Page 69 of Hold a Candle

“Y-Ye don’t have to...”

Her words stuck in her throat as his hand began to rain down the promised retribution. It was all Pauley could do to absorb the sharp sting of the smacks as he set fire to her bottom in a way she’d never expected.

“Jamie,” she squealed, trying to keep her cries down in case someone might be in the barn and hear them. “P-please stop.”

He did finally stop and began to soothe some of the burn in a circular motion with his hard palm. That hurt too, in its own way. Desperately, Pauley tried to keep the sobs bottled up in her chest, she wasn’t supposed to cry. She was tough, she was a hardened police woman, she’d seen it all. Tears made you weak. The effort was costing her though, and her body tensed up even more.

“Let go, Pauley,” Jamie crooned as his hand slid up and down her thighs and then into her wet heat. “Ye are so tense and tight, wee firebrand. Let go and I’ll catch ye.”

His words caused something to snap inside her and suddenly Pauley was shaking with pleasure and sobbing. His hand wrought every ounce of pleasure he could from her body and then he pulled her up into his arms while she wept into his shoulder. Rocking and crooning, he held her close until she finally ran out of sobs and lay exhausted in his arms.

“Why do I get the feeling that was a long time coming?” Jamie murmured into her hair.

Pauley yawned so wide the tears leaked again. “Probably because it was,” she replied weakly. “I learned a long time ago that crying never got ye anywhere. And men especially will use it against ye.”

“Ouch. Not all men, hopefully.”

She chuckled and sat up a little, moving gingerly. “Maybe not all men. But tears are seen as a sign of weakness in a male dominated career.”

“Because men are hardwired to serve and protect.”

“And a woman isn’t?” she challenged.

He shook his head. “Not in the same way, wee one,” he replied with all seriousness. “When it comes to their young, the female is a rabid beast when they are threatened. When it comes to a man, he feels the same way for both his woman and his progeny.”

“Maybe,” she replied doubtfully. “And some men are just predators.”

He nodded. “As are some women. There are always exceptions to the rule.”

For some reason, the word predator brought Florence to mind. As if his words had acted as a hook and fished something out of her brain that had been bothering her all evening and she hadn’t been able to figure it out. She snapped her fingers as it clicked into place. “The rifle,” she exclaimed.

Jamie’s brows knitted. “The rifle?”

“Aye, Florence’s rifle. Remember she said she handed it back to Juice because he wanted to take a shot?”

“Aye.”

“The rifle was found on the right side of the tree limb on the ground. Florence is right-handed.” She stared at Jamie. “Juice is left-handed. If he’d been holding the rifle in his left hand when she handed it to him, wouldn’t it have fallen to the left?”

“Hmm...pretty flimsy supposition, isn’t it? Left-handed shooters can be ambidextrous, but I can see how it might be harder for him if he wasn’t a sniper to begin with.”

Pauley took out her phone and punched a few buttons. “He wasn’t a sniper that I know of. But since he is left-handed, wouldn’t he have reached for the gun with his left hand automatically, then made the adjustment? She said he never got a shot off because the Ghillie Dhu fried them both.”

“Who are ye calling?” Jamie asked.

“Forensics.”

A woman’s disembodied voice came across the phone. “Forensics.”

“Angel, this is Pauley. Do you have the fingerprints back on the sniper rifle yet?”

“Aye, Pauley,” Angel replied. “The only fingerprints on the rifle were Florences.”

“No other prints at all?” Pauley pressed for confirmation.

“Nay, only one set of prints and no evidence of anything being wiped clean. Florence was undoubtedly the last person to handle and shoot her rifle. Mica checked her hands for gunpowder residue and she was dirty.”

“Thank ye, Angel,” Pauley replied, her fingers shaking as she rung off and punched in Mica’s number.

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