“That’s an awful lot of alibis for something you’re trying to pin on him,” Spence observed.
“Yeah, I know. The thing is, I could buy that Jebediah had earned enough favors or otherwise arranged for someone else to set the fire, do the prowling. Certain types would do that just for the fun of it. But the escalation to attempted murder…why would someone risk doing serious time on behalf of his vendetta? That doesn’t make sense to me.”
“Seems to me there’s a serious fixation on the books. What’s that about?”
“I don’t know. Being pissed off about how he was portrayed?”
“Which was?”
“As the pseudo-religious, nut job, asshole he is. Truth hurts. Certainly they’d be the kind of thing Jebediah would disapprove of, but it’s not at all the kind of attack I’d have expected from him.” Judd stared at the board, wondering how he could rearrange the pieces.
A perfunctory knock sounded on his door before it swung open and Inez stuck her head in. “Chief, there’s a domestic dispute out at the Forbes place. Harley’s going after Rene again.”
“Looks like duty calls.” Judd shoved back, relieved to be leaving the paperwork for later.
“I’ll run backup.”
“Appreciate it.”
Flash bulbs went off as the two men hit the sidewalk outside the police department. Judd blinked at the spots hazing his vision. His stomach dropped as he saw the line of news crews set up along the block. Nearly a dozen reporters shoved microphones into his face.
“Chief Hamilton, what is the status of the arson investigation involving Autumn Buchanan?”
“Is it true you and Miss Buchanan are now an item?”
“How do you feel about Miss Buchanan’s erotic portrayal of you in the books she authored as Rumor Fairchild?”
“Is Jebediah Buchanan a suspect in the arson?”
Judd said nothing, shoving through the crowd. When they just knotted tighter he shouted, “Listen up! I have an emergency to respond to and if y’all don’t get out of my way right this instant, I’m charging every one of you with obstruction.”
They parted, still shouting questions as he and Spence made their way to their respective cruisers. This was bad. If they were camped out here, chances were they were already at the library. If not yet, then they would be soon.
The radio crackled and Spence asked, “You want me to take the call so you can go check on her?”
Judd considered it but ultimately rejected the idea. Autumn should be safe enough in the library proper. Domestic calls were some of the diciest cops could take. He wasn’t about to let Spence go in alone, especially when the guy was doing him a favor.
“Nah, I’ll go with you. She’ll be okay.”
“I’m following you.”
Before pulling out of the lot, Judd sent a quick text to Autumn. Vultures have descended. Do NOT leave on your own. I’ll be by as soon as I finish dealing with this call.
He just hoped like hell he could resolve this situation with Harley fast and peacefully.
Chapter 16
Autumn held it together long enough to pack her small box of stuff. A decade of giving her all to this job and her things fit into a carton not even half the size of a banker’s box. How sad was that? She promised Livia she’d call later and made her escape. Not until she backed out the swinging front door did she remember it would be another three hours before Judd would be available to take her home. Most of his officers were in Jackson for training until tomorrow, so she’d been under library arrest, as it were. Juggling the box to one side, she dug one-handed for her phone to text and ask him what he wanted her to do.
“Miss Buchanan, do you have any comment on your father’s release?”
“Miss Buchanan, is it true you based Cooper Danes on the now current Chief of Police?”
“How do you feel about having your pen name outted?”
Autumn froze as questions peppered her from all sides. Microphones and cameras were shoved in her face as the throngs descended on her. The air in her lungs seemed to harden, along with the muscles in her legs. She couldn’t make herself go back into the library and couldn’t seem to force herself to push forward through the mass of reporters. Flashbacks to the trial flickered through her mind. She started to shake.
“Are you and the Chief now an item?”
“Miss Buchanan, have you and your father reconciled?”
An arm wrapped around her and a taller body urged hers forward. “Let’s go,” a low, gravely voice murmured.
Autumn froze. Slowly, she turned her head to look over her shoulder in disbelief. It was Jebediah with an arm around her. Jebediah trying to lead her.
“Mr. Buchanan, do you believe your time served is sufficient recompense for nearly killing your daughter’s lover?”
She stumbled back. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to get you through this mob.”
She didn’t know what to think about that, didn’t know what to feel about the fact that he was here, at her place of employment—former—in direct violation of the restraining order. What did he want?
Dimly, she was aware of the sudden silence as cameras and recorders rolled. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
Irritation flickered over his gaunt face. Irritation, but not the rage she’d learned to expect as a child. “Must you always defy me?”
He sounded tired and looked bone weary, likely from whatever cancer was eating away at him. For a fleeting instant she thought about what he’d said to Judd, that he’d come back to make amends with her. And then she couldn’t think because the mob of reporters pressed closer, sucking up all the oxygen.
“You aren’t supposed to be anywhere near me.” She said it as much to the media as her father.
“Be reasonable, girl.” Jebediah reached out, trying to take her arm.
Autumn flinched back from the touch, her mind’s eye seeing a fist where there was none.
“Stay away from her!” Another, taller man was suddenly between her and her father, hands curled to fists.
Jebediah stepped back, lifting his palms in surrender.
Her rescuer turned, one hand shoving glasses back up the bridge of his nose.
“Mark?”
“Are you okay?”
“I…” She didn’t know what she was. The crush of people was suffocating and the confrontation with her father had her vibrating with tension. She couldn’t think, could barely breathe.
Mark’s eyes softened a fraction in sympathy as he looked at her, then hardened again as he glared at the gaggle of reporters. “Back off, all of you.” His voice rang with an authority she’d never heard from him before. It made him seem somehow bigger, more powerful than she’d always seen him. Autumn wondered if this was his lecture voice. In the face of it, the crowd did, indeed, back up a few paces.
Jebediah held his ground, watching with an inscrutable expression. But he said nothing more, made no move to approach her again.
Gently, Mark cupped a hand beneath her elbow. “Are you coming or going?”
“Going. Definitely going.”
“Okay then. Let’s get out of here.”
He led her toward the parking lot. None of the assembled reporters seemed willing to brave his death stare. Who knew mild-mannered Mark Caulfield had a death stare?
“Where’s your car?”
“I don’t have it with me. Judd dropped me off at work this morning.”
“I’ll drive you. Where do you need to go? Police station? Home?”
She wanted Judd. But he had work. Failing that, she really wanted Nanna, but she wasn’t about to ask Mark to drive her all the way to Lawley. “I could really use some therapeutic pastries and caffeine.”
“The Daily Grind it is.” Mark unlocked his older model Explorer and immediately started tossing piles of papers from the front seat to the back. “Excuse the mess. I don’t often have passengers.” He grabbed the camera bag and tossed it into the backseat.
&
nbsp; “It’s no problem. I appreciate the rescue.” The words came out on autopilot. She look backed toward the building to see if Jebediah was there or if the reporters had followed. If they’d press her again, but so far they’d held back. Hand on the door, she braced herself for the moment the seat was empty, then vaulted inside.
Mark didn’t speak again until they were on their way. “So…why the therapeutic pastries? Because of the reporters? Your dad?”
Still nervy, Autumn shot a quick look at Mark.
His cheeks flushed. “Okay, I admit I heard some stuff and did a little poking. What you went through was—well, I’m sorry for it. But I recognized him from the pictures I saw from the trial. He’s a lot older now, and he looks sick, but still. You looked…distressed.”
“That’s one word for it.” Her father had touched her. Put an arm around her. When was the last time he’d actually laid hands on her for anything but a form of punishment? A wisp of a memory floated through her mind. A picnic. Riding on her father’s shoulders, while her mother laughed and picked daisies for a chain. The image was so dim she wasn’t even sure it was real.
“You don’t have to talk about it.”
Of course she wasn’t going to talk about her father. Then she realized he’d asked about why the therapeutic pastries. Autumn found that she did want to talk about that to someone who might have a sympathetic ear. She took a breath. “Although my father and the media are enough to make me want to take that coffee with a heavy shot of Irish, that’s not the crux of why I’m upset. Or wasn’t. I got fired today.”
“Fired? Why?” His voice rang with shock.
She dropped her head back against the seat. “Because there are a lot of narrow-minded, prudish people without enough legitimate concerns to occupy their time.”
“So people objected to your book?” This time he merely shrugged at her look. “I was at the senior center that day.”
“Don’t remind me.” Autumn covered her face with her hands. “I’m trying to block the entire experience from my mind. I never wanted people to know about them.”
“Hey, don’t be ashamed of what you’ve done. It takes real guts to write a book. More to actually do anything with it. And even more to make a legitimate success of it.”
Autumn peeked at him through her fingers. “How would you know I’ve made a success of it?”
“People wouldn’t have their panties in a wad if you hadn’t,” he argued. “I’d wager they’re as angry about your success as they are about the subject matter. Or more likely they’re angry about your success because of your subject matter. If you’d penned a cozy mystery, with a librarian heroine who found herself at the center of a string of murders based off famous literary works, nobody would have anything to complain about.”
“You make an excellent point.” No, she’d created a journalist who’d written about truths people didn’t want to acknowledge and been fired for it.
Mark pulled into a parking space by the coffee shop. “Come on. Let me buy you that therapeutic coffee and a lemon square. A little birdie told me they’re your favorite.”
Livia.
While they stood in line, Autumn dug her phone out and found a text from Judd.
Vultures have descended. Do NOT leave on your own. I’ll be by as soon as I finish dealing with this call.
She thumbed a reply back. Too late. Had to leave. Got fired. Reporters sieged. Mark rescued me. I’m at The Grind.
Neither of them spoke again until they settled into a corner booth upstairs, away from the crowds. She felt steadier in the quiet, with the warm mug clasped between her hands and her back to a corner where she could see what was coming.
“Better?” Mark asked softly.
“Yeah. Thanks.” She was surprised to realize she was. Not fully, but she wasn’t shaking anymore, wasn’t panicking or on the cusp of a flashback. “I really do appreciate you coming to my rescue. Although you didn’t get whatever you came to the library for.”
“It’s nothing that can’t wait. Let’s just both be grateful I was in the right place at the right time.” He lifted his own coffee in a toast.
The moment struck her with a hard sense of déja vu. It was the sort of meet cute she’d imagined for Darcy and Fletcher. In another life, if things hadn’t changed with Judd, she might really have gone for Mark. Or at least tried to.
Better for both of us I’m in this life.
Now that the immediate threat was past, she didn’t know what to say. Mark was actually looking at her instead of past her shoulder or somewhere else in the room. Maybe he was getting past the embarrassment of rejection. She ought to try to cultivate an actual friendship. He’d just stuck his neck out for her, after all, and she still felt bad about how things had turned out.
“So do you have some secret trunk novel hanging out somewhere?” she asked.
“Me?”
“Yeah. Some military epic or maybe a spy thriller set during the Cold War. Or maybe an alternate history saga, like what would’ve happened if the South won the Civil War.”
He tapped long, slim fingers against his mug. “I suppose everybody thinks they have at least one book in them.”
“What’s yours?”
“If I were going to write one, I’d probably go the alternate history route. Sometimes thinking about how things might have been is a lot better than how they really turned out.”
Something in the statement made her think he wasn’t talking about a book. Then she told herself she was just being paranoid. “Which time period would you choose? I know you’ve got a particular fondness for the Civil War.”
“I’d go with something rather more contemporary.”
Before she could ask more about that, the pounding of boots on the stairs interrupted the conversation.
Judd looked ready for battle as he burst onto the second floor. He’d crossed the room, tugged her up and into his arms almost before she could blink. “Are you okay?”
Autumn let herself relax into him, taking the strength he offered without question. The tension unraveled, leaving her exhausted. She wanted home, to curl up with him and with Boudreaux until her world righted itself again. “Been better. But I’m not hurt and not further traumatized. Mark took care of that. I think he actually scared some of the reporters.”
A new respect lingered in Judd’s eyes as he shifted her to one arm so he could offer the other hand to Mark to shake. “My thanks.”
“My pleasure to be of assistance.”
“Damned bunch of nosy bastards ambushed me at the police station, too. I’d have been here sooner, but I had a domestic dispute that turned nasty.”
Alarmed, Autumn asked, “Is everyone okay?”
“The husband is a little worse for the wear. I had Spence haul him to the station. I’ve got to go by there to finish taking care of the formalities, but I wanted to come get you first.”
Autumn looked at the untouched lemon square, then back at Mark.
“It seems my services are no longer required.” He scooped up his messenger bag. “Why don’t you get yourself a little to-go box while I get your box of stuff from my car?”
“Thanks again, Mark.”
“Anytime. Just glad I could help.”
He headed down the stairs.
“I guess his crush on you paid off,” Judd observed.
“In a big way. He interrupted Jebediah.”
Judd went ramrod straight. “What?”
“Let’s go get my stuff. I’ll tell you about it when we get back to the station.”
~*~
They didn’t go back to the station. Spence radioed to say that the mob was still there and suggested Judd go to ground and remain on call. The situation wasn’t ideal. With so few of the department in town, he needed to be available to do his job. Judd considered holing up at his parents’ house, but his cruiser was a dead giveaway and he didn’t want to lead the reporters there. So, trusting that dispatch would notify him if he was needed, he took a circuitous
route home to make sure they didn’t have a tail. On the way, he listened as Autumn told him about her latest encounter with her father.
Judd squeezed the steering wheel until his knuckles went white. “He laid a hand on you.” He’d sworn Jebediah would never get that chance again.
“But not to hurt. I don’t know what he’d have done if he’d gotten me away, but in the moment his actions would seem to support what he told you when you brought him in for questioning that first time. That he wants to make amends.”
Judd shot her a look. “Do you really believe that?”
“I don’t know what to believe. For all I know, it was a show for the press to cover his true motives. It just threw me. I can’t remember the last time he touched me for anything other than knocking me back in line. Or trying, anyway.”
Judd hated the casual way she mentioned it. Hated that the abuse had been so much a part of her life.
I should’ve gotten her away sooner. I should’ve picked her up bodily and hauled her away long before that day.
But a part of him knew that Jebediah would’ve followed, might’ve brought the violence to his parents’ door. That was a horror that didn’t bear consideration. The reality had been bad enough.
“It’s a violation of the restraining order,” he said flatly. “But it’s not enough to get him put away again. If we had anything to tie him to the arson or the crossbow or even the prowling, I could make a case for it. But there’s nothing.”
Autumn laid a hand on his arm. “You just haven’t found it yet. You will. You’ll make your case.”
Judd wasn’t so sure. He’d spent his entire career preparing to take this man down whenever he got out of prison, and after nearly three weeks, he had nothing but questions that didn’t add up. He needed a new angle. Some other way to shuffle the pieces until something clicked.
After greeting an ecstatic Boudreaux, Autumn announced she wanted to change. Judd trailed her upstairs, watching as she lifted her shirt up and off the moment she stepped into the bedroom.
He loved that. Loved that she wasn’t awkward or abashed. She felt at home.