Anything but Mine (25 page)

Instead, he’d ended up with her and a huge, empty house.

She slammed the drawer shut.

Stop it, Caitlin. Right now.

Irritation simmering under her skin, she trailed into the living room to turn on the television. CMT appeared and she shook her head. Didn’t Tick get enough of country music in the truck? Tim McGraw strutted on stage in tight jeans, singing about being a real good man.

The problem was she missed her real good man. He’d be tired when he got home, wiped out from lack of sleep and the minutia of investigation. They could take a nap together.

And probably not get a lot of sleep.

“You’re pathetic, Falconetti.” She laughed at herself.

Tim McGraw segued into a shirtless Kenny Chesney on a Caribbean beach. Her stomach growled and Caitlin tossed the remote on the couch. Microwave pastries and country music. Could her life be more exciting?

With a muffin warming in the microwave and coffee perking, she pulled down the glass pitcher Tick’s Aunt Ella had given them as a wedding gift. It was heavy as hell, but perfect for making sangria and lemonade, holding fresh-squeezed orange juice. Humming along with Kenny, she set it aside and rummaged for the juicer. She piled oranges atop it.

The arm came out of nowhere, wrapping across her throat with bruising force, a jacket button digging into her skin.

Oranges bounced away. The juicer hit the floor, exploding into pieces.

Musky male sweat filled her nostrils and panic tried to swamp her.
Oh, God.

“Agent Falconetti,” he said close to her ear. Her stomach pitched.
Schaefer
. He was dead. He was
dead
. He couldn’t be here. “How’ve you been?”

His arm tightened at her throat and clarity returned, icy and strong. Somehow, he was here and one thing was for certain—he wanted her dead.

Caitlin drove the heel of her foot into the arch of his. He yelped, arm loosening as he lost his center of balance. Heart thudding, she threw her weight back into him, shoving her elbow hard into his midsection, her foot sliding on the waxed hardwood. She dug her feet in to keep her balance, a sharp pain shooting through one sole as a plastic shard from the juicer snapped beneath her foot.

“Fucking bitch!” Pain filling his voice, he scrambled to his knees. Caitlin snatched the pitcher from the island, her damp hands sliding on the glass. As he pushed up, she smashed it into his face. The bulbous glass imploded, leaving the curved handle in her hand.

Schaefer dropped, groaning. Blood spurted from his nose, pooling on the floor. Hell if she was going to give him the chance to get up. She flung the handle aside and grabbed the first object at hand—one of the cane-backed island stools.

The cane weaving shattered on the first blow across Schaefer’s shoulders. His body jerked. The second blow separated the seat from the legs. A moan shuddered from him. After the third, he was still, silent.

Her chest heaved, raw sobs tearing at her throat. Oh God, she was getting the shakes. She couldn’t, not now. Not with Jeff Schaefer in her house. Her gun. She needed her gun and her cuffs.

She sprinted for the bedroom, fire racing from her foot up her calf with each step. Scrambling across the unmade bed, she jerked open her nightstand and grabbed her cuffs first, tucking them into her waistband. She snatched up her holster, hands shaking.

God, Caitlin, hurry.
She threw the holster aside, checked the magazine, clicked off the safety and threw the slide, chambering a round. She pushed the safety back on and ran for the kitchen.

Schaefer hadn’t moved and she tucked the gun in the small of her back, cringing a little at the violation of her training. She grabbed Schaefer’s arm, twisted it behind his back, slapped the cuff on his wrist, repeated the action with the second arm. He never moved.

Had she killed him?

She wasn’t touching him to find out. Revulsion pulsed under her skin, her stomach churning, and she dragged in a deep breath.

Hold it together, Falconetti. Just keep it together.

The phone. She needed to call for backup. She grabbed the cordless from its charger. No dial tone. The implication twisted her stomach once more. How long had he been waiting, planning this?

And why wasn’t the son of a bitch dead like the GBI said he was?

Cell phone. Where the hell was her cell? She dragged in a breath. Sweet Jesus, she was losing it, couldn’t think, and where in hell had she left her cell?

Schaefer moaned, a gurgling sound in his throat, and she jumped. He didn’t move.

She backed away, gaze darting around the keeping room, seeking her cell phone. Not that she’d be able to get a signal anyway, since her damn husband insisted on living in the middle of BumFuckEgypt, Georgia. Rubbing a hand down her face, she snagged her keys and headed for the back door. She skirted the island, not looking at the prone man on the floor.

Her shaking fingers fumbled with the deadbolt. Damn it, how had he gotten in the house? Why hadn’t the alarm gone off? Finally, she flung the door open and stumbled onto the porch. The blue glow of the mercury light illuminated the back yard. She rattled through her keys on the way down the steps. At the bottom, she froze, staring at the driveway.

Oh hell, where was her car?

Gravel crunched under tires and the
whup-whup
of a siren check broke the silence. She froze, clutching her keys until they bit into her skin, as a Chandler County sheriff’s unit slid to a stop, an unmarked unit flying into the driveway as well.

How did they…?

What was going on?

Her pulse pounded in her throat, heart thudding against her ribs, adrenaline pouring through her body. Nausea trembled in her throat and her lungs refused to work as they should—more heaving than breathing.

The unmarked unit screamed to a stop beside the patrol car. A door slammed, and Troy Lee and Deputy Vann Starling ran toward her. Tick and Stanton stepped from the unmarked unit, more doors slamming.

“Cait?” Tick’s voice shook. The beginnings of relief shuddered through her, not quite touching the confusion and fear.

“Agent Falconetti?” Troy Lee reached her first, touched her arm with a gentle hand. “Are you all right?”

All right? She’d just had a serial killer, risen from the dead, attack her in her kitchen, and he wanted to know if she was all right? He was insane.

“
Don’t touch me
.” She punched him in the jaw, the right hook she tossed into the heavy bag on a regular basis. Pain shot up her arm, reminding her she was alive.

“Son of a bitch!” Bent over, he backed away, holding his jaw.

“Holy hell.” His face pale, Tick stopped a step or so away. “Caitlin?”

She closed her eyes. Tick was here. She could trust him to have her back. She could let it go now.

Her eyes snapped open, hands shaking so badly her keys jingled. “Tick, Jeff Schaefer was in my house.” She glanced over her shoulder, somehow still expecting him to come out the back door, come after her again. “Correction, he’s
still
in my house. And you took my car!”

“I know, precious, I’m sorry. If I’d had a clue—”

“Shut up, Calvert.” She pressed her clenched fist to her forehead. Nothing made sense. Tears pushed at her eyes, a sob struggling to free itself from her chest. “What the hell is he doing alive?”

“Troy Lee, Vann, check the house. Cait?” Tick’s voice was soft, soothing, cautious. She glanced at him. He watched her, concern in his dark eyes, a frown pulling at his brows.

The sob tore free and the tears spilled. “Oh God, Tick.”

She covered her mouth with her hand, trying to stop the frightened, gasping sobs. She took a step forward and shook her head. “
He was in my house!
”

“I know.” He tugged her into his arms, the embrace bruising in its intensity. “I know. It’s over, I swear, baby. It’s over.”

Nodding, she buried her face against his chest. His arms around her shaking shoulders, he held on, whispering reassurances while she cried.

Stanton left Falconetti in Tick’s arms and bounded up the back steps. The kitchen door stood open, and when he stepped into the large keeping room, Vann and Troy Lee were hauling Schaefer to his feet. His face was nearly unrecognizable, blood rushing from his nose, mouth and eyes already swelling and bruising. He spat, blood and mucous hitting the floor in a slimy trail.

Vann chuckled. “Man, I take back everything I ever said about Calvert being whipped. Look at this guy.”

Troy Lee rubbed his jaw. “She’s got a hell of a right hook too.”

Schaefer spat again, his shoulders hunched, breaths coming in harsh wheezing gasps. Stanton surveyed the scene—blood pooled on the hardwood floor, shattered glass, something that looked like the remains of a small blender, a thinner trail of blood leading to the bedroom and to the back door.

He caught Troy Lee’s gaze and jerked his head toward the door. “Go call for an ambulance.”

“Yes, sir.” Troy Lee slipped out, leaving a stiff and sullen Schaefer in Vann’s capable hold.

Stanton folded his arms over his chest. “Well, Jeff, seems like you’ve had an eventful night. Couple B-and-Es, murder, assault.”

Not to mention one royal ass-kicking. An irresistible smile quirked at Stanton’s mouth. Schaefer sucked in a breath, a sick gurgling sound.

“I want my attorney,” he said, the words garbled and laced with pain.

Stanton froze, his smile dying. Triumph flashed in Schaefer’s blue gaze before pain drowned it again. Stanton narrowed his eyes. “Vann, search him and put him in the car until the ambulance gets here. Make damn sure you Mirandize him.”

Vann nodded and escorted Schaefer out, using slight pressure on the cuffs to guide him. Stanton rubbed a hand over his face. Schaefer asking for his attorney didn’t surprise Stanton at all.

Hell, he had to call Autry.

Autry eased up the steps to the emergency room, her entire body aching. The last thing she wanted was to be up at five in the morning, dealing with a man who was supposed to be dead. So much for rethinking her career.

The automatic door slid open and she stepped into the waiting area. For once, it was deserted and she crossed to the admissions desk. “Hey, Louise. I had a call from the sheriff’s department that one of my clients was here. Jeff Schaefer?”

Louise pressed a button and a buzzer sounded, followed by a loud click at the door. “Exam three.”

So it wasn’t a mistake. She hadn’t been hearing things when Stanton had called to tell her they’d rearrested Schaefer and he wanted his attorney. Her stomach rolled.

She pulled the door open. No sense in delaying the inevitable. Why did doing the right thing suck so bad?

A couple of scrub-clad nurses leaned against the wall, talking. Farther down the hall, two of Stanton’s deputies engaged in a hushed albeit animated conversation, punctuated with exaggerated hand gestures.

Oh, that had to be the one.

Taking a deep breath, she headed that way. Sure enough, a small plaque marked the room as exam three. At her approach, the deputies fell silent. The door stood partially open and Tick’s voice, low and taunting, flowed from the room.

“We’ve got you dead to rights this time, Schaefer. There’s no warrant error to save your sorry ass. You won’t get out of it.”

She pushed the door completely open and stepped into the small room, its air pulsating with anger and tension. Stanton drew her gaze first. His face weary and clothes crumpled, he propped against the sink base, arms folded over his chest. He met her eyes for a moment and glanced away.

Schaefer lay on a narrow gurney, both hands cuffed to the side rails. IV tubing snaked from his left arm to a bag of fluids dangling above him. At least, she thought it was Schaefer. His nose was purplish-black and hugely swollen. His eyes flared when he saw her. Her stomach pitched.

Lord, he really was alive.

At the foot of the gurney, Tick stood, hands at his hips, the entire line of his body rigid and angry.

Autry folded her arms. “Is this how you’re doing it now? Taunting and browbeating?”

Eyes narrowed, Tick slanted a glance at her. “Don’t worry, he hasn’t said anything. His jaw’s busted.” He grinned at Schaefer, more the baring of his teeth than a smile. “Plus he’s been too busy pouting because he got his ass kicked by a girl.”

She frowned and turned her attention to Stanton. “What are the charges?”

Stanton’s eyebrows lifted over shuttered eyes. “Right now? Breaking and entering. Battery. And we’re looking at him for a second B-and-E and a homicide.”

“Escaping custody,” Tick added, his tone hard. “That’s an automatic five years.”

Another murder? And battery? “Who…who’s dead?”

“Nance Milson. Strangled in her bedroom.” Tick’s jaw stiffened and he jerked his chin in Schaefer’s direction. “We’ll have prints from that. DNA from your little midnight snack too. You’re toast, Schaefer.”

“Tick.” Stanton’s tone held a distinct warning.

Autry crossed her arms over her aching stomach. “And the battery charge? Who’s the alleged victim there?”

Tick scowled. “Cait.”

Autry sucked in a breath. Was Schaefer stupid? Going after Caitlin again? He’d better be smart enough to take any deal McMillian offered this time around. “I’d like to speak with him alone.”

Stanton nodded and straightened. “McMillian’s on his way,” he said, voice cool. “I’ll let you know when he gets here.”

Tick leaned forward, hands wrapped around the side rails, gaze locked on Schaefer’s blazing eyes. “If you ever touch my wife again, you stupid son of a bitch, I’ll rip off your fucking head and piss down the hole.” At the infuriated hiss of Schaefer’s indrawn breath, Tick displayed his teeth in another sneer. “If she doesn’t do it first.”

Autry glared at Stanton. “Would you get him out of here, please?”

Stanton took Tick’s arm. “Come on. Let’s go.”

Not budging, Tick shook him off and pointed at Schaefer. “You go near her again, ever, and I’ll kill you.”

“
Tick
.” His face rigid, Stanton shoved him toward the door. “Come on. Let’s go check on Falconetti.”

She waited until they’d cleared the room. Resting a hand on the sink base, she eyed Schaefer. Disgust curled through her. They all would have been better off if he’d died in that explosion. “I hope you at least had the good sense to keep your mouth shut.”

“I didn’t—”

“Shut up and listen.” The obvious pain in his slurred words didn’t spark any sympathy within her. If not for him…none of the horrific events of the last ten days would have happened. Anger burned in her. “When Tom gets here, he’ll probably make an offer. It won’t be generous. You’ll take it. You’ll allocute and you’ll serve your time.”

“No deal.” He pushed the words out.

“I’m not asking you. I’m telling you how it’s going to be.”

Rage and hatred sparked in his icy blue eyes. “No.”

Her own anger deepened. “I don’t think you understand how incredibly stupid you’ve been. McMillian will bury you.”

“No. Deal.”

Autry opened her mouth, ready to let fly, but a quick tap at the door made her retreat into silence. She sucked in a deep breath. “Come in.”

On crutches, lower leg in plaster, McMillian swung into the room. “Autry, good to see you.”

She slanted a glare at Schaefer. “Talk to me about a deal, Tom.”

He chuckled. “A deal? You’re kidding, right?”

Far from amused, she pinned him with a look. “You wouldn’t have come down here if you didn’t plan to offer one. Stop wasting my time and lay it on the table.”

A grin quirked at McMillian’s mouth. “Sometimes you sound just like your daddy.”

A frisson of grief traveled over her. “The offer, Tom?”

“He pleads to all the murders.” He glanced at Schaefer. “
All
of them. He allocutes. We’ll drop the battery and B-and-E charges.”

“Sentencing?”

“Life with the possibility of parole for each murder. I’ll even be generous and recommend concurrent sentences.”

Autry nodded and turned to Schaefer. “Take it.”

He struggled against the cuffs to lever up on the pillow. His gaze flared, hatred spilling into the air. “No.”

Gripping the railing, she leaned over, eyes fixed on his. “Take it.”

“No.” The syllable emerged an enraged whisper.

Oh, she was so through with this. Through with him, with trying to do the right thing and losing everything for it. She wouldn’t be a part of his evil anymore. “Then find yourself another lawyer. I quit.”

He straightened, a smug expression on his damaged face. “You can’t.”

She leaned closer and smiled. “Watch me.”

Aware of McMillian’s shocked gaze, she walked out of the room, her heart lighter than it had been in months. The hallway was nearly empty, the deputies and nurses nowhere in sight. At the other end, Stanton leaned against the wall, deep in conversation with Tick. Stanton looked up, his gaze skittering over her. He turned back to Tick and spoke again, punctuating his words with his hands.

Her heart constricted once more.

When you make up your mind, you know where to find me.

She was on her way to making up her mind about her career. Hell, she’d probably ended it, walking out like that. She could be disbarred, sanctioned at the very least. And the bad thing was, right now, she really didn’t care.

She’d sort it out later.

But she still had no clue what to do about Stanton.

Once Louise buzzed her into the waiting room, releasing the door lock, she slipped outside. A damp chill hovered in the air and she shivered, gooseflesh rising on her bare arms.

She met Ray Lewis, the local newspaper editor, coming up the steps and smothered a groan. A predatory smile lit his face. “Ms. Holton, I sure am glad to see you. I understand Jeff Schaefer has been rearrested. Can you tell me anything about that?”

Autry straightened her shoulders. “I have nothing to say about Mr. Schaefer. Now, or ever.”

“Tick, it’s three stitches. I do not need crutches.” Falconetti slid from the exam table and tested the foot in question, a slight wince twisting her mouth. She pushed her hair away from her face. “What I need is to get out of here.”

“Come on then.” Sticking her discharge instructions in his back pocket, Tick wrapped an arm around her waist so she could lean on him and keep her weight shifted off the injured foot.

Stanton walked with them through the fairly deserted hall to the waiting room. “I’m assuming you need a ride—”

Shit
.

He sensed Tick’s stiffening at the same moment he spied Ray Lewis waiting, like a damn vulture, by the front door.

Great. Just fucking great and just what he wanted to deal with right now.

“What’s wrong?” Falconetti glanced up at Tick’s set expression then followed his line of sight. Her low frustrated sigh grated on Stanton’s already raw nerve endings. She stepped free of Tick’s sheltering arm. “If you’re going to work in a political job, you have to learn how to deal with the press. Although, I’m not really sure
he
counts as a member of the press.”

“Cait, please. Not right now.” A taut weariness colored Tick’s voice, as though this was an oft-repeated discussion, one that held no satisfactory conclusion for either of them.

Lewis met them halfway. “Any comment, Sheriff?”

“Not at this time, but we’ll have a prepared statement for you later today—”

“A prepared statement.” Lewis made a disgusted sound deep in his throat. “You let the man get away, only to murder a defenseless elderly woman and—”

“Excuse me?” Falconetti narrowed her eyes to glittering slits. Stanton knew that look well enough—he’d been on the receiving end once or twice. “What did you just say? I can’t have heard you correctly.”

Tick coughed into a clenched fist. “Caitlin.”

She pulled in a breath, glanced up at him and exhaled, the line of her mouth drawn and unhappy. “Can we go? Reed, will you take us back for my car, please?”

Obviously unhappy, Lewis retreated. Outside, Falconetti paused at the unmarked patrol unit. “You two must stop giving him the upper hand. As long as you allow him to crucify you in that rag he calls a newspaper, you risk losing everything you’ve worked to build here.”

Tick’s shoulders lifted in a painful shrug. “What do you suggest we do? You don’t understand—”

“No, I know nothing about politics and the press.” Heavy irony laced her words and an unwelcome spurt of humor shot through Stanton. With her family background, she’d probably been immersed in deftly handling reporters before she could read. He frowned.

“Falconetti?” At his voice, she shifted her narrowed gaze from Tick’s and focused on him. “What would you do?”

“Hire a department spokesperson, at least part-time.” She folded her arms. “As capable and multitalented as the two of you are, that is obviously not your forté or you wouldn’t have allowed Lewis to have run you down the way you have. Trust me, with someone like him, strong and silent is not the way to go. You need a person who can be positive and go on the offensive at the same time.”

Stanton’s frown deepened. Tick was capable of both of those things, which was why he’d always stepped back and let his former partner do the talking for the department…until the Schaefer fiasco, when suddenly Tick, too, had morphed into the strong and silent role Falconetti had just described.

“Right now,” Falconetti continued, her voice softening, “you need an outsider, someone who doesn’t believe underneath it all that maybe you deserve the things Lewis is printing about you.”

Uncomfortable with her directness, Stanton shifted but didn’t miss the sharp glance Tick shot her.

“Because you don’t.” She met Tick’s gaze dead on. “Because you did everything you could, from Schaefer’s background check to the way you conducted the murder investigations. This bombing came out of nowhere. You had reason to believe Autry might be in danger and you followed protocol in providing security for the courthouse and Schaefer’s transfer. It’s time to get back in the game. If you don’t, Lewis’s bad press will bury you and all you’ve done right. Don’t let that happen. What you’ve achieved with this department…it’s valuable, even if not everyone can see that right now.”

Tick looked away. Her gaze swung to Stanton’s and a genuine smile played about her mouth.

“Like I said, it’s valuable, even if you can’t see it right now.”

A ringing doorbell pulled Autry from a troubled doze. She grabbed her robe and struggled into it while stumbling to the front door. Glimpsing her sister through the peephole, she smothered a sigh and swung the door open.

“Why didn’t you call me?” Waving a folded newspaper, Madeline strode into the house and down the hall to the kitchen. She thrust a cardboard cup holder bearing two cups of coffee at Autry.

“Call you about what?” Autry set the tray in the middle of the kitchen table, pulled a foam cup free and popped the lid. She drew an appreciative sniff of the rich brew.