If You Hear Her: A Novel of Romantic Suspense (10 page)

Yeah, she knew he was expecting her—he hadn’t been at home when she’d gone by his place. She hadn’t been able to just sit there and wait.

Hope wasn’t too good at sitting and waiting.

She’d spent too much time doing just that.

Don’t think about that right now
, she told herself. She couldn’t think about that and make any sort of logical decision and she needed to be logical right now. Logical, not emotional.

Taking a deep breath, she unclenched her fingers from the steering wheel and made herself climb out of the car. She’d just take a walk around. Judging by the number of little shops and restaurants around, this town probably saw plenty of weekend tourist traffic from Lexington or Louisville. Hope and Law had grown up in a town not too different from this one. If she just wandered around, she’d blend in. But if she sat in her car like a freak, people would stare at her. Pay attention.

She didn’t like it when people paid attention—

Stop it
.

Her hands were sweating, she realized.

Wiping them off down the sides of her jeans, she tucked her keys in her pocket, checked to make sure she had her cash, the one credit card she had in her name—for emergencies only—and her ID. It was all she ever carried.

Everything she owned was in that car.

She’d left all her belongings in another small town. A
beautiful home, a closet full of lovely clothes, and a life that had been a lie.

People said taking the first step was the hardest, but they were wrong.

She’d taken that first step more than two years ago when she’d finally decided she couldn’t keep living that life and she was still walking, putting more and more distance, more and more time between herself and that life—him—and it was still hard.

Because of the memories …

Because of locked doors and white rooms and whispering voices …

Stepping away from the car, she started toward the sidewalk. For some reason, it felt like she was severing a lifeline.

It hadn’t been this hard before.

She knew it hadn’t.

She had no trouble leaving that small, cramped hunk of junk when she was crashing in some no-tell motel for a night, or when she was bussing tables, cleaning houses, whatever she could find in exchange for quick and easy cash. There were times when she hated that car.

Because it was so hard to walk away, she made herself do it. Absently, aimlessly, she wandered down the sidewalk, staring blindly into the glass-fronted shops and fighting the urge to turn back to the car—run back to it, dive inside, and drive away.

Get away from this little town.

Why?

Was it just because it was a small town so like the one where she’d been trapped?

Was it because of Law and his determination to get her to stop running?

Logically, she had no reason to keep running. There was no legal reason and if she was honest, probably no tangible reason.

Do you really think I’ll let you leave me? You’re mine, Hope. I don’t let go of what is mine …

Working on a Sunday was the last thing on earth Remy wanted to do, but sometimes, a man had to do things he didn’t want to do. Since he’d rather get it over with early, he’d attended the early service at Ash Methodist and headed into the office, dealt with his business, and swung by the sheriff’s department.

The church service, like the work and the visit to the sheriff’s office, was necessary. If he didn’t go, his mother would know. And he would then have to answer to her. Nobody could work a guilt trip quite the same way a mother could.

Besides, there was something … soothing about it.

He wasn’t entirely sure if he believed in any greater power—he believed in justice and he believed in the law, but more than that? He didn’t know.

But it was peaceful, and Remy didn’t find peace in many places.

Since it was peaceful, and since it only took forty-five minutes or so, and it kept his mother happy, he attended church, and he did so willingly.

He’d needed that bit of peace, too, as he dealt with his business.

Especially today.

There were times when he wished he wasn’t a lawyer.

There were times when he wanted to use his fists, instead of his wits and mind.

Especially today.

Moira Hamilton was in the hospital again, this time with a busted jaw and a broken arm.

Her damned husband had beaten the shit out of her. Again.

The kids were now out of the house and if Remy and Social Services had anything to do with it, they would
not be going back. The twelve-year-old, poor kid, had seen the whole thing and he knew that girl was going to relive that night in her dreams for years.

Possibly her entire life.

Before, Pete Hamilton had always whaled on his wife when the kids were either asleep, out of the house, or just out of the room. But this time, Bethany had seen it. She had been crouched on the landing with a phone in hand, calling the police.

Poor girl.

Brave girl.

Smart girl.

She’d seen what her mother couldn’t. Or wouldn’t.

The mom wouldn’t get help for herself, or for them, so the girl had taken matters into her own hands.

He’d spent the past hour going over the report at the sheriff’s office. As the Hamiltons’ big old house was outside the city limits, the sheriff’s department had to handle the call—and apparently they’d had another call last night.

Ash was a quiet town. They had their share of crazy nights, but it wasn’t unusual for them to go a night or two, even an entire weekend, without much of anything happening.

This weekend had been different.

Very different.

Pete’s brutal attack on his quiet, soft-spoken wife, in front of their kids.

Then the very, very strange call from Lena Riddle.

Very strange, from what Remy had been able to put together.

Lena … he ran his tongue along his teeth, thinking about her. The thoughts were enough to bring on a wave of nostalgia, and not a little bit of lust. He hadn’t had another woman in his life since he’d broken up with her and he missed her—missed the sex definitely, but he
missed her, too. Missed that lazy, easy humor of hers, that sexy laugh and her smile.

If he hadn’t been so damned tired, he might have joined her when he saw her talking to Prather.

But he had been too tired, Prather grated on his nerves, and he had a few more things to follow up on with the Hamilton case.

By the time he’d finished, Lena had been gone and he figured it was best if he stayed out of it anyway.

All she had was an unusual—very unusual—complaint. It was weird enough that he was glad she had that dog of hers, but he had his hands full. Besides, things between them, while their relationship hadn’t ended badly, were strained.

Remy had wanted … something more, although he didn’t really know what.

Lena had liked the status quo and when he’d pushed—awkwardly, he could admit now—it had changed things between them. The easy friendship they’d shared before they started dating had changed.

Jumping in would probably just stress her out more, he had figured, and he could tell she already had enough stress going on, just by looking at her. He suspected she could have used a shoulder, but Law could handle that.

Remy had seen the other guy on his way into the station. Law had been waiting in the lobby, fiddling around on his iPhone, seemingly oblivious to the world. Remy knew better. He hadn’t been too surprised when he’d seen Lena—one thing could make Law wait patiently, and that was Lena.

Weird that Lena hadn’t ever realized that. She was so insightful about things, but about that particular thing, she was clueless. It was clear as day—the word “smitten” probably had Law’s picture next to it in the dictionary. But Lena didn’t seem to have any idea.

He finished up his business in record time and headed
out of the small municipal building shared by the minuscule city police and the county sheriff department. Outside, the sun was blazing down with brutal intensity. It hit him like a fist. Slipping out of the summer-weight jacket, he threw it over his shoulder and started toward his car.

He had half a mind to spend the rest of the afternoon napping out in the hammock on the balcony. The next few days would be busy as hell for him. Whether Moira Hamilton cooperated or not, he planned on busting that bastard husband of hers and come Monday, things would really start rolling.

Maybe he should spend the day in the hammock—likely wouldn’t have many chances to do it again anytime soon. If he knew anything about his town, it was that when one weird thing started, it was followed by another, and another.

Hamilton’s arrest was probably the start of another flood.

Yeah, he really should enjoy the day while he could … maybe pick up a book from Shoffner’s, spend the afternoon emptying his mind. He probably needed to do just that.

With his mind set, he turned east instead of heading to the car he had parked just a few yards away. He almost changed his mind when he recognized a familiar form—

Prather.

Remy curled his lip.

Man, he couldn’t stand that bastard.

He was a throwback to the days when small-town America consisted of nothing but the good ol’ boy network. Anybody who wasn’t a white male who fit society’s version of normal was placed in the “inferior” category.

He was condescending, he was an idiot, he was oblivious, and very often, he was a pain in the ass for the sheriff, Remy, three-fourths of the town council, and just about everybody else who came in contact with him.

He was also only a few years away from retirement and unfortunately, he’d never done anything to justify getting kicked out, so they just had to deal with him.

Somebody else caught Remy’s eye and if he hadn’t seen her, he might have headed back to his car.

But once he saw her, he found himself staring, oddly unable to look away.

The breeze kicked up, blowing long, dark hair around a slender, almost waiflike form.

He didn’t know her.

Remy had been born in this town—on the stroke of midnight, New Year’s Day. He had gone to school here until he left to attend college and after he finished up with college and law school, he’d come back home. He knew everybody here.

But he didn’t know her.

She stood staring into the window of Shoffner’s, but something about the way she held herself, the way she stood, made him think she wasn’t debating her book purchases or trying to decide if she should splurge or not.

She looked like she was lost in another world.

No.

Trapped.

Trapped … and utterly alone.

Somebody bumped into her and she jumped.

Even from fifteen feet away, he could see the way the blood drained from her face, could see the way she darted away, plastering herself against the plate-glass window.

There was a plant stand there, one she didn’t see, and she bumped into it, sent it toppling over.

Prather was closer than Remy was and for reasons that he couldn’t even explain, dread filled him.

All Hope saw was the uniform.

When he touched her, she freaked out.

Jerking away from him, she smacked at the restraining hands, trying not to scream, trying not to cry.

No, no, no …

“Miss, you need to calm down—” Hard, big hands with blunt, strong fingers manacled her wrists and she could feel her airway constricting, trying to shut down. Dark pinpoints flooded her vision and she fought the onslaught—

Can’t pass out, can’t, can’t, can’t …

Passing out was always bad. When she passed out, that was when she woke up and found herself … 
no, no, no …

She didn’t know she was moaning, soft and low, under her breath, and she was barely aware of the fingers tightening on her wrists as she jerked and twisted once more, trying to escape.

Then, abruptly, she was free, resting with her back against the cool, smooth glass window, blood roaring in her ears, trembling all over, shaking like a leaf.

But free.

And very much the center of attention. The deputy was staring at her, as were several other people on the street. Covering her face with her hands, she tried to gather her wits, tried to calm down.

“Damn it, Jennings, what in the hell is your problem?” the deputy demanded.

“You big idiot, are you blind? Can’t you see she’s terrified?”

The words were delivered in a flat, level voice, one that managed to pierce the shroud of terror enveloping her. Hope lowered her hands, watching from the corner of her eye. Whoever he was, he wasn’t looking at her—he was glaring at the deputy.

Good. That made it a little bit easier for her to breathe.

“She bumped into a stupid plant—she ain’t got no reason to freak out over that.”

“You really are blind.” The blond gave him a scathing glance and then shifted his eyes to Hope. The impact of that gaze, for reasons she didn’t understand, hit her clear down to her toes. “Are you okay, ma’am?”

Hope swallowed the knot in her throat.
Oh, God … Can I even talk?
“I … ah, I’m fine.” She cleared her throat, or tried to, and then focused her attention on the deputy she’d stumbled into.

All she’d done was knock something over and crash into him, but the sight of his uniform had set her off. She felt like an idiot—a world-class idiot—and worse, she was still scared, still shaking.

That was all sorts of bad, too. She couldn’t let them see, couldn’t ever let them see the fear. Swallowing the spit pooling in her mouth, she tried to smooth the fear away from her face, but she knew she failed. It would be like trying to calm the ocean … impossible.

It didn’t help when the deputy’s eyes narrowed on her face.

“No reason for her to be afraid.” Studying her with suspicion, he said, “Unless, of course, she has a reason.”

Hope had every damn reason to be afraid of people wearing a uniform—she knew how many hid behind one. But she’d be damned if he made her feel like she was some kind of criminal. Hoping, praying her voice wouldn’t shake, she stiffly said, “You scared me.” She glanced at the badge he wore, his uniform. County. “My apologies, Deputy, but you scared me. I don’t like being touched and you just startled me. I overreacted.”