Free Navy SEAL Rescuer by Shirlee McCoy

bucket.
There’d been plenty of other people testifying, plenty of circumstantial
evidence. “Sharon got her money. I’m sure she’s off living the high life
somewhere and hasn’t thought of me in years.”
    “We haven’t been able to track her down yet, but if I remember
correctly—”
    “She attacked me at the trial, but I think that was more a show
for the news crews than real anger.” Catherine had been in handcuffs when Sharon
spit in her face and slapped her. As attacks went it hadn’t been much, but
talking about it rehashed the feeling of helpless humiliation that had plagued
Catherine for years.
    She shook it off, wishing she could walk away, retreat into the
quiet world she’d been living in for the past couple of months.
    “She did attack you, though. Once we figure out where she is,
we’ll know if she has any continued resentment regarding her grandmother. Was
there anyone else at the trial or after it who made threats against you?”
    “No.”
    “All right. I guess we’re done, then.” Logan stood, his dark
hair ruffled, his uniform a little wrinkled. He looked like he’d barely slept,
the dark circles under his eyes and stubble on his chin evidence of long nights.
Catherine’s heart stirred, the warm feelings she’d once had for him bubbling
up.
    They’d been friends a lifetime ago.
    She didn’t plan to revisit that relationship. She didn’t want
any connections with Pine Bluff once she left. Still, she’d never been able to
turn away from someone she cared about. That had been her undoing five years
ago, and it would probably prove to be her undoing again.
    “Are you okay, Logan? You look tired.” Her hand hovered over
his arm, but she didn’t touch his sleeve or him.
    “So do you, Catherine. I guess it’s been a long few years for
both of us. I’ll be fine. You and Eileen will be, too. I plan to make sure of
that. I’m heading back to your place. I’ll call when we’re finished there, and
then come escort you and Eileen home.”
    “I’ll give them a ride back, Randal. That’ll save you some
effort. You have my number, right?” Darius spoke up, and Catherine didn’t have
the energy to protest. She didn’t really care enough
to protest. It didn’t matter who gave them a ride home as long as they got
there.
    “Sounds good. Thanks, Osborne. I’ll see myself out.” Seconds
later, Logan was gone, the front door opening and closing.
    “So, tell me about Sharon Mackey.” Darius topped off her coffee
cup without asking.
    She met his clear green eyes, felt her heart do a crazy little
dance and realized she’d made a big mistake.
    Who they got a ride home with did matter.
    Logan was an old friend.
    Darius?
    He was dangerous.
    Too late to do anything about it now.
    She was stuck.
    “What do you want to know?” she asked, looking down into her
cup, and trying desperately to believe that the little shimmy she felt in her
heart was nothing more than the last vestiges of her fear.

SEVEN
    S queezing blood from a turnip would be
easier than getting information out of Catherine, but Darius didn’t plan to stop
trying.
    “Did you have any contact with Sharon after you went to jail?”
he asked as she stared into her coffee cup, her knuckles white against the blue
mug. Her fingers were long and graceful, her nails chipped and short. Pretty and
capable-looking hands. He imagined they were well suited to the job she’d been
doing before she’d gone to jail, and he wondered if she planned to go back to
nursing.
    He also wondered what it would be like to smooth the tension
from her fingers, press his lips to her knuckles, her wrist, her...
    He pulled his thoughts up short.
    “No.”
    “How about any other family members of victims?” he asked, and
she finally met his eyes, a spark of fire in her gaze.
    “I’ve just been interviewed, Darius. There’s no need to
interview me again.”
    “Is there some reason why you don’t want to answer my
questions?”
    “Last time I