reverse.

When she glanced in the rearview mirror, her heart stopped dead in her chest. “Oh my God.”

Hitting the brake, she turned. Blood-red letters streaked from the rain were scrawled messily on the rear window.

Curiosity killed the cat.

Nick’s temper was still pumping when he ran from the shop to catch Sara. He spotted her rental car just as she was backing away from the curb. He sprinted toward it. “Sara! Wait!”

Of course, she couldn’t hear him with the windows rolled up tightly against the deluge of rain. But to his surprise, the car jerked to a halt. He waited, expecting her to pull back into the parking place, but the car remained still, idling halfway into the street.

Only when a car horn sounded from the street did he realize she was blocking traffic. Crossing to the driver’s-side door, Nick bent and tapped on the glass. He wasn’t sure why he’d run into the rain after her. He wasn’t even sure what he was going to say. All he knew was that he didn’t want to leave things the way they were.

The window hummed down. He started to tell her to pull forward when he noticed her shell-shocked expression. If he hadn’t been a cop, he might not have discerned the pale cast of her complexion, her white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel or the way her eyes kept flicking to the rear window.

“I don’t have anything to say to you,” she said.

“Yeah, well, I’ve got something to say to you.” He motioned toward the parking meter. “Pull in.”

Shaking her head, she put the car in gear and eased it back into the parking space. Only when the rear window came into view did Nick notice the crude red lettering smeared on the glass. The rain had obliterated much of the letters, but there was enough left for him to make out what they spelled.

Curiosity killed the cat.

What the hell?

He stared at the words for a moment, then strode to the window. “How long has that been there?”

“I don’t know.” She blew out a pent-up breath. “It wasn’t there when I walked into your mother’s shop.”

He looked up and down the street, but the sidewalks were mostly deserted because of the rain. “Did you see anyone near your car when you walked out?”

“I was a little preoccupied but, no, I didn’t notice anyone.”

Realizing he was soaked, he motioned across the street. “Look, the police station is right there. I’d like for you to walk over with me so we can talk about this.”

“You mean the fact that your mother slapped me? Or the adolescent cliché some clown wrote on my car?”

“Both.” Nick opened her door. “Come on. I’ve got hot coffee.”

To his surprise she acquiesced. Without speaking, they crossed the street, jumping over the torrent of water at the curb.

The police station was a small office on the first level of a redbrick building that also housed the local phone company and two apartments on the second level. Nick shoved open the wooden door, bypassed the stairs, and took Sara through a glass door and directly to the police department.

His dispatcher, administrative assistant and part-time officer glanced up from his desk when they entered.

“Damn, Chief, forget your rain suit?”

“Left it in my other bag,” Nick said sardonically.

Behind him, Sara brushed rain from her jacket, but she was hopelessly soaked.

Noticing his dispatcher’s curious stare, he frowned. “B.J., this is Sara Douglas.” Nick glanced at Sara. “This is B. J. Lundgren, one of my officers.”

“Nice to meet you.” Rising, B.J. offered his hand. “You’re staying up at the old Douglas mansion?”

Sara nodded and shook his hand. “Word travels fast.”

“Small town.” He smiled. “You’re…a relative?”

“They were my parents.”

“Oh.” B.J. nodded. “I’m the one who took the prowler call last night. Sorry ’bout that. Hope it didn’t scare you too much.”

“It’s okay.” Sara glanced at Nick. “The power was out and Chief Tyson let me borrow his lantern.”

Nick almost smiled. B.J. hung on to every word like a pup waiting for a treat. At twenty-four, he was Nick’s youngest officer and obviously enamored by Sara.

“Let me grab a towel for you.” Rising, B.J. disappeared into a back room and returned with two fluffy towels. He tossed one to Nick, and handed the other to Sara.

“Thank you.”

Taking the towel, Nick wiped the rain from his face and crossed to the coffee station, pouring two cups.

“That’s fresh-brewed, Chief. Made it just a few minutes ago.”

Nick handed one of the cups to Sara and lowered his voice. “Be careful, his coffee is lethal.”

For the first time, she smiled. Nick would have smiled back, but noticed the small abrasion on her cheekbone and grimaced instead. He couldn’t believe his mother had struck her. But he knew she’d never recovered from what had happened that night twenty years ago. He supposed they all bore scars. But to hold a misplaced grudge against Sara for something her father did was unconscionable. He was going to have to talk to his mother about it.

“We can talk in my office.” He motioned toward the wood-paneled door at the rear of the room.

Sara headed toward Nick’s office. Nick glanced back at B.J. who was doing his best not to ogle her. His deputy raised his brows up and down like Groucho Marx and gave him a thumbs-up.

“Cut it out,” Nick murmured.

Walking inside, he closed the door behind them and settled behind his desk, all too aware of the faint scent of perfume on her wet skin.

Sara took the visitor’s chair across from him and sipped her coffee. She’d toweled her hair, leaving it tousled and curling around her face, like wet brown silk against fine porcelain. Her brows were thin and dark and arched above big, gypsy eyes. But it was her mouth that arrested his attention and held it. Full lips the color of mulberries arched like a pretty bow. Twenty years ago he’d kissed that mouth. Even as a twelve-year-old kid, it had made one hell of an impression on him. As a man, he knew one kiss would never be enough….

“I didn’t realize your mother would still harbor such intense ill feelings toward me over…what happened.”

Realizing he was staring, Nick picked up his cup of coffee. “I wanted to apologize for what she did.” Taking in the mark on her cheek, he grimaced. “That was inexcusable.”