Whispers Under A Southern Sky

Sam had written a report about that night and mailed it to himself, as well as local police, as soon as he’d turned eighteen.

He’d kept his own copy—unopened but postmarked—and given it to a superior officer at the police academy along with his application. The cop had filed it with his records, helping preserve the evidence so it was still admissible in the case against Covington.

“Not that my notes help much to connect that incident to him.” Sam had berated himself a million times for not pulling the mask off the guy’s face instead of running after Gabriella to make sure she was safe.

“We’ll find something.” Zach pounded a fist on the table, making Sam’s map jump. “We’re going to find more victims, and one of them is going to have the piece of evidence that ties it all together to nail Covington’s ass.”

Sam had thought so at first, but months into this case with little progress, he was starting to wonder. Shoving back from the table, he headed over to the pull-up bar he’d installed in an archway between the conference room and the kitchenette.

The chin-ups at least got his blood flowing when his brain shut off. Reaching for it now, he began to haul his body upward until his chin was parallel with the bar. Then he lowered himself slowly and repeated the motion.

“Why don’t people come forward to prosecute scumbags?” He didn’t understand why anyone would remain under the thumb of someone who hurt them.

“You have to ask? We had reasons for not going to the cops as kids.” Zach reached for a bowl of peanuts on the conference table. They were left over from a retirement party they’d given one of the women in the clerk’s office.

He tossed a nut in the air and caught it in his mouth while Sam kept pounding out pull-ups.

“Yeah, child services could have separated you and Gabriella once they realized your mom wasn’t taking care of you. I was afraid the cops would find out I’d beaten the guy up and send me to juvie since Gabriella didn’t want to tell anyone what really happened.” Sam had gone over and over their options in his head and knew they’d done the best they could at the time.

“Right. And everyone else who avoids talking to cops feels like they have good reasons, too.” Zach tossed another nut and centered his head beneath it so it fell straight onto his tongue before he chomped it.

Sam raised and lowered himself. Raised and lowered.

“They don’t, though. I went to the high school this week to talk to the kids, since the bastard tends to target teen girls. But all that most of the kids cared about was that their parents would take their phones away if they found out they were texting late at night. I don’t call that a good reason for not stepping up to do your civic duty.”

It was damn lazy and self-centered, in fact. He’d had a tough time responding to those kinds of concerns from the kids who’d participated in the discussion after his talk.

At their age, he didn’t have a home, let alone a cell phone. And even as a teen he would have done anything and everything to protect the people he called friends. He had, in fact.

So he couldn’t understand kids who closed their eyes when they saw their peers in trouble.

“But scaring them off isn’t going to help our cause,” Zach said as he pulled the map of the quarry closer to examine it. “We need those kids to think of us as their friends, dude.”

“Then you should have been the one to talk to them.” Sam released the bar and dropped to his feet, grateful that the rush of blood through his veins was chasing off some of the sluggishness. “I’m a walking zombie lately. No sleep isn’t exactly enhancing my public face.”

“Which was already so warm and fuzzy.” Zach never looked up from the map.

“I didn’t become a cop to play guidance counselor to a bunch of teenagers.”

“Well, this is Heartache.” Zach finally glanced up. “It’s not the kind of town that needs a lot of policing, so as long as you’re here, you’re going to have to do some public outreach.”

“Or I can deputize the guidance counselor.” Sam scooped his keys off the desk, wanting to get away from the office and air out his brain. “But right now, I need a plan to unearth more witnesses.”

He headed for the door that led into the town hall. Normally he’d be inside for the biweekly court session. Sam liked to be there so he could clarify any of his reports for the judge or argue with defendants who wanted to dispute arrests or citations. But this week, the docket was light. Probably because he’d been too deep in the Covington case to spend much time on anything else.

Stepping out into the parking lot, he was striding toward his pickup when a familiar silver sedan slipped into a spot next to his.

Heather Finley, Zach’s fiancée. Sam lifted a hand in greeting. He had old history with the Finley family since he’d dated Heather’s younger sister, Amy, back in high school. But she’d left Heartache not long after Sam, and her otherwise close-knit family didn’t mention her much.

“Sam.” Heather flagged him down before he could pass her, waving at him as she opened the driver’s-side door. “Do you have a minute?”

Honestly, if he could have come up with an excuse to avoid social chitchat, he would have. He liked Heather just fine. She was a kind and talented woman, volunteering with the town’s rec department to teach music to local kids whenever she wasn’t building her own following as a country-music performer.

And while Sam admired Heather for understanding her civic duty and testifying in the Covington trial, small talk had never been his strong suit.

Especially with the Finley family. He’d never forgotten the way they’d alienated one of their own.

“Zach’s inside,” he said, halting his pace. “Conference room.”

“Great.” She gave him a lopsided smile, her long red curls covering the shoulders of her bright green trench coat. “I owe him lunch after he drove me to Nashville last weekend. But I wanted to check in with you first.” She hit the key fob to lock her car doors. “Are you still living on Partridge Hill Road near the town line?”

“I rent a place up there, yeah.” Having some space between him and the rest of Heartache made the longer drive to work well worth it.

“My sister is moving into our old hunting cabin off one of the dirt roads at the top of the hill—”

“I thought Erin and Remy liked being close to your family?”

“Not Erin.” Her pause seemed to stretch out for minutes. Hours. “Amy.”

“Amy?” Sam hadn’t allowed himself to think about Amy Finley in years. Well, except when she sneaked into an occasional dream.

She’d been his high school girlfriend. A relationship they’d kept quiet at her insistence because of her mother’s instability. A relationship he’d been forced to walk away from to help Zach’s sister. They’d left town in a hurry, scared that Gabby’s stalker would try to attack her again. They’d agreed Gabriella would be safest if no one knew where they were going. He hadn’t even said goodbye to Amy. Weeks later he’d sent a message to tell her he’d had to leave to help a friend, but she hadn’t responded.

And now, after ten years of silence, she was back. Holy hell.

“Yes. It took a long time, but Erin and I finally convinced her to come home to Heartache, at least temporarily. She’s going to renovate my father’s hunting cabin into a real home so we can put it on the market. I’m hoping she’ll stay for my wedding.” Heather tucked a strand of hair behind one ear. “I thought maybe, if you knew she was up there, you could keep an eye on her.”

No.

The reaction was strong and immediate. He wasn’t going to put himself anywhere near Amy Finley. Didn’t matter that their relationship had died a cruel death a decade ago. He didn’t need any more trouble with women than he already had.

“She’d be...what? Twenty-seven years old by now?” He rubbed the back of his neck, where his exhaustion was turning into a knot of tension. “She won’t want a watchdog.”

He tried to temper the refusal with a grin, but he had the feeling it came across more of a grimace.

“I’m sure she doesn’t.” Heather surprised him by agreeing. “But it’s a remote cabin, and the access is limited. I just thought you’d want to know someone is living up there for at least a few months. If you see anything suspicious, keep in mind she’s all alone on that hill.”

Guilt crowded away the bout of selfishness.

“Of course.” He nodded, accepting the responsibility that he suspected would only stir up trouble. “I never consider myself off duty, anyhow. I’ll know if anyone goes up or down that road.”

Zach’s fiancée beamed. She didn’t look much like Amy, who he remembered as rail thin and tall with skin so pale he could spot veins beneath its surface in bright sunlight. But there was a radiance in Heather’s eyes that was similar to her younger sister’s, a happiness so joyous a person would have to lack a pulse not to smile back.

Sam did just that.

“Thank you. I feel better knowing you’ll check on her since I’m not sure when she’ll be ready to see any of her family.” Heather bit her lip for a moment before continuing. “For now, I’m just happy she’s home for however long she’s here.” She reached to give his forearm a gentle squeeze before she brushed by him to enter town hall, her suede pumps tapping a purposeful rhythm while Sam tried to recover from her news.

Amy Finley. Back in Heartache.