Shielding the Suspect. C.J. Miller

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      Her eyes popped open at the sound of Brady’s voice. The melodic quality spoke to her, made her feel hot and tingly. Why hadn’t she put those sensuous feelings to rest long ago? He’d walked away from her. She’d reached out to him in the hospital when he might have needed a friend, and he’d rejected her. No explanations, no apologies. Her suspicions rose. “Why do you have charcoal?”

      “You made it look easy when you drew. You swore it was therapeutic. When the shrink at the hospital insisted I give a new hobby a shot, I tried drawing.”

      Brady had tried drawing with charcoal? He’d never expressed interest in art before. “I’m surprised you gave it a chance. Did you like it?”

      “I couldn’t draw anything. I tried. You create beautiful pictures and make it look effortless. Most of my attempts looked like scribbles and smudges a blindfolded preschooler would draw.”

      Despite the heaviness of her heart, she laughed. It was a laugh she needed and some of the tension released in her chest. “You need time to work with them,” she said. “Art doesn’t come quickly to everyone. Maybe you’d do better with a different medium. Like photography.” She touched the owl necklace at her neck, combination jewelry and storage device where she kept pictures she cherished. Though photography had been a hobby since her teens, she’d gotten more serious with it when she’d been dating Brady. He’d been an amazing subject. “We offer introductory classes at the gallery.”

      “I don’t think I was cut out for artwork,” Brady said. “A hobby that frustrates me isn’t what the shrink has in mind.”

      It was the second time he’d mentioned the therapist and it startled her. Brady was normally closed off about anything that affected him emotionally. She’d suspected his physical injuries had a deeper impact on him. To what degree was he coping? Losing his position with the pararescuemen had to have devastated him. His career had meant a great deal to him. He’d put it before everything else. Including her.

      “Why the mighty frown?” he asked.

      Susan needed to better censor her facial expressions. Especially around Brady. A natural observer, he watched the world around him and was excellent at deciphering thoughts and feelings from a look, a movement or a hand motion. Despite his outgoing and high-energy nature, when he wanted to relax, he could sit for hours and observe. They had done that together some days. She with her sketch pad in her lap, using what she saw for inspiration and Brady with his arm around her. She slammed closed the door on those memories. They were too painful to revisit now.

      “Just thinking.” She had enough problems in her life. She didn’t need to give specifics.

      “We’ll work this out.”

      He sounded sure of himself and that was classic Brady. Determined when he set his mind to it. But if solving the case were that easy, the police would have done so by now. Granted, from the beginning the lead investigator had seemed bent on blaming her.

      “The police haven’t come up with anything and all that’s keeping me out of jail is that Justin’s body hasn’t been found.” Sadness bit into her. Justin deserved a proper burial to bring closure to his family and the people who’d loved him.

      A muscle flexed in Brady’s jaw. “The killer probably disposed of the body in the water. It would be difficult to carry it down the pier without being seen.”

      “The police divers haven’t found anything yet. They’re waiting for a body to wash up on shore,” Susan said. The image of Justin’s body floating in the water made her sick.

      “The detective in charge of the case is eager to wrap up the investigation and please the mayor and Justin’s father. He’s looking for a promotion. He’s taking the most likely suspect and the most likely scenario and swallowing it as fact,” Brady said.

      Susan had gotten the same impression from the police, that they either hadn’t found other suspects or hadn’t considered them. “I don’t know what other options they have.”

      “They can do better. Since it’s unlikely they will, it’s up to us. You were at the scene. You know what happened. You can remember.”

      She whirled on him. “I can’t, Brady. If you think I’m lying about remembering, you can let me out of the truck now. If I knew what happened, I would tell you. For that matter, I would have told the police. That night is a black box. I feel terrible about it. I feel terrible knowing Justin died and I was in the room. I didn’t do anything to stop it. I haven’t been useful in helping the police find his killer. I haven’t remembered anything important. I don’t know what happened that night.”

      Susan let out her breath in a rush. His questions called to mind her doubts about her involvement. She couldn’t imagine a scenario where she would physically assault Justin, but the few scraps of evidence pointed to her. Which is why she hadn’t told the police that she had broken up with Justin. It would only make her look guiltier. She’d realized she’d never been in love with him, and pretending and lying to herself was a mistake. Starting a relationship with Justin when her heart was broken over Brady hadn’t worked. Susan should have ended the relationship before it escalated into a marriage proposal. Her track record with men was pathetic.

      First Brady, then Justin. When it came to love, she made terrible decisions. “I don’t know what happened,” she repeated.

      “Whoa, whoa,” Brady said, holding up his palm. “I wasn’t accusing you. I know you can’t remember. Harris thinks given the right conditions and enough time you might. I wasn’t implying you were lying.”

      Susan ran a hand through her hair. “I’ve tried a thousand times to remember what happened. I’ve gone over and over that night and tried to figure out where it went wrong.” She had been on the boat at Justin’s invitation. She’d regretted visiting the boat and wondered if under different circumstances Justin would still be alive. What if she hadn’t ended their engagement, and instead they had been out that night at a movie? What if they had decided to stay in and have dinner at her place?

      “Maybe the problem is that you’re trying too hard. Putting too much pressure on yourself,” Brady said.

      Relaxing wouldn’t come easily. Brady had an infuriating way of simplifying matters. “Maybe I should take a few days at the spa and see if anything comes to mind.” Her fingernails bit into her hand. “Oh, wait. Everywhere I go, people look at me as if I’m a pariah, so that wouldn’t be fun. I don’t have any money or any clothes and they frown on that at the spa.”

      Her voice was reaching near shrieking. The shaking in her hands gave away how upset she was getting. She went quiet and took several long, deep breaths. Since Justin had died, she’d been teetering on the edge of losing her composure a dozen times a day.

      “Feel better?” Brady asked.

      “No,” she said, snapping at him.

      “Why didn’t you call me when you knew you were in trouble?” Brady asked.

      The question was ridiculous. Brady didn’t want her in his life. He only wanted her around now to help Reilly. “And say what?”

      “That you needed help. I would have come.”

      When Brady had rejected her again at the hospital, she’d written him out of her life permanently. She’d worked up a lot of courage СКАЧАТЬ