Aurora folded her arms across her chest and gazed into the flames. “To be honest, the coffee in Hope stinks. I drink enough that it dictated opening up a business.”
He snorted. “Uh-huh, now really, be honest.”
“How do you know I’m not?”
Her upturned and perky nose might give off an appearance of snootiness, but the averting gaze and body language said she had a more private reason and didn’t care to divulge. “I just know. But you don’t have to get personal with me, Counselor.” He stood and studied the few photos on her mantel. “That’s you. Can’t miss the hair.” Blondish red. Probably still long like the toothless little girl in the photo; he’d never seen it down before. She’d grown from adorable to beautiful. “That a brother or something next to you?”
“Yes. Richie. He died.”
The words punched his chest. “I’m sorry.”
She clutched the photo and seemed to slip down memory lane. “He’s why I do what I do. He committed suicide in prison when I was in my second year of law school.”
Beckett grimaced. “Went to school to get him out somehow?”
“He was innocent. What choice did I have? Someone had to give him decent counsel. Who better to advocate for him than someone who believed in him?”
“Ninety-nine percent of criminals say they’re innocent.”
Aurora’s eyes hardened and she set the photo back on the mantel. “Some are telling the truth. Like Richie.”
Beckett had worn out his welcome, but that suited him. He wasn’t diggin’ seeing Aurora as a victim. A really soft, beautiful woman who grieved her brother even if he was a criminal. “Thanks for the coffee.”
“When I clear his name, you’ll be the first to know, Sheriff.”
He opened the door and stepped onto the porch. “Lock it behind me and I’ll be by a few times. If you need anything—”
“I can handle it myself.” Brazenness and a need to prove her case held his gaze, but beyond that lay something else. Torment. Sorrow.
Okay, her view on the justice system got a rise out of him, but could he be a bigger idiot? He’d basically insulted her dead brother, whom she loved. What a jerk. He owed her an apology for his insensitivity.
“Look—”
Her cell rang. She held up an index finger and snagged it from the table by the couch. She studied the screen and frowned.
Someone she didn’t want to talk to? Beckett ought to go. He could apologize later. It was freezing out here. He should have moved to Florida. “I’m gonna—” The rest of his sentence nose-dived when Aurora’s cheeks blanched. She hadn’t said anything after her hello.
“Who is this?” Her voice trembled.
“What’s going on?” Beckett whispered.
“Hello? Hello...” Aurora hit the end button and stared at Beckett, eyes wide.
Beckett reentered the house and shut the door behind him. “Who was that?”
“Same gritty voice from this morning. In the crowd.” Her tone was too quiet, hollow.
Beckett’s neck muscles wound even tighter and he ground his jaw. “What did he say?”
Aurora clutched her throat. “Death is coming for me.”
Beckett snagged Aurora’s phone and checked her recent calls. Unknown number. “I’ll get a trace on this.”
“We both know that’s a long shot. Probably a burner phone.” She rubbed her temples and pursed her lips.
She was right. But if someone had done this on impulse, they might have only blocked her view of the number. It was a thin thread, but he was hanging on to it. “No one is going to get to you, understand?”
Aurora’s eyebrows tweaked and she gave a weak nod. She trusted him enough to call but not enough to actually protect her?
He pivoted her carefully, forcing her to face him. “No one.” He drilled into her gaze until she gave a solid nod. Better. Beckett needed her to have faith in him. He needed to have some faith, but after his failure with Meghan, his faith in himself—and in God—was shaky at best. This time, he couldn’t let someone take a life right out from under his nose. His trained nose. Guilt battered his ribs. “I’ll call one of my guys to come and get the phone—”
“No.” Aurora tapped her nose again. Something in that pretty head was cooking. “Someone on the inside knows what brand of whiskey Austin Bledsoe drank. I don’t trust anyone in your office to do right by me. Sorry not sorry. You do it. I trust you, Beckett.”
Beckett. He’d never heard her say his name. Not that he’d ever used hers. He liked the way it rolled off her tongue. “You sure?”
“I may not enjoy our conversations and you may not like me, but you’re honest to a fault.”
They didn’t have conversations. They had arguments. And he’d never said he didn’t like her. His fear at the moment was getting to know her and liking her too much. “All right. I’ll do it myself.” He didn’t bother to acknowledge her other statement. “And I have to make a few stops.”
“Question Trevor Russell?”
The woman was keen. “Yes.” Not that he was over the moon about it. But the situation warranted it. Beckett couldn’t take her with him. Couldn’t leave her here unattended, and she didn’t trust anyone but him, which made things difficult but also sent a swell of satisfaction through him. “Can you have a friend come over? Or go somewhere for the night?”
Her mouth dropped open and defiance slashed through her eyes. “Let him win? Let him run me out of my own home over a scary phone call? Hardly.”
He had a feeling she’d say something like that. She might as well be a walking billboard for the word resolute. He’d witnessed that time and again in the courtroom. Like a bulldog on a bone. “I can’t protect you if I’m not here. He’s already tossed a bottle through the window—and now the call. Maybe it is a threat to terrorize you.” No way he believed that, based on personal experience. “But maybe it’s not.”
She ran her hands over her face and groaned. “Kelly’s in Memphis for the night. New grandbaby.”
Judge Kelly Marks had hired Aurora as the court-appointed attorney. From what Beckett knew, she’d been one of Aurora’s law professors at Ole Miss and her mentor of sorts. She lived over by the Magnolia Inn, on the hill with an iron gate. Aurora would be more secure there, but that wasn’t an option tonight. “What about staying with Holt and Blair McKnight?”
Aurora gave him a cutting eye. “They’ve been married less than six months. I’m not intruding on the honeymooners.”
Beckett growled. “It’s one night. I’m calling them.”
Aurora pinched the bridge of her nose. “I feel like a child. Like...like I’m losing.”
“Not everything is about winning and losing, Counselor. This is about staying safe. Holt McKnight will make sure of it, and I trust him with my life. I trust him with yours.”
Beckett gauged her. She was just shy of stomping her foot and crying or throat punching him. He eased back in case of the latter. Surely, she’d see reason and let him drive her over to the McKnights’ for one evening. Tomorrow, she could stay with Judge Marks.