Brenda Novak - In Seconds

She set his wine in front of him. “You didn’t want to be a lawyer, like your father?”

“No. Definitely not enough action in that.”

“What about an electrician?”

“I figured that could be a fallback. But I was more interested in police work.”

She’d already drank enough wine for one evening. It didn’t take much to make her tipsy. But she was so self-conscious. And the alcohol was doing a great job of relaxing her.

One more glass… “If you want action, what are you doing in a sleepy little town like this?”

He studied his wine, swirled it around. “My wife visited here once, with her parents, when she was a child. They spent the whole summer. She’d always dreamed of coming back to live. So once she got sick and the doctors said there was nothing more they could do, I thought it might be the best place for her.”

He’d done everything he could, even built her that expensive deck. Claire had told Vivian how, in her last days, he’d carry Amber Rose outside and hold her on his lap so she could feel the sun…?.

Did it hurt him to talk about his late wife? Vivian wanted to ask, but such personal questions fell into what she’d designated a restricted area. She had to respect other people’s boundaries if she wanted them to respect hers.

“Where did you live before?” she asked.

“Phoenix.”

She cradled her glass. “That’s a big change.”

“And yet I love both places,” he said with a shrug.

“Will you ever go back?”

His nicked and scarred hands served as a testament to all he did with them. And they were so large they made his glass appear small by comparison. “No. Marley’s settled here. She’s happy. After she lost her mother, I’d never take her away from her friends. I think stability’s important, don’t you?”

Very. That was the problem. Thanks to The Crew, stability wasn’t an easy thing for her to provide. “But do you think it’s as safe here as we once believed?”

Weaving his fingers together, he clasped them behind his head. “You’ve heard about the murder.”

She’d found the lead-in she’d been searching for. But she was afraid she’d given herself away. He could read people so well. She’d seen him do it many times—watched him step in to defuse a disagreement at the Fireworks by the Lake show last July fourth before it could erupt into a fight, watched him steer various inebriated people away from the bar so he could drive them home before they tried to get behind the wheel, watched how gently he deflected unwanted female attention. He kept his finger on the pulse of everything that went on around him, noticed changes and figured out the reasons for them. And inviting him over had definitely been a change. So he had to be wondering. And watching for clues.

“I think most people have heard about the murder,” she said. “You know what gossip is like in this town.”

“I do, which is why I’m curious…”

When his eyes latched onto hers, she knew he wasn’t going to limit his comments to the superficial and polite. And that made her uncomfortable enough to drain her glass. “What?”

“Why no one ever has any dirt on you.”

Her stomach muscles tensed, but she smiled. “You’re changing the subject.”

“Maybe I am. But I can tell my statement doesn’t surprise you. And that makes me even more curious.”

“I haven’t given anyone a reason to talk,” she countered.

“Exactly. You don’t flirt. You don’t date. You don’t sleep around. You don’t get involved in church or the school board or the politics of this town.”

“I take the kids to church on Sundays.”

“That’s it, though. You rarely even go out for a drink. As far as I can tell, your social life consists of having Claire over to watch an occasional movie and book group on Thursday nights. You live in the background of a place that’s already in the background. Why?”

Oh, God. She shouldn’t have had him come here, let alone served him a drink. “I’m too busy with my business and raising my children.”

“You don’t feel the need for intimacy?”

He wasn’t talking about sex but, thanks to the wine, that was precisely where her mind went. By the time her marriage ended, she’d cringed whenever Tom touched her. But her opinion of making love had improved once she met Rex McCready. Giving pleasure was one thing Rex could do right. “How do you know I’m not in a relationship?”

“I’d notice if a man came to the house.”

Was he as preoccupied with her as she was with him? She hoped not. For the past several months she’d been absolutely infatuated. He and he alone occupied her thoughts during the long nights when she was too tired to work but couldn’t sleep. Claire was starting to pick up on her interest and badger her about why she kept turning him down.

More wine. Right away. Getting up, she retrieved the bottle and poured herself another glass. She offered him a refill, too, but he shook his head. “Maybe I had a bad experience, so I’m hesitant to take the risk,” she murmured.

He ran a finger over his lip in a thoughtful gesture. “Bad in what way?”

The anxiety that’d been gnawing at her seemed to have lost its teeth, but she held fast to the rules she’d established for herself when she moved here. She was already too close to Claire; she didn’t need to wag her tongue to the sheriff. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

That should’ve been direct enough to head him off. He couldn’t possibly have missed her “you’re treading too close” signal. But the sheriff wouldn’t let it go. Not tonight. “What’d he do to you?”

She downed more wine as she searched for a casual response. But even the alcohol couldn’t stifle the painful memories. Tom forcing her to have sex with him several times a night whether she was interested or not. Tom heaping on the guilt simply because she craved other people and relationships in her life, especially girlfriends. Tom undermining her attempts to get a job so she’d be completely dependent on him. And then there was the physical abuse, the worst of which she’d blocked out…?.

When she finished what was in her glass, the sheriff was still waiting, and watching her closely. “He was abusive, okay? I’m sure you’ve guessed that already. But if you want to hear me say it, I just did.”

“Physically?”

She winced as she remembered some of the humiliating things Tom had made her do, how easily he’d been able to manipulate her because of their children. “Yes.”

He leaned over and touched the scar where Tom had cut his initials into her arm. “Did he do this to you?”

That had been minor, compared to some of the other stuff. She pulled away. “That and more.”

“Where is he now?”

“I don’t know. I just hope he never finds me.” There were others she feared far more, but she couldn’t tell him that. This would appease the sheriff’s curiosity; make him believe he understood why she was so withdrawn and secretive. Make him stop questioning her about the past.

“You think he’s looking?”

“He could be.” She’d had a lot to drink tonight, too much, and wanted even more—anything to further numb the sharp edge of fear—so she refilled her glass.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I wouldn’t have pushed. Except…I’ve tried asking you out so many times.”

She didn’t want to talk about them. “Sheriff, please.”

“Sheriff?”

“Myles, then.” It wasn’t easy to say his name; it felt too familiar. “In case you haven’t guessed, I’m not interested in a relationship.”

Instead of getting offended, he leaned forward again and caught her chin so she had to meet his eyes. “Is that right?”