Marie Ferrarella - A Widow's Guilty Secret

“She just found out that her husband’s dead, what do you think?” Nick asked, trying not to let his irritation break through. Part of that irritation had to do with the fact that he had yet to tell the woman the worst part: that her husband had been murdered.

No doubt feeling foolish, Juarez looked down at the unconscious woman. “I guess she’s not all right.”

There was sympathy in the younger man’s voice.

At least he had the right emotional response, Nick thought. That was a start, although being too sympathetic wasn’t a good thing, either. Nick was convinced of that. It wasn’t exactly recommended for someone in their line of work. Getting too involved could get in the way, clouding their judgment and hindering them from doing their job right.

At least, that had been the case back in Houston.

Out here, when he’d accepted the job, he’d just assumed that police work involved tracking down lost dogs and occasionally finding a child who had wandered off from his or her parents. Solving homicides like the ones they were faced with came as a complete and utter surprise to him. While it was, sadly, right up his alley, Nick had come to Vengeance to take an extended break from that sort of thing.

Still, he had to admit that part of him felt suddenly alive again. He hadn’t missed the nonstop pressure of the life he’d led as a detective in Houston, but he did find that he missed the challenges that sort of life had perpetually thrown at him.

At least occasionally.

“Make yourself useful,” he instructed Juarez. “Get me a compress for her head.”

The younger detective looked a little lost as he glanced about the room, as if searching for something to use to make this happen.

Nick sighed. This partnership was going to test his patience. If Juarez got in the way, the feds were going to want them both off the case—and as far as he was concerned, Vengeance was now his town and that made the murdered men his case.

“Kitchen, towel.” Nick snapped out the words in staccato fashion, firing them at Juarez as if they were bullets. “Make it wet. Cold water,” he emphasized as Juarez headed toward the section of the house where he assumed the kitchen was located. “Don’t forget to wring it out,” Nick added, raising his voice so that the other man could hear him.

Otherwise, Juarez would probably be bringing him a towel that left a trail of dripping water in its wake.

A beat later, Juarez cheerfully called back, “Got it!”

Nick shook his head, mentally telling himself to be patient.

When he glanced back down at the sheriff’s widow, her eyes were open and she looked up at him, appearing somewhat dazed.

“Welcome back,” he said, then placed his hands on her shoulders in gentle restraint as Suzy tried to sit up. “I’d hold off on that for a couple of minutes or so if I were you,” he counseled, then added with a marginally amused smile, “Remember what happened the last time you ignored my advice.”

Suzy sighed and remained where she was, even though it made her tense to lie down in a stranger’s presence. For a second, she closed her eyes again, trying to regain her bearings.

“This isn’t some cruel joke, is it?”

He heard the hopeful note in her voice and caught himself feeling sorry for her. The next moment, he banked down that emotion. He knew from experience that that was only asking for trouble.

“I’m afraid not.”

She opened her eyes to look up at the man who had unwittingly thrown her world into such turmoil. “Peter’s really dead?”

“He’s really dead,” Nick confirmed. “His body was found in a shallow grave by a group of geology grad students.” After that, all hell had broken loose. It was going to be hard keeping a lid on the investigation, what with the news media already poking around.

Suzy was having trouble thinking, trouble processing this. She’d been so focused on telling Peter she wanted a divorce that this had completely thrown her for a loop.

And unleashed a great deal of guilt.

“How did he die? Was it a car accident?” she asked hoarsely.

“No.” His voice was emotionless, giving nothing away. “The sheriff appeared to have been choked to death.”

Her eyes widened in astonishment. “Someone killed him?”

Nick nodded, thinking that, all things considered, she was handling this rather well. “It certainly looks that way.”

“Who?” she whispered, hardly able to force the word out.

“That’s what we’re currently trying to find out,” Nick told her honestly.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the other detective approaching. Contrary to instructions, Juarez had brought back a dripping towel. He held it out to Nick like a peace offering.

Nick made no attempt to take it from him. “Mrs. Burris is conscious again, Juarez. We won’t be needing that now.” Then, because the detective appeared to be at loose ends as to what to do with the now unnecessary towel, Nick ordered, “Take the towel back to the kitchen, Juarez.”

Happy to be given instructions to follow, the younger man quickly retraced his steps and eagerly did as he was told.

“You’re very patient with him,” Suzy observed.

It struck her as odd, even as she said the words, that she would notice something so insignificant, given what she’d just been told. Was she going crazy? Or was she just being insensitive to Peter’s fate? Neither answer seemed like the right one.

Nick shrugged off the comment and the implied compliment behind it. “He reminds me of my kid brother,” he told her. He hadn’t realized that until just now, he thought, but now that he’d said it out loud, he realized that Juarez and Eddie had the same lost puppy appeal, the same eagerness to please.

It took him a second to realize that the sheriff’s widow was asking him something.

“Excuse me?”

“I said, can I sit up now?” she repeated. She didn’t feel up to being restrained again. She wasn’t even certain just how she’d react to that.

Right now, all sorts of emotions collided within her as disbelief, anger, guilt and a sliver of relief all vied for practically the same space.

The last reaction made her ashamed. Peter had been, after all, her husband and the father of her child, relief over his death, even the barest hint of it, shouldn’t be entering into the equation, she upbraided herself.

Even worse was what was missing.

What she realized was conspicuously missing was grief. Where is the grief? she silently demanded. Shouldn’t she be feeling that predominately instead of all these other emotions that were racing through her?

What was wrong with her?

“Slowly,” the detective was saying to her.

She blinked, confused. Had she missed something? “What?”

“You can sit up,” Nick repeated. “But do it slowly,” he cautioned. “You really don’t want to get dizzy and pass out again.”

She didn’t like the frailty his warning implied. It wasn’t as if she was made out of spun glass. If she had been, she would have shattered long before now.

“That was the first time I ever passed out,” Suzy informed him with a touch of annoyance in her voice.

“First time you had a husband who was murdered, I suspect,” Nick speculated.

Suzy flushed. She could feel the color rising to her cheeks, making them hot.

“Yes,” she answered hoarsely, waiting to see where he was going with this.

“Drastic news brings out drastic results,” he told her matter-of-factly. “Want some water?” Without waiting for an answer, he glanced at Juarez. His partner was just coming back into the room. “Juarez, get Mrs. Burris a glass of water.”