Read Online Time to Run by Marliss Melton - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Marliss Melton
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good day, sir," Hewitt offered gently, handing the man his cell phone. "And ... and I'm so sorry to hear about Miss Sara and your son," he added, forcing himself to issue condolences. According to the Sunday paper, they'd mostly likely been kidnapped.
He found himself the focus of Captain Garret's black-as-ink eyes. "You knew her on a first-name basis?" the man inquired quietly.
There was something threatening about the question. Hewitt took a small step back. "She ... she asked me to call her Miss Sara," he reassured the man swiftly.
"Really? But then, you were both here all day together. You must have become quite friendly."
Hewitt didn't know what to say to that. Clearly the man was out of his mind with grief.
"Was she friendly with anyone else?" he continued. "A man with a beard, perhaps?"
It wasn't grief that Hewitt saw in the man's eyes. It was something far colder than that, something calculated.
"A beard, sir?"
"Do you have trouble hearing, petty officer?" Garret inquired.
"No, sir."
"Have you ever seen her with a bearded man?" the lawyer repeated.
Hewitt felt like he'd taken the witness stand and was being interrogated. He searched his memory. The only bearded man that came into the Trial Services Building was Chief McCaffrey, the Navy SEAL who verbally harassed him while his blue eyes gleamed with wicked humor. "No, sir," he replied, knowing the chief would never have to resort to kidnapping to get himself a woman.
"No? Why the hesitation, Petty Officer ..." He had to look down at the name tag, "Hewitt?"
Chief McCaffrey not only knew Hewitt's last name, he also knew his first—Marcelino, which he'd teased him about, of course. "No reason, sir."
"I see," the captain answered. His mouth drooped with disappointment. Without another word, he turned and stalked through the exit, straight into a downpour.
Chapter Six
The thumping on the roof abated suddenly, causing Sara to pause as she swept the kitchen floor. She'd elected to work indoors, while Chase tackled the exterior. She was able to select her own tasks, as Chase had placed no expectations on her whatsoever. Exposing the innate charm of the bungalow was its own reward, making every chore a pleasure.
The screen door yawned open, and Chase came in with a scowl on his face, holding his thumb.
He went straight to the sink and stuck it under running water. Sara propped the broom against the counter and stepped closer to assess the damage.
"Hammered it," he said shortly.
His thumbnail was already purple. With a grimace of sympathy, Sara turned toward the freezer and pulled out an ice tray. She whipped a plastic bag from a drawer and filled it, handing it to Chase, who dried his thumb with a paper towel. "Thanks."
They stood there a moment, taking stock of each other. Chase's shirt was damp with sweat. Sara was perspiring lightly herself, in the absence of air-conditioning. Among the long list of items to be fixed was the central air.
Chase looked around, taking in the work that Sara had already accomplished. He opened a cabinet she'd emptied earlier, throwing away items that were broken or unusable. She'd wiped it out and put the dishes back in, stacking them neatly.
"You've been workin' hard," he commented, opening the next cabinet over, where she'd ordered the cans and spices, some of which Linc or the squatter had left behind. In defiance of Garret, she'd lined the cans up smallest to biggest. What a pleasure that had been!
She gave a start of surprise when Chase caught her wrist and scrutinized her reddened palm. His sure but gentle grip left a burning ring on her skin. "I thought I bought you gloves," he chastised.
She tugged, and he immediately let her go. "Maybe I don't want to wear gloves," she countered, surprising herself.
He cocked his head at her tone. "Suit yourself."
"I like to feel what I'm doing," she explained.
"Don't want you gettin' blisters," he retorted. "I didn't bring you here to work for me."
They stood no more than a
He found himself the focus of Captain Garret's black-as-ink eyes. "You knew her on a first-name basis?" the man inquired quietly.
There was something threatening about the question. Hewitt took a small step back. "She ... she asked me to call her Miss Sara," he reassured the man swiftly.
"Really? But then, you were both here all day together. You must have become quite friendly."
Hewitt didn't know what to say to that. Clearly the man was out of his mind with grief.
"Was she friendly with anyone else?" he continued. "A man with a beard, perhaps?"
It wasn't grief that Hewitt saw in the man's eyes. It was something far colder than that, something calculated.
"A beard, sir?"
"Do you have trouble hearing, petty officer?" Garret inquired.
"No, sir."
"Have you ever seen her with a bearded man?" the lawyer repeated.
Hewitt felt like he'd taken the witness stand and was being interrogated. He searched his memory. The only bearded man that came into the Trial Services Building was Chief McCaffrey, the Navy SEAL who verbally harassed him while his blue eyes gleamed with wicked humor. "No, sir," he replied, knowing the chief would never have to resort to kidnapping to get himself a woman.
"No? Why the hesitation, Petty Officer ..." He had to look down at the name tag, "Hewitt?"
Chief McCaffrey not only knew Hewitt's last name, he also knew his first—Marcelino, which he'd teased him about, of course. "No reason, sir."
"I see," the captain answered. His mouth drooped with disappointment. Without another word, he turned and stalked through the exit, straight into a downpour.
Chapter Six
The thumping on the roof abated suddenly, causing Sara to pause as she swept the kitchen floor. She'd elected to work indoors, while Chase tackled the exterior. She was able to select her own tasks, as Chase had placed no expectations on her whatsoever. Exposing the innate charm of the bungalow was its own reward, making every chore a pleasure.
The screen door yawned open, and Chase came in with a scowl on his face, holding his thumb.
He went straight to the sink and stuck it under running water. Sara propped the broom against the counter and stepped closer to assess the damage.
"Hammered it," he said shortly.
His thumbnail was already purple. With a grimace of sympathy, Sara turned toward the freezer and pulled out an ice tray. She whipped a plastic bag from a drawer and filled it, handing it to Chase, who dried his thumb with a paper towel. "Thanks."
They stood there a moment, taking stock of each other. Chase's shirt was damp with sweat. Sara was perspiring lightly herself, in the absence of air-conditioning. Among the long list of items to be fixed was the central air.
Chase looked around, taking in the work that Sara had already accomplished. He opened a cabinet she'd emptied earlier, throwing away items that were broken or unusable. She'd wiped it out and put the dishes back in, stacking them neatly.
"You've been workin' hard," he commented, opening the next cabinet over, where she'd ordered the cans and spices, some of which Linc or the squatter had left behind. In defiance of Garret, she'd lined the cans up smallest to biggest. What a pleasure that had been!
She gave a start of surprise when Chase caught her wrist and scrutinized her reddened palm. His sure but gentle grip left a burning ring on her skin. "I thought I bought you gloves," he chastised.
She tugged, and he immediately let her go. "Maybe I don't want to wear gloves," she countered, surprising herself.
He cocked his head at her tone. "Suit yourself."
"I like to feel what I'm doing," she explained.
"Don't want you gettin' blisters," he retorted. "I didn't bring you here to work for me."
They stood no more than a
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