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Lewis tilted his head and cradled his hands around the mug. “Why?”
Owen cleared his throat and chanced a glance at the woman before returning his gaze to his grandpa. The young woman may be beautiful, and the little one with the large green eyes cute as hell, but he didn’t want to speak about an active investigation in front of her. He also wanted to ask his grandpa who she was and why she sat in his kitchen first thing in the morning. “Can we speak privately?”
“Nope. Spill it.”
Owen clenched his jaw and silently cursed the old man’s stubbornness. “A jogger stumbled across a crime scene this morning. Your cameras might have something on them I can use.”
A sharp gasp sounded, and Owen stared at the wide green eyes—eyes so much like her child’s—of the mystery woman.
“I’m sorry. We haven’t been introduced. I’m Owen, a deputy for the local sheriff’s department.” He extended his hand across the four-person table and waited for the girl to take it.
She moistened her lips and shifted her gaze toward Lewis for a brief second, then took Owen’s hand before resting it on her child’s back, her gaze following suit. “Marie. This is Nora.”
The ugly bruise along Marie’s jaw raised his blood pressure. Owen waited a beat but wasn’t rewarded with more than the breathy name that barely escaped her pouty mouth.
“Now you’ve met. Tell me how my video feed could be of any use.” Lewis spoke quickly, demanding Owen’s attention.
Fine. If the old man wanted him to be blunt, he’d be blunt. “A dead body was found washed ashore on the river a little bit south of here. Foul play is suspected. Thanks to your paranoia and extensive property along the river, you have cameras that could have caught vital information to the investigation. Chances are I can get a warrant. Better to let me look now than wait for the sheriff to get involved. We both know that wouldn’t be a good idea.”
Red invaded Lewis’ normally pale cheeks, and he tightened his grip around his mug. “I don’t want your father anywhere near me or my stuff.”
Raising to his feet, Owen ran a hand through his hair and made his way to the coffee pot. He hated using his father’s name to get what he wanted, but pushing that particular button was the best way to get his grandpa to fold.
Owen grabbed a coffee mug from the cabinet and used the half-empty pot to fill his cup. He brought the cup to his lips, and the bitter black liquid burned his tongue. The pain kept him from saying something he’d regret. He turned back toward the table, and a shotgun by the back door caught his eye. Placing the mug down on the Formica counter, he marched to the gun and turned hard eyes on his grandpa. “What’s this doing here?”
“It’s my fault, not his.” Marie stood, the back of her chair colliding against the wall, and faced him. “He helped me. He saved me.”
The moisture in her green eyes was the like dew clinging to the long blades of grass in the front yard and only heightened the queasiness eating away at his stomach lining. His first instinct was to calm Marie and promise her everything was fine, but her words needed to be explored. Something wasn’t right.
“Sit down, girl.” Lewis placed a hand on her arm and coaxed her back in the chair.
“You can sit, but you need to tell me what’s going on. How did my grandpa save you when he barely ever leaves his house?”
A shuddering breath raised Marie’s shoulders. “I needed to get away. I didn’t have a choice. If your grandpa wouldn’t have shot at Bill, he would have killed me.”
Confusion and dread collided in Owen’s brain. “Who’s Bill?”
“My…roommate.” Hesitation slowed her speech. “Isn’t he the person who was found dead?”
“No. An unidentified woman was found this morning.” Owen pinched the bridge of his nose and returned to his seat, leaving his coffee on the counter. His stomach couldn’t handle the extra acid right now. “But you need to tell me who Bill is and why my grandfather might have shot him.”
2
Marie fell into the hard, wooden chair and fought to keep her rising panic from sucking her into its vortex. She cradled Nora tighter to her chest then kissed her soft head. Bill wasn’t dead. Someone else had been found. How was that possible? Bill wouldn’t have released his grip on her if he hadn’t been hurt. No way he would have just let her walk away.
If he wasn’t dead, he wouldn’t stop looking for her. Wouldn’t stop looking for his daughter.
The man across from her—Owen—cleared his throat, breaking into her spiraling thoughts. She glanced at him, and the shafts of light pouring through the windows crashed into her eyes. Bits of dust floated through the beams. Not surprising since a film appeared to cover most of the items inside Lewis’ home.
She shifted to avoid the harsh rays and tried to calm her racing heart. Blinking, she brought Owen’s scruffy cheeks and sharp hazel eyes into focus. All the moisture in her mouth evaporated, but she couldn’t be sure if it was from fear over Bill’s unknown fate or her unexpected attraction for the deputy. “Can I get some water?”
Owen kept his narrowed gaze on her face, and heat engulfed her cheeks.
“You heard her, get the girl a glass of water,” Lewis said, his words grumbling from his throat.
Owen strolled to the cabinet to grab a tall glass then fill it with water from the faucet.
Marie couldn’t help the small curve of her lips. Lewis barked out orders to his grandson as if he spoke to a child, not a full-grown adult who stopped by for information about an investigation.
