“I’m just wondering if you’re sorry enough to change your mind about letting me buy you dinner.”
Most men would be grinning while they threw out a line like that, but he wasn’t. Hugging her knees closer, she shook her head. “More like…embarrassed enough to avoid you in future.”
His eyebrows knotted in frustration. “You’re not giving us a chance.”
And he wasn’t used to that. She couldn’t name a single unattached woman, at least one anywhere close to his age, who wouldn’t drop everything to spend a couple of hours with him. All she heard was, “That poor Sheriff King. How he loved his wife.” While it was a compliment, it was almost always spoken with a certain wistfulness that said the speaker would like to be next in line.
Vivian wasn’t any different. She felt that same desire to have what Amber Rose King had enjoyed. But that wasn’t something she
The interest that evoked made her regret saying it. “What do you mean?”
“Nothing. Never mind.” She slapped the armrests of her chair for punctuation. “What brings you by today?”
He didn’t bother answering. “What are you afraid of?” he asked.
She ran a hand through her freshly cropped hair. A new habit. It still felt so foreign to her. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
“I’ll help if you’ll let me, Vivian.”
“I know.” She smiled sadly. “There’s nothing you can do. Just…tell me why you’re here.”
His lips, normally so full and soft-looking, thinned. “When you were coming out of the bank today…”
Sitting taller, she steeled herself for what was coming. “Yes?”
“You were carrying something.”
“Chrissy Blabbermouth told you.”
“You thought she wouldn’t?”
“I knew she would. She uses any excuse to get your attention. But that doesn’t make her interference any less infuriating. What a busybody!”
He had a way of watching her as if he was waiting for an opportunity to peel back another layer. “Believe me, I’m not thrilled by her interest, but this time I’m glad she stuck her nose where it doesn’t belong.” He placed his hands on his hips. “Why don’t we talk about the gun.”
Too uncomfortable to remain in the same position, she released her legs. “It’s a method of self-defense, right? Surely I’m not the only one who has a gun around here.”
Judging by the unrelenting sternness of his mouth, he wasn’t going to let her dismiss it that easily. “Do you have a permit to carry a concealed weapon?”
She didn’t answer.
“Is that a no?”
“Maybe.” He leaned against the railing. “Where’d you get it?”
“It was a gift from a relative.”
“You have relatives?”
He was teasing about the way she kept her life under wraps. She acknowledged it with a smirk. “One or two.”
“Where?”
“One’s in prison, if you must know.”
“Which prison?”
He was marking every detail she dropped. So why was she giving him another nugget of information? “That’s none of your business.”
“Are we talking about a father or a brother?”
She couldn’t resist. “Neither.”
“Then who?”
“An uncle, okay?” That was far enough removed…?.
“What’d he do?”
“Something that’s destroyed my life and the lives of almost everyone I love.”
“And that was…”
Taking a deep breath, she lifted her chin. “Never mind.”
“You can’t tell me that much and then retreat.”
Sure she could; she’d already gone too far. “It’s not something I’m willing to discuss.”
He was sifting through the possibilities. She could tell by his speculative expression. “That means you had
“True.”
“How does your uncle connect with your ex? Did he shoot him?”
“No.”
“The two stories are unrelated?”
“Completely.” Except that she probably wouldn’t have married Tom if she hadn’t left home so early and been so desperate for a friend.
“Okay, so what were you doing with a gun at the bank?”
They were back to that. “What do you think?”
His scowl told her he didn’t understand why she had to be so contrary. “A straight answer might serve you better.”
The sun was hot today, but the trees around her house blocked its direct rays, and a gentle breeze, coming off the lake, cooled the air. Rarely did it go above eighty in Pineview. With all the wildflowers in bloom right now— the lupine, the Indian paintbrush, the kinnikin-nick ground cover—it was a beautiful time of year. She loved it here, especially in summer.
“I was getting it out of my safe-deposit box. What else?” she said with a shrug.
“Why today?”
“Why not today?”
“Does it have anything to do with recent events?”
“If by ‘recent events’ you mean Pat’s murder, yes.” It had even more to do with Rex’s disappearance, and the fact that he knew where she lived and could tell the wrong people if sufficiently motivated or careless, but that was one of those things she couldn’t talk about. Over the past four years, she’d gotten so good at guarding her tongue she weighed almost every sentence she spoke. The constant vigil was taxing, which must be the reason she was suddenly slipping up. She was so tired of the charade, of the caution and worry. She was also tired of spending so much time alone or on the internet, trying to fill her life with strangers or business associates who posed no threat. Even Claire didn’t know who she really was.
“How does Pat’s murder affect you?” he pressed.
“Unless you’ve caught the person who’s responsible, it affects everyone, doesn’t it?”
He shoved away from the railing. “That’s it? You’re worried about safety?”
“I think we all are.”
“Pat’s murder doesn’t hold any special significance to you.”
“I’m sad it happened.”
“That’s not what I’m asking.”
She ruffled her hair again. As short as it was, she couldn’t do any damage. “Then I’m afraid I don’t understand what you’re after.”
“This doesn’t relate to your uncle or your ex-husband?”
“No.”
“Do you know
Guilt stabbed her like a knife to the gut. It was possible she did. If what she feared was true, she should say something. But what if she was wrong? The information she had to offer could derail the investigation as easily as
