Out of the Depths (Together Again, 5) - Softcover

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Pamela Hearon’s Southern accent infuses both her speaking and writing voices. Her drawl is undeniable, as is her passion for all things outdoors. She considers the laptop the greatest invention; it allows her to write on the deck, in the garden, and while traveling with her husband in their motorhome. Pamela loves being a storyteller who can give even the most star-crossed lovers their Happily Ever After. Visit her at her website, www.pamelahearon.com, or on Facebook.

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The intercom buzzed like a trapped insect, and Chance's mind immediately shot to items he could use to put the old thing out of its misery. When he became a judge, his gavel would top the list.

"Sorry to bother you again, Mr. Brennan. Sheriff Blaine on line three." Despite having fielded hundreds of calls during the day, Alice sounded as fresh as she had at eight that morning.

Chance took the opportunity to stretch his back and shoulders as he swallowed the last bite of a turkey club. "Thanks, Alice. Now, please, go on home. It's late." Before she could hang up, he added, "I hope your dad's surgery goes well Monday. If you need anything, just let me know."

"I will, Mr. Brennan, and thanks again for all your help. Good night."

"Night, Alice. See you Wednesday." Chance punched the button to line three, leaving the phone on speaker. "Hey, Buck. What's going on?"

A frustrated sigh exploded in his ear.

"Caught kids at the cave again, Chance."

Chance bit back the expletives on the tip of his tongue. He didn't have time to deal with the teenagers and their nonsense. "How many?"

"Five. These was having an orgy and smokin' pot. Probably got a stash hidden in there somewhere."

"Which means they'll be back. Or somebody'll be back." Chance massaged his eyelids with his thumb and forefinger. The constant hassle with kids and the cave was making him doubt his sanity about buying that property, even if it was a prime lakeshore piece. One girl already had stitches from cracking her head on a low overhang. How many more of them getting hurt was it going to take?

"That's what I figure, too. I'll have a look-see tomorrow. Maybe I'll find it or find whoever comes after it."

The sheriff's easy manner didn't fool Chance. If a stash was there, Buck Blaine would find it. His redneck mannerisms conned a lot of people, but underneath the hick exterior beat the heart of a criminal investigator.

"You need me to come to the office?" Chance offered halfheartedly. "I'm still in Paducah, so it'll take a half hour or so, but if you need me?"

Buck's customary chewing gum smacked across the phone line. "Nah, no need. Trespassin's gonna be the least of these kids' problems. We can hold off on the paperwork till tomorrow."

Chance rubbed his hand down his face, relieved he wouldn't have to add a stop at the sheriff's office to his already late night. "Sounds good to me."

"We've got most of their parents on the way, so I'm gonna make sure these young'uns have had a bad night." Chance could almost feel Buck's laugh vibrating the receiver. "They'll think twice before they visit your place again."

"I don't know, Buck. These kids don't even think about things the first time." With all the secluded areas around Kentucky Lake, it was beyond Chance's comprehension why the damn kids insisted on partying on his property. "Can we keep this out of the paper? If the cave gets any media coverage, kids will likely swarm it again."

"Can do."

"If that state-of-the-art, handy-dandy security system I've ordered ever gets installed, you may be out of a job."

The sheriff gave a gritty chuckle. "I can only wish, but I doubt it. The Bible promises the ignorant are with us always, you know. Or somethin' like that."

"Amen, brother." Chance raised his soda in a toast. "I've seen enough frivolous lawsuits to know ignorance is a certainty."

"You got that right. See you tomorrow?"

"I'll be there. Night, Sheriff."

"Good evenin', Chance."

Chance hung up and looked at all the piles of paper covering his desk. The call had broken his concentration. Getting back into the wearisome Davenport case seemed unlikely now, even if his dad did expect the finished briefs by Sunday. He'd have to wait until he could see it with fresh eyes. Tomorrow.

He glanced at his watch, noting it was after nine. Friday night and still in the office. "Brennan, you need a life." He wadded up the sandwich wrapper and pitched it into the trash.

His mom had tried to warn him what it would be like, tried to make him see joining his dad's practice wasn't a good idea. Bill Brennan had never accepted anything but perfection from his sons. Perfection had come easily for Hank but seemed always just out of Chance's reach.

"'Ah, but a man's reach should exceed his grasp, or what's a heaven for?'" Chance read the plaque on his office wall, a gift from his dad.

Those kids at the cave needed such a parent. One who cared enough to kick their asses if they acted stupid.

Then again, those kids at the cave would probably kick back. Kids were different now. He smiled at the memory of Old Man Turner showing up with a gun and running Kyndal and him off of his property. One look down the barrel of that shotgun made sure they wouldn't be back.

If Old Man Turner were still alive, Chance would hire him as a guard for a month or two. But he doubted that tactic would work on these kids. They weren't nearly as naive as he and Kyndal had been.

Kyndal Rawlings. At one time, he'd thought the two of them would be together forever. Now that was naive. Their separate ways had turned out to be in entirely different directions. She hadn't gone to law school the way she'd always planned?had become a photographer, of all things?working for some damn liberal environmentalist website. Of course, she did stage that sit-in against hot dogs in the high school cafeteria claiming they were made from throwaway parts, so maybe the clues were there all along, and he was just too smitten to see them.

He hadn't thought about Kyndal in a while. In fact, he'd pretty much refused to let himself think about her since they'd split. When he did, guilt still gnawed at him. Breaking up with her had been almost as hard as losing Hank, but it was the right thing to do, damn it. That was obvious now. He would never have made it through college and law school if they'd stayed joined at the hip. Every class together was unhealthy, but Kyn couldn't loosen her hold. She demanded his total attention.

Just as his career did now.

If he wanted a judgeship by the time he turned forty, there was little room for dating.

But someday, the right woman would come along. Someone goaloriented. Career focused. Someone with an impeccable reputation and a drive to match his own. A few connections to sweeten the deal wouldn't be a bad thing, either.

He'd straightened the scattered papers and had switched off the desk lamp when the intercom buzzed again, startling him, ratcheting up his wish to sledgehammer the damn thing.

"Chance?" His dad's voice boomed over the line.

"Yeah, Dad?"

"Good. I was afraid you'd left already. Your mom just called. The travel agent got us on an earlier flight Sunday morning. Can you get those briefs to me tomorrow?"

"Okay. I'll finish them up tonight." As if he had a choice. His parents' first trip away together in years. Only three days, but it was a start. He switched the lamp back on.

"And I want you to take this new Farley case. Look over it. We'll discuss it first thing Wednesday morning."

"I'll be ready."

"Seeing Denise this weekend?"

"No."

"You're a fool. Someone's going to snatch her up."

"If I'm lucky." Denise Macomb was the flavor-of-the-month his dad was trying to cram down his throat. She met all the criteria, but her voice sounded like a violin badly played.

"Get those briefs done," his dad said by way of parting.

Chance watched the intercom light switch off. "You have a life, Brennan." He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. "And this is it."

Snap. . .snap. . .snap. Three good shots before the tiny bottom lip started to pucker again.

Thank you, Lord, for digital cameras and comfortable shoes. Kyndal's third straight day of twelve-hour shifts was almost over.

"I think we got her." She smiled at the young couple hovering nearby, only now truly noticing them.

The young man's shirt had Ted's Car Wash stamped on the pocket. His zit-covered face suggested he...