Sam let himself into his house and limped down the hall to the kitchen. He grabbed a cold soda and a pack of frozen peas to put on his hip. On second thought, he took a bag of frozen corn, too, for his knee. He made his way slowly to the bedroom. Taking a couple of the painkillers they’d given him a script for at the hospital, he resigned himself to a sleepless night.
But tomorrow would be another day. And he had his first solid lead in the Babineux case.
* * *
SAM HOBBLED INTO the squad room the next morning. It didn’t take long for Colin to call him in. Moreover, he wasn’t surprised to learn that the most likely match for the vehicle that had nearly run him down belonged to Joel Sinclair. While he had an incomplete plate and he was off on one letter, Camden Falls was a small town, and there was no such thing as coincidence, he reminded himself.
He thought about going to the Sinclair Gallery himself. Admittedly, he would’ve enjoyed advising Joel Sinclair that he had to come into the station for questioning, but his hip was too damn sore.
He sent a uniform instead, and took some satisfaction in knowing that for Sinclair, being escorted out of his workplace by a uniformed police officer would be an embarrassment. Sam knew it was malicious, a bit of payback for the way Sinclair had been goading him. Small of him, maybe, but he wasn’t feeling his most gracious with the pain he was experiencing.
Sam smiled thinly when he saw Sinclair being brought into the squad room. He didn’t look too happy about the situation.
Motioning for the uniform to follow with Sinclair to an interview room, Sam rose and limped forward.
“What happened to you?” Joel asked when they were alone.
Sam raised his eyebrows, but refrained from answering.
“Not my problem,” Joel said and shrugged.
“Isn’t it?” Ignoring what appeared to be genuine bafflement on Sinclair’s face, Sam read him his rights. “Do you understand your rights?”
“I didn’t do anything,” he grumbled.
Sam could see that Sinclair was trying to maintain his tough exterior, but anxiety was leaking through. Although both Sam’s hip and knee were throbbing, he didn’t want to sit. He wanted to maintain a dominant position. Instead, to ease the pain, he leaned against a counter at the back of the room. “I beg to differ. Are you the owner of a beige MDX?” He recited the license plate.
“Yeah. So what?”
“Your vehicle was seen last night outside a property leased by the gallery, and it was involved in a hit-and-run.” Sam resisted rubbing his aching hip. “So, let’s try this again. Do you understand your rights?”
Joel glowered at him.
Sam crossed his arms and waited.
“Yes, I do,” Joel finally mumbled.
“You have the right to legal counsel.”
“I don’t need legal counsel since I didn’t do anything.”
“For the record, you refuse legal counsel?”
Joel nodded.
“Was that a yes?”
“Yes! Can we get this over with?”
“That all depends on you and your cooperation.”
“If you think I had anything to do with a hit-and-run...” Sinclair’s eyes widened, and his gaze shifted to Sam’s hip. “You were hit by a car? You think I did it?”
The shock and outrage didn’t seem contrived, either.
“I didn’t do it,” Joel insisted. “I went out with a few friends after work. Since I knew I’d be drinking, I left my vehicle in the gallery’s parking lot. I got a ride home. Never drove my SUV.” He leaned back in the chair and looked smug.
That was an unexpected twist. It was simple enough to verify if he was with others, as he claimed. “For the record, you state that you didn’t drive your Acura MDX yesterday evening?”
“Didn’t I just say that?”
Sam didn’t want to jump to conclusions about Joel’s belligerence. It could mean he was innocent but just as easily that he wasn’t. People reacted to police interrogation in different ways.
“Was there any damage to it this morning?”
“Not that I noticed.”
“Do you have an issue with me verifying that?”
Joel hesitated for an instant, but then shook his head. “No, I don’t.”
“Does anyone else use your vehicle or have keys to it?”
“My grandmother. Chelsea might still have a key.” He sneered at Sam. “She did when we were dating. I don’t think I asked for it back.”
Jackass, Sam thought and glared at him. Did he really think he could deflect the blame on Chelsea? Or a nearly eighty-year-old woman?
Joel’s antagonism dissipated and he raked his fingers through his hair. “Look, I didn’t use my vehicle last night. I went out with some friends to watch the Bruins game. Whenever we go out and drink, we have a designated driver. It wasn’t me last night, so I left the SUV at the gallery. For what it’s worth, the guys can alibi me. So can the bartender, the owner and several of the regular patrons of MacCabe’s Pub.”
Sounded as if he had a solid alibi. If his claim checked out, it wasn’t him.
But what were the odds of a car the same make and model as Sinclair’s, with the part of the plate he’d been able to get nearly matching his, driving away from the gallery’s warehouse, and in such a hurry?
Sam didn’t have grounds to detain Sinclair any longer. “Okay. We’re done here. I’ll need the names and contact information for the people you were with last night.”
“Sure.”
When Sinclair rose, Sam’s manners and professionalism dictated that he say something. “Thank you for your cooperation.”
“Yeah. No problem,” Joel murmured, as he walked out of the interview room ahead of Sam.
Although not quite back to square one, Sam wasn’t much further ahead with the investigation.
* * *
CHELSEA WAS WITH a couple from Sacramento, California, when Joel stormed into the showroom. Tina had told her that he’d left with a police officer while Chelsea was out at lunch.
She’d thought maybe there’d been some news about the Babineux. But seeing the temper roll off Joel in waves, she realized that whatever had happened obviously hadn’t been good news.
Chelsea eased away from the couple when it was reasonably polite for her to do so and rushed to Joel’s office. “What’s wrong?” she asked after closing the door behind her.
The fulminating look he gave her nearly had her backing out again.
“I was taken to the police station for questioning,” he said through gritted teeth.
“They think you stole the Babineux?” Chelsea was dismayed. They couldn’t possibly believe he had anything to do with it.
“Your boyfriend got hit by a car last night and he thought I did it.”
“What?” Everything after the part about Sam getting hit was just noise as far as Chelsea was concerned. “You did what? Is he okay? What happened?” It didn’t even occur to her to argue that Sam wasn’t her boyfriend. “Is he in the hospital?”
“No, he’s not. He’s the one who questioned me about it. He seems okay. He must’ve just got clipped. He’s limping some.”
Relieved to know that Sam was well enough to be at work, she felt her heart rate settle. Marginally. She gave Joel a questioning look.
“What, now you’re thinking I had something to do with it?” he asked, the anger smoldering.
“Did you?” The words were barely a whisper, but she had to know. Joel had been acting strange the last couple of months and she’d sensed his hostility toward Sam on more than one occasion. She had to know, and she trusted him not to lie to her. Even if he tried, she’d be able to tell.
The look on his face was infused with disappointment. “Seriously, Chels? You know me and you serio
usly think I’d do something like that?”
She didn’t. Not really. “An accident maybe...?”
“If I’d hit someone—anyone—I’d stay. This was a hit-and-run.” He shook his head sadly. “No, Chelsea. I didn’t have anything to do with it.”
For a moment, she saw the man she’d cared about, and she regretted causing him pain.
“And thanks for the concern about me,” he added sarcastically, and the moment was gone.
“I’m sorry, Joel. Since you’re back here, I trust they satisfied themselves that it wasn’t you.”
“Only because I have an airtight alibi. I was with Dave and the guys watching the game at MacCabe’s. I didn’t have my vehicle with me.”
She nodded. “I’m glad you’re cleared.”
The sadness in his eyes returned, reminding her again of the sweetness and affection they’d once shared. Although she could recall and hold those times dear, her interest now lay elsewhere—as much as that might hurt Joel if he still believed they could reconcile. Despite the distance between her and Sam right now, she couldn’t deny her feelings for him.
Despite Joel’s assertions that Sam was fine, Chelsea had to confirm for herself that he truly was. She needed to go to him. “Look, I’m sorry, but I have to leave early. If Mr. Hadley returns, could you please let him know for me?”
“Sure. Chels,” he called after her as she reached the door. “He really is okay.”
There was the gentleness again. Her eyes filled with tears and she nodded. “Thank you.”
Chelsea didn’t bother calling Sam. She didn’t want to give him the opportunity to put her off. She had to see him and not just to assure herself that he was fine.
That irrepressible need made her reexamine her feelings for him. Never having been truly in love before, she didn’t have any comparison, but that in itself told her something.
Trying to put a name to it, the only thing she kept coming up with was that she was falling in love with Sam.
Marla was behind the reception counter when Chelsea walked into the police station.
“It’s nice to see you again,” she greeted Chelsea.
“You, too. Is Sam available?”
“Let me check.”
Chelsea watched Marla punch in some numbers on a keypad, then murmur into her headset. “He’ll be out in a minute,” she said.
Chelsea wandered around the lobby, pausing by one of the commemorative pictures of an officer who’d lost his life in the call of duty. Thinking of Sam getting hit by a car and how much more serious it could have been had her blood running cold. Hearing a door open, she swung around and saw Sam. She felt a sudden tightness in her chest.
Thank God, he was alive!
The urge to run to him and throw herself in his arms was intense. If the look in his eyes meant anything, he wasn’t unaffected, either.
She couldn’t resist and rushed over to him.
When he lurched a bit as she wrapped her arms around him, she was immediately contrite for not having considered his injury.
She quickly backed away and reached out to steady him. “I’m sorry. I am sooo sorry.”
Bracing an arm on the door frame, Sam smiled weakly, a smile that was more of a grimace. “It’s okay. Worth it,” he said, taking a couple of deep breaths.
Obviously having witnessed what had just happened, Marla hurried around her desk to open the door. She couldn’t conceal a grin. “Um, Chelsea, why don’t you help Sam back here?”
“Yeah. Sure. Thanks.” That was when she noticed he was wearing loose-fitting khakis. She knew he wouldn’t dress so casually for work without good reason. The injury must have been worse than Joel had led her to believe, and she felt bad again about throwing herself at him with such force.
Slipping an arm around Sam’s waist, she helped him through the doorway. She glanced at Marla, who was back at her desk, and smiled at her gratefully.
“Is there somewhere we could speak? In private? That would be more comfortable for you?” she asked Sam.
He led her to the coffee room. No one else was there, so he closed the door behind them. As soon as he turned back, Chelsea hugged him again, but more carefully this time. When he put his arms around her and held on, she felt that tightness in her chest once more.
Emboldened by his reaction, she cradled his face in both hands and feathered kisses on his cheeks, forehead and lips.
“I’m so sorry you’re hurt. Are you okay? You’re limping. Does it hurt much? Is anything broken? What happened?”
Sam took a small step back and laughed. “Whoa! Slow down. Other than a very sore hip and a not-quite-as-sore knee, I’m fine. Can we sit, though? It does hurt more when I put weight on my leg.”
“Oh, of course.”
“Would you like a coffee?”
“Water, please.” Her throat was parched. When he started awkwardly toward the fridge, she leaped up. “What was I thinking? You sit down. I’ll get it. Coffee for you?”
He nodded and gratefully made his way to the table in the center of the room. Chelsea joined him soon after with their drinks. Ignoring her water, she reached for his hand. “How did it happen? Do you really think Joel had anything to do with it?”
“No, I don’t believe Joel did it.” He summarized the events of the evening before. “Joel’s alibi held. But I haven’t dismissed the idea that it was his car. The make, model and plate are too similar to those of the car that hit me.”
“He said he didn’t have his car with him last night. Could someone have stolen it?”
“And returned it by morning to the exact place Joel had left it? I doubt it. Even if that was the case, it would’ve been too coincidental for someone to randomly steal his car and drive it to a warehouse leased by the gallery.”
Chelsea had realized that, too, as soon as the question was out of her mouth. “But then how could it have been his car? Did he lend it to someone?”
“He said no. He did say his grandmother has a key to it.”
Chelsea chuckled, then compressed her lips. “You think Mrs. Sinclair took Joel’s car, drove to the warehouse for some reason, and then hit you and left the scene?” Chelsea shook her head. “That’s not possible.”
“I don’t think so, either,” Sam said. “Joel also said you used to have a key to it.”
Chelsea straightened her back and stared at him. “Joel suggested I did it?”
“No. He said you used to have a key. Do you still?”
“Of course not!” The horror that Sam might think she’d do something like that washed over her. Then she thought about it. Had she ever returned the key to Joel? She couldn’t remember. She’d used his car only once or twice, when hers was in for repairs. And that time she’d lent her car to Paige, so Paige and Jason could visit her parents at Christmas. But even if she still had the key...
Tears welled in her eyes. “You think I could do that? Hit you and leave you there?”
Sam rose awkwardly and held out a hand to Chelsea. “Come here, please.”
She rose, although she still felt hurt. He drew her into his arms, cradling her to his chest, and kissed the top of her head. “I needed that,” he murmured into her hair. “To answer your question, no, not for an instant did I think that. Nor do I believe you had anything to do with the theft of the Babineux.” His arms tightened around her. “Police protocol be damned, I missed you and I want to see you. Be with you.”
The simple words, said with unconcealed emotion, caused a pleasant warmth to spread through her. She snuggled closer, shut her eyes and absorbed the sheer bliss of being in his arms. Yes, she was falling in love with Sam. Had fallen in love with him.
When the door opened behind them, they sprang apart like two guilty teenagers. Well, sprang might not have been the right word to describe Sam’s a
wkward retreat.
A tall man with medium-length brown hair and a rugged face stood in the doorway. “Am I interrupting?” he asked with a half smile.
Chelsea shifted her gaze from the new arrival to Sam, and caught him rubbing his forehead. “Colin, I’d like to introduce you to Chelsea Owens. Chelsea, this is my captain, Colin Mitchell.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Owens. A real pleasure,” he added, slanting Sam a quick look.
“You, too, sir. Uh, Captain,” she responded, feeling the heat on her neck making its way up to her cheeks.
“Colin’s fine,” he assured her. “I’ll grab a coffee and leave you two to...your discussion,” he said, shooting Sam a knowing half smile.
The moment Colin closed the door behind him, Chelsea covered her face with her hands. “Oh, gosh. Your captain? How embarrassing! I’m sorry I put you in that predicament in front of your boss.”
Sam touched her shoulder gently. “I’d bet it’s not the first time Colin’s seen people embrace. Besides, if I remember correctly, I initiated that hug.”
“I know...but I came here. To your workplace and—” Her emotions were in turmoil. She was concerned about his injury. She was excited about her feelings for him and the fact that he hadn’t pushed her away. All the emotions were threatening to overwhelm her.
He nudged her closer to him. “Chelsea. Shh. It’s not a problem.” He rested his head on hers again. “I needed this more than I realized.” He drew back and raised her chin. “I missed you and I want to start seeing you again. Are you okay with that?”
Tears blurred her vision and clogged her throat. Not ashamed to let him see how she felt, without averting her gaze, she nodded.
“I’m glad,” he said softly before lowering his head to brush his lips across hers.
That kiss was unlike any that Chelsea had exchanged with Sam before.
It left her a little breathless...and more stirred by a kiss than she’d ever been.