The Accused. Jana DeLeon

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СКАЧАТЬ she set foot in a town with less population than her condominium complex, she came face-to-face with the only man who had piqued her interest since her ex.

      Carter closed and locked the French doors behind them. “Let me help you get your things up here.”

      “Oh, that’s okay. I brought only one suitcase of personal things. The rest goes to the kitchen. It will give me something to do.” She hoped he’d leave her to it. With her imagination in overdrive and her memory rapid-firing without warning and her obvious attraction to the sheriff, she felt too vulnerable. And she didn’t like that feeling.

      Carter nodded and they made their way back downstairs. He stood in the entryway next to the front door and scanned the area one last time. She could tell he was still uncomfortable with her staying here alone—and that made two of them—but she wasn’t about to admit it. The sooner she got started, the sooner her fourteen-day stint would be over. Besides, she couldn’t put her career on hold forever. A delay meeting the terms of the will would delay anything else she decided, as well.

      “Can I see your cell phone?” Carter asked.

      “What? Oh, sure.” She dug the phone out of her purse and handed it to him.

      He checked the display and frowned. “Only one bar. I figured as much. When the storm hits, you may lose service altogether.”

      He pressed the phone’s screen for a minute, then handed it back to her. “I loaded my cell number in favorites along with the number for dispatch. As soon as you get a chance, you should head to the café—they have free Wi-Fi—and download that app that allows you to put a phone number on your screen for speed dial.”

      She stared at him for a moment.

      “I’m not trying to scare you,” he said. “It’s just that the house is old and poorly maintained and there are a lot of things that could become an emergency. William Duhon is a family friend, and I promised him I’d look after things. He has an office here in Calais, but also in New Orleans, so he’s not always readily available.

      She nodded. “That’s a good idea. And thank you for being on call.”

      He handed the phone back to her, but as she was about to pull her hand away, he gently clasped his hand around it. “If you see anything that doesn’t look right—hell, if you feel like something’s not right—call me.”

      The heat from his hand coursed through her and she suddenly realized how close they were standing to each other. If she tilted her face upward and leaned in just a bit, it was all it would take to kiss him.

      She pulled her hand away. “I can hardly bother you with every little noise. I’m sure there are plenty of things here that are going to try my nerves. This isn’t exactly the kind of living arrangement I’m used to.”

      He shook his head. “Don’t give me that. If you were any good at being a lawyer, then you know how to read a situation better than most. I’m asking you not to second-guess yourself.”

      A bit of annoyance started to creep in. Caution was one thing, but now she felt as if he was trying to scare her. And certainly, he had no right making assumptions about her professional abilities. “Look, I appreciate your concern, but other than ensuring I don’t leave town, I’m not really your responsibility.”

      His expression didn’t change except for a tiny flex of his jaw. Her words had—what?—annoyed him? Frustrated him? She couldn’t tell exactly.

      “As long as William Duhon is my mother’s best friend, then you’re my responsibility. You may as well get used to it.”

      He opened the front door and left without so much as a backward glance. She watched as he pulled away in his truck and then she shut the door and locked it. Mr. Duhon hadn’t told her that a hulking male was part of the deal.

      Unlocked memories, ghosts, storms and a creepy house being swallowed up by the swamp. She had to face all of them for thirteen more days.

      At the moment, the hunky sheriff was the thing that scared her most of all.

       Chapter Five

      As he drove away, Carter glanced in his rearview mirror at the decaying old house that seemed to fade into the swamp. This entire situation had gone from annoying to frustrating in very little time. And the worst part was, he had a feeling things were only going to go downhill from here. Darn his mother and her “feelings.” Although he’d never really understood what she meant when she said things felt wrong, he’d always respected her perception.

      Now he understood it all too well.

      Something was wrong—seriously wrong—at that house. Alaina seemed nice enough for a lawyer, and he certainly hadn’t missed the fact that she was easy on the eyes, but he got the impression she was hiding something. Granted, she had no call to lay out her life to a complete stranger, and he didn’t expect her to, but her safety was in question and it almost seemed as if she was hiding things to do with the house and her childhood there.

      A string of curse words ran through his head, but he managed to hold them in, as his mother had taught him to. When he reached the crossroads in Calais, he gave up manners—after all, he was the only one in the vehicle—and let one slip. Then he turned his truck toward William’s office. He needed more information and the best place to start was with the attorney handling the estate.

      William was just locking up his office on Main Street when Carter parked in front of it. He gave Carter a pleasant smile as the sheriff exited his truck.

      “I trust Alaina arrived safely?” William asked.

      “She arrived safely, but I have some concerns about her ability to remain that way. Do you have some time to talk?”

      “Certainly. Let me open back up.”

      “Actually,” Carter interrupted him before he could unlock the door, “I could really use a cup of coffee and a Danish.”

      William smiled. “I would never say no to coffee and Danish. The café it is, then.”

      They walked in silence across the street to Calais Café and slid into a booth in the far corner. Only a couple of tables were occupied, but they were far enough away that they could speak freely without fear of being overheard.

      Seconds later, the waitress walked up. “Good evening, gentlemen,” she said with a big smile.

      “I don’t know about the ‘gentlemen’ part,” Carter joked.

      “Speak for yourself, young man,” William said.

      The waitress, a young, pretty girl named Connie, who’d turned up in Calais several months before, laughed at their exchange.

      “Trust me,” she said, “after working at a dive in New Orleans, I can assure you that the citizens of Calais are above reproach.”

      Carter smiled at the woman. “Then good evening to you, too.”

      William nodded. “As well from me.”

      “Are you having supper,” Connie asked, “or are you planning to cheat on supper with a Danish?”

      “Given СКАЧАТЬ