only human,” Jim told her. “You haven’t eaten since lunch, have you? That’s part of what’s wrong. And just a little while ago, you had to take a look at a pretty young woman who was brutalized and murdered. The second woman in your county this month. There’s a serial killer out there, probably getting ready to strike again, and we don’t have a clue who he is or how to stop him. And I said we. Both Charlie Patterson and I have had experience with serial killers before, but neither of us can come up with a suspect.”
When she tasted the salty bile that rose up her esophagus, she forced it down and read herself the riot act. You’re not going to get sick. You’re not going to cry. You’re not going to act like an emotional female. Remember, you are the sheriff. You’re strong and tough and in control.
A hundred tiny drummers beat a fast-paced tune inside her head.
“I’m okay,” she said. “You go up there and handle the crowd while I get the roadblocks set up.”
He gave her another one of those tender, concerned looks that made her feel as if he’d wrapped his arms around her. She turned and all but ran from him, knowing that if she didn’t get away from Jim Norton, she was liable to fall smack-dab into his big, strong arms.
Robyn locked the backdoor of her fitness center, dropped the keys in her shoulder bag and headed up the back alley toward the side street. She liked having her own apartment within walking distance of her job, but more than anything, she loved the privacy living on her own afforded her. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy being around her parents. She did. They were great and she loved them to pieces. But at twenty-eight, she neither wanted nor needed her parents’ supervision or protection.
When Robyn reached the end of the alley, she noticed that the traffic along Main Street had slowed to a trickle. There usually wasn’t much going on downtown on a Monday evening. That’s why she didn’t keep the fitness center open past six on Mondays. As she passed Adams Federal Savings and Loan, she noted the digital time and temperature displayed on their billboard: six-thirty-seven, ninety-four degrees. Damn, it was hot. But this was the first week of August in Alabama, so she could expect nothing less than hot and humid. You’d think by six-thirty the temps would have dropped below ninety, but even when they did drop later tonight, the humidity would make it feel like a sweltering steam bath.
Pausing on the sidewalk to adjust her left sandal, that had picked up a piece of gravel in the alley, she caught a glimpse of Scotty Joe Walters driving by. He threw up his hand and waved. She waved back at him. Now, there’s a prime piece of horseflesh. Sooner or later, she’d have to get around to sampling it. But at present, she was juggling two lovers—Paul and Brandon. Things were winding down between Brandon and her. They were more off than on these days, which suited them both just fine. Neither of them liked being exclusive. But Paul was becoming a little too possessive to suit her. She didn’t see them still dating two months from now. Although Paul was rich and handsome—two things that appealed to her in a man—he wasn’t all that good in the sack. He was far more concerned with his own satisfaction than hers and kept wanting her to tell him how great he was. What a bore!
If she was honest with herself, she’d have to admit that she kind of missed Ron Hensley. He was the best lover she’d had since coming back to Adams Landing, but he liked to play the field as much as she did. She’d heard a rumor that he was having an affair with a married woman and several names had been mentioned, including Amber Claunch, the coroner’s wife, and Abby Miller, who owned the Kut and Kurl beauty salon. She knew both women well enough to know that neither was a faithful wife.
When Robyn neared the bookstore, she decided to go inside for a frozen coffee and to pick up the latest issue of Glamour magazine. The moment she entered the building, she sighed as delicious, cool air enveloped her. She paused several steps from the coffee bar when she saw Reverend Matthew Donaldson sitting at one of the tables placed along the row of windows facing the street. But before she could turn around and hurry toward the back of the store, he saw her, smiled and waved.
“Good evening, Robyn.” He rose from his chair.
Oh, God, she didn’t want to spend another minute in that man’s boring company. In the pulpit, he was all razzle-dazzle, hellfire and brilliance. And just looking at him—curly dark hair, sexy blue-gray eyes, and spectacular bod—you’d never suspect he was such a humdrum stick-in-the-mud.
Smiling, she curled her fingers, lifted her hand and gave him a little, shy wave.
“Won’t you join me?” Matthew asked.
Jeeze, how do you turn down a minister’s cordial invitation in a public place? Suddenly, Robyn saw her salvation. Thank you, God. Sitting at a back table, absorbed in reading a hardback book and sipping on a cup of coffee, was the answer to her prayers. Raymond Long.
Robyn approached Matthew. “Why thank you, Reverend Donaldson. I’d love to join you, but I’m afraid I can’t. I’m meeting someone.”
She waved toward the back table. Raymond seemed oblivious to her presence, but she didn’t let that deter her. Marching purposefully toward her goal, she breezed passed Matthew. When she reached Raymond’s table, she paused. He kept reading.
“Raymond, sugar, I’m sorry I’m running late.” Robyn curved her fingers over his shoulder and squeezed. “Order me an iced coffee, will you? I’m hot and simply dying of thirst.”
As if he’d actually been expecting her, Raymond closed his book, laid it on the table, removed his gold-framed glasses and motioned to the waiter. Raymond removed her hand from his shoulder, brought it to his mouth and kissed her knuckles.
“I never mind waiting for you,” he said.
Robyn sat down in the chair beside him, cuddled her shoulder against his and whispered in his ear. “Thanks so much. I owe you one.”
Raymond shrugged. “Any particular flavor?”
“Huh?”
“For your coffee.” He nodded to the waiter who stood by their table.
“White chocolate, please.”
“You heard the lady.” After the waiter scurried off, Raymond turned halfway around in his chair and studied Robyn. “You’re going to get cold in here wearing nothing but short-shorts and a halter top.”
“If I do, you can order me some hot coffee.”
“Staying long, are you?”
“I’m not leaving until Reverend Donaldson is gone.” She batted her eyelashes at Raymond in a mockery of blatant flirtation. “Unless you want to walk me upstairs to my apartment.”
Raymond chuckled. “What would you do if I took you up on that insincere offer?”
“What makes you think it’s insincere?”
He gazed at her, a puzzled expression on his face. She looked at him, really looked at him, and liked what she saw. Raymond was not handsome, but he had a good face. Large, kind brown eyes. A prominent, manly nose. Full, rather sensuous lips. And a strong jawline. His hairline was receding just a bit and she suspected that by forty, he’d be partially bald.
“How old are you?” she asked.
“What?”
“How old are you? I know you’re a little bit older than Bernie, but I don’t remember how much older.”
“I’m thirty-four.”
“I’m twenty-eight.”
“I know.”
“When you got a divorce, why did you move back to Adams Landing? And why on earth are you living with your mother?”
“Adams Landing