Lost in Shadows (Lost) Page 5

  He squirmed under the intensity of those blue eyes.

  “Show it to me. Now.” She gave the order without room for negotiation.

  “Okay. Okay.” He began unbuttoning his shirt. “Just keep your voice down. I’m not in the mood for a showdown.”

  “I sent him home.”

  “And he left? Just like that?” Not what he expected. Jeb had hidden his truck around the corner and raced back to climb in her window without being caught. He hadn’t checked on the sheriff’s car.

  “You could have walked in the front door and spared the bloodshed.” She crossed her arms under her breasts and lowered her chin to glare at him. His shoulder was torn open in a line two inches long. “It looks like a nail-head nearly skinned you.” She sighed resignedly and then noticed his many scars. “Big ones. Little ones. Long ones. Round ones. What happened to you?” She looked at his other arm and shook her head. “Wait here.”

  He watched her walk out of the room. Strength ran deep in the quiet woman. It wasn’t the same kind of strength as in Kate, whose spine had been forged from high grade steel. Carolina’s strength was woven more delicately. Like the web of a spider, her strength looked deceptively fragile but could stop prey in its tracks. He had no doubt that she was a victim and had suffered some type of abuse; psychological could be as deadly as physical. She may have been down, but she wasn’t out. That tone she used, that look, was not one of surrender.

  Curiosity had him wondering what she was up to, excitement made him grateful he’d turned around. He considered leaving for all of two seconds. Nate’s warning about his uncle had made Jeb wary, a feeling reinforced by Carolina’s avoidance body language.

  She returned, arms filled. “Move the chair over by the light, please.” She went to the bed and carefully laid out her materials. “Sit.”

  This did not look good. She had that face that said he was in for trouble. He crossed his arms, staying where he was. “Why?”

  “Because I told you to.” She took his wrist and pulled until he took an unwilling step toward the chair. “I have all night, you know.”

  There was no give in the spider’s web. He did as she said, knowing he’d been trapped. She opened a large first aid kit, selected disinfecting wipes, several Band-Aids, and, after another look at his arm, a prepackaged needle with surgical thread.

  He liked that determined look on her face. So focused, she forgot everything else. “Have you done this before?”

  She shook her head. “I read a book on it.”

  “Oh, well. I feel better.” The teasing rolled easily off his lips. It surprised him how quickly he’d settled into a comfortable banter with her. It was hard to believe that she held him at gunpoint only hours ago. He placed his hand over hers, capturing it. “You don’t have to do this. I can take care of it.”

  “Just sit still, you big baby.” She stood between his legs and, leaning into him, began to work. “I suppose I should be flattered in a princess-in-a-tower way.”

  “Well, sure—”

  “But I’m not. No more breaking into my house.”

  Her long hair hung like a curtain around him, enveloping him in her warm, sweet scent. His stomach clenched and rolled with a primitive hunger. His muscles tightened and his cock hardened. Jeb shifted, trying to find a little more room in his cargo pants.

  She slapped his wrist. “Quit squirming.”

  “I’m not.” But he was. And it wasn’t helping. Sacrifice was one thing, torture another. “Maybe I should just do this.”

  “You are not having a scar on your body because of me.” She pulled away to set the now bloody rag on the plastic bag. “You should get a tetanus shot tomorrow. Who knows what cut you.”

  Her scent trailed after her, giving his aching body a reprieve. “Carolina, look at me. I really wouldn’t notice one more scar.”

  She turned on him, her eyes burning with determination. “That is not the point.”

  “Then what is?”

  She applied a topical solution to his shoulder. “The point is I’m not having this. You went out of your way to help me because my brother asked.”

  “I don’t like you thinking like that.” He kept his voice low and soft, a ballast to the anxiety that made hers too high and shaky. “I may have come because Nate asked. I stayed because you shooed me off the carpet at gunpoint.” He wanted her to smile, but she didn’t.

  She shook her head and leaned close to his shoulder, inspecting the wound. “I’d like to put a stitch or two in this. I don’t like the way it looks.” She turned away and opened the packaged needle.

  His gaze went to the sharp needle in her hand. “Do you know how to use that?”

  “Of course. I read it in a book. You can look away if it bothers you.”

  He huffed and sat straighter. “Do your worst.”

  “My best. I’ll do my best.” She bent over, enveloping him in her scent again. After a moment that was too short, she straightened. “There. That really wasn’t any different than hemming curtains.” She snipped the thread, looking triumphant. “All better?”

  He chortled. She made him want to laugh. “You need to kiss it.”

  The victorious smirk faded as she swallowed hard. “W-what?”

  “You need to kiss it. It isn’t all better until you kiss it. Didn’t your mama teach you that?”

  His voice teased, a sexy invitation to indulge. Only her gaze moved, roaming from his eyes to his mouth to his shoulder. Excitement ran through him as her pink tongue ran between her lips, but she didn’t move. Not forward, not back. He was about to let her off the hook when she leaned closer. Her breath was soft on his face, sweet, like the apples. She bent down and touched her lips lightly to his clavicle. His body jerked to attention at her touch. She pressed a second kiss to the top of his shoulder. He inhaled suddenly and went absolutely still.

  With infinite gentleness, she touched her lips to the line of tiny stitches. “All better?”

  He turned his head and unexpectedly found his mouth within a whisper of hers. His breath hitched. “Better than better.”

  …

  Carolina lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Her mind was a hamster on a wheel, trying to find the needle in the haystack of her life that explained the break-in. Just like a hamster, it got her nowhere. She was certain everything would make sense in the morning. All she had to do was sleep, but it eluded her. She tried counting sheep. She tried mentally reciting her mother’s recipe for custard. Nothing worked. She needed water, and all the glasses were downstairs. Quietly, she descended the staircase and made her way to the kitchen. The dishwasher clicked as she opened the door and took a glass.

  “What’s the matter?” Jeb stood in the doorway, fully dressed. He holstered the gun in his hand.

  “Can’t sleep. The sheep have run off, and the eggs are broken. Now I’m thirsty. I don’t think I slept more than three hours last night, either. Maybe I’m too tired to sleep. It’s just…when my mind is quiet…” It was a conundrum. When her mind was busy, she couldn’t sleep because she was thinking. When her mind was quiet, she couldn’t sleep because she felt closed in, the walls of the hidey-hole pressing together until she was a paper doll.

  “Get your water and we’ll go back upstairs. I think I know what will help.”

  Her mind went into hyperdrive. Help her sleep? How? Snuggle her, cuddle her, give her a blinding orgasm? The brazen thought shocked her. She blushed, glad he couldn’t read her mind. “How?”

  He took the glass from her hand and filled it. “A bedtime story.” He offered his elbow and escorted her back to her bedroom.

  She smiled, charmed by the idea. “Make it a happy one. One to chase the boogeyman away.”

  He laughed softly. “I know just the one, and it’s all the better because it’s true.”

  She climbed into bed, lying on her side to watch his face in the faint light of her digital clock. “Tell me.”

  “Well, a few months back—”

  “No. It starts
‘once upon a time.’ It’s not a proper bedtime story if it doesn’t start that way.”

  He combed back her hair, the sensation lighting the dark corners of her psyche. Her heart leaped at his touch, and with it came a rush and a burning need, for what she wasn’t sure. But he tucked her in and sat on the edge, his weight rolling her toward him.

  “Once upon a time, there was a royal set of cousins. The daring Princess Katelyn and brilliant Prince Thomas lived a life full of laughter and love. They grew up happy in the northern land of Mich-igan. One day, they set out for a great adventure. They traveled far from their land, braving hills and heat, crossing rivers and valleys, until they found fertile ground in the valley of Elderberry. Katelyn and Thomas fell in love with the land and its people and began to build a place of their own.”

  Carolina breathed deeply; his soothing voice settled her nerves. Inch by inch, she sank into her mattress.

  “But someone in Elderberry didn’t like the idea of interlopers in the valley. Some wanted to scare away all visitors and keep the valley for themselves. The hater was selfish and disillusioned—”

  “You promised a happy story.” She gripped his wrist, but her fingers didn’t close around the thickness of it. Beneath her thumb, his pulse beat quick and steady.

  “Even happy stories have conflicts. Otherwise, it isn’t a story. Hush now and listen.” He patted the hand that held his wrist. “Elderberry was very lucky to have a brave and handsome sheriff. Jeb…adore.”

  She snorted. “Jebadore? Really?”

  “It wasn’t his fault. It was a family name. Jebadore liked Princess Katelyn and Prince Thomas and wanted them to move to Elderberry, to fill it with their happy magic. It saddened him that someone in Elderberry would want to hurt the prince and princess. While Jebadore worked very hard, Katelyn and Thomas became impatient.” His voice deepened. “They are always impatient.”

  She looked at the mask that was his face. The graciousness and gentleness of this man wasn’t written on his face but in his actions. No one in her adult life would lower themselves to tell her a story. Not even Nate. Jeb did, and she would treasure it always.

  “Prince Thomas, as I said, was brilliant…in a warped, geeky kind of way. Princess Katelyn his equal. After considering ways to protect their new castle that included electric fences and alligators, the pair decided that the ideal solution was to bombard their attackers with stink bombs by night to allow Jebadore to capture the culprits by day.”

  She propped herself up on her elbow. “Stink bombs? That is brilliant.”

  “How are you going to fall asleep leaning up like that? Lie back down— And they weren’t brilliant, they were boneheads.”

  She dropped to the pillow and rolled to her back, delighted with the story and the man who told it. “I doubt they were boneheads.” His face was stern. Without thought, she reached up to erase the frown on his lips.

  He stopped moving, and embarrassment had her recalling her wayward hand. He caught it, weaving their fingers together. “Absolutely, boneheads.”

  She savored the strength and warmth of his hand. She stayed still, wanting to keep him there. “What did the boneheads do?”

  “They found the grandest willow in the valley, one with boughs as thick as a car, and settled in the branches, waiting for the villain’s rise.”

  “What happened?”

  He used his free hand to brush back her hair again. Butterflies took flight in her stomach, this time making her smile.

  “You really aren’t very good at this storytelling thing, are you? You’re supposed to be listening. You can’t fall asleep if you’re talking. Now, where was I?”

  Carolina leaned in to him, wanting his touch. “Grandest willow, waiting for villain’s rise. Did the villain rise?”

  “Others in Elderberry became fond of the prince and princess and wanted them to prosper in the valley. Out of concern, a noble townsperson called upon Jebadore to intercede before harm could befall the cousins. And so he set out for the grand willow, accompanied by his faithful brother. A sound, foreign to the night, alerted him to their location. With great patience and eloquence, Jebadore entreated them to abandon their post.”

  “Great patience?” She snorted. “Eloquence?”

  He released her hand, leaning back as if about to stand. “You don’t deserve to hear Jebadore’s story.”

  Carolina captured his hand again, pinning it to the base of her throat, keeping him close. “I may not deserve it, but I really do want to hear it. Please.”

  With an air of great suffering, Jeb nodded. “Katelyn was accomplished in the use of a great many tools. From a painter’s brush to an air hammer, she surpassed most of her gender and many of the other. For all Katelyn’s talents, firing a gun was not one. As Jebadore beseeched the pair, Princess Katelyn shot him.”

  Carolina gasped. “She didn’t.”

  “He dove to the ground, prepared to engage the enemy in mortal combat. His faithful brother similarly dove to the ground…only to gag on the stench that was now Jebadore.”

  “My poor Jebadore.” Carolina pulled his still-held hand to her heart.

  “Exactly. Jebadore rose from the earth and looked not to the faces of sorrow and regret but of laughter. He found the incident funny, too, but not till three days after. The End.”

  “Oh. I loved the story. I want to meet Katelyn and Thomas. Are they real? They sound…fun.”

  He coaxed her into a comfortable position and brought the covers up again. “They’re something. Now get some sleep. I’ll be downstairs, guarding you so only the good dreams get through.”

  …

  Jeb camped out in a comfortable den wedged between the library hallway and the office with the doors opened to both. The location gave him easy access to the front and back of the house. He would spend the night here, ensuring Carolina slept soundly above him. Every fifteen minutes he walked through the house. In between, he worked on his laptop, learning about his first pro bono client.

  Carolina Margaret Walker, twenty-nine, majored in journalism at the University of Western Kentucky and had built an impressive résumé as an investigative journalist with several high profile exposés to her credit in New York, Washington, and Miami. For the last two years, she had been working independently. Her website bragged about her skills in research, fact-checking, and editing. She had stopped putting her own name on the byline, he noted, and stepped into the shadows. What had happened to make a young journalist, one who was writing her own ticket to the upper echelon of journalism, start playing second fiddle to anyone with a few bucks? He remembered Nate saying their mother got sick. He understood her coming home; it was the radical career change that was surprising.

  He rubbed the back of his neck and wished he had a cup of Kate’s special blend coffee. He knew this feeling; he was running on empty. No food, no sleep, no caffeine.

  He focused on the computer, moving from Carolina’s well-documented professional life to her private one. Emmaline had said Carolina used an online dating service. He had found her login information neatly written on a note posted to a corkboard in her office and used it to access her account. The photo was old—her hair was much shorter—and professionally taken. She smiled radiantly out of the screen, exuding an energy and zest for life he’d seen glimpses of.

  Carolina Walker liked country music, warm spring rains, and strawberry lemonade. She enjoyed reading, of course, and cooking. Her hobbies included gardening and canning. Strawberry and raspberry preserves were her specialty. He started a file on her and under “persons of interest” he listed and researched the men who sent her messages from the dating site. It was going to take all night going by sheer numbers. He read the messages that were flirty and ballsy and flat-out rude. If he came across Harry_Baals02, he’d hand deliver a lesson in manners. Her posts were reticent. She didn’t share much of herself with the men trying to court her.

  He opened a new browser window and began searching. He found an article about the psych
ological impacts of crime on victims.

  Carolina could have been the poster child.

  …

  The sun brightened the room. Carolina opened her eyes and was rudely reminded that today would not be normal. She had the aftermath to deal with, physically, mentally, and emotionally. Pulling the covers to her chin, she closed her eyes and willed herself back to sleep. It didn’t matter if her eyes were open or closed, she felt the filthy metaphorical fingers of the criminals. Kicking off the covers, she started with brushing her teeth to get the taste of them out of her mouth. Clothes were going to be a problem. She would gather up her clothes and put them in the garbage. Then it would be online shopping to replace her wardrobe. She had slept in the T-shirt and yoga pants that she wore the day before. She would have to run around naked while she washed them. That would be too weird. She’d wear a towel.

  Did they touch her towels? Would she have to throw those away, too? “Okay, so I’ll buy new towels. I was tired of the color anyway.”

  Freshened, she crept downstairs and started the coffee. She didn’t know if Jeb was a coffee drinker but wanted to have some ready, just in case. Plus, she hoped it would make the kitchen smell like a home again.

  “Morning.” Jeb came in with a small smile on his worn face. “That smells great.”

  “It does smell good. I wasn’t sure you’d be up.”

  “Haven’t slept yet.”

  “Why not?”

  “Part of the job. I’m going to catch a few winks now that you’re up. Give me a couple hours and we’ll get into the who and why of the crime. I spent the night researching, identifying suspects to start with.” He spoke softly, his carefully chosen words matter-of-fact.

  Question after question filled her mind, but he looked so tired. She ushered him through the hallway. “Sleep in my bed. Emmaline promised to come over this morning, and I have the best chance of keeping her out of there. There’s an extra toothbrush in the second drawer of the vanity. Do you want coffee? I can bring it up.”