by Brenda Novak
There was only one small problem. While she was getting gas, she’d run into Stuart Dunlap, who’d been in the foulest mood she’d ever seen. He was complaining that his father had coaxed Rod (“the dirty bastard”) back to Bordertown for no good reason except that he’d been obsessed with him ever since Rod had become a Navy SEAL.
Stuart’s jealousy didn’t matter to Sophia. She didn’t like Stu all that much, and she didn’t feel sorry for him, either. He’d been handed just about everything and seemed to expect the gravy train to go on forever. But learning that Rod had once been a SEAL was definitely a concern. Was she crazy for standing up to him?
Maybe. But she didn’t really have a choice. As the chief of police, she was in charge of an important investigation, and she couldn’t lose control of it. Rod had taken something from the crime scene, essentially breaking the law, and he’d disarmed her and resisted arrest.
It was after midnight as she entered the parking lot of the Mother Lode Motel and paused in front of the small office. A vacancy sign glowed in the window, but the lights were off and the front desk was empty. Bordertown didn’t have that many visitors, especially in the height of summer. Leland Jennings lived with his widowed mother. They went to bed every night around ten and came out of their small apartment only if someone rang the buzzer. Sophia knew because she often cruised by to make sure Hillary Hawthorne, a wayward teenager with an insatiable craving for sex, wasn’t turning tricks here again.
Glad she wouldn’t have a witness after what he’d done to her in front of Debbie Berke this morning—she drove through the empty lot and parked a few spaces from Rod’s Hummer. Then she got her Taser gun and her battering ram and climbed out of the cruiser. She had to have some way to enforce her demands. She knew he wasn’t going to simply give her what he’d found unless he had to, just as she knew she’d never shoot him, so there was no point in drawing a gun. A Taser was the only thing that might provide the force she needed without doing permanent damage.
She’d used it before—once to break up a fight and once to take down a guy who was so high on PCP he was a danger to everyone around him. She was very aware that for a man of Rod’s age and in his physical condition, she’d be lucky if the effects lasted ten seconds.
But she was as ready as she’d ever be. Except for a racing heart and an abundance of nerves.
Calm down. You can do this. It’s textbook police work.
The battering ram was heavy, but she’d used it before and knew she could do it. The door would break and the city would have to pay to fix it, but she wasn’t about to announce her presence by knocking on the door. He’d refuse to open it. Then she’d be trying to get in while he was up and fully alert.
She’d have a much better chance of a successful arrest if she could confront him without that door between them….
Adjusting her bulletproof vest to make it as comfortable as possible, she situated herself outside the door, where she stood for several seconds, listening for movement. There wasn’t a single sound. Even the TV was off. He had to be sleeping.
This was it. Taking a deep breath, she studied the lock. She had to hit it directly and with as much power as possible. If it didn’t pop open on the first blow—
She didn’t want to think about what might happen then.
Willing herself to remain calm and strong, she began to count. One…two…three… Then, putting everything she had into it, she swung the battering ram, using her body weight to lend it more power.
“Police! Open up!” she shouted, but her words were drowned out by splintering wood as the door crashed against the inside wall.
She was in. She almost couldn’t believe it. Dropping the ram, she fumbled for her Taser gun and managed to aim it in the direction of the bed, where the lights from the parking lot revealed a surprised and disheveled Rod, pushing himself into a sitting position.
“Freeze! I’m here to collect the evidence you took from my crime scene. Provide it and I’ll forget what you did this morning. But if you don’t…”
He didn’t give her time to finish. Lunging for her, he grabbed her left hand, trying to get to the Taser in her right.
Before he could disarm her as he had earlier, she used a move she’d once learned in a self-defense class and succeeded in breaking his hold—but only because he wasn’t completely awake and the tangle of sheets around his lower half hampered his movements. He kicked free of the bedding so he could come at her a second time, but the slight delay enabled her to regain her balance and her determination.
If he wouldn’t cooperate, she had no choice but to insist. As he leaped out of bed, she pressed the button on her Taser.
The two probes shot out. They didn’t need to come into direct contact with his skin. They merely had to land within a few inches for the electrical current to arc over. But, from his grunt, she was pretty sure she’d actually hit him.
The Taser affected only the muscles between the two probes. Rod jerked as he should have but seemed intent on fighting through the shock. She must not have hit him very effectively. And no doubt he knew that if he could get hold of her it would all be over.
She had to shock him again. But she didn’t have the seconds she needed to reload. Pressing the handheld portion of the gun to whatever part of him she could reach, which turned out to be his stomach since he was on his knees, she used the Taser like a stun gun.
The second jolt stopped him cold. Although she couldn’t see him clearly in the dark, she could tell he was in pain. He fell as he was getting off the bed and writhed on the floor at her feet.
“Hold still or I’ll shock you again!”
He stopped moving, but the fury that rolled off him in waves terrified her. She was tempted to hit him with a third jolt, just to make sure he wouldn’t recover quickly enough to harm her when she cuffed him. She didn’t really know him, after all. But she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Seeing the results of what she’d already done made her cringe.
He asked for this, she reminded herself. She’d given him the chance to comply, provided a peaceful option.
But that didn’t make her feel any better.
Hurrying to finish before he could move, she put the Taser on the dresser, pushed him onto his stomach and secured his hands behind his back.
Once the cuffs snapped into place, she was shaking but breathing a lot easier. Now she just needed to get him into her car. The prospect of jail time would convince him to hand over that evidence; she felt sure of it. But she wasn’t sure how to go about getting him to the station. She couldn’t pull him to his feet. He’d curled up and was too heavy. The motel was empty enough so the noise hadn’t drawn anyone’s attention. But that meant she couldn’t ask anyone for assistance. And he hadn’t yet regained control of his body.
“You gonna make it?” She tried to sound tough, but inside she was nervous. Tasers were a useful tool, one that helped her avoid lethal enforcement. She’d even been hit with a Taser when she was in training and knew they rarely caused lasting damage. But the publicity surrounding the cases that did go awry certainly came to mind….
When he didn’t answer, she bent close to see for herself and got a razor-sharp glare for her efforts. He was okay. She just needed to get him to the station and behind bars before she lost her nerve.
Using the threat of her Taser to make him move, she waved him to his feet. And that was when she realized she had another problem, one so apparent now that she couldn’t believe she’d missed it before—despite the darkness and the adrenaline rush.
She’d expected to see a lot of bare skin. Most people didn’t sleep fully clothed. But Rod wasn’t even wearing boxers.
10
Sophia had to get him dressed, and she had to start with underwear. But she needed to find a pair, and that meant turning on the light and going through his luggage.
Roderick’s jeans, shorts and T-shirts were neatly folded in a leather duffel bag sitting on the suitcase stand, his tennis shoes and suede flip-flops
positioned directly beneath. A laptop sat on the nightstand, as if he’d set it aside just before bed.
As she sorted through his clothing, she could smell his fabric softener. If he washed his own clothes, and he probably did, he seemed to do a good job. But Roderick seemed to do a good job at everything. It was his military training, she supposed.
Had she been too impetuous when she rejected his offer of help? If so, it was too late to second-guess herself. She didn’t need him. The FBI would be getting involved soon.
“Do you have a preference on what you’d like to wear to jail?” she asked.
He didn’t answer. He was standing, but from the muscle that jumped in his cheek, he was angry enough to spit. And he didn’t make any attempt to hide his nudity. There wasn’t much he could do—not with his hands cuffed behind his back—but he hardly seemed self-conscious about it. Maybe he was taking some sort of perverse pleasure in knowing she was discomfited by finding him this way.
It’d been a long time since Sophia had seen a body like his. Actually, she’d never seen one quite so toned. Starkey hadn’t been flabby, but his build was bulkier, much less sculpted. His skin wasn’t as nice, either. Rod had the smoothest, softest-looking skin she’d ever seen on a man and only one tattoo—a rose with a ribbon that read In Loving Memory on his chest. In an attempt to avoid staring at a certain asset, she focused on his tattoo.
“Fine, if you don’t have a preference, I’ll pick,” she said. “I think you’d look nice in red.” She selected a T-shirt and the khaki shorts he’d had on earlier. Then she dug deeper, for underclothes. His boxers were in the bottom of the bag.
She pulled out a pair that had a pattern of four-leaf clovers and managed a smile. “Look. Lucky underwear.”
Resentment simmered in his eyes, making her hesitant to move close enough to dress him.
“You’re going to cooperate with me while I help you get these on, aren’t you?” she asked. “Because I don’t want to have to shock you again.”
That was true. She hadn’t wanted to shock him the first time. If only he’d agreed to turn over the evidence, this would’ve gone down very differently.
Again, he didn’t respond, but his expression wasn’t promising docile cooperation.
“Are you unable to speak?”
He finally broke his silence. “I’m afraid of what might come out of my mouth.”
Apparently, all his faculties had returned. “I don’t think it’s fair to hold a grudge over this,” she said. “I gave you a choice. And I’m just doing my job.”
“Excuse me? Finding the man who’s been killing people in the desert would be doing your job. This is a waste of time and effort. This is about assuaging your wounded pride!”
“You took something from the crime scene.”
“Which I’m having analyzed in hopes of creating a DNA profile.”
So it wasn’t a rock…
“I was going to share the results with you,” he added.
“And I was supposed to take that on faith?”
“But now that you’ve shot me with that damn thing,” he went on, as if she hadn’t spoken, “you can kiss my ass.”
To give him what privacy she could, she kept her eyes averted. “I don’t think you want to take that attitude.”
“Or what? You’ll shoot me with your Glock next time?”
“Maybe.”
He shook his head. “You’re nuts.”
Her actions had seemed rational enough before she’d busted into his room. Why was she suddenly wishing she hadn’t?
His nudity was part of it. Having his “equipment” staring her in the face made this so uncomfortable—far worse than a run-of-the-mill arrest.
Leave it to someone like Roderick to sleep nude. Everything about him was edgier, riskier, wilder.
“What did you take from my crime scene?” she demanded.
“A cigarette butt, okay? I took a cigarette butt, hoping there might be some of the killer’s DNA.”
She’d missed that? How? After she’d hung up with the mayor and Lindstrom, she’d done a grid search. But she’d been upset, overwhelmed and distracted by the mayor’s call. She’d also been working fast, hoping to finish before Lindstrom arrived. She’d felt lucky to have the shell casings and hadn’t expected to find anything else. In the past, the killer had been too smart to leave that kind of evidence behind.
Were the long hours and the pressure starting to get to her? She was afraid they were….
It became harder and harder not to look south. The more Sophia told herself not to, the more that particular part of Rod’s anatomy acted like a high-powered magnet. “You shouldn’t have interfered,” she said.
“I told you I was here to help you. That’s not interfering!”
She couldn’t stop herself; she glanced down. She quickly brought her gaze back up, but she’d seen enough to make her blush. “And I told you I didn’t want your help. That’s my decision to make. A civilian can’t just insert himself into a police investigation. I was in the right.”
“We’ll see.”
“Fine. We’ll see.” Shoving aside the exhaustion that threatened, and the disappointment and frustration she felt at missing evidence as important as a cigarette butt, she picked up the Taser and took a step toward him, carrying his underwear. She had to get him dressed before he noticed the extent of her distraction.
He didn’t move as she approached, didn’t flinch, but the way he ground out his next words told her he was clenching his jaw. “You shoot me with that thing again and I swear—”
“You do anything, anything at all to endanger me, and I will shoot you again,” she cut in. “Do you understand?”
He snapped his teeth at her, which scared her. But she was so reluctant to shoot him that she merely jumped back and didn’t fire.
“A little spooked?” he taunted.
“I don’t know what you’re capable of.”
“That’s right. And you’d better hope you never learn.”
She lifted the Taser, threatening him.
“Do it.”
“Do you really want this to go down the hard way?” she asked, angry herself now. “You asked for this when you took my gun, ignored my commands, refused to do the lawful thing. So if you really want more, I’ll accommodate you.”
He glared at her.
“Which is it?”
“Just get me dressed.” He suddenly sounded bored. “I’m not going to touch you. Now that I know you need to be relieved of duty, I’ll let the higher-ups take care of the problem.” He thought she was the problem? “You believe you can get me fired?”
“I plan to make it my life’s mission.”
“Then you’ll have to get in line.” She held his underwear so he could step into them, but it was difficult to appear dignified when pulling them up meant stretching the elastic waist over certain parts.
“For the record, I never dreamed you’d be naked,” she mumbled.
“For the record, I consider this assault.”
“You broke the law. Now it’s my job to arrest you.”
“I don’t give a shit about your job.”
His anger was chilling. She felt as if she had the Tasmanian Devil of cartoon fame in handcuffs—or some other dangerous and unpredictable creature it was safer to avoid.
“If you play by the rules, we’ll get through this just fine.” Sophia helped him into his shorts and tossed his flip-flops at his feet. She wasn’t about to uncuff him long enough to let him don his shirt. She figured she’d bring it with her and give it to him once he was behind bars.
“After you,” she said with exaggerated courtesy, and waved toward the door.
The jail consisted of two cells at the back of the police station. Sophia generally used them for drunken and disorderly lockups. Rarely did she have to worry about incarcerating a serious criminal. The border patrol took care of any illegal aliens causing problems, ATF and the DEA handled a large percentage of the drug- and gun-tra
fficking infractions and the county dealt with the rest. Until the murders, which fell inside city limits, her job was mostly about keeping the peace.
Fortunately, she’d had Officer Joe Fitzer scrub down the cells because one Roger Pasley had vomited there on Saturday night. She couldn’t imagine how someone as meticulous about his laundry as Rod would’ve reacted to the stench. He didn’t seem too happy as it was, especially when the door clanged shut behind him.
“You have one call. Would you like to use it?” she asked as she removed his handcuffs and handed him the red shirt through the bars.
He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Who do you think I’d be able to reach at this hour?”
“I guess it can wait till morning, then.” Planning to work in her office for an hour before heading out on patrol, so she’d have some time to collect herself, she started toward the front. She hadn’t made it to the door when Rod spoke behind her.
“Leonard Taylor has your picture in his bedroom with the words Die, Bitch! written across your face. Did you know that?”
She didn’t. She’d been out to Leonard’s place, had tried to talk to him about the murders, but he’d ordered her off his property. And because she didn’t have a search warrant and couldn’t get one without physical evidence linking him to the crime, she’d had no choice but to respect his wishes. She’d been hoping to come up with the necessary evidence ever since—was still hopeful, especially now that she’d found those shell casings—but the judge who issued search warrants was Leonard’s uncle, so she needed a compelling reason.
