Protective Instincts. Shirlee McCoy
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It wouldn’t hurt to tell the police what that was.”
“Wouldn’t hurt. Wouldn’t help. I’m an old, drunk vet who’s been wandering around these parts sleeping in churches and abandoned railroad cars and under overpasses for more years than either of you have been alive. I’ve got a rap sheet a mile long. You think the police would listen to a word I said? Even if they did, my word is worth squat.”
“It’s worth something to me,” Raina cut in, and Butch frowned.
“Could be I looked. Could be I saw an old Jeep. Could even be that I saw someone get out of that Jeep and walk into the woods, but even if all those things are really what happened, ain’t one person around here who’s going to believe me.”
“You need to tell the police what you saw,” Raina suggested, and Butch scowled.
“I owe you, Raina, and I owe your husband. I even owe your little boy, but I’m not talking to the police.” He hitched the pack onto his back and walked out into the hall.
Jackson could have stopped him, could have forced him outside and brought him to Officer Wallace. He didn’t. Butch was obviously a well-known figure in the community. If Wallace wanted to interview him, he could track him down easily enough.
He followed Butch into the hall, watching as the guy limped to the exit, opened the door and disappeared outside. Cold air wafted in, the scent of rain and wet leaves hanging in the hallway after the door closed.
“Poor Butch,” Raina murmured, her arm brushing his as she stepped past. She smelled like flowers, the scent feminine and alluring. She’d chopped her hair short, the thick strands just reaching her nape. On some women, the style would have been harsh, but on Raina it worked.
Everything about her worked.
The faded jeans and flannel nightgown. The unadorned fingernails and scuffed boots. She looked natural, and he found that beautiful, but he didn’t think she saw Butch for who he was—a guy who’d take what he could, use who he could and never feel a bit of guilt over it.
“He’s made his choices,” Jackson responded. “Those choices brought him to the place he is.”
“Maybe if he’d had a family who cared about him, he would have made different choices.” She ran her fingers through her hair and sighed. “I’d better get back to Samuel. I really do want to get him home.”
“Let’s go, then.” He cupped her elbow, as ready as she was to leave the church and get on with things. “We need to talk to Officer Wallace. Let him know what Butch saw.”
“Unfortunately, he didn’t see much.”
“Not much that he’s telling us, but he may be more open to providing details when the police bring him in for questioning.”
“I really hope Andrew doesn’t do that to him. He’ll probably resist and end up being arrested for it.”
“Andrew?”
“Officer Wallace.”
He nodded, leading her back down the hall into the sanctuary and telling himself that it wasn’t his business that Raina was on a first name basis with Wallace.
* * *
Pull away! Raina’s brain shouted as she and Jackson stepped into the quiet sanctuary, but her body refused to obey.
There was something...nice about having his hand cupped around her elbow, his fingers curved along her inner arm.
She let herself be ushered to the pew where Samuel still sat. She’d given him a pen and an old church bulletin that she’d found, and she’d told him to stay put.
He’d listened.
Thank the Lord.
She didn’t think she could take any more drama. After six months of living quietly, of going to work and returning home, of going to church and returning home, of quiet dinners with friends and quiet evenings trying to forget just how alone she was, she’d stepped into a world of chaos.
All she wanted to do was step out of it again.
And not with Jackson’s hand around her arm, his fingers a warm reminder of what she’d lost when Matt and Joseph had been taken away from her.
“Ready to get out of here, buddy?” Jackson asked, releasing her elbow as he took Samuel’s hand and helped him to his feet.
Samuel nodded, but he seemed too tired to speak, his eyes glassy from fever.
“We’ll go to the house, get some medicine in you. Maybe a little something to eat,” Raina told him, her voice tighter than she wanted it to be.
“I’m not hungry,” he protested weakly, but she still planned to make him some soup, maybe a piece of toast.
“You’ll be hungry once that fever goes down,” Jackson commented, holding the door open so they could walk outside. “You’ll probably eat half the house.”
“I can’t eat a house,” Samuel sounded more confused than amused, but he edged away from Raina and moved closer to Jackson.
She felt like a third wheel as the two discussed how much a healthy kid could eat. She tried not to let it bother her.
Rays of sunlight streamed over distant mountains and gleamed on the hood of Andrew’s squad car. He waved, motioning them over. “I’m about done here. Anything else you want to add to what you told me?”
He eyed Jackson, looking as if he thought there might be more information to be had. That was the way Andrew had been for as long as Raina had known him—driven, serious and devoted to the law.
“Actually,” Jackson replied, “there was someone in the church who might have seen the Jeep and its driver.”
He explained briefly while Raina and Stella helped Samuel back into the SUV. Raina was about to slide in beside him when Andrew touched her shoulder.
“Hold on a second, Rain,” he said quietly, and she paused, her hand on the hood of the vehicle, her back to Andrew. “I found something in the woods. I think you need to see it.”
A crisp breeze blew dead leaves across the pavement. She watched as they skittered toward the SUV, refusing to turn, because she was afraid of what she’d see in Andrew’s eyes.
“Rain?” he said again, and she knew she couldn’t avoid it.
She turned, cold air bathing cheeks that suddenly felt too hot and too tight. “What is it?”
He hesitated. A sure sign that whatever he had to show her was as horrible as she’d thought it would be. She knew Andrew well, knew him enough to know that hesitation meant worry and worry meant things were bad.
Destiny’s brother had spent most of the time Raina was growing up teasing her. After she’d married Matt, he’d stayed close, forming as strong a bond with him as he had with Raina. He’d responded to the accident that killed Matt and Joseph, and he’d been the one to tell Raina that Matt had died at the scene. He’d been at her side when the doctors declared Joseph brain-dead. He knew what she’d been through, and he’d never have wanted to add to it.
She had a feeling he was going to.
“Whatever it is, just show me,” she demanded, her voice hoarse with fear.
She hated that, hated that Stella was standing on the other side of the SUV, watching with curiosity. Hated that Jackson’s eyes were filled with pity.
“I left it where it was until I could bring in an evidence team, but I have a picture. I want to get your take on it.” He was all business, his tone brusque just the way it usually was when he was working.
But he watched her with that steady gaze, that sorrowful look that she’d only ever seen one other time.
She didn’t want to see the picture.
She