“I don’t think the district attorney’s office is going to write my disappearance off so neatly.”
“Maybe not. But I doubt you’ll be going to jail.”
“I owe restitution,” Annie said quietly. It was the one thing she tried not to think about. She’d had nothing for so long, it had been easy to ignore the pull to make things right financially. She’d certainly never raise the money by working for a nonprofit.
“That’s ridiculous.” Shea had never used that clipped tone before.
It stopped her. “Why?”
“You need to let go of your guilt, Annie. It’s going to ruin you, and you don’t deserve that.”
No response would adequately convey how wrong Shea was. So Annie didn’t try. They walked again, and she breathed in the smell of the place she’d carved for herself. She had trouble thinking of herself as anything but Annie Sheridan. Leanna Warner was somewhere else, gone. Buried in shame. Annie couldn’t help thinking it would be better for everyone if she simply rested in peace.
TUCKER SAT ACROSS from Annie, staring into her troubled gaze. Shea and Jesse had gone home. The cabin was quiet…and after the longest day Tucker could remember, all he wanted was to take Annie to bed.
“Me going to Dallas doesn’t make sense. I told you, if we don’t have more to go on, I’m calling the D.A.” She lifted her chin. The woman could be stubborn. “It’s not a debate.”
“We can work together much easier if you’re with me,” he said.
“Together? What am I supposed to add to this collective? If I had some information that would help, I’d have done something with it. That’s the point,” she said. “I don’t know anything.”
“I’m not doubting you, but something you may have dismissed as unimportant might be a key piece of the puzzle. Let Peter look through the files. Let him question you. He might stir a memory, remind you of a moment or an offhand remark you thought nothing of at the time.”
“He can call me here. I don’t like the idea of leaving Safe Haven. This place is mine. I need to be here.”
Tucker wanted to throw every last piece of furniture in this cracker box outside, give them some room to work with. He kept trying to think of a way to postpone his trip home. Staying would make him feel better about her safety, but the ranch and his responsibilities at home needed his attention desperately. There were a lot of people counting on him. Especially his mother. As much as he wanted to forget about the Rocking B, he couldn’t. Not without a cost he wasn’t willing to pay.
“I have to go,” he said, taking hold of her hand. “But leaving you…”
Annie didn’t respond. Time slid by as he rubbed his thumb on the back of her hand. He ached, physically. His mother could call Christian’s phone anytime. When she discovered it wasn’t working, she’d worry, and then what? Lie to her? He could, but that wouldn’t solve anything.
He needed to give Peter time to familiarize himself with the case. To be effective. George was still sneaking in back doors to quietly get information on the bookies and that damn account number in Annie’s coffee can.
He should ask her. Just spit it out, but that would make her even more suspicious, and rightly so. And hell, he hated admitting he’d gone through her things that first day. On the other hand, he’d promised to tell her everything.
There was no winning. Nothing he could do to help the people he loved.
“This is about your mother, isn’t it?”
He blinked at Annie, not able to tell how much time they’d sat in silence. “Partly, yes.”
“Oh, God. You’re choosing me over Christian. You realize that, right?”
“No, I’m not. He made that choice for me.”
Annie’s face was flushed and miserable. “She won’t see it that way.”
“Probably not. At least, not at first. It’s going to be difficult. I’m not even sure what I should do. I thought about making something up, but then if there’s proof, and I believe there will be, that Christian was involved, it’s going to get out. I don’t want her caught unaware.”
“She needs you.”
He shrugged.
“Do me a favor?”
Sitting up straighter, he curbed his instinctive nod. “What’s that?”
“Come to bed with me?”
That he hadn’t expected. “Yes. Of course, yes.”
“You go first,” she said, looking at the bathroom door. “I’ve got to make tomorrow’s coffee.”
This time he did nod, afraid if he opened his mouth he’d say something foolish and make her renege. For the first time since she’d overheard him on the phone, the world felt normal. Well, almost normal. He brushed his teeth; she counted out spoons of coffee. They passed each other on the stairs, brushing fingers and sleeves. He could see how exhausted she was, and hoped they could both find sleep.
When they were finally in bed, her in a sleep shirt she’d put on downstairs, him in a T-shirt and his boxers, they didn’t touch at all.
She lay on her side facing him, and he faced her. The room was shadowed with bands of moonlight. He assumed she could see him more clearly than he could see her. But that was okay. He knew enough about what she must be going through.
There was still a matter of trust between them. Trust and a pile of guilt on both their shoulders. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, as much to himself as to Annie.
“What for?”
He didn’t think she was being coy, not by the tone of her voice at least. “I’m not sure,” he said. “I guess I wish we’d met at another time, another place. I want to make all the bad things disappear, and I can’t.”
Annie sat up so quickly, it startled him. She turned the bedside lamp on, then slipped out of the bed, down to her knees. Tucker almost sat up, but then he realized what she was doing. A moment later, she sat, cross-legged, on top of the comforter, holding a coffee can.
She didn’t open it immediately, and moved slowly when she did. She took out the driver’s license. The roll of money, and the slip of paper with the account number written on it. Her gaze didn’t leave the objects, even when she set aside the can.
“This was my exit strategy,” she said. “Part of it, at least.” She held up the license. “This was someone my parents used to know. She was my age, but she died four years ago. I never met her. My mother was her godmother. It was a sad story, why the license was in the attic, but I didn’t think my mother would mind if I borrowed it.” She put it down again, as if it were something precious, a baby blanket or a beloved garment.
Then she picked up the scrap of paper. Shook her head, and grabbed the money roll in the same hand. “These go together. One is what’s left of my life savings. I had more. Twice this much, basically. A little more than twice. Enough to make it into Canada, find a place to live. Enough to give me breathing room, because I’d learned how to keep my expenses down. But then my first winter, some horses got sick. I didn’t have enough to feed them and get them medicine. I dipped into the other roll.”
She put the money down and stared at the paper. “This is a bank account number. A safety net. From the bank in Blackfoot Falls. My payback account. It’s pitiful, and I don’t think I’ll ever make enough to fully repay the stolen money, but I needed to do something real. Something more. So I saved some cash from being a waitress for three months before I came here. And I made some money doing day labor. Nothing much, barely enough to eat and have a place to sleep, but I put something aside, every time. It used to be in the can, along with the rolls. But I knew if the horses needed