It was his guilt. It was his shame. He just prayed no one else had paid for it.
CHAPTER 1
Two Years Later
HANNAH BROOKES pulled into the parking lot of the Brewster County sheriff’s office and sat staring at the glass entry door.
Texas heat shimmered off the pavement in waves as a hot desert sun beamed down with all its fierce summer rays. She could literally feel the warmth outside the air-conditioned comfort of the car and hesitated once again before shutting off the car engine and stepping out into it.
It was a typical summer day, she reminded herself. It shouldn’t bother her now any more than it ever had. But it did. Because that heat on the outside reminded her of what was awaiting her once she entered that building and walked into Rick Grayson’s office.
She breathed out heavily at the thought, wishing there was a way to buy an AC that could counter the effects that man had on her. He made her, a normally confident, self-assured teacher, feel like a teenager with her first crush.
She was thirty years old. She wasn’t a teenager anymore, and she damned sure shouldn’t feel like one. Her hands shouldn’t be shaking and her heart shouldn’t be racing.
She’d been married. Her virgin days were long behind her. She’d had a lover or two since her divorce. So why was she sitting here like a ninny that had no idea how to talk to a man like Rick Grayson?
Probably because she didn’t know how to talk to a man who made her heart race and her hands shake, she reminded herself. It had never happened before, even when she had been young and inexperienced.
“Dumb,” she muttered as she shut the car off, pulled the key from the ignition, and pushed the door open.
Standing to her full five feet three and three-quarter inches, she hit the remote lock on the door, clutched her handbag tighter, and strode to the door.
She was not a ninny. Her heart might race, her hands might shake, but she could come up with a very, very good reason for it this morning.
Pushing through the door, she strode, shoulders straight, head high, to the receptionist’s desk.
“Carl Dee, how are you doing?” she greeted the officer standing behind the desk with a smile.
Carl Dee had always been Carl Dee. No one called him Carl or Dee, it was always both, and he was quick to remind anyone that called him otherwise.
“Hey, Miz Brookes.” His wide grin was slightly awry as he ran his hand over his frizzled red hair and glanced at the computer he’d been typing on. “Sheriff’s making me learn a new program here. Save me, please.”
She laughed at the playful teasing in his expression. His five-year-old daughter looked just like him. The same grin, the same playfulness.
“It looks pretty complicated.” She shook her head with mock seriousness. “I don’t know, I might mess it up for you, then the sheriff will lock us both up.”
“The mood he’s in this week, I wouldn’t doubt it. He’s grouchy as a sore-tailed bear coming out of hibernation,” Carl Dee grumped, shaking his head. “What can I do for you?”
Hannah grimaced. “Well, I need to talk to the bear, if you think he’d see me?”
“Poor Miz Brookes.” Carl Dee chuckled. “Let’s hope you’re not here to yell at him. He yelled back at the last pretty girl that stomped in here on him.”
Her lips twitched. “Mona was here today?”
Mona was the sheriff’s sister. Those two had been arguing and yelling at each other since they were kids, from what she had heard.
“In the flesh, pretty as she can be, and raging hell and brimstone down on his head again.” He picked up the phone on the desk. “Give me a sec here and I’ll see if he’s calmed down some.” Carl Dee winked at her, his brown eyes twinkling in laughter as he punched the line into the sheriff’s office.
Hannah turned and surveyed the lobby of the new sheriff’s offices as he talked. Slate-gray tile floors blended nicely with the pale cream walls. Photographs of the county were displayed on the walls, and the chairs in the waiting area looked reasonably comfortable.
Arrangements of dried desert flowers filled pots on metal and glass tables, while a television droned quietly in the background.
“Miz Brookes, the sheriff’s secretary will be out in a minute to get you.” Carl Dee drew her attention back to him. “Just give her time to bring him fresh coffee so he’ll be sure to be nice and polite.”
Hannah laughed at the aside. She remembered a time, though, when Sheriff Grayson’s good humor had been the norm. When he had smiled, even laughed some. A time before his wife had been murdered by homeland terrorists who had been friends.
“Hannah, how good to see you again.” Mae Livingston came down the hall, immaculate as always in black dress slacks and a light gray cotton shirt and two-inch heels.