In Seconds

6

With its high ceilings and marble floors, Mountain Bank and Trust was cold and quiet, peaceful in the sterile vein of most banks. Vivian generally liked coming here. She knew Herb Scarborough, the manager, from sitting next to him and his wife so often at church. He waved through the glass walls of his office in the corner. Then there was Nancy Granger, one of the tellers, who’d recently joined her book group. Nancy flashed her a smile, too.

As childish as it made her feel, Vivian found the bowls of candy on the loan officers’ desks as tempting as her kids did, but today she didn’t so much as glance over to see what kind of candy those bowls contained. She was in too much of a hurry. Mia’s ballet class lasted only forty-five minutes. She wanted to get in and out as quickly as possible, then stow the gun in the trunk of her car until after the kids fell asleep this evening. No way did she want them to see it—or even the small blanket she planned to wrap it in. Why incite their curiosity?

“Hi, Vivian. Can I help you?” Naomi Jowalski, the assistant manager, stood as Vivian approached her desk. Naomi had helped her before, when she’d first come to town and brought in the tightly wrapped bundle that hid the gun.

“I’d like to get into my safe-deposit box, please.”

“No problem.” She began sorting through the large number of keys she wore on an expandable bracelet. One of those keys unlocked the door leading to the basement vault. “Can you tell me the number?”

Vivian gave it to her and showed her driver’s license—the one Virgil had purchased for her on the black market just before she’d moved here. Then she signed in and Naomi led her downstairs to the vault that held a smattering of boxes, some bigger and some smaller than her own. Considering the population of Pineview, the bank didn’t need to devote a lot of space to safe-deposit boxes and they didn’t. They’d tucked them away in a far corner of the basement and, at the moment, that basement was empty except for the two of them.

“I’ll wait right here.” Naomi stopped at the entrance to allow Vivian some privacy.

Even as she turned the key, Vivian wasn’t too happy about taking the gun into her possession. She couldn’t bear to think of what could happen if her children ever found it. But she watched her kids carefully—and just as bad was the thought of being unable to protect them if The Crew showed up. She’d been in that situation before, hadn’t she?

“Did you hear about Pat Stueben?” Naomi said.

Blocking the assistant manager’s view in case she glanced over, Vivian unwrapped the gun. She’d been in such a rush to get Mia to ballet on time she’d forgotten to bring a bag to carry it in, but she had her purse. Leaving her real birth certificate and driver’s license, along with her children’s birth certificates, in the box, she put the gun in her bag and locked up. “I did. Tragic, isn’t it?”

“Who could beat someone to death, especially someone like Pat?” Naomi asked. “For forty-eight dollars?”

Everyone was wondering the same thing. Vivian had just had a similar conversation with Pearl Stringham, Mia’s dance instructor. “No one we know. It has to be a stranger.”

“That’s what I’ve been hearing. But still—” she rubbed her arms as Vivian approached “—I get chills thinking about it.”

“Certainly makes it difficult to sleep at night.” How would Naomi react if she knew what Vivian had been through? What she was fighting so hard to prevent?

“All finished?”

Vivian nodded.

“Right this way, then.”

Supremely conscious of the gun in her purse, Vivian followed Naomi up the stairs. Having a lethal weapon empowered her in a sense. But that didn’t end the worry. What if she made a mistake? Shot the wrong person? Nana Vera and Claire—not to mention Leah, a waitress from the local diner who’d introduced her to the Thursday-night book group—had a tendency to come by at unexpected times. Occasionally they’d even make themselves at home while waiting for her to return. That was the type of community they lived in…?.

“Vivian?”

Engrossed in her own thoughts, she’d missed a question. “Yes?”

“Is there anything else we can do for you here at Mountain Bank and Trust?”

“No, thank you.”

The assistant manager donned a pleasant smile. “Have a good day.”

Eager to hide the Sig in her trunk and get back to Mia’s ballet class, Vivian lowered her head and charged through the double doors, only to run into what felt like a brick wall. Bouncing back, she hit the door, which hadn’t quite closed, and dropped her purse.

Buster Hayes, six foot four and three hundred and fifty pounds of collegiate football star, had just rounded the corner; she’d plowed right into him.

“Oh, wow! I’m sorry.” He steadied her, then bent to recover what had spilled out—but froze when he saw the Sig P220 lying on the concrete between them.

Chrissy Gunther was walking toward the bank at the same time, and came to an immediate stop. “Is that a gun?” she gasped.

Vivian scooped it up, along with the rest of her belongings. “Just a little something for self-protection,” she muttered, and hurried away.

None of the waitresses at the Golden Griddle had noticed anyone using the pay phone, which left the investigation exactly nowhere.

Head pounding, Myles turned off the lights and propped his feet on his desk. Half of Pineview had called him this morning. Chester Magnuson, over at the paper. Gertie, looking to see if he’d been able to identify her husband’s murderer. The stepson, who’d arrived in town and was staying with his mother. Delbert wondered how such a thing could happen in Pineview and wanted to know what was going on with the investigation. Even the mayor had phoned.

Myles needed a few seconds to himself. But the moment he closed his eyes, Chrissy Gunther came dashing into the reception area, squawking like an old hen. He wished he could ignore her. It was his lunch hour. Surely that meant he could take five minutes. But there was too much excitement in her voice to attribute all of it to her high-strung nature. And no matter how many excuses she trumped up to talk to him, she didn’t usually drive thirty miles to do that.

“I have to speak with Sheriff King,” she told Deputy Campbell. “Right away. It’s important.”

Wishing the painkiller he’d swallowed several minutes ago would hurry and stop the jackhammer in his head, Myles forced his eyes open and got up to turn on his light. Although married, Chrissy made a habit of seeking him out. He was pretty sure she didn’t understand how he could resist her, despite her marital status.

Deputy Campbell appeared in the doorway just as he reached for the light switch. “Chrissy Gunther is here to see you. She says she might have some information on the Pat Stueben case.”

“Really? Chrissy?” Myles could see the little dynamo coming to report that the school principal wasn’t allowing her cheer squad to use the gym, even though school was out for summer. Or that the lunch lady hadn’t refunded the three dollars and fifty cents that was left on one of her children’s lunch cards, and was therefore trying to steal it. To Chrissy, those things would be worth the drive. But her world didn’t extend beyond her kids.

Campbell cast a glance over his shoulder as if he wasn’t quite sure what to think. He lived here in Libby, not in Pineview, so he didn’t know Chrissy, but the look on his face suggested that he could tell she was a handful. “So she claims.”

“Fine. Send her in.” Perhaps she’d spotted a stranger with blood on his shoes or something. Myles could always hope. No one paid closer attention to the actions and mistakes of others than Chrissy Gunther.

Hoping that whatever she had to say would be worth putting up with her flirtatious smiles, Myles stood to one side as she came bustling past him. “I saw it myself!” she exclaimed before he could even greet her.

He tried to rub away the grit in his eyes, but the stress of the murder, his lack of sleep and preoccupation with his neighbor was taking their toll. “What are you talking about?”

“The gun.”

The headache and fatigue instantly disappeared. “What gun?”

“The pistol Vivian was carrying out of Mountain Bank and Trust a few minutes ago.”

Hearing Vivian’s name added a one-two punch. A gun belonging to anyone else wouldn’t have been particularly noteworthy, not unless there was more to go along with it. Montana’s gun laws weren’t exactly the strictest in the nation; guns didn’t even have to be registered in this state, and almost everybody had at least a rifle. But someone like his neighbor toting a handgun out of a bank? “Vivian Stewart?”

“I think you’re familiar with her. There’s just one Vivian in Pineview, right? And I’ve seen the way you watch her. It’s made all the rest of us girls jealous.”

Inappropriate as it was for her to include herself in that comment, he ignored the jab. “Are you sure?”

“That you watch her?” She fluttered her eyelashes. “How could I miss it?”

“I mean, are you sure it was her?” He suspected she’d understood what he’d meant the first time, but he wasn’t about to let her draw him into the kind of conversation she obviously craved.

Annoyed that he wouldn’t rise to the bait, she propped one hand on her hip. “Positive. And she definitely had a gun in her purse. I wasn’t the only one to see it. Buster Hayes saw it, too. All you have to do is ask him.”

Myles had no idea what Chrissy was talking about. Maybe Montana had the third-most legal gun owners per capita, only a tenth of a percent behind Alaska. And maybe the prevalence of firearms per capita in a rural county, one with eighteen thousand residents, would be even greater than the more populated parts of the state. But he couldn’t see Vivian toting around a weapon. Especially a hidden weapon. For one thing, he’d be very surprised if she had a permit to carry concealed. And she didn’t like guns. He’d heard her say so when Jake asked her how old he had to be before he could buy a hunting rifle.

So what did she plan on doing with a pistol? Why would she be attempting to conceal it? And why would she take it to the bank?

He motioned to a chair. “Would you like to sit down?”

Chrissy’s ponytail—an obvious hairpiece since he’d seen her without it—bounced as she perched on the edge of the chair.

“I suggest you speak to her immediately,” she said.

Myles tried not to notice that the vinyl was only slightly more orange than her self-tanner. “Thanks for the advice. But first, why don’t you slow down and tell me exactly what happened?”

Rhinestones embedded in the acrylic of her nails flashed as she fanned herself. It wasn’t remotely hot in his office, but the excitement of her errand seemed to be affecting her. “There isn’t much to it,” she said. “She was coming out of the bank, bumped into Buster Hayes and dropped her purse. That’s when we both saw it. She had a handgun in there that fell out.”

Myles returned to his own seat. “You’re not suggesting Vivian tried to hold up Mountain Bank and Trust.”

“Maybe she was thinking about it. Maybe she chickened out at the last minute. Why else would someone carry a pistol into a bank?”

“Did you ask her?”

“I didn’t have the chance! The minute she realized we’d seen the gun, she grabbed it and rushed off.” Chrissy lowered her voice and widened her eyes for emphasis. “I’m telling you, she was acting really strange.”

Myles imagined Vivian as she’d been last night. She hadn’t behaved like the woman who’d done her best to ignore him over the past few months, to stay out of his way. That signified a marked change, too, didn’t it?

Or maybe not. Their feelings toward each other had been changing for some time, growing more intense. On both sides. Until last night, Vivian had hovered on the edges of his life, remaining safely out of reach. But for the first couple of years after Amber Rose died, she could’ve run naked across his lawn and it wouldn’t have raised his pulse by one beat. “In what way?” he asked.

Chrissy adjusted the strap of her blouse, which had slipped off her shoulder. She dressed as if she was one of the cheerleaders she coached—short shorts, skimpy tops and always a bow. “I don’t know. Spooked. Guilty.”

“So…how do you think this firearm you saw ties in to the murder? My deputy said—”

“It’s not every day someone drops a handgun coming out of a bank!” She put her purse on the floor, leaning forward to give him a clear view down her blouse.

Averting his eyes, he straightened his stapler. “I realize that. But a lot of people own guns around here. And the murder wasn’t committed with a firearm. So bear with me. I’m searching for a link.”

Her nails clacked as she tapped them together. “Something’s up, okay? That’s all I’m trying to tell you.”

For some reason, Myles liked Chrissy even less than he had before. She wasn’t bad-looking, but her personality… He’d heard rumors about how bossy she could be and how poorly she treated her husband. They ran a secondhand shop together, situated near the bank. He’d felt sorry for Mr. Gunther before, when Chrissy came on to him at the annual crab feed or at the bar. But driving all the way out here just because she had a tidbit of information? A tidbit about someone she viewed as a rival for his attention? That made him feel even worse for the poor bastard who’d married her.

“I’ll look into it,” he said. And he planned to. He’d forgotten to give Marley money to go to the bowling alley with her best friend this afternoon, so he had to drive back to Pineview, anyway. “Thanks for stopping by.”

She jumped to her feet. “If you’d like me to go over there with you, I will.”

He made a gesture that suggested she needn’t trouble herself. “That won’t be necessary. But…can I ask you one more thing?”

Her face lit up. “Of course!”

“How well do you know Vivian?”

“Not very well,” she confided. “I met her when we both helped out at the school last year—our girls are in the same grade. I invited her to one of my jewelry parties, but she canceled the day before.” Chrissy wrinkled her nose. “She’s not very social. I don’t know what her problem is, but I’m beginning to think she’s hiding something.”

She was hiding something. She was hiding herself and her children. An abusive ex would motivate anyone to keep a low profile, maybe even buy a gun. But he planned to check out Chrissy’s report, just in case.

Chrissy hesitated at the door. “Oh, and, Sheriff?”

“Yes?”

“I’m not sure if this is important, but in light of recent events, I think it might be.”

“What’s that?”

“When Vivian first arrived in town, her daughter told my daughter that she moved here because ‘bad men’ were chasing them.”

Myles came to an abrupt stop. He might’ve expected “a bad man.” But men? As in more than one?

Was this a lie Vivian had concocted for the sake of her children? So they wouldn’t have to know that it was their father causing all the trouble? “Did she say who those bad men might be?”

“No. But it had to do with someone breaking into their house, someone who was shot and had—” she made quotation marks with her fingers “—‘blood coming out all over.’”

Another surprise. He had no idea what it meant, and yet he felt the urge to defend Vivian and Mia. “That could be make-believe, something she saw on television.”

“I know it sounds far-fetched. I thought the same thing at first. I mean, not every mother is as diligent about what their children watch as I am. But now I wonder…”

Myles wondered, too. Was Mia speaking about an actual event? If so, how did this tie in to what Vivian had told him? Was there one man she feared—or more? Did she really have an abusive ex?

And, if so, had she killed him?

Myles stood on her porch. Vivian could see his blurry image through the misted oval glass, recognized the blue of his uniform and knew why he’d come. Because of Chrissy. Buster wouldn’t have bothered the sheriff. Buster wasn’t a nosy troublemaker like Hope’s mother, who was generally known as the bane of the elementary school staff, if not the whole town. Unfortunately for Mia, Hope was turning out much the same. Before school ended for the summer, Hope had purposely excluded Mia from her popular clique.

Frowning, Vivian pushed away from her computer, where she’d been using Gchat to convince Claire that Pat’s murder had nothing to do with her mother’s disappearance. She’d been answering some of the emails that’d flooded her box over the past twenty-four hours, too. The blue-jean cutoffs and Little Big Town T-shirt she’d donned when she got home wasn’t really what she’d choose to wear in front of guests, especially male guests. But she didn’t want Mia to know the sheriff had come, didn’t want her to overhear the questions Myles might ask. So she got up and hurried to answer before he could ring the bell.

Fortunately, he knocked first, and not very loud. He could probably see her inside the living room, just as she could see him on the porch.

Determined to keep their encounter as brief as possible, she opened the door slightly. “Yes?”

When his gaze dipped to her chest, she knew he’d already noticed that she wasn’t wearing a bra. It’d taken less than a millisecond for her breasts to become his focal point and raise the tension between them. But the tension itself was nothing new. That was why she’d been bold enough to proposition him last night. She’d never dreamed he’d refuse her.

“Vivian.” He bent his head.

Forcing a polite smile, she used a similarly formal tone. “Sheriff. How are you today?”

“I’ve been better.”

So had she. For a lot of reasons. The most pressing was Rex. She couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d once meant to her, couldn’t stop wondering if he was still alive and whether or not she’d contributed to his downfall. Although she’d grown used to living with fear, guilt was new and more difficult to tolerate. Then there was the embarrassment she’d been trying so hard to avoid. With Myles standing less than two feet away, it was virtually impossible to shove the memory of her offer and subsequent rejection into the recesses of her mind.

She considered apologizing for her behavior and blaming it on the wine, but she wasn’t one for excuses. The alcohol hadn’t changed how she felt, only revealed it. He probably understood that as well as she did. Besides, if he thought she was a tramp, maybe he’d make her life easier by staying away from her and refusing to let Jake hang out with him.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” She paused, but he didn’t take the opportunity to come to the point of his visit. Instead, silence fell.

“Can I speak with you for a few minutes?” he asked when she didn’t invite him in, as he’d obviously expected.

“Of course.”

His eyebrows slid up. “Do we have to do it right here?”

Mia would be less likely to overhear if they chatted on the porch. “Why not? It’s a beautiful day. I’ll join you.”

Stepping outside, she closed the door quietly behind her and crossed the wooden planks to one of the rocking chairs she’d picked up at an antique auction last summer. She loved these chairs. Their weathered look fit perfectly with the wide veranda and stark simplicity of her hundred-year-old house. Her hundred-year-old house.

But maybe not for long. If she had to go on the run, there’d be no way to make the payments. She wasn’t even sure she’d have the money to survive. She’d have to lean on Virgil, and how long could she expect him and Peyton to take care of her? It was possible they’d have to leave what they’d created, too.

“You’re not curious about why I’m here?” he asked, trailing after her.

She sat down and pulled her legs up to hide her chest. “Judging by the uniform, it looks official, so…I’m guessing you haven’t stopped by for a quickie.” She’d thought making light of her blunder would ease the awkwardness between them, but her joke didn’t draw the grin she’d been angling for—or any other indication that they could laugh about last night.

Instead, his gaze slid over her bare legs, making her regret the reference even more.

“Forget I said that,” she muttered. “It was my way of apologizing for putting you on the spot after you were kind enough to come to the rescue of my refrigerator. That’s all.”

“It was an apology?”

“That’s right.”

“Not a suggestion.”

She cleared her throat. It definitely wasn’t a suggestion. “I wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.”

“How sorry are you?”

“Excuse me?”

“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 could have, not unless she somehow managed to free herself from the past. “Maybe I don’t have a choice.”

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?”

Damn… “Everyone carries concealed around here whether they have a permit or not. Unless they’re waving it around in someone’s face or they’re making threats or they’re drunk…no one really cares. Or are you going to be a hard-ass?”

“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 two violent men in your life.”

“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 anything about why it occurred? Who might be responsible?”

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 help it…?.

It was better to wait. Why ruin the life she’d created here, which she was so intent on protecting, if she didn’t have to? “Of course not. What makes you think I might?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know. Something’s up with you. I can’t figure out what it is but—”

“I already explained.”

“When you told me about your ex-husband.”

“That’s right.”

“And his name is…”

Fresh alarm curled through Vivian’s veins. She couldn’t give him Tom’s name in case Myles used it to dig up her real identity. And yet she couldn’t come up with a good excuse not to. “I don’t even want to say it.”

“Because…”

Shit. She’d thought a quick mention of her abusive ex would put an end to the sheriff’s queries, provide an excuse for her secrets, but it’d only made him hungry for details. After two years in this place, she’d broken down and done exactly what she’d sworn she’d never do—she’d shared a specific detail that could, if she wasn’t careful, unravel the whole truth.

“Because he’s part of my past and I won’t revisit those years,” she said.

He turned her arm so he could see the scar Tom had left. “Tell me about this.”

Thanks to years of healing, the initials her ex had carved with his pocketknife weren’t as visible as they’d once been. Even if Myles could decipher them, there wasn’t much he could do with TH. But the possibility that she could be underestimating him added to her anxiety.

“There’s no need to go over it.” She pulled her arm out of his grasp. “It’s not related to anything.”

“Did you kill him?” His eyes seemed to drill a hole right through her.

“Who? My ex-husband? Of course not!”

Lines formed on his forehead. “Then why won’t you tell me about him?”

She stood. “Because it has nothing to do with you or…or this town…or Pat’s murder.”

“Are you on the run, Vivian?”

“No!”

“Then what?”

“I just want to mind my own business, to be left alone!”

He looked disappointed. “Thanks for the trust.”

“Why should I trust you? We barely know each other!”

“Is that right?”

“Yes! We—we’re neighbors, nothing more,” she said, but couldn’t quite meet his gaze because what they’d done in her dreams was certainly more intimate than anything that would occur between strangers.

He lowered his voice to a muted growl. “Then why do you find excuses to come outside whenever I’m working in the yard?”

Her mouth dropped open. This was the last thing she’d expected. “I—I don’t!”

“And why do you follow my every move when you think I’m not aware that you’re there?”

Oh, God… Heat rose to her cheeks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The invitation you extended last night didn’t come out of nowhere, Vivian. There are plenty of other men in Pineview who’d gladly take you to bed. But, to my knowledge, you’ve never had any of them over here.”

“That doesn’t mean I won’t!”

“Yes, it does. That’s not your style. What happened last night didn’t come from wanting to get laid as much as it came from all the hours you’ve watched me…like I’ve watched you.”

It was difficult to speak with her heart in her throat, but she had to make the effort, had to reel in the emotions that seemed to be exploding between them. “Look, I’ve already tried to explain. Last night was a—a mistake. One you won’t have to worry about me repeating. I don’t know what I was thinking or…or feeling, but…it was just a weak moment, okay?”

“And now you regret it.”

“Exactly.”

“Would you regret it as much if I’d said yes?”

“Probably more,” she admitted.

“That’s why I refused.”

She narrowed her eyes. If he wasn’t going to let her get away with anything, she’d hold him to the truth, too. “That isn’t the reason.”

“Then what is?”

“You’re afraid of me. Afraid of what you don’t know.”

He ignored the accusation. “About that gun…”

Her stomach muscles tightened. “What about it?” Would he confiscate her Sig? She got the impression he was considering it. But now that she’d made the decision to keep the weapon close at hand, she didn’t want to lose the advantage it could give her.

“It’s dangerous to have it in the house.”

It was more dangerous not to have it, which was why Virgil had given her the Sig in the first place. “I’ll be careful.”

“Do you really need it? I mean…I’m right next door.”

With a thirteen-year-old. No way would she get him involved if The Crew came to call. The Crew would kill him and Marley, just like they’d butchered that U.S. marshal…?.

The panic she’d felt as she called 9-1-1 that night a few years ago returned to her mind, along with the memory of the marshal’s blood, still warm, as she tried to hold the wound in his neck closed. She couldn’t let anything like that happen again. Ever. Which meant she had to control herself and her emotions. “Thank you, but…I can take care of myself.”

She’d offended him. He wanted her to rely on him as a lawman, if nothing more, but he didn’t argue with her or try to convince her. He nodded once and turned to go.

Unable to stifle the impulse, she followed him to the steps. “So…that’s all you have to say?”

When he faced her again, the hooded expression he’d worn since he arrived dropped, revealing raw desire. “Yes. No. Yes. No. You’re driving me crazy,” he murmured.

She was driving herself crazy, wanting what she couldn’t have. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s all you’ve got to say?” he said, repeating her line from a moment before.

“Yes.” What more was there? She had no choice but to do exactly as she was doing.

“No.” He shook his head.

“No?”

“You want to keep your gun?”

Where was he going with this? She slid one arm around the pillar to steady herself. “You know I do.”

The emotion that’d burned so bright only a second before disappeared behind a professional facade. “Then go for a ride with me. Tonight at six-thirty. Marley will babysit.”

“The kids can’t stay here—” she started, but he cut her off.

“Then we’ll take them to my place.”

Even if The Crew was in town, they’d have no reason to go looking for her or her children at the sheriff’s house. Mia and Jake would be safe. But still… Was she getting in over her head?

“What if I refuse?”

“I’ll take your gun from you right now.”

She swallowed hard. “And if I go with you?”

“You might have a chance of keeping it.”

“Might?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether or not I’m convinced you know how to use it.”

This, she hadn’t expected. “Excuse me?”

“Bring it with you,” he said, and walked away. When he reached his car, he called back, “And dress warm. We’ll be taking the Ducati.”