by Aimée Thurlo
“I want a career doing work that matters.”
He nodded. “And you think you can make a difference as a cop.”
It hadn’t been a question, but she answered him anyway. “Good people are needed to keep the bad ones in check.”
He smiled. “That’s what Hosteen Silver used to say. It’s part of the Navajo belief that says balance is necessary for happiness.”
Rick’s entire face softened when he smiled. The edginess that was so much a part of him disappeared and gave place to calmness. It even made his scar look less daunting. “You should smile more often, Rick.”
He grew serious again. “I don’t usually have many reasons to do that.”
“Then find them,” she answered with a smile of her own.
Seeing a homeless man she recognized sitting on the sidewalk against the wall of a laundry, soaking up the sunshine, she quickened her pace. “That’s Mike. I brought him leftover food every night at the end of my shift at the Brickhouse. He’s going to have to find other help now.”
As they neared, the man looked over then jumped to his feet. “Mike, don’t go. I need to talk to you,” she called out.
The homeless man stood around six feet tall, with a red beard and brown hair. He was wearing a camouflage jacket, jeans, lace-up boots and was carrying a backpack.
Mike glanced at her, then Rick. A second later he stepped off the sidewalk into the alley and disappeared.
As they reached the alley, they saw his back just for an instant before he slipped around the far corner of the building.
“Rats!” she grumbled. “The weather’s going to be turning cold pretty soon. Mike’s going to need food and shelter. We have a food pantry over on 4th Street that feeds the homeless, but they already have to turn people away. One of the churches plans to take up the slack, though, and I wanted to make sure he knew.”
“Mike is behind the Brickhouse every night?” Rick asked quickly.
“Yeah. He always sits on the steps of the furniture store’s loading dock, waiting for me to come out into the alley.”
“If he was there last night, he may have seen something important,” Rick said. “Maybe even the guy who clobbered Frank and sabotaged the gas line. We have to find him again.”
“That’s going to be tough. You saw how he can disappear in a flash,” she said. “I know I mentioned talking to him, but except for a few rare times, it was mostly a one-way conversation. My guess is that even if he saw something, he won’t talk about it.”
“He may be emotionally disturbed. Whatever the situation, I want to talk to him,” Rick said. “Even if all he does is nod or shake his head, it might be enough to give us a lead.”
“Good luck.”
* * *
SEVERAL MINUTES LATER they arrived at the small community college campus and walked up the wide sidewalk toward a large, white, concrete-and-stone building. “This is my stop.” Kim met his gaze. “If you find Mike, be kind but careful around him. Some things can’t be forced. He’s been living on the street for years now, and he’s wary of everyone.”
“It never hurts to try. Did you ever learn his last name?”
“I don’t even know what his real first name is. I’ve always admired the football player Michael Oher, particularly after seeing The Blind Side, so I asked him if I could call him Mike. He nodded.”
“All right. Let’s see what I can do.”
She checked her watch. “I’ve got to go. Class lasts an hour. Should we meet afterward and go to Turquoise Dreams, Angelina’s other shop?”
“Okay, sounds good.”
“See you later, then,” she said.
* * *
AFTER LEAVING CAMPUS, Rick headed back to the center of town, deliberately choosing the side streets and alleys along Main, watching carefully as he approached restaurants and fast-food establishments. Mike undoubtedly already knew about the explosion at the Brickhouse Tavern and would be searching for a new place to score a meal.
At first Rick had no luck, but eventually he spotted Mike standing on a wooden pallet as he searched through the big green trash bin behind Hamburger Haven.
Instead of approaching him, Rick circled the block and came up the alley, looking down at the pavement and never making eye contact. About twenty feet away, he sat on a flattened cardboard box, his back to the wall. He was wearing a turtlenecked sweater and jeans, not his usual jacket, which often served to hide a handgun at his waist. Instead he had it in his boot for emergencies, but he knew what he was dealing with here and doubted there’d be a problem. Unless cornered, with no escape possible, Mike was unlikely to turn violent. He’d run. Though Rick pretended to be looking toward the street, he could see Mike in his peripheral vision. He knew that Mike, aware of him from the moment he’d entered the alley, had been watching him.
As Mike stepped down off the pallet, Rick saw the tattoo on the man’s left forearm. It was the outline of a horse head with a diagonal line beneath it—the insignia of the Army’s First Cavalry division.
“Ooorah, soldier,” Rick said in a barely audible voice.
Mike looked at him, his gaze focusing on Rick’s scar.
“Some scars are easier to see than others,” Rick said, still avoiding direct eye contact. “You like cheeseburgers? I’m hungry. I’m going to get myself one. I’ll pick one up for you, too, if you want.”
Rick glanced at Mike and noted the vacant expression on his face. For a moment he wondered if the man was beyond the ability to answer questions.
Then it happened. A spark of intelligence lit up Mike’s face for an instant. Rick realized that what he’d seen before was the thousand-yard stare: the blank look of someone who’d seen too much suffering and death.
“Cheeseburger. And fries,” Mike said.
“Coming right up.”
Rick went inside the small fast-food place, eager to return but afraid to look as though he was in a hurry. He’d just found his first asset and, with luck, he’d also be able to help the man.
One thing he knew about was adversity. It either broke or remade you, but sometimes finding your strength again required retreating to a place so deep inside yourself, the world couldn’t reach you. He understood that. He’d done it himself.
When Rick returned to the alley, Mike was gone, but Rick could sense he was being watched. Mike was nearby, probably trying to make up his mind about him. Rick placed the sandwich bag filled with food on a cardboard box next to the wall where he’d been sitting. Mike would find it there.
“I’m after the man who nearly killed Kim, her uncle and my family,” Rick called out as clearly as possible without shouting. “You see things most of us miss, Mike. Whatever you tell me will stay between us, but I could really use your help. Whoever it is may not be through yet.”
Rick left the alley and crossed the street. As an undercover operative he’d lived engulfed by a darkness most sane people would do anything to avoid. Yet it was there, in that world of senseless violence, that the true measure of a man was often found...and sometimes lost.
Chapter Four
Rick picked up a soft drink inside the fast food place, then walked back to where he’d left Daniel’s loaner SUV. He’d drive rather than walk back to campus. With time to spare, he took the long way, reacquainting himself with Hartley. Eventually he pulled into campus.
When he’d taken classes here right out of high school, the community college had been nothing more than a multi-classroom structure and administration building. Now the campus comprised about three acres, with a grassy commons area and central fountain.
Rick took the road leading to the visitors’ parking area and pulled into the first slot he found. After a short walk, he found Kim standing just down the hall talking to a man who looked vaguely familiar. It hit him a moment later when the guy tu
rned and Rick saw his face clearly for the first time.
“Karl Edmonds. It’s been a lifetime,” Rick said.
“You know my professor?” Kim asked.
“Professor? That’s one career I never would have expected you to choose,” Rick said, looking at Karl.
“I’m technically an instructor, Cloud. I teach part-time, and work full-time for the Hartley P.D. I run the bomb squad,” he said.
“Now that fits the kid I knew,” Rick said.
Karl looked at the scar that ran across Rick’s face, then glanced away quickly. “Looks like you came in second in a knife fight, dude. Hope you’ve brushed up on your hand-to-hand since then.”
Rick remembered why Karl had always annoyed him. They’d always been competitors, never really friends. Karl’s biggest problem, which had obviously followed him into manhood, was that he never knew when to shut up.
“We’d better get going. Kim and I need to meet with Preston,” Rick said.
“It was good seeing you, buddy,” Karl said.
“I’m sure we’ll run into each other again.” Rick held Karl’s gaze for a moment longer than necessary. Instinct was telling him to be careful around the man. Was it that old competition between them or something more? He couldn’t tell, but until he figured it out, he wouldn’t lower his guard.
* * *
KIM FOLLOWED HIM to his SUV. “You and Karl... You weren’t ever really friends, were you?”
“No, but we attended school together and played on the same football team. We were friendly—at times.”
“I can’t believe how rude he was to you,” Kim said. “Do you really need to meet your brother or was that an excuse to walk away?”
“Both. It’s a bad idea to make enemies with someone Preston may have to depend on someday,” he said. “Right now, I’d also like to get clearance to take a look around the Brickhouse again in daylight,” he said. “Afterward we’ll head to Turquoise Dreams. Angelina certainly got my attention today.”
“Are you sure your brother’s going to be okay with you investigating on your own?”
“Under ordinary circumstances, no, but the Hartley P.D. is badly understaffed. I can be an asset to them because I’ve got the best law-enforcement training in the world.”
“Will I need clearance, too?”
“Yes. I need you there because you’re familiar with the place and can help me reconstruct the scene. If something’s off or doesn’t belong there, it might stick out to you but slip right past me.”
* * *
AS THEY RODE to the station, she remained quiet. Although she never looked directly at him, Kim was aware of the way his strong hands gripped the wheel and how he seemed to completely focus on whatever he was doing at the time. She wondered what he would be like in bed—all that intensity, all that drive.... Everything about him spoke of endurance and masculinity.
She shifted in her seat. This was not the time for thoughts such as these. Still watching him out of the corner of her eye, she saw him rub the bottom tip of the scar near his cheek.
“Does it ever ache?”
“What?” he asked, focusing on her.
“The scar.”
“Not generally. The skin around it feels tight sometimes, but that’s about it.” He glanced at her, then back at the road. “When we first met, you never looked directly at it. Most people stare when they see me for the first time, then try to pretend they weren’t.”
“Your eyes drew me more,” she said.
“My...what?”
“You have a way of looking through people, not at them.”
“I observe. It’s how I stay alive.”
“Is the scar one of the reasons you left the Bureau?”
“Yeah, it ruined me for undercover work. I became too easily identifiable.”
“You could have still been involved in routine investigative work,” she said. “Why leave?”
“I preferred undercover assignments.” He shook his head. “No, it was more than that. I knew it was time for me to come home and try to reconnect.”
“With your brothers?”
“With myself.”
* * *
THEY ARRIVED AT the police station a short while later and Rick led her down the hall to his brother’s office. Preston waved them inside.
“Anything new?” Rick asked.
“No, but it’s too soon. The lab’s backlogged.”
“I’d like clearance to search the crime scene,” Rick said. “I know the arson investigator and your crime scene team has already been through there, but maybe Kim and I will see something that’ll trigger a memory. It can’t hurt.”
“You’re right. In fact, I’ve already asked my captain about getting you officially involved. He’s agreed.”
Preston reached into the drawer and brought out a shield. “I’m deputizing you. Raise your right hand.” Preston swore him in with a short phrase.
“At the end of this case, if you want to join the force officially, your application will go to the top of the pile.”
“Thanks.”
Preston looked over at Kim. “Stay with Rick and follow his orders to the letter. You are not a police officer, you’re just an observer.”
“Understood,” she said.
“All right.” Preston looked at his brother. “Remember to wear gloves,” he added, handing him and Kim a pair each.
After they left the station, Rick asked, “What were the names of the servers last night?”
“Bobby Crawford and Kate Masters.”
“How do we find them?”
“Kate’s probably in class right now. She carries a heavier load than I do and is just a few credit hours away from her business degree. She probably won’t be much help. Kate’s a hard worker, but her mind’s always on some test or paper. She rarely even goes into the kitchen.”
“What about Crawford?”
“Bobby comes in on time and does his job, but never has much to say. We don’t talk about anything other than job-related things.”
As they neared what remained of the Brickhouse, Rick slowed down to study the heavily damaged structure before parking across the street.
“Look down the alley. The back wall was pretty much blown out last night, but it looks even worse this morning. More bricks and roof beams must have come down since then. The loading dock and half the alley are blocked.”
“At least all that flying debris didn’t penetrate the side wall of the furniture store. These old downtown buildings were built to last,” Kim noted.
“Well, whoever cut the gas line and blocked the door counted on the initial blast and resulting fire to do their work,” he said. “If we hadn’t escaped and lived to tell the real story, it might have been written off as an accident caused by faulty connections.”
Kim peered ahead at a young man ducking beneath the tape and walking into the alley. “I think that’s Bobby Crawford. See him over there? He’s wearing jeans, a gray sweatshirt and ball cap,” she said, pointing.
Rick caught a glimpse of the man just as he climbed over a pile of rubble and headed toward the loading dock. “Come on. Let’s go talk to him.”
By the time they’d crossed the street and reached the crime scene barrier, Bobby was nowhere in sight. Rick slipped beneath the crime scene tape and climbed up the rubble-filled stairs of the loading dock to look inside.
“Stay here,” Rick said, then slipped though the gaping hole where the blown-out kitchen doors had once stood.
Rick moved slowly and carefully, picking his way through the mess. Only a few wall studs and pieces of wallboard remained between the kitchen and the dining room. The left wall of the kitchen facing the street had also lost most of its roof structure. From where he stood, Rick could see blue sky
and part of the parapet. As he turned to look back out into the alley, Rick noticed that the remaining outside brick wall on both sides of the gap was bowed, ready to crumble.
At the far end of the dining area was a set of brick-littered stairs leading down into the basement. Except for a few inches of water, it was probably the least damaged room in the tavern.
He stood still for a moment, listening. Someone was going through the rubble in the north end of the dining area, the side farthest from the street and hidden by the remaining walls. He turned toward the sound. Despite his size, Rick could move silently when he hunted man or beast. He had a tattoo over his heart with the word chaha’oh. It meant shadow.
“Federal agent. Don’t move.” As he stepped through what remained of the doorway, he realized he’d spoken out of habit. He was now working with the Hartley Police. “Turn around slowly.”
“Just don’t shoot, okay? I work here,” he said. “Remember me from last night? I’m Bobby. Bobby Crawford.”
Hearing footsteps behind him, Rick turned his head for a second and saw Kim. She’d come in the same way he had, through the door cavity, and was wearing a white hard hat and holding another.
“Dude, just chill, okay?” Bobby said, his hands up. “In the rush to get out last night, I lost something important. I was hoping to find it before they brought in the bulldozers. It was a gift from my mom.”
Rick sized Bobby up in a glance. He was around eighteen or nineteen, stood five foot six and had dark hair and brown eyes.
“Did you mention this to the police when they took your statement?”
“No, I didn’t realize it was gone until this morning. It’s a gold crucifix I wear around my neck on a chain.”
“You shouldn’t be here. That’s why the yellow tape’s there,” Rick snapped. “It’s not safe for the public to be rummaging around, moving things around.”
“Dude, are you listening? It’s not evidence. It’s a family heirloom.”
“Forensic experts and the fire marshal will continue to sort through the debris and recover items. If your crucifix is found, you’ll get it back,” Rick told him. “Let me see your driver’s license.”
