In Seconds (8 page)

Chrissy hesitated at the door. “Oh, and, Sheriff?”

“Yes?”

“I’m not sure if this is important, but in light of recent events, I think it might be.”

“What’s that?”

“When Vivian first arrived in town, her daughter told my daughter that she moved here because ‘bad men’ were chasing them.”

Myles came to an abrupt stop. He might’ve expected “a bad man.” But
men?
As in more than one?

Was this a lie Vivian had concocted for the sake of her children? So they wouldn’t have to know that it was their father causing all the trouble? “Did she say who those bad men might be?”

“No. But it had to do with someone breaking into their house, someone who was shot and had—” she made quotation marks with her fingers “—‘blood coming out all over.’”

Another surprise. He had no idea what it meant, and yet he felt the urge to defend Vivian and Mia. “That could be make-believe, something she saw on television.”

“I know it sounds far-fetched. I thought the same thing at first. I mean, not every mother is as diligent about what their children watch as I am. But now I wonder…”

Myles wondered, too. Was Mia speaking about an
actual event? If so, how did this tie in to what Vivian had told him? Was there one man she feared—or more? Did she really have an abusive ex?

And, if so, had she killed him?

Myles stood on her porch. Vivian could see his blurry image through the misted oval glass, recognized the blue of his uniform and knew why he’d come. Because of Chrissy. Buster wouldn’t have bothered the sheriff. Buster wasn’t a nosy troublemaker like Hope’s mother, who was generally known as the bane of the elementary school staff, if not the whole town. Unfortunately for Mia, Hope was turning out much the same. Before school ended for the summer, Hope had purposely excluded Mia from her popular clique.

Frowning, Vivian pushed away from her computer, where she’d been using Gchat to convince Claire that Pat’s murder had nothing to do with her mother’s disappearance. She’d been answering some of the emails that’d flooded her box over the past twenty-four hours, too. The blue-jean cutoffs and Little Big Town T-shirt she’d donned when she got home wasn’t really what she’d choose to wear in front of guests, especially male guests. But she didn’t want Mia to know the sheriff had come, didn’t want her to overhear the questions Myles might ask. So she got up and hurried to answer before he could ring the bell.

Fortunately, he knocked first, and not very loud. He could probably see her inside the living room, just as she could see him on the porch.

Determined to keep their encounter as brief as possible, she opened the door slightly. “Yes?”

When his gaze dipped to her chest, she knew he’d
already noticed that she wasn’t wearing a bra. It’d taken less than a millisecond for her breasts to become his focal point and raise the tension between them. But the tension itself was nothing new. That was why she’d been bold enough to proposition him last night. She’d never dreamed he’d refuse her.

“Vivian.” He bent his head.

Forcing a polite smile, she used a similarly formal tone. “Sheriff. How are you today?”

“I’ve been better.”

So had she. For a lot of reasons. The most pressing was Rex. She couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d once meant to her, couldn’t stop wondering if he was still alive and whether or not she’d contributed to his downfall. Although she’d grown used to living with fear, guilt was new and more difficult to tolerate. Then there was the embarrassment she’d been trying so hard to avoid. With Myles standing less than two feet away, it was virtually impossible to shove the memory of her offer and subsequent rejection into the recesses of her mind.

She considered apologizing for her behavior and blaming it on the wine, but she wasn’t one for excuses. The alcohol hadn’t changed how she felt, only revealed it. He probably understood that as well as she did. Besides, if he thought she was a tramp, maybe he’d make her life easier by staying away from her and refusing to let Jake hang out with him.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” She paused, but he didn’t take the opportunity to come to the point of his visit. Instead, silence fell.

“Can I speak with you for a few minutes?” he asked when she didn’t invite him in, as he’d obviously expected.

“Of course.”

His eyebrows slid up. “Do we have to do it right here?”

Mia would be less likely to overhear if they chatted on the porch. “Why not? It’s a beautiful day. I’ll join you.”

Stepping outside, she closed the door quietly behind her and crossed the wooden planks to one of the rocking chairs she’d picked up at an antique auction last summer. She loved these chairs. Their weathered look fit perfectly with the wide veranda and stark simplicity of her hundred-year-old house.
Her
hundred-year-old house.

But maybe not for long. If she had to go on the run, there’d be no way to make the payments. She wasn’t even sure she’d have the money to survive. She’d have to lean on Virgil, and how long could she expect him and Peyton to take care of her? It was possible they’d have to leave what they’d created, too.

“You’re not curious about why I’m here?” he asked, trailing after her.

She sat down and pulled her legs up to hide her chest. “Judging by the uniform, it looks official, so…I’m guessing you haven’t stopped by for a quickie.” She’d thought making light of her blunder would ease the awkwardness between them, but her joke didn’t draw the grin she’d been angling for—or any other indication that they could laugh about last night.

Instead, his gaze slid over her bare legs, making her regret the reference even more.

“Forget I said that,” she muttered. “It was my way of apologizing for putting you on the spot after you were kind enough to come to the rescue of my refrigerator. That’s all.”

“It was an apology?”

“That’s right.”

“Not a suggestion.”

She cleared her throat. It
definitely
wasn’t a suggestion. “I wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.”

“How sorry are you?”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m just wondering if you’re sorry enough to change your mind about letting me buy you dinner.”

Most men would be grinning while they threw out a line like that, but he wasn’t. Hugging her knees closer, she shook her head. “More like…embarrassed enough to avoid you in future.”

His eyebrows knotted in frustration. “You’re not giving us a chance.”

And he wasn’t used to that. She couldn’t name a single unattached woman, at least one anywhere close to his age, who wouldn’t drop everything to spend a couple of hours with him. All she heard was, “That poor Sheriff King. How he loved his wife.” While it was a compliment, it was almost always spoken with a certain wistfulness that said the speaker would like to be next in line.

Vivian wasn’t any different. She felt that same desire to have what Amber Rose King had enjoyed. But that wasn’t something she
could
have, not unless she somehow managed to free herself from the past. “Maybe I don’t have a choice.”

The interest that evoked made her regret saying it. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing. Never mind.” She slapped the armrests of her chair for punctuation. “What brings you by today?”

He didn’t bother answering. “What are you afraid of?” he asked.

She ran a hand through her freshly cropped hair. A new habit. It still felt so foreign to her. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

“I’ll help if you’ll let me, Vivian.”

“I know.” She smiled sadly. “There’s nothing you can do. Just…tell me why you’re here.”

His lips, normally so full and soft-looking, thinned. “When you were coming out of the bank today…”

Sitting taller, she steeled herself for what was coming. “Yes?”

“You were carrying something.”

“Chrissy Blabbermouth told you.”

“You thought she wouldn’t?”

“I knew she would. She uses any excuse to get your attention. But that doesn’t make her interference any less infuriating. What a busybody!”

He had a way of watching her as if he was waiting for an opportunity to peel back another layer. “Believe me, I’m not thrilled by her interest, but this time I’m glad she stuck her nose where it doesn’t belong.” He placed his hands on his hips. “Why don’t we talk about the gun.”

Too uncomfortable to remain in the same position, she released her legs. “It’s a method of self-defense, right? Surely I’m not the only one who has a gun around here.”

Judging by the unrelenting sternness of his mouth, he wasn’t going to let her dismiss it that easily. “Do you have a permit to carry a concealed weapon?”

She didn’t answer.

“Is that a no?”

Damn…
“Everyone carries concealed around here whether they have a permit or not. Unless they’re waving it around in someone’s face or they’re making threats or they’re drunk…no one really cares. Or are you going to be a hard-ass?”

“Maybe.” He leaned against the railing. “Where’d you get it?”

“It was a gift from a relative.”

“You have relatives?”

He was teasing about the way she kept her life under wraps. She acknowledged it with a smirk. “One or two.”

“Where?”

“One’s in prison, if you must know.”

“Which prison?”

He was marking every detail she dropped. So why was she giving him another nugget of information? “That’s none of your business.”

“Are we talking about a father or a brother?”

She couldn’t resist. “Neither.”

“Then who?”

“An uncle, okay?” That was far enough removed…?.

“What’d he do?”

“Something that’s destroyed my life and the lives of almost everyone I love.”

“And that was…”

Taking a deep breath, she lifted her chin. “Never mind.”

“You can’t tell me that much and then retreat.”

Sure she could; she’d already gone too far. “It’s not something I’m willing to discuss.”

He was sifting through the possibilities. She could tell by his speculative expression. “That means you had
two
violent men in your life.”

“True.”

“How does your uncle connect with your ex? Did he shoot him?”

“No.”

“The two stories are unrelated?”

“Completely.” Except that she probably wouldn’t have
married Tom if she hadn’t left home so early and been so desperate for a friend.

“Okay, so what were you doing with a gun at the bank?”

They were back to that. “What do you think?”

His scowl told her he didn’t understand why she had to be so contrary. “A straight answer might serve you better.”

The sun was hot today, but the trees around her house blocked its direct rays, and a gentle breeze, coming off the lake, cooled the air. Rarely did it go above eighty in Pineview. With all the wildflowers in bloom right now—the lupine, the Indian paintbrush, the kinnikin-nick ground cover—it was a beautiful time of year. She loved it here, especially in summer.

“I was getting it out of my safe-deposit box. What else?” she said with a shrug.

“Why today?”

“Why not today?”

“Does it have anything to do with recent events?”

“If by ‘recent events’ you mean Pat’s murder, yes.” It had even more to do with Rex’s disappearance, and the fact that he knew where she lived and could tell the wrong people if sufficiently motivated or careless, but that was one of those things she couldn’t talk about. Over the past four years, she’d gotten so good at guarding her tongue she weighed almost every sentence she spoke. The constant vigil was taxing, which must be the reason she was suddenly slipping up. She was so tired of the charade, of the caution and worry. She was also tired of spending so much time alone or on the internet, trying to fill her life with strangers or business associ
ates who posed no threat. Even Claire didn’t know who she really was.

“How does Pat’s murder affect you?” he pressed.

“Unless you’ve caught the person who’s responsible, it affects everyone, doesn’t it?”

He shoved away from the railing. “That’s it? You’re worried about safety?”

“I think we all are.”

“Pat’s murder doesn’t hold any special significance to you.”

“I’m sad it happened.”

“That’s not what I’m asking.”

She ruffled her hair again. As short as it was, she couldn’t do any damage. “Then I’m afraid I don’t understand what you’re after.”

“This doesn’t relate to your uncle or your ex-husband?”

“No.”

“Do you know
anything
about why it occurred? Who might be responsible?”

Guilt stabbed her like a knife to the gut. It was possible she did. If what she feared was true, she should say something. But what if she was wrong? The information she had to offer could derail the investigation as easily as help it…?.

It was better to wait. Why ruin the life she’d created here, which she was so intent on protecting, if she didn’t have to? “Of course not. What makes you think I might?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know. Something’s up with you. I can’t figure out what it is but—”

“I already explained.”

“When you told me about your ex-husband.”

“That’s right.”

“And his name is…”

Fresh alarm curled through Vivian’s veins. She couldn’t give him Tom’s name in case Myles used it to dig up her real identity. And yet she couldn’t come up with a good excuse not to. “I don’t even want to say it.”

“Because…”

Shit.
She’d thought a quick mention of her abusive ex would put an end to the sheriff’s queries, provide an excuse for her secrets, but it’d only made him hungry for details. After two years in this place, she’d broken down and done exactly what she’d sworn she’d never do—she’d shared a specific detail that could, if she wasn’t careful, unravel the whole truth.

“Because he’s part of my past and I won’t revisit those years,” she said.

He turned her arm so he could see the scar Tom had left. “Tell me about this.”

Thanks to years of healing, the initials her ex had carved with his pocketknife weren’t as visible as they’d once been. Even if Myles could decipher them, there wasn’t much he could do with
TH.
But the possibility that she could be underestimating him added to her anxiety.