Zeph Undercover

by Jenny Andersen

  “Yeah. I called my boss. Is that a problem?”

  “You told him my father is on your suspect list.”

  “He is. Along with Santos Rodriguez. And Bill Bartelett. And Chaz Mentrine. And two other men you don’t know. And maybe Hunnewill. I thought we got this straightened out.”

  “We did. But ever since we got back from Sacramento, you’ve stuck to me like glue and you haven’t done anything for five days except talk to people,” Allie said, braking for a pothole. “Nice people. My friends. You’ve treated them like your friends, and now you’re saying they’re suspects.”

  “That’s how I find out things, Allie. Talking to people.” He shifted in his seat and looked across the truck at her. “Keep in mind that most people on suspect lists are innocent. It’s as much my job to prove that as it is to prove guilt.”

  She snorted. “Right.”

  “It’s not like I had people pinned up against a wall, threatening them with a rubber hose. Allie, I’m investigating a crime. What do you expect me to do? I can’t tie everyone down and shoot them full of truth serum.”

  She shifted into second for a steep hill. “Yes, but you—you—damn it, I know you’re right, but my father is not involved. What is it going to take to get you to accept that?”

  “Proof. I’m going to hold you to your promise to help me. Even if it means doing something you don’t want to do.”

  “Like what?”

  “Whatever it takes.”

  Allie skidded the truck to a stop at a gate and waited stone-faced for him to get out and open it.

  He hopped out and did the drill he’d learned the first day following her around. The passenger opened the gates. And always left gates the way they were, which meant the passenger closed gates, too. When he got back in, she started up without waiting for him to fasten his seat belt.

  He looked across at her set face and unhappy expression. She must be expecting the injured horse to die, or she wouldn’t be so edgy. Wouldn’t be bringing up old business that they’d settled once before. Losing an animal would tear at her. Her dedication to saving everything furry had baffled him when he first arrived. He almost understood now.

  The mare stood by herself in a field, legs spraddled and head down, the picture of misery. Zeph swallowed hard and glanced at Allie. Her stone-like face told him more than he wanted to know, and she lifted a small case out of the truck. “Carry this, please.”

  A short, bow-legged man turned away from the horse and walked toward them. “Thanks for coming so fast, Allie. I don’t think—” His voice broke and he turned back toward the field.

  Allie gestured Zeph and he followed them reluctantly. He didn’t know this man, but the guy looked like he ate nails for breakfast, making the tear tracks on that wrinkled face doubly surprising. Zeph swallowed the dread rising in his throat.

  The man stopped at the horse’s head and he put a hand on its neck. It didn’t respond.

  Allie walked around the horse, looking closely, not touching.

  Zeph started to follow but jolted to a stop when he realized that most—he turned away and concentrated on keeping his lunch where it belonged—what looked like most of the inside of the horse wasn’t where it belonged, and one funny-angled leg didn’t touch the ground.

  “I’m sorry, Harley,” Allie said softly.

  “I figured,” Harley said in a choked voice. “Do it then, so she’s not suffering.” His hand tightened on the horse’s mane.

  Allie turned to Zeph and held out her hand.

  He stared at her.

  “The case, Zeph.”

  He held it out.

  “Humane killer?” Harley asked.

  “If you want me to do it that way. She’s still got enough circulation for me to use ace and pentobarb. That would be easier on her.”

  He gave a short nod as he turned his face to the horse. He didn’t watch Allie’s swift motions, didn’t see the misery on her face.

  Zeph wished he could do the same.

  Allie worked quickly.

  The horse slumped to the ground.

  Harley stood for a moment, head bowed, before turning to Allie. He slung an arm over her shoulders and walked her toward the barn. “Thanks, doc. I’ve had that mare for almost twenty years. She shouldn’t have had such a hard end. Appreciate what you did to make it easier.” He glanced down at her. “Aw, Allie. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

  “Just don’t tell anyone, Harley.” Allie gave him a watery smile. “They might take back my degree.”

  Harley snorted through his own tears.

  Zeph could see that this whole thing had torn up the guy—and Allie—badly. How the hell could they do the chit-chat? He didn’t want to admit the whole thing had left a lump in his own throat, a big enough one that he didn’t feel any temptation to talk.

  How did Allie do it? She strode across the uneven ground, subtly guiding the tough old rancher. Steel and sympathy, humor and competence—somewhere inside the strong, curvy little body that made him hotter than a Thai chili lay both the sweetness that had first attracted him and more strength than he’d suspected.

  ****

  “Hello, Dad. Zeph here yet?” Allie asked a few hours later as she came in the door and kissed her father’s cheek.

  “He got here about half an hour ago. Sounds like you had quite a day.” Worry lines creased his forehead.

  She shuddered. “Bad enough. He’s really getting a look at the downside of the profession. Guess he couldn’t wait to tell you.”

  “Didn’t say a word. I got it from Martha.”

  “Of course,” she said with a wry grin. “News Central, that’s our Martha.” When Zeph came into the room, she added, “I thought I’d find you packed and on your way out the door when I got here.”

  He gave her the smile that made her toes want to curl along with a narrow-eyed look of warning. “Not a chance, honey. It would take more than tossing my lunch to make me leave you.”

  Right. The pretense. She forced a smile and accepted a glass of pinot grigio from her father.

  “Scotch?” he asked Zeph.

  Zeph nodded and sat on the arm of Allie’s chair. He put a hand on her shoulder.

  “You all right?”

  She nodded. “I stopped on the way over and walked by the river.” The peaceful forest, the stream burbling over its rocks always helped when she was feeling down. Leaning against him helped, too. His warm, hard bulk couldn’t wipe out the horror of putting down that beautiful mare, but it did help. Whether she wanted it to or not.

  “Josten ought to be shot,” her father grumbled.

  Zeph grimaced. “You heard?”

  Allie smiled. “Still not used to the Stone’s Crossing grapevine?”

  “Not in a million years.” He turned to Allie’s father. “Is there anything that can be done about that bull? Allie showed me where Josten’s place is. It’s practically in town. If that thing headed this way when it got loose…”

  Allie looked at him in surprise.

  “I’m not that heartless,” Zeph said.

  No, he wasn’t. He’d been more upset about Harley’s mare than she’d expected.

  “I might not understand much about animals,” he said, “but I’m thinking it’s a little bit like people. Even in the big, wicked city we tend to take a dim view of people who kill other people. So maybe an animal that kills other animals…see what I mean?”

  “And you aren’t always able to do much about it,” her dad said.

  “True. Regrettably true. But we try.”

  Maybe she’d been too unfair to him. The more she learned about him, the more she had to respect him.

  “You have a background in law enforcement,” her dad said. “Why did you quit?”

  “I didn’t know that,” Allie said.

  “Bakersfield police department,” Zeph told her. “After the military. You had me checked out, of course,” he said to her father.

  “I asked Frank a few questions last summer
when you and Allie started corresponding.” Her father glanced at her.

  “No surprise there,” she muttered.

  “I wanted to work the private sector. A little more freedom to pick and choose clients. And a bigger city. San Francisco would have been my first pick, but I didn’t like the weather. An old friend of mine had an agency in L. A. So that’s where I ended up.”

  “And you like it?”

  “Dad, he’s not on the witness stand,” Allie objected.

  “Just making polite conversation, Allie.”

  “I don’t mind, honey. Yes, sir, I do. I can’t imagine living anywhere else.”

  Of course he couldn’t. She knew that. Still, some forlorn remnant of hope left over from last summer stabbed her heart. While she squashed that weakness, Martha announced dinner.

  After Martha had served Allie’s favorite grilled salmon, her father said, “You asked what could be done about Josten’s bull. I’m afraid that the fact that the bull is of an extremely desirable bloodline will muddy the situation. Josten’s ranch depends on the breeding capacity of that animal. Last time—”

  “You mean he’s killed before?” Zeph interrupted.

  “Mmm. But of course, it was only a dog.” Sarcasm lay heavy in her dad’s voice. Allie knew he agreed with her about that bull and Josten’s lack of adequate security for the animal. “Josten paid a substantial compensation and installed stronger fences,” her father continued. “I imagine that either Josten or Harley will be calling on my services, so perhaps I shouldn’t discuss the current contretemps further.”

  “I saw your office downtown. So you’re still—or back, I should say—in private practice?”

  “I keep trying to make him retire completely,” Allie said. “Since his heart attack, he shouldn’t be—”

  “Shouldn’t be sitting around the house being bored. I take very few cases, Zeph. And oversee a few things here and there. Not even a half-time load. Perhaps now that Allie’s working, she’ll quit harassing me about my work.” He gave her a tender smile, and she knew he loved it when she fussed over him.

  “I’m surprised there’s even that much work in such a small town. And that what there is would interest you after your time on the bench,” Zeph said.

  “I can’t discuss specifics, of course. Much of what I do is quite mundane, wills and such. I encourage those who want to sue their neighbors to seek other solutions. And other representation, if they can’t be dissuaded,” her dad said with a wintery smile. “But a few things arise that are interesting. The odd call from Monty’s jail for emergencies. And I act as conservator for a business here in town.”

  She knew he referred to Blanton’s Builders and glanced at Zeph. He didn’t shift his gaze from her father. Almost certainly Zeph had come here knowing that, but she was sure he wouldn’t admit it.

  He didn’t get a chance. The phone had rung a moment before, and now Martha came to the door. “Judge? It’s from the jail.”

  Her father rose. “As I said. The odd call from one of Monty’s guests. I wonder who’s in trouble this time,” he said and left the room.

  He returned a few minutes later.

  “Don’t tell me. You have to go,” Allie said.

  “I’m afraid you’re correct. I don’t know how long I’ll be, so go ahead and have Martha serve your dessert now.”

  Allie went to him and hugged him. “Thanks, Dad. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  Zeph added his thanks. After her father had left, Allie looked across the table at him. “Now what?”

  “Now we eat this very lovely looking gelato, I hope. Does Martha make it herself?”

  “Dad’s gone. You don’t have to keep pretending, Zeph.”

  “Yes, but Martha’s still here. And your father might be lurking in the hall or outside the window to see what we say. And there are listening devices.”

  “All right, Mr. Bond. I get it.” She ate a spoonful of Martha’s lemon gelato. “But this isn’t Private Eye 101.”

  “Maybe it should be.” He sampled his dessert. “Excellent.”

  She ate in silence, faster than Martha’s masterpiece deserved. Zeph followed her example, and looked up from his empty bowl at the same time she did. “Now what?”

  “Time to investigate your father.”

  “Yes. And prove he isn’t involved.”

  “This is your chance to help me.”

  “Put my money where my mouth is?” She stood.

  “Fine. Make sure your father’s gone and that Martha won’t come looking for us.”

  She gave him a suspicious look but decided to comply, and gathered up the dishes. When she’d taken them to the kitchen and seen that Martha had started washing them, she returned. “Now what?”

  “Now we do a little light burglary.” He wrapped an arm around her, but used it to pull her down the hall to her father’s office.

  “You can’t be serious.”

  His sardonic look disabused her. Serious had to be this man’s middle name when it came to his work. “Stand by the door and listen for anyone coming.”

  Scarcely believing what she was doing, she moved to the door and cracked it open.

  Zeph homed in on the computer. Wentworth had left it on, and he scanned the directories. Nothing of interest. “Not a big computer fan, is he?”

  Allie smiled. “Not exactly. He uses one at work, but he’s close to paranoid about hard copy backup. He once had a whole case go missing from his computer the day before he was due in court, and the backup file was on a thumb drive that his secretary dropped down the garbage disposal.”

  “By accident?”

  “So she said.” Disbelief colored every word. “After that, Dad started keeping hard copies of important stuff in locked files.”

  “I would have gotten rid of the secretary, too.”

  “He did.”

  “So we might find hard copy even though there aren’t any electronic files of interest.” His gaze didn’t waver from the desk, and he had the intent look of a hound on a fresh trail when he honed in on the one locked drawer in the desk. He pulled a ring of keys from his pocket. Except they weren’t keys.

  Her eyes went wide with disbelief. “Are those lock picks?”

  “Yep.” He had the drawer open before she could say anything. No way would she stay by the door. She had to see too, and scooted across the room to look over his shoulder. The nearly empty drawer held only three things—a folder and a packet of letters, which Zeph set on the desk, and a framed picture. When he lifted the picture out, Allie touched it gently. “My mother. He loved her so.”

  Zeph inspected the back of the picture carefully and set it back in the drawer before picking up the packet of letters.

  “They’re her letters. The ones she wrote to him when he had to be away.”

  He riffled through them, opening a few and reading a few paragraphs.

  Disbelief sizzled through her. “What are you doing?” she hissed.

  “Making sure.” He returned them to their place and opened the folder.

  Allie stared at him, shocked by his focus and stunned by his obvious expertise. She’d never thought of him as a hunter. A very good hunter. Of men.

  Zeph’s bark of laughter shocked her out of her daze. “What?” she asked.

  “You. No front teeth. Holding a purple ribbon and a cup half your size.”

  “My first 4-H show.” She leaned close to look at the other newspaper clippings in the folder. The Stone’s Crossing newspaper hadn’t missed a show from that first gap-toothed picture to her as a leggy teen-ager on a cutting horse, to the young woman in front of a wall full of ribbons, to her graduation from U.C. Davis.

  “He’s pretty proud of you, I’d guess,” Zeph murmured, and replaced the folder. “I am, too.” He started to kiss her but she jerked away and he turned back to the drawer.

  “What’s this?” He pulled a crumpled piece of paper from the back of the drawer. After he’d scanned it for a few seconds, his mouth flattened to a
grim line. “Holy shit,” he said and whipped a tiny camera out of his pocket to photograph the page.

  Allie went cold with apprehension. “What—what is it?”

  He carefully replaced everything in the drawer and relocked it. “It’s a list of transactions from the Blanton Builders accounts. Allie, I investigated every one of these jobs in the last week before I came here.” He looked down at her, his face like stone, and her blood chilled.

  “That-that doesn’t mean he’s—”

  “Involved? Maybe not, but if he isn’t, why would he have a list like this hidden in his desk?”

  ****

  After a night of imagining Zeph hauling her father to jail, Allie opened the clinic heavy-eyed and unhappy. She didn’t want to see him. She had to make him see reason about her father. She had to stop obsessing about having helped him.

  “He’s innocent,” she told Zeph the minute he walked in, and winced at the heat in her voice. A detective like Zeph didn’t take anyone’s word for innocence, especially not from a family member. And she didn’t have a shred of proof.

  “What happened to ‘good morning’?” Zeph handed her a take-out cup of Betty’s coffee and a raspberry Danish.

  “How did you know?” she asked, diverted for a moment by her favorite pastry.

  “I asked Betty, of course. My detective skills don’t extend to mind reading.”

  She scowled. “It’s a shame they don’t extend to clearing innocent—”

  “They do. Stop feeling guilty about helping me last night.”

  Who said his skills didn’t include mind-reading? She glared at him mutely. “I guess I’m stuck with you.”

  He sighed and took the lid off his own coffee. “Allie, you have no idea how much I hate having you mixed up in this case. I think we’d have enough of a rough road without your father being involved.”

  “Why don’t you just arrest him and forget about me.” She grimaced. That sounded like a petulant twelve year old.

  “Because I don’t know that he’s guilty, for one thing.” He rubbed a hand over his face and looked so miserable her heart bumped.