Jack Murray, Sheriff

“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?”