Doc

by Dahlia West, Caleb

  Caleb decided he’d gotten fairly lucky so far and didn’t want to push it any further. He shoved his chair back and stood up. “Daisy, make her order to go,” he told her and reached for his wallet.

  Outside and safely away from the stares of his friends, Izzy led him to a charcoal gray Dodge Charger that was parked around the side of the building.

  “Do you ever think about your personal safety?” he grumbled as he walked to her car. She’d parked way too far from the door.

  “It’s the middle of the day,” Izzy protested.

  “Doesn’t mean much in Rapid City,” he argued.

  She smirked at him from across the hood of the car. “I’m armed,” she said, and he believed it. The corner of her mouth quirked up into a sly grin. “And by the way, you missed a few weapons when you frisked me.”

  He shook his head at her. Somehow the image of this woman strolling around Rapid City armed to the teeth looking for bad guys seemed to fit her perfectly.

  “Want to try again?” she teased as she disabled the car’s alarm.

  Caleb ignored the offer and slid into the passenger seat.

  “Anyway,” she said as she put the key in the ignition. “I’m from Denver,” she said, as if that settled everything.

  Caleb’s boot came up against a steel safe drilled into the car’s floorboard. He kicked it lightly. “Back up piece?” he asked.

  “In a manner of speaking,” she replied cryptically.

  As she turned out of the bar’s gravel lot, he said, “So you’re a bounty hunter. Who are you looking for? All the way from Denver.”

  “Kidnap/murder suspect,” she said, surprising him.

  “Dangerous?”

  She smirked at him. “Well… there’s the kidnapping. And the murder,” she replied. “So, I’d say yes.”

  “And you think you’ll find him hanging out at the bar?”

  “No,” she admitted. “Probably not. But his uncle is a Buzzard and I think if the kid’s headed anywhere at all, it’s to his cousin.”

  “I haven’t seen any BOLOs,” he told her.

  She sighed. “You won’t. Denver PD seems to think he’s headed to Mexico.”

  “Why Mexico?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Because he turned south and went for the interstate after he shot up a gas station. But they don’t actually have any proof that he took the highway southbound instead of north.”

  “Ah,” Caleb said, as though that settled everything. And it did. Most cops chose the obvious answers, the ones that seemed to make the most sense, often forgetting that people didn’t often make sense, at least not to him, anyway. “The Buzzards are serious bad guys,” he told her. “One percenters. They won’t take too kindly to you sniffing around their business.”

  “Well, I’m not sniffing around,” she said, turning into the parking lot of the Rainbow Motel. “So far I’m just hanging out at the bar. Where a lot of people hang out. I blend in.”

  Caleb stepped out of the car and shut the door. “Trust me,” he grumbled, “you do not blend in.”

  She smiled at him and a familiar, yet untimely, warmth spread in his stomach—and lower. He’d just scratched that particular itch, however, and he didn’t need to do it again so soon. Especially not with her. He caught himself eyeing the sway of her hips as she headed toward her room door. He shook himself and glanced away. He definitely didn’t need that, not now and especially not here. He just needed to know more about why she was here. He took one last look at her ass, though, because she was here, and he was a man, and… hell, he didn’t really need a reason, he told himself.

  Chapter 14

  Izzy didn’t turn to look as he followed her to the room. She was happy that he was just as good-looking as she remembered from their brief but interesting first encounter. She suppressed a shiver at the memory of his large hand feeling her up as they’d tussled, as well as the memory of something even larger behind his zipper as he’d held her close. It was nice to know that she’d made just as much of an impression on him as he’d made on her. Caleb Barnes didn’t exactly blend in, either.

  As she strolled to the door to her rented motel room, her interest overwhelmed her. She glanced back at him coyly. “Sure you don’t want to frisk me again?” she asked him. “We’ve still got time until things pick up at the bar this evening. There’s a bed, such as it is. But we could try the floor, or the shower, or up against the wall.”

  When he didn’t answer, she said, “Are you on duty tonight? I can’t decide whether I’d rather see you in a uniform or out of one.”

  She glanced back over her shoulder again and saw him smirking at her. There was a faint glimmer of heat in his eyes, though, and she was pleased that he was interested. A bit of harmless flirting was always fun. And Barnes was rock solid. He had no black marks in his jacket; no ex-wives; no restraining orders from ex-girlfriends. He’d been honorably discharged from the Army a few years ago and settled down in Rapid City as opposed to his native California.

  Izzy briefly wondered about “Sioux Falls” and whether or not the woman was his girlfriend. She wondered how serious it was. ‘Not the marrying kind’ he’d been quoted as telling his friends, which suited Izzy just fine. She was no home wrecker. She didn’t know how long she’d be in town, though, and it couldn’t hurt to blow off a little steam after working hours with one of RCPD’s finest—and she did mean finest—officers so long as he was solid and so long as he wasn’t married.

  “How serious are—shit,” she muttered. Izzy halted on the sidewalk as she spied the slightly cracked door to her room. She’d closed the door firmly when she’d left, but this shithole—the only shithole she could really afford—didn’t have a key-card entry system. It had never been updated from the old-fashioned pass-key ringed to a scratched, plastic card with her room number painted on it. Caleb swept up behind her, obviously having spotted the breach of non-existent security at the same time she had. With one arm outstretched, he shuffled her back a step even as he reached for the doorknob with his other hand.

  “Stay here,” he told her firmly. Then thinking better of it, he said, “Go back to your car.”

  He pushed open the door and scanned the main room.

  Izzy spotted a trashcan just to her right and slung her lunch order into the bin. As she turned back to the door, she heard Caleb’s voice, low and steady, as he called in her break-in on his phone. She eased her left hand off the denim of her jeans. She’d been pulling her pant leg up to go for her .22, which was strapped to her ankle, but if Caleb was already calling it in, the room must be clear. She dropped her pant leg and strode to the room door, defying his orders to stay put. More like stay out of the way, he’d meant. But she was too curious to be irritated about it.

  She supposed it was possible that the Badlands Buzzards had discovered she was in town. Someone could have spotted her leaving the party at their clubhouse and asked around about her Colorado license plate. It seemed unlikely, though, as she’d been careful. And breaking into her motel room just to toss the place seemed awfully low-key for a motorcycle gang. Plus, she’d just left the room less than an hour ago. They’d have to be tailing her to get in and out so fast after she’d locked up and headed to the bar. That was out of the question because Izzy Boucher could not be tailed. Raised at her father’s knee, she’d been trained to both tail and spot one since she was a kid.

  As she entered the room, she noticed Caleb on the other side of the bed, checking underneath it. The drawers of the decrepit dresser had been pulled open but Izzy’s duffel bag was locked securely in the trunk of her car, as was her laptop. She hadn’t even risked leaving her toothbrush in this roach motel.

  “You should call off the cavalry, Barnes,” she told him, noting the bathroom door was standing wide open and the room beyond it was empty. “I never—”

  “Izzy, I haven’t finished clearing this room yet,” he snapped. “Go outside and—”

  She was about to ask if her ninja burglar was hiding unde
rneath the bed when she unfortunately discovered that, no, her intrepid intruder was not hiding under the bed.

  He was hiding in the closet.

  The Rainbow Motel’s ‘closets’ were barely worthy of the name. They were just big enough for an ironing board (or was it an irony board in a rat trap like this?) and a few wire coat hangers. The flimsy door burst open and the edge of it caught her in the face, just above her left eye. The door may have been flimsy, but the edge was sharp and the burst of pain sent Izzy wheeling backward. As the scrawny meth head from the room next door lunged at her, she thought, Jesus. Even I couldn’t have fit in there.

  As the tweaker caught her by the throat and pressed her against the wall, Izzy marveled at his ability to get his skinny ass wedged inside there in the first place. What she did not marvel at was the scraggly man’s strength and fighting prowess, for he had neither. Or a weapon. She easily gripped his wrist and pried his dirty fingers off her throat. She pushed his arm away with her left hand and socked him in the eye with her right. Served the bastard right. A shiner for a shiner. She lifted her boot, ready to strike, but at the last second took pity on the poor son of a bitch and caught him in the knee rather than the crotch. She usually reserved ball shots for people she really loathed.

  He went down on one knee with a grunt. Izzy answered his grunt with a snort of derision. “I don’t think—” she said. But she didn’t really have time to sort out what she thought because Caleb was on him. He had the scrawny, scruffy man by the back of the neck. Caleb hauled him up and hurled him into the wall beside her. There was a thud as the man’s face cracked the cheap plaster. He was about to go down a second time when Caleb grabbed him again and swung him backwards, his fist connecting with the man’s already bruised face. Unlike Izzy’s clean, hard, shot to the eye, Caleb’s large fist smashed dead center, sending a spray of blood outward from all angles. She gasped as she heard the crunch of bone. The tweaker finally did fall and Caleb with him. The larger man straddled the broken, bleeding bastard and began pummeling him mercilessly.

  Izzy held her breath while she waited for the beating to stop. When it didn’t, she shot forward, hopping over the meth-head’s flailing legs, and grabbed Caleb by the upper arm. “Hey!” she said. Caleb’s fists kept raining down on the screeching man. He didn’t seem to have heard her. She leaned down and used both hands to grab him by the shoulders. “HEY!” she yelled loudly. “He’s had enough, Caleb!”

  She had no time to say anything more. Caleb surged up, knocking her backward. Before she could tumble onto her ass, it was his hands on her shoulders. He pushed her back until she was once more pressed against the motel room wall. But unlike before, now it was Caleb’s hand at her throat.

  Chapter 15

  Caleb was nearly out of breath, though not from the exertion of the beating he’d just meted out. The asshole moaned and groaned behind him, but Caleb barely spared him a thought. Instead he was entirely focused on Izzy, who herself was almost out of breath and he could feel the frenetic throb of her pulse as his fingers brushed her throat.

  There was no redness, no swelling, and no darkening discoloration of an impending bruise. The asshole hadn’t managed to get a tight enough grip on her. His fingertips skimmed lightly over her pale and unmarked skin, assuring himself one final time that she was okay. Then his eyes skipped to her face.

  A lock of her dark hair had loosed itself from her ponytail and fell over her eye. He carefully swept it back. Here she did have a bruise. Not a nasty one; the impact hadn’t split her skin, but it was already turning dark. There was virtually no swelling, though, and the eye itself seemed undamaged.

  “Caleb,” she said softly. If he hadn’t been so close to her, he might not have heard her over the harsh complaints of the man on the floor. “Caleb?” she repeated and he blinked, not voicing an acknowledgment but meeting her gaze with his own.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked. She had no visible signs of a concussion, but she could be dizzy, disoriented—sometimes it came on slowly.

  She shook her head. “No,” she said in a quiet but strong voice. “I’m okay.” She glanced over his shoulder. “But he’s not. Caleb, he needs to be checked out.”

  Finally reminded that a scumbag lay writhing on the floor behind him, Caleb sneered in disgust. Reluctantly, he stepped away from Izzy and turned to assess the man.

  “When patrol gets here, they’ll clean him up,” he declared.

  “Caleb,” she replied, but she stilled at the sound of sirens edging closer.

  Caleb spotted his phone on the floor and he crossed the room to retrieve it. He’d identified himself as off-duty PD when he’d called in and dropped the phone when Izzy had been attacked. The dispatcher must have heard the resulting struggle and relayed it to the patrolmen en route.

  He snatched up the phone and assured the dispatcher that the situation was now under control as he quickly headed toward the open door. One cruiser screeched to a halt several feet away, in the middle of the lot, another was hot on its tail. Caleb held up his hands in a placating gesture. He wished he still had his badge on him just in case he didn’t recognize the responding officers. Getting shot by some trigger-happy rookie wasn’t high on his to-do list today.

  As the driver’s side door of the first car opened, Caleb tried and failed to place the patrolman who exited the vehicle. He wasn’t young, thankfully, but he looked agitated enough under the circumstances.

  “I’m Officer Barnes,” Caleb told him, turning the face of his cell phone outward so the man could not mistake it for a gun. “There are two civilians still in the room. One’s a female vic,” he said, indicating the open door behind him. “My badge number is—”

  He caught sight of the door to the second car opening. A beefy figure stepped out, silhouetted against the noonday sun. Caleb could still make out the doughy shape, though, if not the details of the man’s appearance. He groaned.

  “On second thought,” he told the first responder, “go ahead and shoot me.”

  If the officer was confused by Caleb’s remark, he didn’t have time to decide whether or not to pull his gun. Sergeant Rawlins ambled toward them, managing to look somehow both gleeful and pissed off with just his one ugly face.

  “Caleb Barnes,” the older man drawled.

  “Rawlins,” Caleb grumbled in reply.

  “Scoping out some new digs?” he asked, hitching his utility belt higher. “Gotta have a place to hang your hat after a long day in the unemployment line.”

  Caleb pressed his lips together to keep from answering. Starting an argument with Rawlins was ill-advised because what Caleb really wanted to do was punch Rawlins… repeatedly. And though he knew that secretly there were quite a number of guys who would raise a glass to Caleb afterward, it certainly wouldn’t help shore up his unsteady future at RCPD.

  Rawlins was scum, though, and no doubt deserved it. Worse than that, he was incompetent scum, which made him not only a disgrace to the badge but a serious detriment at times. Rawlins’ lack of ability to do anything even remotely resembling actual police work had nearly gotten Sarah Sullivan, Shooter’s vulnerable young wife, killed a few years ago. As far as Caleb was concerned, that was a sin that could never be forgiven.

  Caleb had been forced to endure seeing Rawlins multiple times a week since then and had been unable to stop Rawlins from recently threatening Tildy, Hawk’s wife, as well as implying that she had been somehow at fault for her own sexual assault last year. There was so much bad blood between the two men that Caleb wasn’t sure even a well-deserved pummeling would be enough. He set his jaw and let the personal remarks slide.

  “I’ve got a B and E,” he said, mostly to the other officer who was hovering awkwardly at his vehicle, unsure what to do now that someone more senior had arrived on scene. “He attacked a guest here.”

  “A guest?” Rawlins drawled, barely interested. “So how does that involve you?” He glanced over Caleb’s shoulder, then said, “Oh,” with a wide grin suddenly sprea
ding on his dimpled face. Caleb clenched his fists and vowed not to add even more dents to it. He half-turned and saw Izzy emerging from the motel room.

  Relieved at having something to actually do, the other officer sprang forward and guided Izzy farther out into the lot, though she needed no help. After being assured that she needed no medical assistance, the officer peeked inside the room. He swung a worried gaze back over his shoulder.

  “Um,” he said, in a cracked voice. “Sergeant?”

  Rawlins grumbled a bit and made his way to the room. “What?” he snapped, almost pushing Izzy out of the way. She side-stepped him without a word. “You can’t secure one— Oh, Jesus,” he declared. But he didn’t sound alarmed, just irritated. “Well, don’t just stand there,” Rawlins barked. “Cuff him and call a bus.”

  “Cuff him?” the officer repeated, glancing dubiously into the room.

  Rawlins rolled his eyes. “He’s a suspect, right? So cuff him until the paramedics arrive.”

  “Miranda,” Caleb reminded them.

  “Oh, sure,” snapped Rawlins. “Let’s dot our ‘i’s… now that you’ve blackened his.”

  “B and E and assault,” Caleb prompted the other man.

  “Assault,” Rawlins snorted. “Your little afternoon delight looks fine to me,” he declared, raking his gaze over Izzy.

  Caleb glowered. “He—”

  “Who gives a fuck about him?” Rawlins shot back. “What about us?” he asked. Caleb didn’t quite buy Rawlins’ concern for the other officer. “Now we’re gonna stink of your shit!”

  Caleb bristled. Now wasn’t the time or the place to discuss it. Doors on both sides of them were cracking. Multiple pairs of bleary, red eyes blinked out into the harsh afternoon light as the Rainbow’s residents wondered what the cops were here for—or whom. And Caleb was keenly aware that Izzy was just a few feet away, standing silently by her car.

  Trying to keep Rawlins focused on the here and now, Caleb said, “I want him booked for assault.”