by Ann Charles
Kate found Deputy Dipshit coming out of the mini-mart several blocks from the Sheriff’s office. She turned down an alley before he caught sight of Ruby’s old Ford. While she doubted he’d look twice at the pickup, she didn’t want to take any chances.
He was driving a Cholla County Sheriff’s cruiser tonight. No four-wheel drive for him. She followed him back to the office, staying a couple of blocks behind to be safe. He parked on the street in front of the office. She left the pickup in a dark lot adjoining an alley a block away, out of sight but within a quick sprint if needed. By the time she peeked around the corner of the alley he was already inside.
Pulling her black hood up to hide her hair and shadow her face, she waited for a car to pass and then stepped out onto the sidewalk. Luckily she made it to the front window of the Sheriff’s office without being seen and peeked inside. Deputy Dipshit sat at Grady’s desk with his feet up, staring down at his cellphone with a big grin. His firearm was strapped on his hip, but his walkie-talkie thingie was on the desktop along with a set of car keys.
He stood up suddenly, and Kate stepped back out of sight. She counted to three and then looked inside again in time to see him grab a magazine from the drawer of one of the deputy desks and disappear through the men’s room door.
Giving him to the count of thirty to get settled into his business, she moved quickly before she could chicken out. She tried the front door. It was unlocked. Slipping out of her tennis shoes, she tucked them out of sight around the side of the entryway and pushed inside the door. It buzzed, announcing her arrival.
The timeclock was now started.
Hood pulled down to shield her face, she made a beeline to Grady’s desk and took a couple of the bar napkins from her pocket to hide her prints. First, she pulled the power plugs for the surveillance system, making sure all of the pretty lights on the black box sitting on the shelf behind Grady’s desk went dark. It was times like this that she was thankful the Cholla County Sheriff’s Department had put their tax dollars into the technology inside their vehicles instead of their office’s security camera setup.
Next she opened Grady’s top drawer making sure the jail cell keys were where he always kept them. Then she grabbed Deputy Dipshit’s walkie-talkie and car keys and ran through the open steel door that led to the holding cells, her stocking feet silent on the concrete floor. Her blood was rushing in her ears as she zipped into the cell she and Claire had shared days ago—the one with a toilet—and lifted the corner of the musty smelling mattress. Cranking up the volume of his walkie-talkie, she tucked it under the mattress. His car keys made a little splashing sound when she tossed them into the rust-stained toilet on the other side of the cell. She slipped out and returned to the front office seconds before the bathroom door opened. She ducked behind Grady’s desk, heart pounding, waiting to see if Deputy Dipshit would fall for her trap.
“Hello?” the deputy called out.
She heard something drop onto the desktop and tucked down tighter into a ball on the other side of Grady’s desk. Andy Griffith would have sniffed her out in a heartbeat, but Deputy Dipshit seemed to lean toward the Barney Fife side of the law enforcement spectrum.
“Who’s here? Riley is that you?”
As if on cue his walkie-talkie crackled and broadcast from the jail cell, spewing something about a possible hit and run over on Dragoon Drive.
His footfalls clapped on the concrete floor, heading back toward the cell. She did a quick look-see over the top of Grady’s desk. The deputy was standing in front of the open jail cell door, scratching his head.
Katie rose onto her haunches and inched around the front of Grady’s desk, still hidden from view but able to lean out and see the deputy.
His back was to her as he stepped inside the jail cell.
This was it.
She gulped, taking a shaky breath.
If she were going to make her move, she had to do it now.
Don’t do it, a rational voice said in her head. Go back to the bar and forget about this craziness.
Kate looked over at the front door. She could make it out without Deputy Dipshit even knowing she’d been there. No harm done, no fouls made. Only keys in the bottom of a stained toilet bowl.
“Riley,” the deputy called from the cell, “if this is another one of your practical jokes, after I kick your ass I’m going to tell your girlfriend what you did with that skanky slut last month out behind Dirty Gerties.”
Skanky slut? Nice mouth. It was time for a lesson on humiliation for the dickhead.
Standing, she moved to the edge of the doorway leading to the cells, peering around the jamb.
The deputy was looking out the dirt smeared cell window. He pounded on the glass at whatever he saw in the alley behind the jail. All Kate had ever seen out there were ravens, rats, and feral looking cats.
“Get out of that garbage can, mutt!” the deputy hollered and pounded on the glass again. “Or I’ll come out there and shoot your mangy ass.” He pulled his gun from his holster, his focus still out the window.
Kate’s feet were sprinting down the short hall toward the jail cell before she realized what she was doing. She watched her hand snake out and push the door. It swung silently, the hinges well-greased just as she remembered.
The deputy pounded on the window again, using the butt of his firearm this time. The sharp rapping sound along with his curses gave her the noise distraction she needed to close the cell door without his hearing it click shut.
She’d made it back out to the front office and hidden behind the doorjamb before his pounding and shouts stopped. As much as she wanted to wait there to hear his reaction to finding out he was locked in his own cell, she didn’t dawdle. She’d left him his walkie-talkie so he could call for help. How long until his deputy buddies showed up to free him depended on his pride.
She rushed outside knowing the door’s buzzer would start the realization process for the deputy. Grabbing her tennis shoes, she took off at a crouch, staying down until she was well past the Sheriff’s office front windows. Then she hustled to the alley like the devil was on her tail. She paused long enough to slip on her shoes.
With mad cackles of laughter threatening to roll off her tongue and echo through the brick-walled alley, she made a mad dash to Ruby’s old Ford. Her getaway truck rumbled to life with a couple more pumps of the gas pedal.
“Let’s see how well you keep your eye on me from jail, Deputy Dipshit.”
A giggle escaped as she pulled out into the alley and headed east toward The Rowdy Coyote Motel.
Chapter Fourteen
Ronnie sat back in Butch’s chair, blinking in the low light from the desk lamp. His office cocooned her with its dark green walls, soft leather furniture, and fancy stereo piping classic rock via satellite radio. The spicy remnants of his cologne absorbed by the leather, along with the fresh air blowing in through the circulation system, kept the smell of fried food and sweaty bodies from trickling into his man cave.
She stretched her arms in the air, easing the kinks out of her back. Someone knocked lightly on the door. It inched open, her sister’s head poking into the room.
“Have you seen Kate?” Claire asked.
“No. I thought you told her to go home a little early.” Katie had been sneezing off and on all evening. She’d claimed allergies, but Ronnie was worried she was coming down with a cold, especially with how hard she’d been pushing herself lately.
“I did.” Claire held up a keychain. Ronnie recognized the Volvo emblem on it. “I found her keys in my pocket. She took Ruby’s pickup.”
Ronnie frowned. “Why would she do that?”
“I don’t know. That’s why I asked if you’d seen her. I was hoping she’d explained herself to you.” Claire glanced behind her at the sound of her name. “Who? For Ronnie?” she asked, speaking to someone over her shoulder. “I’ll let her know.”
When Claire looked back at her, Ronnie beat her to the punch. “Grady’s here.”
She nodded. “You want me to send him back here or have him park at the bar for a bit?”
Ronnie needed to tell Claire what Aunt Millie had told her earlier about the woman murdered in prison, but Mac seemed to be glued to Claire’s side tonight. Since he was leaving in the morning, Ronnie decided that particular bad news could wait until tomorrow.
“Send Grady back.” She gathered up the papers, statements, and other bookkeeping receipts she had spread out over Butch’s desk. She carried the stack over to the built-in secretary, a floor-to-ceiling half bookshelf, half desk made of dark walnut. When she closed the desk and turned, Grady’s shoulders filled the doorway, his star and hat nowhere to be seen.
“Hello, Sheriff.” She smoothed her silver velvet tunic over her black leggings.
“It’s Grady tonight.” He leaned against the doorframe, his gaze following her hands down over her thighs, landing on her black knee high boots. “You look nice, Veronica.” His voice was deeper than usual, gruffer. Her pulse giddy-upped at the intensity barreling off of him. “I like those boots.”
She liked his cowboy boots, too, along with his dark jeans, tan flannel shirt, and black wavy hair. Did he smell as good as he looked? She couldn’t wait to find out. “Thanks, Grady.” Her voice sounded timid as if she hadn’t already done more than k-i-s-s-i-n-g with him. She cleared her throat. “I’m done here for now. Did you really want to go somewhere, or do you want to hang around, grab a table and some drinks?”
“I want to get you out of here.”
What did that mean? No, never mind. Tonight she wasn’t going to overanalyze his every word. She was going to let him lead the way and pretend she was just a girl hanging out with the guy on whom she had a killer crush. And if they ended up naked and sweaty somewhere all the better.
She grabbed her jacket and purse, shutting the door behind them, and followed him out front.
Her sister was filling a pitcher behind the bar. “We’re going to head out,” she told Claire. “You and Arlene got this covered okay?”
Claire smiled. “Sure.” She pointed across the bar at a familiar face. “Mac is going to help out until Butch gets back.” Glancing over Ronnie’s shoulder, Claire’s gaze narrowed. “Keep her out of jail, Sheriff. I’m too busy serving drinks to come to Yuccaville and spring her tonight.”
He saluted Claire and then caught Ronnie’s wrist, leading her out to a Chevy pickup.
“Where’s your work Sheriff’s Bronco?”
“I’m off duty tonight.”
“No radio even?”
“Nope.” He held open the passenger side door for her, helping her up and in. A true gentleman clear down to the kiss he dropped on her knuckles before closing her door.
His manners made her feel awkward, stutter-filled, unsure of what to do with her hands. She clasped them together in her lap and waited to see what his next move would be.
He climbed behind the wheel, started up the pickup, and headed out onto 191 toward Yuccaville.
“Where are we going?”
“There’s something I want to show you.”
She stared out the window at the ghostly greasewood bushes they passed, a little smile playing on her mouth. “I’ve heard that one before.”
“Not from me.”
“True.”
A few miles or so up the road, he made a right turn onto a gravel road. “It’s not much further,” he told her.
She sat in silence as the road dipped and swerved right and then left, letting the whir of the vent and the rumble of the engine soothe away her feelings of awkwardness. This was Grady. She needed to pull herself together, get her guard up, and prep mentally for his next interrogation.
In the middle of a valley painted silver by the moon with dark shadowy mountains all around, he stopped the pickup and shut off the engine. Out her window she could see a line of big cottonwoods meandering off around a hillside. Their big limbs stretched toward the moon, as if praising its luminescence.
Without a word, Grady crawled out and came around her side, helping her down. Damn! He did smell as good as he looked. Finger licking and back for seconds good!
“We’re here,” he said, leaning against the passenger door.
She looked around in the semidarkness, pulling her coat tightly around her neck. She should have worn a scarf. The spindly twigs on the greasewood bushes shivered in the breeze, clicking against each other. “Where’s here?”
“My home.”
She turned this way and that, searching the dark horizon but saw nothing other than the irregular lumps of flora and the mountains beyond. “Is it underground?”
“It’s not built yet. We’ll break ground this winter.”
Ahhh. His future home. “You already own the land?”
“Yes. I’ve had it for years. I was saving up to be able to afford the house I want to build on it.”
She soaked up the idea of Grady living out here while taking in the wide open feel, the moonlit landscape, the peacefulness of it all. “I can see why you like it here.”
“Really?” He sounded surprised.
“Sure. It’s easy to breathe out here.”
“Some might not like the feeling of isolation.”
“It’s not isolation.” She leaned against the pickup next to him, close enough to enjoy his cologne but without actually touching. “It’s the freedom to walk out on your back porch in your underwear without worrying about the neighbors seeing you.”
He chuckled. “You like to walk around in your underwear, Veronica?”
She shrugged. “Sure, when I’m alone.” Then she remembered how she hadn’t really been alone in her previous house thanks to the hidden cameras her ex had stashed in the most humiliating places. “Just ask the FBI. They’ve seen all of the damned tapes.”
His hand caught hers and squeezed. “Let’s leave the FBI off of tonight’s agenda.”
“Okay.” She laced her fingers in his and squeezed back. “So, did you bring me out here to kill me and bury my body in the desert? Or did you plan to leave me out for the buzzards to peck at come morning?”
He tugged her closer, so their shoulders were touching. “Neither. Not this time at least. I wanted to show you all of this.” He waved his free hand in front of him.
His dream? Why? She was too old and realistic to believe it had anything to do with romantic notions of her joining him here with matching front porch rocking chairs.
“It’s beautiful. I’d like to see what it looks like in the daytime.”
“I also wanted to explain why I’ve been trying to keep my distance from you.”
Ah ha! So it wasn’t her imagination. She wanted to turn and look at him but resisted, giving him room to speak his piece. He’d obviously brought her out here under the protection of darkness to have this discussion.
She pulled her hand from his and shoved both her hands in her pockets, drawing her coat tighter around her.
“Are you cold?” he asked. “Do you want to sit inside the truck?”
“No.” She glanced at him. If he were going to be honest, so would she. “I’m just bracing for what comes next.” She had no inkling of how badly this talk might end. Had he brought her out here to dump her? Out here where her shouts and mad yells wouldn’t be heard? Wait, were they even enough of a couple for her to be dumped?
“Fair enough,” he said and frowned out at the valley. “What do you know about my past?”
Only that his ex-wife had royally fucked him over by pretending the baby she carried was his until it was born and paid for, and then the tramp had run off with the real father. That kind of betrayal was like being run down by a Mack truck, and then backed over before being slammed into again.
However, that inside information had come from his Aunt Millie with a promise from Ronnie to keep her mouth shut about it. So she would, but she didn’t want to outright lie when he was in a sharing mood. “A lot less than you know about my past thanks to my piece of shit ex-husband.”
&
nbsp; “Right.” She heard him take a deep breath. “How about we even the score.”
He spilled his sordid tale of squashed dreams, heart-wrenching deceit, and broken pride. His story played out similar to Aunt Millie’s, only with a throat thickening dose of anger and self-disgust that made Ronnie’s chest ache.
When he finished, she turned and wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her forehead against his sternum. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, wishing she had a magic potion that would fill the crack in his heart.
He pulled her closer. “I’m not.”
That made her look up. His face was heavily shadowed, the moon lighting his cheekbones and forehead. “You aren’t?”
“No. She opened my eyes about a few things.”
“Such as?”
“I’m a public figure.”
“You mean as the Sheriff of Cholla County?”
“Well, at that time I hadn’t been elected Sheriff yet, but I’d been busting my ass while climbing the ladder.” He stood up a little straighter against the pickup, repositioning her so her boots fit between his. “Until then, I didn’t realize what being a public figure meant. After Elizabeth left me, everyone in town, and I mean everyone, knew all about what she had done. Hell, half of them knew far more than me. I’d been so caught up in my job, I hadn’t been paying very close attention to my wife’s whereabouts on nights I worked late.”
In other words, public figure equated public humiliation for him, as in strangers witnessing his personal life imploding. Ronnie knew all about that thanks to the FBI’s determination to break her pride with R-rated films in which she was the sole star. While the local yokels hadn’t seen Grady in the shower or touching himself in the privacy of his own damned bedroom, the public shame was pretty much the same.
“After some time had passed,” he continued, “the thrill of airing my dirty laundry faded for folks and the focus moved onto someone else’s screw-ups. I kept my head down and worked like hell, eventually getting elected Sheriff. Since that day when I stepped into an empty house and found the letter Elizabeth left for me, I’ve been determined to keep my personal life uneventful. Boring even. I’ve avoided romantic entanglements and taken care of my,” he cleared his throat, “uh … personal needs elsewhere, far away from this county and the busybodies and gossipmongers in it.”
