From what she’d learned about him, she hadn’t been surprised that he had that rode-hard-and-put-away-wet appearance, but somehow that roughness only made him all the more appealing.
Good grief, girl, get over it, will you? You’re thirty-two, not twelve. You’ve been married, divorced, had your heart broken, and learned the hard way that few men are what they seem. Besides that, you’re Jim Norton’s superior.
And if those facts weren’t enough to throw cold water on her fantasies, the fact that she hadn’t felt any reciprocal I’m-attracted-to-you vibes from him should be. Odd that she could so easily admit to herself that she found Jim Norton attractive—very attractive—when she couldn’t remember the last time a guy turned her on. It had been such a long time since she’d had sex that she was practically a born-again virgin.
Lost in her thoughts, she barely heard when Lisa buzzed her. “Sheriff Mays on line one.”
Dragging herself out of her teenage-crush memories, Bernie punched line one as she picked up the phone. “Hello, Ed.”
“Bernie, I don’t suppose you have anything new to report on Stephanie, do you?”
“I’m sorry, but no, I don’t.”
“God, things are bad at my house. My wife’s doing what she can to keep her sister calm. Judy keeps telling Emmy not to give up hope, but we’re all half out of our minds worrying about Stephanie. She’s been missing for two weeks, and between your people and mine, we’ve scoured most of Jackson and Adams counties.”
“Ed, are you sure there’s no possibility that her husband killed her?” Bernie wasn’t usually so blunt with a family member, but Ed wasn’t just Stephanie Preston’s uncle-by-marriage, he was the sheriff of nearby Jackson County. He knew how often in a missing person’s case it turned out that the spouse had murdered their unaccounted-for mate.
“God, no. Kyle’s a basket case. The doctor has put him on medication and we’re making sure someone is with him twenty-four/seven. If Stephanie is dead, that boy’s liable to kill himself.” Ed paused for a minute. Checking his emotions , Bernie thought. “You know they’ve only been married for five months. He proposed this past Christmas and they had a Valentine’s Day wedding.”
“I wish I could do more. Just tell me if there’s anything, absolutely anything, you want me to do.”
“I don’t understand how she could have disappeared the way she did, without a trace. The last anybody saw of her, she was heading toward her car after her class that night. But y’all found her car, stilled locked, parked at Adams County Junior College.”
“We’ve gone over the car with a fine-tooth comb,” Bernie said. “There was no evidence of foul play. No blood. No semen. Nothing to indicate a struggle. It’s as if she headed toward her car and never made it there. Either she decided to go back inside the building or somebody came along and nabbed her. Or she got in her car and back out again for some reason.”
“If she got in the car with somebody, then why didn’t a single solitary soul see it happen? There were other students going to their cars that night. Why didn’t any of them see something?”
“Stephanie’s car was not near one of the security lights and it was going on ten when she was last seen. In the darkness—”
“Has that new hotshot detective from Memphis shown up?” Ed asked abruptly.
“He’s here now.”
“Are you turning Stephanie’s case over to him?”
“He’s my new chief investigator, so technically that puts him in charge, but I plan to stay involved, to keep close tabs on the case.”
“We aren’t going to find her alive,” Ed said. “And you and I both know it.”
“I’m afraid you’re probably right,” Bernie agreed. But what if they never found Stephanie—dead or alive? Her family would continue to suffer for weeks, months, even years, always hoping beyond hope that out there somewhere she might still be alive. The odds of that were slim to none.
“I don’t suppose there’s much point in manning another search, is there?”
“I don’t think so. If I thought it would do any good, we’d do it, but . . .”
“If anything turns up, you’ll let me know immediately.”
“Yeah, if it does, you’ll be the first person I contact.”
“Thanks, Bernie. And say hello to your dad.”
“Sure will.”
The dial tone hummed in her ear. Bernie placed the receiver down on the telephone base and stared off into space for several minutes. The most difficult part of her job was dealing with her very feminine emotions. Just because she’d been elected sheriff didn’t mean she could simply turn off her nurturing, maternal, caretaker-to-the-world instincts. Yes, she was as smart as any man, as good a shot as any deputy on the force, knew the law better than most, and worked diligently to be half as good a sheriff as her dad had been. And although she’d been accepted by the male deputies from day one and she thought she had earned their respect, she knew that because she was a woman, her every action was scrutinized.
A knock on the door gained her attention. “Yes?”
The door opened a fraction and Jim Norton peered into her office.
She motioned for him to come in, but he simply shoved the door open wider to show her that he had his arms filled with the items he’d been issued. Uniforms, “campaign” hat, a Glock 22, Sam Browne belt, holster and cuff case, an ASP, radio, OC spray, badge, and ID card.
“I’m taking these out to my truck,” he told her. “After that, I’m ready whenever you are.”
As he stood there, she surveyed him quickly from head to toe. He stood six-three. Weighed two-twenty-five. Was forty years old. All info she’d read about him in his file. But nothing in his file described the man’s rugged good looks. He wore his dark brown hair cut short and neat. His attire was casual—old jeans, a plaid shirt, and boots. But the one aspect of his physical appearance that Bernie found the most interesting was his eyes. Blue blue. Sky blue. And quite a contrast to his dark hair and tanned skin. “Where are you parked?”
“My truck’s in the designated parking lot.”
“Okay, you go on ahead. I’ll meet you out there in a few minutes. The jail is across the street, at the end of the block. We’ll walk.”
Upon arrival at the Adams County jail, an updated building that Sheriff Granger told Jim had housed the jail for the past half century, she introduced him to forty-something Lieutenant Hoyt Moses, a burly six-foot redhead with a boisterous laugh and seemingly good-natured disposition.
“Hoyt’s in charge here,” Bernie said. “He has three sergeants and eighteen deputies working under him.”
When they reached the area that housed the investigators’ offices, both the criminal and narcotics divisions, she paused in the hallway. “Look, these guys have worked together for years and some of them even went to high school together. They’re good men, all of them. They might have some preconceived ideas about you because of who you are. You know, the Jimmy Norton. Plus, you were a Memphis detective. But they won’t give you any trouble. You treat them fairly and they’ll do the same.”
“So who’s the one the most pissed about being passed over for the promotion?” Jim didn’t see any point in pussyfooting around, trying to be diplomatic. Diplomacy was part of the sheriff’s job, not his.
The lady frowned. “Brutal honesty isn’t always the best course of action.”
He shrugged. “It’s how I work. It’s who I am. Is that going to be a problem?”
She huffed. “I don’t know. Guess we’ll have to wait and see.”
“So, who is he? The guy who already hates my guts for getting the job he wanted.”
“Nobody here hates your guts,” she said. “The front-runner for the chief deputy position was Ron Hensley, and yes, he was disappointed when I looked outside the department to fill the position. But Ron’s a professional and he understands my reasons for hiring you. He’s not going to give you any trouble.”
Yeah, sure. “That’s good to know.”
Jim knew that he would have to prove himself to the other deputies, especially to Lieutenant Hensley. He was willing to do his part to get along with the guy, as long as Hensley didn’t give him any shit. From the get-go, he needed to make it clear that he was the chief deputy, the man in charge. And he needed to do this in a way that didn’t alienate any of his deputies.
“Ron and John are both here this morning, at my request. I wanted you to meet both of your lieutenants.”
Sheriff Granger opened the door and breezed into the central office. A couple of uniformed deputies stood talking, each holding a cup of coffee. Jim sized up the two quickly and decided that the short, stocky, slightly balding guy was probably John Downs. He had that easygoing, old-shoes-comfortable look about him. Jim guessed the guy was married, with a couple of kids, went to church every Sunday and liked his life the way it was. The energy he emitted was calm and low-key. The other guy was a different matter. A tad under six feet, slim and fit, with military, short black hair and pensive brown eyes. He presented a flawless appearance—from his handsome, clean-shaven face to his spit-polished shoes. This was, without a doubt, Ron Hensley.
“Morning,” the sheriff said. “Ron. John.”
Both men turned and greeted her.
“Jim, I’d like to introduce you to Lieutenants Ron Hensley and John Downs.” With their gazes fixed on Jim, they both nodded. Downs smiled. Hensley did not. “Gentlemen, this is Captain James Norton.”
Downs came forward, shook Jim’s hand, and welcomed him cordially. Then reluctantly, after glancing at the sheriff as if to tell her he would do what he had to do, Hensley held out his hand to Jim, but he didn’t say anything.
Hensley had a strong, firm grip, but he didn’t use the handshake as a pissing contest to prove he was as strong or stronger than Jim. And Jim respected that type of reserve and control in any man. His estimation of Hensley improved because of that one simple gesture.
“Y’all will get a chance to become better acquainted later,” Sheriff Granger told the deputies. “I’m taking the morning to show Jim the layout of the department and to give him a tour of the town. Then we’re meeting Jerry Dale for lunch. If either of you would care to join us—”
“I’d love to,” John Downs said, “but this is Friday, and Cathy, my wife, and I have a standing lunch date every Friday.”
“Oh, that’s right,” the sheriff said. “I’d forgotten.” She looked at Hensley. “What about you, Ron?”
“Sure, I’ll tag along. Are you taking him to Methel’s?”
“Where else?” She turned to Jim. “Methel’s is practically an institution in Adams Landing. The current owner is the great-granddaughter of the lady, Methel, who opened the restaurant in the late thirties. It’s the best food in town. Down home country cooking like your grandma used to fix.”
“You make me wish it was lunchtime already.” Jim grinned.
“If you ever want great barbeque, the only place to go is The Pig Pen over on Second Street,” Downs told him.
“And if you’re ever in the mood for a stiff drink and some loud music, check out the Firecracker on Carney Road,” Hensley said.
Jim and Hensley shared a hard look. Not a hostile look, just an understanding that each would reserve judgment of the other until they were better acquainted. Fair enough. Jim’s gut told him that he and Hensley might have a few things in common.
“Meet us at Methel’s around twelve-thirty.” The sheriff headed toward the door, but paused halfway there and said, “Ed Mays called me a little while ago.”
Downs shook his head sadly.
Hensley glanced at Jim. “We’ve been working a missing person’s case for the past couple of weeks. The missing woman’s uncle is Ed Mays, the Sheriff of Jackson County.”
“Do y’all suspect foul play?” Jim asked.
“Possibly,” Hensley replied. “The problem is, we really don’t have a clue as to what happened to her. It’s as if she just disappeared off the face of the earth.”
“What about the husband?” Jim looked directly at Hensley.
Hensley shrugged. “Doubtful he had anything to do with it.”
“No clues, huh? I’d like to take a look at your files on that case this afternoon.”
The edges of Hensley’s mouth curved into a tentative smile. “I’ll be glad to show them to you. Maybe you can catch something we’ve missed.”
“Maybe.”
Sheriff Granger cleared her throat. “Captain Norton, are you ready to go?”
“Ready whenever you are, Sheriff.”
Chapter 3
Ron closed himself off in the chief deputy’s office, the one he’d thought for sure would be his. Yeah, and that’s what he got for thinking. He should have known that Bernie wouldn’t choose him over John Downs, even if he was better suited for the job. John had seniority over him by only four years, but everybody liked John. Everybody didn’t like Ron, which really didn’t bother him in the least. He’d take respect and even a little intimidation over being liked any day of the week. But Bernie wasn’t about to upset the apple cart in any way, shape, form or fashion. She had her own issues, things she needed to prove. Hell, he didn’t envy her the position she was in, although he’d love to be sheriff. Only thing was, here in Adams County, if you ran for the office against anyone with the last name of Granger, you were bound to lose. Bernie’s old man, R.B., had held the position for almost thirty years, retiring only after a bout with cancer a few years ago. And from the early forties until his death nearly thirty years later, Bernard Granger Sr., Bernie’s grandfather, had been sheriff.
For the time being, Ron had no choice but to grin and bear it, to accept the Memphis detective who’d gotten the job that should have been his. But if Norton screwed up, just once, he’d be the first to shout it to the world. It wasn’t that he had anything personal against Norton. He might be a hell of a guy. And if it turned out that he was a great chief deputy, Ron might have to look elsewhere if he ever wanted to be more than a deputy.
Ron removed his cell phone from the belt clip, then eased down into the big, comfy swivel chair and propped his number tens up on Captain Norton’s desk. He went to his address book and hit the often-dialed number of his current girlfriend. Although he had dated several different women lately, he was sleeping with only one now. Abby Miller. However, since Abby was married, they had to keep their relationship a secret from the general public.
He didn’t make a habit of dating married women, but Abby was different. She had come after him, not the other way around. Usually, he did the pursuing and liked it that way, but with a gal like Abby, he’d made an exception for several reasons. First, the woman was a looker. Built like a brick shit-house, bosomy, vivacious, and flirty. And second, she was horny as hell since her husband’s National Guard unit had been sent to the Middle East. The lady was mighty talented in the sack and knew how to keep a man coming back for more.
“Kut and Kurl,” Abby said as she answered the phone at her beauty shop, located on West Jackson, two blocks from the courthouse.
“Hi, sugar.”
“Hi, yourself.”
“I’ve got to cancel our midday date,” he told her.
She whined.
“The new chief deputy’s in town, and Bernie invited me to join them and Jerry Dale for lunch today. I could hardly tell her that I couldn’t because I was meeting Abby Miller for a quickie in the backroom of her beauty shop.”
Abby giggled. “Yeah, that would have gone over like a fart in church. Bernie’s all right, but she’s a little uptight about her deputies’ moral values, if you ask me.”
“What Bernie doesn’t know about my personal life won’t hurt either me or her—or you, for that matter. You don’t want your mother-in-law finding out about us, do you? You know that old battle-ax would write Ricky Wayne and tell him you were cheating on him.”
Abby sighed loudly. “I don’t want that happening.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “If Ricky Wayne fou
nd out, he might kill us both when he comes home. You know what a temper he has.”
“No point in causing such a fuss over us just having a little fun. It’s not like we’re actually hurting anybody, right? After all, it’s not as if we love each other. And you’re sure not making any plans to divorce Ricky Wayne.”
“You’ve got that right. I’m crazy about my husband. I love him to pieces.”
“Of course you do. But why should you stay celibate just to prove it, right?”
Abby laughed.
“How about our getting away to Huntsville this weekend?” Ron asked.
“Sounds wonderful, but I can’t leave until after twelve tomorrow. I’m booked solid with appointments until eleven-thirty.”
“I’ll make reservations later today, then get back in touch to tell you where to meet me in Huntsville. I’ll try the Marriott near the Space and Rocket Center. You liked that hotel last time, didn’t you?”
“Sure did. Sounds great. Look, I’ve got to go now.”
“Too many curious customers wondering who you’re talking to?”
“That’s right, Martha Dean. Call me later. ’Bye now.”
The dial tone droned in Ron’s ear. Martha Dean was Abby’s out-of-town cousin, so she felt safe in using her name to cover Ron’s identity whenever their phone conversations might be overheard on her end. Since he’d never been involved with a married woman before Abby, this business of keeping their affair a secret was new stuff for him. But if he was totally honest with himself, he had to admit he kind of got a kick out of having a backstreet romance. Besides, Abby was worth a little sneaking around. She was the best damn lay he’d ever had.
Tap, tap, tap. Ron glanced up, searching for the sound, and realized someone was pecking on the door. “Yeah?”
John cracked the door a couple of feet and peered into the office. “I’ve made some fresh coffee and opened up a pack of bear claws. You interested?”
“Coffee sounds good.” Ron slid his feet off the desk, shoved back the chair, and stood. “I’d better stay away from the bear claws.” He patted his flat belly. “A single guy like me has to stay in shape.”
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