Gone From Me: Hearts of the South, Book 10 (10 page)

At the second traffic light, Troy Lee took the right instead of hooking the left that would take them to the department. After a couple of blocks, he eased into the library parking lot and stopped in the shade of a spreading oak. He reached for the mike. “C-13 to Chandler.”

“Go ahead, C-13.”

“C-13 and C-2-A, 10-6 at the library.”

“10-4, C-13.”

Rob lifted a hand in inquiry and pointed toward the library. “We’re busy? Here?”

“Trust me and c’mon.” Troy Lee donned his hat as he exited the car.

Muggy heat blasted them on the short walk across the parking lot. Troy Lee tipped his hat at a couple of elderly ladies on their way out of the building, then braced it on his hip. Inside, the modern building was blessedly cool, despite the long curtainless windows. Troy Lee raised a finger in greeting at the man working the circulation desk and headed for the children’s section. Mothers and children of various ages gathered on the multicolored carpet there, an empty chair waiting in the center.

A young blonde sat yoga-style at the very edge of the carpet, two toddlers in her lap.

“Troy Lee.” One of the toddlers surged up and ran to him. The blonde’s head jerked up, a bandaged hand instinctively tightening on the other child’s abdomen. Brittany Jenkins.

“Hey, Butterbean.” Troy Lee scooped up the little girl and bussed her cheek, then set his hat atop her head. She chortled and clutched it with both hands. He crooked a finger at Brittany, who cast a glance around and rose with obvious reluctance. Troy Lee reached out his free arm for the other baby. “C’mere, Emma June.”

The toddler went to him easily and made a grab for the gleaming brass whistle and chain clipped to his uniform. Brittany crossed her arms over her midriff and glared at him. The angry scrape on her chin had begun to scab over, but was still noticeable against her tanned skin. A hint of sunburn lingered on her cheekbones.

“What are you doing here?” She spared a scowl for Rob and lifted that vulnerable chin to a defiant angle. “I’m not talking to him.”

“You need to stop, think and be smart.” Troy Lee lowered his voice to a quiet whisper. “You and I both know you love this little girl, and we both know you’re a good mom. I know you want what’s best for her. If you’re scared and whatever you’re scared of is putting her at risk, you need to talk to him, Britt. You do what’s best for this baby, not what your mama wants or what you think Zeke would want. End of story.”

Biting her lip, Brittany stared at him.

“She comes first, Britt.” He spared her an almost-grin. “Now what do you need to do?”

Her lashes came down, hiding her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, the blue depths shone with tears. “I’ll talk to him.”

“Fantastic.” Troy Lee shifted the little girls higher on his arms. “Tatum, Emma June and I will go do story hour.”

Almost disbelieving what he’d just witnessed, Rob cast a desperate glance around for a private spot. A bench sat tucked into an alcove near the front door, away from the computer area and the fiction stacks. “Let’s go over there.”

Still reluctant, Brittany followed and perched as far as possible from him. She curled her pink-tipped toes into her flip-flops. Blisters and scrapes marred the red tender skin above her soles. Souvenirs of walking along a hot highway in the Georgia sun.

He leaned forward, elbows on his thighs and hands clasped between his knees. “You’re not facing any charges, but I need to tell you that your Miranda rights still stand. Remember those from the other day? You don’t have to talk to me, but if you do, what you say can be used against you in court—”

“I remember them.” Brittany picked at the edge of her bandage, the gauze not the bright white it had been two days before. The hem frayed into strands of dingy cotton, as if she’d picked at it over and over.

“Do you want to tell me what really happened?” He spun his wedding band around his finger and noted that her own ring finger was bare. “The tall white guy in the gray car never existed, did he?”

“No.” She wilted beside him. “It was Mike.”

“Mike Smithwick.”

She nodded, then seemed to realize some impact of what she’d said. She straightened, panic invading her wide blue eyes. “But I’m not pressing charges against him. It was just—”

“We’ll get to that later.” He damn well intended for his voice to stay calm and gentle. He would not spook her this time. He also didn’t bother to point out the fallacy of thinking she could or couldn’t press charges—that power belonged solely to the district attorney’s office. If she thought she was in control and that got her to talk to him…so be it. “Tell me what I need to know.”

“It was just stupid. He came by that morning, but Zeke was already gone to the field. He—Mike, that is—was an ass like he always is. Saying mean stuff about me and—” She bit the words off and scrubbed her wrist across her nose. “Saying mean stuff. I got mad and told him to get out. I went in the bathroom to finish getting dressed. I was still mad, and I…and I threw my phone into my makeup organizer on the vanity. My screen shattered, and when I went to clean it up, I cut myself.”

“So that part was true.”

She nodded, tears glittering on her lashes. “I grabbed Emma and was going to go see about it getting stitched up, but my car wouldn’t start. I figured I’d walk over to the neighbor’s place and use her phone to call Mama or Zeke to come get us.”

“But you never made it that far?”

“No. Mike was still in the driveway.” Her shoulders lifted and rose under a sad, shivery little breath. “He said he’d take me to the hospital, but he lied.”

The lost note in her voice made him want to kick Mike Smithwick’s ass. Yeah, she was a spitfire like her mama and she’d led them on a snipe hunt, but underneath it all was a disillusioned little girl who still trusted, who still wanted to see the best in someone. “Instead, he drove you out to Haynes County and left you there.”

Another nod, and this time the tears spilled over. She cupped a hand over her mouth, an obvious attempt to muffle the sobs. “I didn’t care about me, but it was so hot and Emma was crying and I couldn’t do anything for her.”

“Does Zeke know this?”

She shook her head, hair falling forward to shield her face. “He wouldn’t believe me if I told him.”

“Is that what Mike told you?” Even trying to keep his voice level, he heard the hard note in it himself.

“He didn’t have to.” Her shoulders trembled under another sigh. “I just know. He’d tell Zeke I was crazy and lying, and Zeke would believe him because he always does.”

Rob frowned as a memory—of two fresh scratches marring Zeke’s neck—sparked in his brain. “Zeke wasn’t involved?”

She didn’t look up. “No.”

“Tell me about the scratches on his neck.”

At his words, her posture tensed, then relaxed under a long breath. “We got into an argument that night, after Troy Lee left and everyone went home. He, um, he was trying to take the bat away from me and held me against the wall. I guess I scratched him then. I didn’t mean to or anything… I just wanted him to let me go.”

Silence stretched a moment, broken only by her sniffles. She scrubbed at her nose again, and Rob handed her his handkerchief.

“Thanks.” She looked at him over the white square, her eyes hardening after a quick flash of vulnerability. “You can’t arrest him.”

Damn if he couldn’t. He was pretty sure he had Mike Smithwick on at least kidnapping and child endangerment, except the only witness had already signed a false statement. “I can’t promise you that. Right now, I can promise you I’m going to have a conversation with Mr. Smithwick.”

“All I ever wanted was for Emma to have the best life possible, for her to have a mama and her daddy.” She stared down at her feet. “I try to be a good wife and mom.”

“Apparently, Troy Lee thinks you are.”

“I guess.”

“Brittany, would you be willing to give me an official statement about this now?”

“I can’t.”

Something about the mournful words told him he could threaten her with obstruction and making a false statement all he wanted and nothing would change.

He extracted a card from his wallet. “Think about it. If you change your mind, you call me, anytime, okay?”

“Okay.” She tucked the vellum rectangle in her pocket.

She wasn’t going to call. As he watched her walk away to where Troy Lee waited with the children, he knew it as surely as he knew this whole mess still wasn’t over.

* * * * *

An hour later, he and Troy Lee sat across from Tick Calvert’s desk. Calvert leaned back in his chair, elbow on the chair arm, mouth resting in his hand while Rob related Brittany’s newest version of events.

“So let me get this straight.” Calvert tapped his index finger against his lips. “She lied, now says Mike Smithwick did it because he’s an ass, but doesn’t want him charged.”

“Yes, sir.”

With a grimace, Calvert lifted his hand and straightened in the chair. “I believe it.”

“I wasn’t sure exactly what to do next. We can’t pin Smithwick down, and there are no other witnesses. She’s tainted the case and—”

“And all of that could draw out an investigation for you that might never even come to the point where you could ask for an arrest warrant.”

“Right.”

“Throw it to the DA’s office. If they want to pursue it, their investigator can run it down.” He scratched a note on the legal pad at his elbow. “I’ll send out a statement to the news stations that we’ve transferred the case where it can receive the specialized attention it deserves.”

Troy Lee grunted. “McMillian will love that.”

“I know.” Calvert’s quick smile held a hint of mischief. “But it’ll get them off our backs until the next hot story comes along.”

“Do you think she’s in any real danger from Smithwick?” For once, Troy Lee’s trademark grin was nowhere to be found.

“He’s still a kid and he’s an ass, like his daddy.” Calvert pondered the question, rapping his pen on the legal pad. “If he’d wanted to hurt her, he had the perfect opportunity, and he didn’t take it.”

“She seemed more afraid of Zeke’s reaction than she did of Smithwick.” Rob crossed his ankle over his knee and smoothed the crease in his slacks. That part still didn’t make sense to him. The marriage must be in major trouble if she was afraid Zeke would choose his buddy over his wife.

“I think you’ve done what you can do. Call the DA’s office, and if Brittany calls you, encourage her to cooperate with the DA’s investigator. And Troy Lee? If you go out there on another domestic call, please take somebody to jail.”

“We covered that already, Tick. Ad nauseam.”

“Trying to make sure it sinks in.” Calvert grinned and leaned back in his chair once more. “So the two of you working together… How’s that going?”

Troy Lee and Rob exchanged a look and shrugged. Rob had no complaints. He was learning from Troy Lee’s experience, and Troy Lee had his back.

“It’s good.” Troy Lee jerked a thumb in Rob’s direction. “He has issues, but we’re working on those.”

What the hell? Rob’s pulse thudded in his ears.

“Issues how?” Relaxed in his chair, Calvert didn’t appear perturbed in the least. “And how concerned should I be?”

“You shouldn’t. Compared to what Chris’s issues were, Bennett’s are nonexistent.” Troy Lee frowned as if searching for a point of comparison while Rob tried to get his fucking breath back. One second, he’d been thinking Troy Lee had his back, then this. Fuck. This partner shit sucked. “Remember how you were during the Schaefer case? About like that. He’s holding it together. We’re good.”

“Gotcha. Let me know if anything changes and I need to worry.” Satisfied and completely unconcerned, Calvert lifted a stack of folders from the basket at the corner of his desk. “Now go earn your pay.”

They left the door open, and Rob waited until they’d cleared the administrative offices to speak, his voice an angry whisper. “What the hell, Farr?”

Brow lifted and with guileless eyes, Troy Lee spread his hands. “What?”

The cluelessness only added to Rob’s anger. He jerked his head toward Calvert’s office. “What was that? ‘He has issues’?”

“You do.” Troy Lee continued toward the side door. “You want me to lie? That never ends well.”

“You don’t just tell him like that.” Rob caught the door as they exited and slammed it behind them with a satisfying metallic clang.

“Bennett.” Troy Lee faced him at the bottom of the steps. “He was going to ask me at some point. It’s easier to have it out there with him.”

Rob struggled to think through the haze enveloping his brain. “Shit.”

“Breathe and calm down.” Troy Lee glared when Rob glowered at him. He cast a glance toward a couple of deputies who eyed them on the way to their units. “Get in the car.”

“Not until—”

“Get in the car.” Troy Lee gave him a half-shove in that direction, and for one brief moment, Rob considered punching him. “Don’t try it, Bennett. I’m on your side.”

In the car, Rob snapped on his seat belt and focused on getting oxygen into his lungs and brain.

“Look,” Troy Lee said, starting the car, “to some extent, we all have junk in our heads. If we don’t bring it from home, we pick it up on the job. We help each other through it. Trust me, Calvert’s been there. We’ve all been there. He gets it, and I know this about him—he’d rather know up front than be blindsided.”

Rob nodded.

“Have you always been this quick-tempered?”

“No.” Hotheaded had never really been him. Up until recently, he’d been slow to anger and quick to get over offenses.

“You get mad at me, that’s fine. Tell me.” Troy Lee shifted the car into gear and wheeled around toward the drive. He slanted a knowing look in Rob’s direction. “Because anger you don’t let out is another one of those things that will eat you alive.”

Chapter Seven

When Rob finally arrived home, Savannah’s car remained next to the driveway. He frowned at the sporty Mercedes. The sisters were close, but he knew as well as anyone how much Savannah treasured her time off and despised small towns. She’d spent the entire day in Coney?

Once he opened the side door, soft conversation and the sounds of The Fray drifted from the kitchen, surrounding him with soothing familiarity. His sister-in-law had been a fixture at their little house in Valdosta, and he’d joked that they should rent her a room. He leaned a shoulder on the doorway, watching the two dice and slice vegetables into sloppy piles.

Amy smiled at him, happiness and welcome warming her eyes, and he found himself unable to catch his breath, about like that fourth mile when Troy Lee decided they needed to run at a higher tempo. She was truly, genuinely happy to see him.

When was the last time he’d seen that,
felt
that?

“Hey.” Knife in hand, she beckoned him closer.

“Hey.” At least it didn’t come out as winded as he felt. He leaned forward to meet her halfway across the island and brush his mouth across hers. Straightening, he filched a slice of red bell pepper from Savannah’s cutting board. She rapped his knuckles with the damp knife blade. “What are you still doing here?”

“Nice way to make me feel welcome there, Robert.” Savannah returned to slicing the pepper. “You haven’t seen me in forever.”

“I saw you two weeks ago at your parents’.” He snagged a tumbler from the drainer and opened the fridge to pour a glass of water. He turned in time to catch the unspoken communication that passed between his wife and her sister. Something about that glance sent a shiver over his back. That glance said this was more than a friendly family dinner. His nape prickled. He rested his hips against the sink counter. “So what’s this all about?”

“Dinner?”

He ignored his wife, who he already knew would damn well prevaricate to avoid a personal confrontation with him when it suited her. He could trust his sister-in-law not to walk on eggshells. “Savannah, what’s this all about?”

“We’re concerned about you.” She laid the knife aside and reached for a towel to wipe her hands.

Eyes narrowed, he studied her. Whatever they were “concerned” about, she expected a fight. He could see it in the way she tilted her chin and straightened her shoulders. He knew that stance—had seen it often enough on both her and Amy, usually when they were sparring about something like who was the most spoiled. “Why?”

“We think you might be exhibiting symptoms of depression.”

Annoyance tightened his throat. He covered it with a snort and set his tumbler aside with deliberate casualness. Hands braced against the counter, he glowered at his sister-in-law. “I’m not depressed.”

She didn’t give an inch, not that he’d expected her to. “In the past few months, what have you had more of, good days or bad ones?”

He stilled, breath gone now for a completely different reason. He flicked a glance at Amy, who’d abandoned the knife and vegetables and watched him with eyes wide and frightened.

Frightened. That fear slammed into him.

Frightened not of him. For him. For
them
.

As much as he didn’t want to take it out and look at it, he’d do anything for her, do anything to get that look off her face.

He met Savannah’s suddenly gentle gaze head-on. “Bad ones.”

Amy’s closed eyes and soft wounded-kitten sound knifed him between the ribs.

“Sleep problems?”

“Yeah.” Although he could tell she already knew the answer to that. Hell, he looked at himself in the mirror every day, and if he could see the dark bruises of insomnia under his eyes, she could.

“You’re tired a lot. Fatigued.”

“Yes.” He snapped out the syllable despite his effort to keep his voice even.

“You’ve dropped a few pounds. Lack of appetite?” At his nod, Savannah pulled in a breath and went on. “Other than the running, what are you doing for fun? Are you reading or fishing or shooting?”

She’d rattled off the list of hobbies he used to love, but hadn’t touched for months. She didn’t even have to wait for a reply, but tucked her hair behind her ear and gave him an encouraging smile. “Tell me about your mood.”

He didn’t want to go there. “What about it?”

“Come on, Rob. Irritable? Numb? Hostile? Aggressive and angry? What are you?”

Angry and hostile were beginning to describe this moment, but he tamped the emotions down. She was trying to help him. She cared about him and about Amy, and she was trying to help. He simply had to keep telling himself he was doing this for Amy.

He dug his fingers into the countertop. “Numb most of the time. A little irritable over stupid stuff.”

“He got into an argument with Jake Stringham on duty this week,” Amy whispered. Savannah whirled in her direction, then back to Rob.

“You?”

He nodded.

“Okay, last question.” Her audible inhale tensed his entire body with anticipation. “Thoughts of suicide or death?”

The question hit like a sucker punch. He looked away, fixed his gaze on the little glass apothecary jar that held sand and shells from their last long weekend together, well over two years ago. Silence stretched, underscored by The Fray’s slow, mournful lyrics.

“Rob?” That wasn’t fear now in Amy’s tremulous voice. What he heard was sheer terror.

A memory beat in his brain, the slow slide of the river and standing on a bridge, forehead pressed to his clasped hands. Considering letting the water simply take him—an easy way to die.

“Yes.” The syllable was barely a breath itself, barely a sound in the room. Amy’s agonized little moan put that knife in his gut again, and the panic kicked in. He couldn’t breathe, the same as he’d felt earlier in the day in Calvert’s office. He tilted his head back as if dodging a blow. “You don’t get it. I can’t
be
depressed.”

“Well, you are.” Damn it, he hated that Savannah wouldn’t play the game, wouldn’t soft pedal. Why couldn’t she leave him well enough alone? “But you don’t have to stay that way.”

“You don’t understand—”

“I understand more than you think.” An edge, hard and desperate, entered Savannah’s voice. “I understand being in law enforcement is part of your identity and you’re afraid if anyone finds out you’re depressed, that’ll be taken away when you just got it back. I
get
that. I also get that untreated depression can be fatal and that more cops die from suicide each year than they do in on-the-job incidents. I don’t want you to be one of them.”

They stared at each other.

She smacked a hand on the island. “Are you going to let me help you or not?”

His chest hurt. “I don’t know what to do.”

“I do.” Savannah held out a hand. “Let me help you.”

He stared at her upturned palm, then at Amy’s tear-stained face. He met Savannah’s gaze again and, on a shaky nod, laid his hand in hers. With surprising strength, she tugged him forward and into a fierce hug.

“Thank God,” she whispered, tightening her arms around him. Against him, her trembling, like a runner after a hard race, was palpable. She cupped the back of his head and pressed her cheek to his. “It’s going to be okay. I promise. It’s going to be okay.”

After a long moment, she levered away and wiped tears from her cheeks.

“All right,” she said, the unshakeable Dr. Savannah Mills almost in place once more. “I’m pretty sure this is all psychological and not biological, but you’ve got to have a physical and some blood work done—”

“I’m not letting you stick me with a needle.”

“Not me, you goof.” She rubbed her palm up and down his arm, a point of warmth and connection that was probably as much for her benefit as his. “I checked out the local doctors today and talked the best one I could find into seeing you before your shift starts in the morning. He’ll meet you in the ER at six. If the blood tests are clear, he’ll refer you to a mental-health specialist and you can get your talk therapy on.”

“Thanks.” He injected a heavy dose of irony into the word. “Control freak.”

“You know you love me. I’m the sister you never had.” Her voice cracked, and this time, he pulled her into a close hug.

“Thank you.” He whispered the genuine gratitude near her ear.

“You can thank me by getting better.” She kissed his cheek. “I want my old Robert back.”

“You and me both.”

She laughed and stepped away, obviously trying to get her emotions under control. “I left my phone in the living room. I’m going to make sure I don’t have any messages from the hospital.”

He was pretty sure she was lying, since her phone was like an extra appendage and she never left it anywhere but her back pocket. He could completely understand needing a moment, though, since he felt like one raw nerve, completely flayed and bare. On a deep inhale, he rubbed a hand over his eyes.

He dropped his hand to find Amy watching him, fingers covering her mouth, devastation darkening her tear-filled eyes.

“Amy,” he murmured, taking a step toward her. “Please don’t look at me like that.”

“Suicide, Rob?” She shook her head, still crying. “I couldn’t bear it if… And I didn’t even
know
…”

Another step and he had her in his arms, pressed as close to him as he could get her. She wept harder, and he enfolded her, making his body a shield against the agonized sobs tearing at her.

“Promise me.” She dug her short nails into his shoulder blades, clinging to him. “Promise me you won’t.”

“No. Never.” Her pain tore at him, thawing him from the icy deadness of the past few months. “I wouldn’t do that to you. I wouldn’t put you through that.”

“Promise me.”

“I promise.” He couldn’t tell her that she’d kept him on that bridge that night, out of the river. He wouldn’t tell her, wouldn’t put that image in her head where he could never take it away. He pressed his lips against her forehead. “I’d do anything for you.”

“What exactly do I have to do to wrap a good-looking guy around my finger like that?” Savannah’s trademark smart-assery cut through the tension. Rob choked on a laugh that was too close to a sob, and Amy sagged into him.

He kept his arms around Amy, but cradled her head in his hands and lifted her splotchy, tear-stained face so he could look into her eyes. “Be everything he ever wanted.”

Savannah harrumphed. “Oh, screw that noise.”

* * * * *

Hours later, with dinner over and Savannah headed home, he still felt raw and exposed. A hot shower didn’t help, an edgy, itchy sensation crawling beneath his skin. He brushed his teeth too hard, half-listening to the weather forecast coming from the television in their bedroom. The remnants of the tropical storm that had dumped rain on them for days, saturating the ground, stalled north, and the meteorologist ran through a dire list of flood warnings if the front didn’t dissipate soon. The weather segued into sports, and he spit before attacking his teeth and gums again.

At least there’d been nothing on the news about Brittany Jenkins’s disappearance, other than an offhand report of the case being transferred to the Chandler County DA’s office for further investigation. He spit and reached for the mouthwash. He winced at the sting and washed out the bowl while he swished. He rinsed his mouth one last time and wiped down the sink. Hands gripping the vanity, he eyed himself in the mirror.

He looked like shit, all raw and wrung out.

He felt like it too.

In the bedroom, Amy turned off the television and dropped the remote on the nightstand. She came to stand in the doorway, arms over her midriff, one shoulder against the jamb. He fought off the irrational feeling of being cornered and trapped. He met her haunted gaze in the mirror.

“Honey, you have to quit looking at me like that.” He struggled to keep a defensive edge out of his voice.

“I can’t help it. I’m worried.”

This was what he’d been afraid of all along. He gripped the vanity until his fingers ached. She wasn’t responsible for his emotions being crap. Somehow he would find a way to let her in, allay her fears and not alienate her, especially since she’d started coming back to him.

“Hovering over me isn’t going to help either one of us.” He turned and leaned on the vanity. He dredged up a gentle smile for her benefit. “I feel like shit, but I feel better after the past three days than I have for months. Babe, I promise you I’ll be okay, but you can’t mother me.”

The word fell between them, and he swallowed a curse. He could have gone all night without saying that, without bringing all that mess into this. She wasn’t anyone’s mother because of him.

Her arms tightened, a sure sign he’d said the wrong thing. “I’m not trying to be your mother.”

He pushed away from the vanity and went to stand before her. He rested his hands on her shoulders. “I’ll be fine.”

“I want to believe that.” She laid her palms at his waist, slightly above his hipbones. He basked in the welcome warmth of a touch he’d missed more than he wanted to admit. “I do.”

“Then…” He couldn’t very well tell her to back the hell off, the way he had Troy Lee when his partner’s questions got too close to home. He rubbed at her shoulders. “Give me a little space on this tonight.”

“Okay.” She removed her hands from him.

Did all women say it like that, all terse and tight so any man with a single brain cell would know it was anything but okay?

“That does not mean—” He bit the words off. He was irritable and hostile and angry, all the things Savannah had asked him about earlier, but this was Amy, the person he loved above all others. They stood on tenuous ground as it was, and as badly as he wanted to fight until they had it all sorted out, the way they used to, and then fall together to make up afterwards, like the old them, this wasn’t the old them.

He didn’t know how to navigate this Amy or this them. Hell, he couldn’t even navigate himself.

It pissed him off.

He jerked a hand through his damp hair. “I’m going to bed.”

The weight of her gaze settled between his shoulder blades. He flipped the bedcovers back.

“Savannah says Daddy gave you a hard time about being laid off. Is that true?”