“Ms. Sommers…”

Jack growled something under his breath, then continued. “This is unprofessional of me, but I’m going to do it anyway. Will you have dinner with me?”

“Dinner?” Beth felt like an idiot echoing him, especially since on some level she, too, had felt the attraction. But she’d assumed he was married, or that he would be put off by her problems. “I’m sorry, but…”

“Why not?” he asked bluntly.

He was big enough that she felt crowded in the booth. His knees bumped hers as he moved restlessly; his shoulders blocked her view of the front of the café.

“Surely you can see this isn’t a good moment for me to be thinking about getting involved….”

“Don’t let him stop you.”

She blinked. Was that it—did she fear she’d anger her ex-husband more? But she knew even without deep analysis that her reasons were more complex. “I’m flattered that you’re interested, but you’ll have to accept my regrets. Now, I really should be getting back to the store.”

Hands flat on the table, he had gone very still. “If you change your mind…”

She made a face. “I’ll call the Butte County Sheriff’s Office and pass on a message.”

His mouth crooked into a faint smile. “That wouldn’t be a problem.”

Dear Reader,

My daughter read my PATTON’S DAUGHTERS trilogy and said, “I’m not sure I like Jack.” I pointed out that, like most of us, he’s a work in progress, a mix of cowardice and nobility, kindness and impatience. In other words, he’s as real as I could make him. Jack is a hero who doesn’t believe he is, a man who has spent his life trying to make up for one moment of fear and weakness. All these years later he still hasn’t convinced himself that he has in him the ability to be heroic. And our perceptions of ourselves are as important as our behavior, right?

For me, this added up to a character who demanded his own story. Perhaps I always intended him to have it. For those of you who’ve read PATTON’S DAUGHTERS, I hope you’re waiting for this book. For the rest of you—Jack is a hero, and the most interesting kind: flawed, self-aware and stronger than he knows. I loved writing these books, and as always, I’m eager to hear what you think!

Sincerely,

Janice Kay Johnson

You can reach me at: www.superauthors.com

Jack Murray, Sheriff
Janice Kay Johnson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Jack Murray, Sheriff

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER ONE

BETH SOMMERS STARED blindly at the screen of her computer. She squeezed her eyes shut, drew in a long breath and tried to release tension as she exhaled. But even as she opened her eyes, her glance strayed to the wall clock.

Nine, long past time for the girls’ baths and the gentle rituals of getting ready for bed. And they still weren’t home.

Beth stood restlessly and went to the window, which overlooked the street. Street lamps illuminated the sidewalks and front yards, leaving pools of darkness. Headlights approached, but she could tell that they didn’t belong to her ex-husband’s pickup.

“Damn him,” she said aloud, the intensity in her voice shocking her.

How could Ray use their children this way? He had once loved them, she knew he had. He hadn’t been much for changing diapers or giving baths, but she remembered how gently he had held Stephanie when she was a baby, the look on his face when she smiled at him with wonder and delight.

And Lauren, the quiet one, the shy one, coaxed by her daddy into riding on his shoulders, so terrifyingly high up. Beth remembered her younger daughter clutching his hair, eyes saucer wide. By the end of the ride she was giggling and kicking him with her heels and shouting, “Giddyup!”

When had his anger swamped his love to the point where he could hurt his daughters just so he could hurt her?

She was turning away from the dark window when the high bright headlights of a pickup truck appeared around the corner down the block.

“Please, please,” Beth whispered, frozen in place.

The pickup stopped at the curb, and her muscles unlocked. In an agony of relief, she ran out of the office and down the stairs to the front door. Wrenching it open, she hurried along the walkway to meet the girls, who tumbled out of the high cab of the pickup and raced to her.

“Oh, sweeties!” Beth swept them both into a hug so hard her muscles quivered. Tears burned in her eyes, but she lifted her head and smiled shakily. “Did you have a good visit with your dad?”

Eight-year-old Lauren had been crying, Beth could tell. Her older sister’s face closed at the question, and she glanced nervously over her shoulder. “It was okay.”

“You guys get your stuff and go on in,” she told them, trying to sound casual, natural. “I need to talk to your dad.”

Stephanie said in a low hurried voice, “I think he’s mad at me ’cause I asked him when we were going home. He said that his apartment was home. But it’s not! I was scared—” She broke off abruptly, a sixth sense seeming to tell her that her father had grabbed their bags out of the back of the pickup and was approaching.

Both girls lowered their heads and turned to meet him, taking their overnight bags from him and obediently accepting his hugs. Then they fled into the house, leaving their mother and father facing each other on the front walkway.

Despite her best effort to speak levelly, Beth’s voice was trembling with suppressed anger. “You are three hours late. I’ve been worried.”

He shrugged and smiled. “We were having a good time. What’s the hurry?”

Dear God, to think she had once been attracted by that slanted, lazy grin! Now she wanted to erase it, once and for all.

But, heaven help her, he was her daughters’ father. Somehow she had to convince him that they counted more than his feelings of anger.

“You scare them when you do this,” she said. “Please be a father Steph and Lauren can rely on. Please.”

His grin faded, all right, as his lips drew back from his teeth. Just like that, he was shouting. “I’m not the one who drove their father from them! You want to run your own damned household, run it, but don’t tell me how to run mine! You got it?”

Her own anger exploded. To her eternal shame, Beth couldn’t stop herself from yelling back, “You bring them home late one more time, and you won’t take them again. If you can’t be a decent parent, then forget you ever were one!”

A few equally nasty exchanges later, Beth retreated to the porch, but Ray followed as far as the steps. When she reached for the doorknob, a clay flowerpot smashed into the door, barely missing her. She turned around and screamed, “Go away! Just leave, or I’ll call the police, I swear I will!”

“Don’t push me,” Ray snarled. “This was my house, too, and I haven’t seen any bucks from my half!”

“The court order…”

“I don’t want to hear about the goddamned court order! You know what you can do with it? You can…”

Beth darted inside, slammed and locked the front door, then with shaking hands fastened the chain. With her back to the door, she whimpered for breath. Stephanie and Lauren were huddled on the bottom step of the wide staircase, staring at her with identical looks of terror on ghost-white faces.

There was momentary silence outside. Would he go away? Seconds ticked by, then a minute. Beth straightened and bit her lip. Should she look? What if he was still standing there? He had a key, and the chain wouldn’t stop him if he really wanted to come in.

At that moment something else hit the door and shattered. Beth jumped away and clapped her hand over her mouth. Behind her one of the girls screamed, and the door quivered again under the hammer of fists.

“I’m scared!” Lauren wailed.

Suddenly a siren gave one ear-splitting burst outside, and Beth saw the reflected dazzle of blue and red lights off a living room window.

Through the heavy door she heard an obscenity, and then Ray’s feet thudding down the steps. Beth wrenched open the front door and hurried out, stumbling over the shards of broken flowerpots. A big man in a dark suit, the jacket pulled back to show the butt of a gun in a shoulder holster, was coming up the front walk. Behind him the lights of the cruiser still flashed.

Ray waited at the foot of the porch stairs. “This is none of your business,” he said loudly.

“Domestic disturbances are our business,” the man replied, his voice carefully dispassionate. He extended a badge, his gaze flicking past Ray to where Beth stood silhouetted in the open doorway. “Are you all right, ma’am?”

“Yes, I…” she faltered, pressed her lips together.

“I believe he was just leaving.”

Ray turned. “I told you not to call the cops!”

“I didn’t!” she flung back, before remembering the audience. How had her marriage, her life, come to this—two people arguing so violently that they had frightened the neighbors, that the police felt compelled to intervene?

“We’ll talk about it later,” Ray snapped, and stalked across the lawn past the police officer.

“Ma’am?” the officer repeated, a note of inquiry in his slow, deep voice. “Are you, or is anyone else, hurt?”

“No.” Her knees suddenly wanted to buckle, and she grasped for the porch railing. “No, it was just…angry words.”

He was beside her so quickly she hadn’t seen him coming. One large hand closed firmly over her elbow and steered her into the house. He kicked a large piece of clay pot aside. “More than words,” he commented.

The wide entry hall was deserted. She had a mother’s moment of panic—where were the girls?—before Stephanie poked her head cautiously out of the dining room. Her frightened gaze took in the stranger before she asked, “Is Dad gone?”

“Yes. Oh, sweetie…” Both girls stumbled into her arms again. All the time Beth held them, she was conscious of the police officer waiting. After a moment, she eased her daughters back. Looking into first Stephanie’s eyes, then Lauren’s, she said, “Guys, your dad is angry and upset right now, but he’s never hurt any of us, and I don’t believe he ever would. He was just…throwing a tantrum.” She actually managed a smile, and Lauren giggled weakly. “Now, you two go take baths and get ready for bed. Lay out your clothes for school tomorrow, and I’ll be up in a few minutes to tuck you in. Okay?”

They both nodded, collected their bags from the floor where they had been dropped and started up the stairs.

Beth took a deep breath and turned to the officer. Only then did she become aware of how tall he was, of the breadth of his shoulders and the bulge of the gun nestled beneath his smooth-fitting suit jacket. Only then did she recognize him, from the article a few weeks ago in the local paper. The witness to her humiliation was the Butte County sheriff and former Elk Springs police chief. She had heard him speak at Rotary Club and Chamber of Commerce luncheons, although they had never met.

Only then did she realize that he had no jurisdiction here, because she lived within the Elk Springs city limits.

Elk Springs had once been a small ranching town nestled at the foot of Juanita Butte and the Sisters in eastern Oregon, while the county had been entirely rural; thanks to the new ski resort on the butte, development had sprawled far beyond city limits. Even the new high school and middle school complex was Jack Murray’s problem, not the Elk Springs PD’s.

So what was he doing on her doorstep in Old Town Elk Springs?

Quietly, she said, “You must have been passing. Did you see him? I…thank you.”

His dark eyes were perceptive enough to make her uncomfortable. He nodded toward the porch. “You have a real mess out there. That was quite a temper tantrum.”

She was gripped again by shame. How would she be able to face the neighbors after this, knowing that they had heard every word tonight, had seen the revolving lights on top of the police car in her driveway?

“I…we…” Beth stopped, tried again. “We divorced some months ago. By my choice. I’m afraid my ex-husband is still very angry.”

“I live on Maple.” He nodded toward the cross street half a block away. “I’ve heard from neighbors that this isn’t the first time you and your ex-husband have had this kind of exchange.”

She was already flushed; now Beth was assailed by a wave of dizziness. “Would you mind if we sit down?” she asked.

She must have swayed, because that large, competent hand gripped her elbow again. A second later she found herself planted at the kitchen table. “Let me make you some tea or coffee,” he said, already filling the kettle.

“Thank you…that cupboard… The sugar bowl’s on the counter.” She sounded like one of those virginal heroines in a Victorian novel, swooning whenever confronted with a crisis. Beth was disgusted with herself, which helped clear her head.

The kettle made noises; he sat at the table without waiting for an invitation and held out a hand. “I’m Jack Murray, with the Butte County Sheriff’s Department.”

“I recognized you.” They shook hands solemnly, and she said, feeling inane, “How nice to meet you. I’m Beth Sommers. I own Sisters Office Supply.”

A small pun, she had intended the name of her business to be: a reference to the triple mountains rearing jaggedly to the west, and to the fact that she, a woman, was sole owner.

“Ah.” He pulled a small notebook from an inner pocket of his suit coat, then without opening it replaced it. “I can’t help you officially.”

“I realize that. I do appreciate you stopping.”

“Would you like to tell me about it?”

Like was hardly a word she would have used. And yet she’d had nobody familiar with such situations to give her advice. Her best friends were happily married. People threw things and screamed at each other on the other side of town, where lawns were shaggy and yellowing and paint peeled, not here. Or so she had always believed. This man, she guessed, knew better.

Without having consciously made up her mind, Beth began to talk, giving him the facts: Ray had moved out nearly a year before, at her request. At first he hadn’t believed she meant it. When he picked up or dropped off the girls, he alternated between charm and feigned indifference, both designed to show her what she was missing. When she went ahead and filed for divorce, he tried arguing with her, only at the last minute getting a lawyer to represent him. He hadn’t disputed custody; Ray was a long-haul trucker who was gone for days on end. The visitation was to be liberal, agreed upon between the two of them. So far he had picked up the girls when they expected him, which was the only positive Beth could think of. He had paid the child support until the divorce was final, but since then he had changed, giving freer rein to the anger that was one of the principal causes of the divorce. He wanted her to beg for the support check, and she refused.

At first he had said things to her, but out of the girls’ hearing; when she stayed calm, he said them in front of Stephanie and Lauren. Which upset her enough that she couldn’t pretend composure she didn’t feel. That it upset them, too, seemed to have no weight with him.

Once he realized he’d found the way to get to her, Ray escalated his tactics. He gave one or the other of the girls “messages” to pass on to Mom. He had little talks with them about how crazy it was that their mother had broken up the family. Tonight was the third time he had brought them home late—so late, it couldn’t possibly be innocent. Maybe the first time had been; Beth was willing to give him that much credit. But by the time they showed up four hours later than she had expected them, she’d been terrified.

She might as well have handed him a weapon.

“If I didn’t react, he’d probably quit doing it,” she concluded with a long sigh. “Maybe I could, if it weren’t for all the articles about noncustodial parents who disappear with the kids. Every time I see a picture of a missing child, I can’t help imagining…” She gave an involuntary shudder. “I don’t think Ray would do that. I don’t think he really wants the kids full-time, he just enjoys these little jabs. But when they’re due and an hour goes by, and then another one and another, every time I wonder…” She didn’t have to finish. Instead Beth lifted the mug of tea for a sip, needing the second it gave her to regain her poise.

The sheriff listened to her bleak story without interruption or comment. Nothing she said surprised him; his expression told her that he’d heard worse, and probably seen it, too.

He wasn’t a handsome man. In fact, he should have been homely with a crooked nose and features that were too crudely sculpted, yet somehow he wasn’t. She might have even found him attractive, if his eyes hadn’t been so cynical, his mouth so hard. Sheriff Murray had been sympathetic to her, but he wasn’t a soft man.

When she set down the mug, he met her gaze squarely. “What if I hadn’t shown up tonight?”

“What do you mean?”

“Your ex-husband struck me as a very angry man, Ms. Sommers. If he got some satisfaction from scaring you this time, he’s going to do it again. Question is, what will he do next time? And how long will just scaring you be enough?”

“I…don’t know,” she admitted, feeling sick. It was ironic, when she ought to know Ray better than anyone else in the world. They had been married for twelve years, and had dated regularly for two years before that. But Ray had changed, even his anger becoming more unpredictable. She was no longer confident that she knew what he would or wouldn’t do.

“Let me check on the girls,” Beth said, and at his nod hurried upstairs. Stephanie was in her nightgown, bending over the tub to rinse Lauren’s hair. Beth paused in the bathroom doorway to watch for a moment, unobserved.

“Too hot!” Lauren exclaimed.

Her sister adjusted the water, then dumped another cup over the eight-year-old’s soapy, sodden red curls.

“Too cold.”

“For Pete’s sake,” Stephanie muttered, but she fiddled with the knob again. The mirror and the sliding doors that turned the tub into a shower enclosure were both steamed up. Kneeling on the bathroom floor with the towel wrapped around her head, Stephanie looked like a mother in miniature. With the mild exasperation in her tone, she even sounded like one.

The normalcy of the scene was reassuring. Beth hated the weekends when her daughters went to their father’s, but it helped to know that they had each other. At eleven going on twelve, Stephanie was the usual confused mixture of maturity and childishness, but Beth had confidence in her judgment—up to a point.

“How are you doing, guys?”

Stephanie turned her head. “Okay.”

“Too hot!” Lauren yelled.

Stephanie rolled her eyes. “It’s never perfect!”

Beth stepped forward to kiss the top of her older daughter’s head—actually, to kiss a wet towel, but the gesture was understood. “Sweetheart, it was never perfect when I had to rinse your hair, either. Forget toilet training. I was really happy when you started taking care of your own hair.”

“How come she isn’t old enough to?”

“Lauren’s doing everything but finishing up the rinsing,” Beth reminded her. “Now, I’ll be back to tuck you two into bed in a few minutes.”

“Can we read in bed?”

She ought to say no, as late as it was, but she was afraid once they went to bed, they would lie in the dark remembering tonight’s scene and worrying about the next visit to their dad’s. Maybe a good book would give them pleasant thoughts instead to fall asleep with.

“Why not?” Beth said.

She’d half expected to find the sheriff waiting in the hall, eager to make his departure. But no, he was still sitting at her kitchen table, his head back and his eyes closed as if he were catnapping. When she entered the room, he became alert instantly, his eyes appraising. She was suddenly uncomfortable, perhaps only because she hated being in this situation. Or was it that, for a moment, she had been aware of him as a weary and very sexy man, not just a police officer?

If so, she must be crazy. She had every reason to feel grateful, humiliated, frightened, you name it. But attraction was ridiculous. Unless her hormones had decided that any man who came charging to her rescue was worth keeping around.

If she had imagined that his appraisal had been masculine rather than professional, he quickly disabused her. “Have you changed the locks on the house since your divorce?”

“No. I’ve been intending to…”

“Do it. You might consider a security system as well.”

“The only trouble is, I have to let him in,” she pointed out. “He has a right to see the girls.”

“Yes, but at least then he couldn’t surprise you.”

She nodded slowly. Steph and Lauren would be well aware why Mom was having a security system installed.

“Do you have a brother or a father who could be here when Mr. Sommers picks up and drops off the children?”

“No,” she said tersely. “I think that would make matters worse, anyway. Ray would get more belligerent. And I don’t want anyone hurt on my behalf.”

He frowned. “You need protection, Ms. Sommers. A woman alone with two children is vulnerable.”

Beth set down her mug with a click. “Exactly what is it that a man could do to protect me that I can’t do myself?”

“Exert physical force, if need be.” Before she could respond to that one, he switched directions. “Tell me, do you know how to handle a gun?”

“No, and I wouldn’t shoot my ex-husband if I knew how!” Beth said. “That’s all the girls need, to see their dad bleeding to death on our front porch.”

Jack Murray leaned back in his chair, an expression of impatience on his hard face. “Ms. Sommers, I have the feeling you’re not taking this threat seriously. I know it’s hard to picture a man you’ve lived with doing violence to you, but…”

Beth stood, pushing her chair back. “Sheriff, I’m a capable woman. I own a business. I employ six other people. I consider myself competent and reasonably intelligent. I would probably lose a fistfight with my ex-husband, but since that hardly seems like a solution to my problem, I’m afraid I don’t see how I could take this threat more seriously.”

Their gazes met, before he said in that neutral tone a policeman must have to master, “I didn’t mean to imply that you’re incapable. The problem is, in a situation like this you have the reasonable facing the irrational. What if he’d come through that door tonight?”

“He has a key,” Beth said. “He didn’t use it. When I told the girls that their father was throwing a temper tantrum, I meant it. That’s all it was.” Please, God.

Jack Murray made a sound under his breath, one in which she read disbelief and impatience. But presumably it was also a form of concession, because he, too, stood.

“I’ll talk to the people at ESPD.” His patronizing tone was enough to set her teeth on edge. “I’m sure they’ll have a patrol car come by regularly for now, especially on weekends, if that’s when Mr. Sommers takes the girls. And you know where to call.”

“Yes, I do,” she said, inclining her head with unaccustomed coolness. “I certainly hope I won’t need to.”

“Ms. Sommers…” The sheriff seemed to think better of whatever he’d intended to say. He only shook his head. “I’d best be getting home.”

He followed her to the front door. Beth held it open and said again, “Thank you.” She meant it. Jack Murray might be patronizing, but he had come to her rescue. His intentions were good.

The sheriff looked at her freshly painted front porch, strewed with shattered clay pots, spilled dirt and shreds of bright petunias and lobelia, and shook his head again. “Be careful. Call if you’re even a little nervous.”

Beth was stubborn, but not an idiot. She didn’t tell him that she was afraid his showing up tonight had made things worse, not better. He thought she was insisting on being self-sufficient to the point of foolishness. Truth be told, she was scared. Ray wasn’t going to disappear from their lives. She had to find a way to make him see that the girls were what was really important. Carrying hostilities further than she already had would only get in the way of rapprochement.

She watched the police chief step carefully around the shards of pottery and down the front steps. She had forgotten that the lights on top of his cruiser were still revolving, a beacon in the midst of her quiet neighborhood. He reached inside and turned them off even before getting in. A moment later, the police car pulled away from the curb and started down the street.

Beth hugged herself against the cool night air. She made herself stand on the porch in defiance of a panicky desire to flee inside and lock up tight. The night was calm, Ray long gone. He was angry, not sly; it would never occur to him to park his car around the block and sneak back. When she saw a shadow move under the old lilac, her pulse took an uncomfortable jump, but, just to prove something to herself, Beth waited until first one cat, then a second, strolled out.

Only then did she go back into the house and lock the door behind her.

Time to kiss her daughters good-night, time to try to convince them that their world was a secure place.

THE LITTLE REDHEAD in the third row looked familiar. Jack Murray paused a moment in his presentation to the third-grade class.

Long red curls caught up in a bouncy ponytail on top of her head. Big blue eyes, freckled nose, a mouth that had no intention of smiling. She was watching him with unusual intensity, too, as though…what?

Like a slide projector, he clicked through recent pictures stored in his mind. It didn’t take long. She was the one whose father had been trying to smash down his ex-wife’s front door. The one huddled in the hallway with her older sister.

The one whose mom had blue eyes just as guarded, just as cool.

Aware of the concerted stare of twenty-four eight-year-olds, Jack continued, “Are any of you ever home alone?”

A scattering of hands went up.

“Do your moms or dads tell you what to do if the phone rings and you’re by yourself?”

At the same moment as a little girl piped up, “Don’t answer it,” a boy said, “Mom checks to make sure I’m home, so I have to answer the phone.”

Jack strolled toward the boy’s seat by the window. “What if the caller isn’t your mom?”

The boy, whose hair was crew-cut but for a tiny pigtail in back, shrugged. “It’s usually a friend or something.”

“Usually?”

“Mom says if they ask for Mrs. Patterson, it means they want to sell her something, so I just tell ’em we don’t want to buy anything and hang up.”

Jack stood just above the boy, letting his height and the uniform awe the kid just a little.

Then he raised a brow. “Do you think they ever guess that your mom isn’t home?”

The boy squirmed. “Naw…”

Jack looked around. “What do the rest of you think? Should he answer the telephone when he’s alone?”

All sorts of small, high voices chimed in with a variety of negatives. No way. Their parents said…

“But his mom wants to make sure he’s home safe. So she has to call, right? And he has to answer.”

It was the little redhead who said solemnly, “He could call her instead. I call my friends all the time.”

“Could you do that instead?”

The kid had lost his bravado. “She doesn’t really like me to call her at work.”

“Would she make an exception for one call every day?”

He hung his head and shrugged again.

Jack touched the boy’s shoulder and said, “Mrs. Stewart will hand out pamphlets for all of you to take home today and show your parents. Maybe that will make it easier for you to talk to them about things that scare you when you’re alone.”

A few minutes later, he strode out to his squad car. He so rarely wore a uniform these days, he felt conspicuous. But that was the whole point: he still liked to do some of these school talks to keep from becoming a remote political figure in Butte County, a politician quoted in the newspapers. He wanted kids to go home and talk at the dinner table about Sheriff Murray as a real guy. This was his first visit of the new school year; nights were growing cold, but leaves had already turned and the bright yellow school buses were flashing red lights on every narrow country road morning and afternoon.

Jack grunted with faint amusement, thinking what Ed Patton would have had to say about a sheriff spending an hour talking to eight-year-olds: a pansy-ass waste of time, is what the Elk Springs police chief would have said.

But then, Ed Patton had been a grade-A son of a bitch.

As he headed back to the station, Jack’s mind reverted to the redhead’s mother. Lord only knew how many domestic disturbance calls he’d been on. Hundreds. But he still remembered the first, when he’d been a rookie in Portland.

It was also the only time he’d ever had to shoot anyone. He and his partner had been called out to a nasty argument reported by a neighbor. Working-class neighborhood, a cluster of folks standing within earshot of a modest, neatly painted house from which crashes and vicious obscenities came. The siren brought a man in his undershirt to the door. His nose was bleeding and one eye was swelling shut. He wiped blood from his nose and told them to get the hell out of there.

Jack’s partner had been walking ahead of him up the cracked cement driveway. So fast it was still a blur in Jack’s memory, the man had a rifle in his hands and was shooting, just spraying bullets and screaming the whole time. The nosy neighbors dived to the ground and behind parked cars. Jack’s partner went down with a bullet to the chest and this look of shock on his face. Jack shot the man, didn’t even think about it, just shot. Then he had to listen to the wife calling him a murderer while he held his dying partner and listened to the faraway sound of sirens.

To this day, every time he went to a house where a husband and wife were arguing, he thought about that afternoon. He never went casually, never assumed anything. There was nothing deadlier than a man and woman who hated and loved each other at the same time.

But the faces of the women had run together in his memory. The eyes were all stricken, the bruises stark, the body language the same. In recent years, when he thought of an abused woman, he saw his high school girlfriend, Meg Patton, lying about her broken arm or the yellowing bruises.

So why hadn’t Beth Sommers joined the anonymous company? Why hadn’t she become another chink in the wall of guilt he’d built since he found out how badly he’d failed Meg?

Why did he keep thinking about this woman of all others? Why did her face keep coming back to him?

Okay, it was partly because she was pretty, tall and slender, with a long graceful neck, a mass of mahogany brown hair and bright blue eyes. She was the kind of woman who could wear capri pants and a tank top and still look as good as any fifteen-year-old. But that wasn’t all of it.

In some ways she was typical of the women he saw in the same situation. The jackass who threw the tantrum might be her ex, but she was still defending him, still insisting he didn’t really mean it. But the way she protected her children, the way she tried to let them keep some respect for their father, wasn’t typical at all. Divorce, especially from an abusive man, was an ugly thing. There weren’t too many women who were able to resist the temptation to use their kids as a battleground.

Beth Sommers was a gutsy woman who reminded him of Meg Patton in this way, too. Meg had put her son first, had done what was needed to protect him from her own father. Jack had learned to respect her for the hard choices she’d made, although those same choices had cheated him of seeing his son grow up.

Like Meg, Beth Sommers was determined to take care of herself and her children, too. He admired that, even if he did think it was stupid. She might be a successful businesswoman, but she was still vulnerable in a way a man wouldn’t be. Damn it, she was fragile! Jack didn’t like thinking about that. He didn’t want to see her with a bruised face and broken bones and defiant terror in her eyes.

He’d driven by her house several times himself. He had made a point of being there Sunday afternoon, but apparently that hadn’t been one of the girls’ weekends with their dad, because Jack saw the older one in the bay window, just sitting on the window seat with her arms wrapped around her knees, staring out. Her head turned when she saw the police car, but he was too far away to see her expression.

Jack remembered the relief on the little girl’s face when her mother said that their father was just throwing a temper tantrum. He didn’t think the older one—who was maybe eleven, twelve—had been convinced. He wondered what their visits to their father were like.

And he wondered about the mother. What did she do weekends, when her daughters were with their father? She’d been quick to tell him she had no brother or father to be there when she needed him. It had seemed a little too pushy to ask if she had someone else, a man who for other reasons would put himself on the line for her. Did she date?

Or was Beth Sommers so soured by her ex-husband, she wasn’t interested in men?

Jack hadn’t gotten any further than thinking about her. He hadn’t tried to find out yet. If he did, he wasn’t sure what he would do about the knowledge. It would be asking for trouble, dating a pretty woman whose ex-husband didn’t want to let go of her. Sommers wouldn’t like any man dating his ex-wife.

Jack figured he could handle Ray Sommers. He half wished Beth lived outside the city limits so her problems were his business. The scene he’d walked in on wasn’t the first between them, according to neighborhood gossip, and it wouldn’t be the last. One of these days, she’d be calling the cops. Unfortunately, she wouldn’t be calling him.

Irritated at himself, Jack accelerated when a street-light turned green. Instead of daydreaming about being her personal hero, he ought to be worrying about her. Figuring out how to get her some help even if she didn’t believe she needed it.

Gut instinct told him somebody should intervene. Before the ex-husband who both hated and loved her tipped a little too far toward hate, and a hell of a lot more than a few plant pots were broken.

CHAPTER TWO

BEHIND THE BARTENDER, a mirror decorated with a beer slogan reflected a portion of the dimly lit room. Ray could see himself in it, though the reflection seemed a little fuzzy. Hell, it must be the mirror. Couldn’t be him. He hadn’t had that many.

He lifted his glass and downed some raw whiskey that burned his throat and brought warming anger in its wake.

“Bitch,” he said clearly, continuing a monologue. “That’s what she is. Don’t give a damn what you think.” He thumped his glass on the bar. “Gimme another one.”

The bartender frowned. “Ray, I think you’ve had enough. Why don’t you go on home now?”

Just like that, his anger spilled over. Ray picked up the heavy glass and flung it as hard as he could. It bounced off the padded wall beside the mirror and clunked out of sight onto the floor.

“You don’t want to hear what a bitch she is?” he snarled.

He was vaguely aware that somebody had stopped behind him. He didn’t give a damn who it was. They should all know what she was like.

A hand closed on his shoulder and turned him on the revolving stool. He wrenched himself free of the grip and blinked to bring the man’s face into focus. Who the hell?

Frank Eaton. Frank owned the pizza franchise over on Lewis Street. He was a chunky guy, going a little soft, liked his beer. Well, hell, Ray liked his beer, too.

“Damned bitch,” Ray said again, giving his head a shake to clear it. “Called the cops on me because I was a little late bringing the kids home. Doesn’t want to remember they’re my kids, too. Can you believe it?”

“Beth’s a nice lady,” Frank said, looking steely-eyed. “I don’t like to hear you talking about her this way.”

Ray squinted. “You think you know her? You don’t know shit. You buy forms from her. You’re a goddamned customer.” He spit the word out. “Maybe you’d be good enough to touch her. Not me. I wasn’t a customer.” He swayed, caught himself and straightened. “Maybe you did touch her. How about it? Is that why I wasn’t good enough anymore?”

Frank grabbed him and shoved him off the stool. Ray stumbled back into a table and chairs.

“Go home,” Frank said with disgust. “And stay there if you’re going to talk filth about Beth.”

Ray was suddenly so angry he was blind. His head felt like it might burst with the fury dammed up. He launched himself at the other man. It felt so good when his fists connected that he swung again and again. Frank fell backward and Ray went after him, swinging, swinging, feeling a nose crunch under his knuckles, the soft gut give like bread dough. His anger roared in his ears, drowning any other sounds.

Hands were yanking him off, and he fought them, still trying to make contact with his bloodied fist, needing to shatter, to hurt, to exhaust himself until that anger had dwindled like gas in his rig.

Next thing he knew, he was being sick outside in the rain, just before he was tossed in the back of a police car. Alone there he hunched in on himself, his stomach still heaving. Cops. Somebody had called the cops. If it was the same bastard…

Through the grille he couldn’t see who was in front. But he didn’t know either of the cops who hauled him out in the dark alley behind the public safety building. They shoved him through the door and propelled him down a hall. When he started to retch, they pushed him in a small bathroom, where he threw up again. Then they locked him in a cell.

Ray was past caring. He was drunk and angry and sick.

Bitch, he thought woozily. Thought she was too good for him. Called the cops on him. His own wife. Ex-wife. Had the whole damned town on her side.

Well, there was one way he could get to her, make her pay attention to him. One way he could feel strong again.

It wasn’t like he’d really hurt her. He didn’t have to. He just wanted to see fear in those blue eyes. Fear that told him he still had some power over her.

He passed out still thinking about her, the woman he loved.

WHEN THE PHONE rang a second time, only moments after Beth hung up the receiver, a twinge of uneasiness, even fear, made her hesitate to touch it. But she knew she had to answer.

Nothing. The response was the silence she had expected. She couldn’t even hear any breathing. It was almost creepier than an obscene phone call. Beth slammed the receiver back down and closed her eyes, breathing slowly to calm herself.

“Who was it?” Steph asked from right behind her.

Beth jumped, but managed a casual mien by the time she turned. “Hm? Oh, nobody. Wrong number.”

“How come there’re so many wrong numbers lately?”

“Heaven knows.” Beth forced a smile. “I think that’s a pun. When we first moved in here, the phone company gave us a number that used to belong to the Assembly of God Church. We got ten calls a day from people wanting the church. Maybe this is something like that.”

Stephanie nodded, satisfied. “What’s for dinner?”

“Meat loaf. Get your sister, and both of you wash your hands.”

Beth made a point of having a sit-down dinner as many evenings as possible. This was the one time they had together when nobody was distracted by the TV or homework or a friend. Working as many hours as Beth did, and with the girls’ nonstop activities, dinnertime sometimes seemed like a peaceful oasis in the middle of their lives.

But tonight she had a hard time concentrating on Stephanie’s complaints about the science teacher.

“Everybody’s afraid to ask him questions. If you do, he just gives you this look and says you weren’t paying attention. I mean, maybe you weren’t, but maybe you just didn’t get it the first time.”

Beth made appropriate noises of sympathy even as her thoughts went back to the troubling phone calls. They’d gone on for a week now, several a day, sometimes two or three in a row like tonight. She’d hurry to answer the phone, but there was never anybody on the other end. It was dumb, petty—but also unnerving.

Should she get Caller ID? She had always thought of it as a nuisance, when ninety percent of the calls were from the girls’ friends. Some of their parents undoubtedly had blocks on their phones, and it seemed so unfriendly to forbid those calls. Caller ID would certainly stop this silent stalker—but then what might he do instead?

She sighed unconsciously. What if she called the phone company and complained? Hadn’t she read there was another technology that allowed calls to be traced instantly? Would they be interested enough to bother, when the caller wasn’t obscene or threatening?

Beth wanted to believe some stranger was doing this to her and her family. Maybe even a teenager, who thought it was funny to scare somebody.

But underneath she couldn’t help remembering what the sheriff had said. If he got some satisfaction from scaring you…he’s going to do it again. Ray knew she didn’t have Caller ID. Had he discovered he liked scaring her? Only, why would he choose a method so juvenile? Did he just hope to unsettle her, eroding her basic sense of security?

What if she asked him outright? Would he let himself smile when he denied making the calls, just to make sure she knew?

Damn it, she could ignore the calls, Beth thought in frustration. They weren’t what really bothered her. It was the motive behind them. If the caller was older than fifteen, he had to be sick. No normal human being enjoyed scaring total strangers. And if it was Ray…

Automatically, Beth took another bite. The meat loaf was tasteless in her mouth.

Dear God, if Ray was the one calling…

Her mind wanted to balk. Not Ray. It couldn’t be Ray. She had loved him once, married him! How could she not have known what he was beneath the facade?

Again she heard, as though as a faint echo, Murray’s voice. How long will just scaring you be enough?

“Mom.”

Beth tuned in to find both girls looking reproachfully at her.

“Are you listening?” Stephanie asked.

“Yes, of course,” she lied. “But let’s hear about Lauren’s day now.”

Her younger daughter wrinkled her nose. “It was boring. But I forgot to tell you….” Strangely, she hesitated, darting a glance between her sister and her mother. “Well, last Tuesday…or maybe it was the day before…anyway,” she finished in a rush, “you know that man who came to our house when Daddy was so mad.”

Stephanie looked down at her plate. Beth nodded. “He’s the county sheriff.”

“Well, he came and talked to our class.”

Surprised and disturbed, Beth said, “About anything in particular?”

“Just what to do when you’re home alone. Stuff like that. He was really nice.”

Nice. If you didn’t mind being treated like a helpless woman who ought to be grateful for “protection.”

No, that wasn’t fair, Beth admitted reluctantly. He was nice. He’d stopped when he didn’t have to get involved, listened patiently, offered sound advice and never given her the feeling that he considered her to blame in any way.

“I’m glad you thought so,” she said neutrally. She tried to make her voice casual, the new subject not an obvious extension of the last one. “Listen, guys, have either of you talked to your dad this week?”

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Stephanie duck her head again. Stick-straight brown hair brushed her cheek, and thick dark lashes shielded her eyes. She crumbled her garlic bread without actually eating any of it.

But Lauren said, “He called last night.”

“Did he have anything special to say?”

A small frown furrowed her brow. “I don’t think so.”

“Did he tell you what time he’ll pick you up Saturday?”

“I don’t remember.”

Without looking up, Stephanie mumbled, “The usual time.”

“Is he taking you anywhere?”

“He said maybe to a movie. Mom—” Stephanie stopped abruptly. “Never mind.”

“Come on.” Beth reached over and brushed her daughter’s hair back from her face. “You can’t start and not finish.”

Stephanie shrugged, looking almost sullen for a moment. “It’s not any big deal. It’s just… He’s always promising to do something with us, and then he doesn’t. I mean, I’d like it if he’d take us to a movie or Art In The Park or someplace, but he never does. I wish he wouldn’t promise something when he doesn’t mean it.”

“Oh, honey.” Beth reached over to lift her daughter’s chin. She struggled to hide her own sadness. “Have you talked to him about this?”

There Steph went again, hunching her shoulders and refusing to meet her mother’s eyes, as she had increasingly often lately. “No,” she mumbled.

“You know, he isn’t a mind reader. Maybe he’s just been tired, maybe having you at home with him makes your dad feel more like you’re a real family. Try talking to him.”

For what good it would do, Beth thought grimly. There had been a time when Ray listened. Now, it seemed as if he was too self-absorbed to think about anyone else’s feelings. Or was she just being negative, projecting her own anger?

Stephanie shrugged and made an unhappy face. “But if I say something, it sounds…oh, I don’t know, like I’m saying he lied! And it’s not that. It’s just that it’s kind of boring at his apartment, and I wish he wouldn’t tell us he’s going to take us somewhere and get us excited and stuff, and then not do it. You know?”

“Sure I do.” Beth stood long enough to give her daughter a quick hug and kiss on the cheek. “But I still say you need to talk to him. If you don’t tell him differently, he may think you’d rather not go anyplace special.”

Another twitch of the shoulders and an unenthusiastic “Yeah, I guess.”

Lauren had been listening without comment, but now she said, “I’ll talk to him. I don’t mind.”

“No!” Stephanie said with quick alarm. “You’ll tell Dad I think he breaks his promises. I don’t want him to know that.”

“I won’t…”

“Yes, you will! Don’t you dare say anything to Dad!”

Lauren stuck out her tongue. “Well, then you do it.”

They were off and running with the kind of bickering calculated to fray any parent’s patience. As she dealt with them, Beth reminded herself of how well they usually got along. And at least the quarrel was reassuringly normal. The day when neither wanted to talk about their father at all was the day when she really had to worry.

As if she wasn’t worrying now.

BETH ADDED PAPER to the copying machine, snapped the tray back into place and smiled at the customer. “All set.”

“Thanks.” The woman, a volunteer at the local animal shelter, went back to copying fliers about a free spay/neuter day.

Hearing her name, Beth turned. Maria Bernal, a friend who owned a women’s clothing store half a block away, was hurrying down the aisle between printer cartridges and pens. Hispanic, a little plump and very pretty, Maria took Beth’s arm and steered her into the back room. “Well, did he bring the kids home on time this weekend?”

“More or less.” Beth automatically gathered up the remains of an employee’s sack lunch left on the one table and tossed it in the garbage. “He was only an hour late.” Her dry tone didn’t reveal how torturous that hour had been to Beth, who had come to dread every one of the girls’ visits to their dad.

“You look tired.” Never less than blunt, Maria studied her with the practical eye she’d give a new clothing line. “Why no sleep? Is he still calling and hanging up?”

Beth took a can of cola from the tiny refrigerator and, after Maria shook her head at the offering, popped the top. She needed the caffeine, although the artificial energy would do nothing for the weariness adding years to her face.

“I don’t know that he…” she began.

Her friend waved an impatient hand. “Okay, whoever. Is it still happening?”

Beth’s voice went flat. “The past two nights it’s been the doorbell instead. The first couple of times, one of the girls answered and nobody was there. God, I was scared when I realized—” She broke off. “What’s horrible is that he must have been watching somewhere. The second time it was Steph, and she was scared to death. She had the sense to slam the door quick and lock it, but when I came running she was shaking. He must have seen.” Beth searched her friend’s face. “How could he do it to her, Maria?”

“God, I don’t know.” Maria took her hand and squeezed. “The son of a… Well, you know what I think of him. And we’re not talking about ‘whoever’ here, are we.” It wasn’t a question.

“I don’t know,” Beth said desperately. “It’s hard to believe Ray could be so cruel.”

“A woman scorned is nothing on a man. You know, he may not let himself realize that Steph and Lauren are scared, too.”

“It’s getting so I hate him.” Until she heard herself say the words, she hadn’t known her feelings were so caustic. “And what if it wasn’t him?”

The question was unanswerable. Maria made a helpless gesture. “Have you called the police?”

“What can they do?” Beth asked. “I’ve tried hiding by the window where I can see the front door, but then no one comes. If he’s able to figure out when I’m watching, do you think he’s going to come striding up on the front porch with a police car in my driveway?”

“I think they can be more subtle than that.”

“Maria, I can’t.” All Beth’s misery poured out. “This is Stephanie and Lauren’s father we’re talking about. What if I’m wrong?”

Maria’s dark eyes were compassionate. “You’d still have a problem. Maybe a worse one.”

She hadn’t thought about it that way. Was it scarier to think of a stranger persecuting them this way, or Ray?

The question wasn’t one she could shake. It stayed with her long after Maria had bustled out.

Usually Beth snatched a quick lunch in the back room, but she’d been so tired this morning she’d given the girls lunch money instead of sandwiches, and now she had to go out herself. The Bluebird Café three blocks away had good daily specials and the booths offered more privacy than the tiny tables at the deli around the corner, so she chose to go there. The walk would do her good.

She’d barely taken a forkful of flaky crust from her turkey pot pie when she saw Sheriff Jack Murray enter, a big, broad man in another of those beautifully cut gray suits that hid the gun he undoubtedly carried. She should have sat with her back to the door, Beth thought belatedly, although she had no idea why she was so reluctant to face him again.

Because he’d heard her screaming at her ex-husband?

Six or seven booths were occupied, but his gaze went straight to her and he waved off the waitress, coming directly to Beth. “May I join you?”

What could she say but “Of course.”

The waitress followed, but he didn’t take the menu. “A cup of coffee and apple pie,” he told her, before he scrutinized Beth as directly as Maria had. “Your clerk said you were here.”

Surprised, she said, “You came looking for me?”

Justifiably, he ignored the question. “How are things going with your ex-husband?”

Beth opened her mouth to say a bright “Just fine!” and found she couldn’t get the lie out. She closed her mouth, opened it again and finally sighed. “Well, we’ve had no repeat of the infamous temper tantrum. I guess I can deal with everything else.”

That was a lie, too, of course; even at this moment, even when she was distracted by this blunt-featured man who knew too much about her life, her stomach churned and her chest was crowded with anxiety. What would tonight bring? A ringing telephone, with no caller on the other end? The chime of the doorbell, with no one standing on the doorstep? Or would something scarier yet happen?

She met the sheriff’s eyes and had the unnerving feeling that he had read her mind. More roughly than her remark called for, he said, “You shouldn’t have to deal with anything. If he’s trespassing or violating his visitation rights—”

“I should have him arrested?” How she wished she could! “I don’t think that would solve our problems.”

“It might wake him up.” He stopped when a newcomer slapped him on the back and wanted to talk about a speech he’d apparently given the night before.

Beth took the opportunity to eat, watching Murray respond with the easy geniality of a born politician. He had a reputation as a tough cop—too tough, according to his opponent in the last election. Beth had voted for him, anyway, liking the job he’d done as chief of the smaller Elk Springs city police force before he ran for sheriff.

At the same time the waitress brought his coffee and pie, the other man moved on with apologies for interrupting their lunch, and Murray’s expression became grave. “Are you aware that your ex-husband was arrested for assault and battery over a week ago?”

“Assault?” Staggered, Beth shook her head dumbly. The fork dropped from nerveless fingers. “No. No, I wasn’t.”

“Got in a fight at the tavern. Not all his fault, apparently, but he broke the other man’s nose, really worked him over. According to the bartender, the fight was over you.”

“Dear God.” Beth bent her head and pushed her plate away, struggling with her nausea. A fight in a tavern. For the thousandth time, she asked herself how it had come to this. She and Ray had been high school sweethearts. She had thought he was so strong, someone she could lean on forever.

When she raised her head again, she had regained control. Almost steadily, she asked, “What do you mean, over me?”

Murray surprised her by covering her clenched fist with his large hand. “It would appear that Mr. Sommers was insulting you. The other man took exception to what he was saying. They’d both had a few too many.”

“Is he…is he in jail?”

“He was held overnight. My guess is he’ll plea-bargain and end up with no more than probation and a promise to attend AA or go into alcohol treatment.”

“I wouldn’t have said he had a drinking problem.” Beth sighed. “But then, he’s doing a lot of things I never thought he would.”

“Does he drink when the girls are with him?”

“Oh, God.” She’d never asked. Wouldn’t Steph, at least, have said? “I don’t know. In the past when he was mad, like the night you saw him, he didn’t seem drunk.”

“No, he didn’t,” Murray conceded.

Neither said anything. The silence began to feel awkward. Beth looked at her half-eaten lunch and decided she wasn’t hungry. The sheriff hadn’t even picked up his fork to start the pie the waitress had brought.

“Ms. Sommers…” He growled something under his breath and rubbed the back of his neck as though the muscles were stiff. “This is probably unprofessional of me…. No, it’s damned unprofessional, but I’m going to do it anyway. Will you have dinner with me?”

“Dinner?” She felt like an idiot echoing him, especially since on some level she, too, had felt the attraction. But she had assumed him to be married, or that he would be put off by her problems, or…

He looked uncomfortable. “I’d like to take you to dinner,” he said again.

Beth was shaking her head even before she had thought any further. “Sheriff…”

“Jack.”

The title had helped her think of him as a police officer, a public official, not as a man. She needed the safer distance that gave her. But she could hardly refuse to use his first name.

“Jack, then,” Beth agreed. “I’m sorry, but…”

“Why not?” he asked bluntly, his dark gaze square on her face.

He was big enough that she felt crowded suddenly in the booth. His knees bumped hers as he moved restlessly; his shoulders blocked her view of the front of the café. Beth imagined wrapping her arms around his neck, ruffling his silky hair, feeling that hard, crooked mouth on hers, and gave a shiver of near panic.

“Surely you can see this isn’t a good moment for me to be thinking about getting involved….”

“Don’t let him stop you.”

“I…” She blinked. Did she fear that she would anger Ray more? But she knew even without deep analysis that her reasons were more complex.

“If I’d let him stop me from doing what was right for me, we’d still be married. This is just…not the best moment.” She didn’t add that he wasn’t the man with whom she would have chosen to start, either. “I’m flattered that you’re interested, but you’ll have to accept my regrets. Now, I really should be getting back to the store.”

Hands flat on the table, he had gone very still. “If you change your mind…”

She made a face at him. “I’ll call the Butte County Sheriff’s Office and pass on a message. Right.”

His mouth crooked into a faint smile. “That wouldn’t be a problem.”

Despite herself, she hesitated. “Thank you,” she said, and meant it.

Murray cleared his throat. “Ms. Sommers…Beth. I, uh, hope I haven’t made you uncomfortable. I want you to be able to call if you need me. I live close by.” He reached inside his suit coat and took out a business card, extending it across the table to her. “My home phone. I can be at your place in not much over a minute.”

Her sinuses burned and she gripped the card so tightly it crumpled in her fingers. “I don’t know what to say.”

He picked up his fork. “Don’t say anything. Just don’t hesitate if you need me.”

For an instant their eyes met, and her pulse took an odd leap. Then she pressed her lips together, gave a jerky nod and slipped out of the booth. One more “Thank you,” and she fled, pausing only long enough to pay the cashier.

She could feel his gaze on her back as she waited for her receipt and hurried out the front door. Why she was compelled to hurry, Beth couldn’t have said. Her heart was beating too hard; exhilaration was mixed with a need to run. She tried to convince herself that the news about Ray was the cause of her turmoil, but failed.

Not that it wasn’t upsetting. During the final months of their marriage, Ray had scared her by the depth of his temper; several times he had viciously flung a chair or lamp across the room, breaking it, and during that last, memorable fight, he’d slammed his fist through the wallboard. But even then, he hadn’t hurt her.

Had that changed? If Ray could break a man’s nose in a tavern brawl, what might he do to her?

He had been drunk, she reminded herself, but Beth recognized the excuse for what it was. Anyway, there was no saying he wouldn’t come to her house drunk some night.

The locksmith had already replaced the locks and added a few on windows and the French doors leading out to the deck in back. But she hadn’t done anything about buying a security system. It seemed so ridiculous in Elk Springs, for heaven’s sake!

But now she imagined Ray, drunk, pounding on the door, his fury rising because she wouldn’t let him in. The locks on the French doors wouldn’t stop him from breaking a pane of glass and opening the door.

She would definitely call around this afternoon and get some bids.

Beth’s pace slowed as she reached the main street and turned the corner. Face it, she told herself, stopping to look in the bakery window without seeing the temptations arrayed there. It wasn’t just the news about Ray that had upset her. It was Jack Murray. Why did he have to be interested in her?

And why now?

She wasn’t ready. In that part of her mind reserved for vague thoughts about the future, she had imagined another man, someday. He would be nothing like Ray, nothing. He was some sort of compendium of the modern men found in television commercials. She had seen him clapping at school plays, stir-frying dinner in the wok. He was a reader, a man who would think nothing of running over to Portland for a major museum exhibit, who never raised his voice, who listened intelligently, asked for her thoughts. He was faceless, this man, almost sexless, pleasant, thoughtful, even-tempered…unreal. A bloodless fantasy for a woman who had had too much of strong emotions, who didn’t want gritty and real, who’d had enough of that.

Jack Murray was real. She could imagine him strolling the hushed galleries of the museum, but when she closed her eyes, she saw him playing one-on-one basketball at the gym, sweating, grunting, using his elbows, slamming against another man as they went up for a rebound. He had been soft-spoken with Ray and her, but he also patronized women, undoubtedly raised his voice, and probably got some kind of charge out of wearing a gun.

And he tweaked something sexual in her that hadn’t been touched in a long time, and certainly not by the faceless man she tried so hard to see when she lay alone in bed at night.

Beth let out a long breath of air, blinked and realized that through the glass she was staring right at Mrs. Parker behind the counter in the bakery. The woman was smiling uncertainly, and Beth managed to pull herself together enough to return the smile.

Damn it, she thought a minute later, pushing open the door of Sisters Office Supply, a woman could make intelligent choices. Ray was all she’d ever known. The sexual part of her had been tuned to him; it was natural that she responded to the promise of brawn and dominance.

But she could change that, and would. Jack Murray’s capacity for violence might be harnessed on the side of angels, but it was there, as much a part of him as it was of Ray. She’d spent enough years tiptoeing around to avoid rousing the beast that was anger and violence. Somewhere she’d found the strength to wake him and not quail, to lock him out of her house.

She would not invite him in again, not in any guise.

CHAPTER THREE

“I WISH I COULD GIVE you better news,” Beth’s lawyer said, shaking his head. “We could go back to court and contest your ex-husband’s visitation rights, but frankly, I don’t think we’d win there unless you can bring proof that he’s done more than be late a few times bringing the girls back.” Mr. Knightley held up one hand to forestall her protest. “I’m not telling you what I think, I’m telling you what the judge will think. I have no doubt whatsoever that Mr. Sommers is at least trying to scare you. But we need proof.”

Beth let out a long breath. “Thank you, Mr. Knightley. I really didn’t expect anything else. But I hoped.”

The attorney was perhaps fifty, a handsome man who had gained more presence and authority with the addition of an extra thirty or so pounds that might have looked like fat on another man. He had done some legal work for her business, so she had turned to him when she decided to file for divorce.

“How do the girls feel about their father?” he asked, rolling a rosewood pen between his palms.

“I’m not sure,” Beth admitted. “The divorce upset them, of course, but also…” She hesitated. “I think they were relieved. There was a lot of yelling going on. And yet, until recently they seemed happy to see their dad and looked forward to their visits. It’s harder for Stephanie, because even though she only sees Ray every other week, she feels like she’s missing out on things her friends are doing. But lately…” She sought for words to define her amorphous awareness of their uneasiness. “I know they’ve both been, maybe not scared, but uncomfortable when he’s kept them so late. But I can’t in all honesty say he’s a terrible father or they’re frightened of him. That’s why I’ve hesitated about doing anything too drastic. I think it’s important for them to have a relationship with their own father.”

The lawyer nodded and set the pen back in its stand. “I wish I knew better how to advise you. Have you considered talking to a counselor? You might find somebody who’s an expert on anger management, who could at least give suggestions on the best way to defuse any situations.”

“That’s an idea,” Beth agreed, picking up her purse. “I won’t take any more of your time, Mr. Knightley. I appreciate the information you’ve given me.”

He stood, too. “If the police catch him red-handed pulling one of these malicious tricks, we might have the ammunition to go back to court. I think that would qualify as compelling evidence showing that Mr. Sommers is an unfit parent.”

And then what? Beth thought bleakly. How would the kids come to terms with a label like that put on their father? He was half of them; she had no desire to make them despise that part of themselves.

But what else could she do?

Nobody had any other suggestions, that was for sure. All she heard was “Call the police.” Wasn’t that supposed to be a last resort?

Well, one thing she could do, Beth thought, was talk to Stephanie and Lauren. It didn’t seem to her that a father could succeed in disappearing with a child as old as Stephanie without some cooperation from the child. On some level Stephanie especially would have to be willing to believe that her mother didn’t care, didn’t mind losing her, or would be hurt in some way if she called home. Beth’s job was to make sure her girls were unwilling to cooperate if Ray tried to take off with them.

So that evening she sat them down on the couch in the family room at the back of the house.

This was the time of day she had always—and still did—read bedtime stories to Lauren, who didn’t yet want to give them up although she could read herself. Stephanie, who claimed to be too old to listen, usually sat in the overstuffed armchair and pretended to read herself while eavesdropping avidly. Every few pages she’d ask to see the picture, and Beth would obligingly hold it up. “Why don’t you come and sit with us?” she’d ask, and Steph would curl her lip. “Little kids’ books are boring. I only wanted to see the one picture, that’s all.”

But tonight Beth patted the sofa next to her. “Come here. I want to talk.”

Her older daughter hovered in the doorway. “The phone’s ringing. I’ll go get it.”

“Just ignore it. Half the time nobody’s there anyway.” Beth had abandoned the fiction of wrong numbers. The girls had answered the phone themselves and found nobody on the other end too many times now. The doorbell hadn’t rung since that second night; the phone had, off and on. It hadn’t ceased to unnerve Beth, but the repetition had begun to make her impatient instead of terrified.

“But it might be one of my friends.” Steph was verging on a whine.

“Then she can call back,” Beth told her firmly.

Eleven years old, and Steph already had a sneer down pat. She sat reluctantly where Beth had indicated. Lauren curled trustingly against Beth’s left side.

She took a deep breath and began her prepared speech. “I just thought it was time we have one of those talks about safety.”

She’d expected rolled eyes, but instead Stephanie sat stiffly, looking down at her hands but not saying anything.

“Mostly we parents talk, just in case, about stuff that will probably never happen. This is one of those just-in-cases. I hope nothing bad or scary ever happens to you, but you should know what to do if it does.

“Once in a while, somebody steals a child. It isn’t always a stranger, either. Sometimes it’s somebody the child knows, like a neighbor. Sometimes it’s even a parent. Mostly with parents it’s when a mother and father are divorced and they’re fighting about who the kids will live with. You know your dad and I have already settled that. But I just wanted you to know that it isn’t always a stranger. It might be somebody you trust.”

Lauren’s blue eyes were wide and dark; Stephanie still had her head bowed. Beth could feel her tension as though it were a violin string quivering from the lightest touch.

“Now, if you took a child, not to hurt her, but because you want to pretend you’re her mother or father and she doesn’t have anybody else, you couldn’t keep her locked in the bedroom forever, right? So what you’d do is try to convince the child that she was supposed to be with you, that whoever she was living with really didn’t want her anymore.”

Tiny creases formed on Lauren’s smooth brow. “I would never, ever, believe anybody who said you didn’t want me,” she informed her mother staunchly. “’Cause I know you love us.”

Momentarily Beth’s eyes stung, and she had to blink hard as she bent to kiss the silky top of her younger daughter’s hair. Then she reached out and gathered Stephanie’s stiffer body into a hug.

“I just want to make sure you know that. That you don’t believe anybody at all who tells you different. If something like that ever happened, you should get away as soon as you can. You can call home—you know the number—or you could go to the police or most adults, like a grocery checker or a librarian. You tell them over and over again where you live and what your phone number is. Will you promise me to do that?”

Lauren nodded dutifully, her eyes still saucer wide. On Beth’s other side, Stephanie mumbled agreement.

“Then that’s all I have to say. I love you two more than anyone or anything in the whole world. And I always will.”

Lauren nodded, as though to say “Of course.” “Can we read some stories now?”

“You go pick something out,” Beth said, kissing her forehead before she released her.

The eight-year-old skipped out of the room on her way toward the bedroom bookcase. Once she was out of sight, Stephanie said, “This is about Dad, isn’t it?”

Treading delicately, Beth said, “Not altogether. I really don’t think your father would do something like that. This is the kind of thing we should talk about no matter what. But, yeah, it was his being late with you that brought it to mind. After I’d gotten over being scared that you’d been in a car accident.”

Her attempt to reassure apparently worked, because Stephanie gave her a look. “Oh, Mom.”

Beth was able to laugh. “I know, I know. I’m a worrywart. But I can’t help it, okay? Humor me.”

Stephanie nodded. There was a moment of silence, and Beth waited, sensing that she had something else to say. Suddenly Stephanie burst out, “I don’t want to live with Dad!”

A chill wrapped itself around Beth’s chest. “Did he ask you if you wanted to?”

“No…” She bit her lip. “Sometimes he says stuff…but mostly he talks about us all together, like he thinks you’re going to change your mind. Are you?”

“No. Do you wish I would?”

Stephanie ducked her head. “Not really. I mean, sometimes I wish we were like other families, and I didn’t have to go visit my dad, but… I didn’t like it back when he lived here and he always got so mad.”

“Me, either.”

“He gets so mad about even little stuff.”

That same chill held Beth in its grip. “At you?”

“No-o,” her daughter said uncertainly. “We never do anything to make him mad. Except when I ask him if it’s time to go home. But it’s just—” she shrugged and made a face “—everything. He yells at the TV when he thinks some referee made a dumb call, and he yells and flips off other drivers, and I was afraid he was going to punch some guy at the gas station one time because Dad thought the guy cut in front of him. It’s just…” She squirmed. “It’s scary. You know what I mean?”

“Yeah,” Beth said softly. “I know what you mean.” She bit her lower lip. “I hate to send you on your own to deal with him. But I think under all that anger he’s not a bad man. And he’s your father. If you grew up not knowing him, I bet someday you’d be sorry. I keep hoping that he’ll realize how he’s making other people feel and do something about it. But if he really, really scares you—”

“No, it’s okay,” Stephanie interrupted, looking older than her years.

Beth looked her straight in the eyes. “Will you promise to tell me if it’s ever not okay?”

Lauren appeared in the doorway with a pile of books high enough to make Beth groan inwardly. Steph glanced toward her, but Beth insisted, “Promise?”

“Uh, sure.”

Beth smiled shakily and gave her another hug. “It’s not fair, is it?”

“What’s not fair?” Lauren asked.

At the same time as her sister snapped, “None of your beeswax!” Beth said, “Just something Steph and I were talking about. Let’s see, what did you pick out?”

Lauren stuck out her tongue at her sister, but didn’t insist on an answer.

Normalcy, Beth thought, as Stephanie retreated with her own book to her chair, where she appeared to become completely absorbed in her reading. Beth might almost have believed it if only Steph had turned a page more often, and if she hadn’t given a heavy sigh she apparently didn’t realize anyone else would hear.

Not fair. But what could she do? Beth wondered with familiar despair and even panic. Go on in this constant state of tension? Or wait until Ray got caught playing his nasty games?

Of course, he wouldn’t get caught unless she called the police, and she had a suspicion the only policeman who would be interested in her problems at this point was Sheriff Jack Murray—and he represented danger of a different kind.

JACK GLANCED AROUND the crowded gymnasium and felt familiar regret that he hadn’t known his own son in time to be more involved in everyday things like the PTA. He’d had time to become good friends with his son, which was something, but he still resented all he’d lost. Will had walked into his life at fourteen years old, and now, in a blink of the eye, he was gone to college.

The pangs were old ones, and Jack was able to ignore them as he tuned in to the welcoming speech being delivered by the president of the middle school parent group.

“And so it’s really a pleasure to see so many of you tonight.” A stylish woman who probably never wore jeans or sweatshirts, the president beamed as she looked around. “Let me start by introducing this year’s officers.”

Jack was tuning out again when a name snapped him back to attention.

“And Beth Sommers, our treasurer. Beth, where are you?”

Jack’s head turned along with everyone else’s. Near the back, Beth stood briefly, smiled and waved to the perfunctory applause. Her curly dark hair was knotted on top of her head and she was dressed in a pretty but casual jumper over a white T-shirt. With the one glimpse he hungrily realized how good she looked: the delicate sculpting of her cheekbones, the graceful line of her neck, the chin that she could set so mulishly. Once she sat back down, he lost sight of her without making a fool of himself by half standing and craning his neck.

His intense reaction to her presence made him feel fool enough. Damn it, she’d turned him down as firmly as a woman could. Maybe it was personal—she wasn’t attracted to him or just plain didn’t like him; maybe it wasn’t. She’d said she wasn’t ready to try again. Either way, it spelled no, however much he wished it didn’t.

His job was to protect her, whether she lived in his jurisdiction or not. He hoped she would call if she needed him, in which case he had to separate attraction from obligation. He might ride to her rescue, but she wasn’t going to fall into his arms afterward.

The president introduced him and he went to the front. Jack took a moment to raise the microphone to suit his six-foot-two height, then looked around to take stock of his audience. Mostly women, not unusual for these school functions. When he’d shown up as a determined father, Will’s last couple of years of high school, he’d occasionally been the only man at meetings. Jack thought that was a shame.

“Hello, folks,” he said, nodding. “I see familiar faces, so some of you will have heard what I’m going to say tonight, but I figure that’s okay. It’s important that you know what to expect of me, and what I expect of you.”

He had deliberately not looked in Beth’s direction at first. He was taking the care he would with a skittish animal, not making any sudden moves, keeping his voice even, pretending disinterest.

And there was an element of anticipation, too. Until that moment when their gazes locked, he could imagine that her expression wouldn’t be indifferent. He could hope for a spark in her eyes, guarded but still there, a hint of something to let him hope that her refusal to have dinner with him wasn’t personal, that someday she would be ready.

He paused, let his eyes linger for a moment on the young mother who sat beside Beth, jiggling a toddler on her lap. She looked about sixteen, too young to have a child in middle school.

Beth could have avoided him—gazed down at her hands, smiled at the toddler, glanced toward the exit. But that wasn’t in her nature. Instead, her chin was already up and she was waiting. He was interested to see the pink that washed her cheeks and the challenge in her blue eyes. No indifference here, though what she did feel, he couldn’t guess.

Without a pause, Jack looked at her neighbor on the other side and continued his short prepared speech.

The way he talked to a group like this was as important as anything he said. He didn’t want to be intimidating, though he still believed there was a time and place to scare the crap out of someone. But he’d learned these past years how wrong was Ed Patton’s brand of law enforcement. Prevention and intervention were a thousand times better than throwing an eighteen-year-old kid in the slammer. By the time you had to do that, there was already a victim and the kid’s life was ruined. Jack knew he had a well-deserved reputation for coming down like a crack of doom on criminals, but what he was working hardest on was finding money for programs aimed at troubled teenagers.

Ed Patton, he thought, had been like a dentist who liked to wield the drill without anesthesia. Jack preferred sealant when the adult teeth were still pearly white.

“I expect to see your kids on the basketball court, the soccer field, the stage right here behind me,” he concluded into the microphone. “Anywhere but in the police station.”

Some of the audience chuckled, and Jack, well satisfied, asked for questions. The few he got were friendly enough, the round of applause enthusiastic.

Strange, the things he’d found himself doing. Speechifying hadn’t been covered in the police academy.

Instead of retreating to his seat, Jack strolled to the back of the gym and took up a station near the double doors leading into the central hallway of the two-year-old middle school. Just out of curiosity, he’d stuck his head into the boys’ john earlier. Where you’d expect graffiti, here was gleaming tile. The carpet in the hall wasn’t dirty, the lockers weren’t scraped and dented and scrawled all over with obscene remarks. Inner-city junior highs were armed camps these days; he doubted a single gun was hidden in any of this long bank of lockers.

Folks were lucky in Elk Springs. As a law enforcement officer, he was lucky.

As a man, he was obviously a hell of a lot less so, Jack thought wryly. Beth Sommers was the first woman who had seriously interested him in some time, and he’d struck out.

He propped one shoulder against the wall, crossed his arms and listened to plans for a Christmas bazaar and a fund-raiser to buy new books for the library. Beth stood to give a brief treasurer’s report; since she couldn’t see him, Jack allowed himself the luxury of admiring the straight line of her back and the fine dark hair that had escaped to curl on her nape. For just an instant, he imagined his lips traveling down her neck. The hairs would tickle his nose, but her skin would be silkier than anything he’d ever touched, and her pulse would beat like tiny birds trapped under his mouth.

Hell. It was just as well when she sat back down, putting him out of his misery.

A minute later the meeting broke up and the crowd began filtering out. A few stopped to chat or shake hands and thank him for coming. He was a patient man; except for some emergency exits, this was the only way out. Sooner or later, Beth would pass within a few feet of him.

She was deep in conversation with the president of the parent group as the two women approached the door. It was galling to have Beth glance his way and look vaguely surprised to see him; he was so aware of her, he knew where she was at any given moment. Apparently she didn’t feel the same.

Which she’d made clear enough, Jack reminded himself, irritated. Was he such an egotist, he couldn’t believe a woman wasn’t interested in him?

Answer: no. He’d philosophically accepted refusals before. Meg Patton walking out on him—now, that had been tough. Worse than tough; he knew the one day had changed him in ways he didn’t yet understand. But since Meg, he’d asked out women who weren’t interested. He’d even been dumped a time or two without going into a black depression.

Beth was different. He had trouble believing his own response to her could be so strong if it wasn’t two-way.

He was pretty sure Beth would have nodded and walked right by him if the president hadn’t stopped to hold out her hand.

“Thank you, Sheriff Murray. It was so good of you to take the time tonight to talk to us. I’m really delighted with what you had to say, too. By the way, have you met Beth Sommers?”

He let a trace of a smile touch his lips. “As it happens, I have. Hello, Beth.”

Her answering smile didn’t touch her eyes. “Sheriff. How nice to see you again. And hear you. I really like your program pairing kids with police officers.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Mentally he cursed the president who hadn’t budged from his side and was beaming impartially at them. There were things he wanted to say and couldn’t in front of her. He did the only thing he could think of. “Can I walk you out to your car? I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

The alarm in her eyes was quickly masked. “Could you call me at work instead? I really need to rush—I don’t like to leave the kids with a baby-sitter any longer than I can help. And there are obviously people waiting to talk to you.”

He turned his head and saw that it was true; half a dozen women and one man were hovering. And Beth had damn good reason to be nervous about leaving her kids alone with some fifteen-year-old. How would a sitter cope if the girls’ father came hammering on the door?

“No problem,” he conceded, stepping back.

“I’m sorry to run off like this,” she was saying to the president as they passed out of hearing. “I’ll check on those figures and give you a call….”

Something told Jack that Beth would be unavailable if he called her at work. She had just made her refusal that much more emphatic.

WHY COULDN’T Jack Murray look like the last Butte County sheriff, who’d had a tic under one eye and had spent a good deal of time heaving his belt upward to try to contain his belly?

But no, Murray moved with the contained grace of a man aware of his strength and able to use it. Despite a sexy mouth, a permanent crease over the bridge of his nose should have given him a Scrooge-like appearance, but instead lent him a brooding air guaranteed to attract the least susceptible of women. Her.

Was she an idiot to refuse to have dinner with the man? Beth wondered, unlocking her car. Maybe it was unfair to assume he was like Ray under the skin, when she had never heard him raise his voice or seen him show even a flicker of anger.

Chances were, it would turn out that they didn’t even like each other, and then she could quit waging this internal war.

Of course, she thought ruefully, maybe he’d had no intention of asking her out again. Maybe he had only wanted to know whether Ray had been behaving himself.

At home, Beth let herself in the kitchen door and found the baby-sitter in the living room, glued to the flickering television.

“Oh, hi, Mrs. Sommers.” Half her attention was still on the screen, until a commercial suddenly blared and Tiffany turned the set off.

“How did things go?” Beth asked briskly, counting out dollar bills from her wallet.

The teenager gave a blithe shrug. “Fine. I put them to bed a while ago.”

“Oh, good. Did, um, anybody call this evening?” Beth felt a little guilty about not warning Tiffany. But there were days when the phone didn’t ring at all, days when Ray was probably on the road hauling freight. She’d been afraid if she warned the teenager, Tiffany would tell the older sister raising her and she might refuse to let the girl baby-sit for Beth. A decent sitter was hard enough to come up with as it was; she didn’t dare scare off the two girls she used. As a single parent, she was too dependent on them.

“No, but Lauren told me you were getting lots of calls where somebody hangs up.” Tiffany’s eyes were bright with curiosity. “Maybe you should call the police or something.”

If one more person told her that, Beth thought she might scream. But she managed an offhanded smile. “Oh, if we ignore the whole thing, whoever is making the calls will give up.”

“You could get Caller ID,” she added helpfully.

“I am considering that.”

“You know, the sheriff for the whole county lives only a couple of doors down from us.” Tiffany marveled at the idea. “My sister said he was talking at the middle school tonight. You heard him, didn’t you? Isn’t he cool?” Despite the fact that Beth was now holding the front door open, the ponytailed teenager made no move to leave. She continued enthusiastically, “He was there talking to the principal when one of the chaperons for the dance caught a couple of guys spray-painting the administration building Friday night after the game. I don’t know what he said to them, I mean, they wouldn’t tell anybody, but everybody says he really scared them. I bet he could help you.”

Her open admiration made Beth grit her teeth. It also hardened her sagging resolve. She was not interested in a man who scared anybody—even teenage boys who probably deserved it.

“Thank you for your suggestion, Tiffany,” she said, in a tone that she hoped was both pleasant and dismissive. “I’ll watch until you get home.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Sommers.” Her feelings apparently not hurt, Tiffany bounded down the porch steps with all the grace of a puppy, and cut across the lawn. In the middle of the street she turned and cheerfully waved.

Beth waved back, waiting until the girl disappeared inside the brick house kitty-corner to her own. Only then did Beth close and lock the front door, her hand still fumbling on the unfamiliar brass dead bolt.

Every time she touched the shiny new locks, Beth was reminded of Ray. As she made her way up to bed, she acknowledged the sharp feeling of dread lodged in the pit of her stomach. This was Thursday night; tomorrow evening Steph and Lauren’s weekend with their dad began.

She lay in bed, sleep hours away, and prayed: Please let him be in a good mood. Please please please let him bring them home on time.

CHAPTER FOUR

STANDING IN the living room where she could keep one eye on the clock, the other on the empty street, Beth clutched the cordless phone in a grip so tight she felt as if the plastic case should crack.

Ray was now four hours and thirty-two minutes late bringing the girls home. Call the police, everyone had said. Finally, in terror, she’d known she had no other choice.

And look what good it had done her.

He’s how late? they’d asked. Only a few hours? Perhaps car trouble…

“Ma’am,” the officer on the other end of the line said patiently, “has your ex-husband threatened to take the children?”

Any other time, Beth would have been annoyed; tonight, his condescension only quickened the panic beating in her breast. He wasn’t going to help her. She could tell already.

“Not…explicitly.” She explained about the other weekends, when he had kept her waiting and laughed at her fear. Swallowing her shame, she told the officer about the shouted voices and the flowerpots shattering against her front door.

He listened, she had to give him credit for that much, but at the end he explained, “It doesn’t sound to me as if kidnapping is a real concern at this time.”

Kidnapping. The very word sent a shudder through her.

“When will you consider it a real concern?” Beth asked sharply.

“After twenty-four hours…”

“They’ll be long gone.” Through the state of Washington across the Canadian border. Down I-5 to Mexico. Would Ray be able to take the children out of the country without identification of any kind? A memory flickered, from long ago when they had been a family who took vacations together: a customs guard bending over to glance incuriously in the driver’s side window as he asked by rote how long they planned to stay in Victoria, B.C. Would he have asked any more questions if Ray or she had been alone with the children?

Oh, God.

Beth ended the call hastily and probably rudely; she didn’t care. She only knew that another ten minutes had passed, and Ray’s pickup hadn’t appeared. He’d had the girls for two nights this weekend, and was supposed to have had them home at one this afternoon. It was now…5:42. Dinnertime. She hadn’t even started the chicken casserole she’d intended to make tonight. Hadn’t thought of it. Didn’t know whether the chicken was spoiling on the kitchen counter or whether she’d put it back in the refrigerator.

What now?

She could drive over to Ray’s apartment. She’d done that once, two and a half hours ago, but his pickup hadn’t been in the slot and nobody had answered the doorbell.

He wouldn’t take the girls, Beth told herself for the hundredth time. The thousandth time. He couldn’t go and keep his job. He loved long-haul trucking; he owned his own rig, a huge investment. What would he do? Leave it? Anyway, he didn’t want to be a full-time parent.

No, he was just trying to get a rise out of her. Pacing, wringing her hands, Beth tried to convince herself that he wanted to upset her, but he hadn’t become unbalanced enough to destroy his own life just to destroy hers.

What were a few hours? If he’d asked, she wouldn’t have minded if he took the girls somewhere special this afternoon. If, when he brought them home, he saw that she wasn’t scared, only irritated, he’d quit doing this. Her fear fed him. She had to—somehow—hide it.

The old-fashioned mantel clock ticked, the tiny sound magnifying the silence, italics emphasizing a stark word. The tick was like her heartbeat as she tried to sit but somehow ended up standing at the front window again. How could it beat so hard and fast and yet the minutes pass so slowly?

Jack Murray would do more than listen. The thought tapped insidiously on her consciousness, a temptation so great she almost groaned aloud.

He’d told her to call if she needed him. She remembered his patience, his solid presence, the way he had so effortlessly cowed Ray. He hadn’t had any obligation to stop that night, or come to see her later. He did seem to sympathize.

Beth pressed her forehead to the glass and closed her eyes. Ray would be so angry if Jack Murray were here when he brought the girls home. She might as well wave a red cape.

But it wasn’t her fear of angering Ray that kept her from snatching up the phone again and dialing. It was the fact that the sheriff had asked her on a date….

No. Her breath clouded the windowpane. She had to be honest with herself. What really bothered her was the expression in his dark eyes when he looked at her, and the way that made her feel. She was bruised inside by her marriage and divorce. She didn’t want to be aware of a man. She wasn’t ready.

Would never be ready for the Butte County sheriff, a man who had to be as capable of violence as Ray was.

Beth held out for another fifteen agonizing minutes. She called Ray’s apartment and listened to his curt message: “If you want me to call, leave your number.”

“Ray,” she said, “I expected Steph and Lauren home some time ago. Please phone me.”

When the clock chimed softly six times, Beth knew she couldn’t bear the silence anymore, the relentless tick of the second hand, the empty street. She reached for the phone. Only then did it occur to her that Jack Murray might not be at home waiting for her call.

Painful relief surged through her when he picked up after the third ring and said brusquely, “Murray here.”

“Sheriff, this is Beth Sommers. Your neighbor. Um, the one who…”

“Has troubles with her ex-husband. I know who you are, Beth. Is he there now?”

“No.” Her chest felt as if it were being crushed. “Ray had the girls this weekend. He was supposed to bring them home at one today. He’s…he’s five hours late. I called the Elk Springs police, but they can’t do anything until twenty-four hours has passed. I could tell they thought I was being hysterical. Maybe I am….” Her voice was rising and she had to swallow a sob.

“I’ll be right over.” She heard a click and more silence, but a different brand this time.

He was coming. He would find Ray and the girls. Her anger had long since been swamped by fear, but tears hadn’t threatened until this minute, when she no longer felt so helpless and alone.

The sheriff arrived in an unmarked dark blue sedan. Beth rushed to unlock the front door. At the sight of the tall, dark man striding up her walkway, she was shocked by her desire to throw herself into his arms and cry against his shoulder. She had always been so independent—too much so for Ray’s taste. Even when times were toughest, she’d never been so tempted to trust a man to take care of her.

He took the porch steps two at a time. “Any word?”

Beth shook her head, her lips pressed together. Hold me, her heart cried.

She stood back and said stiffly, “Thank you. For coming.”

“I told you to call me.” He stopped on the doorstep, his brown eyes searching her face. “Why did you wait so long?”

“I was sure he’d show up. It’s a game for him. No, it’s not,” she reversed herself. “He hurts, and somehow that’s warped him. He wasn’t like this. He loved the girls!”

Without a word, Jack stepped forward and enfolded her in his arms. Off balance, she had to wrap hers around his waist. It felt so natural to lean against him and lay her cheek against his broad chest. His heart drummed beneath her ear and for just an instant she felt…safe.

But she wasn’t. Steph and Lauren weren’t. She couldn’t assume some man would fix troubles made by another one.

Beth stiffened and drew away.

Briefly his arms tightened, then freed her. Without comment, Jack said, “Give me his address and phone number. We’ll start there.”

Beth led him into the kitchen. “I just left another message ten or fifteen minutes ago.”

“I’ll send a deputy to his place.”

“Thank you.” She swallowed and willed herself not to cry. “I don’t think he’s there, but…thank you.”

He reached for her but stopped himself. “You’re welcome.”

She listened as he made the call. Brewing coffee gave her something to do while they waited. When she put the cup in front of him, he looked up.

“Where else does he take them?”

Beth sagged into the chair. “Not much of anywhere. Just recently Steph was saying that he’s always promising something special and then reneging. They mostly hang around at his place. Play computer games and watch TV. They get bored.”

He watched her steadily. “Do they go fishing? For walks? To the softball field?”

A spark of hope flared to life. “Wait. A friend of his has a cabin on the Deschutes. I wonder…”

The phone rang. She pounced on it, her heart drumming. “Hello?”

“Sheriff Murray handy?”

Almost holding her breath, she passed the phone to him.

“Yeah?” He frowned. “Okay. Let me call you in a minute.” Setting down the phone, Jack shook his head. “No sign they’re there.”

“Oh, no.” She twisted her fingers together and tried desperately to think. “The friend’s name is Bill. Bill… Oh, what is it?” she exclaimed in frustration. “Why can’t I remember?”

Jack’s big hand covered hers. “Hey.” His voice was a soft rumble. “Calm down. It’ll come to you.”

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