Deadline (Sandra Brown)

But he gave one shake of his head.
    Softly, but bitterly, she said, “Right.” As she turned to go, her cell phone, still in her hand, vibrated. She looked at the LED and answered immediately. “Deputy Tucker?” She listened for a moment, her face going pale. “Where did you find him?”
    Dawson was beside her in an instant, whispering, “Dirk?”
    She looked up at him and nodded. “I see,” she said into the phone. “Well, please keep me—”
    “Excuse me, Ms. Nolan.” Headly took the phone from her hand and raised it to his ear. As he started walking purposefully toward the elevator bank, Dawson heard him say, “Deputy? My name is Gary Headly. I’m a friend of Ms. Nolan’s. Also an agent with the FBI. We’re on our way. Please be there to meet us.”
    *  *  *
     
    Amelia felt disoriented from the shock waves that just kept coming.
    She had spent a virtually sleepless night, alternately pacing the floor and tossing in bed, sometimes sobbing over what had happened to Stef, then trembling in fear that she had been the intended victim. Off and on she prayed fervently for the safety of her children, bargaining with God to preserve them.
    And at any given time, she was despising Dawson Scott for his multiple deceptions and half truths and omissions, even as her body betrayed her with stirring recollections of his nakedness, his blatant arousal, the sheer carnality of his kisses, and her responses to them.
    At dawn, she’d had to shelve all the emotional turmoil and pull herself together for her court appearance. Actually, it hadn’t been as terrible as she had anticipated. Mike Gleason had raked her over the coals, but she, like everyone in the courtroom, realized that it was desperation, not conviction, that had fueled his fiery attack on her character. She almost felt sorry for Willard Strong, who’d had to sit by and watch his case being damaged rather than strengthened.
    But it was over, and she didn’t have to think about it anymore. She wanted to collect her children and return to the beach house, splash in the surf, feel the sea breeze in her hair, and taste the salt air. She wanted to laugh and romp in the sand with her sons. But even as she visualized such playful abandon, her heart felt anything but carefree.
    The specter of Stef’s murder clouded her happiness over having the trial behind her. She must figure out how to explain the nanny’s sudden absence to her sons, how to tell them in a way that was honest but that wouldn’t leave them with an acute fear of death.
    She hoped that by now they would have forgotten about Dawson altogether so she wouldn’t be required to talk about him.
    But he had a way of turning up when she least expected him, as he had in the courthouse corridor. His night in lockup had left him looking hollow-eyed and underfed. But still incredibly good. At the sight of him, her body had quickened in spite of her determination to remain aloof.
    The situation had turned truly bizarre when the older man, who’d introduced himself only moments earlier as Dawson’s friend and godfather, seized her cell phone and started throwing his weight around.
    Now, without being given sufficient time to process this staggering series of events, she was flanked by Dawson and Headly as they entered the building that was becoming uncomfortably familiar.
    As instructed, Deputy Tucker was waiting for them in the lobby where she and Dawson had talked last night. His first words were for Dawson. “You should feel right at home.”
    Dawson ignored the dig and didn’t respond.
    Tucker acknowledged her with a polite nod, then turned to the older man. “You must be Agent Headly.”
    Headly shook hands with him and proffered his ID.
    As the deputy handed it back, he said, “The sheriff’s office is working the DeMarco case in conjunction with Savannah Metro PD. If we need additional help, we’ll go to GBI. Why’s the federal bureau horning in?”
    “Not the Bureau. Me. And I’m here only as a friend of Ms. Nolan’s.”
    “Huh.” The deputy regarded Headly skeptically, then addressed her. “Reason I called you, I thought you’d want to know that Dirk’s last name is Arneson. We’ve got him back there now talking to Wills.”
    “Where did you find him?” Dawson asked.
    “Here in Savannah. One of those temporary apartments that rents by the week, but a nice one.”
    Amelia said, “Stef told me that he works on boats.”
    “Electronics systems,” Tucker said. “Fancy,