His Witness, Her Child Read online

  He clenched his teeth until his jaw ached. Buck Swain would pay. Dillon would guaran-damn-tee it.

  Biting back his anger, he crouched and studied Amanda from her own level. “Can you tell me what the man looked like, darlin’?”

  Amanda blinked, her long golden lashes brushing pink cheeks. Lifting her chin, she stared past him and up at her mother.

  Without turning around, he could picture the fear shining in Jacqueline Schettler’s blue eyes, the color draining from her already pale skin. But her fear wouldn’t last long. If he knew Jacqueline, she wouldn’t let it. Her eyes were probably already narrowing into slits, her anger plunging into his back like a sharp blade.

  He’d seen her turn fear into anger before. Like the night she’d received the first threatening phone call. When he’d rushed to her house, he’d found her alone and scared, hands shaking so badly she couldn’t hold a glass of water. He’d held her in his arms until her trembling stopped, reluctant even then to let her go. Even after police officers had been posted outside her house, he’d stayed with her, sipping coffee and talking until dawn, when Mark had finally stumbled home.

  That night there had been something between them, a connection, an intimacy he couldn’t explain. Something held in check only by the wedding ring still on her finger.

  But the threats had kept coming, and Jacqueline had withdrawn. She’d grown distant toward him, cool. Then Swain had threatened her daughter. And after that she’d refused to see him or talk to him. Without her cooperation he had been unable to get Swain’s bail revoked. With the threat to Amanda, his hat had changed from white to black.

  And now he’d never be able to change it back.

  Jacqueline was afraid for her daughter then, and she was doubly afraid for her daughter now. And he knew damn well that behind his back she was silently signaling the little girl to keep quiet.

  Amanda swung her attention to Dillon, her fingers twisting a shank of hair into a tight little rope. Her gaze dropped to the colorful, hand-braided rug beneath her shoes. “I…I don’t remember.”

  “See? She doesn’t remember.” Jacqueline stepped around him, close enough for him to catch her soft vanilla scent. She collected her daughter into the circle of her arms. Eyes narrowed to those damn little slits, she glared at him as if she wished him dead. “You’ve done your job. Now you can leave with a clear conscience.”

  He straightened and faced her. Clear conscience? Like hell. His conscience would never be clear. Not until his dying day. “I’m not going to just walk out the door, Jacqueline. You know that.”

  Her eyebrows pinched together. She glared at him, her expression as damning as a hangman’s noose around his neck. “You promised to protect Mark. You promised he’d be safe.”

  He had promised. And he’d failed. He swallowed hard and looked her straight in the eye. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s too late to be sorry.” She shook her head, her chestnut hair rustling with the movement. “You shouldn’t have let him give all those interviews. You shouldn’t have let him put publicity for the brew pub ahead of his family’s safety. You knew he was a loose cannon.”

  He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “If I could have hog-tied him, I would have. You have every right to be angry. Hell, you have every right to take it out of my hide.”

  The look in her eyes suggested she’d be willing to do just that. “Why was Mark at the pub last night? He was supposed to be at his condo watching Disney movies with Amanda. He was supposed to have a cop protecting him.”

  “Truth is, Jacqueline, I don’t know. Maybe his protection was yanked because it had been so long since the last threat. Maybe the police got sloppy. Maybe I got sloppy. I should have made sure he was protected. I should have made sure he stayed put. It’s my fault. I’m sorry.”

  She closed her eyes as if shutting out his words. “I don’t want your apology. All I want is for you to leave us alone.”

  As much as he wanted to do what she asked, he couldn’t leave them alone. Amanda was an eyewitness to murder. His best bet in a case with damn few leads. As of yet, the police had found no murder weapon, no fingerprints of value, nothing to point in the direction of the killer. Dillon knew who’d done it—Buck Swain’s foul stench was all over this case—but knowing didn’t do him a sliver of good. He couldn’t prove it. Just as he couldn’t prove Swain was the one who’d threatened Mark. Without the little girl’s help, his case was so thin it couldn’t cast a shadow. “I can’t let a killer go free.”

  “You always do the right thing, don’t you? No matter who might get hurt.” She bit off her words, a note of irony in her voice. Slowly she opened her eyes. “The only thing you seem to really care about is justice.”

  Of course he cared about justice. He wouldn’t be in this job if he didn’t. But it was more than that. Much more. He’d admitted that to himself long ago. He didn’t just care about justice—he needed it.

  For Janey.

  Of all people, he thought Jacqueline Schettler would understand his need. He thought she would want the same thing. Of course, since the divorce and for quite some time before, Mark Schettler hadn’t been much of a family to Jacqueline. But he would always be family to her daughter. “Don’t you want the man who killed your little girl’s daddy to pay?”

  She narrowed her eyes, but even her thick fringe of lashes couldn’t hide the glint of indignation. “Of course I do.”

  “Then why aren’t we communicating here?”

  She reached down and brushed a strand of hair from her little girl’s round cheek. The movement of her long, slender fingers was so soft and tender, he couldn’t prevent the tightening at the back of his throat. When Jacqueline looked back at him, her finely chiseled features seemed to harden. Her eyes flashed with anger, hot as blue flame. “Making that man pay isn’t the only issue. It isn’t even the most important one.”

  He looked down at Amanda. Those innocent eyes. Those round, sweet cheeks. His throat kinked into a knot, and tenderness swelled inside him. Of course to a mother, her little girl would be the only important issue. Especially a good mother like Jacqueline. “You don’t have to worry. I’ll make sure Amanda is safe. Your daughter here, she holds the key. One point of her finger, and we can get the guy who did this.”

  Amanda looked up at him, eyes huge and haunted, mouth drawn into a grim line. She clutched the stuffed horse in one hand, her other little hand balled into a fist by her side, her index finger stretching out into a point.

  The sight hit him hard. That little finger with its pink nail polish. Her tight little knuckles as pale as paste. He clenched his jaw against the onslaught, but he couldn’t take his eyes off her finger.

  “Sweetheart.” Jacqueline’s husky contralto cracked with emotion. She knelt by Amanda’s side. Squeezing her daughter, she whispered in the little girl’s ear.

  Amanda clutched her stuffed horse in both arms and reluctantly nodded. She tore herself from Jacqueline and dragged her feet down the hall, glancing over her shoulder every three steps as if to reassure herself that her mama hadn’t deserted her as her daddy had.

  Jacqueline watched every step her daughter took with such concern, Dillon could swear the little girl was walking a tightrope with no net underneath.

  Maybe she was. And to Jacqueline Schettler it probably seemed as if he wanted to raise the tightrope to the highest point in the big top. Damn. If he could catch and prosecute the man who had killed Mark Schettler, without involving Amanda, he would do it as surely as he breathed. But right now the police had no other witnesses and no promising leads. If he wanted to rid the street of Buck Swain, he had to rely on Amanda.

  As soon as the bedroom door thunked closed behind her daughter, Jacqueline faced him squarely. She was thinner than the last time he’d seen her, almost frail looking in a shapeless sweater and jeans. But Jacqueline Schettler wasn’t frail. Far from it. Deep down, she was tough. Tough and plumb sexy. From her thick chestnut mane and expressive blue eyes to the passi
on that bubbled not far beneath her surface, she was some kind of woman. Her husky voice and light vanilla fragrance could charm a charging bull. She’d charmed him the first time he laid eyes on her.

  Muscles tightened along her square jaw. Her hands balled into fists by her sides. “Putting Mark’s murderer in prison is not as simple as pointing a finger, and you know it. Mark was murdered for pointing a finger. The same thing will not happen to Amanda.”

  “I can put the two of you in protective custody. I’ll move you into a secured apartment and make sure you have ’round-the-clock police protection.”

  “Why would any of that make a difference? Threats or no threats, Mark was supposed to have a cop by his side every time he set foot outside his condo until the trial was over. Last night he left his condo, and guess what? No cop. After what happened to Mark, why on earth would I agree to let you make my daughter a sitting duck?”

  She drew in a breath of air and expelled it through tight lips. “You may not have noticed this, Dillon, but you’re no Clint Eastwood and this is no spaghetti Western. In real life the cowboy with the swagger and the just cause doesn’t always win in the end. You didn’t win the last round, and I’d be a fool to bet my daughter’s life that you’ll win the next.”

  He stood tall and took her anger full in the gut. He’d earned it, after all. She deserved her chance to vent. But that didn’t mean he was about to back down. “Damn straight I didn’t win the last round. That’s why nothing’s going to keep me from winning the next. I aim to use every shred of power in the district attorney’s office to personally make sure Amanda’s safe.”

  Jacqueline crooked a delicate eyebrow. “Oh? Things are going to be different this time because you feel guilty? I don’t think the world works that way. Besides, I don’t buy your guilt act. I don’t think you’re interested in Amanda’s well-being at all. I think you just want to salvage your case.”

  Hell yes, he wanted to salvage his case. And he wanted to keep Amanda safe. But not just because of guilt. He was no unfeeling robot. He cared what happened to his witnesses. How could he not care?

  And if he was being honest with himself, this little girl was more than just a witness to him. This little girl and her mother were special. “Believe anything you damn well want. Either way, I give you my word. Amanda will be safe. There’s a killer out there, Jacqueline. A killer who just might know your little girl was in the pub last night.”

  Her face grew pale, her eyes dark and wide. She glanced toward the bedroom where her daughter had disappeared. “He couldn’t know. If he did, don’t you think he would have killed her last night? No. If Amanda doesn’t show up on your witness list, he’ll never know she saw him.”

  “You may be right. He may not know she saw him. But why take the chance? Come down to my office. Amanda can look through a photo lineup and give a videotaped deposition describing what she saw. Once her memories are on record, the murderer won’t be able to gain anything by killing her. She’ll be safe.”

  That damned square jaw of hers hardened like a drill sergeant’s. “I doubt it’s that easy. If it is, why didn’t you have Mark give a deposition after he started getting the threats?”

  “Mark didn’t want Swain’s lawyer cross-examining him. And once the death threats started, he feared that if Swain’s attorney had access to him, Swain would, too. Without the cross, the deposition likely wouldn’t have been admissible in court.”

  “Wouldn’t that be a problem with Amanda’s testimony, too?”

  “The court is often more lenient with child witnesses.”

  She shook her head. “Often more lenient? But you don’t really know if her videotaped testimony would be admissible or not, do you? Sorry, Dillon, that’s not good enough. Amanda’s not talking to anyone. If she’s not a witness, she’s not a threat.”

  “You’re fooling yourself, Jacqueline. She’s in danger whether she testifies or not. So why don’t you let me make sure she’s safe? Why don’t you help me put Swain in prison where he can’t hurt her or anyone else?”

  “Don’t you think I want to help? Don’t you think I want the man who did this behind bars? Don’t you think I want your promises to be real?” She looked down at the woven rug beneath her feet. If he wasn’t mistaken, a slight glistening of tears moistened the corners of her eyes and shimmered in her lower lashes. “Please, Dillon. Please leave us alone.”

  He gritted his teeth. He could handle her anger. He could handle her bitter words. He deserved them. But the sight of her tears, the sound of her whispered plea slashed into him, leaving a gaping wound. He reached out a hand, wanting to touch her, wanting to pull her into his arms, wanting to promise her everything would be okay.

  But she’d never again trust a promise he made—she’d made that clear. And she sure as hell wouldn’t accept his touch or his embrace. He closed his hand into a fist and let it fall by his side.

  Like any wound, the guilt gashing his conscience would scar over in time. And when it did, he would be left with the knowledge that he’d done the right thing. The just thing. The only thing he could live with. “I know you can’t believe me, but I’m going to make things right. Now get your daughter. She needs to look at some pictures while her memory is still fresh. I’ll drive you.”

  Jacqueline brushed the back of her hand across her cheeks. She raised her eyes and glared at him, her stare cold. “All right. If that’s the way you feel, you give me no choice.” Spinning on her heel, she marched down the hall and disappeared into her daughter’s bedroom.

  Dillon stared at the door long after she’d closed it behind her. He’d won this battle, but the win gave him damn little satisfaction. He’d give almost anything to leave the little girl alone and let her and her mama heal, but he couldn’t. Soon she would be safe in his office, looking through a photo lineup that included a mug shot of Buck Swain. Mark Schettler would have justice yet, and Mark and Jacqueline’s daughter would be safe. Dillon would make sure of it.

  He scuffed the leather soles of his boots on the worn hardwood floor and glanced around the Victorian. The air smelled of toast and coffee and the comfort of morning routine. Simple secondhand furniture and a few restored antiques dotted the living room. Dillon knew that when Jacqueline had left her husband she’d taken nothing with her, not a stick of furniture, not one spot of expensive art. From the look of things, she had built a brand-new life for herself and her little girl. A comfortable, well-worn, safe life.

  A tabletop weighed down with family pictures stood in front of two lace-dressed windows. Amanda as a red and wrinkled newborn stared googly-eyed from an eight-by-ten. In an adjacent snapshot, her daddy held her on a horsey swing, his face as heart-whole and round as a boy’s. That straight-shooting look was long gone by the time his path had crossed Dillon’s. Clearly Mark had changed a lot in the past few years.

  Dillon reached behind school portraits of Amanda and picked up a photo of Jacqueline, in hiking boots and a sheepskin coat, perched atop a river bluff. She held her chin high, the wind whipping her hair, her eyes clear and blue as the winding river below.

  He ran a finger over the glass. Jacqueline Schettler had a power, a force of will unlike any woman he’d ever met. A force reserved for mama grizzlies and avenging angels. A force to reckon with. Even from the two-dimensional surface of the photograph, that force seemed to reach out and grab him by the throat.

  Her force was strongest when she looked at or talked about her little girl. She loved her daughter more than life itself, that had been clear from the first time he’d laid eyes on her. And from that first moment, he’d respected her devotion to family. Hell, he admired it. After all, a deep love for family was the one thing he and Jacqueline had in common.

  He set the picture in its spot on the table. Funny how the same thing he admired most about her was now the thing that could stand in his way.

  As Jacqueline’s footsteps clicked back into the room, he turned away from the photos. She walked past him and into the foyer, Ama
nda in tow, both wrapped to the gills in winter coats, caps and scarves.

  Striding across the living room toward them, he fished in the pocket of his duster for his jangling keys. “My truck is parked out back.”

  Jacqueline didn’t bother to return his gaze. She reached for the knob and flung the door open. “We’re not going anywhere with you.”

  “Where are you going?”

  Slowly she turned to face him. Resolve flashed in the depths of those blue, blue eyes. “Thanks to my divorce, I learned the only way to fight legal bluster is with more legal bluster. I’m going to get a lawyer on my side.”

  His gut clenched. He should have known she wouldn’t give up so easily. He needed her permission to talk to Amanda, and once she talked to a lawyer, she wouldn’t allow him within fifty miles of the girl. He closed the space between them in four strides. “We’re both on the same side in this, Jacqueline. We both want to bring the man who killed your ex-husband to justice. We both want to keep Amanda safe.”

  “No, Dillon. We’re not on the same side. All you really want is to bring this man to justice. I have to think about my daughter’s safety first.” Clutching Amanda’s hand, she stepped outside, the wind sending her chestnut hair billowing around her face like storm clouds around a lightning rod. “Lock up before you leave.” She tossed him one last scowl and slammed the door behind her and her little girl.

  He lunged for the door, but stopped himself before he yanked it open. He wanted to run after them. He wanted to throw Jacqueline’s wisp of a body over his shoulder, haul her and her daughter into his truck and force them to cooperate. But that was plumb crazy. He couldn’t force anything. Not where the law was concerned, and not where Jacqueline’s trust was concerned, either.

  He raised his eyes to the Victorian’s tall ceiling and dragged a hand through his hair. He’d blown his chance. And as a result, he might have blown not only his entire case, but any chance of renewing the connection that he and Jacqueline had once shared.