Courting Callie

by Lynn Erickson

  She thought about everything Lindsay had told her all afternoon. At dinner she was still thinking about it. She took Peter and Rebecca for a ride that evening and could barely concentrate on anything else except Mase and the murder trial. That night she stood in front of the mirror in her pajamas and took a long, hard look at herself. Skinny legs, and not very shapely at that. She turned sideways and pulled her pajama top tight, studying her flat chest and sighing. “Ugh,” she said.

  Her hair. She had the most godawful baby-fine hair. If Twyla didn’t blunt cut it at least once a month it was hopeless.

  Okay. Her face wasn’t too bad. At least she wasn’t a complete dog. But special enough to attract Mase? No way.

  He’d called her, though. She’d sat on the staircase and talked to him on the phone, and he’d insisted on keeping the date. Why?

  For Joey? But no. Mase was in complete denial about his son’s problems, and the last thing on his mind was therapy for Joey.

  Could Mase really have been attracted to her? Lindsay thought so. But what did Lindsay know, anyway?

  So if Mase wasn’t making the long trip to Wyoming again to see her or to help his boy, why, then, was he doing this?

  She climbed into bed, pulled the sheet up under her chin and stewed. Mase LeBow, what are you really after?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  SINCE MASE HAD RETURNED from the auction over a week ago, he’d barely let Joey out of his sight. It was especially hard now that school was out. He was afraid to send Joey to day care or summer camp because of the threat, so he was depending on his parents to help out.

  It was rough. He had to work, and a homicide detective worked odd hours. If it hadn’t been for his folks, Mase didn’t know what he would have done.

  On Tuesday morning he dropped Joey off at his parents’ house in the Denver suburb of Castle Pines. Mase’s mom didn’t know about the threat to Joey, though Mase had told his dad the whole truth. Still, Brenda LeBow knew something was up. After all, Mase was her son, and he’d never been able to hide things from her. To her credit, she didn’t ask. On that Tuesday morning, all she said was that they’d take good care of Joey and for Mase not to worry.

  “Thanks, Mom,” Mase said, and he kissed her cheek. Then he knelt down and tousled Joey’s dark hair. “You be good for Grandma and Grandpa, hear?”

  Joey nodded sullenly and looked as if he were about to cry. God, how Mase hated leaving him. Even with his own folks. Joey simply wasn’t responding to anyone but Mase.

  Brenda picked her grandson up and kissed him. “I baked cinnamon rolls,” she said. “Come on, let’s go have one before Grandpa eats them all.”

  That, at least, got Joey’s attention, and he followed his grandmother inside. Mase gave them both a wave and took off for Denver, guilt weighing heavily on his shoulders. Soon, though, Joey would be on the ranch and out of harm’s way. The trial was still weeks off and Mase didn’t know how he was going to talk the Thornes into keeping his son there. Of course, he would pay for Joey to stay, but the whole thing seemed so devious. He couldn’t tell them the truth, though. The only people he had told were his dad and his boss. Lately, Mase really didn’t know who else he could trust. Maybe his partner, Luke. Luke was okay. But he didn’t dare confide in the Thornes.

  What could he say to them, anyway? How could he tell the complicated story? He tried to frame it in his mind.

  He saw himself sitting in their cozy living room casual-like, and he’d say, “Well, Mr. and Mrs. Thorne—Tom and Liz—and you, too, Callie, there’s this wealthy guy named Richard Metcalf who is threatening my son....” He’d go on to tell them about Metcalf’s attempt to bribe a Denver city councilman named Edwards. When Edwards threatened to make the bribery attempt public, Metcalf must have panicked, and Edwards was found murdered. Mase was pretty sure the killer was a hired hitman named Hank Berry.

  Mase imagined the looks of horror on the faces of the three Thornes. Bribery, a killer, a murder. But he would already have gone too far.

  Tom Thorne would say, “Lord Almighty, and you’re involved in this?”

  “Well, not on purpose, sir,” he’d say, but he’d still have to tell them the whole ugly story. “You see, I was on duty when the councilman heard a noise and got scared one night and called 911. I was close to his building, and I got to the scene so quickly that I ran right into Berry—better known as the Hitman—outside Edwards’s building. I didn’t know at the time, of course, that I had just come face-to-face with a man who’d committed murder minutes ago. It was just pure luck that when I did bump into him, I got a good look at him. At this point,” he’d say, “the district attorney got a legal wiretap put on Metcalf’s phone. With a couple of recorded conversations between Metcalf and Berry, and me as the pivotal witness, we had Metcalf dead to rights. Still do.”

  “So, what’s the problem?” Liz would ask.

  “Well,” Mase would say, at this point unable to meet Callie’s eyes, “we still can’t find Hank Berry. There are nationwide APBs out on him, but he’s as slippery as an eel. And, well, there’s another little hitch....”

  “Yes?” Callie would ask, getting suspicious.

  “Er,” Mase would mumble, “there’s uh, there’s been a threat to Joey’s life and, well, I just thought that he’d be safe here, you know, at the Someday Ranch, and that way I’ll be safe to testify. Jeez, I hope you don’t think I’m using you....”

  “Golly, no,” they’d all say at once.

  Right, Mase thought.

  What a mess.

  As he drove north on I-25 toward police headquarters, Mase kept thinking about the Hitman. He’d bet a year’s salary it was Berry who’d made the threatening call about Joey. Metcalf wouldn’t have the nerve, he thought as he parked in the lot across from headquarters.

  He entered the huge building and went through security, then took the elevator up to Homicide. The place was buzzing. The only time it was quiet in the big department was at night, and even then there were a couple of guys coming and going, answering calls. Mase used to like the night shift. But now, well, he needed to be home for Joey.

  He checked in with Captain Al Coleman, his immediate superior, and got the assignments for the day. Another drive-by shooting in north Denver. Gang related. “Swell,” Mase said under his breath.

  “Any more calls? Threats?” Coleman asked, looking up.

  Mase shook his head. “So far just the one.”

  “It’s enough. I’d like to get you and your boy out of here till the trial.”

  “I told you about the plans for Joey,” Mase began. “The ranch in Wyoming.”

  “I know. And I like it. But you’re probably a target, too.”

  “The Hitman’s not gonna kill a cop.”

  “You seem pretty sure of that,” Coleman said flatly. “Remember, he’s not above threatening a cop’s kid.”

  Al had a point, Mase knew. Still, he wasn’t going to tuck tail and run. He shrugged and strode to the captain’s door. “I’ve got Joey covered,” he said, “and I can damn well handle myself.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Coleman said pointedly.

  Mase said hi to a few of his fellow detectives, then checked his mail slot. The usual stuff. There was one unusual piece, however, and he stood eyeing the little white envelope curiously. An invitation? He started toward his partner’s desk, opening the envelope, when he noticed a scent rising from the paper. Automatically, Mase put it to his nose. Vanilla?

  “Hey, Luke,”
he said in greeting when he reached his partner’s desk. “Be with you in a sec.”

  “We got a shooting to investigate in north Denver,” Luke said.

  “Yeah, yeah, I know,” Mase replied, distracted as he unfolded the vanilla-scented card and began to read.

  Dear Mase,

  I hope this reaches you, as I don’t have your home address. I only wanted to drop you a note and apologize if I was rude the other night on the phone. Of course you and Joey are both very welcome at the ranch, and I still hope to see you Friday evening. Maybe Joey could even go for a ride before bed.

  Until Friday, yours truly,

  Callie

  Mase’s first reaction was anger. He looked up from the card and felt his jaw tense. That thing about getting Joey on a horse again. She wasn’t going to leave it alone. Did Miss Callie Thorne think she was being subtle? Well, he saw right through to the implication that Joey needed therapy, and he couldn’t help being steamed. There wasn’t a thing wrong with Joey that time wouldn’t heal. What a pushy female.

  “Something wrong?” Luke asked.

  Mase sighed. “No. It’s nothing,” he said. “Just some chick I met.”

  “Women,” Luke said with a ton of meaning.

  “Yeah, women,” Mase concurred, and an image of Callie flew into his mind, the big hazel eyes and the wide, sensual mouth, the curtain of fine golden hair that hung to her shoulders. He saw her in an isolated moment of time, her slim fingers hooking a strand of silky hair behind a shell-pink ear, the flush on her cheeks…

  Damn, he thought, confused. Here he was ticked at her for mentioning Joey, when he so desperately needed her. Her ranch, anyway. He hated that. Hated having to keep the stupid date and hated the dependence he felt. Frustration gnawed at him. Frustration with Callie and frustration with the Hitman—if only they’d find Hank Berry and lock him up. It was killing Mase that he’d had the man right there, right in his grasp, and he hadn’t even known it. So now Metcalf was trying to shut Mase up. Killing a cop was bad news, so Berry had obviously been ordered by Metcalf to take the next best route: threatening Mase’s son.

  And hell, Mase thought, it was working. He was worried sick about his boy.

  Mase hardly uttered a word as he and Luke drove to the north Denver park.

  “You gonna sit in the car all day, LeBow?” Luke asked once they’d arrived and Mase still sat silently, lost in thought.

  “Be right with you,” Mase said, and forced himself to focus his attention on last night’s drive-by shooting.

  He went through the motions, ducked under the yellow crime-scene tape, took out his notebook, scribbled in it. Investigating murder really was despicable work, and even before Amy’s accident, Mase had been thinking about quitting Homicide. He still loved police work, but not the violence, not having to stare into the lifeless face of a victim, day after day after day. Vice would be better—anything would be better. The trouble was, Denver was a big city now. With big-city problems and crime. When Mase had been a kid growing up here, crime seemed to be reserved for New York or L.A. or Chicago. Not anymore.

  He and Luke did a thorough investigation of the area of the shooting, which had occurred near a child’s swing set in the wee hours of the morning. Two night-shift uniformed policemen had done the preliminaries, the area had been photographed, and the body had been taken to the morgue. All that remained now was the white chalk outline of a fourteen-year-old kid in the dirt. And the only evidence they found—if it was evidence—was a crushed pack of cigarettes and three empty beer cans discarded nearby. As for footprints, the area had so many it was impossible to sort them out. Still, Mase called for several molds to be taken. He also had the swing set dusted for prints, but clearly it had been a drive-by shooting, and Mase was afraid the only way this case was going to be solved was if a witness came forward with information.

  They took another hour that morning to knock on doors in the immediate vicinity of the park. Most folks were not home, and the few that were claimed they hadn’t heard a thing. Mase listened, took names and a few notes, but he already knew he was wasting his time. Even if someone had witnessed the crime, he or she wasn’t going to come forward. Too scared. It was hard to blame them.

  Luke drove away from the neighborhood, and they stopped for lunch at a Mexican joint on Pecos Street, one of Luke’s favorite spots. Over burritos, they discussed the case and a half-dozen others, open files on their desks. Mase had a hard time concentrating—he kept thinking about Joey and the ranch and just how he was going to arrange for his son to stay there until after the trial. He was pretty sure Callie Thorne wouldn’t mind. But still, didn’t he owe her an explanation? If he did come forward with the truth, would it put her in an awkward spot or, he shuddered to think, in danger?

  “Man, you really are in left field,” Luke said to him. “Is something up?”

  “No, I was just thinking about this trip I have to make this weekend. A ranch up in Wyoming.”

  “The bachelor auction thing?”

  Mase nodded then grimaced.

  “You got bought,” Luke stated, then he laughed. “Tell me. I wanna hear every last detail.”

  So Mase told him, and he couldn’t help smiling and shaking his head when he described the Someday Ranch and Callie.

  “It sounds as if the lady is doing some good work there,” Luke said.

  “Oh, she is. Her whole family is. No doubt about it. It’s a good life. Clean. But Callie…”

  “Go on.”

  “I don’t know. She’s a bit of a dreamer. Seems to think there’s magical power or something to the ranch. Or maybe it’s in the horses.” Mase shrugged.

  Luke cocked his head. “Or maybe it’s something in the water.”

  Then they both laughed. When they were paying the check, Luke said, “So, all her flakiness aside, what do you really think about her?”

  “What does it matter?” Mase replied.

  “I don’t know. Since last year, you know, when you lost Amy, well, you haven’t even had a date.”

  Mase grunted. “You don’t know that.”

  “Sure I do. And all I’m getting at is that it’s not going to hurt you to let loose a little. You said she was pretty.”

  “I said she was a scrawny-cowgirl type with an interesting face,” Mase countered.

  “Yeah, well, is she pretty?”

  “I suppose she is,” Mase allowed.

  “So, the weekend could be fun.”

  “I’ve got other things on my mind,” Mase quickly reminded his partner.

  “The trial.”

  “Yeah, the trial. And I can’t be dinging around the Wyoming hills with some cowgirl and concentrating on the trial at the same time.”

  “The FBI got any word on the Hitman yet?”

  Mase frowned. “Not a damn thing.”

  “They’ll nab him eventually.”

  “Yeah,” Mase said, leaving out the real thought running like a broken record through his brain. They’d nab Berry, all right, but it might be too late. Suddenly the bean-and-beef burrito felt like lead in his gut.

  They stopped back at headquarters and filed their first reports on the crime scene. Paperwork and more paperwork. Then they reviewed two other open-file cases they were assigned to and revisited one of the crime scenes out in the suburb of Englewood. After that it was across town to yet another murder scene at a drive-through liquor store. By the time they finished it was past five. Mase used his cell phone t
o check on Joey and to let his folks know he’d be late picking up his boy.

  “Don’t you worry,” Brenda told him. “Joey’s fine. He and your dad are out back playing catch.”

  “Was Joey okay today?” Mase asked.

  There was a pause, then his mother said, “He was awfully quiet most of the day.”

  Mase could hear it in her voice, the concern, even the pity. He just couldn’t take it. His own mother. Pitying him, pitying Joey. He felt as if his life were spinning out of control.

  In the car, on the way back to headquarters, Luke told him he thought it was time Mase had a break. “Man, go to Wyoming. Relax. I can’t stand to see you so bummed out.”

  Mase shut his eyes for a moment. “I do need a break, Luke, you’re right. And a lot of it is this work.”

  “Homicide?”

  “Yeah,” Mase said, “I think I’m heading for burnout. It’s not just losing Amy, and it isn’t having to care for my boy all by myself now. Hell, my folks have him a lot. It really is the job. I’m sick of it and my head’s all messed up. Even the captain recognizes it.”

  “So what are you going to do?” Luke asked.

  “Damned if I know” was all Mase could say.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CALLIE WALKED ACROSS the dew-touched grass Friday morning to collect the horses she needed, four halters over her shoulder, carrots in hand, muttering to herself the whole time so that even the horses looked askance at her.

  “Oh, brother,” she said as she haltered Milky Way, “how’d I get myself into this?”

  She was a jumble of nerves. Mase and Joey were due at the ranch in—she checked her watch—in ten, twelve hours. Less? “Oh, man.”

  She offered a carrot to Einstein and haltered him, then told him all about it. “He’s a tough cop, and he doesn’t give two hoots about me. He doesn’t even care about Joey needing help.”