Safe by the Marshal's Side

She shrugged, and he could see the doubt in her eyes. She let it drop, though. “You said something about a doll. What were you talking about?”

He explained briefly, watching as she paled. She had a few freckles on her cheeks and nose, and her eyes were deep sapphire-blue. The first time he’d seen her, he’d thought she was about sixteen, she’d looked so young.

She was older than that by a decade, but she still gave off a young and innocent vibe, a naïveté that made him worry more than he probably should about what she would do and where she would go after she finished testifying.

“Sophia’s doll was missing,” she said, her voice tight.

Her comment chased every other thought away. “What doll? When did it go missing?”

“Right after Joe died. I looked everywhere for it when I was packing things to take to Milwaukee. I thought maybe Joe had put it somewhere the night he was...” She shook her head.

“What did the doll look like?”

“It was a rag doll. Nothing expensive. Just all cloth with dark hair and dark eyes. Joe bought it for Sophia’s first birthday. I made a pink dress for it.”

“Sophia was at a sitter’s house the night your husband was killed, wasn’t she?” he asked. He knew the facts, but sometimes revisiting them helped witnesses recall details that they hadn’t before. This was the first he’d heard about a doll, and he wanted to hear more.

“Yes.”

“Could the doll have been left there?”

“The sitter said Sophia didn’t have it with her. I think Joe rushed while he was packing her bag and forgot it. Usually, I was the one...” She pressed her lips together. “Sorry. I’m rambling.”

“How about you let me decide if that’s the case? You usually did what?”

“Packed Sophia’s diaper bag. Joe wasn’t very good at remembering what she needed, but since she wasn’t supposed to be at the sitter’s that night, I didn’t bother.”

“That’s right. You thought she was going to be at home, didn’t you?”

“Yes.” She frowned. “I’m glad she wasn’t, though. Things could have turned out even worse.”

True. But was she glad she’d been lied to?

Was she glad her husband, who was supposed to be caring for their child, had probably been planning to do a little gambling while his wife was away?

A little?

The guy had been knee-deep in debt with no way of getting out of it.

Hunter didn’t mention that.

It would have been like rubbing salt in an open wound.

Besides, Annie was right—if Sophia had been home, she might have been hurt. Or worse. “You’re sure the doll didn’t go with her to the sitter? Maybe with all the trauma—”

“Sophia was crying for it.” She cut him off, her eyes flashing with irritation. “The sitter left a message for Joe asking him to bring it. I didn’t know about the message until months later since the police confiscated our answering machine. There’s a transcript if you’re interested.”

“You’re angry,” he pointed out, and she frowned.

“No, I’m upset. I’m frustrated. I want my life back. I am not angry.”

“Okay,” he agreed.

He’d have been angry. He’d have wanted a little justice, too.

“Sophia is tired.” She touched her daughter’s dark curls. “I’m going to tuck her in for the night.”

She pivoted and walked away, her hair swaying, her body hidden by a layer of faded denim and an oversize Rams sweatshirt. Was it her husband’s?

Not something that concerned Hunter, but he didn’t want to think that Annie was still mourning the man who’d lied to her, stolen from their family and caused her heartache on top of heartache.

“Not your business,” he muttered as he turned back to the security monitor, grabbed his cell phone and dialed Joshua’s number.

THREE

Annie woke with a start, her heart racing, a scream dying in her throat.

Darkness shadowed the furniture and lay deep and thick in the corners of the room. She sat up, her feet touching cool hardwood.

It took a moment to know where she was.

The safe house.

Safe apartment.

Not the kitchen of the little St. Louis rental she and Joe had chosen after their wedding. Not standing with a gun pointed at her head while Joe moaned on the floor, blood seeping from his chest. Night after night, she dreamed of that moment. The split second when the gun had misfired and the man who’d been pointing it at her had run.

Annie shuddered.

The sun would rise in a couple of hours. She’d feel better then, the nightmare fading, her fear fading with it.

She eased off the bed, trying not to disturb Sophia. She could hear her deep, even breathing, knew she was soundly asleep. Not hungry or scared or cold. She was a blessed little girl. Even under the circumstances. Even without a father’s love. Even with the moves and the disruptions, she had more than so many children did.

Annie had tried to keep that in mind during the past year.

She paced to the window, the old wood floor creaking under her feet. Icy rain splattered against the brick facade of the building, cold air drifting in through the single pane glass. She shivered, rubbing her arms, her stomach growling. She hadn’t eaten much the night before.

She thought about going to the kitchen to search for something to eat, but she didn’t want to face Hunter. He’d brought her the baby supplies Serena had managed to buy, asked if she needed anything. She’d told him no, but she had needed something. She’d needed someone to talk to, someone who could take her mind off the nightmare she seemed to be living in.

She hadn’t told him that, of course. She’d just said good-night and closed the door. Otherwise, she might have burst into tears and made a total fool of herself.

Someone knocked on the door, the soft tap barely sounding above the splattering rain.

She opened the door and found herself looking at Hunter’s chest. His very muscular chest.

She blushed, looking up and meeting his dark eyes.

“Did you get the photo of the doll?” She couldn’t think of any other reason for him to knock on her door at three in the morning.