Anything but Mine (3 page)

What he needed was to find a way out of this hellhole. A way to unlock that door.

A key.

Autry Holton would be the key to everything—freedom, vindication, salvation.

He smiled. Everything. Yeah. Autry could be everything he needed.

Schaefer waited for her in the small beige room, far removed from the battered, green interrogation rooms seen on so many television cop shows. The walls might have been unimaginative, but were spotless, as was the brown carpet. The inexpensive furniture consisted of a table and two chairs with molded plastic seats. Sheriff Jason Harding ran a clean, no-waste department, and this room, like the others in the jail, reflected that philosophy.

“Hello, Jeff.” Autry laid her briefcase on the table without a smile for the man sitting across the table. The orange jumpsuit he wore made his skin appear sallow, although it didn’t diminish his clean-cut good looks. His dark hair, neatly trimmed, lay close to his head, and his earnest blue eyes remained steady on her. Watching her. She hated the way he studied everything she did.

He nodded. “Autry. How are you?”

“Good, thanks.” She opened her briefcase. His gaze dropped from her face to her throat, then to the point where the table hid her stomach. Autry repressed a shudder and reached for the legal pad lying atop the files. He was already receiving letters in jail, women offering friendship and more. She couldn’t fathom the idea.

“We need to talk about your trial date. Also, Tom McMillian called yesterday. He’s willing to discuss a plea—”

“No.” Schaefer shook his head, a short, adamant movement. “No pleas.”

“Jeff, listen to me.” Autry leaned forward, hands clasped before her. “You’re facing a capital murder charge for Amy Gillabeaux’s death. Tom’s willing to take that off the table if you plead to all of the murders. He’ll drop the two counts of aggravated battery from the incident with Tick and Caitlin—”

“No, you listen to me.” Intensity deepened Schaefer’s voice, and he bent toward her, stabbing a finger into the table. Autry tried to forget the knife wounds on Amy’s body. Had his muscles tightened and flexed just that way as he swung the knife down? “I’m not pleading out. I didn’t kill those girls and I won’t say I did.”

He believed it. Or at least, he wanted her to think he believed it. Maybe he’d convinced himself of his own innocence. But what about trying to kill Tick? Caitlin? He’d left witnesses. How could he deny that?

“Tom intends to put Tick and Cait both on the stand.” She kept her voice soft and level. “That testimony alone will be damning and I’m not sure how we can counteract it.”

Schaefer’s gaze narrowed, the blue glittering between dark lashes. “I don’t care who he puts on the stand. I’m not the dangerous one here. I can refute anything Calvert or Falconetti says.”

He believed he could, anyway. Autry blinked and tried another tactic. “We’re talking about a death-penalty case here, Jeff. Surely you don’t want to die.”

“I’d rather die than confess to something I didn’t do.” The words emerged between clenched teeth and vibrated with weight. He leaned closer, touched her hand, and she forced herself not to jerk away. Fear trickled through her. She straightened slowly, sliding her hand from beneath his. With her movement, his face relaxed and a slight smile touched his mouth. “You understand that, don’t you, Autry? It’s a matter of principle. You’re defending me on one, even with everyone turning against you. We’re in this together.”

Together. The word shuddered through her. He was so smooth, so intense. Was this the Jeff Schaefer who’d smiled and charmed the girls, luring them to their deaths? In her diary, Amy had written of loving him. Had that smile and sincerity made her believe he loved her too?

She stiffened her spine, straightening further. “All right. If you don’t want a plea, we won’t take the deal. I feel bound to tell you, though, that I’ve never defended a capital case.” Heck, she’d never defended a murder case. Lots of assaults, a couple of rapes and tons of petty crimes, but never a murderer. “Maybe you need a different attorney, someone with more experience. The Public Defenders Network has a capital specialist out of Atlanta. I could call him.”

Schaefer shook his head again. “No, I don’t want anyone else.”

“But—”

“I want you.” His voice throbbed with energy again. “I know you.”

A frisson of fear moved down her spine. She didn’t want the man before her knowing her in any way. If she were brutally honest, she wanted nothing at all to do with him, and maybe Stanton and the rest of the town were right—she should recuse herself from the case.

Only that was the easy way out and it went against everything she believed. The system worked, but sometimes that meant taking the good with the bad.

Sometimes it included walking hand-in-hand with evil, whether she wanted to or not.

She swallowed. Letting him see the fear and doubt wasn’t an option. “Okay. We’ll do it your way. I’ll stay on the case and we’ll go to trial.”

His slow, satisfied smile only increased the constant nausea brewing in her stomach. “Thank you, Autry. You won’t regret it.”

“Well, I hope you don’t.” She dropped her pad in the briefcase. “I need to call Tom. I’ll also begin putting together a list of possible defense witnesses. We’ll have to turn that over to the DA’s office, but we’ll get theirs as well.”

“I want you to let me know what you’re doing along the way,” Schaefer said, his voice sliding into smooth and polite again. A boyish grin, full of sheepishness, curved his mouth. If she’d been nineteen and mad about older guys as Amy had been, that expression might have blinded her too. “I want to be involved.”

“Of course.” Lifting her case, she pushed to her feet. She wanted away from him, as much distance as possible between them. “I’ll be in touch.”

She rapped at the door and the seconds crawled until two deputies appeared, one to unlock the door, the other to escort Schaefer to his cell. As they passed, Schaefer’s scent, a blend of harsh soap and the permeating disinfectant, washed over her. Bile flooded her throat. Lord, that smell would be all over her.

She barely made it to the ladies room in the lobby, outside the lockdown doors. Retching, a hand pressed to her pounding heart, she emptied her stomach.

“Mrs. Milson, you remember me. Sheriff Reed.” Stanton held his badge and ID aloft so the elderly woman could inspect them through the screen door. “You called the department to report someone missing.”

Mrs. Milson peered at him, her thin brows drawn down, almost disappearing behind her huge, thick glasses. “I did no such thing.”

Patience. Stanton smiled, hoping it looked like a smile and not like he was baring his teeth. “With all due respect, ma’am, you talked to Roger in dispatch not twenty minutes ago. Said you needed us to check out a missing person.”

Still frowning, Mrs. Milson stared at him, tapping a finger against her lips. Traces of lipstick had crawled into the feathery lines around her mouth. “Did I say who it was?”

“No, ma’am.” Why the hell hadn’t he sent Tick on this call? Because Tick was still in Moultrie, dropping off the evidence from Autry’s house. Damn it, he probably should have handled that himself. “That’s why I’m here.”

She shook her head. “Well, I just don’t know…wait…maybe…”

He struggled for an encouraging expression. “Yes?”

“It could be Doreen Beall. Is she missing?”

The county commission owed him a raise for dealing with her. No way this was in his job description. Damn it, he didn’t need to be here. He needed to be running down leads on Autry’s case. He rubbed a hand over his neck. “Ma’am, I don’t know.”

“Well, you’re the police, aren’t you? You’re supposed to know when someone’s missing.”

Teeth clenched until his jaw ached, Stanton nodded. “Yes, ma’am.” He looked down at the petite elderly woman. She blinked at him. He pulled his notebook from his pocket. “Mrs. Milson, why do you think it might be Doreen Beall?”

She blinked again and narrowed her eyes. “Well, she’s not here.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Is she supposed to be?”

Confusion twisting her wrinkled brow further, Mrs. Milson tapped a finger against her lips once more. “I’m not sure.”

Shaking his head, Stanton stepped backward down the steps. “How about if I call Miss Doreen’s daughter over at the grocery store and see if she knows where she is?”

Mrs. Milson’s eyebrows snapped into a mistrustful frown. “You do that.”

Pulling his cell phone from its belt clip, he dialed the grocer. After a brief discussion with Doreen Beall’s indignant daughter, he moved back up the steps. “Mrs. Milson? I’ve located Miss Doreen. She’s safe and sound at home. So you don’t have to worry about her anymore today.”

Mrs. Milson nodded, still eyeing him with suspicion. She latched the hook. “Well, thank you. I guess.”

He tapped the rim of his campaign hat. “Anytime.”

The county’s other unmarked unit pulled to a stop behind his in the driveway and Tick stepped out. “Having fun?”

Stanton tossed his notebook on the front seat of his unit, the movement short and irritable. “Working a missing person who’s not really missing.”

Arms crossed over his chest, Tick leaned a hip against the car’s trunk. “Mrs. Milson lose Doreen Beall again?”

Stanton chuckled, the sad humor finally sinking in. “Yeah. Took her to her appointment at Dr. Shirah’s and left her there. Miss Doreen’s daughter is pitching a fit.”

“Maybe she should start driving her mama around then.”

“Well, she had to drive her home from the doctor’s office. How did things go in Moultrie?”

“We’re in the queue. Price said she’d see if she could get them to hustle our results since it’s Autry we’re talking about, but no promises. She’s already running the fingerprints through the system.” Tick hooked his thumbs in his pockets. “Came by Autry’s place. Took another look around. Didn’t find anything else. She’s got Damon Watson over there, fixing her door.”

Stanton frowned. “She’s not staying at your place again?”

Tick shrugged. “Guess not. We offered, but she said she wanted to go home. Something about not running scared from some psycho.”

“Son of a bitch.” Stanton yanked his hat off and tossed it on the seat. What was with her? Didn’t she realize how serious the situation was? She didn’t need to stay alone in that house, not until they knew where the threat came from. “I’ve got to go talk to her.”

Studying the evidence reports laid out on the dining room table, Autry rubbed at her aching temples. The rules of discovery required that Tom McMillian turn over copies of everything. The autopsy reports horrified her, but she owed Schaefer to go through everything, find a chink in whatever case Tom was building.

The idea of owing Schaefer anything made her sick. She ruffled her hair. If she was lucky, Tick had been his normal thorough ex-FBI agent self and the case would be airtight.

Lord, why didn’t Schaefer just take the plea? And what was all that mess about her being the attorney he wanted, that he
knew
her? More of his mind games?

The next paper she touched turned out to be Caitlin Falconetti’s profile of the killer, written before she’d uncovered what had seemed the final clue to Schaefer’s duplicitous nature.

Narcissist…

Lack of empathy.

Absolute need for control.

What did being locked up do to someone with an overwhelming desire to control everything? What was going through Schaefer’s head?

She shivered, chafing her arms.

A rap at her newly repaired back door echoed down the hallway and her heart thudded against her ribs. With a palm pressed to her chest, she edged into the hallway and to the kitchen. Who was out there? Was it
him
?

She hovered at the kitchen doorway, straining her ears, trying to catch a glimpse through the glass panes without being seen herself. This was ridiculous. She couldn’t live her life forever afraid of every knock. With a deep breath, she stepped into the room and approached the door.

Another rap and her pulse ratcheted up a notch.

“Autry?” Stanton’s deep voice filtered through the door and Autry’s entire body sagged in relief. His baby moved, a tender, wavelike motion in her stomach.

“Coming.” Her voice emerged tight and too small. She stepped forward and stopped, glancing down at her jeans and T-shirt. Oh, Lord, would he see? She jerked the soft cotton shirt free of her jeans, covering the small bulge of his child.

His
child.

Tell him, Autry. This is your chance. Tell him now before the lie goes any further.

Taking another deep breath, she opened the door and looked up into Stanton’s angry face.

Stanton stalked by her. The size of him made her small kitchen seem smaller. His presence sucked in all the extra air, leaving her breathless. Once upon a time, the sensation had exhilarated her. Now, it left her sad and filled with an aching loneliness.

She closed the door with a quiet click. “Any news?”

He shook his head, sliding her a look. His hazel eyes snapped with bad humor. “No. Just running the prints will take several days.”

Then why was he here? She left the question unsaid. No matter his reason, she would take this opportunity to finally tell him the truth. She sucked in a deep breath, trying to draw in enough oxygen to quell the nerves flip-flopping below her heart.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, jaw clenched.

Autry lifted surprised brows at him. “I think that’s my line, Stan.”

“I’m serious, Autry. You think having the door fixed makes this place safe for you?”

She crossed her arms over her chest and dropped them almost instantly, not wanting to emphasize the slight roundness of her abdomen. “I won’t be run out of my own home.”

“Why do you have to be so damned stubborn? This guy tried to break in. No telling what he had in mind, although I have a pretty good clue from those notes. And you’re back here as though nothing happened?”

She matched him glare for glare. “What do you want me to do? Move in with my parents? Put them at risk? Horn in at Tick and Cait’s? They’re newlyweds, Stanton, and hardly want a third wheel around all the time. What are you going to do, put me in protective custody?”

His eyes narrowed. “That’s not a bad idea.”

“Oh, no.” Hands aloft, she backed away. “Don’t start getting ideas. I didn’t—”

“Not a bad idea at all.” He folded his arms, the fine cotton of his polo shirt tightening over his biceps. “Wonder how long it would take me to get your dad to sign a protection order?”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

He leaned forward, gaze locked on hers. “Try me.”

With a faked laugh, she looked away from those compelling eyes. She missed seeing them full of lazy desire and raw passion. The anger there hurt. “Be reasonable, would you? I’m
fine
. I have the security system, I’m sure you’ve already scheduled extra patrols by here, and believe me, I’m being more careful.”

“I am reasonable.” He blew out a frustrated breath. “I want you safe. I couldn’t stand it if anything happened to you.”

Her breath caught. Was he saying what she thought? “Stanton—”

“I’d feel responsible,” he said, “if my department couldn’t ensure your safety. We’re understaffed right now and last night you were lucky Tick and I weren’t both out on other calls.”

Deflated, she looked away. Of course, he was only concerned with his professional responsibility. He didn’t feel anything personal for her. When would she finally get that through her head? Her eyelids tingled with the stupid, too-easy tears. She covered her eyes. As much as she wanted this baby, she wouldn’t miss all the weird pregnancy issues.

“Autry?” His voice taking on a note of odd gentleness, Stanton reached for her arm. His fingers warmed her skin, even through her T-shirt. He tugged her hand away from her face, his concerned gaze roaming her features. “What’s wrong?”

So much for being on equal footing when she told him. Everything was so messed up now, it didn’t matter anymore. She pulled free of his easy hold, lifting her gaze to his. “I’m pregnant.”

The shock registered on his face first, sliding into stunned disbelief. He laughed, a short bark of sound completely lacking in humor. “What? Come on, Autry, enough games.”

“It’s not a game.” She shook her head, hating herself for being letdown when his reaction was exactly what she’d expected. Damn it all, she’d let herself hope for more and she deserved whatever she got for that bit of stupidity. “I’m right at seventeen weeks. It-it had to have happened that last weekend, before…before we broke up.”

His mouth opened, moving like a fish deprived of water, and he gave a quick jerk of his head, as though trying to clear his brain. “Autry, there’s no way. It’s impossible. I had a vasectomy, when John Logan was six—”

“Yeah, I know.” Autry tilted her head to the side and pressed a finger to a non-existent dimple. “I mentioned that to my OB-GYN. She wasn’t really impressed by how
impossible
it was that I was pregnant. Seems there’s something like a two percent chance of vasectomy failure.” She gave him a saccharine-sweet smile, full of the worry and sleepless nights she’d endured over this surprise pregnancy. “Guess you fall in that two percent, Stanton, honey.”

He rubbed a hand over his eyes. “Oh, shit.”

A red haze danced before her. “Is that all you can say?”

“I’m just—” He lifted his head, his staggered gaze meeting hers. “I’ll marry you.”

Fury dazzled through her, scalding her nerve endings, leaving her hot and raw. “Oh, no hell you won’t. Get out.”

She attempted to push him toward the door, but she might as well have tried moving Stone Mountain toward the Alabama state line.

“Hear me out.” He caught her hands in his. “Autry, come on. Give me a minute to pull my head together, okay?”

After a futile attempt to free herself from his oddly gentle grip, she glared up at him. Damn him anyway for being so tall. “You can have all the time you need, as long as you’re not here.”

He flexed his arms and drew her closer, linked hands pressing to his chest. As he stared down, his face softened. “Autry, it’s the best thing. The right thing.”

“Yeah, the public defender hanging around with your illegitimate baby on her hip would probably make a re-election bid difficult for you.”

Anger flared in his eyes. “That’s not fair. This has nothing to do with my office or yours.”

“Doesn’t it?” She stopped struggling against his hold. “Wasn’t that your excuse back in June? That our political careers didn’t mesh? That you couldn’t live with what I did, the whole defending Jeff Schaefer thing?”

His mouth firmed. “I think this changes that, don’t you?”

The pain twisted through her. Autry closed her eyes. She
should
marry him, just for the sheer pleasure of hiring Suzanne Vansant to drag him through divorce court later. That couldn’t hurt him nearly as much as he was hurting her now.

She didn’t open her eyes. “I won’t marry you.”

He released her hands, warm palms cupping her face. “Autry, baby, we could make it work. We’d be good together and it’s the right thing to do.”

The right thing? Marrying him, when his only motive was duty? Anything but. She lifted her lashes, blinking away the blasted tears again. “I want you to leave now.”

“Autry—”

“I’m not going to change my mind, Stan. Just…go.”

Face set in tense lines, he dropped his hands. “Lock up behind me. I’ll come by later to check on you.”

She stepped back, away from the warm temptation of him. “I will. And thank you for checking.”

He moved toward the door. “We’ll talk later.”

She didn’t answer, merely went to close the door behind him. Sure, they could talk later, but it wouldn’t change anything.

It wouldn’t make him love her or want their baby.

Pregnant. How could she possibly be pregnant? Ah, damn it. Another kid to screw up. He’d done such a great job with the first two, between his selfish ambition and single-minded devotion to the bureau. He had sons, about to be men, and he didn’t know them, not really. Oh, he spent time with them now, as much as he could, aching to recapture something he’d let slip away, but it wasn’t deep, wasn’t real. He was the guy who visited with them, took them for pizza and ballgames.

A weekend father.

He shuddered and leaned back in his chair, scrubbed his hands over his face. Repeating the same mistakes…he couldn’t. He hadn’t wanted to face fatherhood again, but the reality stood before him. Autry carried his child.

His
child, growing in Autry’s womb.

The tiny spurt of primal joy, the first emotion to lift its head upon her revelation, flowed through him again. Another baby. Another chance at fatherhood. An opportunity to get it right.

Or to screw it up.
His cynicism chuckled.
Do you have more time to give a kid now? How’s running this place different from climbing the bureau ladder?

He’d make time. He was building something here—a strong, honest department. Sure, it took up more of his hours than it should—since the breakup, he’d thrown himself into work—but he’d learned pretty quickly he could leave the department under Tick’s more-than-capable leadership when he needed to. Last spring, Stanton had traveled to Tallahassee for four days when John Logan, his younger son, had his wisdom teeth removed. Tick had handled everything here, no problem.

He could pull this off.

With one big “if”.

Convincing Autry to give him a chance.

In her parents’ driveway, Autry parked behind her mother’s sensible sedan. Her father’s beloved pickup was gone, and as she swung from the driver’s seat, Autry suppressed a relieved sigh. Her mother would be thrilled over being a grandmother again, once she got over her initial shock and worry. Her father? That was another story. As far as Virgil Holton was concerned, there was only one right way—his. Somehow, Autry didn’t see an unplanned pregnancy as her father’s right way, especially when she’d just refused to marry the father.

The old white farmhouse loomed in front of her, ferns swinging in lazy arcs on the wraparound porch. Her mother’s ancient cat lolled on the top step, eyes closed, tail twitching. Ignoring the nerves holding her stomach hostage, Autry mounted the steps and walked around to the kitchen door on the side of the house.

The glass-paneled interior door was closed, and Autry tugged the screen door open to try the knob. Locked. She sighed. Obviously, her mother had taken off with her daddy to heaven knew where. She could let herself in and wait, or she could go home and try again another day. The latter appealed, but now that she’d finally told Stanton, she no longer had an excuse not to tell her parents of her pregnancy.

Lord,
why
did the idea of telling her father make her feel like a recalcitrant sixteen-year-old?

Leaning a shoulder against the doorjamb, she flipped through her keys and unlocked the door. The precious smell of home wrapped around her—rose potpourri, a fresh-baked cake, her mama’s sweet tea. She pushed the door closed behind her, making sure the lock clicked back into place. Even here, she didn’t feel secure enough to take any chances.

“Mama?” she called, just to make sure her mother wasn’t somewhere in the huge old place, sewing, reading or taking a nap.

Silence answered her. She poured a glass of tea, added lemon, and wandered through the immaculate living room to stand in the doorway of her father’s office. She’d loved this room as a child, the dusty smell of her father’s law books mixing with his pipe tobacco. At her mother’s insistence, he’d long ago given up the pipe, and black licorice drops had taken its place, but the warm, musty scent of the law books remained. Obviously, the law and her father’s love for it had infected her at an early age.

She curved her free hand over her swollen stomach. Would her baby share that love? Or Stanton’s devotion to law enforcement?

Marry him. She shook her head. He was insane and later he’d be glad she’d said no. Every conversation they’d ever had about marriage and babies had driven home one point—he’d lost one marriage, felt like he’d lost countless opportunities with his children, and he didn’t want to try again. She’d simply been stupid enough to think he’d feel differently once he came to care for her as much as she loved him. So what had she done? Jumped into love and into bed with him.

And he’d dumped her.

The phone rang and she startled, tea sloshing over the side of her glass. Laughing at her state of nerves, she grabbed the cordless phone from her father’s desk. “Holton residence.”

“Autry?” The soft female voice brought a smile to her face. Her sister-in-law had left Autry’s good-for-nothing brother months back and Autry missed her. Helen personified another reason why shotgun marriages were a bad deal—she didn’t deserve Nate’s resentment and bad temper.

“Helen! Hey, how are you? And the kids?” She walked back to the kitchen and grabbed a dishcloth for the spill, leaving her tea glass on the counter.

“I’m good. And the kids are fine, except Breanne has an ear infection.” Helen faltered. “Actually, that’s why I was calling. The doctor’s office waived the fee, but I still have to fill her prescription and my insurance doesn’t kick in for another month. I thought your mama might—”

“No worries.” Autry swiped at the spill harder than necessary. Helen was too young, too smart and too darn sweet to be saddled with these kinds of worries. If Nate ever settled into a regular paying job, Autry would make sure he paid back child support. “I’ll send you a check today. Just tell me how much you need.”

“Autry, I can’t take your money. I wouldn’t have asked your mama except she told me that—”

“Helen, listen, I wouldn’t offer unless—”

“Give me the damn phone.” Nate growled the words and wrested the unit from her hand. Autry stumbled back, heart thudding against her ribs for a long, uncomfortable moment. Why hadn’t she heard him come in? What if he’d been someone else?