Even worse, she’d derived a certain amount of satisfaction from it.
He hated that memory. Sometimes he hated Claire, too, for having such a strong hold on him despite his efforts to escape it. He was pretty sure she returned the sentiment. She wouldn’t even speak to him. If she saw him coming, she’d whip around and walk the other way. His career had taken off after a documentary he’d made on the impact of endangered status on the wolf population came to the attention of the editor at National Geographic a year or so after they’d quit seeing each other. That was when he’d started to travel. But Pineview was too small not to bump into her whenever he returned.
So, if he preferred to stay out of her life, why was he heading back to Alana’s studio to rescue whatever Claire didn’t want the sheriff to see?
He had no explanation for that. There was just something about her that made him do stupid things. Like sleeping with her for six months and not expecting to form an attachment. Like not turning away when she was being lovey-dovey with her husband so he wouldn’t have to carry that lasting and painful memory around with him. Like running hell-bent through the forest in an effort to reach her when she screamed—and just about puncturing his lung on a tree.
When he entered the studio’s clearing for the second time that evening, he found the place quiet and dark. The door stood open, exactly as he’d left it—a sign that no one had been there since.
He’d arrived in time. The files lay scattered on the floor.
Aiming his flashlight at the documents that had spilled out, he glanced over them and soon determined that they were case files—part of the investigation into Claire’s mother’s disappearance. He wasn’t sure why this was a secret. The sheriff must have a copy. That had to be where Claire had gotten this stuff in the first place.
He was sure of it until he read a report that talked about “inconsistencies” and realized that certain aspects of the case hadn’t been reported to the public. That meant Claire probably wasn’t supposed to know about them, suggesting she’d come by these through unofficial means.
Isaac raked a hand through his hair. “So that’s it.”
Careful not to pull on his stitches—Lord knew he’d bled enough for one night—he took all the papers and left the door halfway open, just as it had been before.
A car approached as he neared his own place. Using the darkness and the trees for cover, he crept close enough to the pitted dirt road to see who it was, and easily recognized the squad car. The deputies had arrived. Would they look around while they had the chance? Maybe…
Briefly, Isaac considered stopping whoever it was so he could hand over what he’d taken. Maybe there was something in these documents that would tell the sheriff why Claire had been attacked.
But he knew she didn’t want to give them up or she wouldn’t have lied, so Isaac figured he’d return them to her when he had the chance to do it discreetly.
He felt good about that decision—until he got home. After two hours spent reading through the various reports and interviews, he began to get a terrible feeling.
Something peculiar stood out…?.
He had to be wrong. Surely someone else would’ve noticed what he was seeing and brought it up if it was even a possibility.
Rubbing his eyes, which were bleary with fatigue, he wanted to let it go at that. He could be wrong. What was going through his mind wasn’t directly related to individual facts. It was more of a gut feeling about what all this information meant.
But it wouldn’t leave him alone…?.
“Shit,” he said when he set the files aside. If what he suspected was true, Claire was about to face another nasty shock.
And the sheriff was going to face his next big case.
4
Leanne wasn’t happy but that didn’t come as a surprise. To Claire’s dismay, her sister never seemed happy.
She watched Leanne maneuver her wheelchair to reach the nightstand, where she set the glass of water and the pain pills she’d brought in case Claire needed them later. The disgruntled frown that tugged at her lips bothered Claire, but not as much as the low-cut pink nightgown her sister was wearing. Held up by two black ribbons tied in bows, one over each shoulder, it went to her ankles—but it was too low-cut to be worn in front of a man other than an intimate boyfriend or husband.
And this was how she’d answered the door when Myles brought Claire home.
Unable to bite her tongue any longer, Claire broke the tense silence that’d fallen between them as soon as the sheriff left. She knew Leanne had plenty to say about what’d happened at the studio tonight—plenty about how she shouldn’t have been there in the first place—and thought she might as well air her own grievances before Leanne could get started. “You didn’t mind letting Myles see you like that?”
Her sister’s chin jutted out. “Like what?”
“Wearing sexy lingerie?” With no effort at all, Claire could make out the tattoo of a mermaid on her sister’s right breast. When Leanne bent forward, she could see clear to her navel—but glanced away. Leanne’s lack of modesty embarrassed her now as much as it had a few minutes earlier. What had gotten into her lately? Why was she acting like this?
Claire knew she struggled to feel attractive despite her handicap. It was heartbreaking to watch and the primary reason Claire had agreed with Leanne’s decision to get breast implants. She’d even helped pay for the operation. But Leanne had changed so drastically since the surgery, had become so blatantly sexual. Was she trying to prove that she was just as attractive and capable of pleasing a man as anyone who could walk?
It felt that way. But passing herself around to every guy who showed interest wouldn’t solve her self-esteem problem. And it wouldn’t do her reputation any favors, either, especially in such a small community.
“What are you talking about?” Leanne asked. “It’s not like this is transparent or anything.”
It didn’t need to be transparent to be inappropriate. Claire made an effort to hold on to her temper. She knew how easily this could blow up into a major argument and didn’t relish the idea of any more trouble with her sister. They always seemed to be at each other’s throats these days. “But you hate gossip. Why make yourself the focus of it?”
Leanne shrugged. “Folks around here are going to stare and talk no matter what. I have this wheelchair to thank for that. And Mom didn’t do us any favors when she ran off.”