The Sheriff's Surrender. Marilyn Pappano

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СКАЧАТЬ and left the room almost as spotless as she’d found it. She couldn’t do anything about her scents that lingered, but they would be gone before Reese ever noticed them.

      Kind of like her.

      Suddenly weary, Neely returned to the bedroom, put the toiletries back in the suitcase and folded her dirty clothes on top of it, then stretched out on top of the covers. She felt more alone in that instant than she’d ever felt before. Even her toughest times—when her father had been taken away in handcuffs, when Reese had left her bleeding on the courthouse steps, when she’d lain in the hospital praying that he would come to see her, when she’d driven away from Thomasville and known she would never return—hadn’t felt quite like this. If she were a weaker woman, she would cry, but she’d learned well that crying resolved nothing. It hadn’t brought her father back, or Reese. It hadn’t made her feel any less betrayed or helped her deal with her disappointments.

      She’d had so many disappointments, and had caused so many more.

      When this was over—if she survived—she needed a new life and a new job in a new place. She would forget about making a difference, about helping people or being important to someone, and she would concentrate on keeping to herself, not getting involved, not doing any harm or destroying any lives. She could work as a waitress or get some dreary office-drone job where she would spend her days alone in a cubicle, having little contact with the outside world and zero chances to screw up.

      As she turned onto her side to face the window, she smiled faintly. She didn’t indulge in self-pity often, but when she did, she did it well. Anyone watching her now would think her life had gone to hell in a handbasket, when the truth was, she still had a lot. No one could take away her law degree and ten years of hard-learned experience. Her bank accounts were healthy beyond her greediest dreams. She owned a beautiful house that would bring a small fortune in Kansas City’s current market. She was alive and well, at least for the time being, and might actually manage to stay that way. She had a lot to live for.

      Just not the sort of things she’d always imagined herself having by now. No family, but sisters with problems of their own and a mother who’d never been more than ineffectual. A house, but no home. Acquaintances, but no friends. Occasional sex partners, but no lovers.

      No Reese.

      She smiled again, but this time there was no self-mocking in it. Just enduring regret that she feared would never go away.

      Waiting for sleep to overtake her, she stared out the window until her eyes grew gritty, until simple tiredness passed into fatigue. She watched the already-dark sky turn even blacker as a storm crept in, taking its sweet time in reaching Heartbreak. Lightning appeared first, far off on the horizon, then before long, distant thunder rumbled through the night—low, deep, unsettling. It seemed to vibrate through the cabin’s thick log walls, through the wooden planks of the floor and the old oak bed, and right on through her body—long, relentless grumbles. She tossed restlessly, then gave up and went to the nearest window.

      She loved thunderstorms—loved their primal edge, their cathartic fury. They were less impressive back home, where the lightning had to compete with millions of city lights, where the thunder was often just one more grumble in a clamor of city noise. But here there was only one man-made light—a flood lamp outside the barn—and the thunder was challenged only by the wind and the approaching rain. If she were free to do whatever she wanted, she would go outside on the front porch, curl up in one of the rockers and breathe deeply of the clean, sweet air. She would let the wind blow her hair and clothes every which way and when the driving rain arrived, she would let it drench her to the skin, and maybe, once the storm had passed, she would have been washed just a little bit cleaner.

      But she wasn’t free, and the way her luck was running, the first bolt of lightning that struck would be drawn unerringly to her soaked, superconductor body. Then everyone’s problems would be solved—Eddie Forbes’s, Jace’s, Reese’s and her own.

      The flood lamp out back flickered, went off, came on and went off again as the power inside the house surged and ebbed. Next door the refrigerator cycled on and off, as did the central air, before finally shutting down in a silence that seemed eerie compared to the activity outside.

      Now she could go outside. Without power, the security alarm would be worthless—unless Reese had installed some sort of backup power source, which he probably had. Besides, if she managed to get out without setting off the alarm, the electricity would surely come back on while she was outside and she would trigger it coming back in and, believing she was an intruder, Reese would blow her away—or, at least, that would be his story. And who would dispute him? Worse, who would care?

      But staying inside didn’t mean having to stay in her room, standing at one small window. Neely opened her door, listened, then carefully felt her way through the darkness to the living room. Flashes of lightning led her to a chair in front of the ten-foot-long window, where she curled up, head resting on one fist, and watched the show outside.

      She’d been there five minutes, maybe less, when the power started flickering again. Sounding like the little engine that couldn’t, the computer tried to boot up, shut down, then tried again. Finding her way by lightning and touch, she knelt under the desk to turn off the power strip and unplug it from the wall. She’d lost a computer once from just such activity, and though she was sure Reese wouldn’t show the least bit of gratitude, she saw no reason to sit idly by while it happened to him.

      She was resettled in the chair, watching as a curtain of rain moved through the blackjacks and across the yard, listening to its great thundering rush, when a thud sounded nearby, followed by a grunt of pain and a curse. She watched as a shadowy form pushed aside the wooden desk chair she’d pulled from its usual spot, then knelt in front of the desk—waited until he was half under, then quietly said, “I’ve already unplugged the computer.”

      The next thud was louder—the back of Reese’s head connecting with the underside of the desk’s center drawer—and the next curse was harsher. She didn’t spare him any sympathy—he was hardheaded enough—but turned her attention back to the storm. The rain was pounding the metal roof now in a staccato rhythm that would wake the soundest sleeper…or perhaps lull the lightest off to sleep.

      She was right about the gratitude. He sat in the chair that matched hers and fixed a weighty gaze on her that she couldn’t see but could certainly feel. “What the hell are you doing up?”

      “Am I restricted to my room at night? If so, you should have made that clear. Or maybe it would be best if you’d just reset the doorknob to the guest room so that it locks from the outside.”

      Lightning lit the night sky and the room, giving her an all-too-clear look at him. He wore a pair of jeans and nothing else, and he looked incredible. Broad-shouldered, muscular, smooth tanned skin, narrow waist, ridged belly, lean hips…In sudden need of a cool splash of water, she directed her gaze outside again.

      “It’s three in the morning.” His voice was sullen, but surprisingly pleasant—low, deep, masculine—in spite of it. “Why aren’t you asleep?”

      “Why aren’t you?” She wasn’t about to admit that she couldn’t sleep because she was feeling sorry for herself, because she found being thrown together with him again so unsettling. No way was she going to speculate that subconsciously she was afraid to sleep, because the last time she’d done it, someone had tried to kill her. Show him any sign of weakness and, just like other predators, he would use it against her.

      “Do you always answer questions with questions?”

      “No. Sometimes I don’t answer them at all. On rare occasions, I actually СКАЧАТЬ