Body Heat

by Brenda Novak

  “If that coach is losing, it might serve him well to listen to that spectator.”

  The woman behind her snickered, but Sophia didn’t even glance at her. “What if I don’t want your help?”

  Rod couldn’t believe this was the girl he’d once admired. A cop was the last thing he’d expected her to become. He’d thought she’d grow up to be another Edna—a wife and stay-at-home mom who doted on her children, played bridge, went shopping and contributed to charity events. But here she was, wearing the typical police uniform—blue shirt and pants, heavy utility belt, gun, badge and shiny black shoes. There was some grit beneath Sophia’s beauty that hadn’t been there before. But he didn’t like this version any better. Not after what she’d done.

  “The color of my skin might allow me more freedom of movement among certain people. I speak Spanish. I know this area. And I’m offering you my time and expertise. Why would you say no?”

  “You mean besides the fact that you’re not here in any kind of official capacity? The FBI is putting together a task force. I won’t need you.”

  “What would it hurt to take all the help you can get?”

  “I don’t want you in my way, and I don’t see how you can avoid it with an ego the size of yours.”

  He removed his sunglasses. “I can have myself assigned if you insist on being—” he wanted to say “a bitch” but choked it back “—difficult.” Milt was an asshole on most counts, but his contacts and money—and the reputation of Department 6—could open doors. Rod had little doubt that someone with sufficient power would see his involvement as a good thing, especially if he was offering his services for free.

  “By whom?” she scoffed.

  “The governor, if necessary.”

  “Oh, yeah? Then I’ll wait for his call,” she said and motioned for the woman she was with to precede her into the trailer.

  8

  “Are you sure you don’t want Mr. Guerrero’s help?” Debbie asked as the door banged shut behind them.

  “Positive,” Sophia replied. “With the size of the chip on his shoulder, it’ll be a miracle if he can stay out of his own way. This investigation is difficult enough as it is.” She was thinking of Lindstrom and the possibility of Leonard Taylor’s involvement. Having grown up in the area, Leonard had friends and family everywhere. Even the judge to whom she had to appeal for various warrants was related to him. As far as she was concerned, she was already surrounded by people she couldn’t trust.

  Debbie frowned. “I don’t know. He seemed pretty confident. And if it could save lives…”

  “I don’t need him.” Sophia wasn’t going to cooperate with a man as arrogant as Roderick Guerrero. The FBI would be getting involved any day. He couldn’t offer more than they could.

  “You said something about knowing him.” Debbie knelt on the couch to peek through the curtains, which she tended to keep closed against the hot sun. “But I’ve never seen him around.”

  “We went to school together. Until his mother died. Then he dropped out. He’s Bruce Dunlap’s bastard.” It wasn’t the kindest way to explain Rod’s situation, but Sophia was still fuming over his “now that I’m here, everything will be okay” attitude.

  “Of course! Edna nearly has a coronary whenever anyone mentions him.”

  Sophia didn’t comment. Had he really threatened to go over her head?

  “You’d think I would’ve remembered him,” Debbie continued, still gazing out the window. “You don’t run into a man who looks like that very often.”

  “He wasn’t a man when he left. He was a sixteen-year-old boy.” And he hadn’t always looked as good as he did to day. He’d been skinny in high school, with hands and feet too large for his body and a sullen expression that was as effective as a Do-Not-Approach sign. The fact that he was usually in need of a haircut and a change of clothes gave him a wild air that was just a little frightening. Coming upon him had been like encountering a lone wolf in the desert. Mangy, battle-worn, distrusting. Those were the three words Sophia would’ve used to describe him.

  But this Roderick was completely different. For one thing, he’d finally grown into his hands and feet. At least six feet three inches tall, he had to weigh two hundred and twenty pounds. No longer resembling a mangy wolf or mangy anything, he had a soldier’s powerful body. His hair, as black as ever, was cut short enough to suggest he’d been in the military. With beautiful coppery skin and teeth that were white and straight, he’d improved physically in every area except one—the wariness that used to lurk in his eyes had been replaced with contempt.

  Debbie shifted positions. “He’s not leaving.”

  “I don’t care, as long as he doesn’t cross my tape.”

  “He hasn’t yet. But…” Debbie glanced back at her. “What would you do if he did?”

  “I’d arrest him for interfering with my investigation!”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  She opened the drapes a little wider. “Then you might want to check this out.”

  Sophia joined her on the couch, where they both watched Roderick duck under the tape, walk around and then suddenly kneel on the ground several feet from where the bodies had fallen.

  “No freaking way!” she cried, and marched to the door.

  Roderick knew Sophia was coming but he didn’t look up. He’d uncovered something with his foot that might be important. Carefully slipping it into one of the side pockets of his khaki shorts, he turned just as she came close enough to speak.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she yelled.

  “Nothing.” After stooping to clear the tape, he strode past her on his way to the Hummer.

  “Don’t you dare walk away from me!” She came charging after him. “You’re under arrest!”

  He ignored her.

  “If you don’t stop, I’ll draw my weapon.”

  “I wouldn’t, if I were you,” he said over his shoulder. “That might be a bit difficult to explain when the governor calls.”

  Thanks to a much shorter stride, she was forced to take two steps to his one. “No, it won’t. I’m well within my rights. You’re a civilian who’s interfering with a police investigation. You took something. I saw it. What is it?”

  His flip-flops made flapping noises as he walked. “Evidence you should’ve claimed yourself. You can explain that when the governor calls, too.”

  She spoke louder. “Whatever it is, you’d better turn it over to me.”

  “I’ll tell you what I learn from it. Maybe that’ll start us off in the right direction.”

  “Don’t bet on it. We won’t be heading in any direction because you’ll be in jail.”

  To let her know he wasn’t worried, he didn’t even bother to look back at her. “And who’s going to put me there?”

  “I am!”

  “Good luck with that.”

  It was this statement that seemed to infuriate her more than any other. “This is your last warning,” she said. “If you don’t hand over what you took, you’re going to need a very talented lawyer.”

  Reaching the Hummer, he opened the door. “Do yourself a favor and leave me alone, okay?”

  She’d drawn her gun as promised and was aiming it at him. “Freeze, or I’ll shoot.”

  Whirling, he wrenched the weapon from her grasp. The way her eyes flared in alarm told him he’d surprised her, but he didn’t return her firearm. He shoved it in the waistband of his shorts.

  “Next time you threaten a man, make sure he can’t disarm you,” he said. Then he got in his vehicle and drove away.

  Sophia had never been angrier or more embarrassed in her life. She hadn’t been afraid of Roderick Guerrero, so she hadn’t taken the proper precautions, and he’d made a fool of her.

  Debbie, standing halfway to the trailer, was trying not to laugh. “Did he just take your gun?”

  “Yes!” she snapped, and jumped into her cruiser. Flipping on the alarm and the siren, she peeled out of
the dirt drive and went barreling down the road.

  The Hummer was about a mile ahead of her, so she gave the cruiser more gas. She wanted to close the gap and apprehend him before they got to the edge of town. But she didn’t catch up to him until he’d stopped at the first of Bordertown’s three traffic lights.

  Even then, he didn’t pull over. As soon as the light changed, he drove on as if she wasn’t following him with her siren wailing and her flashers on. He actually led her through town twice by driving in a big circle.

  He was toying with her, which only infuriated her more.

  Finally she got out her blare horn and began shouting at him. “Pull over!” She repeated those words several times, but it didn’t make any difference. He wouldn’t cooperate.

  At last he seemed to grow bored with the game and drove to the Mother Lode Motel, where he parked and got out, acting as though he hadn’t spent the past thirty minutes evading capture. “You are so screwed!” she cried as she scrambled out of her car.

  He turned and sent her a smile, but she could tell there was no enjoyment in it. “Then I hope you screw better than you do everything else.”

  Using her open door as a shield, she grabbed her shotgun from the car. “Give me my Glock!”

  He removed his sunglasses and started toward her. “Don’t you dare,” she said, and this time he must’ve realized she was ready to blow a hole through him because he stopped.

  “Look, I’m setting your gun on the hood of my car. I suggest you put it in your holster and get back to the business of taking care of real criminals.”

  Returning the gun wasn’t enough of a concession. “Give me what you took from the crime scene, too.”

  “Sorry. Can’t do that. But if you’ll call me when you’re capable of being reasonable, we can talk about it,” he said, then walked inside.

  Sophia nearly squeezed the trigger. But as much as her temper egged her on, she couldn’t shoot a man for picking up something she’d missed at a crime scene. And for all she knew, he was bluffing and had a rock in his pocket.

  “You turned out to be such a…a jerk!” she yelled after him.

  The door remained shut. The curtains didn’t even move. He’d dismissed her and didn’t seem to care what she thought.

  Leland Jennings, the hotel manager, stepped out to see what all the fuss was about. “Everything okay, Chief?”

  Taking a deep breath, Sophia holstered her Glock and put away her rifle. “It’s fine.”

  Her clipped response brought another question. “Anything I can do?”

  “No, thanks,” she said, and climbed into her vehicle. As far as she was concerned, Roderick Guerrero had no authority in Bordertown, no right to insert himself into her case, and she wouldn’t let him get away with it. She couldn’t expect her detractors to respect her if she couldn’t maintain control of her own investigation.

  She’d wait until nightfall and approach him again. Hopefully by then he’d be willing to cooperate.

  And she’d be prepared in case he wasn’t.

  Roderick paced in front of the TV until Chief St. Claire left, then headed out again. He wanted to go to the post office so he could send the cigarette butt he’d found at the crime scene to the lab he worked with in San Diego. He wasn’t sure if that butt had belonged to the killer. It’d been buried in the dirt and had only been churned to the surface by his footsteps. It could’ve been tossed there by a neighbor several days ago. But other than the expense, which he was happy to cover, Rod couldn’t see how it would hurt to create a DNA profile. The profile wouldn’t have much significance right now. But if they could come up with a suspect, it might prove invaluable. And if it proved invaluable, Sophia would have him to thank for the link.

  Remembering her impotent rage, he grinned. It was probably the first time she’d ever been denied. At least by a man.

  He’d just climbed into the Hummer when a truck exactly like his father’s, except that it was red, pulled up behind him and boxed him in. It was one of his half brothers. With the glare of the sun, he couldn’t see the driver’s face well enough to tell which one. But exact identity was irrelevant; he hated them both equally.

  Refusing to act as if this affected him one way or the other, he turned on his engine while waiting to catch a glimpse of his visitor in the rearview mirror. He couldn’t imagine either of the Dunlap brothers trying to start trouble without the other’s support, but adrenaline pumped through him all the same, preparing him for a fight. It was a triggered response. Sometimes the Dunlaps had surprised him by striking out at the most unlikely moments.

  The truck door opened and the elder of the two brothers stepped out. Rod recognized Patrick easily, even though he’d changed quite a bit in the past fourteen years. His dark blond hair, which used to be long and a little curly, was trimmed above his ears and his clean-shaven face had grown fuller. To most women, he was probably still more handsome than not, but now he carried a spare tire around his middle.

  He’d gotten married and gone soft….

  Rod left his motor running to show that he didn’t plan on wasting much time on this but got out, too. He didn’t want to be stuck inside the vehicle if it came to a fight. Not that he was terribly worried that this would erupt into blows. He could take Pat, especially this Pat turned pudge-boy. Hell, without Stuart there, Rod wouldn’t even have to break a sweat.

  Looking a bit unsure of himself, Pat stopped about five feet away and cleared his throat. He had on a pair of leather work boots, as if he’d been out on the ranch, but his jeans were clean, and his golf shirt was more preppy than Western. “Dad mentioned you were in town.”

  That was it? That was his lead-in after everything he’d had to say when they were kids? The statement sounded so innocuous.

  Rod made his contempt plain. “So? I’ve got as much right to be here as you do.”

  “I’m not saying you don’t.”

  “Then what do you want?”

  “To tell you that…I’m glad you came.”

  Rod barked a laugh. “You’ve got to be kidding, right?”

  Pat hooked his thumbs in his leather belt. “Maybe you can stop what’s happening around here before it gets any worse.”

  “I’d say it’s already pretty bad for the Mexicans. But you wouldn’t care about that.”

  He lowered his voice. “Things change, Rod. People change.”

  “Not that much. So what’s the real story?” He glanced around the lot, checking the other cars as if he expected an ambush. “You waiting for your brother?”

  Pat kicked a small rock across the pavement. “No.”

  “I’ve got a cell phone, if you’d like to give him a call.” Rod held out his phone, but Pat didn’t accept it.

  “He already knows you’re in town.”

  “And he didn’t come to the party? Two on one—you always liked those odds before.”

  Sucking in his stomach, Patrick puffed out his chest, but there was no hiding that extra twenty pounds. “I didn’t come here to start a fight.”

  “Too bad,” Rod said, and part of him meant it—the part that was still looking for a way to vent the old anger.

  His half brother shoved his hands into his pockets and the gold wedding band on his left hand disappeared from view. “I made some mistakes. If you want to hear me say it, I will.”

  “I don’t want to hear you say it. I don’t want anything from you, not even an apology.”

  “Of course not. Your pride would never allow you to reveal weakness. I guess you’re the one who hasn’t changed. That’s just what you were like as a kid.”

  Here was a little of the old Pat. Feeling more comfortable with the familiar, Rod relaxed. “Is that how you sleep at night?” he asked. “By telling yourself I deserved those beatings?”

  Patrick’s voice turned slightly sulky. “No, but it didn’t help that you were always challenging us.”

  “By being alive?” he said with another laugh. “I’m the product, buddy, not the caus
e. Your father’s the one who was taking advantage of the migrants who worked for him.”

  “I think he cared about your mother.”

  “He had a damn fine way of showing it.”

  “What happened was as hard on him as anyone.”

  “Forgive me if I don’t get all misty-eyed over his pain. I don’t know how many times I’ll have to say this, but I don’t give a shit. I’m not here to see you, your father or your brother.” He motioned toward the truck. “Do you mind?”

  Tension filled Patrick’s face, evidence of some emotion. But whether it was embarrassment or regret or perhaps frustration Rod had no idea. “It’s not like I was offering you a damn olive branch.”

  “Great. Move your car.”

  “I had another reason for coming by.”

  “I’m waiting.”

  “I have information on the murders of those, er, Mexican nationals.”

  Rod leaned against the Hummer and crossed his feet. “Since when did you become so politically correct? Don’t you prefer the term wetbacks? I believe that’s what you used to call me. You even made up a song about the wetback bastard with brown eyes the size of saucers. Remember? It was a catchy tune. Made all your friends laugh.”

  Pat flinched. “Yeah, well—” he rubbed his neck “—I hope I’ve grown up a bit since then. My, um, wife’s half Mexican.”

  If he thought that would give them common ground, he was sadly mistaken. “And she’s living with you? God, she has my sympathies.”

  “She’s a good woman. Better than I deserve.”

  Carolina had been a good woman, too, yet they’d called her a spic and a whore and did everything they could to make her life miserable. One day she found that someone had gotten into her lunch box—most of the workers left their food in the shade while they worked—and replaced the meat in her sandwich with dog shit. No one came forward to take responsibility for that, but there’d never been any question in Rod’s mind that it had been one or both of his half brothers.

  “I’m happy for you.” He made the words a meaningless platitude by adding a careless shrug of his shoulder.