“Sarah … I’ll take good care of her,” Jamie murmured. “I promise.”
“I know.”
As Lucy continued to wail, Sarah moved closer to brush her lips over the baby’s forehead. “Be good for Jamie,” she said softly.
Holding the crying infant, Jamie walked to the door, pausing only to shoot Finn a look that said, Fix this. Now. She left the office, and they could hear her footsteps in the bull pen. Lucy’s distressed cries grew muffled and then eventually faded as Jamie left the station with the baby.
Sarah stared at the door for an impossibly long time, before finally turning to Finn.
His stomach clenched at her lifeless expression. She looked as though someone had ripped the one thing she cared about right out of her arms, which, in fact, was what had just happened.
“Sweetheart,” he started, the old endearment slipping from his mouth before he could stop it.
The dull shine to her eyes exploded into a smoldering burst of anger. “Don’t you dare call me that.”
The vehemence in her voice had him stepping back, stricken.
“And don’t you dare pretend you’re going to help me get out of this,” she continued, her cheeks flushed with fury. “You got me into this. I don’t care what the evidence says, or what the D.A. thinks, you know I didn’t kill anyone!”
“And I’m going to help you prove that,” he said hoarsely.
“Don’t bother,” she snapped. “You’ve already proven that you’re incapable of standing by me when things get a little too tough for your liking. So, frankly, I don’t want or need your help, Patrick.” She was breathing heavily now. “Now take me back to my cell.”
“Damn it, Sarah—”
“Take me. Back. To my cell.”
Chapter 3
Sarah woke up the next morning feeling downright disoriented. When she stuck out her arm to fumble for the alarm clock, she felt nothing but cold air. When she instinctively turned to the right to glance over at Lucy’s crib, she found herself staring at a cement wall.
She shot up into a sitting position, shoving strands of hair from her eyes as she realized she wasn’t in her cozy bedroom—she was in a jail cell.
She still wore the turtleneck and jeans she’d had on yesterday, which she’d opted to sleep in because the alternative had been too humiliating to accept. The light blue prison-issued jumpsuit was still where she’d left it—on the floor next to the metal bars. The very thought of putting on that garment had brought a wave of nausea to her belly. She might be stuck in jail, but no way would she allow Finn and his deputies to dress her up like a common criminal.
Yesterday’s meeting with her new lawyer, Daniel Chin, had been a total disappointment. The mild-mannered Korean man had been unable to get in touch with the judge and, in a rueful voice, he’d told her that she had no choice but to spend the weekend in lockup. After he left, Anna had taken her back to her cell. Dinner had consisted of sandwiches from the town deli, a luxury she doubted other prisoners got to experience. She’d fallen asleep at ten, though she’d spent most of the night tossing and turning on the thin, uncomfortable cot.
Rubbing her tired eyes, she rose to her feet and stretched her legs, wondering when someone would come down to take her to the washroom. Just as she thought it, a door creaked open, and then Finn strode up to the cell.
He looked exhausted, his blue eyes lined with red, and she noticed his clothes were rumpled, as if he’d slept in them. “Anna will be down in a second to take you to wash up,” he started roughly. “But first I wanted a moment alone with you.”
Her heart did an unwitting flip. She knew she wasn’t allowed to feel anything for this man, but there was just something about him this morning that brought a rush of warmth to her stomach. Maybe it was the messy hair, or the hard glint in his eyes. He might be polite and pleasant when he was on duty, but Sarah had known him before he’d been elected sheriff, back when he’d had the whole bad-boy thing going on.
She still remembered the day they’d bumped into each other at the lake. Finn had been a few years ahead of her in high school, but their paths had never crossed until that day. She’d been twenty-two, just back from college, and she’d been walking along the lakeshore, debating if she should use part of her inheritance to buy the art gallery that had recently come up for sale in town. So lost in thought, she hadn’t noticed Finn until she’d stumbled right into his hard, muscular chest. The attraction between them had been fast, primal. For a good girl like her, the pull of desire toward the rough and sensual deputy had been disconcerting. And Finn hadn’t been so diplomatic back then. He spoke what was on his mind, no matter how crude, and his bold, sexy words had thrilled her. She’d fallen head over heels for him, captivated by his gruff nature and magnetic sexuality, even though she knew her feelings for him were too damn dangerous.
She caught a glimpse of that rough edge now, and those old feelings of desire rippled through her.
Ignoring her body’s traitorous reaction, she met Finn’s gaze and said, “Do we have to do this first thing in the morning? I just woke up.”
“And I never went to sleep,” he muttered back. “I was in the chair in my office all night, trying to figure out how to say this, so—”
She wrinkled her brow. “You slept in your office?”
He glanced at her as if he couldn’t believe she’d even ask. “You honestly thought I could go home and get into my big comfortable bed knowing that you were spending the night in a cell? Jesus, Sarah.”
Her heart lurched again. Lord, why wouldn’t it quit doing that? And why did the image of Finn squished in his desk chair, as he sat awake all night, make her pulse speed up?
“Anyway, I did some thinking,” he went on, awkwardly resting his hands on the bars, “and I realized the direct approach is the way to go.” Frowning, he held her gaze. “I am going to help you, Sarah, no matter how many times you tell me you don’t need my help. Because you know what? I don’t give a damn what you say—you do need me. And you have me, whether you like it or not.”
She arched both eyebrows. “You haven’t changed at all, have you? Still get off on ordering people around.”
A ferocious expression darkened his face. “I have changed. I’ve changed more than you know. In fact, that leads me to the other thing I wanted to say.”
“I can’t wait to hear it.”
“Drop the damn sarcasm and listen.” His tone was low, almost urgent. “You need to know something, Sarah.”
“Yeah?” she said warily. “And what’s that?”
“I’m sorry.”
Those two words came out strained, and his chest heaved, as if the mere act of uttering them had taken a physical toll on him.
Before she could reply, he hurried on. “I’m sorry for what happened between us. For the way I ended things. But you have to know that I didn’t do it out of malice.” He raked one hand through his tousled black hair. “I was young, Sarah. Young and scared and the situation was too familiar. It reminded me too much of what I went through with my …”
Mother, she nearly finished. She’d heard it all before, in the parting speech he’d recited before walking—no, running—out of her life. Oh, he’d run, all right. As if he was being chased by the damn bogeyman, as if her depression could infect him like some airborne disease.
Resentment prickled her skin. “I understand that the situation with your mom was messed up, Finn, but you weren’t the only one with parent issues.”
The