Snowfall on Haven Point (3 page)

In the short time she'd been inside his house, Andie had forgotten most of her nervousness around Marshall. Perhaps it was his injury that made him feel a little less threatening to her—though she had a feeling that even if he'd suffered
two
broken legs in that accident, the sheriff of Lake Haven County would never be anything less than dangerous.

CHAPTER TWO

M
ARSH
WAITED
UNTIL
he heard the door close behind Andrea Montgomery and her children before he allowed himself to grimace and release the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

His entire body hurt like a mother trucker, as if somebody had been pummeling him for the last, oh, twenty-two hours. He couldn't pinpoint a single portion of his anatomy that wasn't throbbing right about now.

Though the surgery to set and pin the multiple fractures in his foot and ankle had taken place in the early hours of the morning, his head still felt foggy from the anesthesia and the pain meds they had thrust upon him afterward.

Oddly, the leg wasn't as painful as the abrasions on his face and hands where he had scraped pavement on the way down. Some of his pain was probably the inevitable adrenaline crash that always hit after a critical incident.

He drew in a deep breath of air that still smelled like his neighbor, sweet as spring wildflowers on a rain-washed meadow.

He hated that he was now her pity project, thanks to her sense of obligation to his sister. He knew that was the only reason she had come by. Wyn must have blackmailed her into helping him. What other reason could she have for doing it?

Andrea Montgomery didn't like him. He wasn't sure what he'd done to her, but in their few previous interactions she had always seemed cold and unfriendly to him. He would have figured her for the last person to come to his rescue. Few people were strong enough to withstand pressure from Wyn when she was at her most persuasive, though.

He didn't want his neighbor and her kids to come back the next day. Short of locking the door, how could he prevent it?

Less than a day ago, he had been under the wholly misguided impression that he had most facets of his life under control.

He had a family he loved, a widowed mother who had just found happiness again and remarried, a brother he admired and respected, a sister who was now engaged to his best friend, another one who was suddenly passionate about saving the world. He lived in the most beautiful place on earth and he had a position of great responsibility that he had worked very hard to earn.

Yeah, he had some in-house personnel problems in the sheriff's department—the most urgent concern one that involved a significant amount of missing cash in a drug case—but he was dealing with them.

He certainly had a few enemies among the criminal element in his county. Who in law enforcement didn't? Suspects he had investigated and arrested would probably top that list, followed by the people who loved them.

A few powerful people were on that list as well, including Bill Newbold, a wealthy rancher and county commissioner Marsh had had a run-in with a few weeks earlier over a neighbor's claim he was overreaching his water rights.

Marsh could have handled that matter a little more delicately, but he'd never much liked Newbold and figured the man used his political position to line his own pockets. Attempted vehicular homicide, though? He couldn't countenance it.

Maybe he was being too naive.

Marshall would never claim his life was perfect. He had made his share of mistakes—one huge one that was never far from his mind, especially lately. But he never expected to become a target of deadly force, until somebody in a snowy parking lot set out to show him how very wrong he was.

When he closed his eyes, he could still hear the sound of that engine gunning, the tires spinning on slush and gravel.

It wasn't an accident caused by weather and nerves, despite what the investigator with the state police wanted to believe. How could it be? Someone had lured him to an abandoned gas station on the outskirts of Shelter Springs, baiting the trap with the promise of a lead in a long-cold missing persons case he worked when he first started at the Lake Haven Sheriff's Department as a deputy fresh out of the military.

When he arrived, of course no one had been there. Marsh had walked around the dilapidated building to see if he was missing something and that was when he heard the engine gun from behind him. He turned just as the SUV headed straight for him and had barely been able to leap away at the last minute to avoid a direct hit.

He hadn't been quite fast enough and the vehicle had struck his right leg. The combination of the impact and his own attempt to twist away had done a number on his leg. The X-ray looked like somebody had smashed his leg with a hammer, and the grim tally included a compound fracture of his ankle and multiple smaller fractures all the way up to below his knee.

He had been too busy trying not to pass out from the pain and hadn't caught much that would identify the vehicle, except the color—white—and the general make—American-made late-model small SUV.

As for the driver, in the dark and the snow and from Marshall's angle on the ground, he had seen nothing except a dark shape wearing a ski mask. He did have one small piece of evidence he hoped would lead in the right direction, but it was too early to tell.

The state police investigator seemed to think the anonymous tipster had chickened out at the last minute and tried to drive away but slid into Marshall because of the snowy conditions and had subsequently panicked and raced off into the night.

Marsh wasn't buying it. Why insist on meeting there, in a relatively isolated spot without security cameras or witnesses?

No. Somebody had tried to take him out.

He sat back on the sofa, head pounding and his eyes gritty with exhaustion.

Why?

That was the question he couldn't get out of his head. What the hell was all this about? Who hated him enough to want him gone?

He took a sip of water and shifted on the sofa, fruitlessly searching for a more comfortable spot.

He hated this, sitting here helpless instead of going after the son of a bitch who had done this to him. Worse, he was on mandatory leave for at least three weeks, since Newbold had pushed the other commissioners to insist he take sick leave until the New Year.

They couldn't stop him from investigating on his own. He would make a list and start eliminating suspects, one by one. Cade would help him and so would Ruben Morales, his second in command.

Not right now. He was too damn tired and sore to do much more than sit here and try to find the energy to make it to his bedroom.

His cell phone rang before he could force himself to grab the crutches and get up.

He should have made Andie Montgomery leave it somewhere out of his reach. He thought about ignoring it, but she was right, there were about a hundred missed calls and texts on there. It seemed cowardly to continue ignoring all of them.

He glanced at the readout and saw it was Wynona. With a sigh, he picked it up.

“Hey, Wyn,” he said.

“About time you answered your phone! I was just about to pack Pete into the car and drive down there.”

“Glad you didn't. We've got a storm moving in fast.”

“So do we, but what else am I supposed to do when you won't call me back? For all I knew, you were lying on the floor unconscious somewhere.”

How humiliating, that Andrea Montgomery with the lovely eyes had found him after that little spill. Had she called Wyn the moment she left the house to tell her?

“My phone didn't have a charge. Sorry to worry you. I'm not on the floor. I'm currently getting ready to eat what looks like some delicious stew made by your friend.”

“Andie stopped by to check on you? Oh, I'm so glad. I didn't like the idea of you in that house alone, just hours after surgery.”

“It was totally unnecessary for you to hire a babysitter for me. I can take care of myself.”

“Extenuating circumstances. So tell me what happened. All I know is what I've heard from Cade, bits and pieces I've had to pry out of him.”

He would rather she didn't know anything at all, but Wyn always seemed to have her ear to the ground. Until a few months earlier, she had been a police officer herself and had many connections in the local law enforcement community—not to mention that she was engaged to his best friend, who just happened to be the chief of police of Haven Point.

And, yeah, the two of them being together still freaked him out, though they seemed happy enough.

“What have you heard?”

“Something about you heading out to meet a CI and ending up on the wrong side of the CI's grille.”

“Yeah. That's about the size of it.”

“And the guy behind the wheel just sped off? You didn't get any kind of a look at him that might help identify him?”

“Not really.”

He didn't tell her he
was
able to get a partial plate, which was how Ruben, working under the radar, was able to ascertain the vehicle was reported stolen from a Boise box store parking lot two days earlier.

Wyn didn't need to know all the details of the investigation—at least not until he had something concrete to go on.

“We've got a few leads we're following, but it's early days yet in the investigation.”

“
You
shouldn't have
any
leads. You're supposed to be taking it easy.”

He glanced around his family room, where he had a feeling he would be spending entirely too much time for the immediate future.

“I couldn't be taking it any more easy than I am right now, unless I were comatose.”

“Good. I'm sure that's just what the doctor ordered.”

It was, but he also didn't want to admit that to his bossy younger sister.

“What do you need? Gelato from Carmela's? Barbara Serrano's zuppa tuscano? I can have the Helping Hands hook you up with anything that would help you get through the next few days.”

More than anything, he wanted to be left alone. Knowing his sister, that was a wish that was doomed from the start.

“I don't need anything. Thanks for worrying about me, but I'm fine, really. I'm managing okay on the crutches. At least I've only fallen once.”

“That's not very reassuring,” Wyn said. He could almost hear the frown in her voice. “I would still feel better if you would let Andrea check in on you, at least these first few days home from the hospital. I know you're a tough guy, but sometimes even tough guys need a little TLC.”

“I appreciate your concern, but it's not necessary, really. I'll be just fine.”

“You'd say that even if you had two broken legs, wouldn't you?”

“Can't say. How about we don't break the other one to test your theory, though?”

Wynona snorted. “Sometimes you're so much like Dad, it's freaky.”

“I'll take that as a compliment,” he answered. He could only try to be half the man John Bailey was. His father had been the best person Marshall knew. He had taught all his sons—and his daughters, come to that—everything they needed to know about being good cops and, more important, how to be decent people.

For a raw, unguarded moment, his heart ached for his father, for lost possibilities, for all the questions he could never ask John now about how to go forward with the rest of his life.

“It is a compliment, mostly. As bad as things were those last few years, the happiest I saw him was that day you won the election last year.”

He wasn't sure if his father had even understood that Marshall had decided to run for sheriff after John's good friend announced his retirement. He liked to think so, but his father hadn't spoken a word since surviving a gunshot wound to the brain on the job.

“I'll say this for you, though—you're every bit as stubborn as our darling father. Seriously, what's the harm in having Andie stop in a few times a day?”

He pictured Andrea with her auburn hair, her big green eyes, that air of fragile loveliness about her that called to a man's deepest protective impulses. The same impulses that had never brought him anything but trouble.

“It was kind of her to bring dinner tonight, but I barely know the woman, Wynnie. She has enough on her plate with those kids of hers to have to worry about checking up on me.”

“She assured me she doesn't mind.”

“What else is she going to say to you?” he pointed out. “You took a bullet for her.”

“Not really. It only grazed me.”

“Still. The woman obviously feels a great sense of obligation to you. It doesn't seem fair to emotionally blackmail her into helping out your brother.”

“Oh, stop it. You think I don't know what you're trying to do, turning this around to make it seem like I did something wrong by asking her to help me out, since I can't be there?”

“Not wrong. Just not necessary.”

“I get that you want to go into hermit mode and keep everyone away while you hunker down and lick your wounds. Cade would do the same thing.”

“What's wrong with that?” he muttered.

She sighed. “Face it, my brother, you need help. You've got a badly broken leg that requires serious pain medication. You live alone and you can't get around well or go to the store or shovel your own driveway. Since you were inconsiderate enough to get hurt when none of the members of your family can step up to help, having Andie stop by a few times a day is the next best thing, short of hiring a CNA to be with you around the clock.”

He didn't answer, simply because he couldn't come up with any words to counter her argument. He wanted to think it was the pain medication making his head feel like somebody had stuffed it full of steel wool, but he had a feeling it might have been more than that.

Maybe, just maybe, there was a slim chance his sister was right on this one.

“If the situation had been reversed,” she pressed, “you would have insisted on finding one of your friends to check on
me
.”

“Right. And who knows?” he said drily. “You might have ended up engaged to one of them.”

Laughter rippled through the phone. “Life is crazy, isn't it?”