Marilyn Pappano - The Sheriff's Surrender

Just not the sort of things she’d always imagined herself having by now. No family, but sisters with problems of their own and a mother who’d never been more than ineffectual. A house, but no home. Acquaintances, but no friends. Occasional sex partners, but no lovers.

No Reese.

She smiled again, but this time there was no self-mocking in it. Just enduring regret that she feared would never go away.

Waiting for sleep to overtake her, she stared out the window until her eyes grew gritty, until simple tiredness passed into fatigue. She watched the already-dark sky turn even blacker as a storm crept in, taking its sweet time in reaching Heartbreak. Lightning appeared first, far off on the horizon, then before long, distant thunder rumbled through the night—low, deep, unsettling. It seemed to vibrate through the cabin’s thick log walls, through the wooden planks of the floor and the old oak bed, and right on through her body—long, relentless grumbles. She tossed restlessly, then gave up and went to the nearest window.

She loved thunderstorms—loved their primal edge, their cathartic fury. They were less impressive back home, where the lightning had to compete with millions of city lights, where the thunder was often just one more grumble in a clamor of city noise. But here there was only one man-made light—a flood lamp outside the barn—and the thunder was challenged only by the wind and the approaching rain. If she were free to do whatever she wanted, she would go outside on the front porch, curl up in one of the rockers and breathe deeply of the clean, sweet air. She would let the wind blow her hair and clothes every which way and when the driving rain arrived, she would let it drench her to the skin, and maybe, once the storm had passed, she would have been washed just a little bit cleaner.

But she wasn’t free, and the way her luck was running, the first bolt of lightning that struck would be drawn unerringly to her soaked, superconductor body. Then everyone’s problems would be solved—Eddie Forbes’s, Jace’s, Reese’s and her own.

The flood lamp out back flickered, went off, came on and went off again as the power inside the house surged and ebbed. Next door the refrigerator cycled on and off, as did the central air, before finally shutting down in a silence that seemed eerie compared to the activity outside.

Now she could go outside. Without power, the security alarm would be worthless—unless Reese had installed some sort of backup power source, which he probably had. Besides, if she managed to get out without setting off the alarm, the electricity would surely come back on while she was outside and she would trigger it coming back in and, believing she was an intruder, Reese would blow her away—or, at least, that would be his story. And who would dispute him? Worse, who would care?

But staying inside didn’t mean having to stay in her room, standing at one small window. Neely opened her door, listened, then carefully felt her way through the darkness to the living room. Flashes of lightning led her to a chair in front of the ten-foot-long window, where she curled up, head resting on one fist, and watched the show outside.

She’d been there five minutes, maybe less, when the power started flickering again. Sounding like the little engine that couldn’t, the computer tried to boot up, shut down, then tried again. Finding her way by lightning and touch, she knelt under the desk to turn off the power strip and unplug it from the wall. She’d lost a computer once from just such activity, and though she was sure Reese wouldn’t show the least bit of gratitude, she saw no reason to sit idly by while it happened to him.

She was resettled in the chair, watching as a curtain of rain moved through the blackjacks and across the yard, listening to its great thundering rush, when a thud sounded nearby, followed by a grunt of pain and a curse. She watched as a shadowy form pushed aside the wooden desk chair she’d pulled from its usual spot, then knelt in front of the desk—waited until he was half under, then quietly said, “I’ve already unplugged the computer.”

The next thud was louder—the back of Reese’s head connecting with the underside of the desk’s center drawer—and the next curse was harsher. She didn’t spare him any sympathy—he was hardheaded enough—but turned her attention back to the storm. The rain was pounding the metal roof now in a staccato rhythm that would wake the soundest sleeper…or perhaps lull the lightest off to sleep.

She was right about the gratitude. He sat in the chair that matched hers and fixed a weighty gaze on her that she couldn’t see but could certainly feel. “What the hell are you doing up?”

“Am I restricted to my room at night? If so, you should have made that clear. Or maybe it would be best if you’d just reset the doorknob to the guest room so that it locks from the outside.”

Lightning lit the night sky and the room, giving her an all-too-clear look at him. He wore a pair of jeans and nothing else, and he looked incredible. Broad-shouldered, muscular, smooth tanned skin, narrow waist, ridged belly, lean hips…In sudden need of a cool splash of water, she directed her gaze outside again.

“It’s three in the morning.” His voice was sullen, but surprisingly pleasant—low, deep, masculine—in spite of it. “Why aren’t you asleep?”

“Why aren’t you?” She wasn’t about to admit that she couldn’t sleep because she was feeling sorry for herself, because she found being thrown together with him again so unsettling. No way was she going to speculate that subconsciously she was afraid to sleep, because the last time she’d done it, someone had tried to kill her. Show him any sign of weakness and, just like other predators, he would use it against her.

“Do you always answer questions with questions?”

“No. Sometimes I don’t answer them at all. On rare occasions, I actually answer with the truth. But not if I can avoid it.”

A particularly loud clap of thunder rattled the windowpanes. In the relative quiet that followed, Reese asked, “What happened last night?”

“Last night?”

Impatience tightened his voice. “Jace said someone tried to kill you. What happened?”

Jace said… His best friend—family—had told him, and yet he sounded as if he wasn’t at all convinced that she was truly in danger. What did he think—that she and Jace had concocted this plan to get the two of them together again? That she’d pined for him for nine years and was now making a desperate attempt to win him back?

He flattered himself…not that she hadn’t been desperate a time or two. There had been times when she would have sold her soul, would have groveled and pleaded for his forgiveness. She wasn’t proud of it, but then, she wasn’t proud of a lot of things.

But to manufacture death threats… Did he think it was a bogus bomb that had scattered pieces of her car over a city block last week? Had those been bogus bullets tearing through the walls and windows of the safe house last night?

Feeling lost and alone, she managed a careless shrug. “Nothing happened.”

“Jace said—”

“Then ask Jace.” He sure as hell wouldn’t believe anything she told him.

After another shuddering crack of thunder, he spoke again. “Why did he call me? Kansas City has a big department. He’s got friends in other departments all over the area. Why me?”

She looked at him, in shadow one instant, brightly illuminated the next, then got to her feet. “He still has some illusions about you. He believes you’re an honorable man.” She walked as far as the kitchen door before turning back. “But you and I both know better, don’t we?”

Tuesday morning was about as perfect a June day as Oklahoma ever saw. Except for the rain glistening on the grass and quickly evaporating from the porch, there was no sign of last night’s storm. Of course, Reese thought sourly as he walked through the living room, there was no sign inside of his late-night run-in with Neely, but that didn’t mean anything.