Final Verdict

“Well, I’d feel better if we didn’t use plastic. Besides, it’s gonna get down in the twenties tonight. Plastic won’t keep the nip out.”

She pointed to the far side of the sparse garage. “I have some plywood. That work?”

“Yup. And you need to put some shoes on. Protect your feet while we get the glass cleaned up.”

She pursed her lips but said nothing.

Beckett grabbed several boards in the corner and Aurora retrieved a hammer and nails and followed him inside. “Got a broom?”

“The one I use for sweeping or the one I ride on?” Aurora tilted her head and pierced him with a maybe sort of accusing glare.

So that’s what she assumed he thought of her. Hardly. He wasn’t sure what to think. This was the longest he’d spent in a room with her other than a courtroom, and they didn’t converse much inside. Besides, he never allowed himself to see her as anything but the enemy. Now, she was a target who trusted him to protect her. And that’s exactly what he planned to do.

“Sweeping will be fine.” He smirked. “I don’t want to put you out a vehicle.”

“Hmm...” Aurora snagged a broom and dustpan from the pantry, slipped on a pair of house shoes that had been lying under the kitchen table, and they went to work cleaning up the glass and boarding up the window.

When it was finished he noticed her fire was dying. “You got any wood? I can get a fresh fire going before I head out.” No way was he letting her do it. Instinct told him this wasn’t over. But he didn’t want to scare her further, and it didn’t technically warrant putting a detail on her.

Meghan had begged and pleaded with the sheriff in her small Georgia town to patrol her house. But they couldn’t prove she was in danger. Her stalker had been cunning, averting the law yet tormenting her. When it first started, Beckett had been on an extended tour in Afghanistan with Meghan’s brother, Wilder. He’d had no idea, not until he came home. He’d been powerless.

He had the power to do something about this.

“I’ll do a few drive-bys through the night. Make sure everything’s safe.” He might not be able to use taxpayers’ dollars for a deputy to sit outside, but Beckett could on his own time.

Aurora met him with a delicate smile. “I appreciate that. But I don’t think it’s necessary, and I have some self-defense training, as well as gun-range time. I’m a pretty good shot.”

Brave. Resilient. But Beckett had seen fear on thousands of faces. “I believe you, Counselor. Now, about that firewood?”

“Oh.” She scratched at the base of her neck. A dainty neck. Smooth. “It’s under the tarp on the side of the house, but I can do it. Really. I mean, I started that one.”

“I don’t feel comfortable letting you haul wood in out of the dark. Just in case. Precaution, is all.” He flipped the collar on his coat up and stalked to the woodpile. Doing a slow scan with his flashlight, he checked out the woods that surrounded the house. No footprints. The branches rustled. Critters slunk around, crunching dead leaves. Something was off. Puffs of night air plumed in front of him as he patrolled the yard. He couldn’t spot anyone, but red flags waved.

Someone was out there.

Watching.

Or maybe he was paranoid after what had happened to Meghan.

Beckett hauled in the firewood and a few extra logs. Inside, freshly brewed coffee uncoiled one of the many knots tightening his neck and shoulders.

Aurora handed him a steaming cup. “It’s brutal out there. Warm you up. Least I can do.”

He dusted his hands on his pants and accepted the cup, her fingers brushing his. He cleared his throat. “Thanks.”

“It’s black, like you like it.”

He sipped, the French roast warming all the way down his throat. “You know how I like my coffee?”

“I’m in the coffee business.” She shrugged, but her cheeks flushed a pretty shade of rose and she broke eye contact. First time for everything. She held his glares quite well in the courtroom or at the jail.

“Why are you in the coffee business? You seem to be living in high cotton.” Driving that BMW, wearing fancy clothes, and the air about her simply smelled like money. He took another sip and squatted by the fire.

Aurora folded her arms across her chest and gazed into the flames. “To be honest, the coffee in Hope stinks. I drink enough that it dictated opening up a business.”

He snorted. “Uh-huh, now really, be honest.”

“How do you know I’m not?”

Her upturned and perky nose might give off an appearance of snootiness, but the averting gaze and body language said she had a more private reason and didn’t care to divulge. “I just know. But you don’t have to get personal with me, Counselor.” He stood and studied the few photos on her mantel. “That’s you. Can’t miss the hair.” Blondish red. Probably still long like the toothless little girl in the photo; he’d never seen it down before. She’d grown from adorable to beautiful. “That a brother or something next to you?”

“Yes. Richie. He died.”

The words punched his chest. “I’m sorry.”

She clutched the photo and seemed to slip down memory lane. “He’s why I do what I do. He committed suicide in prison when I was in my second year of law school.”

Beckett grimaced. “Went to school to get him out somehow?”

“He was innocent. What choice did I have? Someone had to give him decent counsel. Who better to advocate for him than someone who believed in him?”

“Ninety-nine percent of criminals say they’re innocent.”

Aurora’s eyes hardened and she set the photo back on the mantel. “Some are telling the truth. Like Richie.”

Beckett had worn out his welcome, but that suited him. He wasn’t diggin’ seeing Aurora as a victim. A really soft, beautiful woman who grieved her brother even if he was a criminal. “Thanks for the coffee.”

“When I clear his name, you’ll be the first to know, Sheriff.”

He opened the door and stepped onto the porch. “Lock it behind me and I’ll be by a few times. If you need anything—”

“I can handle it myself.” Brazenness and a need to prove her case held his gaze, but beyond that lay something else. Torment. Sorrow.

Okay, her view on the justice system got a rise out of him, but could he be a bigger idiot? He’d basically insulted her dead brother, whom she loved. What a jerk. He owed her an apology for his insensitivity.

“Look—”

Her cell rang. She held up an index finger and snagged it from the table by the couch. She studied the screen and frowned.

Someone she didn’t want to talk to? Beckett ought to go. He could apologize later. It was freezing out here. He should have moved to Florida. “I’m gonna—” The rest of his sentence nose-dived when Aurora’s cheeks blanched. She hadn’t said anything after her hello.

“Who is this?” Her voice trembled.

“What’s going on?” Beckett whispered.

“Hello? Hello...” Aurora hit the end button and stared at Beckett, eyes wide.

Beckett reentered the house and shut the door behind him. “Who was that?”

“Same gritty voice from this morning. In the crowd.” Her tone was too quiet, hollow.

Beckett’s neck muscles wound even tighter and he ground his jaw. “What did he say?”

Aurora clutched her throat. “Death is coming for me.”

TWO

Beckett snagged Aurora’s phone and checked her recent calls. Unknown number. “I’ll get a trace on this.”

“We both know that’s a long shot. Probably a burner phone.” She rubbed her temples and pursed her lips.

She was right. But if someone had done this on impulse, they might have only blocked her view of the number. It was a thin thread, but he was hanging on to it. “No one is going to get to you, understand?”

Aurora’s eyebrows tweaked and she gave a weak nod. She trusted him enough to call but not enough to actually protect her?

He pivoted her carefully, forcing her to face him. “No one.” He drilled into her gaze until she gave a solid nod. Better. Beckett needed her to have faith in him. He needed to have some faith, but after his failure with Meghan, his faith in himself—and in God—was shaky at best. This time, he couldn’t let someone take a life right out from under his nose. His trained nose. Guilt battered his ribs. “I’ll call one of my guys to come and get the phone—”

“No.” Aurora tapped her nose again. Something in that pretty head was cooking. “Someone on the inside knows what brand of whiskey Austin Bledsoe drank. I don’t trust anyone in your office to do right by me. Sorry not sorry. You do it. I trust you, Beckett.”

Beckett. He’d never heard her say his name. Not that he’d ever used hers. He liked the way it rolled off her tongue. “You sure?”

“I may not enjoy our conversations and you may not like me, but you’re honest to a fault.”

They didn’t have conversations. They had arguments. And he’d never said he didn’t like her. His fear at the moment was getting to know her and liking her too much. “All right. I’ll do it myself.” He didn’t bother to acknowledge her other statement. “And I have to make a few stops.”

“Question Trevor Russell?”

The woman was keen. “Yes.” Not that he was over the moon about it. But the situation warranted it. Beckett couldn’t take her with him. Couldn’t leave her here unattended, and she didn’t trust anyone but him, which made things difficult but also sent a swell of satisfaction through him. “Can you have a friend come over? Or go somewhere for the night?”

Her mouth dropped open and defiance slashed through her eyes. “Let him win? Let him run me out of my own home over a scary phone call? Hardly.”

He had a feeling she’d say something like that. She might as well be a walking billboard for the word resolute. He’d witnessed that time and again in the courtroom. Like a bulldog on a bone. “I can’t protect you if I’m not here. He’s already tossed a bottle through the window—and now the call. Maybe it is a threat to terrorize you.” No way he believed that, based on personal experience. “But maybe it’s not.”

She ran her hands over her face and groaned. “Kelly’s in Memphis for the night. New grandbaby.”

Judge Kelly Marks had hired Aurora as the court-appointed attorney. From what Beckett knew, she’d been one of Aurora’s law professors at Ole Miss and her mentor of sorts. She lived over by the Magnolia Inn, on the hill with an iron gate. Aurora would be more secure there, but that wasn’t an option tonight. “What about staying with Holt and Blair McKnight?”

Aurora gave him a cutting eye. “They’ve been married less than six months. I’m not intruding on the honeymooners.”

Beckett growled. “It’s one night. I’m calling them.”

Aurora pinched the bridge of her nose. “I feel like a child. Like...like I’m losing.”

“Not everything is about winning and losing, Counselor. This is about staying safe. Holt McKnight will make sure of it, and I trust him with my life. I trust him with yours.”

Beckett gauged her. She was just shy of stomping her foot and crying or throat punching him. He eased back in case of the latter. Surely, she’d see reason and let him drive her over to the McKnights’ for one evening. Tomorrow, she could stay with Judge Marks.

“Only for tonight.”

His muscles relaxed in thankfulness they weren’t going to butt heads again because, when it came to Aurora’s safety, he’d fight until he won. He called Holt, gave him the lowdown and hung up. “Blair’s making up the guest room now.”

“Then one night, it is. I’m not going to run scared.”

Beckett studied her. Seemed like that was what she’d done by coming to Hope. Why else would an uppity attorney like her move from Chicago to here? It was like she’d run as far away as she could from Franco Renzetti. “Nobody but you said you were. Pack a bag.”

She muttered about his barking demands and trudged to her room.

Like a child. But cute as all get-out.

A few moments later, Aurora had a bag hanging on her arm. “I need to take that box of files. I can’t risk someone knowing I’m gone and busting in here and ransacking the place—including the files.”

Beckett collected the ones lying on the table and added them to the rest in the cardboard box. Case files on her brother. “Hey,” he said, and turned, “I’m sorry for earlier. I know how much you loved your brother, and I basically told you he was guilty. I don’t even know the facts. So, I apologize for acting like a jerk.”

“Thank you.”

Well, that was something he’d never expected out of the shrewd attorney. Grace. It surprised and befuddled him. Beckett carried the box to the door. “Ready?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m gonna go out first. Do a sweep, make sure no one is lurking. I’ll come back inside and get you.” He grabbed her other bag and surveyed the area from the porch. After placing the items in the backseat, he swept the perimeter. Everything seemed quiet. Bleak. Temps were dropping steadily. A sense that someone was watching skittered across his flesh. Please don’t be you, Trevor. He finished clearing the area and came inside. Aurora was perched on her recliner.

“Everything as it should be?”

He nodded. He’d leave the sixth sense to himself. “Let’s go.” He hovered over her as she locked the front door and sheltered her as they made their way to his Chevy Tahoe, the words Fallon County Sheriff reflecting in silver.

Ten minutes later, he had her on Holt and Blair McKnight’s porch. Blair guided Aurora inside, and Holt stepped outside and closed the front door, his hair whipping in all directions as they stood in the frigid night. “What are you thinking?”

Beckett cupped his aching neck. “Could be anyone, man. She shook up a crowd today. People starting to heal. This motion brought everything back up.”

Holt rested a hip on the wooden porch railing. “I’m sure Trevor was hoping for the court to rule in his favor. He’s bound to be furious. Old wounds ripped open. But would he stoop to throwing a whiskey bottle through the window and threatening Aurora with that kind of phone call? He’s a good dude. Lieutenant at the firehouse. Lot to lose if he did this.”

“What if it had been Blair who Austin rammed into? What would you do?” Beckett tipped his head as Holt’s face hardened. “Exactly. You’d want to see that kid pay for the rest of his life, and then some. And you’d want to see whoever let him walk pay along with him.”

“He’s not going to walk.”

“He’s not serving a life sentence, either. Probably get three months. Then community service and parole. Hardly seems fair.” Beckett pulled a butterscotch candy from his coat pocket and popped it into his mouth, twisting the golden paper between his thumb and index finger. “I don’t know. I’m heading over there now. Aurora doesn’t want to be here. She says she’s cutting into honeymoon time.”

Holt chuckled. “Blair has morning sickness at night. The honeymoon is over, bro. They say she should feel better come next month. So, be glad Aurora was threatened now and not in April.” He gave Beckett’s shoulder a solid pat. “She’ll be safe here. And she’s welcome to stay till next week. But then I’m in Memphis for a few days teaching a narcotics class. I’d rather—”

“Her not be in the house with only Blair and your kiddo cookin’ inside her. I wouldn’t do that. She’s staying with Judge Marks come tomorrow.”

“I mean what’s Blair gonna do anyway? Puke on the attacker?”

Beckett laughed. “I’ll be by in the morning. Or if anything new arises.” He shook Holt’s hand and left for Trevor Russell’s house. Holt was right. With the ruling today, all that agony and hurt would be fresh. Trevor and his family had been banking all these months that Austin Bledsoe would be punished to the fullest extent of the law. As an adult. God, why did You let him get away with this? Why didn’t You move the judge to rule that he be tried as an adult? You can do anything You want. Turn the heart of a pharaoh. Soften a king. Why did You fail them?

His phone rang as he pulled into the Russells’ driveway. He glanced at the screen. Wilder Flynn. His oldest buddy from the SEALs. And Meghan’s brother. No time to talk. Besides, Beckett didn’t have an answer for Wilder. Moving to Atlanta to work with his elite team and seeing him every day would only remind him of Meghan. Of failing her. Beckett wasn’t sure he could handle that. Too much guilt. Plus, he’d finally come home to a safer career, and his mother was on top of the Rockies. Going back into a high-risk occupation would knock her off the edge. Mama had no one but him to see to her.

He let it go to voice mail and climbed the steps to Trevor’s porch. A light burned in the living room. He knocked. Waited. Knocked again.

Trevor’s son, Quent, opened up. Definitely not sleepy eyed. “Hey, bud. Your dad in?”

“Why?” Quent’s jaw hardened and he bristled. Why the need to go defensive?

“I need to talk to him.”

“Quent, who’s here?” Trevor came to the door, hair tousled, white T-shirt wrinkled. “Beck? What’s going on?”

Beckett scuffed his toe along the wooden planks. “How you doing?”

“You’re here at eleven o’clock at night to ask me how I’m doing?” He frowned. “How do you think I’m doing?”

Beckett massaged his achy neck muscle again. “I know it’s not the verdict you wanted to hear—”

“Not even close,” he hissed. “Why are you here?”

Beckett told him about the whiskey bottle and the phone call. “I was wondering if you might know anything about that? Tell anyone the brand, perhaps?”

Trevor gave a humorless laugh. “Really? Give me a break. My wife is dead. That punk is getting away with it and you want to question me about a bottle? I’m only sorry it didn’t whop her upside the head and knock some decency into her. Quent, go to bed.”

After tonight, Beckett wasn’t so sure that Aurora wasn’t decent. She was complicated. “Wait. I need to ask Quent if he might know anything.” He inspected the boy. “Do you?”

“No,” he barked. “And if I did, I wouldn’t tell you. I hope she gets what’s coming to her.” He stomped off, and Trevor pinched the bridge of his nose.

The kid had a lot of anger. Could it have been him? Maybe, but not the threats. Aurora had said the voice was gravelly. Trevor’s voice was gravelly. But lots of male voices had a rasp. “I’m sorry. I had to ask. It’s my job.”

“Yeah.” Trevor closed the door in Beckett’s face. Well, that went well.

* * *

Aurora hadn’t slept much last night. Not that Blair’s guest bed was uncomfortable, but she’d had too much on her mind. Today, she had an appointment in Richfield, Mississippi, with the detective who’d been assigned her brother’s case and an interview with Gus’s widow, Darla McGregor. She’d always believed that Richie hadn’t murdered her husband, and Aurora had been grateful someone had been on her side. Maybe, after all this time, one of them might remember something they hadn’t before.

Now she sat across from Beckett at The Black-Eyed Pea, picking at her eggs and toast. He’d shown up to the McKnights’ home bright and early and told her he was on protection detail. He’d then dropped her at the office for an hour before picking her back up for breakfast. Apparently, this was where he ate his most important meal of the day. He didn’t appear to be into cooking. Aurora fixed poached eggs every single morning.

Beckett gave her the facts on Trevor Russell’s questioning last night while he peppered his grits. She hadn’t expected Mr. Russell or his son to roll over and confess. And she wasn’t sure either of them had been behind the incident, anyway. It could have been anyone. But she had mulled over a few things. “I’ve changed my mind.”

Beckett perked up. “About what?”

“Staying with Kelly. I can’t let a couple of threats keep me from my home, Beckett. It’s silly. It’s drastic.”

“It’s better safe than sorry.” He pointed to her plate. “Eat your eggs.”

Bossy much? She frowned. “Do you know why I choose eggs for breakfast, Sheriff?”

Confusion crinkled the edges of his eyes. “Protein?”

“No,” she said, her voice clipped, as he scooped a forkful of grits. “I eat eggs every day to remind me that I’m not a chicken.”

Beckett paused midbite, eyebrows rising toward his thick, dark hairline. Then he laughed. Loud. Rich. “And you eat them poached because there’s some kind of symbolism to being in hot water?”

She ignored him because maybe on some weird, subconscious level there was.

But the laughter wasn’t funny. No doubt Beckett Marsh feared no one and no thing. “When it got sticky—much stickier than this—in Chicago, you know what I did? I tucked my tail between my legs and ran here, taking Kelly’s offer. She risked her neck to give me this opportunity. I’d made a mess of my career. And I only tell you this because you undoubtedly know it anyway.”

“Fair assessment.” He chuckled again.

“Nothing about this is funny.” She was trying to explain why she couldn’t up and leave her house over some small-town threat. This wasn’t La Cosa Nostra, for crying out loud. It was an angry citizen. It would pass.

“You’re right. Well...the eggs thing is a little funny. Do you really eat eggs every day? And for that reason?”

She simply glowered, making her point.

“Sorry.” The amusement in his eyes said he wasn’t.

“I’m not going to let whoever this is scare me. That’s exactly what he wants.” She held up her hand. “Before you say it, it’s not about winning, but it kind of is. Not for the sake of winning, but to let this guy know he can’t do this. He can’t frighten me out of my home.”

Beckett grimaced and put down his fork, wiped his mouth. “I see your point. But threats shouldn’t be ignored or taken casually. What if it wasn’t a scare tactic? What if it’s a warning of things to come?”

“We take precautions other than me leaving my house. Besides, if he can find me at home, he can find me at someone else’s.”

“True. But I don’t want you far from me.”

“Well, I’m going to Richfield today. To interview—” Her phone rang. Not again. Oliver Benard. Her old law partner from Chicago had been calling the last several days, and Aurora had been ignoring every single one, including the vague voice mails informing her they needed to talk. About what? The fact it was Aurora’s fault his son had died at Renzetti’s hands in that car explosion? Instead of taking Aurora’s life, they’d taken Hayden’s. Aurora had been so ashamed and guilty, she hadn’t even attended Hayden’s funeral.

Here she was talking bravery and she couldn’t even take Oliver’s phone call.

“What is it? Is that an unknown caller? Again?”

“No.” Aurora pocketed her phone and sipped her juice. “Just someone I can’t talk to.”

Beckett buttered his toast. “Why?”

“I don’t want to. Now, back to my day. I appreciate you picking me up from Blair’s this morning. But I can’t become your new sidekick. I have a life. I have work. And I have Richie’s case to dig into, which is why I’m going to Richfield this morning.”

“I don’t like it. That’s two hours away.” He pushed his plate aside. “Put it off until tomorrow. I’ll go with you.”

Aurora sized him up. Most of the time she could read people fairly well. This was a man bent on doing what he said he would—keeping her safe at all costs—which meant he wasn’t going to budge on this. “I’ll make a few calls and see if we can reschedule. If not, I’m doing it today, Beckett. I’ve put off defending my brother long enough.”

He pointed to her plate. “Choke down your courage and I’ll get the check, then drop you at the courthouse.”

Aurora groaned. “Are you going to escort me across the street to my office afterward, as well?”

A sly grin cruised across his face. “Not if you eat your eggs.”

She huffed, but a giggle surfaced in her throat. She switched the subject back to his hovering over her like she was some sheep in need of a shepherd. “This might be extreme.”

“You have no idea what extreme is, Counselor.” Beckett motioned for Jace Black, co-owner of the establishment, to bring the check.

She did know extreme, but the way Beckett said it, Aurora had a sneaky feeling he’d seen things that had nothing to do with SEAL missions or war. Something he kept private. A need to know rose up in her. A wish he’d confide in her. Which was silly. The last two days were the most she’d ever personally spent with Beckett. But she was beginning to see a side of him other than surly and unsociable. A sense of humor for one. Considerate. Thoughtful. She admired those attributes. Too much.