Falsely Accused. Shirlee McCoy
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hurts,” she responded, her gaze on the road and the flashing lights. “I need to speak with the police.”
She headed uphill, her feet slipping, her arms useless for balance.
“How about I help?” Titus muttered, sliding his arm around her waist, careful not to jar her injured wrist.
If it had been any other day, if he’d been any other man, she’d have told him she could manage on her own, because she could manage. She hadn’t gotten where she was in her career by relying on other people to get her through the tough times. It might take more time and more effort, but if she’d had to, she’d have crawled to the road.
However, Titus was an old friend. They’d parted ways under unhappy circumstances, but she still cared about him. She’d like to believe he still cared about her. For right now, she would believe it, because as much as she hated to admit it, she felt too weak to climb the hill on her own.
They were nearly to the top when a uniformed officer stepped into sight, the beam of his light illuminating them. “Sheriff’s department! Freeze! Both of you! Hands where I can see them!”
“Her hands are cuffed,” Titus responded.
“Facedown! On your bellies. Now!”
Titus tried to help her, but the deputy shouted again. “I said get down! Now.”
Titus dropped to his stomach.
She did the same, her eyes tearing as the sudden movement jarred her injured wrist.
Seconds later, they were surrounded. She counted shoes as she was patted down. Five sets. That was a lot of manpower for a small-town sheriff’s department to send out.
“Wren Santino?” one of the men said, grabbing her arm and yanking her to her feet.
“That’s correct,” she said as she met Sheriff Camden Wilson’s eyes. They’d attended high school together. He knew exactly who she was.
“You’re under arrest for the murder of Ryan Parker. You have the right to remain silent...”
His voice droned on, but she didn’t hear what he was saying.
All she could hear was the word murder and Ryan’s name.
Ryan was gone. Somehow, she’d been responsible for that.
She was dizzy with the truth of it, and she stumbled, dropping to her knees despite the sheriff’s grip on her arm.
“She needs medical attention,” Titus said, his voice gruff with concern. She wanted to tell him that she’d be fine, but the words seemed trapped in her head.
“She needs to be in jail for the rest of her life,” the sheriff said, but he put in a call for an ambulance. She heard that. Heard the soft murmur of voices as other law enforcement officers chatted.
The sheriff led her to his vehicle. When they reached it, he uncuffed her wrists with more gentleness than she’d expected.
“Thanks,” she managed to say.
“You’re a human being. You deserve to be treated like one. I wished you’d felt the same about my deputy. Sit.” He opened the door and motioned for her to sit in the back.
She didn’t argue, and she didn’t try to explain.
Her Miranda rights had been read.
She knew them.
“I’d like to make a phone call,” she said.
“Later,” he replied, and then he closed the door, locking her inside. She’d wait patiently. She’d do what she was told. Fighting the system could only lead to more trouble in the long run, but what she really wanted to do was shout for him to let her out, demand that she be treated like the law enforcement officer she was, give him all the details he had yet to ask for.
She had done nothing wrong.
She knew that.
The best thing she could do was the most difficult—be quiet and wait.
Six hours after he’d been cuffed and taken to the sheriff’s department, Titus finally returned home. His Jeep had been towed from the creek and was sitting in front of his house. The windows were shattered and the body damaged. He thought the front axle might be broken. It wasn’t drivable, but it wasn’t his only vehicle. Despite asking about Wren numerous times, he’d been given no information. Now that he was free, he planned to take matters into his own hands. He’d drive back into town and ask around. Someone knew something about where Wren had been taken and how she was doing.
More than likely, everyone knew everything.
That’s how it worked in Hidden Cove.
He’d moved there as a child, making the long trip from Fort Worth, Texas, because his mother had inherited property from her maternal grandfather. By all rights, the home should have been exactly what they’d been needing, but Sophia Parker had been more interested in her addictions than she had been in keeping up the pretty little house and beautiful acreage. He’d spent his tween and teen years ignoring the whispers about his home life, about his mother’s ways of making a few bucks, about his threadbare clothes and wild Afro. He hadn’t cared that he was the only dark-skinned kid in town. He’d cared that he’d had to carry his clothes to the Laundromat if he wanted them clean. He cared that he had to buy food if he wanted to eat. He cared that the entire town knew his business.
Now, though, the nosy neighbors and small-town gossips might come in handy.
He ran to the garage and climbed in the Chevy pickup he used to haul wood. It was ancient but functional, the engine roaring to life as soon as he turned the ignition. His gun had been taken and then returned. He had it tucked into the holster, and he grabbed a jacket from his emergency pack in the back of the truck and shrugged into it. No sense wandering around town with his gun visible. People in Hidden Cove hadn’t trusted him when he was a kid. He had been an outsider with an attitude, a teenager who had no understanding of small-town life. His mother’s drug addiction had been well known, and he had been her son—a young man who had a chip on his shoulder and no reason to want to fit in.
It had taken a while, but eventually he had proven that he was more than a product of his mother’s mistakes. His job as a police officer in Boston had helped solidify the town’s impression of him as hardworking and honest. When he had returned for his high school carpentry teacher’s retirement party and had been given an opportunity to take over his restoration business, he had jumped at the opportunity. He had worked with his teacher for two years before stepping in as owner and operator. The town had seemed happy enough with the transition, but Wren had left town to go to college, and she had only returned for brief visits. Unlike Titus, she was still considered an outsider. The fact that she was an FBI agent might make people more willing to trust her, but whether or not she’d have any allies in a town that was close-knit and tight-lipped when it wanted to be remained to be seen. She did have Abigail, though, and Abigail had a lot of influence in Hidden Cove. She’d been born and raised there. She’d taught elementary and middle school. She’d fostered kids who’d had nowhere else to go. Never married, she’d devoted her life to helping others and supporting the town she loved.
The town loved her for it.
Although he hadn’t been to see her at the farm since his return, they’d spoken at church and at town meetings. She’d supported his efforts to save some of the oldest homes in town, and he’d appreciated that. She’d broken her hip a month ago, and, according to people who supposedly knew, she planned to move into a retirement home once she finished rehab.
The fact that she was giving up the property that had been in her family for three generation made his stomach churn, but it wasn’t his business, and when he’d heard that the for-sale sign had finally gone up, he’d kept his mouth shut and his opinions to himself.