LITMIR.BIZ

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He looked doubtfully at the suitcase. Pauline was running? From him? So scared she’d jumped out a basement window? Why hadn’t she called him? Texted? His hands went clammy as he stowed the cell phone. “It must not have been her.”

      “But who else would take these things? They’re of no value to anyone but your sister.”

      He didn’t have an answer. Nothing seemed to rise above the feeling of dread that settled into his gut. A police car rolled up with lights but no sirens. Donna went to greet it. Brent stayed with the suitcase. For some reason, he did not want it left alone in the darkened yard. A thought lifted his spirit. If it was really Pauline he’d been chasing, it confirmed she was alive and that was good enough at the moment. A glimmer of hope from God, his mother would say. The feeling didn’t last long. There was no hope from God, he’d learned, only loss and bitter despair.

      “What are the chances?” a low voice said.

      Brent looked up to see the man who hated him more than any other human being on the planet staring at him through the mist. Officer Dan Ridley. Brent’s heart sank. He forced an even tone.

      “My sister’s in trouble.”

      Ridley rested his hands on his gun belt. He looked tired, his mouth pulled down into a grimace. “Lots of women around you get in trouble.”

      Brent saw Donna’s questioning look.

      Ridley glanced at her. “She doesn’t know?”

      “Where’s Officer Huffington?” Brent spat.

      “She had to fly to Los Angeles to testify in court. This is my beat now.” Ridley smiled. “So you’ve got a problem, huh? Imagine how sorry I am to hear it.”

      “Can we cut the sarcasm?” Brent’s pulse slammed against his throat.

      Ridley introduced himself to Donna. “I guess you and this guy must be new friends, or else you would know.”

      There was the slightest unpleasant inflection on the word friends.

      “Know what?” Donna said.

      Ridley answered before Brent could step in. “He talked a young woman into going on a flight she didn’t want to take and the plane went down. Everyone died, except for the miracle man here.” Ridley stared at Brent. “The sole survivor. Imagine that.”

      He didn’t have to imagine. He woke in the middle of the night sweating, grateful to be snapped from the nightmare only to find he was never free of it and never would be.

      “It’s good to be a strong swimmer,” Ridley said. “You took off for shore in a heartbeat, I imagine. Didn’t even stop to help your dying fiancée, did you?”

      Donna recoiled in disgust. “This isn’t the time or place.”

      “I’m sure Mitchell here would agree with you. It’s never the time or the place to admit that you cost someone their life.”

      “That’s enough,” Donna snapped.

      Brent couldn’t stand her defending him. It took everything in him to keep his fists at his sides. “This isn’t about her dying—it’s about her leaving. Carrie dumped you, Dan, and chose me. That hurts you more than her death, doesn’t it? What kind of a guy does that make you?”

      Ridley jerked forward.

      Donna stepped between them. “Can we focus on what’s happened right here?” She gestured to the suitcase. “Whatever past you two have going on, there’s a woman in danger right now. Is there another officer who can help us now, since you’re not able to be professional?”

      Ridley’s nostrils flared.

      Brent gritted his teeth and waited.

      Ridley shot Donna a hostile look before he stepped back. He called to another officer, who approached, camera in hand, taking pictures of the suitcase. “Sergeant Cook is here to document, but I’m the lead. I’m going to walk the house with Cook and we’ll photograph,” Ridley said. “Then you can tell me everything from the beginning.”

      Inwardly, Brent groaned as the two officers headed for the house. He didn’t want to consider how Donna had perceived Ridley’s attack. He should explain it, tell her his side, but he could not open that dark place, not now, with a woman he barely knew.

      Donna did not press. They waited in silence until Cook called them back into the house and they returned to the basement to go through the story again.

      “And you don’t know if the person you tried to stop is your sister?” Ridley asked.

      Brent’s face warmed. “All I saw were the feet.”

      “There’s no sign of forced entry, which indicates somebody had a key. The big question is, if it was your sister, why would she run from you?” Ridley’s eyes glinted and the curve of his lip told Brent the guy was enjoying every moment.

      “I want another cop to investigate.”

      “It’s a small town and there aren’t any others available, so you’re stuck with me until Huffington returns. Ironic, isn’t it?”

      Brent raged. “I’ll talk to the chief.”

      “Go ahead, but you’ll still be working with me. We’ll start the ball rolling and come back tomorrow to see if we missed anything.” His satisfied smile lasted a moment longer before it dimmed. “Look, I wouldn’t cross the street for you, Mitchell, but I’m good at my job and I’ll do my best for your sister, if she really is in trouble.” He headed for the basement stairs. “Goodness knows Pauline doesn’t deserve to suffer like Carrie did.”

      The officers trailed up the basement steps and departed, leaving Brent staring at a closed door, even more confused than he’d been twelve hours before. One thing was certain, Pauline was in trouble. Big-time.

      * * *

      In Pauline’s basement, Donna trailed her fingers through the pile of yarn, uncertain whether to stay or go. She itched to talk over the developments with Marco and her sisters, but Brent’s unnatural stillness kept her there. Ridley’s hateful accusations circled in her mind and left her angry. Whatever had happened in their past, Pauline’s safety should be the focus and Brent was right to ask for a new investigator to take charge. Unless...

      The suspicion wormed its way to the surface. What if Brent was not as innocent as he seemed? The handsome face, the little-boy vulnerability—she’d been fooled before.

      To cover her confusion, she made a pretense of examining the knitting supplies. The yarns were in hues of greens and blues, next to what appeared to be the beginnings of a crooked scarf. Donna’s mother, JeanBeth, was a skilled knitter and it was easy to see that Pauline was not. Brent remained locked in silence. The minutes ticked away. She’d just decided to go when he spoke.

      “She makes me a scarf every year for Christmas. Sews me vests, too.”

      She remained silent, willing him to continue. For some reason that she could not name, she wanted to know what was going on inside Brent Mitchell.

      “I don’t wear scarves, living in Southern California, but I put them on to please her. I’ve got five hanging in my closet. Five scarves. Some of them have holes in them and she says those are ‘in the French style.’” He smiled. “I tell her I like them better that way because it allows for ventilation. The vests are even worse. It’s ironic because rescue swimmers sew their own gear, so I can handle a needle and thread better than she does. I never tell her that.”

      “You’re a good brother.”

      His eyes found hers. “I wish that was true. Since the plane crash...” He cleared his throat. “You’re probably wondering about all that since Ridley dropped the bomb.”

      “You were the only survivor?”

      “Yes.” He looked away, eyes studying the ceiling. “For the last six

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