"That, too," Carley mumbled.
She stopped in front of their booth. "Carley. Sloan." It wasn't exactly a warm greeting, though she did have a shiny silver coffee carafe. It looked foreign in her hand, and Donna clutched it as if she'd never held something like a serving container.
Donna topped off both their cups, splashing more than a little onto the saucers. That whole pouring routine looked foreign, as well.
She glanced at Carley's stack of uneaten pancakes. "Maybe you'd like to try the quiche this morning? It's my grandmother's recipe, and I've been told that the chef does a decent job preparing it."
"No. Thanks."
Donna's glancing didn't stop with the pancakes. Her ever vigilant gaze drifted onto the papers lying in front of Carley. Her thin, overly tweezed eyebrows flexed slightly before she turned to Sloan. She smiled at him.
"I heard you were staying at the inn," Donna commented.
That statement seemed to be a fishing expedition. Sloan had no intention of providing her any real information. "For now."
"Well, I'm sure you'll be comfortable there. And you won't have to deal with all those pesky family issues." She turned to Carley. "One day I'll make the Mathesons an offer they can't refuse, and they'll sell the inn to me."
"It isn't for sale," Carley volunteered.
"So you've said. But I have to keep trying, don't I? After all, it was my childhood home."
"It was my childhood home, too," Carley reminded her.
Donna's gaze drifted back to Sarah's papers, and Carley obviously noticed. She slid her arm over them. Sloan did the same to his.
That caused another eyebrow flex from Donna. "Well, if you change your mind about that quiche or selling the inn, just let me know. I have an office in the back and I'll be there all morning."
With that, Donna strolled away. Sloan watched her as she made her way toward the door that led into the kitchen. She stopped and said something to a tall, thin Hispanic woman who was about the same age as Donna.
"That's Rosa Ramirez," Carley supplied in a whisper.
Sloan watched the two women. "She was the nanny for Leland and Donna's son."
"Yes, and now she manages this diner for Donna. They've remained close."
"Obviously. Guess that's because Rosa used to buy booze and other things for Donna," Sloan surmised. "You've questioned her?"
"Not yet. Zane has, but I want to talk to her about these pills and booze purchases. It was on my list of things to do."
It was on Sloan's list now.
Maybe the former nanny had some juicy details that would either confirm or deny Lou Ann's notes. If he could verify any of the information from another source, like a former nanny, then they might be able to use it to show Leland and Donna's criminal natures.
"We probably shouldn't be reading these papers here," Sloan suggested.
"I agree. Donna has prying eyes and she probably would love to know what her ex-husband's dead wife had to say about her." Carley gathered up her things and slipped them into her briefcase. "We can continue this in my office."
"Good idea." Sloan put his copies in his briefcase, as well, dropped some money on the table and stood.
"Thanks for buying me breakfast," Carley said when she faced him.
"You didn't eat breakfast," he pointed out.
"I wasn't very hungry."
She turned, and Sloan and she walked out of the diner together. He took one last glance at Donna and Rosa. They were still whispering about something. Oh, to be a fly on the wall of that conversation. Sloan wasn't convinced that either was guilty, but he darn sure wasn't convinced of their innocence, either.
Carley shifted her briefcase to her other hand. It was a simple maneuver, but it caught his attention.
"How's your side?" he asked. "Still hurting?"
"It's healing."
"So it's still hurting," he concluded.
Huffing, she returned the briefcase to her original hand. "I added double adhesive, so there'll be no reason for you to check my bandage today."
He snapped his fingers. "Darn it. Here, I was looking forward to it."
And unfortunately that had some truth in it. Too much truth.
She stopped and stared at him. "You know that nothing can happen between us, right?"
"Absolutely."
"Good. Because I know it, too."
She started to walk away, but he caught onto her arm. "You think our bodies know that nothing can happen?"
"They don't have a say in this." She shook off his grip and got moving. "Look, I have an idea how we can beat this…well, whatever this is. If our feelings start to soften for each other, then you just think of your father. Just remember that I'm the one who nearly sent him to jail."
It was a good idea. In theory. "And you'll think about how I beat you out for the deputy job."
She nodded. "That'll do it. I've stewed over that for years."
And he'd felt guilty for years. In fact, it was that guilt that'd caused him to apply to be a Ranger. It had apparently driven Carley to do the same.
Strange. How one event could change both their lives.
That got Sloan to thinking—how was that accidental kiss going to change things? And it had changed things all right. Sloan couldn't deny that. That meant when he left Justice and returned to his office, he would spend a lot of time trying to forget how memorable that kiss was.
Sloan could feel it even now. How her mouth had felt against his. Her scent.
Yes, her scent.
Carley didn't need perfume because there was something special about the way she smelled. Something that couldn't come from a bottle.
Beside him, Carley cursed softly.
"What's wrong?" he asked, pulling himself out of his rather heated fantasy.
"Us. That's what's wrong." She stopped again and turned to him. "Let's get something straight right now. I don't want you in my life. I want to do my job here and, if a miracle happens, someday I want to be a Ranger. I want to pour all my energy into that. Understand?"
"Totally. I don't want you in my life, either. And you don't have to worry. This stuff simmering between us is just lust. That's it. I saw something about it on the Science Channel. It's a scent-attraction thing. Our DNAs are compatible and our bodies are sending off scents that draw us to each other. Our DNAs hope that we'll have some hot, mindless, stranded-on-a-deserted-island sex and produce offspring."
She looked at him as if he'd grown a third eye. "The Science Channel?"
It didn't sound any better coming from her. "Hey, I watch stuff other than cop shows and sports." Best to defuse the situation by changing the subject.
"I'll give you that. But hot, mindless, stranded-on-a-deserted-island sex?"
The corner of his mouth lifted. "I'm not even going to try to explain that."
"Good." Though, judging from the blush that crept over her cheeks, she was imagining it.
So was he.
Hell.
Just how was he supposed to cope with this?
"Carley?" someone called out.
That interruption was in the nick of time. Because heaven knows Sloan needed something to get his mind back on track.
The woman who stepped out of the Sew and Sew shop was Mildred Kerrville, the shop's septuagenarian owner and a woman that Sloan had known his entire life.
"Sloan, it's so good to see you. As good-looking as ever. Both you McKinney boys sure got your daddy's looks." Mildred came up on her tiptoes and caught onto Sloan's chin so she could pull him down for a kiss on the cheek. "You say hello to your mama for me."
"I will." It was a polite lie that he'd told often over the years.
"I was just coming to find you, Carley," Mildred announced, ending it with a weary huff.
Carley glanced at Sloan before giving Mildred her full attention. "What can I do for you?"
"Well, you know I had that security camera installed just like you suggested after those kids spray painted bad words and graffiti all ove
r the windows. I've got in the habit of looking at the tape while I'm having my morning coffee." She lowered her voice to a secretive whisper. "You'd be surprised how some people act when they don't know anyone is watching 'em."
"I know what you mean," Carley answered.
"The camera recorded something last night. You're not going to believe this." Mildred's violet-colored eyes danced with excitement.
In contrast, Carley's eyes were clear and focused. She was very much the cop now. "Try me."
"There was a car parked right out here, just a few yards from the shop's front door."
"Dark four-door?" Sloan asked. "The license plates covered with mud or something?"
Mildred nodded. "Yes, did you see it, too?"
"Carley did."
"Well, how about the goofy driver? What was that all about, huh?"
Carley and Sloan exchanged another glance. "I didn't see the driver. I take it you did?" Carley asked.
"Sort of. I mean, the camera recorded it. The person inside must have been dressed for a costume party or something, because he or she was wearing a black cloak."
Other than a quick breath, Carley had no external reaction, but Sloan knew that inside there was a lot of adrenaline and emotion.
"I'll need to take a look at that surveillance tape," Carley insisted.
"Sure. Figured you would. It might be one of those graffiti morons scoping out the place again." Mildred hurried back inside her shop, and several seconds later she reappeared with the tape in hand. She gave it to Carley.
"By any chance, did the camera happen to record the person's face?" Sloan asked.
"No. But you can see that cloak as clear as day. I'm talking a midnight-black cloak with a big ole hood. Just like what you'd wear on Halloween." Mildred shook her head. "What kind of person drives around wearing a getup like that in the dead heat of summer?"
Sloan knew the answer: a killer.
Specifically a killer who was after Carley.
Chapter Eight
"'After Mama got settled into the Matheson Inn that afternoon, she phoned me,'" Carley read aloud from the notes that Sarah had written. "'Mama told me she'd called Donna to tell her that Leland was planning to do a fake kidnapping and murder of little Justin so he could collect on the insurance policy.'"
Carley let that information percolate in her head. It wasn't the only thing percolating. It's been a long day with Sloan and her reviewing Mildred Kerrville's surveillance tape and going over the details of the murder investigations.
It would be a long night, too.
She set the page aside and stepped out from her bubble bath. Carley hated to leave the soothing, warm water, but she was smudging the copied pages with her now pruned fingers. Besides, she needed to redress her injury.
And she also needed to look out the window again.
Yes, look out the window.
That particular activity had become an obsession of sorts, and she saw no sense in denying it—to herself anyway. What she couldn't do was stop it from happening. She had this uncontrollable urge to see if someone was parked near the inn, watching her.
Waiting to take another shot.
Suddenly the obsession became overwhelming. Carley quickly dried off and went into her adjoining bedroom to locate some underwear. Best not to peer out windows while stark naked. She frowned, though, when she opened the drawer.
Purple silk panties, a pair of pink ones and two pink bras.
She made a mental note to do laundry, then put on the purple frilly panties and her well-worn green cotton bathrobe and she went to the window.
The street below was empty.
That was normal. After all, it was nearly 10:00 p.m. on a weeknight, and Justice wasn't exactly a hotbed for nightlife activity. Everyone was probably tucked inside their homes watching TV or already in bed.
"Only the paranoid are staring out windows," she mumbled, disgusted with herself.
Besides, the cloaked driver of that car probably wouldn't be ballsy enough for a return visit. Especially since it'd already gotten all over town that Mildred Kerrville's security camera had filmed the person and the vehicle and that the surveillance tape was on the way to the Rangers' crime lab. Carley wasn't counting on the lab or the tape to provide them any information—other than the likelihood that a would-be killer wearing a cloak was playing mind games with her.
Sadly the mind games were working.
After all, she was staring out the window. Her anxiety level was sky-high. And she couldn't eat because her stomach was vised in a knot.
With that reminder, Carley snapped the curtains closed and forced herself back into the bathroom to retrieve the papers she'd been studying. While she was at it, she hurried to the kitchen and tossed a bag of popcorn into the microwave. By God, she was going to eat. And she wasn't looking out that window again tonight. She'd concentrate on doing her job because that and only that would stop the cloaked jerk from playing with her head.
Fortified by her mental lecture, she leaned against the kitchen counter and continued reading. Carley repeated what Sarah had written to force herself to regain focus.
Mama told me she'd called Donna to tell her that Leland was planning to do a fake kidnapping and murder of little Justin so he could collect on the insurance policy.
Okay. That helped Carley with her focusing problem. The immediate question that came to mind—was Lou Ann's call the first Donna had heard about the fake kidnapping or had she already known about it? If so, from whom?
Rosa Ramirez, the nanny, was a definite possibility.
That made sense. Rosa and Donna were friendly with each other, and Donna seemed to trust the woman to buy her pills and booze, along with entrusting Rosa with the care of her beloved toddler son. So maybe Rosa had learned about Leland's sinister plan and she told Donna.
Then what?
Carley scanned down the page and flipped to the next one. She had to make it through several paragraphs before she found what she was looking for.
According to Sarah:
Mama told Donna that she'd put a stop to Leland's plan and help her get back her little boy if Donna was willing to pay up. Donna was trying hard to get the cash together but wasn't having a lot of luck. Mama knew Donna had the money, so she told her to get it and get it fast or the deal was off. Donna said she would but that after she gave Mama the money, Mama was to call the FBI and turn in Leland for his fake kidnapping plan.
"Why?" Carley asked herself.
If Donna knew about the fake kidnapping, then why didn't she go to the police or the FBI herself? It would have been cheaper and less complicated. Heck, Donna could have even turned in Lou Ann for attempted extortion.
Carley played around with that question and scenario while she waited for the popcorn to be ready. Unfortunately there were a couple of possible answers for Donna to have planned what Lou Ann said she had planned. Donna might have wanted to remain one step removed from the fake-kidnapping mess with the hopes that she could regain custody of her son once Leland was arrested. If Donna had reported the possible crime, the sheriff or the FBI might have thought she was involved. This way Donna kept her hands clean.
Of course, maybe Donna couldn't go to the police because she didn't have any solid proof? Perhaps the nanny didn't either. Unlike some of his other dirty dealings, maybe Leland hadn't left memos and notes lying around. So the women might have had information but nothing to back it up. With Leland's power and influential friends, they would definitely have needed something to back it up.
So did that mean Lou Ann had proof?
"Maybe not physical proof," Carley said, talking it out loud. The microwave dinged, indicating that the popcorn was ready, but she ignored it and continued. "But Leland had told Lou Ann that he wanted her to help him carry out the fake kidnapping. And maybe Lou Ann was the only person he'd told directly."
Carley bobbed her head. Yep. That fit. Leland would have wanted as few people as possible to be able to link him to this crime. Lou
Ann was probably the one who could, even if that was only through unrecorded conversation.
Carley continued reading, and her attention stopped dead when she came to Sarah's next account.
Leland didn't have a clue that Donna was going to pay Mama or that Mama was thinking about turning him in to the FBI. Mama said if Leland found out, the crap would hit the fan and God knows what he would do.
Ah. Carley understood now. It was a classic double cross. Lou Ann let Leland believe she would go through with the fake kidnapping and equally fake murder, but behind the scenes Lou Ann was trying to milk Donna for money. It was entirely likely that once Lou Ann had Donna's money, she would leave town and not go through with either of her promises: to assist Leland or to help Donna get her son back.
Carley's eyes widened when she saw the amount that Lou Ann claimed Donna was willing to pay her.
Five hundred thousand dollars.
That wasn't chump change.
So where had Donna gotten the money?
"There could be a money paper trail," Carley practically shouted.
A paper trail could tell them something critical: timing. How close to Lou Ann's murder had Donna scraped the funds together? Or had Donna even managed it? Maybe she hadn't been able to get the money after all. Or if she had, maybe Donna hadn't managed to gather the funds until after Lou Ann was murdered. If so, that would go a long way to clearing Donna's name and implicating the heck out of Leland.
This might be the break they'd been looking for. And if so, Sloan needed to know that ASAP.
Carley considered calling his room, but this was better done face-to-face, so she hugged the papers to her chest and hurried out the door. She was out of breath by the time she'd raced down the stairs and reached his room, but she didn't even take the time to steady herself. She knocked and then knocked again when he didn't immediately answer.
The door finally opened, and Carley held up the papers. "I think I found something."
Sloan stood there, papers and copied notes in his own hand. She hardly noticed that he had on only one item of clothing—loose jeans that rode low on his hips. No shirt, just a rather toned and tanned bare chest that was sprinkled with dark coils of hair.
Trace Evidence in Tarrant... Page 7
