A Deep and Dark December(6)
“I called 9-1-1. He didn’t want me to. But we needed help. He kept saying that no one would believe he didn’t kill her. And then he…he…he put the gun to his head.”
Graham made a move to pat her shoulder, but pulled the gesture last minute. There was something in his gaze, something unguarded and searching. “I’m sorry.”
Glancing at the house, she shrugged and crossed her arms over her chest. She didn’t let herself think about how much she wanted his comfort, his arms around her, holding her. Having him back in San Rey after all these years… She shook her head. She couldn’t let those thoughts get any further. They’d never be what she wanted them to be.
A sky blue 1955 Cadillac Fleetwood rolled to a stop at the curb next to Graham’s cruiser. A burl of a man unfolded from the driver’s seat and plunked a gray fedora on his head. Ham Doran still carried himself like the sheriff even though his son had replaced him. He adjusted the collar of his raincoat, nodded at Graham, then turned toward the house. There was a jerk in his stride as his gaze snagged on Erin, but he quickly covered and continued on into the house.
She followed Ham’s movements until he disappeared inside, unable to pull her gaze away from the old sheriff. His dislike for her family ran deeper than her memories. As many times as she questioned her father and aunt about it, the harsher their reaction to her inquiry became until she stopped asking altogether. Whatever had happened between Ham Doran and her family would stay a secret.
“Shit,” Graham grumbled.
“Looks like someone forgot to tell your dad he’s not sheriff anymore,” Erin said.
“He’s not supposed to be straining himself. I’m going to have to take a baseball bat to his damn police radio.”
“Old habits are hard to break.”
“Maybe.” He frowned at her. If he knew how badly the fullness of his lips ruined the expression, he probably wouldn’t bother with it. Drops of rain dotted his beard and Erin tried to remember what he looked like without it. Was it soft? What would it feel like on her skin?
“Look,” he said, breaking into her thoughts and eyeing the new cars driving up the street. Mabel had obviously spread the word. “You’re covered in evidence and you need to come to the station to make a formal statement.”
Erin glanced down at her rain and blood soaked coat. Sparring with Graham had distracted her. Maybe he’d intended that by baiting her about her job, but his words brought back the horror of the situation. She was literally covered in pieces of Greg. Her mouth filled with saliva. She pulled in sharp, cold air through her nose, trying to quell her queasy stomach. He watched her, no doubt taking in the fact that she was barely holding on. She managed a brief nod.
“I’ll need to take your clothes in as evidence. Do you have any others you can change into?”
“Not with me, but I can have my aunt bring me some. You really have to take my clothes?”
More cars arrived and people began to set up tailgate-style, with lawn chairs and Easy-up tents. Ice chests were opened, beers passed and one enterprising voyeur set up a Hibachi grill. Greg and Deidre’s deaths would be the event of the century and no one wanted to miss it. She liked a great many things about the town she grew up in. But sometimes—like now—the smallness of it suffocated her.
Graham looked a little sorry for her and a lot pissed off at their audience. “Let’s get you in the car. I’ve got to get this crime scene secured.” He took the umbrella and held it up as he guided her to his car. He covered her as she climbed into the backseat of the cruiser, then leaned in. “Don’t talk to anyone. No phone calls, nothing. Got it? I’ll be right back.”
She nodded and he closed the door. He didn’t look back at her as he made his way into the house. She leaned against the hard, molded plastic seat and closed her eyes. The shaking started again, this time a combination of cold, fear, and being too damn close to Graham Doran.
Graham had seen some shit in his days on the LAPD, but nothing as dismal as the sight of his old high school buddy lying in a pool of blood, bits of the left side of his head floating in his wife’s blood.
No—there’d been one worse.
The one he couldn’t talk or think about.
He pushed those thoughts aside and tried to focus on the scene before him.
He and Greg had double-dated at their senior prom and played on the football team together. He didn’t recognize the woman Erin had said was Greg’s wife, but then he hadn’t seen Greg much since Graham had left for the police academy in Los Angeles.
He hadn’t seen much of anyone from San Rey and had preferred it that way. In the weeks since he’d come back, at least temporarily, he’d run into everyone everywhere. He couldn’t turn around in this godforsaken small town without bumping into his first grade teacher, his old pediatrician, the girl he lost his virginity with. Or Erin December.
He hated seeing Erin like that, pale and afraid. The gore she’d witnessed… He’d known hardened police officers who couldn’t handle what she’d seen. Hell, two of San Rey’s finest had already lost their lunches in the bushes outside the house. He’d pushed her buttons trying to stop her shivering. It had worked. She’d taken the bait and damned if she hadn’t warmed him up, too.
She’d changed a lot since the last time he’d seen her. Or maybe it was him who had changed. In any case, something had changed, making him take note of little things about her like the way her eyes sparked when challenged and the small mole near the corner of her mouth that drew his attention to her lips. Once he’d noticed it, he’d had a hard time looking away and not imagining what it would be like to kiss her. Totally inappropriate thoughts at a thoroughly inappropriate time, but there they were. They’d taken root and he doubted he’d be able to still them or keep them from following completely inappropriate paths.