His seasoned partner would repeat this speech several times in other vastly different circumstances his rookie year, but he never completely bought it. It didn’t help that, a few weeks later, they were called back to that same address to find a dead mother and child.
James massaged his brow in weariness. Shay Appleton didn’t want his help. She couldn’t have been clearer about that if she’d told him to eat dirt and die.
“You leave a card and walk away.”
His murmur drew a whimper of response from Bogart.
James shook his head as he gazed at his partner. “You don’t get a vote this time. You’ve become emotionally involved.”
He started the truck. He had become a good police officer. Otherwise he wouldn’t have been able to win a spot on the K-9 force after just three years on the force, the minimum. That required the hard-won ability to be unemotional in emotional situations. And to know when to step away from a situation when it didn’t call for his intervention. Shay Appleton wasn’t his problem by any stretch of the imagination. He was out of his jurisdiction. Hell, out of his emotional comfort zone. He had only one obligation at the moment, and that was to get back to Charlotte to square away the details of his actions so that he and Bogart could return to active duty.
Still, the sight of her standing on the porch as they drove away, clutching the railing as though without it she might collapse, made him feel like one cold bastard.
During the course of the day the deputy had offered his opinion of Shay being a “high-strung little gal.” Later the sheriff confided that Ms. Appleton had lived in the cabin for a time during her teens. Later, whenever she came up, which hadn’t been in more than three years, she always made calls about some nuisance or another. One year it was a supposed lurker. Another time a stray rock had been thrown through a window. When pressed for the reason for her fears, he ducked his head, saying only, “She’s city folk now. Crickets and such make ’em skittish.”
James sighed. Law enforcement officers, himself included, were often too jaded to see a stray rock thrown through a window as anything more than mischief. Yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that the sheriff, deputy, and Ms. Appleton weren’t being completely honest with him. Something lay just under the surface of the events of the day that none of them were willing to discuss.
Not that they should confide in him. After all, he had been the one to wage war on her doorstep. Besides, he had his own secret. He hadn’t told them about the stalker of the night before.
Because he didn’t want to be further involved.
James’s conscience jumped up to body-slam him. Ms. Appleton had handled his intrusion with more grace and courage than many a suspect he’d arrested. She didn’t seem the victim type. Nothing like that worn-out young mother, in too deep to crawl back to life before it was too late. Yet her wary gaze held the suspicion of someone who had been through something hard, and no longer trusted the world to be on her side. Did it have something to do with the man in the truck?
Something nudged the back of his mind. The fact that she’d seemed prepared for trouble. If not from him, then from something equally unpleasant. Yet that, too, was none of his business. She had Deputy Ward to watch over her.
Life was tough. He had his own problems.
He rolled down the windows for a breath of country air, put his truck in gear, and headed down the rural lane that led back past the lake to reach the highway. He didn’t need to pass Shay Appleton’s cabin to do that. He could have taken the shorter route.
Ten minutes later, when the cabin came into view through the trees, he could have swerved right and hit the tarmac and headed toward Interstate 85 and home. Instead, he stepped on the brake to roll past at a speed that barely registered on his odometer.
There was a truck in the yard. It looked suspiciously like the one that had been parked at the edge of the woods the night before. Of course, it might be coincidence, or his imagination working overtime. Or a maintenance man, or a—
Bogart suddenly lunged forward in his harness; his ears pricked forward, and from deep within his chest came a low guttural growl. He’d caught a scent.
“Shit!” James turned into her drive. Bogart on alert was good enough probable cause for him.
*
The door was ajar, wide enough for James to see inside before he even reached the porch. In seconds, he took in every pertinent detail.
A tall man in jeans and a blazer stood facing the far wall, legs apart as he leaned forward. Shay was behind him, forced tightly against the wall by his body. James’s pulse ticked up at the sight. Was this a threat, or a sexual encounter he was about to disturb?
The man was speaking, his voice so low James couldn’t pick out words. Shay suddenly turned her head away as if to avoid looking at him.
James saw her expression. It was one of a small animal cornered by a larger one. Before James could react, the man seized her shoulders and her head snapped back against the wall with a sickening thud. “You stupid bitch!”