by Ann Charles
He stood, his arms crossed, his legs wide in that I’m-the-Sheriff-in-this-town stance. “Are you done?”
With a shrug she said, “For the moment.”
“Good.”
“But I reserve the right to be stubborn again during this conversation if necessary.”
He shook his head at her, his lips pinched tight.
“What else do you have to say to me, Sheriff?” she egged him on.
“Arlene’s real name is ‘Shirley Arlene Rancor.’” He said that name as if she should know it. When she continued to look at him without recognition, he added, “Her nickname is ‘the Husky’ in the criminal world.”
Her jaw fell open. “You’re kidding. Arlene was the Husky?” At his single nod, she covered her mouth. She’d taken on the Husky in hand-to-hand combat. Sure, she might have gotten her guts sliced and diced if it hadn’t been for Claire, but still, “Holy fucknuts.”
“Now you understand the reason I’m not thrilled that you rushed into the scene of the crime.”
“Yeah, but I got her—I mean we got her,” she corrected. “Maybe Claire and I should become professional bounty hunters.”
“Bad idea.”
“We could help the law.”
“I highly doubt it.”
She wrinkled her nose at him. “We helped you didn’t we? Along with Katie.”
“Kate made a lucky guess.”
Ronnie shook her head. “Never underestimate a woman’s intuition.”
“You three are going to be the death of me. I should just hang up my badge now and join one of those monasteries over in the Himalayas.”
“Come on, Grady,” she said, pushing off the counter and strolling toward him. She took his elbow and tugged him over to the couch. “We’re not so bad are we?”
“Don’t ask me to answer that until I finish with the paperwork on last night’s mess.”
She shoved him down onto the middle of the couch and then sat next to him. She patted her lap.
One of his eyebrows rose. “You want me to sit on your lap? Are you Mrs. Claus now?”
“Not sit, smartass. Lie back,” she tugged on his arm until he consented. “Now put your feet up and rest your head here.” She patted her lap again.
He looked at her warily for a second and then did as she ordered. “Now what?” he asked, staring up at her. “Are you playing shrink?”
“No,” she trailed her fingers through his black wavy hair. “I’m being your girlfriend.”
“In that case,” he lifted the hem of her shirt, peering up it.
She playfully pulled his hand away. “Behave, Sheriff Hardass. I’m trying to help you relax.”
“Looking up your shirt is very relaxing.”
“You can look up my shirt later.”
“And down your pants, too?”
“Sure.” She laid his hand on his chest and returned to massaging his head.
His eyes locked onto hers. “Why are you doing this, Veronica?”
“Because I want to show you how much I appreciate your concern for my safety.”
“I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
“Really? Even though I sometimes drive you crazy?”
“It’s more often than sometimes.” He grunted when she tugged on the hair near his temple, and then settled more into her lap, closing his eyes, kicking his boots off.
She trailed the pads of her fingers down his face, using a relaxation method she’d learned about during a weekend at a renowned spa just outside of Deadwood. His whiskers tickled her fingertips. “Tell me about the Polar Bear.”
“Not much to tell. After Crash’s so-called accident, I made a phone call to the manager of The Rowdy Coyote Motel, asking him to help me out with the guy’s identity. He came into the office and looked through some Wanted bulletins, pointing him out. So, I got a hold of your pal from the FBI—”
“You called Mississippi.”
“Yes. I knew they were all fired up to nail this guy for several past crimes in various locations throughout the country.”
“Then what?”
“The FBI requested our help as backup. We started with his room at The Rowdy Coyote. He wasn’t there, but we found a breadcrumb—an address of an old empty building on the east side of town. It used to be a butcher shop back when I was a kid but had to close its doors when the grocery store came to town and took most of its business.”
“He just left the address sitting out?”
“No. He’d written it on the motel notepad, and we were able to see the imprint enough to determine what he’d written.”
“That trick really works, huh?”
“Sometimes, but only if they write hard enough.”
“So what did you find at the old butcher shop? Was he waiting there?”
“No, but we found a chair, some duct tape, a blow torch, and a box of knives.”
“Surgical knives?”
“No.”
“Throwing knives like they use at a circus?”
His eyelids opened. “Now I see where your sisters get their wild imaginations.”
“What? Maybe Arlene and the Polar Bear used to be performers in a circus. She threw knives and he was the Strong Man. But that didn’t pay the bills, and they soon realized they could make more money as killers for hire.”
His forehead wrinkled. “Really?”
“You never know.”
“Well, we do now, and they weren’t in a circus act together. Undoubtedly the plan was to kidnap Claire and take her to the old butcher shop and make her talk.”
“About the diamonds?”
“Yes, about those.”
“So, are Arlene and the Polar Bear the ones who killed those people in Mexico and the guy who bought the camper?”
“No.”
“You sound pretty sure about that.”
“I am. For one thing, that’s not the Polar Bear or the Husky’s usual style of execution. For another, the description given by the witness doesn’t match either of them.”
She blew out a breath. “Damn.”
He reached up and ran his thumb along her jaw. “We’ll get him, too. One killer at a time.”
She caught his hand and kissed his palm. “There are going to be more coming,” she told him, thinking about what Mississippi had told her about her ex rolling over for a better deal in the pen.
“I know.”
“You know?”
“If you’re talking about the possible side effects from your ex-husband playing tattle-tale on another one of his previous business partners, then yeah, I know. Mississippi warned me about it.”
She frowned down at him. “Are you mad?”
“Why would I be mad?”
“Because I’m bringing more trouble to your county.”
He turned on his side facing her and pushed up so he was looking her in the eyes. “Veronica, I’d like to wrap you in bubble wrap and lock you away in my bedroom to keep you safe, but I’m not mad. This isn’t your fault. You’re the victim here.”
“I’m tired of being the victim. I’m not going to play that role any longer.”
His dark eyebrows creased. “What does that mean?”
“I’m not sure yet. Probably something you won’t like.”
His lips flat-lined. “Undoubtedly.”
“I’ll let you know as soon as I figure it out so you can lecture me about why it’s a bad idea.”
“I’d appreciate that opportunity.”
“Lie back down, Sheriff. I’m not done with my massage yet, and you’re not done with your story.”
“Okay, but while I’m up here, you should probably give me a kiss.”
“Why should I do that?”
“Because you haven’t yet.”
“You didn’t seem interested.”
“That’s not true. I wanted to slide my hands all over you, starting with those yoga pants, and then take you on that table over there. But I resisted, trying to be a gentleman.”
“Your first m
istake would’ve been taking me on that table. It’s not even a little comfortable, especially without the seat cushions that turn it into a makeshift bed. Second, I’m not in the mood for a gentleman right now.”
“What are you in the mood for?”
“You and your handcuffs.”
His pupils dilated, his gaze dropping to her lips. “Are you really not wearing any panties?”
“Maybe I’ll show you the answer to that question after you finish telling me about how you captured the Polar Bear.”
He leaned forward and stole a kiss, taking his time with his thievery, and then settled back down on her lap. “We waited for him next door to the abandoned building. He pulled up in Arlene’s car about the same time Claire and you were taking turns trying to ‘restrain’ her in Butch’s parking lot.”
“So you didn’t know about Arlene until then?”
He shook his head. “She’s a master of disguise, changing her appearance significantly for each job. The only picture I’d seen could have been any middle-aged woman. The feed was from a cheap security camera and so grainy and out of focus it didn’t offer much help. I’d kept my eye on her, of course, since Kate found the scarf in the Polar Bear’s room and Butch had me look into her, but many people prefer to live off the grid, especially here in Arizona. It wasn’t until we saw the Polar Bear pull up in her car that we were certain they were linked.”
“All of this time she was playing undercover killer, scoping out me and my family, biding her time.” Her hand stilled on his face. “She must have found out about the stolen diamonds from our conversations at the bar.”
His brow wrinkled as he stared up at her. “You and your sisters need to be more careful in the future.”
“Yeah, but you have the diamonds now.” She’d handed them off to Grady when he’d followed her home days ago to inform Claire about the camper guy’s death.
“True, but you guys are still a pit stop on the road to finding them.”
“So you think Arlene figured the diamonds were the result of Lyle’s skimming from her boss and planned to take them back to fulfill her contract?”
“I don’t think, I know.” He yawned, his eyes drifting shut again, his forehead smoothing out. “She admitted that much when she came to. She also turned on the Polar Bear when the FBI offered her a deal.”
“Wow, that’s heartless.”
“It turned out he’s one of her ex-husbands.”
“Oh, well, then that makes complete sense.” She scraped her nails lightly over his scalp. “Anything else to tell me?”
“Yes. You’re putting me to sleep.”
“You need some rest.” Although the coffee was about done judging by the sounds coming from the coffee maker, she said, “Just relax. Let me take care of you for once.”
“Okay, but when I wake up, I’m going to take a closer look at those bruises on your left side.”
She blinked in surprise. “Did you see those when you looked up my shirt?”
“No, when you were doing that stretch outside that nearly drove me to do a lewd act in public with you.”
“You like that pose, huh?”
He yawned again, the lines around his eyes softening. “More than like.” A hint of a grin played on his lips. “Have you ever done yoga while wearing handcuffs?”
She chuckled. “No.”
His breathing slowed, deepening. Just when she thought he’d fallen asleep, he mumbled. “You wanna try it?”
Smiling, she tenderly rubbed his unshaven cheek. “Go to sleep, Grady, and I promise that after you wake up I’ll show you a few yoga positions that will really light your fire.”
He listened to her for once, falling into a sleep so deep that her shifting out from under him didn’t disturb it.
Several hours later when he began to stir, she put down the book she’d been reading, shed her shirt, and showed him her kaleidoscope of bruises. When he’d finished kissing them better, she followed through on her end of their deal.
It turned out she was right about the yoga poses. He went down in flames not even a minute into her routine, burning white hot as he carried her back to the bedroom where he showed her a few back arching positions of his own.
* * *
The General Store’s front porch beckoned along with the old codger relaxing out there after his long drive south. Claire sat down on the bench seat next to Gramps. Henry growled up at her from his favorite snoozing spot at her grandfather’s feet. She stuck her tongue out at the spoiled beagle. “Long time no miss, ya little shit.”
Gramps chuckled.
The sun was setting, coloring their view to the east in a myriad of dusty pinks, deep blues and pale purples. Cigar smoke laced the cool evening air. The land was nice and still, unlike the inside of Ruby’s house now that Deborah had a new project—healing Claire.
“How’s your head?” Gramps asked, puffing on his cigar.
“Sore but the headache is gone.”
“Your ribs?”
“They complain with each breath but not so loudly now.” Painkillers were wonder drugs.
He nodded. “Glad you’re okay.”
“We can thank Ronnie for that.” She stared out at the horizon, watching the colors languish in the darkening sky. “Have you seen Mac?”
He shook his head.
“What about Chester?”
“Nope.” He took another puff on his cigar, letting the smoke roll out. “You did a good job on the rec room. Spent a bit more than I would have liked, though.”
“Sorry about that. I probably could’ve saved some money going to Tucson for supplies, but I wanted to keep things local, you know?” At his nod, she asked, “What about your wife? Did she approve?” Claire had been sleeping off her beating when Gramps and Ruby had arrived, so she’d missed their initial reaction to her changes.
He patted her leg. “Like I said, you did good.”
Whew! She leaned back into the bench, relaxed now that she knew they didn’t hate what she’d done to the rec room. “How was South Dakota?”
“Colder than a witch’s tit, but it was nice to spend some time back home.”
“Was it weird to have a new wife in your house?” He hadn’t taken any women “home” since her grandmother had died, at least as far as she knew.
He grunted, whatever that meant. “I was thinking about selling the place on my way up there, but Ruby really likes it.”
“I don’t blame her.” His house in Nemo sat in a beautiful valley in the Black Hills, with rocky outcrops overlooking the small ranch and a creek gurgling along the edge of it. “Wait until she sees it in summer when it’s all lush and green.”
He grunted again, taking another puff on his cigar. “Natalie sends her love.”
She wondered how soon her cousin could arrange a trip back down here. Then Claire remembered she’d be gone with Mac and his new job most of the time and decided not to get her hopes up. “How’s Nat doing?”
“She seemed distracted, half a bubble off plumb even. She kept frowning at blank walls, or laughing when nobody was around.”
“Was she drinking at the time?”
He shook his head. “Speaking of drinking, Jessica told me your mom’s been hitting the bottle too much.”
Grimacing, Claire nodded. “Manny thinks she’s going through a midlife crisis sort of deal.”
“Well,” he rolled the ashes of his cigar in the ashtray he’d carried out with him, “she’s his problem now, not mine. That’s what the jackass gets for robbing my cradle.”
The sight of Mac’s white pickup rolling over the bridge into the R.V. park followed by a dark green Jeep Wrangler—the four door kind—snagged Claire’s focus. She waited as both vehicles came to a stop out in front of the General Store. Mac’s pickup door opened and Chester stepped out.
“Evening, Babe Ruth.” Chester said as he climbed the steps. “Good to see you up and ready for some more batting practice.”
“What are you doing driving Mac’s t
ruck?” she asked.
“That’s not my story to tell.” He pulled open the screen door, waving at Gramps to follow him. “Haul ass, Ford.”
“I’m finishing my cigar.”
“Finish it inside. I need to talk to you about settling my bill for all the electrical work Claire made me do while you were gone. I’m not cheap labor. This is going to cost you at least a case of beer, maybe more.”
Grumbling, Gramps stood up, taking his cigar and ash tray with him.
Claire watched the two of them disappear inside the store. What was going on? Gramps would normally have told Chester off and finished his cigar wherever he wanted.
The sound of the Jeep door slamming drew her gaze back to the twilight lit gravel drive in front of her.
Mac walked toward her, his long-sleeved white T-shirt seeming to glow in the growing shadows. “How you feeling, Slugger?” he asked as he climbed the porch steps.
“Confused.”
“Confused and in pain?”
“Just plain confused. The pain is mostly dulled.”
He sat down on the bench next to her, his arm snaking around her shoulders. He made a point of avoiding the lump on the back of her head where Arlene had clocked her. “Confused about what?”
“Why Chester was driving your pickup and you were driving that Jeep.”
He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a black rectangular box, holding it out toward her.
“What’s this?” Her heart thudded. It looked like a jewelry box. Too big for a ring but not a bracelet.
“I got you a present.”
She frowned at him, wondering why he’d buy her jewelry. She wasn’t the jewelry sort of girl and he knew it. Had he hit his head recently? Then another thought came to her. “Did Mom put you up to this while I was knocked out from the drugs?”
He grinned. “No. She doesn’t know about it.” He tapped the box. “Open it.”
Warily, she pulled the lid open. Inside, lying on a bed of black velvet, was a key.
Huh? Was this some kind of metaphor? Like the key to his heart. “I don’t understand.”
“It’s a key.”
“I can see that, wiseacre.” She wasn’t that drugged up. Plucking the key out of the box, she held it up between them. “What do I need a key for?”
“To start your Jeep.”
“I don’t have a …” she paused, looking out at the Jeep parked next to his pickup. “You mean that Jeep?”
