a couple times and then ducked his head to look in one of the glass panes that framed the hand-carved door. “Shit. She must have gone out.” He straightened up. “I’ll go get your bag and you can wait over at Marty’s until she opens up.”
“Wait, you’re just going to dump me off? What if she doesn’t come back?”
Sean wanted to tell her it wasn’t his problem. Wanted to tell her it was too damn bad, that it would be no less than she deserved for coming up here uninvited and trying to force him to dredge up a part of his life he had no interest in revisiting.
It was the shiver that did it, barely perceptible beneath the bulk of the borrowed down coat that hung almost to her knees, as she braced herself against the rapidly cooling breeze.
He muttered a curse under his breath and grabbed her by the arm, tugging her across the street. “Let’s go get something to eat while we wait.”
The scents of beer and fried food greeted him as they walked into Marty’s pub and Sean braced himself. Fortunately, the place was relatively empty during the low season, and the customers were mostly people he knew, at least by sight if not name. No tourists to do the double take, the Isn’t that? and then bend low to whisper over their hamburgers and fries, followed by another assessing look as they wondered if maybe he hadn’t gotten away with murder after all.
“Sean, darlin’,” Nancy McFee, the late Marty’s wife, called as she rushed across the restaurant to greet him. Pushing sixty, Nancy was still holding it together with her dyed red hair and busty figure that flirted with matronly plumpness. Her arms were flung as wide as her smile as she rushed to greet him. Sean fought not to choke on her cloud of perfume as he suffered a tight hug and a kiss on the cheek. “It feels like an age since you’ve been here. It’s not good for a man as handsome as you to keep all to himself up in that lonely cabin of yours.”
“I’ve been busy,” he said, grimacing as Nancy rubbed at his cheek with a red-tipped thumb, scrubbing away at the smear of lipstick she’d no doubt left on his chin.
“But I see you have someone with you—” Nancy’s bright smile faded abruptly as recognition set in. “You’re her—you’re that prosecutor.”
“Deputy Prosecuting Attorney Krista Slater,” Krista said and held out her hand. She didn’t react at all when Nancy gave a sniff of disdain.
“Can’t imagine what you’re doing here with her. What she did to you was unforgivable.”
“No argument here,” Krista said softly.
“To be fair, Nate Brewster was the one who framed me,” Sean said, the words cutting him as deeply as ever. He had no idea why he felt the urge to defend Krista, but his mouth moved almost without his consent. “Krista was doing her job.”
“Well, if you ask me, she was doing a piss poor job of it. How anyone thought you could be capable of murder is beyond me. Known him all his life, I have, and I never believed it, not for a minute.”
Yes, she had. But Sean didn’t bother to remind her of what she’d said to the reporter from the Seattle Tribune after his conviction, about how you thought you could know someone and never see the evil lurking inside. Let her have her false memories and her overdone affection if it made her feel like she was making up for thinking the worst of him. “Thanks, Nance. I see my regular table’s empty. Be a sweetheart and bring us a couple of pints.”
He led Krista to the corner booth next to the window, nodding at the handful of other patrons. Many of them he’d known since childhood. They all gave him the same overeager smiles and friendly waves, as though that could erase the fact that all of them, like Nancy, had at one point believed he was capable of raping and murdering a woman in the most brutal way imaginable.
He slid into the booth and cracked open the window. “You don’t have to,” he said as Krista leaned over to the window on her side to
“Wait, you’re just going to dump me off? What if she doesn’t come back?”
Sean wanted to tell her it wasn’t his problem. Wanted to tell her it was too damn bad, that it would be no less than she deserved for coming up here uninvited and trying to force him to dredge up a part of his life he had no interest in revisiting.
It was the shiver that did it, barely perceptible beneath the bulk of the borrowed down coat that hung almost to her knees, as she braced herself against the rapidly cooling breeze.
He muttered a curse under his breath and grabbed her by the arm, tugging her across the street. “Let’s go get something to eat while we wait.”
The scents of beer and fried food greeted him as they walked into Marty’s pub and Sean braced himself. Fortunately, the place was relatively empty during the low season, and the customers were mostly people he knew, at least by sight if not name. No tourists to do the double take, the Isn’t that? and then bend low to whisper over their hamburgers and fries, followed by another assessing look as they wondered if maybe he hadn’t gotten away with murder after all.
“Sean, darlin’,” Nancy McFee, the late Marty’s wife, called as she rushed across the restaurant to greet him. Pushing sixty, Nancy was still holding it together with her dyed red hair and busty figure that flirted with matronly plumpness. Her arms were flung as wide as her smile as she rushed to greet him. Sean fought not to choke on her cloud of perfume as he suffered a tight hug and a kiss on the cheek. “It feels like an age since you’ve been here. It’s not good for a man as handsome as you to keep all to himself up in that lonely cabin of yours.”
“I’ve been busy,” he said, grimacing as Nancy rubbed at his cheek with a red-tipped thumb, scrubbing away at the smear of lipstick she’d no doubt left on his chin.
“But I see you have someone with you—” Nancy’s bright smile faded abruptly as recognition set in. “You’re her—you’re that prosecutor.”
“Deputy Prosecuting Attorney Krista Slater,” Krista said and held out her hand. She didn’t react at all when Nancy gave a sniff of disdain.
“Can’t imagine what you’re doing here with her. What she did to you was unforgivable.”
“No argument here,” Krista said softly.
“To be fair, Nate Brewster was the one who framed me,” Sean said, the words cutting him as deeply as ever. He had no idea why he felt the urge to defend Krista, but his mouth moved almost without his consent. “Krista was doing her job.”
“Well, if you ask me, she was doing a piss poor job of it. How anyone thought you could be capable of murder is beyond me. Known him all his life, I have, and I never believed it, not for a minute.”
Yes, she had. But Sean didn’t bother to remind her of what she’d said to the reporter from the Seattle Tribune after his conviction, about how you thought you could know someone and never see the evil lurking inside. Let her have her false memories and her overdone affection if it made her feel like she was making up for thinking the worst of him. “Thanks, Nance. I see my regular table’s empty. Be a sweetheart and bring us a couple of pints.”
He led Krista to the corner booth next to the window, nodding at the handful of other patrons. Many of them he’d known since childhood. They all gave him the same overeager smiles and friendly waves, as though that could erase the fact that all of them, like Nancy, had at one point believed he was capable of raping and murdering a woman in the most brutal way imaginable.
He slid into the booth and cracked open the window. “You don’t have to,” he said as Krista leaned over to the window on her side to
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