Chapter Fifteen

The smell of bacon woke Carla next morning as the sun streamed in through the open drapes. For a second she couldn’t understand where she was—this sure wasn’t her little room at the Melrose Motel. Matt’s handsome face brought her memory flooding back, however, as he placed a steaming cup of coffee on the night stand next to her.

“Good morning.” He grinned at her. God, he was gorgeous! His hair was still slightly damp as it hung around the collar of his red checked shirt and he was wearing those tight jeans which accentuated his taut body. She gasped.

“Good morning.” She smiled up at him, shyly, as she sat up in bed, holding the coverlet over her naked form.

“The bathroom’s just through there, if you want to take a shower.” He gestured to a door that led off from the large bedroom.

“Thank you.”

“Dyson’s cooking breakfast. It’s not the best, but it’ll fill ya up if you’re hungry.” He smirked cheekily as his brother poked his head around the door.

“Hey, you don’t have to eat it ya know,” Dyson teased, throwing a tea-towel at his brother.

Carla giggled. She loved their banter. In fact, she loved everything about these guys.

“Ten minutes, Carla.” Dyson smiled over to her and she felt a warm glow inside her.

She wished she could wake up to this every morning. Then a thought crossed her mind—the reason why she was here with them.

Matt must have seen her face fall.

“Hey, I’m only joking—his food’s not that bad,” he assured her, placing a warm hand on her arm.

“It’s not that, it’s…”

“I know. But it’s gonna be okay, ya hear?” Matt’s voice was gentler now as he sat on the bed, facing her.

“Yeah, I reckon you’ll be fine, baby,” Dyson concurred, coming over to the other side of the bed.

Both guys had their arms around her now and she felt their reassurance as well as their warmth. She sniffed back the tears which were threatening her eyes.

“But what if…?” Her voice sounded strangled as she looked up at them.

Dyson shook his head. “Hey, stop worrying. We all saw what a fuckwad that Pearson guy was yesterday. No one’s gonna believe a shithead like that over you. We certainly wouldn’t.”

His reassuring tone empowered her and she thought back to the incident in the woods. She wasn’t sure how much the guys had seen and heard, but it seemed to have been enough for them to form an accurate opinion of the fucker. She smiled as she nodded to them both.

“Okay. I’ll feel better after a shower,” she assured them, as well as herself.

“Good girl.” Matt kissed the top of her head before both guys got up and left the room.

Carla was relieved to see her bag at the foot of the bed as she made her way over to the en suite bathroom. She never liked to go anywhere without her toothbrush, and although her clothes might be a little damp and grubby, she looked forward to wearing something different. The shower was hot and soothed her aching body. She smiled, remembering why her body was so tired today. Last night had been incredible. Those guys sure knew how to treat a lady!

“You didn’t chance the window then?” Dyson teased her as she arrived in the kitchen, clean and refreshed.

She smirked, realizing that they weren’t about to let her live down her previous escape.

“You guys trust me.” She told them plainly.

“We sure do, darlin’.” Matt pulled out a chair for her to join them at the table.

“Thank you.” She wondered if they realized she was thanking them for much more than just the chair.

“Hope you’re hungry.” Dyson put a large plate of food in front of her and she gasped.

“Actually I am,” she assured him. It was true. She was ravenous.

Dyson sure was a good cook, despite his brother’s teasing, and she eagerly tucked into her meal.

“Okay, now we’re meeting the guys at Almondine in an hour,” Dyson informed them as they ate. “You’ve still got that key, haven’t you, Carla?”

She nodded, her fingers automatically finding the chain around her neck. “I never take it off,” she informed them, reaching for her coffee with her other hand.

“Good girl.” Matt grinned.

“Right, well the security TV at the bank will verify when you deposited the cash and any trips you made to the box after you put it there,” Dyson went on.

“I haven’t been back since I put the money in there,” she told them, feeling a little brighter about the situation. She had even avoided going near the bank on her way back through Almondine the same day, so she wouldn’t have even been picked up on the exterior security cameras, she recalled with relief.

Dyson smiled. “That’s good. Did you tell anyone you were putting it there? Anyone at all?”

She shook her head. She hadn’t known anyone to tell. “The lady at the post office near the Melrose told me where the bank was, but that’s all,” she said, thoughtfully.

“The post office?” Matt looked surprised as he finished up his toast.

“Yeah. I was going to send the money straight back to Mr. Roberts but when I bought the postal box she told me I had to fill in a form.”

“Ah, this is the one you mentioned yesterday. I was going to ask you about that,” Dyson told her, pouring himself more coffee.

“So, did you complete this form?” Matt asked, a little warily.

Carla shook her head. “No, that was the trouble. It needed my name and address. That’s when I realized that whatever I did it would be traced back to me. If Mr. Roberts knew I’d returned the money he would think I’d stolen it. The cops would be able to track me down by the address of the post office—and I was scared Jerome would find out, too.” She shook her head miserably.

“So, when they get the money back and they see that I haven’t tampered with it, will I still get arrested?” She felt her face glow hot as she stared up at Dyson.

Matt’s hand immediately covered hers.

“I shouldn’t think so, baby,” Dyson reassured her. “They’ve got Pearson in custody, don’t forget. His so-called buddies have already claimed that he was the ringleader in all of this and he was caught on one of the cameras outside the shop, even though we can’t pin the actual robbery on him. I know he’ll never admit to his whole part in this fiasco, but at least they’ll charge him as an accessory even if he never confesses.”

Carla shook her head at the injustice of it all. The way Jerome had bragged about the look on poor Mr. Roberts’ face when he had pulled the knife out just proved that he was the one responsible for it all. Trust the bastard to have had the sense to avoid the damn security cameras!

“Well if we’re all finished here we’d best get going,” Matt said, standing up as he glanced at the clock.

“Yep. You got any papers from the bank to verify this security box?” Dyson queried as he helped Carla from her chair.

She thought for a moment. There had been a form or something she had been given along with the key but she hadn’t thought much about it at the time. She had stuffed it into her jeans pocket as she’d left the bank and later dumped it in the duffel.

“It’s in my bag,” she told him, and headed off to find it.

Her fingers rummaged through the clothes that she’d hurriedly shoved back in earlier after she’d found the cleanest and driest outfit she had. Everything had just been screwed up and stuffed back in there after Jerome had emptied them onto the ground in the woods. A feeling of panic gripped her when she couldn’t find the form, but then she remembered the little zipped pocket on the inside of the bag. The pocket was waterproof so she had tucked all her papers in there to protect them from the rain, or even just her damp clothes.

“It’s here.” She held up the folded papers triumphantly as Dyson came into the bedroom.

“Great.” He took the papers from her looking slightly surprised. He didn’t query them, though. He must have seen the bank’s logo at the top of one of the sheets and that was enough for him. “We’d best get going. Don’t wanna keep the guys waiting.”

She felt her mouth go dry as she left the bag on the bed and followed him out of the door. All the way to Almondine she kept her eyes peeled on the window. Matt had tried to make conversation when they had first got into the sheriff’s SUV but must have realized she really wasn’t in the mood to talk. He’d soon settled for just embracing her in his warm arms while she struggled with her thoughts.

The euphoria of last night had soon been forgotten with the realization of what today held for her, and she sighed miserably into Matt’s warmth.

It didn’t take long to reach the town, and they clambered out of the SUV which Dyson had parked next to two marked police cars in the lot right outside the bank.

“Hope we haven’t kept you waiting, gentlemen?” Dyson shook hands with the officers, who were waiting in the foyer.

“Not at all, we only just got here,” Sergeant Biggleswade assured them.

Carla felt Matt’s arm tighten around her shoulder as she shivered slightly, her nerves getting the better of her.

“It’s all right,” he whispered.

She nuzzled into his chest, taking strength from his calmness. His spicy scent surrounded her, taking her back to last night, and she took a deep breath.

“You need to see a safety deposit box, I believe?” The elderly woman who had originally served Carla appeared next to them with a big smile. “Oh, hello again.” She looked surprised to see Carla, who was pleased that the older woman had recognized her.

“Hello,” Carla mumbled, her throat tight and dry.

“I’ve got the paperwork here.” Dyson produced the papers and the woman frowned, taking them from him.

“This is all I need,” she said with a smile, handing him back a couple of hand-written sheets.

Dyson studied the writing in front of him and a grin spread across his handsome face.

Carla’s confused frown turned into embarrassment as she suddenly recognized the motel’s headed notepaper he was reading.

“You keep a journal?” Dyson held them up to her.

She nodded dumbly, desperately trying to recall what she had written. For the last night or two she hadn’t bothered with keeping any kind of diary, as so much was happening, but for the first couple of days she had kept up her routine of writing all her thoughts and actions down. She put a hand up to take them from him but Dyson swiped them back.

“We might need to use these as evidence,” he told her with an impish smirk. “You got any more?”

She wracked her brain for a few minutes before remembering what had happened to her journal.

“I accidentally left my journal in the safety deposit box,” she explained a little sheepishly. She dreaded the thought of anyone reading that.

Dyson’s smile turned to a shit-eating grin as he put the papers into his pocket. “Perfect,” he announced.

Carla felt sick as she was escorted behind the lady to where the security boxes were kept, and she recalled the last time she was here. She had been totally confused, frightened and alone. Surrounded by strangers and haunted by memories of the recent events, her mind had been not much more than a blur the day she had placed the money in that box.

The lady checked the number on the papers in her hand before pointing to a box. “Do you have the key?” she asked Carla kindly.

Pulling the chain from the front of her shirt, Carla showed her where she had kept it safe. The lady smiled.

Carla’s fingers trembled as she unfastened the chain and removed the oddly-shaped key, which she handed to the lady. After unlocking the box, the woman pulled out her holdall, which she handed straight to the cops.

“What’s this?” Officer Graves frowned as he pulled the postal box from the bag.

“The money. I told you, I was going to send it back to Mr. Roberts,” Carla explained as they stared at the name and address she had written on the label.

“You can verify that this hasn’t been touched since the date on that form, ma’am?” Sergeant Biggleswade queried.

The woman nodded with a smile. “I would have recognized her, officer. No, she hasn’t been back since depositing it, I’m sure of that. I can show you the proof, if you like? Visitors to this department have to sign a register before they are given access to the security boxes. You can also check our CCTV if you need to?” She indicated a camera which was positioned just above them, and Carla noticed that the room had several of them situated over each row of boxes.

“Thank you.” The sergeant smiled and Carla noticed for the first time that he was actually quite a handsome guy, beneath his gruff exterior.

“We’ll take it back to your office to count it, if that’s okay, Sheriff?” Officer Graves seemed a little more relaxed now, too. He returned the box to the hold-all and handed the bag over to Dyson who took it with a grin.

“Of course. And we mustn’t forget this, either.” He put his hand in and pulled out Carla’s journal.

Sergeant Biggleswade grinned. “I hope you keep details in there,” he told her.

She nodded. She had even written down conversations she had overheard Jerome having—including his bragging about his part in the robbery.

“You wanna follow us down once you’ve got your evidence?” Officer Graves asked his partner.

“Yeah, sure.” Sergeant Biggleswade went with the lady while the others made their way out to the cars.

Dyson handed the bag back to Officer Graves. “I’d feel better if you hung onto this for a while, officer.”

The cop smiled, clearly satisfied that the sheriff was keen to follow procedure. He put the bag into his squad car before following the sheriff back to his office in Pelican’s Heath.

“Can you really use my journal as evidence?” Carla queried as they drove back.

Dyson grinned at her in the rear-view mirror. “As long as the bank can verify that it hasn’t been tampered with since the day you left it there last week, anything written down can be used,” he told her.

“What’s in there?” Matt asked, holding her tight.

“I used to write in it every night. All my suspicions about Jerome, bits of conversations, things that he said and did,” she recalled with a frown. “I even wrote down what I planned to do with the money once I got to the Melrose.”

Matt squeezed her even tighter. “Good girl.” He kissed the top of her head and she blushed.

****

Dyson took Officer Graves into his office while Matt and Carla waited in a more comfortable room.

First they counted out the money. It was all there—forty-six thousand eight hundred seventy-four dollars, just as Mr. Roberts had calculated. It was more than a week’s takings as well as a good wad the old guy had put aside for his savings.

“She hadn’t even taken a penny to help get away from the fuckwad.” Dyson sighed, thinking of the beautiful girl in the next room.

“She sure seems honest,” Officer Graves agreed as he signed for the cash.

“I can’t wait to read that journal of hers.” Dyson remembered just how detailed her memory had been as she’d scribbled her innermost thoughts onto the motel’s notepaper.

“You wanna make a copy?” Officer Graves offered it to him. “I’m sure it’ll prove mighty useful at the trial.”

Dyson didn’t need asking twice—he shot to his feet and started feeding the pages into the Xerox.

“You think she’s innocent, then?” he asked the officer, as he placed another coffee in front of him.

“Sure seems that way.” The older guy smiled as he took the cup. “Got some dang guts, too. That fuckwad could’ve killed her yesterday. No wonder she was running scared.”

Dyson grimaced, recalling the scene in the woods. They had caught up with the cops at the old, run-down shack just near where the tussle took place between Pearson and Carla. They’d had to abandon the SUV near to where they’d found the horse by the river. Luckily Aiden Fielding had spotted it and called to tell them where to look. They’d been starting to lose all hope of finding her in time when they heard yelling and followed the noise. He shuddered as he remembered the dread that had filled his body when he saw the fucker grab their girl, and would never forget the pride which overtook him when she grabbed that branch and threatened him with it.

His heart had been in his mouth when the fuckwad managed to overcome her and take the wood clean out of her hands, and he was relieved that the cops had let him be the one to pull his gun on the shithead. He could still smell the fear on the bastard when he realized that she’d won and his game was well and truly up. The cops had heard even more than he had, and it seemed they had enough to go on, although they were still keen to hear her version of events—especially as the money was still unaccounted for. Understandable, really, but Dyson still regretted making her feel so miserable.

“Sheriff, Matt’s asking if it would be all right to take Carla over to the diner for some lunch.” Lily was showing Sergeant Biggleswade into the room.

“I don’t see why not,” Dyson replied, looking to the other two for approval.

“She won’t be running off anywhere now,” Officer Graves agreed, and his partner nodded.

“That little lady’s been through a lot, by all accounts, she needs to keep her strength up,” Sergeant Biggleswade added with a smile.

Dyson grinned, thankful that they all seemed to be on the same page. “Tell him to go right ahead.”

“Yes, sir.” Lily smiled and left the room.

“Sounds like Pearson’s making everyone’s life hell back home,” the sergeant announced as he sat down opposite his partner. “Turner rang me. Apparently the fuckwad reckons there’s some kind of conspiracy against him. Wants his attorney to put in a counter-claim against Steve Hutchings, saying he’s set him up.” He snickered. “How’d you get on here?”

“The money’s right,” Officer Graves replied. “We just wanna take a look at that journal.” He nodded toward the Xerox.

“I’m just taking a copy in case anything comes up we need to question her about,” Dyson explained to Biggleswade’s questioning look. “Makes sense if I can get things clarified over here if you think of anything once you’re back in Wyoming.”

The sheriff was sure he saw a smirk on the older guy’s face as he nodded his head.

“Good idea.”