Anything but Mine (13 page)

Because his next step included a little talk with Beau Ingler.

And if there was even an inkling Beau was the one terrorizing Autry…Stanton might need Tick to keep him from killing the guy.

She was about to make him very, very happy.

The thought made her ill, a nausea that had nothing to do with her pregnancy.

Aware of the deputy’s narrowed stare, she knocked once and pushed the door inward. “Hello, Jeff.”

“Hey.” His voice was hushed, a little weary, and still held traces of pain. He sat at the table, hands clasped on the top. No handcuffs.

She stepped forward. Light from the window fell on his face, highlighting the bruises and stitches. “We have a trial date. Ten days, November first.”

He nodded, but his eyes remained dull, lifeless. When he didn’t say anything, she pulled out the second chair and sat across from him. “There’s also been a new evidentiary disclosure. The test results are in on Amy’s baby’s DNA.”

He didn’t move and his expression didn’t change. “I’m not the father.”

She held his dead gaze and shook her head. “No, you’re not.”

One corner of his mouth quirked. “There goes McMillian’s motive.”

“He can still argue she told you the baby was yours. That she threatened to expose your affair, force you to marry her.”

His smile grew and the icy malevolence made her heart stutter. “He can say whatever he likes. He can’t prove any of it, and that’s what counts.”

Nausea rose in her, a chilly sweat breaking on her upper lip. He’d done it. He’d killed the five girls, murdered two witnesses to cover up his crimes. If there’d been any doubt in her mind before, that smile and his easy, joyful satisfaction at possible acquittal convinced her otherwise.

The sudden urge to flee, to get as far away from the man as possible, seized her. She glanced at her watch. “I only asked for a few minutes. You probably won’t hear from me again until early next week. I have a case to present before then, but I’ll make arrangements to meet with you a day or so before jury selection begins.”

“Thank you.” He leaned forward, the frightening intensity appearing in his blue gaze again. “I appreciate you keeping me informed. I appreciate everything you’ve done to help me, Autry.”

To help him. She repressed a shudder. Help him do what? Walk away so he could murder again? Sweet heaven, she had to get out of here.

Metal clattered on metal and Beau Ingler’s muttered cursing filled the still afternoon air. Edgy anger smoldered in Stanton’s chest, making him jittery. He hated the simmering fury, the way it worked its way through him like some mind-altering drug. He hated being angry, period, but the last time he’d felt like this had been that night when he’d been packing for Quantico and Renee had told him about the affair, the possibility the baby she carried wasn’t his.

He’d wanted to hit her, hit the guy who was supposed to have been his friend. Instead, he’d carried his bags to the car, and on the way back inside, punched the doorframe. Split his knuckles wide open and he’d gone to Quantico with a hairline fracture of his hand.

Sizzling in him now was the same desire to strike out, but not because he’d been betrayed. Because Autry had been threatened, frightened.

Because those damn photos scared the shit out of him.

Stanton nodded at Tick as they approached the red Massey Ferguson tractor outside the Inglers’ massive barn. Beyond the building, the family’s fields stretched, a patchwork of green and beige. To their left lay the produce fields and store, large pumpkins glowing orange in the green vines. The scent of freshly turned dirt hovered over the farm, rich and warm, mingling with the heavier aroma of diesel fuel close to the barn.

Tick cleared his throat. “Beau? Can we talk to you a minute?”

Beau Ingler straightened to regard them over the tractor, his features set in rigid lines. “I guess I got time.”

“You been here all afternoon?” Tick glanced across the fields. Stanton watched Beau’s expression, glad they’d agreed Tick would do the talking. He was afraid of what might tumble from his lips if he opened his mouth.

Beau shrugged. “Other than running into town to pick up a part, yeah. Why?”

“What route did you take?”

“Highway 3.” Irritation darkened Beau’s face beneath his cap, sporting a fertilizer logo. “What’s this about anyway?”

Stanton folded his arms over his chest, holding in the anger. “Your wife drives an Expedition, doesn’t she?”

Beau shot him a glare. “I asked you a question. Tell me what this is about.”

“We’re just checking something out,” Tick said, his voice even. “Mike Lawson said you told him your wife’s entry remote unlocked other vehicles.”

“That’s why you’re here?” Beau’s scowl deepened. “If this is the best y’all can do, no wonder Jeff Schaefer got away with what he did for so long. No wonder my sister’s dead.”

Tick grimaced, his eyes flickering with guilt. “Beau, I’m sorry about Sharon—”

“Yeah, I bet you are.” Beau shook his head. “Whatever you’re checking out, I didn’t have anything to do with it. Now, unlike the two of you, I have things to do.”

He snatched up his toolbox and stalked into the barn. Tick sighed, a long-suffering puff of breath. “That went well.”

Stanton gazed after Beau. He was too closely involved to be able to read the other man—his emotions tangling together and overriding his objectivity. Everywhere he looked, he saw another threat to Autry’s safety and he wasn’t sure which ones were real and which were the result of an overactive protective drive.

He nudged Tick’s shoulder. “You’ve known him a long time. You think he’s the one?”

Eyes narrowed, Tick stared at the barn. “Hard to say. His daddy and Virgil go way back. We all grew up in each other’s houses, went to school and church together, so it’s hard to imagine him wanting to hurt Autry. But he adored Sharon. His baby sister murdered? Well, I can see where something like that can change a guy.”

“Williams at the crime lab in Moultrie said she might be able to tell us which photo center developed the prints, once she has time to look at them.”

Tick’s disgusted snort stretched Stanton’s already tense nerves. “When will that be? Six months from now? Cookie and I can check out the local places, but anybody with half a brain who watches television cop shows would know to drive a distance out to get the film developed. I’ll verify Beau’s alibi.”

“Don’t you think you should be at home—”

“No. My wife made it awful damn clear she doesn’t want me around right now.” Turning away, Tick trudged to his truck. “You coming?”

Stanton followed him. Behind the wheel, Tick stared across the fields, his hand motionless on the ignition. “She’s freezing me out, Stan, sucking all the pain down inside. Thinks if she ignores it, it’ll all go away.”

“Maybe it’s the only way she can cope right now.” Stanton shifted on the bench seat, uncomfortable with the conversation. Not because of his dislike for Falconetti, but because he recognized himself in Tick’s description. He’d done that with his emotions all his life, from the pain of his father’s untimely death to his anger over Renee’s betrayal. Even with his feelings for Autry. Those emotions in particular had scared the hell out of him. In turn, he’d shoved them down, locked them away securely and run as fast as he could.

Tick fired the engine. “This isn’t the way it’s supposed to be. I’m her husband. It’s my place to help her shoulder this, but damn if she’s going to let me.”

Stanton ran a hand over his nape. “Wish I knew what to tell you, other than maybe to give her some time.”

As he glanced over his shoulder to turn the truck around, Tick shot him a sardonic look. “Hell, you probably understand her better than I do. Y’all are just alike.”

“You could have gone all day without saying that, Tick.”

Once they were back on the highway, Tick lapsed into silence, the quiet of the truck cab broken only by the whir of tires on Highway 19 and the low crooning of Tim McGraw from the radio. Stanton tapped his fingers against his knee. He couldn’t really see Beau Ingler as a threat. The man had made no secret of his anger, had blasted Autry to her face. If he’d wanted to hurt her, he’d had an opportunity that afternoon in her office.

Stanton shuddered at the memory, at the what-could-have-happened scenarios running through his head. He’d been careless and stupid, putting his professional duty and the need to address Ray’s questions before Autry’s safety, just for a few seconds.

Damn if he’d do it again. If need be, he’d take some time off until the trial was over. Except he didn’t see how he could. Tick had just lost a very wanted child and wouldn’t be a hundred percent for a while. Stanton tapped his knee harder. Cookie. The investigator could probably handle the office for the duration and Stanton could work from home or the courthouse or wherever.

Yeah, the county commission would love that.

Shit, man, just decide what’s more important to you—Autry or your damn job.

Autry and his baby, definitely. But his duty, the promises he’d made to the people of Chandler County…those were important too. He knew Autry well enough to know she wouldn’t want him to shirk his obligation. From what he’d heard, Virgil Holton had preached duty and responsibility to Autry since before she could walk.

At the first stoplight in town, Tick took a right, heading the back way to the courthouse square and the sheriff’s department. He swung the pickup into his designated parking spot and killed the engine.

Stanton eyed the parking lot between his office and the courthouse. Only a few cars dotted the asphalt, but he could only imagine how crowded the courthouse would be for Schaefer’s trial. He frowned. “We need to up our security level for the trial. Keep that in mind when you’re working up the staff schedule for that time, would you?”

“Sure thing.” Tick rubbed a hand over the steering wheel. “I’m not going to hang around. I want to go check on Cait, see if I can get her to talk to me. But I’ll make some calls later, verify Beau’s alibi and start trying to run down where those photos came from.”

“Thanks.” Stanton slid from the truck and stood, propping the door open with one hand. He looked away, cleared his throat, glanced back to hold Tick’s dark gaze. “I’m sorry, Tick.”

“Yeah. Me too.” He gunned the engine. “Later, Stan.”

Stanton stepped back and slammed the door. Tick backed out and the truck roared away. Late afternoon stillness descended on the square, a handful of courthouse employees straggling to their cars, patrons stopping at the produce stand next to the sheriff’s department. All the trappings of a small, peaceful town.

An icy sensation trickled down Stanton’s spine. The hair lifted at his nape. He glanced around. His imagination, or someone watching him? The images from the photos flitted through his mind. He hoped to God the notes, the photos were simply someone playing head games with them, but if not, he’d be ready.

He’d protect Autry and their baby with everything in him.

Autry’s little car pulled into the lot behind the courthouse. Warmth rushed through him at the sight of her and a smile tugged at his mouth. Damn, if just seeing her made him happy, he was in trouble.

Briefcase in hand, she swung out of her car. He met her at the sidewalk edge and reached to take the case. “How was your hearing?”

She shrugged and an urge to hug her bubbled within him. He wanted to fold her close and hold her, but the memory of those damned photographs lingered.

Autry smiled, but the expression didn’t reach her serious gaze. “We have a court date. November first. And Tom turned over his new evidentiary disclosure. DNA results on Amy’s baby.”

Stanton grimaced. “Are you pissed because I knew about that?”

“No, I wouldn’t expect you to tell me.” She looked up at him, the sun creating a shining halo on her chestnut hair. “Does it bother you? That we’ll always have those kinds of secrets between us?”

“Become a prosecutor and we won’t.”

“Funny.” She frowned at his empty parking spot. “Where’s your truck?”

“It’s a long story.” He glanced around and took her arm, urging her toward the sheriff’s office. His skin prickled with awareness of a possible unseen watcher again. “Let’s not have this conversation out here. Come inside.”

“You’re making me nervous.”

“Well, that makes two of us.”

“Oh Lord, that
really
makes me nervous.”

“Autry, please. I don’t want to be out here right now.”

She relented and let him draw her inside. The department was quiet, the squad room empty. He ushered her into his office and closed the door. Watching him lay her briefcase aside and retreat behind his desk, she crossed her arms over her chest.

“Okay, what’s going on?”

He picked up the photos in their plastic evidence bag and came around to lean against his desk. He held out the bag, his stomach clenching at what he was about to do. “These turned up in my truck today.”

She stared at the photos. Turning her gaze away, she thrust them back at him. “Take them. I’ve seen enough.” She closed her eyes, but not before he glimpsed the glitter of tears that probably had nothing to do with pregnancy hormones. “It’s never going away, is it? Not really.”