Silent Storm. Amanda Stevens
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across her face, the almost convulsive movement of her hands. He remembered what Nona had said about her earlier, that she wasn’t cut out to be a cop. She was too much of a goody-goody. She let people push her around.
Maybe.
But in the few moments they’d stood talking in the hallway, Deacon had glimpsed something that made him think there was more to Marly Jessop than met the eye. She possessed the kind of innate courage that had allowed her to stand her ground even in the face of what she had obviously perceived as grave danger. That courage was buried deep, he suspected, but it was there, nonetheless. And if he was right about the nature of these recent deaths, she would need every ounce she could muster in the coming days. They both would.
As if sensing his scrutiny, Marly glanced up and their gazes met across the yard before she quickly looked away. But in that moment, something passed between them. Attraction—at least on Deacon’s part—but something else, too. A flash of understanding or perhaps even precognition that their paths had crossed for a reason.
Lifting a hand to the back of her neck, Marly continued to speak with the other officer. After a moment, he returned to his squad car and drove off while she sloshed back over to the porch.
Nona, who had been smoking quietly as she observed the exchange in the yard, tossed her cigarette over the rail. “You gonna finally tell us what happened to Ricky or what?”
Marly climbed the steps slowly. “I’m sorry, Nona. Ricky’s dead.”
“I already know that.” Nona’s tone was hard as nails, but her eyes glittered with emotion. “I want to know how it happened.”
Marly’s gaze slid to Deacon’s. “Nona, would you mind waiting for me at your house? I need to have a word with Mr. Cage here.” When the woman started to protest, Marly laid a hand on her sleeve. “I’ll come over as soon as I’m finished and tell you what I can.”
Nona sighed. “All right, but don’t leave me hanging, okay? Ricky and I go way back. We may’ve had our differences, but I’ve got a right to know what happened to him.”
Marly waited until Nona had exited the porch before she turned back to Deacon. She tilted her head to gaze up at him, and Deacon realized suddenly how tiny she was. How young she looked with her dark blond hair chopped off short and plastered to her head. She wore no makeup, and the freckles that dotted the bridge of her nose gave her a wholesome, girl-next-door look. But her eyes—an odd shade of gold—reflected a hint of bitterness that made Deacon wonder about her past.
Something tightened inside him, and not for the first time, he wished he was someone—or something—other than who he was. He wished he was the type of man who could have a woman like Marly Jessop.
He could have her. He had the power to make her his. All he had to do was look deeply into those golden eyes and make her want him. Make her believe that she couldn’t live without him, that she would do anything in the world to have him. And just like that, she would be his.
For a little while. Until she learned the truth about him.
Then she would hate him. And she would have every right.
Reluctantly he broke eye contact and turned his gaze to the rain. Beside him, Marly stirred restlessly, as if sensing more than he wanted her to.
“Why’d you come back?” he asked softly.
She glanced at him in surprise. “I beg your pardon?”
He nodded toward the street. “You were leaving, weren’t you? Running away? What made you come back?”
Anger flashed in her eyes. “You don’t know me, Mr. Cage, so don’t presume you understand anything about me. Besides, I’m here to ask the questions.”
He gave a brief nod. “Go ahead then.”
“What are you doing in Mission Creek? What’s your business here?”
“I’m just passing through.”
“On your way to…?”
He shrugged. “West.”
One brow lifted. “West of Mission Creek? West of Texas? West encompasses a lot of territory.”
“I’m not exactly sure what my plans are. But I do know that I’m not breaking any laws by being here.”
Her features tightened. “You’re always quick to point that out, aren’t you? If I were the suspicious type, I might think you have a guilty conscience.”
“Am I under suspicion for something?” he asked bluntly.
Her gaze faltered, but she still didn’t look away. “No. I am a little curious about the way you turned up here, though.”
“I explained all that. Morales’s boss sent me over here to check up on him.”
“Why you?”
He shrugged. “I stopped by the construction site to inquire about work. I’d heard around town they were hiring.”
Marly frowned. “You’re looking for work here? Sounds like you intend to stay awhile.”
“As I said, I don’t have any firm plans at the moment. But I can always use the extra cash.” Her eyes were very expressive, Deacon thought. And very beautiful. Like pools of liquid gold.
Her scowl deepened. “So you stopped by the job site to ask about work, and the foreman sent you over here to check up on Ricky. Just out of the blue?”
“He mentioned that Morales hadn’t been showing up for work. He was worried about him, but he couldn’t take the time to come over here himself.”
“So you volunteered.”
Deacon stared down at her. “Never hurts to get in good with the boss, right?”
Something flickered in her eyes, a tiny embarrassment that made Deacon remember how she’d looked when Navarro had first arrived on the scene. Nervous. Disconcerted. Her voice had been breathless when she’d called out to him. Was there something going on between them?
Not that it would matter in the long run. But it might make what Deacon had to do a little more difficult if she was involved with someone.
Marly’s gaze turned suddenly defiant, as if she’d somehow sensed what he was up to. “I don’t know who you are or why you’re here,” she muttered. “But something tells me I’m not getting the whole truth out of you yet.”
“Does it matter why I’m here?” He looked into her eyes. Tried to peer all the way into her soul. “You have more important things to worry about, don’t you? There’ve been four suicides in your town in a ten-day period. I’d say you’ve got bigger problems than me, Deputy.”
“You think I don’t know that?” she snapped. “But I never said Ricky Morales committed suicide.”
“You didn’t have to.” Deacon watched her for a moment. “I can help you, Marly.”
“What are you talking about? Help me how?” Her tone was indignant.
“You and I both know these suicides aren’t what they seem.”
A shadow flickered in her eyes, and for a moment, she looked as if she was on the verge of agreeing with him. Then her rational side took over and her resolve hardened. “There’s no reason to suspect foul play. Forensic evidence at every one of the scenes—”
“Is consistent with suicide. Yes, I know. I’m not suggesting these people didn’t die by their own hand. I have no doubt that Gracie Abbott drove her car into her garage, rolled up all the windows and let the carbon monoxide do its job. I’m certain those two kids purposely took overdoses and Ricky Morales pulled that trigger. What I am suggesting is that they were somehow compelled to do it.”
Marly gave him an incredulous look. “Compelled? How on earth do you compel someone