Rita righted furniture and photos while Cole finished his work on her door and the coffee brewed. The small, inviting space was magazine perfect when he packed up his things. The overall result was very sexy librarian. Claw-footed furniture, books by the boatload and more fancy pillows with goofy sayings like Hot Mess, Sassy, and Hell to the No.
Cole shook his head. “You might want to think about getting a new knob, too. Maybe something with a code.”
“Sure.” She rolled the vacuum into view, then wiped a bead of sweat from her brow. “Coffee should be ready.”
“Care if I shut the door and test the lock?”
“No. It’s fine.” She returned a moment later with two fragile-looking cups and set them on the coffee table. “Do you take cream or sugar?”
Cole laughed. “No, but thanks.” He made a show of testing the door’s integrity and admiring his personal handyman skills. “I think this is all set. I’ll let you know about the prints.” He dropped the keys to her new dead bolt on the table, then helped himself to a seat in the narrow armchair. “You live here alone?”
“Yeah. For a couple years since Ryan moved out.”
Cole felt his jaw lock. “Ryan?” Maybe there was an angry ex out there somewhere who needed a swift kick in the ass. Cole adjusted his position in the little seat and hiked one foot onto the opposite leg. The idea of a man attempting to harm or frighten Rita set his teeth on edge.
“He’s my little brother.” She flipped the lid on a scrapbook beside his coffee. “There.”
A younger, masculine version of Rita centered every photo. Ryan was tall and gangly, like Cole used to be. At least eight inches taller than his big sister, who was tucked beneath his arm in many of the pictures. “You’re close. That’s nice. My family’s like that. Painfully so.”
She smiled.
“Did you say Ryan lived here?”
“Yeah. Until he moved into a dorm for freshman year. I was his legal guardian through high school.” Deep sadness swam in her hazel eyes.
Cole found himself leaning forward, suddenly eager to understand her burdens and lighten them.
“Our mother was hit by a drunk driver in Oklahoma. Ryan came to live with me after the funeral.”
“I’m sorry. I had no idea.” He couldn’t imagine losing a parent. Especially not in high school. And he surely couldn’t have raised a teenager when he was in his twenties. “Your dad’s not in the picture?”
She rolled her eyes and traced the gilded rim of her dainty cup with a fingertip. “No. He’s in Kuwait or Afghanistan or somewhere else where people need him.” There was no mistaking the disappointment in her tone. She set her cup aside and slid her palms up and down her thighs, then folded her fingers on her lap.
“Do I make you nervous?”
She looked at her feet. “No. Your presence is extremely comforting, actually, but I’ve had a long morning.”
“And you don’t feel well,” he reminded her.
“Right.”
“Anything you want to talk about?” he prompted.
Rita pressed her lips into a white line and shook her head.
He levered himself off the chair and went to fish a card from his bag, leaving his finished coffee where it stood. There was little left for him to do if she wasn’t talking, and West could use his help back at the docks.
She followed Cole to the door and opened it for him. Soft scents of vanilla and honey lifted from her skin and hair.
Cole scribbled his cell number across the back of his card. “If you need anything else or think of something you want to tell me, give me a call. I always answer, and I can be here quick. Meanwhile, I’ll add your street to the other deputies’ patrol routes.”
“No. Don’t.” Rita’s hand flashed up from her side, and curled around his wrist.
He waited for additional information that didn’t come. “That’s it? Just don’t?”
Her home had been ransacked, but she didn’t want to know the sheriff’s department was keeping watch?
Her face went slack as she released him. “I’m fine. There’s no need to send anyone else out. Thank you for coming.” She practically shoved him across the threshold, then cranked the new lock behind him.
Cole dropped behind the wheel of his cruiser and grabbed the radio to call in his whereabouts before shifting into gear.
In the distance, a high-end sedan pulled away from the curb and took an immediate turn out of sight. Cole set the radio aside and reversed down the drive. He hadn’t noticed the car when he went outside to walk Rita in, and it hadn’t been there while he’d worked on her open door. Maybe it was nothing, or his attraction to Rita making him crazy, but something told him he’d better follow that car.
RITA WATCHED FROM her window as the handsome deputy pulled away. Cole Garrett wasn’t the man from the docks and her office. She’d have recognized Cole anywhere. He was the one who settled fistfights outside the courtrooms and calmed criminals being loaded into vehicles destined for prison, and the one on his knees beside benches where folks cried over an unfair verdict. Cole Garrett was a peacekeeper and a hero.
When the coast was clear, Rita kicked off her heels and traded her pencil skirt for a pair of blue jeans. She stuffed bare feet into white, laceless sneakers and grabbed her laptop bag and purse.
Five minutes later, she parked Ryan’s car against the curb outside a crowded café and wandered inside. On television, people being hunted always went somewhere with witnesses. The café seemed a smart choice. Even if she wasn’t being hunted, it surely felt that way, and her home was too quiet. Too vulnerable. If someone got inside while she was there alone, the invader would have complete privacy to do anything he wanted.
Her stomach protested the thought. “A bottle of water, please,” she said to the barista.
“Three dollars.” He set her order on the counter.
Rita gave him a five and walked away. She chose a tall table near the back of the brightly lit room and climbed onto a seat with a view of the front door and window, and also of the muted television anchored near the ceiling. She should’ve told Cole her story. She had to trust someone, and every cell in her body said she could unequivocally trust him. It was stupid that she hadn’t. She dug his card from her bag and set it on the table. She needed to stop feeling overwhelmed and start figuring this mess out.
What would she say? Where should she begin?
The white noise of two dozen voices soothed her frayed nerves. She rubbed cold fingertips in small circles against her temples, plotting ways to open the disturbing conversation. Hello, this is Rita Horn. I know we’ve only just met, but I wanted you to know that I think one of the other deputies is a murderer.
She rolled her eyes as a silent peanut-butter commercial gave way to live coverage at the river.
She dropped her hands onto the table. Her heart leaped into her throat. She scanned the room full of oblivious people, all pecking at their phone screens or chatting with friends. Rita leaned across the table, wholly focused on the scrolling text beneath the coverage.
“Witnesses reported seeing members of the Cade County Sheriff’s Department and Coroner’s Office at this location early this morning. Crime scene tape and a number of road blocks have been put in place as the hours progress. Behind me you can see the continued presence of the CCSD. Our question is, why?”
The young reporter on-screen pressed her fingers against one ear and dropped her gaze. When she raised her face to the camera once more, her skin had gone ghost white.
“Sources