Watch Me (Last Stand #3)(20)
Author: Brenda Novak

And now she couldn’t work at all. Not for a while.

“Ned told me you established a victims’ charity,” Owen said.

“You’re friendly with Ned?” Because of the strain between Ned and Cain she hadn’t expected it.

He gestured with the spoon he still held. “We’ve both got kids in Little League. And he isn’t so bad as long as Cain’s not around.”

Cain seemed to bring out the worst in Ned and Amy.

“More soup?” he asked, and she opened her mouth for another spoonful.

“Cain told me you’re a doctor. That’s quite an accomplishment,” she said when she’d swallowed.

“Not really. I went to school for eight years to get where I am, but Cain probably knows as much intuitively.”

He’d said it amiably, but Sheridan couldn’t help wondering if he harbored some envy. “Does it bother you?” she asked. “That Cain’s so good?”

“Of course not. He’s my brother.”

Cain was his stepbrother. They’d always stressed that in high school. It was almost as if the Wyatts, especially Owen’s father, hadn’t wanted to claim such a renegade. But Sheridan believed that his lack of acceptance in that family was what had made Cain a renegade. Although he’d played a few organized sports when he first moved to town, not long after his mother married John Wyatt, he’d quit them altogether. His grades began to suffer; he started acting out.

“What about your glamorous job?” Owen asked.

“What about it?”

“Tell me what working for your charity entails.”

“I mostly act as a caseworker, which means I assess a client’s needs, then fill in wherever possible. Sometimes that includes getting him or her a better lawyer or a different lab to analyze evidence. Sometimes it means getting a second opinion on a psychological profile or an autopsy, providing a safe house, a bodyguard, self-defense classes.” She shrugged. “You name it.”

“You like what you do.”

It was a statement, not a question. “It’s fulfilling. The work’s also frightening at times, and it can get pretty depressing when funds run low or we can’t do as much as we’d like.”

He adjusted the tray. “Must be difficult for you now, being on the receiving end of the equation.”

“Being the victim instead of the helper? Definitely. But that only makes me more empathetic.”

“Your work includes trying to put murderers and ra**sts and wife-abusers behind bars, right?”

She swallowed the next spoonful of warm chicken broth. “More or less.”

“You’re not worried about the danger involved in crossing people like that? I mean, couldn’t one of them come after you?”

This was leading somewhere despite the benign expression on Owen’s face. “Are you thinking that what happened to me might be connected to my work and not Jason’s shooting?”

“I’m trying to figure out if it’s a possibility.”

She swallowed some more soup. “The timing and location argue against it. I’m from California.”

“You could’ve been followed.”

“I flew.” And rented a car. She finally knew that much. She supposed her rental car was parked at her uncle’s house, but she needed to ask Cain. He’d already said he planned to look for her purse and cell phone today.

“Doesn’t matter. Anyone who knew your plans could’ve talked about them. It wouldn’t be hard to figure out where you were going.”

Sheridan studied him for a moment. “Then why bother following me all the way here? Wouldn’t it be easier and cheaper to take care of me in California?”

“Not all criminals are dumb and lazy. Ted Bundy, for instance.” Owen blinked at her through his thick glasses. “He’s an excellent example of a highly functional killer. If someone knew your background, knew you’d had trouble here before, this would be the smartest place to murder you. The police would naturally connect the attack to the incident at the lake. Especially if it’s a small force like this one, with no experience in real detective work. And the change in jurisdiction would—”

“I wasn’t having problems with anyone before I left,” she broke in. She knew all about the difficulties of trying to get two police departments to work together, especially two departments located so far apart.

“But the scenario is possible, isn’t it? Some man who abuses his wife isn’t going to be happy about you getting involved and taking her side. You’ve probably done that at some point.”

“Of course I have. More times than I want to count.”

“See? Someone could be angry and desperate for revenge.”

Was he trying to frighten her? She already felt as if the whole world had become unsafe….

“The degree of anger in what was done to you leads me to believe that whoever did it has something very personal against you,” he said when she didn’t respond.

Suddenly, Sheridan couldn’t eat any more. The way he talked brought flashbacks of the beating. And it upset her that he seemed so insensitive to the fact that his words might cause her discomfort.

But he’d never really had social skills. Maybe the improvement she’d noticed when he first greeted her wasn’t a true improvement, after all. Maybe he still didn’t know what to say to a woman, to people in general. “You could be right,” she said calmly. “There’s always the possibility that what happened to Jason and me was completely random. I had no enemies when I lived here.”

“No enemies that you know of,” he corrected.

She let the spoonful of soup he held out dangle in midair. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What if someone wanted you for himself and didn’t like it when you went into that camper with Cain?”

Sheridan hadn’t told anyone about the camper. Not a soul. Not until she was much older and far away from the whole situation. At sixteen, she’d been too paranoid about having it get back to her parents and too angry with herself for making such a colossally stupid mistake. She’d given Cain her heart at the same time she’d given him her body; he’d taken one and left the other without a second thought or a moment’s hesitation.

But she’d always believed he’d at least done her the courtesy of maintaining his silence. “Who told you I went into the camper with Cain?”