The Hero’s Sin (12 page)

Her arms came around him, her soft, pliant lips molding sweetly to his, the sleepy feel of her making him want her all over again.

“You don’t have to go,” she said when he lifted his mouth.

Yet he did. As much as he wanted to stay here in Sara’s bedroom and let himself tumble into love with her, he couldn’t pretend they were a normal couple or that these were normal circumstances.

“Yes, I do.” He kissed her again, swiftly so he wouldn’t yield to his desire to crawl back under the sheets. “Go back to sleep.”

The town was as sleepy as Sara, with few cars on the street and little noise except for the cries of night birds, crickets and tree frogs. He turned off Main Street, and the night seemed to get even quieter. With the windows of his PT Cruiser open, he could hear the whisper of the wind rustling the leaves in the trees.

The night was overcast, the clouds blocking out the moon, with only the headlights of Michael’s car and those of another vehicle maybe a half mile behind him shining through the darkness.

Michael changed his mind about pulling up in front of Coleman’s house and parked a block away as a precaution. Moving quickly and silently, he walked down the street and around the house to the detached garage.

The sliding garage door had four window panels across the top, high enough that it wasn’t necessary to stoop. Michael peered inside, saw only blackness and immediately regretted that he hadn’t brought a flashlight.

Cursing under his breath, he moved to a window
panel closer to where the motorbike had been parked but still saw nothing.

He headed for the side entrance door, holding his breath as he twisted the knob. Bingo. It was unlocked.

Light bathed him before he could pull the door open.

“Freeze and put your hands where I can see them.”

He recognized Wojokowski’s voice and silently cursed himself for letting this happen even as he obeyed the police officer. But how had Wojo caught him? He hadn’t been on Coleman’s property long enough for the police to respond even if a neighbor had spotted him and called it in.

“Now turn around,” Wojo ordered.

Michael turned, the flare of the flashlight shining into his eyes and causing his pupils to contract. He shielded his eyes with a hand.

“It’s not what you think,” he said.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Wojo said. “You got three seconds to tell me what you’re doing here.”

Michael quickly explained about the motorbike he’d seen in the garage and his theory that Coleman might have been riding it the night he disappeared. Wojo listened silently, then ordered him to stand against the wall of the garage while he frisked him.

“Your story sounds like a crock of shit,” he said.

“Aren’t you even going to check it out?”

Wojo pulled open the side entrance door and swept the powerful beam of his flashlight over the interior of the garage. The aluminum frame of the motorbike reflected the light back at them. Michael’s stomach did a free fall.

“Like I said, a crock of shit,” Wojo said. “I could
arrest you for trespassing, but we’ll be arresting you for something a whole lot more serious soon enough. So why don’t you save us a lot of trouble and just tell me where Quincy is?”

“I don’t know,” Michael said tightly.

“I got to hand it to you, Donahue. You sound convincing. You using that same innocent act on that pretty lawyer? Is that how you got her to sleep with you?”

“Leave her out of this,” Michael bit out, wondering how Wojo could possibly know about Sara.

“I didn’t bring her into it,” he said. “You better get out of here while the gettin’s good, Donahue.”

Michael retraced his path, passing within steps of a generic four-door automobile that hadn’t been parked in front of Coleman’s house ten minutes ago. He recognized it for what it was: an unmarked police car.

Wojo’s comment about Sara suddenly made sense.

The policeman knew Michael was sleeping with Sara because he’d been following him.

S
ARA’S HEART
raced and her legs pumped as she ran, her long, gliding strides carrying her around the high-school track that the receptionist at the dentist’s office next door had recommended.

The track was considerably flatter than the hilly three-mile course she usually ran in the mornings and also much quieter. The only other person in sight was a lone woman standing at the opposite end of the oval.

Sara slowed to a jog and then to a walk, her body flushed with the natural high she often got from running. Although today she couldn’t swear that her morning run was the cause of her euphoria.

The more likely reason for that was Michael Donahue.

The pure and simple truth was that he made her happy. Her life made sense since they’d started sleeping together two nights ago, as though he’d filled the last piece of emptiness inside her. She wrapped her arms around herself as she cooled down, hugging the knowledge to herself. She refused to think about what the future would bring.

For now, she was just going to be happy.

The track made a loop around the high-school football field, with goal posts positioned on either end. Sara rounded one of the curves, closing the distance between herself and the woman. She placed the woman’s age at about sixty. She was dressed in low-heeled shoes and a navy dress too dark for the sunny day.

What was she doing here? Sara wondered. She obviously hadn’t come to exercise.

“Good morning,” Sara called to her.

The woman had been standing still but now went into motion, walking directly toward Sara. Thin and pale and graying, she looked as though a strong wind might blow her over. She clutched what appeared to be envelopes tied together with a pink ribbon.

“Are you Sara Brenneman?” she asked.

“I am.” Sara came to a stop, her breathing only just now returning to normal. “How did you know that?”

“I went to your office. Nobody was there yet the receptionist next door told me where to find you,” the woman said. “I’m Jill Coleman, Quincy’s wife.”

So that was the reason for the woman’s frazzled appearance. Somebody had told Sara the couple hadn’t lived together in years, but Jill Coleman obviously still
cared for her estranged husband. Sara temporarily shoved aside her curiosity over why the woman had gone to such lengths to seek her out.

“I’m sorry about what you’re going through,” Sara said. “Is there any news about your husband?”

“None,” Mrs. Coleman said.

“Well, I hope they find him soon.” Sara waited, her mind rewinding to the visit Jill Coleman’s husband had paid her a week ago today. She’d also been dressed in running clothes that day. She got the uneasy feeling this confrontation wouldn’t go any better than that one had.

Mrs. Coleman moistened her lips. “I hear you’re Michael Donahue’s lawyer.”

Sara swallowed a sigh. On some level she’d known this was about Michael. “I’m his great-aunt’s lawyer. Michael doesn’t have a lawyer because he hasn’t done anything to warrant one.”

“Chief Jackson told me you got Donahue released after the police arrested him.”

“Michael was never under arrest,” Sara said.

“If you hadn’t interfered,” Mrs. Coleman countered, “the police could have made him tell what he did to Quincy.”

“I’ll say this again, Mrs. Coleman.” Sara called upon her professionalism, never mind she was sweating lightly and wearing running shorts and a tank top. “Michael isn’t involved in your husband’s disappearance.”

“I see he has you completely fooled,” she said, her eyes as hard as her husband’s had been, using the same words he had, “just like he fooled my daughter.”

Sara doubted she could say anything to change what Mrs. Coleman believed, but made a stab at it. “I’m sorry about what happened to your daughter, and I’m
sorry your husband is missing, but I can’t let you talk that way about Michael.”

“Then maybe you’ll listen to what my daughter has to say.” Mrs. Coleman untied the ribbon from the packet of envelopes and pulled worn, white sheets of paper from the first two. Sara couldn’t tell whether the slight breeze was rustling the paper or if her hands were shaking. “These are some of her letters.”

“Mrs. Coleman, I hardly think this is necessary,” Sara said.

“Well, I do,” she snapped. “You need to understand what kind of man you’re defending.”

Mrs. Coleman began to read, her voice quivering.

Mrs. Coleman wiped away the trail of tears dripping down her face before looking up. “I could go on, but I’ve made my point.”

Sara crossed her arms over her chest, not sure how to get across to a still-grieving mother that she didn’t put much stock in what her daughter had written. Hadn’t Laurie told her Chrissy had pursued Michael? If anything, Chrissy sounded as though she’d been obsessed with him. “And what point would that be?”

“That Michael Donahue can’t be trusted! Can’t you see that he’s behind my husband’s disappearance?”

Sara wondered if the woman knew Michael was one of the volunteers who’d joined in the search and that he was probably looking for her husband as they spoke. “You’re wrong.”

“Weren’t you listening?” Mrs. Coleman cried. “Didn’t what Chrissy wrote tell you anything?”

“It told me she was a very unhappy girl.”

“Because of Donahue! My daughter is dead because of him. My husband could be dead, too. Because of him! And you took his case. You’re helping him!”

“Like I already told you, I’m not his lawyer,” Sara said, reining in her anger, reminding herself that the other woman was distraught because her husband was missing. “But I don’t believe he’s guilty of anything.”

“You’re sleeping with him, aren’t you?” Mrs. Coleman accused. “That’s why you won’t believe me.”

“It’s none of your business who I’m sleeping with.” Sara lifted her chin. Her car was parked in the lot just beyond the track. She didn’t have to listen to this. “I’m going now.”

She walked away, leaving Mrs. Coleman standing on the spongy surface of the track.

“You’re a stupid, stupid girl.” Mrs. Coleman called after her, waving one of the letters. Sara kept walking, but she couldn’t get far enough away to avoid hearing the woman’s parting shot. “Donahue’s using you, just like he used Chrissy. By the time you realize that, it’ll be too late.”

T
HE CELL PHONE
Laurie had tossed on the empty passenger seat rang, playing the tune of a love song she’d stupidly downloaded after her passionate night with Kenny.

She picked up the phone, verified from the on-screen prompt that it was indeed Kenny calling and shut it off.

She not only refused to talk to Kenny, she wasn’t going to listen to the strains of “I Will Always Love You” even one more time. Too bad wiping the song from the phone’s memory wouldn’t bring an end to Kenny’s renewed campaign to win her over.

He’d left her alone for exactly two days and two nights before he’d started in again last night with the phone calls. Here he was calling again at not quite nine in the morning.

If she didn’t pick up at least once, he’d follow up with a personal visit. Before he did, she needed to shore up her defenses so that they were impenetrable.

She was getting there. Discovering Kenny had lied to get Chrissy Coleman’s old boyfriend in trouble was definitely not a point in his favor.

The needle on her gas gauge pointed to empty. She made a quick turn into the station on her right and
pulled in front of one of the pumps. Attached to the gas station was a popular repair shop the locals in Indigo Springs swore by.

She popped open the panel door over her fuel tank, twisted off the gas cap, yanked the nozzle off the pump and shoved it into the hole.

It rankled that even the mechanics going about their business made her think of Kenny.

Up until he was fired, he’d been one of them.

“Hey, Laurie.” Will Turner, the grizzled, gray-haired owner of the shop, waved at her from across an expanse of pavement before disappearing into the back of the shop.

She took off after him, barely sparing a glance at the pump—it would shut off automatically.

She hurried past a car being hoisted by a hydraulic lift and a man in overalls bent over an engine before she spotted Will peering under the hood of an old Chevy. She called his name and he looked up.

“This area’s off-limits to customers,” Will said. “What are you doing back here, Laurie?”

She was chasing yet another reason to keep from going back to her ex-husband. “I need to know why you fired Kenny.”

He frowned, moving away from the Chevy. He put a hand on her arm, steering her to a relatively quiet corner of the shop.

“I don’t know where you got the idea I fired him. Kenny quit.”

“Quit?” That didn’t compute. “Why would he do that?”

“Darned if I know. That boy’s the best mechanic I
ever had. A born teacher, too. He’s got a real knack for dealing with the young guys. I was hoping he’d take over the business when I retire.”

“But Kenny drives you crazy.” Back when she and Kenny were married, Kenny regularly overslept and got to work late or knocked off early without permission to hang out with his friends. “You fire him all the time.”

“Haven’t fired him more than once or twice in the last five years,” Will said. The lines bracketing his eyes and mouth made Laurie realize he had to be in his sixties, at least. “Even then, I always hire him back. Be crazy not to.”

“Then why haven’t you hired him back this time?”

“Hardheaded bastard hasn’t asked for his job back yet. Say, maybe you can get him to come on by. Maybe you can even get him to think about buying me out.”

“You really think he’s the right man to take over your business?”

“Hell, yeah. Too bad he doesn’t think so.” Will shook his head. “That Kenny, he never has thought enough of himself.”

“That doesn’t sound like the Kenny I know.”

Will considered her for a moment. “Then maybe you don’t know him as well as you think you do.”

M
ICHAEL HUNG BACK
on the fringes of the crowd of people milling about the outdoor community amphitheater Tuesday night, enjoying the laid-back atmosphere. Couples and young families, some with picnic baskets, spread blankets on the grass. A few senior
citizens, a heavily pregnant woman and a girl on crutches claimed the limited bench seating in front of the stage.

“Not too shabby, huh?” Johnny crossed his arms over a chest that was swelling with pride.

“Yeah,” Michael said, “put on a free concert and the crowds will come.”

“Not the music,” Johnny protested, his eyes comically wide. “The amphitheater.”

“Oh, did you build that?”

“Sure did.” Johnny’s eyes suddenly narrowed. “You already know Pollock Construction built the amphitheater, don’t you?”

Michael tried not to smile. “Your dad might have mentioned it.”

Johnny’s lips pursed. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

Michael couldn’t hide his grin any longer. “As a matter of fact, I am.”

“Go ahead. Have your fun. But wait till you hear the acoustics. See those laminated curved wood beams on the roof? They’re the reason that amphitheater is a good little piece of work.”

“If you do say so yourself,” Michael said with a laugh.

“I wouldn’t have to say so if you would,” Johnny shot back good-naturedly. He inclined his head toward where Penelope sat on a blanket, beckoning to him. “Gotta go. The music’s about to start. What are you doing here anyway?”

“Meeting Sara.” Even the sound of her name brought him pleasure. “She thinks I should be seen out in public.”

“Like that’s gonna happen with you lurking over here by these trees. When Sara gets here, come join us.”

“Thanks,” Michael said, liking the sound of the idea.

Something strange had happened since Sara suggested he become more visible in town—he’d begun to enjoy himself. She was largely responsible, of course, but Indigo Springs no longer seemed as objectionable.

The band broke into its opening number, a lively bluegrass tune. A few kids, no more than seven or eight years old, jumped to their feet and started to dance. Others joined in until a mass of children were clapping their small hands and stamping their little feet in a whirling, joyful circle.

“That’s about the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.” Laurie Grieb was suddenly standing next to him, the music having drowned out her approach, speaking to him as though they were already in the midst of a conversation. “It makes you want to get out there and dance with them.”

“Yeah, it does,” he agreed, surprised to discover it was true. One of the children spun around in tight little circles until he fell over like a top that had run out of steam. Laurie laughed. He’d always liked her despite her interest in Kenny, who’d never deserved her.

“Sara should be along soon.” Before he could ask how she knew he was waiting for Sara, Laurie explained, “I overheard her on the phone this afternoon making plans to meet you. She’s probably regrouping after the bad day she had.”

That was the first he’d heard of Sara’s bad day.

“The women’s club canceling on her wouldn’t have hit her so hard if she hadn’t had that unpleasant visit from Jill Coleman this morning.” Laurie kept on as though Sara had already filled him in on the day’s events. “I understand Jill’s upset about her husband, but really!”

He got a sick feeling in his stomach that he was the direct cause of Jill Coleman’s visit. Apparently unaware of how strongly her comments had affected him, Laurie scanned the crowd. “You haven’t seen Kenny, have you?”

“No,” he said, his mind still on Sara.

“Let me ask you something. Did Kenny ever seem…um…unsure of himself to you?” Laurie’s gaze fastened on him as though his answer mattered.

He tried to switch gears and focus on her question, but wasn’t sure he’d understood. “Unsure of himself? Kenny?”

“Never mind.” Laurie shook her head. “I shouldn’t have asked that of you of all people. Kenny probably only seems like a jerk to you.”

She had that right.

A woman who looked like an older version of Laurie, complete with frizzy hair, gestured wildly to her from the other side of the park.

“There’s my mom,” Laurie said. “Born and raised right here in PA and she loves bluegrass. Go figure.”

Laurie left him with a little wave, picking her way through the crowd of people toward her mother’s side. The band launched into another song as energetic as the first, and more people got up to dance.

Michael had been watching the park entrance for Sara, so he spotted her before she saw him. For long moments, he just stared. In low-rise tan slacks, chunky sandals and a form-fitting white shirt, with her brown hair long and loose, she looked like she belonged here in the park among the concert-goers. Like she belonged in Indigo Springs.

He’d do anything in his power, he realized, not to jeopardize that for her.

She smiled when she spotted him. Pleasure spiraled through him, the frustration he’d felt searching for a man nobody could find dissipating. She met him halfway, anchored her hands on his shoulders and kissed him briefly but sweetly on the lips.

“Hi,” she said, smiling into his eyes. She smelled wonderful, like the peach-scented moisturizer she kept on a shelf in her bathroom and the warm scent that was uniquely hers.

“Hi, yourself.”

The musicians on stage were the focal point of the evening but Michael noticed that some people in the crowd, probably all who knew he was a suspect in Quincy Coleman’s disappearance, had witnessed the kiss.

He stepped back.

“Want to find a place to sit?” she asked close enough so he could hear, her warm breath teasing his ear.

He’d planned to lead her to the blanket where Johnny and Penelope sat listening to the music, saving a place for them. But that was before he’d talked to Laurie.

“I’d rather hear about your bad day,” he said. “I ran into Laurie, and she said something about a women’s club canceling on you.”

“It’s nothing.” She waved off his concern.

“Why did they cancel?” he pressed, even as a likely reason occurred to him. “Is Jill Coleman a member of the club?”

“It doesn’t matter if she is,” she said. “I told you, it’s not important.”

Yet Michael feared it was vital.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said.

He thought she might protest, but after a moment’s pause she nodded her agreement. They walked away from the park and the happy, laughing, dancing crowd, leaving the lively beat of the bluegrass music behind them.

Sara seemed content to walk in silence, perhaps sensing they’d reached a pivotal place in their relationship.

He wished they could keep walking straight out of town, that he didn’t feel compelled to get the answers that would change everything.

“I hear Jill Coleman came to see you this morning,” he said, breaking the silence. “Was it about me?”

They’d reached the quaint stone church where Penelope and Johnny had been married, which somehow seemed appropriate. He’d gotten his first glimpse of Sara inside this very church.

She didn’t answer immediately, instead sitting down on the steps of the church. He joined her, resting his elbows on his knees, waiting her out.

“She had this misconception I was your lawyer,” she said. “She was talking nonsense, trying to convince me to stop representing you.”

“What did she say?” he prodded.

Based on set of her shoulders and the depth of her sigh, she didn’t want to tell him. “She read me parts of some letters her daughter wrote her.”

He must have gone pale because she put a hand on his arm. “I’m sure she took them out of context. Even if she didn’t, the only thing they prove is that Chrissy was unhappy.”

“What did she say the letters proved?”

Sara shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Then tell me.”

She clamped her lips together, as though reluctant to let any words escape, but then finally she started to talk. “She said you were responsible for her husband’s disappearance. Even if you weren’t, you were using me and I shouldn’t let you fool me the way you fooled Chrissy.”

He was silent, digesting that. He’d tried to convince himself he wasn’t hurting Sara’s chances of integrating into the town, but it had become abundantly clear over the past few days that wasn’t true.

Already Joe Wojokowski knew they were sleeping together. Jill Coleman had obviously figured it out, too. So far the damage to Sara had been minimal, but Michael foresaw trouble ahead. This time it had been a woman’s club canceling her speaking engagement. Next time it might be an acquaintance who decided not to be a friend. Or a client who refused to walk through her door.

Her eyes seemed to ask him to contradict Jill Coleman’s claims, but if he told Sara how deeply he was falling for her, she’d stick loyally by his side until he left town.

Then she’d be left with nothing.

“I hope you told that old busybody you were using me, too,” he said. “I’d have liked to see her face when she found out our relationship was just about sex.”

She stared at him, a bemused expression on her face. “I hadn’t realized it was.”

He forced himself to look her in the eyes, keeping
everything he felt for her from his face. “Come on, Sara. You said you were fine with a short-term affair. We’ve known each other for less than two weeks. What else would it be about?”

“Mutual respect,” she said, the bewilderment changing to hurt. “Caring.”

“I care about you just fine,” he said, “especially when we’re in bed.”

He could see her wondering why he was saying such hurtful things, but he couldn’t give her the chance to cross examine him. He couldn’t afford to have his facade crumble so he said the one thing guaranteed to put an end to whatever was growing between them.

“You’re an even better lay than Chrissy was.”

The moisture he’d seen gathering in her eyes dried up, and her expression hardened. She got up from the porch steps with the dignity of a queen.

“Let me walk you home,” he said.

“Don’t bother,” she said coolly. “It seems like I’m going to take Mrs. Coleman’s advice after all.”

She strode away with her head held high and her shoulders thrown back, a woman who’d taken a blow and weathered it. His admiration for her grew, and he had to clutch the church railing to keep himself from rushing after her and taking everything back. He’d done the right thing, he told himself.