Chapter Twelve
Hours later, Marcy sat in her uncle’s office at the police station. JB sat in the main room, scouring the evidence from the accident. No, “accident” wasn’t the right word—attempted murder. Every police officer around used those words. Evidently, she’d skyrocketed to number-one priority for the Crayton Police Department.
JB, Uncle Cal, and Evans joined her, each nonchalantly taking a chair in a very friendly cop mode. Did they think she was stupid? They were there to pick her brain. Try to unlock leads she wouldn’t even know existed in her thoughts. Of course, she’d play the game.
“Where’s my food?” she asked. Hunger had long since made itself known.
“Kennett’s gone to pick up the food from Joanie’s.” JB leaned his straight-back chair against the wall. He flinched when he slid his hands behind his head.
“How’s your side?”
“Fine.” The look he shot her meant, Don’t ask in front of other people. “Now, we need to figure out who might have a reason to target you.”
“No one.” She straightened and interwove her fingers. Flexed them like the rhythm of breaths, in and out, in and out, faster and faster.
JB reached over and covered her hands, squeezing in his gentle way. “It’s okay, sugar. There’s nothing to be nervous about.”
Bobbing her head, she unlinked her fingers and placed her hands on the desk in front of her. “I know you need my help, so I’ve been trying to think of anything I’ve done to make someone mad. And I can’t come up with anything.”
Her uncle moved a notepad in front of him. “What say we ask you some questions?”
“Okay.” That would be better. She could answer questions.
“Let’s start with the robbery…Leon…his wife.”
The sheriff might have been the one to ask the question, but Evans and JB watched her intently as she replied. Jotted their own notes.
JB plopped his chair down on its four legs, bracing his elbows on his knees. “Tell me about the papers Representative Benson served you.”
“How did you know that?” She hadn’t said a word concerning the almost lawsuit to anyone but her sister. “Betsy…Betsy shouldn’t have told you.”
“Don’t blame her. I asked if anybody had bothered you while I was gone.”
Marcy jumped to her feet. “Why should you care? You sure didn’t when you walked out the door.”
He stood. “Got that a little wrong, don’t you?” Nose to nose, he stared right back and never blinked. “You’re the one who packed my duffle and parked it on the front porch that night. Locked yourself in the bedroom after you stuck a sign on the door saying you didn’t need my attention anymore.”
She looked up into the eyes she could barely stand to look away from. The ones she’d let leave because he wanted the world, and she only wanted Crayton…and him. If the times were reversed right now, she’d toss both their suitcases in the back of his truck. Escape to wherever he wanted to go.
He palmed his fingers through his hair and squinted. “What the hell did that mean? Didn’t need my attention. For what? Sometimes, Marcy Bradley, you need to be a little more specific.”
The sheriff cleared his throat. “Could we get back to the case at hand?”
Kennett pecked on the office glass, his hands filled to the brim with food and a tray of drinks, which he deposited on a side table. The sheriff excused himself to go check for incoming faxes. JB retrieved a couple burgers from the sack along with a canned soda and retook his chair, thunking back against the wall with more force than necessary.
Others wouldn’t notice that he practically growled as he bit into the food. Wouldn’t notice the hard sigh as his body released its tension. Wouldn’t notice the flash of sadness in his eyes. She noticed. She noticed more than she had in a long time. She’d hurt him more than she ever realized.
Shaken by the memories, Marcy inched back in her chair.
The sheriff rejoined them empty-handed and grabbed his meal before sitting down behind the desk. “Let’s take a little breather. Been a long day.”
Evans placed a Styrofoam container on the desk in front of her and the two shakes she’d ordered, then took his own food and walked into the adjoining room. Said he needed to check in at home.
She smiled at the heart and flower designs floating around her name on the top of the Styrofoam. Cute. That was a first because Joanie had never been one to be flowery. Nice to know her friend was thinking about her. Marcy sipped her shake and opened the lid of her sandwich box.
The smell of beef, tomatoes, lettuce, and onion triggered her stomach as she reached in for the usual, white-wrapped burger. Her fingers touched a folded piece of paper underneath the sandwich. A note…how nice. Burger in one hand, Marcy was poised to take a bite of the soft bun and makings as she unfolded the note.
She choked on her gasp of inhaled shock. Dropped her food as she stood. Backed away from the terrifying words.
…
JB shot out of his chair, engulfing Marcy in his arms as she turned to him. A quick glance showed a paper on the desk next to her food. Kennett reached over and picked up the note.
“Don’t touch it.” JB grabbed the rookie’s arm.
Kennett jerked his head in a self-imposed sigh and grimace as he released the sheet of paper. “Sorry, man. I wasn’t thinking.”
“Nobody else touch it.” The sheriff motioned to close the door, then nodded to Kennett. “Read what it says.”
“Dear Ms. Lucky, three times is usually the charm. You must have nine lives.” Kennett glanced at Sheriff Davis.
JB felt Marcy tremble in his arms, and he pulled her closer to his chest, one hand rubbing circles on her back. The other pressed into her hair as he held her close. This wasn’t a time to think in terms of boundaries in their relationship. This was about keeping her calm.
“Read the rest,” he said. She deserved to know exactly what they were up against.
Kennett nodded. “…must have nine lives. If you keep being so lucky, I’ll finish off your hot-shot ex-husband instead. Your choice. Your life? Or, his?”
The four men exchanged looks of definable anger. Sheriff Davis motioned for Evans and Kennett to collect the food bags from Joanie’s as evidence.
When JB looked down at Marcy, he’d never seen her so quiet, so pale. He seemed to be the only thing holding her up. After leading her to the low, leather sofa at the back of the sheriff’s office, he sat with her cuddled in his arms. Minutes on minutes passed. The police work wrapped up, and the sheriff closed the door behind himself and the officers as they departed the room.
“Someone really hates me, don’t they?” she said.
“Don’t worry. We’ll get to the bottom of this.”
JB felt himself swaying back and forth from side to side, hoping Marcy would walk through her shock and come out stronger. His mind raced with whys, what-ifs, whens, and hows—as well as plans for survival. He never let himself imagine otherwise when put into a life-or-death situation. Attacks called for justice. Attacks against his ex-wife called for survival. Whoever sent the message would feel JB’s attack mode before this ended.
“What have I done?” she whispered.
“Not a thing.” He kissed the top of her head. “Someone sick enough to write that note doesn’t need you to have done one single thing. Sick people imagine what they want. Wreak havoc from there.”
She sat, cupping his face in her hand. “If you’d been out there on the road by yourself today, and your brakes went out, you’d have gone over the edge. Crashed into the water.”
“Nope. Might have gone over the edge, but you know me…” Trying to lighten the mood, he poked the side of his head with his finger in an always-thinking motion. “Halfway down, I’d have opened the door and did a half-pike into the water. Swam across the lake and back again, then grabbed a couple of fish and backstroked to shore.”
Marcy fake-smiled, and a smidge of color returned to her cheeks. “What kind of fish?”
Good. She was trying. He also knew she hated the water. Ever since the day their fishing boat capsized, and he’d jumped in to save her. Yeah, she’d gone in the water after that, but only if he was around.
“Bass. Super-big bass.” He widened his arms in exaggeration. “Of course, I’d make you clean them.”
She scrunched her nose and sweet-grimaced.
“Then I’d hose you down to get the scales and gunk off before we…” He tweaked her nose as visions of their hot afternoon exploits from the past flooded his mind. From her smile, she remembered, too, “…jumped in the lake to cool off before we…”
Marcy pressed her fingers against his lips. “Before we fried up those fish in a cast-iron skillet so big and heavy only you could lift it from the stove. And, you’d make hushpuppies and fried potatoes and your special wash-it-down concoction.”
He’d have rather talked about what came between the cooling off and the frying fish. But that was a long time ago. Before signatures on a divorce decree changed their status. He forced a grin to keep the conversation light, keep her calm. “That brew tasted like medicine, but it got the job done, didn’t it?”
“Got the job done.”
They shared a small, breathy laugh that spoke volumes. He squeezed her close for a moment, kissing her forehead. “To the good times we had, sugar.”
“To the good times.” She slid down on the sofa next to him and rested her head in his lap. Before long, her breathing slowed, her body eased, and her eyelashes fluttered, fighting sleep.
It had been a long, exhausting day. They all needed some rest. Thankfully, she could get some while everyone else worked through the evidence.
He stroked her hair as he did a chronological lineup of the day. Joanie should have a clue about who might have been around the food. Sheriff Davis would do his investigation. JB’d do his.
Marcy’s breathing calmed into sleep, and her body relaxed against him. A shudder raced through his mind and his shoulders, and he clenched his jaw. Today, he’d almost lost her again. True, she wasn’t his to lose anymore, but that didn’t matter. He’d watch out for her just like he had in school. He rested his head back against the sofa. Much as he needed to check on what was happening outside the room, he’d stay with her in case she needed him.
The door opened with a click, slow and gentle. Sheriff Davis pushed it open further, and in stepped Marcy’s mama. She looked tired. Didn’t matter. Two of her girls were in danger, and no one would be able to keep her away. Sadie nodded, then tilted her head to look at her sleeping daughter. Slipping over to the sofa, she motioned she’d take JB’s place.
When he shook his head, she pointed to the door. The sheriff waved him over, indicating that he needed to talk. JB slowly eased out from under Marcy as Sadie moved in. His ex-wife barely stirred, though she clutched at his hand as he let go. Her mama took hold of the grasping fingers.
Marcy’s stepfather Truman entered the room and sat in the chair by the desk. He crossed his arms and leaned the chair back against the wall, mouthing his silent intent to watch out for the two women. JB nodded a thank you and headed to the door, then stopped in front of Truman, making sure to keep his body between him and the women.
Truman and him had never worked a case together for the Bureau, but they each knew what the other did. Where they went. What went down. They’d formed an unspoken bond as special agents in the field, never mind the family connection.
JB pulled a leather case from his pocket, flipped it open, and rubbed his thumb across the FBI shield he’d worn for the past few years. There was a time he thought that shield and what it meant was the world. The law was his job. Just not this time.
Closing the case, he held it out to Truman. “I know I’ve already given my resignation to Wilson, but I wouldn’t want to tarnish the badge by even keeping it in my pocket. What needs to be done in the next few days may not exactly fall under the letter of the law, ‘cause I plan to do whatever it takes to keep Marcy alive.”
Truman closed his hands around the case. “You sure you want to do this?”
“You’d do the same for Sadie.”
The man clenched his jaw and nodded. “Difference is Sadie’s my wife.”
JB fixed his gaze on the door, kept his voice low. “Just because I signed the divorce papers doesn’t mean I want anything to happen to Marcy. We had some good times. Trouble is we’re like two engines pulling in opposite directions. Ultimately, one of us had to let go before we both burned out.”
He remembered the quiet in the house that last night before she’d set the duffle bag on the front porch. Even then he’d known the end of their marriage was near. Known there was nothing he could do but watch the end play out. Too stubborn to be the one to admit defeat, he’d waited for her to make the final break. One part of him had hoped she wouldn’t. One part had known she would.
“Marcy might have been the one to push me out the door, but in the end, I was the one who let go. Stayed away and let go because…” JB glanced back at the leather case and nodded. “I figure you’ll get my badge where it needs to go if something happens to me.”
“Watch your back out there.” Truman shook his hand.
“JB.” Marcy’s mother called out softly. “Before you go, there’s something I need to—”
“No, Sadie.” Truman shook his head at his wife. “Let it be.”
“But, I told you last night about—”
“I understand, but just let it be.” Truman stuffed JB’s leather and shield in to his pocket.
JB glanced at the two of them, then at Marcy still sleeping quietly on the couch. His core tripped at the beauty of her parted lips, her fluttering eyelashes, her gentle fingers tucked lightly beneath her cheek. How could he ever think any less of her than the day they were married? She’d stayed with him as long as she could. Worrying about when he’d be home from the job, tending the wounds he’d returned with.
Sure, he’d been right to stay away once they’d parted. And he’d go again as soon as there was no more danger to her. He couldn’t be the safe nine-to-five man she longed for, whose biggest excitement was scratching off a lottery ticket. That kind of life would kill him one second at a time. So he’d let go again, leave town, and never come back to Crayton.
She deserved better than him. All these years, he’d wondered if he was the best choice for her. Was he good enough? Had his dad been right that he wasn’t worth the price of a ticket? Gazing at her right now as she slept, he didn’t believe anyone was good enough for her. But he’d do anything within his power to keep her alive.
Anything.
He closed the door behind him as survival mode kicked into gear. Survival for him and Marcy meant using his skills and keeping a clear head. He knew how to stay in control. To do what he’d been trained to do in evaluating a case. In protecting the victim. In taking the criminal down. He had to think of this like every other case he’d ever had. Look for clues and meet the objective.
Only one thing hadn’t been in the manual. How to handle your emotions when someone you cared about was the target.