seems to be in order. I still have questions.”
“I’m sure you do, Sheriff, but first things first. Release Mrs. Wheeler. There’s no need for her still to be in your custody.”
Brody wasn’t so sure about that. He couldn’t deny Kate’s name appeared on the copies of her late husband’s will and the deed to the house. She had every right to walk freely away and go about her life, yet he hesitated.
Mentally, he reviewed what he knew: Kate Wheeler’s husband had been murdered, she’d inherited the Kinsey home. According to the paper faxed to him by the lawyer, the L.A.P.D. was investigating Paul’s death but had yet to produce a suspect. All in all, the lawyer had supplied Brody with more information than required.
Legally, Brody had no reason to hold Kate, but it didn’t sit well just to let her walk out. His protective impulses demanded he take her back to the house himself. For crying out loud, the woman had been terrified that someone was out to kill her, too.
Brody glanced at the blank computer and fervently wished the contraption hadn’t gone on the blink. He would have liked to gather a bit more unbiased information.
Into the phone, Brody said crisply, “Mrs. Wheeler is free to go. I assume I can count on you to answer further questions?”
“Of course, Sheriff. Always happy to cooperate with the authorities.”
The veiled sarcasm in Thomas’s voice rang clear. Brody’s hand tightened on the receiver. “I’ll be in touch.”
As soon as he’d put the receiver back in the cradle, Kate piped up. “I told you I owned the place. You should have given me the benefit of the doubt.”
He slanted her a sideways glance. “Just doing my job, Mrs. Wheeler.”
“I thought people were considered innocent until proven guilty?”
“Not in any reality I know.” Brody’s mouth quirked with a self-effacing grimace.
He’d been young and idealistic enough once to believe in the system, to believe that good triumphed over evil, that right always won out in the end, and that justice for all wasn’t selective. But it was and he’d spent his adult life dedicated to making sure the innocent received their justice.
“But that’s how it’s supposed to work.”
“Supposed to being the operative phrase.”
Emotions flickered across Kate’s face—anger and a touch of sadness. The impulse to take her into his arms and hold her until only joy reflected in the depths of her green eyes rose up sharply. He clenched his jaw. Been down that road. Not going again.
She shook her head. “This isn’t the way God planned it, you know.”
Her words poked at an old wound. He raised a brow. “What makes you think God gives a rip?”
Little creases appeared between her brows. “Because the alternative is unthinkable. Without God, there’s no hope. Without hope, what’s the point?”
“The point is to make it through each day.” Refusing to let slip any of the betrayal he felt, he kept his voice neutral. “And if you live to see another day, you make it through that one.”
“That’s not living.”
He shrugged. “It’s surviving.”
“That’s missing out on all that God has to offer.”
Her earnest expression tugged at him, but he could never forget or forgive. “Yeah, like heartache and pain. No, thanks.”
“Who hurt you, Sheriff?”
The sincerity in her quietly asked question hit him in the chest like the business end of a nightstick. No way was he going to open up to her. No way was he going to allow anyone close again.
“I’ve seen more than my share of heartache and pain.”
Compassion and skepticism warred in her eyes. Tension coiled in his veins. The moment she decided to let it go he released a concentrated breath.
Amusement entered her gaze. “Havensport doesn’t exactly seem like crime central.”
“Normally, it’s not. You’re the most excitement this town has seen in a while.”
An auburn brow arched. “Oh, really.”
Heat crept up his neck. Real smooth, boyo.
She was exciting in a dangerous way that had nothing to do with the law and everything to do with attraction. Not a good thing.
He cleared his throat. “I meant the breaking and entering.”
Kate smiled and his gaze snagged on the cute little dimple in the middle of her chin. What would she do if he kissed her there?
His expression must have given away his thoughts because her smile faltered and a blush deepened the contours of her cheeks. She didn’t look away.
“I’m sorry I scratched you.”
Back to business, McClain. Forget about kisses. Kisses only led to betrayal.
“Are you ready to tell me what had you so scared?”
She lifted her delectable chin. “May I leave now?”
She was a tough little cookie. He liked that. “Come on, I’ll take you back.”
“I’ll walk, thanks,” she replied and headed for the door.
“I’ll drive you.”
With her hand on the doorknob, she glanced over her shoulder. “It’s not that far.”
“Doesn’t matter, I’m taking you back.”
With her hands on her hips, she glared at him. “I’m perfectly capable of seeing myself to my house.”
She was beautiful with her face framed by red curls and those green eyes sparking with fire. He had no intention of getting burned no matter how beguiling the flame.
“Are you always this stubborn?”
“You’re the one being stubborn,” she declared with a huff.
She reminded him of a rookie cop with a chip on her shoulder. “Humor me, okay? Let me do my job and take you back to your house.”
She regarded him steadily for a moment. “All right, fine. Do your job.” She opened the door and walked out.
Brody picked up a fax data form and wrote out a request for information on the investigation of Paul Wheeler’s murder. He dialed in the number for the L.A.P.D. and sent the fax. He turned to go and his gaze landed on Kate’s purse sitting on the floor next to his desk.
Her wallet still rested on the desktop. He picked it up. Maybe it was curiosity, maybe instinct, but instead of returning the wallet to the purse, he flipped it open. Plastic sheaths of photos, including her ID, separated the two halves. One side was lined with credit cards, gold and platinum. The other side held her checkbook.
He thumbed through the photos, a knot forming in his chest as his mind registered what he saw. There was a picture of Kate in a white wedding dress standing beside a tall, blond man. There was a photo of an older woman who he guessed to be her mother. Another picture of an older man in military uniform. Another less formal picture of the blond man. Brody slipped the picture out of the plastic. On the back, someone, Kate he presumed, had written the name Paul and the date of when the photo had been taken.
Brody tucked the picture into his shirt pocket. One question had been answered, but now he had others. He wondered how much Kate knew. And if she didn’t know? Dread crept up his spine. He didn’t want to be the one to tell her. But it looked like he had no choice.
Stepping out into the morning sunshine, Brody found Kate waiting on the sidewalk, her arms akimbo and one Italian-loafer-clad foot tapping.