Atonement (17 page)

Deflated by her abrupt change in demeanor, he nodded. She practically ran for the door, and that hurt even more.

Why had he fooled himself into thinking one little dance would change her mind about him? Nicolette Rivers was nothing more than a stone wall he'd never breach.

Friday dawned bright and clear. The heat wave earlier in the week gave way to a cold snap that carried with it the hint of incoming frost. Nic hauled the tack for her hunter jumper out to the pasture fence and set it on the top board. After yesterday's confessional, she was of a mind to think either Con or Agent Hunt would alert Sheriff Hamilton to her mental state, and she'd be booted off the cases or put on administrative leave for the time being.

So why not get in a long, early-morning jump session to clear her head and her body of all the unwanted thoughts and emotions?

Instead of the normal nightmares, Nic had dreamed of Con and encounters of a highly sexual nature. Their little dancing session last night hadn't helped matters any. The whole episode left her wrung-out and more tired than she would have been if she'd had the nightmares.

She let out a piercing, four-note whistle and waited for her Thoroughbreds to come running. Both horses crested the hill and thundered down to her.

The geldings slowed and meandered up to the fencing, both throwing their heads over the top rung. Whiskey sniffed his jumping tack. It had been too long since she'd last taken a ride. This morning, she'd ride both and let out all her frustrations.

Mom had a favorite saying that Nic had taken to heart and never forgot: “A horse is the perfect friend and confidant. They'll never let you down.” For a good chunk of her youth, Nic hadn't held true to that statement but now regretted ever trying to ignore the equine side of her life.

Not again.

The sound of an approaching vehicle reached Nic. She growled and turned to see Agent Hunt's rental pull into her driveway.

Oh goodie.

She didn't need his aggravation this early in the morning. Her saddling up Whiskey and getting on his back might deter the man, but somehow Nic didn't think he was the type to be easily waylaid.

She met him halfway across the yard. “You're one of those feds that likes to catch your prey off guard with an early-morning wake-up call, aren't you?”

A boyish grin crossed the man's face, unsettling Nic. She could see how he'd managed to draw Cassy in and snare her.

“Deputy Rivers, it's nice to see you looking alert and rested. I do believe you have more color in your face today.”

“Suck a rotten egg.”

“Done that already.” A serious mask slipped onto his face. “Mind telling me why you paid the good Doc Drummond a visit yesterday? Alone?”

Up went the defensive wall. Nic glared at him. “Last time I checked, I didn't answer to you, Agent Hunt.”

He stopped within three feet of invading her personal space. Good. At least he'd learned something about her. A drill sergeant might enjoy yelling in her face, but no one got that close without her consent. So it was odd how close she allowed Con to get to her.

“No denying that, but your sheriff has asked me to assist in these investigations. And after the events of yesterday evening, I'm inclined to recommend you be pulled from duty.”

“And put our department into a shortage of manpower on the very weekend we need every available body working?”

“Not my concern.”

Nic clenched her fists hard enough to make the knuckles pop. Punching him would make her feel better, but it would land her in jail with assault charges. And that dirty little secret the Marine Corps wanted to keep in the dark might come to light. Because Agent Hunt struck her as the type to grab on to a juicy bone and never stop gnawing on it until it was fully consumed.

“Is that why you came out here? To slap my wrist and warn me that you have the power to make my life more of the same miserable hell?”

Agent Hunt pushed his jacket aside to settle his hands on his waist, revealing the badge and sidearm clipped to his belt. The whole “macho male authority” posture made Nic want to laugh. She'd tangled with men who outranked, outweighed, and out-aged Hunt, and not once did she back down.

“When I met Detective Rivers, I never realized who her father was.”

Nic humphed. “More like you were too busy sniffing around her like she was a mare in heat to take notice.”

A deadly gleam passed through Hunt's green eyes. “Are you truly this vulgar, Deputy Rivers, or just trying to warn me off?”

With a tilt of her head, Nic crossed her arms and let a sly smile slip into place. “You seem to think you're the expert on me. Why don't you tell me what I am?”

This time, he breached her personal space. “I had the pleasure of meeting your father in Quantico once while I was doing some training. If memory serves me right, he was still actively serving as a brigadier general. Fine man. How is it that he spawned a woman like you?”

Every muscle in Nic's body coiled. One solid punch to his jaw, and she'd leave him with the mother of all headaches and a bruise he wouldn't be able to explain away.

“Boyce!”

The pitch of Cassy's voice was a like a whip crack. The perceived sting of it carried the desired effect, forcing Hunt to quickly back away from Nic. She blinked at the sharp retort and how fast Hunt retreated from her space. Her gaze flicked to her sister standing on the front stoop as she was beckoning the agent to the house.

With a parting glare, Hunt about-faced, marched across the yard, and followed Cassy inside.

Once the door clapped shut, Nic released the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Every nerve and brain cell screamed for release. God, how she wanted to beat that man to a bloody pulp. What was he trying to accomplish? First the jab about Dusty Walker making her kill him, last night playing buddy-buddy with her, and now the slight in comparing her to The General.

Agent Hunt was obviously on a mission, and it didn't have a thing to do with the rash of suicides in town.

• • •

Both Mam and Farran were waiting for Con when he and Cadno returned from their early-morning run. The MWD must have caught their scent, because Con had a hard time trying to keep up with him. Midway up the drive, Con unhooked the leash and let Cadno greet the women first while he huffed the rest of the way.

After getting her fair share of dog kisses, Mam straightened, reached up to cradle Con's face in her hands, and pinched his cheeks. “Are you sweet on Nic Rivers, again?”

“Ow, Mam!” He fled from her motherly punishment.

She rolled her eyes and pursed her lips in a severe line that spoke of a good tongue-lashing to come.

“Mam, he's always been sweet on her. I think this time she's actually returning it.” Farran opened the front door to allow Cadno in and followed the dog inside.

Maura O'Hanlon's eyebrows rose, and she crossed her arms. “Is that true?”

Heaving a sigh all the men in Ireland were sure to hear, Con dodged his mam and darted inside the house. “I don't know what you're all upset about. I thought you liked Nic.”

“I do,” Mam said, closing the door behind her, “but there are too many people speaking ill of her, and it makes my heart ache knowing you're getting caught up in the trouble.”

The unspoken message behind her statement made Con pause and turn to her. Her strained expression made her look older. Con retreated to her position and gripped her shoulders. “Mam, I'm not Da', and I'm not Seamus. Everyt'ing will be all right. You know people like to gossip around here, and right now Nic seems to be the hot news.”

“Next will be you. I can no' bear it if people start saying bad t'ings about my son.”

“Let them. I may not like it, but who cares?” He released her shoulders and headed for the kitchen where Farran leaned against a counter, grinning at him.

Obviously, she and Mam had been talking about this before they came over here, if that wide smile was any indication. And, if memory served right, Farran probably said about the same things Con had just spoken. His little sister was wise like that.

He couldn't fault Mam. Life for her had been difficult forever. She grew up during The Troubles, married a criminal, and escaped her home country to live in worse poverty than she had experienced in Ireland, only to flee once again when her wayward husband found her. Shortly after, she lost a son but gained her freedom. When it came to Con and Farran, Maura O'Hanlon took mothering to a whole new level.

“Mam, give him a break. It's about time he found someone to love and get married. I'm getting tired of hearing you complaining about not having gran'babies.”

“With the way the two of you are going, I'll die before there are any babies.”

Con choked on a chuckle before it got him into worse trouble. Farran made a face at their mother's back, then went to a cupboard to pull out the tea kettle and the metal canister Con used to hold his Barry's tea.

“I still don't understand why you're getting close to her now,” Mam said, sinking onto a stool by the breakfast bar.

“I don't understand it myself, either, but I'm not going to fight it. She needs someone to be there for her.”

“And you t'ink that's you? She has her sister.”

“True, but they've not been close for many years. You know how distrustful Nic is of people. It's worse with her family.”

Farran leaned on the counter next to Mam. “How do you know that? She's been here three, four years, and no one knows a thing about her. Suddenly, you're working with her, and two days later you know every detail Nic's kept from everyone?”

Con looked from his mam to his sister and tensed. It felt like they were setting a trap for him and backing him right into it. “Bloody hell, you both act like I'm about to propose marriage to her and run off.”

A gleam passed through Mam's eyes, and Con panicked as the trap slammed shut. “So, you do want to marry her?”

“
Pleóid air!
”

“Watch your language. I didna raise you to be so vulgar.”

Chastised like a child, Con hung his head. “Sorry.” He took his mam's hands and looked her straight in the eye. “I'm trying to get to know Nic better. Please don't start reading things into it.”

“Do you care for her?”

Did he? Last night, he thought so, but the way Nic pushed him away hurt. Whatever she was hiding from the world, and whatever pain and bitterness she was enduring from her estrangement from her da' was seriously complicating any connection with her. But Con was persistent; he just had to stick it out with her.

“I think, to answer that question, Nic needs to hear it before you do.”

• • •

The ride invigorated Nic. Soaring over jumps as Whiskey flew through the course was better therapy than talking to some disassociated person. There were moments Nic wanted to let loose with reckless abandon and allow him to gallop, but the threat of crashing into a jumping standard and breaking a leg or an arm, or worse, her neck, kept her from doing it.

She saddled Ashes-and-Smoke, the gray gelding, and worked him as well. Ash had been with her for a year and needed more retraining. He still had the urge to take off at a sprint, because he'd been on the track longer than Whiskey. After Nic released the geldings into the pasture, she leaned on the fencing and stared up the hill. It was beautiful up there with all that timber and riding trails. That portion of the property had been a big reason why she'd bought this place. If the weather held, Nic decided she'd go for a long trail ride.

Leaving the pasture, she returned to the house. She banged through the back door in case her sister had lost her mind and was with Agent Hunt. Nic dropped her riding boots on their rack then padded through the laundry room into the kitchen. A half-full pot of coffee sat on the warmer. Nic beelined straight to the pot and filled a mug. As she took a sip, she heard the murmur of voices coming from the dining room. She wandered in that direction, cautious of what she might discover.

The files she'd brought were scattered across the table. Cassy was bent over the autopsy photos in one file, while Agent Hunt was scribbling on a clipboard.

“What are you doing?” Nic asked.

Both looked up, neither startled by her abrupt presence.

“Doing what you wanted,” Cassy answered.

Obviously, but Nic hadn't wanted Agent Asshole helping them. Much less knowing about it. “Let me rephrase that. What is
he
doing?”

“My job, Deputy Rivers,” he said without looking up.

One day … pow! Right in the kisser.

“Nic, it says in your report at the Moore scene that you found a corner of what might be a prescription label. Did that lead anywhere?” Cassy asked.

Her question helped defuse the tension between Nic and Hunt, but she wasn't about to let him off that easy.

“No. Doc Drummond said there were no previous scripts before Moore moved here; the man was against using meds of any kind. Some kind of health nut.”

“What about what you learned yesterday with Giselle Tomberlin's autopsy? Detective O'Hanlon and I haven't been caught up to speed on that li'l tidbit, as your incident last night deterred us,” Hunt said.

Nic bristled at Hunt's meaning, but damn it, she needed his help. “I can explain these new developments, but I need a favor first.”

Finally, those penetrating green eyes lifted from the clipboard and locked onto her. “I'm not in the favor department.”

“It's in connection to these cases.” It sucked ass eating crow on this, almost as much as it would suck to wait for a month or more on those damn lab reports. “And you're the only one with enough clout to move things faster.”

“I don't know about the clout part, but I'm listening.”

Well, if stroking the man's ego was all it took … “The state lab is backed up—like all labs—on the tox screens for our three suicides. Would it be possible for you to pull some strings, or cut red tape, or something to get them moved through faster? I think there's a vital answer in those blood tests that can help us figure this out.”