Holding Out For A Hero. Pamela TracyЧитать онлайн книгу.
scrounging through the trunk. Oscar practically fell off his motorcycle in his hurry to get to her side.
“Looking for something?”
She whipped around, and when he saw the tears shimmering in her eyes, his chest tightened. He hated that she’d been hurt. And he might very well hurt her more because he was a man with a mission—hunt down her ex and no way could she avoid being caught in the cross fire.
Then her lips pursed as her eyes went up and down his uniform, recognition immediate. “A cop?” she said. “It just figures.”
“One of Sarasota Falls’ finest,” he said. “So, what are you looking for?”
“Nothing that concerns you.”
“What if I told you that the only reason I’m here is you?”
Surprise flickered on her face for a moment, but she recovered quickly. “Then I’d tell you that you have too much free time.”
He didn’t hesitate before responding, “I wish that were true.”
She took a deep breath and then released it. Oscar waited. Finally she turned back to her trunk and said, “I’m looking for one of Ryan’s toys. He’s inside and upset.” As if to prove it, she grabbed a coloring book that had been squished in a corner and was wrinkled from its proximity to a suitcase.
Oscar nodded and slowly walked around the car, noting the fast-food wrappers on the floorboards as well as the toys in the backseat and the suitcases and such stashed in the trunk.
“Want to tell me why you’re all packed up? Going somewhere? Returning, maybe? Does it have something to do with what you saw in your neighbor’s living room?”
He watched expressions flitter across her face as she tried to compose a safe response.
“The truth always works best,” he advised.
“I heard about Candace. I’m so sorry. She seemed like a nice woman. But I’d already planned on having an adventure today with Ryan. We went to Santa Fe, the children’s museum there, and just got back. It’s been some time since we’ve seen my dad, so we stopped by.”
“You have a receipt from the museum?”
Riley would admonish him for interrogating without him or his permission, but Oscar didn’t care. He was in Sarasota Falls partly to investigate Shelley Wagner, and that was what he was doing.
“It’s none of your business.” She looked back at the care center as the wind picked up, billowing her oversize shirt and emphasizing her pregnancy. She tugged at a loose strand of hair, curling it behind her ear. He remained quiet for a moment. Her hair was limp against her head and needed combing. Not once in all the time he’d been watching her had she been anything less than put together. This was a woman on the edge, and she needed to talk to him.
“I promise,” he told her, “whatever you say, I will listen to and believe.” It was an awkward promise, because he intended to honor his declaration, but knew, just knew, she wouldn’t tell him what he really wanted to know.
She didn’t respond.
“Is someone after you?” He nodded toward her suitcases.
She looked at him with a serious expression. “Everyone’s after me. Because Larry Wagner was my ex-husband, I must know where he is.”
“I’ve never seen you like this.” Too late, he wanted the words back.
“I just met you yesterday. How would you know what I’m like? Oh, wait—you’ve been watching me?”
“Not long.”
Shelley stared at the sky. He wanted to tell her that she’d find no answers there. He doubted she’d appreciate the advice. She focused on him again and shook her head—dismissing him as she closed the trunk and turned toward the entrance.
Two steps had him by her side. “Chief Riley’s on his way. He has a few questions he’d like to ask you. Why don’t we go inside and sit down?”
He watched her hands fist, release, fist.
She quickly looked left and right, searching for something. He looked, too. Then she turned and marched back inside, past the front desk and down a hallway. Oscar stayed right behind her. He faltered at the door she passed through. It led to a combined bedroom and living area. An older man, her father, sat on the couch. His black hair was uncombed and unruly. The television was on, but the man wasn’t watching. Ryan, who Oscar had met yesterday morning, clutched a pillow, his cheeks wet, his head on Shelley’s dad’s leg. Shelley’s purse was on the floor at her father’s feet.
“Everything okay?” Oscar asked.
“No, nothing is okay, but if you’re asking if my dad and son are all right, then I think so.” She sat on the edge of the bed, looking from her dad and Ryan to him. “What do you really want?”
He recognized the tone of voice. She was trying to sound brave.
“Just for you to share what you might have seen in the neighborhood yesterday,” he said as he sat down.
Chief Riley appeared in the doorway.
Oscar watched as Shelley tensed. Thanks to her ex-husband, she probably knew that now started the questions, and more questions, and then a million more, and a file and reports to go in that file.
“So, Shelley,” Riley began. “Looks like you found trouble again.”
Actually, Oscar thought, trouble had found her. He watched as emotions danced across her face. She felt some kind of pull, a connection that he couldn’t tell whether was good or bad.
Probably bad.
It resembled the longing he’d felt ten minutes ago, wanting to pull her into his arms.
Riley glanced at her father, his face softening. “Is there someplace private we can talk?”
Oscar stood. “I noticed a few vacant rooms earlier. One of them should do.” He needed to ignore the connection between himself and Shelley and act like the professional that he was. He didn’t blink, didn’t give her a chance to say no. He stepped toward the door, expecting her to follow.
Except she didn’t move. Instead she asked, “What makes you think I know anything?”
“You want us to start with you leaving the scene of a crime and then fleeing the city?” Riley said.
She looked from Riley to Oscar, and he had to give her credit. She kept her voice steady. “I didn’t flee. I took Ryan to Santa Fe for an adventure. I had nothing to do with that girl’s death, nothing.”
“I hope that’s the case,” Riley said.
Shelley looked up sharply. “It is.”
“I didn’t like it there,” Ryan mumbled. “Mommy forgot to pack Pooh.”
“I hate when that happens,” Oscar told the little boy. “My mom once forgot my stuffed Spider-Man. I cried for an hour.”
Ryan nodded.
“I had to hold on to a pillow.” Oscar smiled. “It made it a little better.”
Ryan nodded again and clutched his cushion tighter.
Oscar sat back down, facing Shelley. “We pretty much know your every step starting early yesterday morning.”
“Because you knew who I was yesterday morning.”
He heard accusation as well as an edge of disappointment thread through the question. “Yes, I did. But—”
Luckily Riley interrupted. “We didn’t start looking for you, Shelley, until your landlord told us you’d packed up and left. With a murder just across the street, and a witness putting you at the victim’s window and looking in, you became a priority.”