The Honeymoon Cottage (A Pajaro Bay Romance) (12 page)

"What happened?" she whispered.

"Sara wanted to go to the market downtown. It's about two blocks away." He paused, drawing strength from the warmth of her hand. "I took her, because I didn't think she should walk there by herself. We walked in on a robbery in progress. I was off-duty, of course, but I pushed her behind me and drew my gun."

"uh huh."

"The perp and I stared each other down for a—for I don't know how long—it seemed like an hour but was about ten seconds according to the witnesses."

He was saying too much, trying to excuse his mistakes, trying to make sense of something completely senseless.

"He fired. She was killed instantly." He said it flatly, not mentioning his growing horror as he had winged the creep, ran after him as he escaped, been stopped by the screams of witnesses—and then turned back to see something he'd seen so many other times, but never with someone he was responsible for: the empty eyes staring, the blood everywhere, the sure knowledge that he'd failed to keep the promise he'd made to Angela, to Honor and Protect her and Sara till death did them part.

How could he explain the betrayal he saw in Angie's eyes when he told her. The look on her face reflecting the guilt on his own, the keening cry that tore out of her throat echoing the emptiness in his own soul. None of that.

"What happened to the man who shot her?"

"He's spending life at San Quentin. He said it flatly. "With the trash just like him."

She started at that. "San Quentin?" she said in a strangled voice.

He kept staring out the windshield, only her warm hand anchoring him to the present, keeping him from cracking as he told Camilla about the awful year that had just ended: the obsessive tracking of every clue to the perp until the answer had come together like the shaking of puzzle pieces into place. The arrest of the man, long-gone to some other town. The plea bargain where the killer avoided the death penalty in exchange for a life sentence. The press. The decision stay on the job here. Then the realization that he couldn't do it. Couldn't be in a position to ever make a fatal mistake again. The realization that he didn't want to ever be responsible for other people's lives again.

When he'd finished he realized he was leaning forward, his forehead resting against the steering wheel, and Camilla had her hand on his back, and she was saying, "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry," over and over.

~*~

Chapter 6

Ryan sat back in the car seat. He twisted around so she took her hand off of him.

"I'm so sorry, Ryan. I know saying that doesn't help."

"Sure it does. It's over. It's just part of the past."

But Camilla didn't look like she believed him. "It must be hard to think about." Obviously she was thinking about how he'd lost it just a few minutes ago, acting like a fool and spilling the whole thing to her.

He shrugged. "It's better not to talk about it. Sorry I brought it up."

She put her hand on his again, and he saw she was about to go all sympathetic on him. He needed to change the subject, fast, before he ended up losing it again.

"So, about Oliver," he said.

She pulled her hand back. "We don't have to talk about it now. I know you're having a hard day."

"No, I'm not. And we need to talk about it."

"Okay. You asked for it." She said it like she was mad. And apparently she was. "Don't ever do that again."

"Do what?"

"Try to grill him about his father."

"I wasn't grilling him," he started, but she raised an eyebrow at him. "Okay, but it wasn't grilling. I was just taking the opportunity to ask him questions."

"Well, don't."

His eyes narrowed. "Why not, Camilla?"

"Don't look at me like that. I'm not protecting Dennis. I'm protecting Oliver. I'll get more info out of him in time, but I'm not going to have you putting him in some police interrogation room, with cops staring him down and trying to trip up his story."

"You've seen too much TV."

She looked really mad at that. "I'm not as young as you seem to think I am, Ryan. I know how the world works."

He must have grinned, because she said, spitting mad, "How old do you think I am? Twelve? I'm an adult."

"You're only 24." Those big eyes widened, so he added, "I saw your driver's license, remember?"

"Oh, yeah. Well, that's not young. I know how the world works."

He knew exactly how young and helpless that was. "My baby sister's 24," he explained. "That's awfully young for the amount of responsibility you have."

"What, is your sister still in diapers, Ryan?"

"No. But she's still in Sacramento, and I'm her only family."

"Oh. What does she do up there?"

"She runs a restaurant," he said, and Camilla laughed.

"Doesn't sound exactly helpless, Ryan. What are you, some kind of sexist? You think a woman can't take car of herself?"

"Of course not. That's not what I mean." He felt as protective of Joe Serrano as he did of anyone. It wasn't sexist. The fact was, he knew most people had no clue how tough it could be out there.

"You've got a strange way of looking at things, Ryan. How old are you, anyway, old timer?"

"28."

She laughed even harder, but he didn't see anything funny about it. He was a lifetime older than Camilla, or Leah, or Joe Serrano, or anybody else he was responsible for. She just didn't get it.

"Well, old man, I can see you've got a lot of experience and wisdom we don't have."

"Listen, Camilla. There's a lot you don't know."

"Oh, I'm sure." She was still smiling, but he wasn't kidding. The dumb kid was going to get herself killed, and he was rattling on about his life story. Why did he keep telling her things that were irrelevant to the job he was here to do? He needed to get her to pay attention to what he needed to say.

"Stop laughing and listen to me!" It came out sounding pretty harsh, and Camilla jerked her head back like he'd really offended her.

She stuck out that stubborn little jaw at him, folded her arms across her chest, and glared.

"I'm sorry," he said, seeing her ready to get all pigheaded on him. "I'm just trying to tell you something, and I need you to listen."

She unclenched her jaw, but kept her arms crossed protectively. "All right, Captain Ryan. I'm listening."

"Do you park your car out on the street at night?"

"Well, I don't think I can fit it in the garden shed." She glared at him. "So?"

"Did you park it on the street before you came to town yesterday?"

"No. My apartment in San Jose had a parking garage."

"And you ran out of gas on your way to Pajaro Bay."

"Yeah. I practically coasted off the highway onto Calle Principal. You know that. You were there. That's when you went all white knight on me and got me home last night. And I did fill it up only 50 miles earlier. I'm not stupid."

"I never said you were."

"So what difference does it make where I parked?" Her eyes lit up. "Oh! You think someone's siphoning off my gas. That makes sense—no, wait. It doesn't. I ran out of gas on the way into town, and then again this morning. If you're trying to convince me someone's trailing me around, siphoning gas out of my car, that's ridiculous. That's a dumb idea."

She still didn't get what he was trying to say—what he was avoiding saying, because the thought of someone trying to harm this wide-eyed innocent made him sick. "I didn't say someone was siphoning of your gas."

"Then what are you saying, Ryan? Get to the point."

"Your car has a hole in the gas tank."

"Oh." She relaxed her shoulders. "Oh, it makes sense now." She uncrossed her arms and rested her palms against the dashboard. She seemed relieved. He watched her small, pale hands on the dash. They looked fragile, and he wanted to cover them with his own hands, feel their warmth against him again.

"So that's not too expensive to fix, I hope." She was smiling again, seeming really relieved that it was "only" a punctured tank. Then she frowned again. "Then why are you asking all these questions about where I park? What difference does it make?"

"I'm trying to figure out when it happened."

"Yeah," she said, perking up. "Hey, yeah. I mean, if I bought a car with a hole in the tank the seller should pay for it, not me."

Ryan jumped on that. "Who sold you the car?"

"A used car dealer in the city. I got the car about a week ago when I couldn't make payments on my other car. But, you know, I didn't have this problem until yesterday."

"Yesterday?" He resisted the urge to get out his notebook and write this down. He could compile the info later. Keep her talking. "So that's the first time you noticed the problem?"

She nodded. "In fact yesterday was only the second time I filled the tank. The gas lasted a long time after the first fill-up. So I don't think there was a hole in it before."

"What the name of the dealer?"

"Why? It's not your problem. I'll call him once I get the repair bill and I can argue with him about who's responsible."

"I need the name of the dealer."

"Why?"

How was he going to explain this to her? "Did Dennis ever threaten you in any way?"

"What? Are you kidding? I told you. He was always nice to me. You think I would've agreed to—well, everything, him and Oliver and the whole thing—if he was abusive? How dumb do you think I am?"

"I didn't say you were dumb." Naive, maybe, but not dumb. "I just wondered if you had any idea where Dennis has been since the arrest warrant came out."

She was all tensed up again. Her arms were crossed, and she was spitting mad. "If I knew where Dennis was, he'd be cooling his heels in jail and I'd be home free."

Ryan tried to find the right way to say it. He didn't want her to shut him out, but he seemed to be blowing this.

"Just spit it out, Captain Ryan. This is not the time to be a clam."

"Is it possible Dennis wants you out of the way for some reason—maybe to keep you from testifying against him in the embezzlement case?"

"Wait a minute here. He wouldn't sabotage the car to get to me—Oliver could get hurt."

He just watched her. Waited for it to sink in.

"Are you out of your freaking mind? He would never, ever hurt Oliver."

"We already talked about this, Camilla. People do hurt children. Even though it's wrong. Even though it's unthinkable."

"Why? Because Sara was shot, now you think everyone's a killer?" She threw open the car door and jumped out. "You're paranoid. Get some therapy, Captain Ryan." The car door slammed.

He realized two things. She was a strong door slammer for such a little thing. And he'd totally blown that conversation.

He sat there watching her stomp down the path to the garden gate, swing it open, then slam it shut behind her with a thud. A minute later, he heard the cottage door creak open on those protesting hinges, then another loud crash as the door slammed shut.

He shook his head. "Brilliant, Knight. Just brilliant police work."

He started up the SUV and pulled a U-turn to head back down Cliff toward town.

At the corner he stopped.

He flicked on the turn signal.

Get some therapy, Captain Ryan. Maybe. Maybe that's what he needed. Maybe he saw demons in every innocent accident now.

He listened to the turn signal's rhythmic click, and watched the green arrow on the dashboard flash on and off, pointing him down Calle Principal toward the Substation.

I don't want to be responsible for other people anymore. That's what he'd said, and that's what he believed.

But what had Oliver said? Daddy always says it's better to be safe than sorry.

He turned off the turn signal. Then pulled another U-turn and headed back up Cliff. He pulled the SUV onto the gravel next to Miss Zelda's driveway and shut off the engine. From here he could get a peek through the trees at the little Honeymoon Cottage.

No street lights out here, and the fog blocked the moon now. The cottage was just a ghostly shadow beyond the trees.

He settled in to wait.

~*~

Camilla found Oliver already in his pajamas huddled down in his sleeping bag on the living room floor. "Cold," he said. It did feel cold in here. There was a meager-looking space heater in the hallway upstairs, and the old fireplace down here, but she wasn't sure either of them was safe to use. Getting someone to inspect the heater and the chimney would have to eat up a portion of her cash soon.

"Maybe tomorrow we'll get some firewood and get this old fireplace going," she said. Tomorrow she'd get some sort of heat for this place, and maybe even talk to Robin about bringing in those potential buyers, since her own out-of-town real estate agent didn't seem to be doing much.

She had to let go of Ryan's awful accusations about Dennis and focus on taking care of Oliver and herself. Poor kid. He had enough problems without a nosy cop trying to get him to betray his father. She should have known better than to trust a big, sexy guy with piercing eyes that saw right through her. Just because he sent her body into overdrive every time she saw him was no reason to let down her guard around him. She had been right about him—he was just using her and Oliver to try to catch Dennis.

Well fine. She wanted Dennis caught, too. But not at the expense of Oliver's peace of mind. Dennis wasn't trying to hurt his son. She was pretty sure that had just been Ryan's justification for pushing Oliver so hard and upsetting him. He was trying to make excuses because he knew how mad she was. Well it hadn't worked. Sure, she felt bad about his family. That was a horrible thing. But that didn't give him freedom to tear Oliver and her apart in his quest to catch Dennis.

She knelt down next to Oliver and brushed his hair back from his forehead. He was safe. She was going to make sure he stayed safe. She'd get them out of here soon.

She glanced at her watch. "It's late now, Sweetie. Go to sleep. You have another school day tomorrow."

"I'm not sleepy yet." She could tell he was lying, since he could barely keep his eyes open, but she just sat with him, to reassure him that it was okay to relax.