the heel of his hand over his chest. “You ever seen her around here?”
“No.” Then she pushed her fingers through her wiry red curls and said, “And I doubt we’ll see her again, either. That girl, she’s running from something.”
Yeah. Remy had that same sinking sensation.
Those eyes of hers, something about them, they had gotten to him—right square in the heart.
I T WAS ALL OVER TOWN BY NOON .
Law sat at the table across from Lena, watching her pale, strained face and wondering if she was going to talk to him.
Oh, she’d told him what had happened.
Once they’d left the sheriff’s office, she’d confessed what was going on and he had been hard-pressed not to go through the roof of his car.
No wonder she’d looked so pale.
No wonder she’d looked so worried.
Shit, why hadn’t she called him? That night? Why hadn’t she called him when it happened? He would have been there in a few minutes—been there with her.
But hell, of course she wouldn’t call him. Lena didn’t look at him that way—didn’t think of him that way. She might call him for a ride into town, for a ride to the county sheriff, but she sure as hell wouldn’t call him when she needed a shoulder, in the middle of the night when she was alone … scared.
When she heard some woman screaming.
Screaming …
Jennings. Keith Jennings. Law ticked through his mentalfile until he placed a face to the name and he figured it could have been worse.
Jennings was quiet—sometimes a little too quiet, in Law’s opinion—he liked when people talked, did stuff, because that made it easier to figure them out. But Jennings focused on his job and tried to be fair and thorough, from everything Law had seen about him. In a small town like Ash, it was easy to watch, too.
Watching was kind of his thing, anyway.
Jennings did his job.
Yeah, could have been worse … could have been Prather. If that idiot had been on the night shift that weekend, Lena’s report might still be in the process of being written. Hell, Prather might have tried to figure out a way to not even write the damn report.
That man could fuck things up seven different ways to Sunday and manage to make it look like the other person’s fault.
A soft, tired sigh drifted from Lena.
Leaning back in the seat, Law crossed his arms over his chest. “So. You going to tell me about it or what?”
“I already did,” she said, her voice weary.
“No, you told me exactly what you told the cops. You haven’t told me how you are, what you’re worrying about, thinking about. Things you’d normally tell me. You’re not. You going to?”
She caught her lower lip between her teeth and then reached up, slipping her fingers under her glasses to rub her eyes. She had a headache. He could see it, tell it by the way she was rotating her neck, rubbing the back of it.
“Come on, Lena. Talk to me.”
“I’m scared. I feel sick. I feel helpless. And I’m pissed off.”
“Why are you pissed off?” he asked.
She smacked a hand against the table. “Because there’s somebody out there—or there was. Maybe it’s too late, I don’t know. But she needed help—she needed it, Law, and nobody helped her. And nobody can find her. Is anybody even going to look?”
“Jennings did look,” he said softly. “You tried to help. You called the cops.”
Lena snorted. “Fat lot of good it did.” Slowly, she reached up and took off her glasses, revealing the pale, almost crystalline blue of her eyes. She’d been born blind in her left eye. Until she was ten, she’d had vision in her right eye, but she’d gotten injured playing baseball with some friends … and not wearing any safety equipment. Apparently it was a big risk for people who already had a vision impairment. She’d been hit in her one good eye and the injury had resulted in vision loss in her right eye as well.
He loved her eyes. He knew she was self-conscious … well, maybe that wasn’t the right phrase.
“No.” Then she pushed her fingers through her wiry red curls and said, “And I doubt we’ll see her again, either. That girl, she’s running from something.”
Yeah. Remy had that same sinking sensation.
Those eyes of hers, something about them, they had gotten to him—right square in the heart.
I T WAS ALL OVER TOWN BY NOON .
Law sat at the table across from Lena, watching her pale, strained face and wondering if she was going to talk to him.
Oh, she’d told him what had happened.
Once they’d left the sheriff’s office, she’d confessed what was going on and he had been hard-pressed not to go through the roof of his car.
No wonder she’d looked so pale.
No wonder she’d looked so worried.
Shit, why hadn’t she called him? That night? Why hadn’t she called him when it happened? He would have been there in a few minutes—been there with her.
But hell, of course she wouldn’t call him. Lena didn’t look at him that way—didn’t think of him that way. She might call him for a ride into town, for a ride to the county sheriff, but she sure as hell wouldn’t call him when she needed a shoulder, in the middle of the night when she was alone … scared.
When she heard some woman screaming.
Screaming …
Jennings. Keith Jennings. Law ticked through his mentalfile until he placed a face to the name and he figured it could have been worse.
Jennings was quiet—sometimes a little too quiet, in Law’s opinion—he liked when people talked, did stuff, because that made it easier to figure them out. But Jennings focused on his job and tried to be fair and thorough, from everything Law had seen about him. In a small town like Ash, it was easy to watch, too.
Watching was kind of his thing, anyway.
Jennings did his job.
Yeah, could have been worse … could have been Prather. If that idiot had been on the night shift that weekend, Lena’s report might still be in the process of being written. Hell, Prather might have tried to figure out a way to not even write the damn report.
That man could fuck things up seven different ways to Sunday and manage to make it look like the other person’s fault.
A soft, tired sigh drifted from Lena.
Leaning back in the seat, Law crossed his arms over his chest. “So. You going to tell me about it or what?”
“I already did,” she said, her voice weary.
“No, you told me exactly what you told the cops. You haven’t told me how you are, what you’re worrying about, thinking about. Things you’d normally tell me. You’re not. You going to?”
She caught her lower lip between her teeth and then reached up, slipping her fingers under her glasses to rub her eyes. She had a headache. He could see it, tell it by the way she was rotating her neck, rubbing the back of it.
“Come on, Lena. Talk to me.”
“I’m scared. I feel sick. I feel helpless. And I’m pissed off.”
“Why are you pissed off?” he asked.
She smacked a hand against the table. “Because there’s somebody out there—or there was. Maybe it’s too late, I don’t know. But she needed help—she needed it, Law, and nobody helped her. And nobody can find her. Is anybody even going to look?”
“Jennings did look,” he said softly. “You tried to help. You called the cops.”
Lena snorted. “Fat lot of good it did.” Slowly, she reached up and took off her glasses, revealing the pale, almost crystalline blue of her eyes. She’d been born blind in her left eye. Until she was ten, she’d had vision in her right eye, but she’d gotten injured playing baseball with some friends … and not wearing any safety equipment. Apparently it was a big risk for people who already had a vision impairment. She’d been hit in her one good eye and the injury had resulted in vision loss in her right eye as well.
He loved her eyes. He knew she was self-conscious … well, maybe that wasn’t the right phrase.
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