Blood Moon (Bear Sheriff Book 1) Page 8

  And then there was Angie Campbell. There was something there, something he felt drawn to – and something he absolutely didn’t want any part of. He couldn’t.

  And why not?

  Because I’m broken, that’s why.

  Even if he found himself attracted to her, nothing could ever come from it. He wouldn’t let it.

  That smirk at the table earlier. Her eyes tracking every inch of your body, focusing on certain places for just a moment too long…

  He pushed those thoughts away. He couldn’t dwell on them right now.

  He thought about the picture that Angie had found.

  I should throw it away.

  Every time he saw that picture, every time he was reminded of her…

  The wound tore itself open again. All of the pain, the guilt, the self-hatred from nearly five years ago…

  It came pouring back into him. It was too much to handle.

  Marcus thought about the woman he’d loved. And because of him, she was dead.

  He thought of Angie Campbell sleeping in his room, and he vowed to never let that happen again.

  Chapter 12

  Angie awoke slowly, sunlight shining weakly in the window above her bed. She thought she could hear a bird chirping somewhere far away, but other than that, the only sound was of her breathing. She looked towards the open door, half expecting Marcus to appear at it with a tray of breakfast in front of him.

  Don’t be silly. This isn’t some movie, and he isn’t the knight in shining armor.

  She’d had trouble getting to sleep last night, but it hadn’t been for all of the reasons she’d come to expect. She was still worried about the killer, but had felt oddly safe and content in Marcus’s house. Her guilt over bringing Erica here was still there, too, but it was slowly fading – Angie was going to get justice for whoever killed her.

  No, she’d had trouble sleeping because of Marcus. She’d thought a lot about the picture resting next to the bed and who was in it. She knew Marcus was lying; it wasn’t just some friend from long ago. When his strange golden eyes had glossed over the picture, his face had become a mask of pain. And – unknown even to herself as to why – Angie had felt for him.

  She hardly knew the man, but she found herself strangely drawn to him. Maybe it was because they were going through the same thing together. Maybe it was because he was the complete opposite of her: damaged, rugged, a county sheriff right in his element while she was in over her head. She was complete, he was missing part of himself.

  But she also thought of what had happened while he was getting undressed. Her mind kept coming back to his perfectly sculpted body, from his massive arms, his toned chest – covered in a large bruise – and everything else.

  Even…

  She pushed those thoughts away, though she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t stayed up for a long time the night before replaying that scene in her head. She hadn’t meant to walk in on him. She’d been extremely embarrassed by it, as a matter of fact. She’d wanted to die, fade away and disappear, run away – anything to get away from Marcus and what she had felt.

  But I liked it.

  And who wouldn’t?

  She was focused almost exclusively on her work. While Erica had been the one with a revolving door of boyfriends, Angie had kept almost exclusively to herself. It had just been easier. She could focus on herself, her job, and her money, without having to worry about someone else intruding on her life.

  But with Marcus…

  I don’t know.

  There was something there, she knew. Slowly, she peeled back the blankets and swung her feet to the old wooden floor. It was a little dusty; cleaning obviously wasn’t Marcus’s strong suit. She didn’t blame him, though. He was the only member of the law in the entire county and with everything else on his plate, cleaning was probably at the bottom of his list.

  She looked at the picture, seeing a younger, happier looking Marcus and the beautiful woman, then she stood up and left the room. She’d expected that Marcus would have woken her up at the crack of dawn – hell, she’d expected a rooster to do it – but when she glanced at the clock, she saw it was nearing 10:30.

  She walked into the living room and saw the open bathroom door, then made her way into the kitchen. Like the other two rooms, it was empty, as was the laundry room.

  “Marcus?” she called softly, then called a bit more loudly, “Are you in here?”

  She approached the sink and looked out the front of the house through the open window, expecting to see Marcus’s Bronco gone. But the only thing that greeted her was a warm breeze blowing inside.

  She was about to turn around when movement down by the barn caught her eye. She watched as Marcus came out of the barn, two long fence posts balanced on his shoulder, a roll of wire in his other hand. He was heading down towards the cow pen slowly.

  She left the house and walked down the driveway until she was nearly upon him.

  “Mornin’,” he said. He was squatting down near the fence posts. He’d already brought down a saw, a hammer, and nails.

  “Morning. How long have you been up?”

  He shrugged and said, “A few hours, now.”

  “Why’d you let me sleep so long?”

  Another shrug and a glance towards the fence in front of the cattle trough. Two of the fence posts were shattered, pulling the fence downward.

  “I thought you needed it.”

  “I think you do, too,” she said, shielding her eyes against the sun. “What happened?

  “Cows pushed against the fence last night in the storm. Broke a few posts.”

  “Can I help?”

  He hesitated and then said, “Hold this steady,” and handed her one of the fence posts. He cut it to length while she held it in place, then he said, “Bring the hammer and nails over.”

  She helped him as they did a quick repair job on the fence.

  “These posts need to be replaced, but I’ll worry about that some other day. We just need to reinforce the fence here,” he said. Angie stood back and watched him work. He seemed to be enjoying himself now more than she’d ever seen him yet.

  It didn’t take long before Marcus had braced the fence posts back up, wrapped wire tightly around them, and nailed everything into place. Marcus shrugged for the third time as though he seemed to be saying, Good enough.

  “Thanks for the help,” he grunted. She could tell that it wasn’t easy for him to say those words. He was obviously used to working alone.

  He picked up the tools and headed back towards the barn. Angie hurried to catch up. She’d barely done any work, but she was already sweating profusely.

  “So what are our plans today?” Angie asked. “Go back to the crime scene and figure out who it was that was trying to break in? Maybe we can see something new in the light of day.”

  “I’m going back to the crime scene. You’re not coming,” he said shortly, putting the tools in the shed and then heading back towards the house.

  “Excuse me? I can help.”

  “I know you can,” he explained. “But that doesn’t mean I want you to.”

  “Then what do you expect me to do?”

  “Stay here.”

  “I’m not staying out here alone,” she said. It wasn’t that she was scared, but she wasn’t going to sit around while someone else solved all of her problems. “Let me help.”

  “No.”

  “Fine,” she growled, trying her hardest to be as difficult as he was. “But I’m not staying out here. I’m going into town.”

  “It’s not safe for you in town.”

  “I have work to do, Sheriff,” she said, enunciating his title instead of his name like they’d agreed to the night before. “Just like you.”

  “Fine, Miss Campbell,” he shot back. “But you stay exactly where I drop you off at. No more of this disappearing act stuff like yesterday. I’m not going to put up with it any longer.”

  She just nodded, one eyebrow raised.

&
nbsp; “I want to hear you say yes,” he said, turning around on the spot. They had reached the porch and he was blocking her entrance into the house. “Don’t make me lock you up.”

  “You wouldn’t,” she said – though she could tell that he would. “Fine. I won’t go running off.”

  “Okay,” he said. If he could tell she was lying, he didn’t give any indication. Because the last thing she wanted to do was go sit somewhere and do nothing all day long like a little kid. She did need to do some work with Mayor Irving Copeland, and once that business was finished up, she would go out and do a little investigating of her own.

  The killer won’t strike during the middle of the afternoon, she told herself, hoping that it was true.

  “I washed and dried your clothes,” Marcus said, gesturing to the laundry room.

  “Thanks,” Angie said, going into the room. Marcus closed the door behind her, giving her a smirk. She felt her face burning red again as the door clicked shut. She quickly changed back into the clothes she had been wearing last night and put Marcus’s extra ones she’d been wearing into the hamper.

  She would never have admitted it, but she missed them once they were off. There was something about wearing a man’s clothes that she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

  He was gulping down a large glass of water when she came back out. “Want one?”

  “Sure,” she said. “Pitcher in the fridge?” He nodded as he grabbed a glass out of the cabinet. Angie opened the fridge, scanning the contents of the man she was staying with. There was the pitcher of ice cold water, ketchup and hot sauce, and a few other bottles of random stuff. And there, towards the back, were two bottles of beer. She grabbed one and held it out, asking, “I think a beer might help your attitude, Sheriff.”

  “Put the back,” he growled, and while most of what he said was a growl in some sort or form – there was actual anger this time. Angie glanced backwards and saw his eyes flaring.

  “Sorry,” she said, surprised. She’d somehow touched a nerve – and she had no idea what she’d done. “I didn’t mean anything by it, Marcus.”

  “I know,” he said, breathing out. “I know. Long story. Those have been in there for a long time.”

  “Oh, a memento of a fun night long past?” she grinned, grabbing the pitcher.

  “Something like that,” he muttered, taking the pitcher and filling up her glass before handing it back to her. “Yeah, something like that.”

  A look of sadness crossed his face then, akin to the one she’d seen last night when he was looking at the picture.

  There’s something there. This man is more broken than I thought. What happened to him?

  Or, what did he do?

  She wanted to ask him, but Marcus kept most of his emotions close to his chest, so she chose to ignore it.

  “Ready?” he asked after a few minutes of them drinking their water in silence.

  “Ready,” she confirmed. He grabbed his belt and the radio and walked out of the house, Angie following close behind him. She watched as he walked down his sidewalk, putting his belt on, his dark blue jeans, boots, white t-shirt, revolver dangling from one hip. His long gait, chiseled body, surefire walk. He was a man that appeared to be in control, appeared to have his entire life in control – and she knew that she couldn’t be further from the truth.

  “Comin’?” he asked. Angie shook herself. She’d stopped walking, instead content just to watch him walk away.

  “Yeah, sorry, just thinking,” she told him, jogging to keep up.

  “About what?”

  “Nothing you’d be interested in,” she told him, climbing into the Bronco’s passenger seat. She saw him looking at her out of the corner of her eye, but she just turned towards the window and rolled it down slowly.

  “Okay,” he said, firing up the Bronco with a rumble and backing up in his driveway before turning around. The place looked a lot different in the sun, the night and storms gone. It looked peaceful.

  It was nice.

  For the first time since she’d arrived in Charming, she really smiled. Things weren’t okay; far from it really. They weren’t good. She wasn’t happy, not really.

  But right then, things were okay. She felt like they could be okay, despite everything that was going on. She just hoped she was right.

  Marcus pulled out of his driveway onto the dirt road and they headed into Charming, where both of them would do their own investigating in their own way.

  And I intend to get to the bottom of this.

  Next to her, she knew Marcus was thinking the same thing.

  Chapter 13

  “Mayor Copeland will see you now,” the Mayor’s receptionist said. She said it without the slightest hint of warmth, but showed Marcus back to the room all the same.

  “Appreciate it,” he said, nodding at her and walking into the open room. He’d never been in Mayor Copeland’s office before, and looking around and taking everything in, he hoped he would never have to again.

  Mayor Copeland was just a bit more pleasant than his receptionist – though if it was because he’d trained his whole life in acting this way or he was just a slightly nicer person, Marcus didn’t know – and truthfully, he didn’t care.

  “Sheriff Stone,” he said, rising from behind his desk and extending a hand. “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure.”

  “You’d be correct, Mayor,” Marcus said, shaking the man’s hand. It was devoid of any pleasure or camaraderie that would normally be shared between positions like their own, but Marcus pushed those thoughts away.

  I’m not here to make friends. I’m here to solve a murder.

  He didn’t think Mayor Copeland – or more importantly, his son, Stu – had anything to do with Erica’s murder and the attempt on Angie’s life, but he had to cover all of his bases.

  “I assume this is about the bar fight,” Copeland said, sitting down and smoothing his tie over his considerable belly. “Let me assure you, I’ve talked to all three of my sons, and it won’t be happening again. It doesn’t just make us look bad, it makes the entire town look bad.”

  “That’s true,” Marcus agreed, “But that’s not why I’m here.”

  “Then what do I owe this pleasure?” he asked, his eyes narrowing.

  “I’m here about the murder of Erica Pope,” Marcus told the Mayor. “And the attempt on Angie Campbell’s life, as well.”

  “There was an attempt on Angie’s life?” the Mayor asked, eyes widening. Marcus noted that the Mayor used her first name and filed that information away for later. “When?”

  “Actually, last night – about the same time that your son was at her motel room up at the Great Southern.”

  “My son? Stu?”

  “That’d be correct, Mayor,” Marcus said, leaning back just slightly in his chair and crossing his fingers. He could tell that he’d caught the Mayor off guard, and he wanted to press the situation. “He said he was there to apologize, if I remember correctly? He was drunk, but he showed up at the exact same moment the killer tried to kill Angie Campbell.”

  “That’s… That’s…”

  “A mighty coincidence?” Marcus asked, grinning ever so slightly. “Yeah, I think so, too.”

  “No!” Copeland said, frustrated. “I told that boy to apologize for making us look bad – not just at the bar fight, but for how he acted in front of Angie. She’s our guest, I told the boy. I don’t want to see her hurt, or worse! But my son… He would never!”

  “It strikes me as odd that he was there at the exact same moment in a rainstorm. On your orders.”

  “Are you…? Are you saying I had something to do with this?” Copeland was asking, his face turning a bright shade of red. Anger was growing evident on his face; Marcus had pushed him just enough. He looked at Marcus, waiting for him to answer, but Marcus kept his mouth shut until Copeland said, “We had nothing to do with that poor girl’s death!”

  “Absolutely, Mayor,” Marcus responded. “I just have to cover al
l of my bases, you understand.” He nodded to what Marcus was saying.

  “Is there anything I can do? Bring in the Haven news team? Get in touch with another police station? I won’t stand for this murder going unpunished, and I’ll do anything to help.”

  Marcus thought back to Joanna Rivers and what she had said to him the day before. “Let’s hold off on that for a few days, Mayor. We don’t want to spook our killer into disappearing back into whatever crevice he’s crawled out of.”

  The Mayor considered the thought for a few moments, and then nodded again.

  “Okay,” Marcus said, standing up. He extended a hand. “I’ll be in touch if I require any further information.”

  The Mayor still look flustered, but he managed to stand up and shake Marcus’s hand – this time, much more weakly than before.

  Marcus was walking towards the door when he heard from behind him, “So, Sheriff. I’ve heard rumors you’ve been talking to Joanna Rivers.” Marcus turned halfway back. “That’s a nasty business, that. Keep your wits about you. She’ll try to play you however she can.”

  I know that all too well.

  “Thanks for the advice, Mayor,” Marcus said over his shoulder before leaving the room. As he was leaving the room, he met the oldest of the Mayor’s sons.

  “Sheriff,” he said, tipping his hat at Marcus.

  “Dean,” Marcus said, nodding and passing the man. While Marcus wasn’t fond of Copeland or any of his three sons, Dean was the one that Marcus liked most. He was a good ten years older than Cliff and Stu, who had been born back to back. Dean was divorced but had custody of his youngest son, who Marcus had never met. Dean kept to himself, and Marcus liked that about the man.

  Outside, Angie was waiting for her turn with the Mayor.

  “How’d it go?” she whispered.

  Marcus wanted to keep it close to his chest, but he saw no point in lying to her. “I don’t think his sons had anything to do with the attack last night, and he seemed pretty offended about it. But it opened up a line of communication with him in case I need some help.”