Dying to Tell(9)

Or cried over her miserable life with Amelia.

As if they’d never talked about running away together.

As if she hadn’t run without him.

Well, two could play that game. He could be just as cold. He’d had lots of practice.

He gestured toward the double doors separating the reception area from his office, the interrogation rooms, and the holding cells. “Come on back to my private office, and we’ll talk.”

She nodded, and he led her to the small space he called his own. She glanced around the office as if noting the details, and he wondered what she was thinking. An apology for the tiny space, the mess, the lack of high-tech equipment, lay on his tongue, but he refused to apologize.

That would mean he cared what she thought, and he didn’t.

He couldn’t allow himself to.

The desk was a massive, scarred oak one that had belonged to his grandfather, the chair comfortable worn leather. He’d hung his military commendations on the wall, along with his diploma and a family photo of him and his brother, Nick. They were celebrating a win after a high school baseball game. Both he and his brother had been on the team. He was catcher, Nick, pitcher. Nick had hit a grand slam that day to win the game.

That was before his father disappeared and their life had fallen apart. He and Nick hadn’t handled it well, hadn’t been close since.

Another reason he had a picture of Ayla on the desk. Her sweet, innocent smile reminded him that once in a blue moon, good things did happen.

Sadie didn’t comment on the room or even make small talk. Instead she fidgeted, then dropped into the wooden chair across from his desk.

He stopped at the coffeepot on the counter and poured himself a cup of coffee, then gestured an offering to her. She shook her head no, her lips pressed into a thin line.

He slid into his chair, listening for Amelia’s sobs. She’d bellowed half the night, until Doc Tynsdale drugged her. But the cell block in the back was silent, and that made his nerves crawl in a different way.

He took a sip of coffee, his gaze locking with Sadie’s. She remained all brave face and businesslike. A front? Or was she just trying to hold herself together for her sister’s sake? She had to be upset over her grandfather’s death.

Still, he wasn’t exactly a stranger.

Did she not remember his touch? That he’d loved her once? Did she have any idea of the heartache he suffered when she broke it off with him?

Hell, he’d felt like a fool. All those times he’d driven by her house, by their favorite spot by the creek, pining for her. He’d even kept her painting of Slaughter Creek, although he stowed it in the attic so it wouldn’t remind him of her.

She cleared her throat. “Tell me what happened, Jake. Did Amelia really kill Papaw?”

He drummed his knuckles on the desk. “It appears that way.”

When she showed no response, he tacked his professional mask in place. He was a lawman. She was the sister of a suspect in a murder investigation.

If she’d talked to Amelia lately or to her grandfather, she might offer a clue that could help them understand this whole damn mess.

Then he could close the case; focus on finding out what happened to his father. She could leave, and he could forget about her all over again.

He had Ayla now. Ayla was the love of his life.

Sadie had deserted him. And so had Ayla’s mother.

He would never trust another woman again.



Sadie dug her fingernails into the palms of her hands to control the trembling. She dealt with traumatized children, with detectives, with DAs, with violent angry defendants, all the time. She could do this. “Jake, please talk to me. I need to know Amelia’s condition when you found her.”

He hissed a breath, then leaned back in his chair. “When I arrived at the house, I heard crying from upstairs, in the bedroom. Walt was dead, gunshot wound to his head. Amelia was hunched on the floor with the shotgun in her hands.”

Sadie gulped. “He was shot in the head?”

Jake nodded. “Yeah. It was a mess. Blood was everywhere...”

Sadie bit her tongue in denial. Her sister might be crazy, but she wouldn’t kill Papaw...There had to be another explanation.

One of the personalities in her head?

But why? None of them had ever turned violent toward Papaw before.

To one other person, yes, but not to family...

Something wasn’t right.

“Nobody else was there?” she asked. “Maybe someone else shot Papaw and put the gun in Amelia’s hands.”

“Amelia was the only one in the house.” He spread his hands on the file on his desk, covering the folder that probably had photos of the crime scene. “After I took the gun away from her, I searched the house and perimeter.”