“And your past doesn’t excuse the choices you made,” she finished.
“It doesn’t,” he agreed, “but I’m trying to make amends for those choices now. I want to be here for you, Sarah. The way I wasn’t back then. I’m going to get you out of this mess.”
A myriad of emotions spun through her body. Anger. Pain. Hope. The last one grated the most, because she didn’t want to hope. Didn’t want to believe Finn’s promise that he’d help her. He’d already proven that he couldn’t be counted on. What if she put her life in his hands, the way she’d put her heart there, only to have him let her down again?
She couldn’t. But she couldn’t say no, either. Not when she had Lucy to think about. As much as it pained her to admit it, she did need him.
Yesterday, when Finn had mentioned the possibility of a trial, fear had streaked through her like a bolt of lightning. She couldn’t go to trial. If she did, child welfare would snatch Lucy away faster than Sarah could say wrongfully accused. And there was no way she was giving up her baby. She’d waited two years for Lucy, and nobody was going to take her from Sarah.
And so she managed a silent nod of acceptance, unable to look at him.
He frowned again, sensing her reluctance, then released a humorless laugh. “You might not like it but I’m going to fix this, no matter what you say—or don’t say—sweetheart.”
A spark of heat tickled her spine. She had to force herself to snuff it out. So what if he’d called her sweetheart. So what if those two husky syllables reminded her of all those lazy mornings in bed, when he’d used that same word to cajole her into opening the gallery late so they could indulge in another round of hot, sweaty sex.
They were over. Done. And she refused to react to this man, no matter what he called her.
“Can you just call Anna so I can use the restroom?” she said abruptly.
His shoulders stiffened at her harsh tone, but before he could reply, a tentative female voice sounded from the end of the corridor.
“Sheriff?” Anna called. “I think you need to get up here.”
“What’s going on?” Finn called back, eyes narrowed.
“There’s an FBI agent here. He says he’s taking over the case.”
Sarah noticed the visible shock on Finn’s face. Without another look in her direction, he stalked off, his heavy black boots thudding against the cement floor.
Wariness climbed up her chest. An FBI agent had arrived to take over the case? On a Sunday?
That didn’t sound good. At all.
When Finn marched into his office, he found a tall, fair-haired man in a crisp black business suit standing by the minuscule window overlooking the brick wall of the building next door. The man turned when the door opened, offering a tight smile as he said, “Sheriff Finnegan. Pleasure to meet you.”
Finn advanced on the man, wincing when he noticed the grease-covered Chinese food containers littering his desktop and the white dress shirt slung over the back of his chair. He hadn’t bothered to tidy up yet, and the slept-in office definitely didn’t offer a good first impression.
But the agent made no mention of the mess, simply leaning forward for a handshake that Finn reluctantly returned. “I’m Special Agent Mark Parsons,” the man added. “I’ve been asked to assist you on the Donovan investigation.”
Finn smothered a curse. He could probably take a wild guess as to who had contacted the Bureau. Or maybe two guesses, since the M.O. fit both the mayor and district attorney of Serenade. Apparently, the bastards didn’t trust him to stay impartial.
“Assist, huh? Because my deputy just said you told her you were here to take over the case.”
Parsons’s smile didn’t even falter. Finn decided, right then and there, that he didn’t like the guy. There was something predatory in those pale blue eyes, something that Finn frequently glimpsed in the D.A., that power-hungry glint characteristic of a man desperate to climb all the way to the top. He wondered if Parsons was new, some rookie looking to make a name for himself. Finn made a mental note to ask Jamie if she knew the man.
“She must have misunderstood me,” Parsons said smoothly. “I simply relayed the instructions given to me by my supervisor—that this investigation required a new pair of eyes.”
Since Anna had a better read on people than most psychics, Finn doubted his deputy had misunderstood. Parsons was here for one reason—to stick his nose into places it didn’t belong and try to punch another notch in his glory belt.
Christ, and just when he thought things couldn’t get any worse.
“Mayor Williams said we’ve got a suspect in custody.”
Finn bristled at the we. “Yes, I arrested the owner of the town’s art gallery yesterday. Sarah Connelly. Her hair was found at the scene, along with a partial fingerprint on the table near the body.”
“Yes, I was informed of that, as well.”
As Parsons sat on the edge of the sheriff’s desk, making himself comfortable, Finn battled a burst of anger. He had no intention of working with this man. Parsons was too cocky, too smooth in his expensive suit. He had slime bag written all over him.
“I was also told there’s still the matter of the murder weapon,” Parsons went on in a brisk, professional voice. “So our first order of business is finding out exactly where the gun came from, and how it wound up in Connelly’s hands.”
“Look.” Finn took a breath. “With all due respect, Agent Parsons, I’m not sure what you could possibly do that my staff and I haven’t already done. The gun is untraceable, wiped of any prints. And if we’re being forthcoming with each other, I have to tell you, I don’t think Sarah Connelly killed Teresa Donovan.”
A knowing glimmer entered Parson’s eyes. “Does the fact that she’s your ex-girlfriend have anything to do with that conviction?”
“No,” Finn snapped. “But our past association does come into play here. I know Sarah. She’s not a killer. She runs a gallery, she’s involved in community events, and she just adopted a baby. She’s a good person.”
“Good people have been known to snap and commit murder.” Parsons stared at him with a condescending expression that made Finn want to deck the guy. “Sarah Connelly has a history of instability. She is certainly capable of killing Teresa Don—”
“So it’s true!” a female voice shrieked.
Both men spun around to gape at the raven-haired woman who’d burst into the office without knocking.
Finn tamped down an irritated sigh as Valerie Matthews barreled toward him, her gunmetal-gray eyes blazing with what could only be described as perverse satisfaction. “I knew that crazy bitch was up to something! The way she befriended Agent Crawford so she could squeeze information out of her …”
Valerie trailed off deliberately, which only succeeded in pissing off Finn even further. Like her younger sister, Valerie was the nastiest, most unlikable woman Finn had ever met. She and Teresa had been two peas in a despicable pod, determined to make the lives of everyone around them miserable, as if that could make up for the crappy childhood they’d endured.
When Cole Donovan had been shot, Finn had actually begun to think that Valerie might have changed, that she was starting to let go of some of her craziness. Valerie had been knocked unconscious when Teresa’s ex-lover had taken Jamie hostage, and when Finn visited her in