Debra Webb - Physical Evidence

A slow grin slid across Ashton’s face. “We’ll just see about that, Hayden. There’s no way Alex killed your deputy unless it was in self-defense. You’ll never make me believe it, and you damn sure won’t prove it in a court of law.”

Mitch jerked the door open and went inside, Ashton came in behind him. That was the thing Mitch hated most about lawyers. They were always so sure of themselves. The urge to kick something surged through his veins. Too bad this lawyer was probably right. Not only would Mitch have a hell of a time making a charge stick under the circumstances, he was having entirely too much trouble believing it himself.

AFTER DROPPING Ashton at the only hotel in town, the same one where Alex had stayed when she first arrived in Shady Grove and the one now suspected as having been used by the shooter, Mitch drove home. He parked in front of his house and cut the engine. He stared for a long while at the dark structure. He rarely made it home at a decent hour anymore. And even when he got home, there was more work to be done.

God, he was bone-tired. Too tired to worry about opening the garage or putting the Jeep’s rag top in place. Good thing there wasn’t any rain in tonight’s forecast. He leaned his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes for a minute. They’d turned over every rock in a ten-mile radius and found nothing. The APB hadn’t garnered any information either. Alex had disappeared, just like the shooter who’d taken Saylor’s life.

A weary burst of air hissed past Mitch’s lips. Mrs. Saylor wanted her husband’s body returned to Knoxville. Her father had passed along the instructions since she was in no condition to think much less talk or make decisions. Mitch had one of his men making the necessary arrangements. Then, at three o’clock that afternoon, the whole county had stopped everything to attend the memorial service for Deputy Miller. Just another low point in a particularly crappy day.

There hadn’t been a murder in this county in over twenty years. Most criminals in the area seemed to prefer to do their dirty business in nearby Davidson or Rutherford Counties, specifically in the vicinity of Nashville. What the hell had Preston and Miller gotten involved in? Alex had only been in town a few days. How could one city girl wreak this much havoc in such a short time? Mitch refused to consider how much upset she’d generated for him personally in just a few hours. And where the hell had the drugs come from? Miller was no user. And Mitch felt fairly confident that Alex wasn’t either.

But then the only thing Mitch had known about Alex was that she was going around town asking questions about a good man who deserved better than to have some P.I. digging around in his private life. She hadn’t mentioned the missing Bukovak girl as far as he knew. The best he could tell, she seemed to have been on some sort of mission to dig up dirt on Phillip Malloy, which could explain the drugs. Mitch had assumed that Phillip’s opponent in the upcoming senatorial race had hired her to find some mud-slinging ammunition.

Mitch opened his eyes and forced away the guilt that instantly swamped him. The idea that she’d fooled him so thoroughly the first time they met that night at the diner had made him see red. He’d put a gag order of sorts into effect as soon as he found out what she was doing. In a small town like Shady Grove if the sheriff didn’t want people talking about something, people didn’t. When no one would answer the first question for her, she’d shown up at Mitch’s door demanding that he stop interfering with her investigation. They’d argued, long and loud.

And the next morning, she’d been found…along with Miller.

Mitch slowly climbed out of his Jeep and walked even slower to his front door. He was tired and hungry, but worst of all he was disgusted. His emotions ran the gamut from fear for Alex’s safety to anger that she’d escaped before he got the truth out of her, and that somehow she’d had something to do with all this. And then there was the other thing. The need that burned low in his belly. A need for her. The one that had started the moment they met. Even his fury at discovering she’d lied to him hadn’t quenched that building fire. It was the craziest thing he’d ever experienced. He just couldn’t shake it.

He cursed himself for his lack of self-control. Those amber eyes and full, lush lips haunted him still. The way her dark hair fell around her shoulders, enhancing her porcelain skin. He hadn’t been able to keep his mind off her for long. Even now, as much as he wanted to know what had happened in the dark of night on that deserted road, some tiny part of him was glad that she didn’t remember the last words he’d spoken to her.

If you don’t stop nosing around my county, you’ll be sorry.

Mitch grimaced at the memory. He’d been madder than hell. He’d known better than to let his temper get the better of him like that, but he supposed the bottom line had amounted to a mixture of fury and attraction. A dangerous combination under any circumstances.

He twisted the knob on his front door with a vengeance, and shoved it inward. There was no excuse for it. He’d acted like a fool. Stepping inside, he flipped the switch and flooded the long entry hall with light. He closed the door behind him and released a sigh of relief. In spite of the hellish day he’d had, and the still missing woman who made him seriously restless, he was glad to be home. It was late and he was spent. Things would have to look better in the morning.

Tossing his keys onto a nearby table, Mitch made his way down the hall toward his bedroom, shucking off his boots en route. Hopping on one foot and then the other, he peeled off his socks and tossed them aside. Fingers clumsy with exhaustion plucked at his buttons until he’d managed to undo the last one and pull his shirt from his waistband. As he reached his room, he started to shrug off his shoulder holster, but hesitated when a barely audible sound touched his ears.

He froze.

It came again…a whispered sigh or soft moan.

He cocked his head and listened intently as he slipped his weapon from its holster. His bare feet moved silently over the uncarpeted hardwood floor, instinctively avoiding the areas that creaked with age.

The word no, heavy with fear and denial, echoed…the disembodied voice closer this time. He paused at the door to his living room and listened again. Pure anguish, low and agonizing, reached out to him from the darkness with the next muffled sound. His heart beat faster as he leveled his weapon in that direction. Mitch eased into the room and hit the light switch. A pool of pale yellow glowed from a table lamp at the end of his sofa. His gaze moved beyond the table and the arm of the sofa to…

Alex.

Instantly, a shoulderload of Mitch’s tension lifted. He reholstered his weapon. She lay on the old plaid sofa, tossing and turning, fighting some unseen demon in her sleep. The hospital gown and lab coat she wore over it had worked up her thighs, exposing long, shapely legs.

Moving closer, Mitch listened intently to make out her mumbled words but couldn’t. Should he wake her? Maybe her dreams would help her remember. She whimpered in fear, and, unable to restrain himself, he crouched next to the sofa and shook her gently. She woke instantly, jerking upright and throwing her hands out in front of her in a defensive maneuver.

“Just take it easy,” he soothed, clasping her forearms to keep her seated.

Her face was pale and her hair was mussed. The white bandage on her forehead stood out in stark relief against the dark tresses. She trembled visibly beneath his scrutiny. “It’s okay,” he assured her again. He noticed then that her knees were badly scraped—something new added to her list of injuries. But it was the fear and confusion in her eyes that made his gut clench.