Andi nodded. “Yes, ma’am. Officer Thunderhawk and I have been working on a case and we’re hoping you could answer some questions for us.”
“Chad isn’t in any trouble, is he?”
“None that we’re aware of,” Andi replied evasively, then cleared her throat. “How long has your husband been missing?”
Tears filled her eyes and she reached to pull a tissue from a box on the coffee table. “Almost four months now.”
“Why did you wait so long to file a missing person report?”
Mrs. DuBois ducked her head, as if embarrassed. “This isn’t the first time he’s done this,” she admitted. “Left me, I mean.” She dabbed at her eyes. “Chad has…problems. I wasn’t aware of them when we first married. He hides them very well. It wasn’t until after we’d been married several years that I began to suspect something was wrong.”
She took a deep breath, then continued. “His job required him to travel, but his out-of-town trips seemed to increase. Then I discovered money missing from our account. I questioned him about it and he was evasive. When I persisted, he became angry. Even violent.
“I thought at first he was having an affair, so I hired a private detective.” She shuddered at the memory. “The man obviously wasn’t very good at his job, because Chad knew immediately that he was being followed. He confronted me about it, threatened that if I ever did anything like that again, he would divorce me.”
She opened her hands on her lap in a helpless gesture. “There’s no way I could support myself and my children. I have no skills, no college education.” She dropped her chin. “So I stayed.”
“You said you thought he was having an affair,” Andi pressed. “Were you never able to prove it?”
She shook her head. “No. But I believe it’s more than that. I’m afraid that Chad is connected with drugs in some way. Maybe a dealer. In the months before he disappeared, he received several phone calls late at night and he would get up and dress and leave. He claimed that it was someone at the company who had called and that there was a crisis that only he could handle.”
She shook her head again. “But I didn’t believe him. One night, after he returned and had gone back to bed, I snuck out to the garage and went through his car. I found a gun in his glove box and a duffel bag full of money in his trunk.”
The more the woman talked, the more plausible it seemed to Andi that Chad could have ended up as fish bait in Lake Mondo. Eager to verify the connection that would identify Chad as their floater, she pulled a copy of the newspaper article from her pocket. “You were quoted in this article as saying your husband has a crown-shaped mark on his hip.”
She shuddered. “Yes, and it was disgusting. Chad’s nickname is King,” she went on to explain. “His fraternity brothers started calling him that in college and still do to this day. Several years ago, a couple of them were in town for Mardi Gras and invited Chad to join them in the French Quarter for a few beers. Although, it turned out to be more than a few,” she added bitterly. “Chad was pretty much wasted by the time he got home.
“Anyway, they were walking down the street and one of the guys—Bill, I think—saw a tattoo parlor. One thing led to another and they all three ended up inside. Chad knew how I felt about tattoos. They are so white trash, if you know what I mean. He really didn’t care for them, either.
“I don’t believe he would’ve gotten one on his own, but with his buddies there egging him on, I’m sure he didn’t want to look like a coward. Bill and Justin had their arms tattooed with an eagle. Thankfully Chad asked the artist to put his on his rear end. A crown,” she added. “His buddies are the ones who chose the design, not Chad. They said that every ‘king’ should have his own crown.”
Andi’s heart sank. “So the crown on your husband’s hip was a tattoo, not a birthmark?”
Mrs. DuBois looked at her curiously. “Well, yes. Why?”
Andi tried her best to hide her disappointment, as she rose. “I’m sorry, Mrs. DuBois. But the man we’re looking for has a crown-shaped birthmark on his hip, not a tattoo.”
Mrs. DuBois rose slowly, her eyes filling with tears. “So you don’t know where my husband is?”
Andi shook her head. “No, ma’am. I’m sorry.”
Six
As Gabe pulled up in front of Andi’s house, her cell phone beeped, signaling the receipt of a text message.
“I swear Joe has radar trained on me,” she grumbled as she pulled the phone from the clip at her waist. “My plane barely hits the ground, and he’s already tracked me down.”
Gabe switched on the overhead dome light and waited while she checked the message, knowing that if it was a dispatch from the station he’d be going, as well. “So?” he prodded when she didn’t say anything. “Where are we headed?”
She quickly flipped down the phone cover and shook her head as she clipped it back at her waist. “It— The message wasn’t from Joe.”
“Who was it from, then?”
She shook her head again and reached for her purse. “Nobody. It wasn’t important.”
Frowning, Gabe plucked the phone from her waist. “Try telling that to someone who’ll believe it.”
“Hey!” Andi cried, reaching for her phone.
Gabe put up an arm, blocking her, while he read the message on the screen. Welcome home, Andi. How was New Orleans? He set his jaw, understanding now why she hadn’t wanted him to see the message. “No one but department certified personnel has this cell number.”
Scowling, she snatched the phone from his hand. “Yeah,” she muttered as she clipped it back at her waist. “It’s amazing how technologically superior deviates are these days.”
When she reached over the seat for her bag, Gabe clamped a hand over her arm. “No way are you staying here. You’re going home with me.”
She jerked free. “I’m not letting some creep scare me away from my own house.”
“Fine.” He reached over the seat and snatched up his bag. “Then I’ll stay with you.”
“No!”
Ignoring her, he climbed down from his truck and headed down the sidewalk for her front door.
A door slammed behind him. “You’re not staying here,” she said furiously as she ran to catch up.
He clucked his tongue and stepped aside, giving her room to deal with the lock. “Do you really want to create a scene in front of your neighbors?”
Curling her lip in a snarl, she unlocked the door. Gabe quickly moved in behind her and nudged her across the threshold.
“Got any beer?” he asked as he dropped his bag to the floor.
“You’re not staying.”
With a shrug, he headed for the kitchen. “Looks to me like I am.”
He opened the refrigerator door and smiled as he pulled out a beer. “Ah. My favorite brand.”
“Good. Enjoy it on the way home.”
He popped the top. “It’s against the law to drink and drive.”
The doorbell rang.
She flattened her lips in irritation at the interruption. “As soon as you finish that beer,” she warned him as she headed for the door, “you’re out of here.”
“Hey, gorgeous,” Gabe heard a man say. “Where’ve you been? I haven’t seen you around in a couple of days.”
Gorgeous? Frowning, Gabe peeked into the hall. Whoa, he thought, trying not to laugh when he saw the man standing opposite Andi. If his sisters-in-law saw this guy, fashion tickets would be flying. Bleached blond hair. Gold chain around the throat. The clincher, though, was the silk shirt he wore unbuttoned halfway to his waist.
Gabe wasn’t sure what made him do it, but he ripped his T-shirt over his head, shot his fingers through his hair, spiking it, and headed for the door.
“Honey, what’s the holdup?” he called, then stopped and winced. “Oops, sorry,” he said, and continued on to the door. “I didn’t realize we had company.” Smiling, he draped an arm over Andi’s shoulders and stuck out his hand to the visitor. “Hi, I’m Gabe
.”
The guy looked at Gabe as if he was a fly that had just landed in his soup. “Richard Givens, Andi’s neighbor.”
“Richard Givens?” Gabe repeated. “As in Givens Motors?” He glanced at Andi. “Honey, why didn’t you tell me you had someone famous living right next door?” He turned back to Richard. “Why, I bet your picture’s in the paper more often than the mayor’s. Of course, yours is always attached to one of your ads. But, hey,” he said, opening a hand, “fame is fame, even if you do have to pay for it, right, buddy?”
His face mottled with fury, Richard spun on a heel and stalked away.
Gabe stepped out onto the porch. “Hey, what’s the rush?” he called after him. “Stick around. We’ll have a beer.”
Richard kept walking, but shot his middle finger in the air, letting Gabe know what he thought of his invitation.
With a shrug, Gabe closed the door. “I guess he had other plans.”
“I can’t believe you did that.”
He looked at her incredulously. “I’d think you’d thank me for getting rid of him. Hell, did you see that shirt? I’ve seen pimps with better fashion sense.”
“If you’d minded your own business, I could’ve found out if he was the one who left the message.”
“You think Richard Givens is the guy who’s been hassling you?” he asked, unable to believe the man was intelligent enough to pull off a stunt like that.
“He has opportunity, motive and—”
He held up a hand. “Wait a minute. Opportunity I can see. He lives next door. But what grievance could he possibly have with you? Does your dog do its business in his yard?”
Rolling her eyes, she pushed past him. “I don’t have a dog.”
“See?” he said, following her to the kitchen. “No motive.”
“I won’t go out with him, all right?” She snatched up his T-shirt and threw it at him. “He asks all the time, and I keep turning him down.”
“So he spray paints whore on your garage door to get back at you?” He pulled the T-shirt over his head. “If that’s what you’re basing your assumption on, every single guy at the station would be a suspect, me included.” He pulled out a chair at the table and plucked a napkin from the holder. “Got a pen?”
“You’re leaving, remember?”
“No, I’m making a suspect list.”
Heaving a sigh, she pulled a pen from a drawer and tossed it to him.
“Richard. Deirdre.” He scrawled the names on the napkins, then looked up. “Who else?”
“Strike Deirdre’s name.”
“Why?”
“She has an alibi. The night my garage was spray painted she was on duty.”
“She could’ve dropped by here while on patrol, done the dirty work, then gone on about her business. The name stays. Who else?”
“I don’t know,” she said wearily. “I just want to go to bed.”
“Okay,” he said, frowning at the names. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
“You’re not sleeping with me.”
“You’ve got a guest room, don’t you?”
“Yes, but—”
“Fine. I’ll bunk in there.”
Usually within five minutes of hitting the sheets, Andi was asleep. But tonight she lay wide-eyed, listening to the sounds of Gabe moving about. She wasn’t accustomed to having anyone in her house and each sound he made, no matter how slight, sounded like a bomb going off.
She heard yet another thump, Gabe’s muffled curse, then footsteps in the hall. Her bedroom door opened slowly with a creak of hinges.
“Andi? You asleep?”
She pushed up to her elbows. “No. Thanks to you, I’m wide-awake.”
The overhead light flashed on, and she threw up a hand to shade her eyes. “Gabe!”
“Sorry.”
The light blinked off and he crossed to stand beside the bed. “Move over. And before you start bitchin’ and moanin’, I should remind you that the bed in your guest room is not a real bed. A midget wouldn’t fit in that matchbox. And don’t bother suggesting the sofa. I already tried and have a crick in my neck to prove it.”
Rolling her eyes, she flipped back the covers. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. Get in, so I can get some sleep.”
He crawled into the bed, spent a moment plumping the pillow and adjusting the covers, then settled beside her with a contented sigh. “Good night, Andi.”
She punched her pillow. “You’re going home tomorrow.”
“Uh-huh,” he said vaguely.
“I mean it. I don’t need or want you here. I can take care of myself.”
He rolled to his side and draped an arm across her middle. “So you keep saying.” He snuggled his head next to hers on her pillow. “’Night, Andi.”
Gabe strode into the police station the next morning and crossed straight to Chief Prater’s office. “I need to talk to you, sir.”
Prater looked at him curiously, then waved him in. “What’s the problem?”
“It’s Andi. Someone’s stalking her.” He laid out the events of the previous days, with Prater listening intently, the ever present cigar clamped between his teeth. He ended with the text message she’d received upon their return from Louisiana.
Prater snatched the cigar from his mouth. “Where is she? And why the hell hasn’t she told me about this before?”
“She’s on her way in now.” Gabe raised a brow. “And I think you know why she hasn’t said anything.”
“Muleheaded woman,” Prater grumbled. “Thinks she can handle everything herself.” He tried to hide a smile, his pride in his detective, as well as his affection for her, obvious. “Gutsiest broad I’ve ever met. Took a chance when I hired her on as detective. The first female ever to hold the position on the Red Rock force. She’s never once given me reason to regret that decision.”
“She’s a good detective,” Gabe agreed.
Frowning, the chief reared back in his chair and studied Gabe, once again clutching the cigar between his teeth. “Do you think this has anything to do with the Lost Fortune case?”
Gabe shook his head. “I don’t think so. But it could be someone she’s dealt with before, some perp she’s put behind bars.”
“So what do you suggest we do about it?”
“I intend to keep an eye on her twenty-four seven. I stayed with her last night and—”
The chief shot to his feet and snatched the cigar from his mouth. “You did what?”
Gabe held up his hands. “For protection only. And believe me,” he added, “she kicked up a pretty good fuss about it.”
The chief choked a laugh and sat back down. “I’d have liked to have seen that. She doesn’t take to pampering or coddling.”
“No,” Gabe agreed. “She’s tough…or likes to think she is.”
The chief sobered immediately. “This stalker’s getting to her?”
“Some, though she’d never admit it.”
“Doubt she would. Any idea who’s responsible?”
“A couple of theories, but nothing strong enough to haul anyone in.”
“My gut says to pull her. Put her on a plane to Hawaii or somewhere as far away from Red Rock as I can get her until we figure out what’s going on.”
“She won’t leave.”
“No. She’s not one to run from trouble. Would rather meet it square in the face and spit in its eye.” He reached for his phone. “I’ll put a surveillance on her house.”
“I think it would be better if we keep this just between us, Chief. The fewer people who know about this, the better.”
The chief drew back his hand. “Are you suggesting that someone on the force is stalking her?”
“At this point, I’m not sure. Technically, only police personnel have access to that cell phone number, but you never know what these hackers can achieve. I’ve got some leads to follow up on. If any of them pan out, I’ll let you know.”
“What about Andi? I want her protected.”
“I’m
looking out for her. Nobody’s going to hurt her.”
The chief narrowed an eye at Gabe, considering. “All right,” he finally agreed. “I’ll let you handle this your way, but I’m warning you. If she so much as stubs her toe, I’ll personally strip you of your badge, then start on your hide.”
Gabe rose. “I’ll keep her safe, sir. You have my word.”
The chief rose, too. “Whatever you need, it’s yours. Nobody messes with one of mine and gets away with it.”
“Dudley Harris—that wife beater she put away—is out on parole. I need an address. And I want a copy of Andi’s phone records. Both home and her cell. I’d request it myself, but I don’t want to take a chance on her getting wind of it. I figure you can pull some strings without her ever being the wiser.”
“Consider it done.”
Gabe turned for the door, then stopped. “Oh, and, Chief? Don’t let on to Andi that you know anything about this. She’d have my hide if she knew I talked to you.”
Andi glanced at the clock on the dash as she waited for the traffic light to turn green, and muttered a curse under her breath—8:15. She couldn’t believe she’d overslept. In the nine years she’d worked for the department, she’d never once reported in late.
It was Gabe’s fault, she decided, tapping her fingers impatiently against the steering wheel. If he hadn’t kept her awake half the night with his Goldilocks-search for a comfortable bed to sleep in, she wouldn’t have overslept.
She narrowed an eye at the light. She was going to give him a piece of her mind when she saw him. And leaving the house without waking her was just one more irritation to add to a growing list of grievances against him.
A motor revved in the lane next to her. She ignored it the first time, but when it revved a second time, higher, she shot the driver of the car an exasperated look. She froze, when her gaze struck that of the man in the passenger seat. His eyes were black as Satan’s and filled with hate, and could belong to only one man. Dudley Harris.
In the Arms of the Law Page 10
