Borrowing Trouble

by Stacy Finz

  “Take off,” Rhys said, and turned to Sloane. “Why don’t you head out to Lucky’s and hit Clay’s on the way back?”

  “Okay.” She waited until Jake left and said, “Can I talk to you for a couple of minutes?”

  “Yep.”

  “Right after you left I got a disturbing text.” She showed him the threat with the picture of Sweeney hanging.

  “Ah, Christ.” He fiddled with her phone. “Who sent this?”

  “I don’t know for sure but suspect it was Sweeney’s partner, Roger Buck.” She told him about the other texts and phone messages. Sloane McBride, you can’t hide. We’re coming to get you. And described the man she’d seen Saturday.

  “You didn’t see his face, though?”

  “No. And now I’m thinking it probably wasn’t him, but I thought I should tell you the whole thing.”

  “Damn right. You should’ve told me from the get-go. I’ve got a friend in Houston who’s a genius at tracking these things.” He held up her phone. “Let me call him. As soon as I find out who’s behind this, I’ll call LAPD internal affairs.”

  Sloane cringed. “That didn’t work out so well for me the last time. I haven’t gotten anything since that text; maybe it was their last hurrah, and now they’re done with me. I’d rather just leave it alone.”

  “I don’t like it, Sloane. No one—”

  “Please, can’t we just monitor it for now? Otherwise they’ll make my life a living hell . . . I don’t have the fortitude to go through it again.”

  He let out a breath. “We’ve got your back here, Sloane. All right, we’ll do it your way. But I need your promise that you’ll come to me if it starts up again.”

  “I will,” she said, and when he gave her a hard look amended, “I swear I will.”

  He got off the desk. “Make sure Rose has enough to do before you get going.”

  She showed Rose to an empty computer, told her to get started on the flier, and popped into the Nugget Tribune office to give Harlee the scoop before heading out to Lucky’s. During her short time in Nugget she’d only driven by the cowboy camp, never gone in.

  The ranch was busy. Everywhere Sloane looked, she saw construction. She wasn’t sure where to find Lucky, so she parked in front of a single-wide trailer and started there. A man answered the door, Sloane flashed her creds, and he directed her up the hill to a huge stack-stone, timber-log building. The door was open and she went in. It looked like the hall was getting rewired and she wondered if this was where Jake and Cecilia’s reception would be held. Magnificent place with open-beam ceilings and pine-plank floors. Seemed like they were cutting it close to the party, though.

  She’d never actually met Lucky Rodriguez, yet she picked him out of the crowd of workers without a second’s thought. He just stood out. Had a certain kind of indefinable something.

  “Mr. Rodriguez?”

  He stopped what he was doing and looked at her. “No one ever calls me that. I’m Lucky.” He stuck his hand out for a shake. “You must be Sloane. My fiancée told me all about you.”

  She did? “You have a couple of minutes to talk?”

  Someone turned on a power saw. “Let’s take it somewhere quiet,” he shouted, and led her out of the lodge, down a paved road to a small building that served as an office. “Sorry, it’s crazy around here. We’re trying to make a deadline.”

  “For the wedding?”

  “Nah, we’re all set there. That’ll be in the barn on the south side of the property. But we have a four-day event in the spring, and this place needs to be done.”

  “I won’t take much of your time. You hear about the remains we found a few weeks ago at the Meet Up?”

  “Sure did. What’s going on with that?”

  “A forensic anthropologist was able to determine that the person, a male in his early twenties, died sometime around November, about the same time all the trouble with the drug dealing and cattle thefts happened. There’s a chance that our person might’ve been involved with that or witnessed something. Perhaps a ranch hand or one of your construction workers. Can you remember anyone failing to show up for work or just sort of disappearing?”

  Lucky scratched his head under his cowboy hat. “Most of the original crew on this job was caught up in that drug sting. My daughter was real sick at the time, and unfortunately I didn’t pay too much attention to their comings and goings.”

  “Just give it some thought,” Sloane said, hoping that if he had time to mull it over something might jog his memory. “Sometimes people remember things that at the time didn’t seem significant. Apparently, our mystery man was a musician—played a horn, clarinet, harmonica, something like that. If you can think of anything at all, give me a call.” She handed him her card.

  “I’ll do that. You coming to my ma’s wedding?”

  “I am, and to the rehearsal dinner.”

  “We’ll try to cut Brady loose long enough so that he can dance with you.”

  Oh boy, Sloane thought, word traveled fast in this town. She didn’t say anything, just smiled and thanked him for taking the time.

  Next, she hit McCreedy Ranch. Justin greeted her at the door of the enormous farmhouse.

  “Hey, Justin, are your parents home?”

  “Yeah. Come on in.” The inside, Sloane noted, was even more impressive than the outside. “Everything okay?”

  “I came to talk to them about the bones you kids found. We have a little bit more information about it and wanted to tell you in case any of it rings a bell.”

  “Okay. I’ll get ’em.”

  “Hey, Justin, before you go, did your dad talk to you about Rose Jones?”

  “Yeah.” He shook his head. “I don’t know her.”

  “She’s only a freshman. I was hoping you could say hi to her every once in a while. Maybe just wave to her across the hall. Nothing big.”

  “I could do that if you think it’ll help her.” He hitched his shoulders like he didn’t know how it would.

  “I think it would, and I’d really appreciate it.”

  “Hey.” Clay came into the foyer. “What brings you our way?”

  She gave him the same spiel she’d given Lucky. “If there is anything at all you remember, even something small, it could be helpful.”

  “Sounds like you’ve got a real puzzle to solve. But I’ll think on it and talk to Emily. I’m sure whoever his family is would like to give him a proper burial.”

  She figured no one would understand that better than the McCreedys after what Emily had gone through with her daughter. “Thanks. You have a beautiful place here.”

  “Come over anytime. Justin and Cody will take you out on horseback. It’s a nice way to see the area.”

  Sloane didn’t ride, but she’d like to try it. “I might take you up on that.”

  “Anytime. In the meantime, I assume we’ll see you at the wedding Saturday.”

  “Yes, you will.”

  She said goodbye and got on the road. Back in the office, Rose had made a good start on the flier. The kid had found a flier template on the Internet and had gone to town. She got an A for being a self-starter. It was a little splashier than Sloane liked, so she toned it down a bit, added the Nugget PD logo, printed a stack, and sent Rose around the square to ask merchants to hang the fliers in their windows. While she was gone, Sloane downloaded a list from NamUs of people who were reported missing since November. Any one of them could’ve come through Nugget. During Sloane’s days off, she wanted Rose to sort through the list, eliminating those who didn’t fit their John Doe’s description. Then Sloane could examine the ones that did.

  She didn’t know whether Brady would be too busy with preparations for the rehearsal and wedding reception on Thursday. If not, she wanted to make good on her promise to make him dinner. He’d stayed with her again Sunday night, genuinely concerned that the man she’d seen in the square was Buck. Secretly, she’d felt safer having him there. Of course there were other benefits to having him in her b
ed as well.

  A man in an expensive suit came in the station demanding to talk to the chief. When Connie told him the chief was on the phone, he brushed by her like he owned the place. Sloane stepped in his pathway and asked if she could help him.

  “I’d like to speak with the chief.”

  “As Connie explained, the chief is tied up on a phone call right now. But if you’ll take a seat I’ll let him know that you’re here. Your name, please.”

  “Kenneth Grant.”

  Ah, Taylor’s father. Here we go.

  Sloane wondered how much Rhys would have her back when politics came into play. Based on the Italian shoes and silk tie, Kenneth Grant wasn’t your typical Nugget railroad worker or cattle rancher. More than likely Grant had clout. Rhys served at the whim of the mayor, and the mayor served at the whim of the townsfolk. Being a third-generation civil servant—her grandfather had been a Chicago firefighter too—Sloane knew only too well how this worked. And political pressure in a small town had to be worse than a big city.

  She waited until Rhys was off the phone and told him about their company.

  “Send him back,” he said.

  She escorted Grant into Rhys’s office, then left and shut the door and went back to her desk.

  “When Rose gets back, I’ll take her for a Coke at the Bun Boy,” Connie said. “I’m due for a break anyway.”

  “Do you know the Grants?” Having grown up here, Connie seemed to know everyone.

  “No. I’m guessing he’s a fairly new addition to Nugget. Natives don’t act so self-entitled unless they’re the Addisons.”

  Sloane laughed.

  “Officer McBride, could you come in here for a second?” Rhys called.

  “Here we go,” Sloane muttered so that only Connie could hear.

  Connie grinned. “Don’t take Grant’s crap.”

  Sloane marched into Rhys’s office like she was on her way to the guillotine. “You wanted to see me?”

  “Grab a seat,” Rhys said. “I believe you already met Mr. Grant. Mr. Grant is chief counsel for the Silver Luck Resort.”

  “We moved to Nugget because I wanted my children to go to safe schools.” He looked pointedly at Rhys and then at Sloane.

  “Right,” Rhys said. “Mr. Grant wants to know why we’ve been so lenient on Rose Jones.”

  “She tried to assault my daughter with pepper spray, for God’s sake.”

  “That’s not exactly what happened, Mr. Grant,” Sloane said. “She never used the pepper spray and only brought it to school because she’s petrified of your daughter and your daughter’s friends. Are you aware that they regularly verbally and physically abuse Rose? They even tried to hold her head down the toilet?”

  “Is that what the girl is telling you? Because it’s a bunch of lies. Taylor doesn’t have a mean bone in her body.”

  “According to Mrs. Saddler, there are other girls who have complained about Taylor, Mr. Grant.” Sloane held her ground.

  “Then why is this the first I’m hearing of it?”

  Rhys stepped in. “We can’t speak for the school district, Mr. Grant. But when a student feels so threatened that she’s afraid for her own safety, it becomes a police issue.”

  “Yes, exactly. That’s why I’m here. Because Rose Jones threatened to blind my daughter.”

  “There were witnesses, Mr. Grant,” Sloane said. “Rose dropped the pepper spray.”

  “Just bringing it to school is a crime. Need I remind you that I’m a lawyer?”

  Sloane started to say something, but Rhys interrupted. “We’re dealing with Rose. She’s been suspended from school and she’s part of a pilot program that Officer McBride is running for at-risk teens. She’s a good student from a disadvantaged home. Certainly you wouldn’t want us to turn our backs on her?”

  Pilot program? Sloane had to give Rhys credit. She had no idea where he’d pulled that one from.

  “And, Mr. Grant, a little unsolicited advice,” Rhys continued. “This is a small town. Most of the Nugget High kids have grandparents who went to that school. Families here work hard and rely on each other for help. If indeed your daughter is bullying other students, this town won’t tolerate it.”

  “I think what you’re trying to tell me, Chief Shepard, is that I’m an outsider and I better watch my step. That kind of insular attitude will eventually make people like you irrelevant. Because more people like me are moving here and we won’t put up with it.”

  Rhys stood. “It was nice meeting you, and thanks for stopping in.” Grant had been spoiling for a fight and Rhys wouldn’t give him one.

  Sloane was a little bit in awe. After Grant left, she said, “Wow. You out-lawyered the lawyer.”

  “Just make sure our pilot program is a success.”

  “We don’t have a pilot . . . you’re kidding, right?”

  “Do I look like I’m kidding?” He didn’t. In fact, there was not so much as a trace of humor in his expression. What ever happened to Just don’t turn my department into a teen shelter?

  “No, sir.” She wanted to throw her arms around him but got the distinct impression he wouldn’t appreciate any overt displays of affection. Funny, a few weeks ago that’s exactly what she’d thought he wanted. “I’ll just get back to work now.”

  She’d barely made it to her desk when Wyatt and Connie cornered her.

  “What happened?” Connie asked.

  “Rhys kicked some booty.”

  “You don’t mean literally, do you?” Wyatt said.

  Connie rolled her eyes. “Don’t mind Wyatt, he has a learning disability.”

  Sloane glanced around the room. “Where’s Rose?”

  “Her brother picked her up,” Connie said. “Uh, nice Camaro. Not. It was okay that I let her go, right?”

  Sloane looked at the clock. Jeez, it was late. “Yeah, of course. Hey, Wyatt, did Jake brief you on the info we got today about the John Doe?”

  “Yep. You taking off?”

  “I was thinking about it. There’s nothing I have that needs following up on for the night shift. Today was pretty quiet.”

  “Okay. I’ll just ride patrol, maybe take some of those fliers”—he motioned to the stack on her desk—“to the Gas and Go and the Nugget Market.”

  “Sounds good.” She grabbed her jacket off the back of her chair and was just about to leave when Maddy came in with a big bouquet of flowers.

  “These are for you.” She handed the flowers to Sloane. “Thank you for filling in for Rhys and giving me four blissful days alone with my husband.”

  Sloane was at a loss for words. It hadn’t been that bad. Some of it had even been kind of fun. “Uh, no problem.”

  “I just want you to know how much I appreciate it . . . how much Rhys appreciates it. Did he tell you how much?” When Sloane stood there silent, Maddy said, “He didn’t, did he?”

  “Yeah, he did. He totally did.”

  “I did what?” Rhys came down the hall and nuzzled his wife’s neck.

  “Tell her how much you appreciate her filling in for you,” Maddy said.

  “She knows I do.”

  “Rhys!” Maddy put her hands on her hips.

  “What? You know I appreciate it, right, Sloane?”

  “Absolutely. He gave me six days off just to show his appreciation.”

  “Four. Don’t push it, McBride. You have a pilot program to run.”

  “What pilot program?” Maddy wanted to know.

  “I’ll tell you later. Let’s go home, sugar.” Rhys pulled his wife out the door and Sloane watched them hold hands across the square.

  Ah, she thought. I want that.

  Chapter 15

  Brady waited on the porch for Sloane to get home. He knew she’d want to go for a run and didn’t want her going alone. Not if this Buck guy was really in town. He could be renting one of the day cabins favored by hunters and fishermen, or even staying in one of the plethora of campgrounds in the state park. Hell, he might even have a room at the Bea
ry Quaint, for all they knew.

  Sloane had managed to convince herself that she’d only imagined it was him. But Brady was more inclined to trust her initial reaction. It’s not like she over dramatized things. If anything, Sloane was more likely to downplay it.

  He heard her truck before he saw it come over the hill. A few minutes later she came down the driveway and parked next to his van.

  “Hey,” she said, and hopped down onto the running board.

  “Nice flowers.” He cocked his brows. Who the hell got her those?

  “Maddy gave them to me as a thanks for filling in for Rhys.”

  Ah. “Good having him back?”

  “Oh yeah. A lot happened today. I’ll tell you about it, but first I want to go for a run.”

  He’d called that one right. “I’ll go with you. You can tell me on the trail.”

  “I can’t even keep up with you, let alone talk at the same time.”

  “I’ll slow down for you.” He winked. “Go put your running clothes on.”

  While she went inside her apartment he quickly checked his laptop to see if Sandra had hit again. Nothing. Perhaps she had found someone new to obsess over. Doubtful, according to the textbooks. Although Brady wouldn’t wish her on anyone else, he desperately wanted to be free of her.

  “You ready?” Sloane came out onto the porch, slung her bare leg up on the railing, and did a few stretches. She really did have great legs, but was going to freeze her butt off in shorts.

  Brady stashed the laptop back in his apartment.

  “Anything?” she asked, and it struck Brady that they had each other’s habits down.

  “Nope. She’s been quiet for a few days.”

  “That’s something. Maybe both our troubles are over?”

  Brady wasn’t counting on it. Best-case scenario was that Sloane really had imagined Roger Buck being here and that the bad boys at LAPD would eventually stop the texting and phone calls. But he didn’t think Sandra was ever going away. Not entirely. He’d read about women like her. They are called simple-obsession stalkers and are the most likely to be violent, even deadly. Just like Sandra, they need extreme control, can’t take rejection, and exhibit obsessive and vengeful behavior. The worst part: They are incapable of taking responsibility for their actions. The studies and reports he’d read said that these types of stalkers bolster their self-esteem by terrorizing their victims. Their self-worth is so wrapped up in the object of their obsession that they’ll stop at nothing to get him or her back. Nothing. So Brady would forever have to have eyes in the back of his head.