“I remember who you are,” she said softly. “I looked through your wallet. You’re Mick Hudson. Tucker Rivendale’s parole officer.”
He swallowed. “I was, yes. I don’t do that job anymore.” He felt the pain of a deeper injury throbbing. And what should he say now? “I’m sorry” seemed a little thin. “I made a terrible mistake” came off even weaker.
“You met with my sister often.”
Each word cut a fresh wound. “Yes. When she and Tucker began dating again, I got to know her on some of my visits. She...she was a great lady.” Great lady. Was that all he could offer?
“Yes.” She stared at him and the moment stretched long and taut, like the anchor line holding tight to a storm-tossed boat.
A slight smile quirked her lips. “I thought you would be uglier when I first met you at LeeAnn’s that one time.”
He blinked. “What?”
“LeeAnn only spoke of Mick the parole officer. I pictured you as a gorilla type, with a broken nose and slicked-back hair. And younger. I thought you’d be younger than you turned out to be.”
He shifted. He’d only seen Keeley a handful of times when he supervised Tucker, and usually it was only for a brief moment. “I suppose the ugly part is relative, but I’m forty.” Forty going on ancient. He searched her face, unable to read below the calm that he imagined was a front. She was thirty-four, he knew, like he also knew where she and her sister had been born. And that they had a mother living in a retirement home in Colorado and a father deceased, thanks to the ravages of lung cancer when the girls were young. A head full of information that lingered along with the memories.
“I...” He cleared his throat. “Did you see which direction Tucker went?” Lame, but at least it filled up the silence.
“No. I stopped paying attention when I lugged you into the Jeep and brought you here.”
He started to say something, some rough thank-you or another, but she cut him off. A good thing. Saved him from saying something stupid.
“You probably have a concussion. Should see to that, and maybe you need stitches.” She pointed. “Your bandage is oozing.”
He swathed himself in more gauze, mindful of the couch.
The sounds of sirens drifted through the night. A fist pounded on the door and Keeley jumped, fear crowding her fine cerulean eyes.
Too soon for cops. He put a finger to his lips and went to the window, moving the curtain slightly. Guy on the porch wasn’t Tucker. A tall, lean man dressed in running gear, sweat-damp hair curling around his ears.
“Keeley? It’s John.” More pounding. “Open the door.”
Keeley sighed and, against Mick’s better judgment, she unlocked the bolt and let John in, leaving the door ajar.
John enveloped her in a strong embrace, Keeley’s chin barely reaching his shoulder. “Are you all right? I just got back from my run and turned on the police radio channel. You called in. An attacker?” His eyes shifted suddenly as he caught sight of Mick. He pushed her away and tensed, fists ready. “Who are you?”
Mick sighed, holding up his palms. “Mick Hudson. I was trying to assist Keeley when she was attacked. Rivendale got away, but he’s probably not far.”
“Rivendale?” John’s eyes narrowed, face gone pale. “I never thought he’d come back. He’s a nervy psycho, isn’t he?”
In Mick’s experience most psychos had plenty of nerve, and they looked exactly like normal people.
“And you are?”
“John Bender.”
The sirens were deafening now as the police pulled up to the house.
John moved toward the door.
“Stay still,” Mick said. “Cops are tense when they respond code three. Don’t give them more reason to be nervous.”
John shot him a look filled with venom. “I don’t think you can count yourself as a law enforcement expert anymore, can you, Mr. Hudson? Didn’t you leave that arena after you let Rivendale loose to murder Keeley’s sister? I know all about it.”
Mick’s first reaction was to get in the guy’s face, but the wave of guilt that followed kept him silent.
“That was the worst moment of my life.” John continued to stare at him. “I loved LeeAnn. If things had turned out different, she would have been my wife.”
Mick was surprised. Being Tucker Rivendale’s parole officer, he’d known that Tucker loved LeeAnn and she returned the feeling. As far as he knew, they’d been exclusive since LeeAnn returned to Silver Creek. Never had he even heard John Bender’s name mentioned. He shot a look at Keeley, but she didn’t meet his eye.
He’d missed something. Again.
You didn’t know a lot of things, Mick. If you had, LeeAnn wouldn’t be dead.
* * *
In the following hour, three cops handled the investigation, interviewing them. Keeley sat calmly on the still-clean sofa, John holding her hand.
Something about the gangly man annoyed Mick, but then, holing up on his family’s raptor sanctuary since he quit his job hadn’t given him a lot of practice getting along with people. John Bender, as Mick soon figured out, was an avian veterinarian. LeeAnn had worked as his part-time receptionist. Mick remembered LeeAnn mentioned something about studying to become a vet someday.
Mick sat quietly, listening to every detail until the chief, a short, stocky man by the name of Uttley, finished up.
“Roadblocks are set up and we’ve got people coming from the area response team to help with a door-to-door search.”
“He can easily stay in the woods,” Mick said.
The chief raised an eyebrow and patted his front pocket until he found a butterscotch candy, which he stuck in his cheek. “How you figure?”
“He was a big camper back in the day. Almost an Eagle Scout before he started getting into trouble. Loved the survivalist stuff.”
The chief sucked, mouth working as he took in Mick’s information. “Think he’ll stick around?”
Mick nodded and looked at Keeley. “He said something to you, didn’t he? What was it?”
She started. “I can’t remember. It all happened so fast.”
“Are you sure?” he pressed.
“Yes.”
“I heard him speak to you.”
John looped an arm around her shoulders. “She said no, didn’t she?”
Keeley looked at the floor. “I’m really tired and I have to get up early.”
“I’m going to have a patrol car drive by throughout the night, just as a precaution.” The chief excused himself. “Staying in town, Mr. Hudson?”
Mick could see by the chief’s sharp eyes that he was nobody’s fool. It made him feel better. A little. “Not sure. Maybe I’ll drive back home tonight.”
Home? Was that what he had at the sanctuary? A home? It had begun to feel more and more like a hiding place. When he was ten he’d taken a dare and left school at lunchtime, climbing to the top of a fire lookout in the woods. His grandpa Phil had found him that day and took him right back to school, where he’d been made to write an apology to the teacher and sit with the first graders at lunchtime