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Muttered curses flew from Owen’s mouth. Luck be damned, he’d find this guy one way or the other. “Where? I’m on my way.”
7
Marie scooped her bag from the worn wooden floor in the living room and plopped it on the upholstered sofa. Rummaging through the bag, she searched for the tattered notebook where she logged all her information regarding Bill.
The police wouldn’t need it to tie him to a crime—he’d done a good enough job of that himself—but there could be something she’d seen or heard that could lead them to where the weasel was hiding.
Grabbing the worn book, she hurried across the hall as Owen rushed through the doorway.
A scowl drew down the corners of his mouth, and he rubbed the back of his tanned neck. The motion caused the muscles of his bicep to strain against the gray T-shirt with the Sheriff’s Department logo above his right pec. His mud-splattered shirt and faded jeans fit him to perfection, but an image of him in a uniform formed in her mind, and she swallowed hard.
Flustered, she thrust the book forward. “Here’s the notebook.”
Owen slid his hand from around his neck and grabbed the notebook, his fingers brushing against hers. Heat scorched her cheeks. She yanked back her hand and rocked on her heels, gazing past him into Lewis’ room.
“Thanks,” Owen said. He flipped through the pages then rounded the binding into his palm. “I need to go. I’ll look at this when I get a chance.”
She tilted her head and studied the tight lines etched across his forehead. “What’s wrong? Did someone find Bill?”
“No, but they found his truck.”
Marie bounced on her toes, the motion causing her to lean forward into Owen’s personal space. The scent of pine and lemon wafted from his too-close body. “If he’s hurt and doesn’t have a truck, he can’t be far.”
Owen ran a hand through his hair, and the tousled strands poked out in every direction. “He could be with the other guy from the video. An accomplice moving a corpse probably won’t blink an eye at harboring a fugitive. Hell, they’re both criminals now.”
Disappointment dropped her feet to the floor. “Bill’s been a criminal for a while.”
Owen lowered his chin until his gaze locked on hers. “I’ll find him. Stay here, and if you need anything call me.”
She flitted her gaze to the end of the hall. “Okay.”
Owen ran a long finger along his jawline. “I hate leaving you, but Pappy’s here. He can help with anything you need.”
A pang of emotion squeezed her heart. These two men—the one in front of her and the old man who shot a man to save her and her baby—were strangers. Yet they had offered her shelter, protection, and hope. Her chin wobbled, and she bit into her top lip to stop herself from doing something stupid—like blubbering and making a fool of herself. “Thanks.”
Owen tucked in his lips, a smile tilting up his mouth. “Gotta run.”
He turned to slide past her in the narrow hall, and she took a step back so his body wouldn’t brush against hers. Her nerve endings sang from his nearness. No telling what would happen if his toned, sexy shoulder connected with her skin. She sighed and watched him, allowing the sizzle of hormones to fizzle out.
Opening the front door, Owen glanced over his shoulder and flashed his dimples once more before disappearing.
Marie leaned against the floral wallpaper in the hall and pressed a hand to her heart. She had to get a grip. Her future needed figured out, and she couldn’t do that if she swooned every time the hottie deputy was near.
Straightening on a sigh, she glanced toward Lewis’ room. He still sat hunched over his computer. Whatever he watched, she didn’t want to see. Maybe now was a good time to steal a few minutes and call her sister. As much as her heart hurt without Nora near, she could actually sit and concentrate to a conversation for the first time in months with her safely back at the shelter.
She hurried to the quiet kitchen. The cool tile on the kitchen floor seeped into the bottoms of her bare feet. She glanced around the cluttered room. Dark brown liquid filled the coffee pot on the counter, coffee grounds scattered around the machine. High stacks of papers sat on the island and made the granite underneath almost impossible to see. A layer of dust coated the oak cabinets and dirty dishes towered in the sink.
Shaking her head, she sank onto a backless stool at the island and plucked the pre-paid phone from her pocket. She punched in the number to reach her sister and lifted the phone to her ear. After she checked in with Renee, she’d give Lewis’ house a good cleaning while she waited for Owen to return and take her back to the shelter. Making his home shine and taking away the stale smell of dirt and old food was the least she could do.
Her heart pounded in her chest with every ring. Please answer the phone.
“Hello?” A hint of a question lifted the cadence of Renee’s words.
“Renee, it’s Marie.”
“Seriously? Oh my gosh. Marie! How are you? How’s my niece? Where are you? I’ve been worried sick.”
Her sister’s husky voice shook, and Marie tightened her grip on the phone. She could picture her sister’s wide green eyes, so much like her own, and her blonde hair that made them look so different. She hated that her sister had been worried, but she had no way of getting in contact with her.
