She Can Tell (5 page)

“Criminals fight dirty too. I consider sparring with you good practice.” But Mike didn’t blame anyone for turning Sean down. The six-foot-four former Army Ranger turned security consultant sparred to keep his hand-to-hand combat skills sharp, not to score match points.

“Now you’re comparing me to criminals?” Sean opened a small box of doughnuts out of the bag and offered it to Mike.

“I’m just saying it wouldn’t kill you to follow a rule now and then.” He waved off the sugar-fest.

“Yeah, I know. Your body’s a temple and all that crap.” Sean lifted a foil container out of the bag and handed it to Mike. “Western omelet and whole wheat toast.”

“Thanks.” Mike lifted the lid. The smells of sautéed onions and peppers wafted out, and his empty stomach growled in approval.

Sean gestured with a Boston cream. “Just like it wouldn’t kill you to break a rule occasionally. Admit it. You like the chance to let loose in the ring with me. You’re so uptight the rest of the time.”

Since Mike had long ago accepted his uptightedness, he dug into the omelet. “Don’t you have a wife to bother this morning?”

“Already did that.” Sean grinned. “Seriously, you can’t be the chief and a full-time patrol officer.”

“Until Matt Dexter’s broken ankle heals, I’m exactly that. I don’t have enough bodies to cover shifts, and there’s no room in the budget for overtime.” Mike washed down a corner of toast with his coffee. “I don’t send officers into domestic disputes alone.”

“Just make sure you take the same care with your own safety.” Sean shot him a pointed look. “And take an occasional day off.”

“Doesn’t matter. Sleep isn’t exactly coming easy these days.” Not without nightmares anyway.

“Mike, you can’t take responsibility for what happened. The FBI couldn’t find the Riverside Killer, and they were working that case a lot longer than you.”

“I’m supposed to protect the people of this town. I failed.” One of them had died. An innocent young woman. The vision of her abused and bloated body would haunt him forever. Jack’s fiancée had also been abducted by the serial killer. Beth had barely survived, something Mike was reminded of every time he went to Jack’s house. Mike could’ve made the last poker game if he’d tried. “Doesn’t matter. It’s all over now. On to other crimes.”

But there was no moving on for him. Though the Riverside Killer was dead, neither Mike nor the town would ever be the same. His quaint little hamlet bore the permanent stain of murder.

Doubt lurked in Sean’s eyes, but he let it go. “Heard about that cluster at the Mitchell place last night. Troy’s such an asswipe. Is he really going to press charges against his sister-in-law?”

“I have to wait until he sobers up to find out. When I called over to the jail this morning, he was painting the concrete with last night’s Wild Turkey.”

“Nice.”

“Probably the only thing that’ll keep him in jail today. No lawyer wants to put a puking defendant before a judge, even if the judge plays golf with the defendant’s daddy.”

“They prefer their courtrooms hurl-free.”

Mike finished the toast and pushed the container away. “Thanks for the food.”

“Somebody has to take care of you. And on that note, we’re having a barbecue this afternoon and Amanda—”

“Sean.” Mike cut him off. “I’m sorry. I just don’t have the time.”

Sean sighed. “Amanda’s worried about you. She’d like to see you relax and get a real meal.”

“Just had one.” Mike pressed a hand to his solar plexus, where it felt like the onions were bursting into flames.

“You cannot work twenty-four-seven.”

Mike’s gaze drifted to his computer screen and the
Philadelphia Times
article. From the back of a huge stallion, Rachel Parker squinted out from under a black riding cap. Those eyes were intense, even in black and white. The snug riding pants and tall black boots showcased that tight, athletic body. But getting turned on by the memory of it rubbing against him was totally inappropriate. Mike’s chair squeaked as he shifted his weight.

The caption below the photo read,
Local Rider Takes Silver at the Pan American Games.
Miss Parker wasn’t just a horse trainer. She and her mount, Fleet O’ Feet, were former members of the US Equestrian Team. “Besides, I have to pay Sarah Mitchell’s sister a call today.”

Sean reached over and swiveled Mike’s screen so he could see it. “That her?”

“Yeah.”

Sean gave him the once-over. “You should shower and shave first. She’s hot.”

“This is not a date.” Mike rolled his eyes. “She’s involved in an active case. Totally off-limits. Plus, she’s the complicated type, and I’ve had enough of that kind of complication.”

“You’re not exactly Mr. Simple. You have enough baggage to fill a fucking freighter.”

Mike ignored Sean’s uncomfortably accurate comment. “Look, Vince Mitchell is pissed enough that I had the audacity to arrest Troy last night. He doesn’t care that his son knocked his wife down a flight of stairs and broke her arm. You can bet he’s already working on the rest of the town council. I’m surprised the mayor hasn’t paid me a visit yet to convince me to make the charges magically disappear. They’re gonna be on my ass like a pair of tighty-whities. I need to walk the line here. One slipup and I’m history.”

Mike pulled an economy-sized bottle of antacids from his drawer and shook out three.

“Buying those things in bulk now?”

“They were on sale.” Mike tossed them back and chewed, then used the last of his coffee to wash the chalky taste from his mouth.

“You’re chronically overworked and underpaid. You look like crap. Tell the town council to kiss your Wonder-Bread-white ass. You know you always have a job in private security with me. I’ve only been trying to hire you for years.”

“Look, I hate small-town politics, but I like my job. Or at least I did before Vince Mitchell got elected to council last year.” Mike’s exhaustion made his friend’s offer more tempting than usual, but he wasn’t ready to quit on his town. This job had pulled him out of a deep, dark place ten years ago, and the place he was headed now wasn’t exactly bright and cheery. Free time to ponder his failures would be the equivalent of swallowing gasoline and a lit match. “Besides,
if I get fired there’ll be no one to look out for Sarah Mitchell and her sister or anyone else.”

“Mike, working nonstop won’t keep another killer from finding this town.” As usual, his friend cut through the bullshit like a power saw. Sean’s eyes dropped to the papers on Mike’s desk. “Awfully thick file for one night.”

“Somebody’s been hassling Rachel Parker for months. Three incidents of nasty graffiti.” Mike flipped through half a dozen reports. “Tires slit on heavy equipment. Damaged construction materials. Stolen materials.”

Sean rounded the desk and looked over Mike’s shoulder. “Seems like a lot of work for Troy. He’s drunk most of the time and lazy all of the time.”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking. Try as I might, I can’t believe that Troy orchestrated all this.”

“Nope,” Sean said. “Not by himself.”

“So, either Troy had help or someone else is trying to hurt Rachel Parker.”

The last time Mike’s instincts had waved a red flag, a woman had been murdered.

Rachel removed a nail from between her teeth, held it in place, and raised the hammer. That pain-in-the-butt gray horse picked the wrong day to bust through the fence.

“Miss Parker?”

She jumped. The hammer slipped and smashed her thumb. Pain shot through her hand. “Shit.” Rachel gave her throbbing fist a shake, then tapped the last nail into the new top rail and turned to face the chief of police. He had a file tucked under his arm.

“I’m sorry.” Chief O’Connell’s ruddy face creased with concern. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

She scanned the back lawn, where Emma and Alex played in a large cardboard box. Tied to a nearby tree, Bandit took a break from digging and barked. Mud obscured his black and tan coat. Above it all, a sky of unbroken gray threatened to dump more rain on her swampy pastures.

“I have a lot on my mind.” Rachel tested the board. It held. She looked at him. His hair was still damp, his face freshly shaven, but he could’ve packed for the weekend in the bags under his eyes. She’d managed a two-hour nap on Mrs. Holloway’s sofa. O’Connell looked like he hadn’t even blinked. Even puffy with lack of sleep, those baby blues overloaded her brain’s circuit board. A He-Manly man shouldn’t have eyes that soft and beautiful. A girly squeal floated across the yard, and Rachel seized the chance to glance back at her nieces. No more of this locking gazes bullshit.

“I guess you do.” O’Connell’s eyes shifted to the barn. His mouth tightened. Rachel followed his gaze. In the unforgiving light of day, the side of her barn might as well be a profane marquis. “The threats seemed…personal. And nasty.”

“They do. My nieces can’t read yet, but covering that up is on my to-do list.” She lifted a heavy shoulder. The ache in the injured joint reminded her that failure and pain were part of life.

“You’ve had a lot of vandalism since you moved here. Are you sure it was all Troy?”

“Why?” Rachel froze. A damp chill crept up her arms. “Who else would it be?”

“I don’t know. When you put it all together, it seems awfully well organized for Troy. Are you sure no one else has a grudge against you?”

Tough question. “I can’t think of anyone else who’d go to that much effort to get rid of me.” She jerked a thumb toward the barn. “That graffiti sounds just like him.”

The chief just stared at her for a minute in silence, as if contemplating her comment. Then he nodded at the girls on the back lawn. “How are they?”

“Better than I would have predicted. Kids are resilient.” She tried to shrug off the comment, but her insides knotted.

Rachel headed to the barn. One of the barn cats snaked around her ankles as she heaved at the sliding double doors. A wide dirt aisle separated two rows of stalls. She had a clear view of Alex and Emma while she worked. She led Lady from her stall and snapped the mare onto the cross-ties in the aisle. O’Connell tagged along. His huge body moved with controlled grace that suggested athletic prowess. He leaned a shoulder against the wooden wall like he needed the support. He scanned the pasture in the distance, as if searching for a way to say what was on his mind. She doubted he’d driven over just to check on the girls.

Rachel waited a few seconds, and when he didn’t show any sign of spilling his news, she went to work with a soft brush. As she swept it across Lady’s gleaming side, the slight swell shifted. Rachel splayed her hand against the mare’s belly. The lump moved under her palm. Fleet’s baby. Hope budded in her chest. She jerked her hand from the mare’s side before optimism could take root. She couldn’t get too attached. Fate had the nasty habit of yanking happiness away from her every time it dangled within reach.

“When’s she due?”

Rachel swallowed the lump in her throat. “February.”

Denim rustled behind her as O’Connell moved closer, invading her space. When she looked over her shoulder, he
was right behind her, stroking Lady’s neck. His broad hand slid down to caress the mare’s shoulder. “She’s beautiful.”

His fresh musky aftershave tingled in her nostrils—among other places. The soft cotton of his button-down stretched across the heavy muscles of his torso. Which she should
not
be staring at like a horny teen. But damn, he liked horses and everything.

She ripped her gaze off the chief’s impressive chest and patted a gleaming coppery haunch. “This baby’s our first, isn’t it, girl?”

Lady’s ears flickered. Usually a little of the horse’s quiet contentedness rubbed off on Rachel, filling her with the peace she imagined other people got from an hour of yoga or a massage. But not today.

O’Connell’s face spread into a sad half smile that recategorized him from man-next-door attractive to edible. Rachel’s heart did that fluttery thing again, like it wanted to bat its eyelashes at him. Ridiculous.

Rachel sidestepped to the grooming box and selected a stiff brush for Lady’s tail. “So, you like horses?”

“I had one when I was a kid.” His voice roughened. When Rachel glanced back at him, the smile had slipped from his face and his eyes were clouded as the sky. How could a man that big have a vulnerable streak? And why was he more attractive because of it? He cleared his throat. “You inherited this place from your grandfather more than ten years ago. Why did you just move out here six months ago?”

“I was riding competitively, traveled most of the time.” Until one slip of a hoof ended her career—and Fleet’s.

He looped an arm over Lady’s neck and rested his forehead on her arched crest. Lady bent her graceful neck into an elegant curve and nuzzled the waistband of his jeans.
Shameless hussy
. But Rachel was a teensy bit jealous.

“So, you retired?” he asked.

A twinge ran through the scar tissue in her shoulder. “Yeah. You could say that.”

“Are all these horses yours?”

“I wish. Just Lady. The others are here for training.” She moved her eyes from the cop to check on the girls. Two pairs of feet protruded from the box. Muffled childish chatter drifted through the humidity. OK. Enough pretending she had an ounce of patience. “So, what brings you out here this morning, Chief O’Connell?”