Blood Moon (Bear Sheriff Book 1) Page 7

  She ran out of her room, door wide open – and hands grabbed her.

  Angie screamed.

  Her first thought was: He has me! But whoever had grabbed her had grabbed her from the front, not from inside of the room.

  Her second thought was: It’s the Sheriff! But she immediately knew it wasn’t him.

  She didn’t know who had her, but his grip was strong, and the scent of alcohol washed over her. She screamed again, but a hand found her mouth.

  “Shhh!” he whispered, a voice vaguely familiar – but she couldn’t place it, and then he was pushing her backwards. For the briefest second, she thought he was pushing her into the room, where the killer was, and then it dawned on her: There were two killers. She’d walked right into their trap.

  But instead, he pushed her up against the wall of the motel. Her eyes were wide and she lashed out, but whoever he was, he was stronger than her.

  “Don’t!” he hissed. “Stop fighting!”

  She wouldn’t – though it wasn’t doing any good.

  He pulled away from her and Angie finally got a good look at the man from the outside light. It was none other than Stu Copeland.

  He pulled away and whispered, “I’m sorry.”

  “You don’t have to do this!” she pleaded.

  “I do,” he said. “I have to. It wasn’t my idea, but I have to apologize. I’m sorry. For what I said, and for what I did.”

  “Please…”

  And then there was a flash of movement from the darkness. In a split second, Sheriff Stone was there tackling Stu Copeland to the ground. Something went flying out of Stu’s hand.

  He yelled in surprise, the Sheriff’s massive body pinning him to the ground. Angie saw the object land on the ground: it was a beer, not a knife like she’d assumed.

  The Sheriff turned the man over, cuffed him immediately, and yanked him up. Angie was almost taken aback by the man’s ferocity. He slammed Stu up against the wall, hard enough to rattle the window next to him.

  “There’s still someone inside!”

  The Sheriff grimaced and grabbed a revolver and a flashlight from his hip. “Stay here,” he ordered, and went inside, light shining in front of him, weapon aimed.

  In a few moments he came back out and said, “Whoever it was is gone now. Went back out through the broken bathroom window. Shit, I didn’t think anyone could fit through one of those. Did you get a good look at him?” When she shook her head, Stone turned towards Stu Copeland and wrapped a large hand around his neck. “Who was with you?”

  Copeland coughed, turning blue, and tried to answer, but the Sheriff’s grip was too tight around his throat. She watched as he struggled with letting him go, but finally released his grip and slammed him into the building again.

  “Who was with you, Stu?” the Sheriff roared. She noticed that he’d put the light back up, but his hand still held the gun – and his fingers flexing nervously.

  “What?” he coughed.

  “Who else was with you?” Stone repeated. His eyes were blazing now and he looked on the edge of losing his cool.

  “No one. No one.” Another cough. “What are you talking about? Someone else was here?”

  “You and someone else came here to murder Angie Campbell. Who else is involved?”

  “What? No! I didn’t come here to murder anyone! Are you crazy? What are you talking about?”

  “Then what are you doing here?” Angie asked, cutting in before the Sheriff could blow up again.

  “I came to apologize,” Stu answered. His neck was turning a nasty shade of red; she could tell that he would be sporting a bruise. “Like I said.”

  “You came to apologize? For what?” the Sheriff asked.

  “For what I said at the station. For how I acted at the bar,” he said, looking down. “My father told me I needed to apologize. Told me that I made fools of our entire family by acting the way I did.”

  “You expect me to believe this?” Stone asked, though by the tone of his voice, Angie knew he already did. And she did, too. This man may have been an idiot, but he wasn’t lying. “At this hour?”

  He shrugged. “I left the bar. My dad said as soon as possible, but…”

  “He’s drunk, Sheriff.”

  “I know he’s drunk!” he snapped. “But that doesn’t give him the right to come around here at nearly 2:00 in the morning! What were you thinking, Stu? Just what the hell were you thinking?”

  The Sheriff grabbed the man and led him inside. Angie followed and watched as Stone set the man down on the bed, told him not to move, and then slammed the door shut behind them. After that, he went towards the back of the room, checking out the bathroom and the closets, under the bed, and anywhere the killer could hide.

  Angie followed him and watched as he looked out the small window, poked around, and sighed. Then he said, “Nothing. No blood, no hairs, not even a trace of fiber from the clothes he was wearing. It was a he, right?”

  “Yeah, I heard him come in, then he stepped in the glass and made his way towards me.”

  Stone pushed past her and knelt at the carpet before saying, “You can see where he walked, but he didn’t leave any prints.”

  “So?”

  “So we have no solid leads on him. He got away clean.”

  “I thought catching him was your job, Sheriff,” Angie said. She knew it was unfair, but she couldn’t help it.

  “My job is also keeping you alive, and I think I’m doing a pretty good job of that.”

  “I would still be alive even if you hadn’t shown up and tackled Mr. Copeland. You got the wrong guy.”

  The Sheriff stifled at that comment and he got up. He crossed the room and got close to her. “I’m doing the best I can, Miss Campbell. I’m not perfect, and we didn’t get your killer, but I did the right thing. Next time, why don’t you do what I ask?”

  “And what’s that?”

  “I told you it wasn’t safe to stay here! And you wouldn’t listen!”

  “I told you that I’m not leaving town!”

  “Then you’re even more of an idiot than Stu Copeland here.”

  “Excuse me?” Angie exploded. “You have no right!”

  “Come on,” the Sheriff said to Stu, who looked like he wanted to argue, but thought better of it. Stone grabbed him by the cuffed wrists and hauled him up, leading him towards the door. He opened it and pushed Stu through without a backwards glance.

  “Where are you going?” Angie yelled. “You can’t just leave me!”

  “You obviously don’t care enough about your safety to heed my advice,” the Sheriff said, glancing backwards as they left the room. “Good luck, Miss Campbell. Give me a call next time the killer comes back, and I’ll get here as soon as I can.”

  “You can’t!” she yelled, but the Sheriff was doing just that. He was disappearing into the night, rain still coming down in droves. Then the two men were gone in the darkness.

  Angie yelled for him, but there was no answer.

  Almost without thinking, she grabbed her purse and keys, locked the door, and slammed it shut behind her. She sprinted into the rain, afraid she would never find the Sheriff in the downpour, afraid that the killer would come out of nowhere and grab her…

  But there! There was Sheriff Stone, leading Stu Copeland forward. She reached them just as they reached the Sheriff’s Bronco, parked on the other side of an abandoned building.

  “Decided to listen to me, after all?” he asked.

  “Fine,” she said, her voice quiet. “You were right, is that what you wanted to hear?”

  “Climb in,” he answered. Angie made her way to the passenger door, but the Sheriff said, “You sit in the back.”

  He opened the door and slid Stu into the passenger seat without a glance at Angie. She glared at his back as he walked to the driver’s seat, but opened the door to the back seat just the same.

  She slammed the door, glad to be out of the storm, and above all glad to be alive and safe.

&nb
sp; Because somewhere out there was the killer, and he’d almost gotten her tonight.

  Chapter 11

  “I swear, Copeland – if I see you again, I’m arresting you for good.”

  “Thanks, Sheriff,” Stu Copeland said. He opened his door and stumbled out into the rain, walking up to his house.

  Without asking, Angie climbed out of the back seat and into the passenger seat. Marcus let his foot off the brake and they rolled down the street, the rain still coming down hard.

  They drove in silence for a few minutes as Marcus took them out of town and onto the dirt road that Marcus lived on. Luckily, there was enough gravel down that made the road passable and within a few short minutes, Marcus turned into his driveway.

  “So this is where you live?” Angie finally asked.

  “Yep,” Marcus answered. He was short with Angie Campbell – he didn’t know what to think about her. She was stubborn, that much was sure. But so was he. He’d had every intention of leaving her back at the motel. He was exhausted, tired of arguing, and had a strong suspicion the murderer wouldn’t come back that same night – so he’d walked away.

  And to his surprise, Angie Campbell had followed.

  Lightning flashed and illuminated the old barn as they drove up to Marcus’s house. Angie sat enraptured, watching with keen eyes. Marcus parked underneath the two trees and killed the engine.

  “Let’s get inside, Miss Campbell,” Marcus said and opened the door. Next to him, Angie did the same, and they walked up to his house. Underneath the porch, he grabbed his keys and unlocked the door.

  He opened the door and ushered her inside into the mudroom, then he locked the door behind them. He led her into the kitchen and tossed the keys down on the table before pulling the string to turn on the lights. Then he pulled off his belt and hung it on the coat pegs to the left of the door, ripped off his radio, and then began unbuttoning his soaked shirt.

  Angie Campbell was walking around the kitchen, observing. There wasn’t much to observe, so Marcus let her look for a few moments.

  “I didn’t bring any clothes.”

  “I have some extras you can wear while we dry these, Miss –”

  She turned on him and cut him off, “Can we drop the entire Miss Campbell and Sheriff Stone act? If I’m going to be staying at your place while this gets sorted out, the least we can do is be on a first name basis. Right?”

  “You’re right, Angie,” he said.

  “Okay, Marcus,” she replied.

  He led the way down the back hallway to his room. He flipped the light on and really looked inside for the first time in months. He’d found himself sleeping in his chair more and more often, TV going all night long. He’d abandoned his dresser and closet; he just washed his clothes and left them in the dryer or on top of it more often than not.

  “This is your spare bedroom?” she asked, coming in behind him.

  “Yeah,” he lied. He opened up the dresser and pulled out some old pajama pants and some of his well-worn T-shirts that hadn’t been touched in who knows how long. He handed them to her.

  “If you’re wanting to rinse off, the bathroom is over here,” he said, and she followed. They walked into the living room, which had the bathroom connected to it.

  “Never seen a house like this before,” Angie observed. Marcus just shrugged. It wasn’t much, but it was his.

  “Towels are in the cabinet,” he said, and walked out of the living room, going towards the kitchen, completing a perfect loop of his house. There was an upstairs with three extra bedrooms, though he hadn’t been up there in an even longer time than he’d been in his room.

  “Thanks, Marcus,” Angie said. He paused at the edge of the living room. “Really. Not just for this, but for tonight. I know you did the right thing.”

  He wanted to say something, but instead just nodded and went to the laundry room that was built off of the kitchen.

  Marcus took off his uniform, then tossed it into the hamper. Next, he peeled off his undershirt since it was completely soaked. He gingerly touched the bruise on his chest. It was still tender, but the bruise was already starting to heal. He stripped down to his underwear, then peeled them completely off.

  He was rummaging for a fresh set of clothes to pull on when he heard from behind him, “Marcus?”

  Marcus spun around, completely naked and unthinking – and Angie was in front of him. “Oh my God! I’m sorry!” she yelled, though he saw her eyes dart down between his legs. He reached out and grabbed a towel to cover himself, but the damage had already been done.

  She was standing in front of him, wrapped in a towel, her face blazing red. He could practically see the embarrassment roiling off of her in waves. She looked down at the floor, unable to look him in the eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” she muttered. “I couldn’t get the shower to turn on.”

  “No, that’s my fault,” he growled, ashamed to put her in that spot. “It’s hard to get it working right. Let me show you.”

  He moved past her and went into the bathroom. He twisted the knob to turn the shower on, then pulled it back just a hair – and then he slammed it hard to turn it on, and water sprayed out of the faucet. He took a step back and said, “It just doesn’t turn on when it’s supposed to. You’re good to go.”

  He slipped past her, him trying to go out of the bathroom and her trying to go in, and she gave him an embarrassed smile and slid past him into the bathroom. She looked at him one more time sheepishly, shut the door, and Marcus was left standing outside of it.

  He stood there for a few moments, collecting himself.

  Why didn’t I shut the door? That’s all I had to do to save her the embarrassment. What was I thinking?

  Marcus didn’t mind that she’d seen him naked; he was somewhat used to it. He’d had to be at times. But she hadn’t been expecting it, and she had been embarrassed, and he felt for her. She hadn’t done anything wrong, and now, she was probably feeling even more uncomfortable than she should have been.

  Marcus pulled on some clothes and went to the fridge. It was nearly 3:00 in the morning, but he was starving. There wasn’t much in his fridge, but he pulled out a couple of eggs and some bacon that needed to get cooked. He fired up his skillet, grabbed some toast, and threw it in the toaster.

  He’d just finished cooking when Angie came into the kitchen. She was wearing a pair of his old pajamas, one of his shirts that was entirely too big for her, had her hair up in the towel, and her face was still burning red, but she looked good. He didn’t think there’d ever been a woman in his house at 3:00 in the morning, and he admitted that he didn’t hate the idea.

  He pushed those thoughts away and said, “I’m making some bacon and eggs. Want some?”

  “At 3:00 in the morning?” she asked, an eyebrow raised. Then she smiled and said, “Count me in.”

  He scooped half of the food onto her plate as she sat down at the table.

  “Look, Marcus – I’m really sorry about what happened back there,” she began. “I should have knocked or called you name or –”

  “It’s fine,” he told her. He sat his plate down at the table and went to the fridge, grabbing ketchup and hot sauce. He squirted the ketchup on his eggs and doused them in hot sauce, then looked up at her. She still looked embarrassed. “Honestly, Angie. That was my fault. The least I could have done was close the door. I’m just sorry you had to see that.”

  She smiled then, took a bite of her food, and said, “Okay, Marcus. I’ll try to forget it even happened.”

  “Good,” he responded, but they both knew that wasn’t going to happen. They both ate in silence, Angie with a little smirk on her face the entire time.

  “Thanks for dinner. Breakfast, whatever it was,” Angie said. “But I think it’s time for me to retire for the night. I’m sure we have a busy day ahead of us tomorrow.”

  “Yeah,” he answered, grabbing her plate and putting it into the sink. He’d worry about doing dishes later.

  He led
the way back to his room. Angie made her way inside and pulled up the covers. Then she sat down at the edge of the bed and flicked on the little lamp on the bedside table. She reached down, grabbing something off of it – and Marcus realized it was an old picture frame that had fallen over.

  “Who’s this?” she asked, holding it up to Marcus. Even from his position at the edge of the room, he could see the picture.

  That’s me and…

  But he didn’t say that.

  “This is you, only you’re much younger,” Angie said, looking at the picture. “Is this your girlfriend? Wife?”

  He held up his left hand and said, “Do I look like I’m married?” while giving her his best smile possible. “It’s just an old picture of a friend and me.”

  “Oh,” Angie said, looking at the picture still. “Well, she’s beautiful.”

  Those words cut Marcus deep; they were almost like a knife straight to his heart. They hurt so much it was almost like a physical pain and it took everything he had to keep the smile on his face.

  He watched as she set the picture frame back down, but made sure it stood up this time. Marcus looked over at it, seeing a younger, happier version of himself…

  And the only woman I’ve ever loved.

  “Do you want this open? Closed?” he asked, grabbing the door handle.

  Angie considered a minute and said, “Leave it open. You won’t be far?”

  “Just out in the living room,” he answered. She looked as if she wanted to ask why he wasn’t going to be in his bedroom, and he really didn’t want to explain that just right then, but she just nodded and smiled.

  “Goodnight, Marcus.”

  “G’night,” he said, flipped off the light, and left his room.

  He walked the short distance to the living room, sat down heavily in his chair, and thought. He didn’t bother turning on the TV. He had much too much on his mind.

  It wasn’t just that there was a killer on the loose. A killer that had killed once and tried to kill again, and would have killed again if he or Stu Copeland hadn’t shown up at Angie’s motel room.

  There was more to it than that. There was trouble brewing in Charming, and it was more than just the murder. The past few days had felt charged, different. That much was worrying in itself.