by Brenda Novak
Still, there wasn’t much point in leaving him standing outside, banging on the door. He’d be able to get hold of her later, if not now. Why procrastinate?
Dragging herself out of bed, she pulled on a pair of cutoffs and one of the T-shirts she generally wore around the house and answered the door.
Sophia’s tattoo sleeve took Rod by surprise. When he’d known her, she’d been a cheerleader, a good student. Such a classic symbol of rebellion seemed incongruous with all that. But, as he’d discovered, she’d changed quite a bit after he left Bordertown….
“That’s a lot of ink,” he said dryly.
She glanced down. “A remnant of my Starkey days.”
“Ever thought of having it removed?”
“You don’t like it?”
“I’m not sure yet,” he admitted. But he liked the rest of what he saw—the braless chest, the shapely legs. She was far more appealing out of uniform. Which did nothing to bolster the decision he’d made after she’d gone home last night. He wasn’t going to let himself get physically involved with her. As much as he was tempted to coax her to submit, as much as he believed that would bring him the closure he’d craved for years, he knew a “love ’em and leave ’em” experience wouldn’t be best for her. She’d been through enough.
“Then I’m glad I don’t care,” she said. “What’s up?”
He ignored her tart response about the tattoo. He’d asked for it, after all. “I just spoke to Milt.”
“Who’s Milt?”
“My boss.”
She shoved her sleep-tousled hair out of those bottle-green eyes. “Is he planning to have the governor call me?”
“I told him it wasn’t necessary. He was pleased to learn that you like me now.”
Her eyes met his. “Who said I like you?”
He smiled. “I can tell.”
“How?”
“You don’t have your Taser out anymore, for one. I figure that’s a step in the right direction.”
“Why bother with a Taser? Even electrocution won’t get rid of you.”
He lowered his voice. “And then there was that kiss.”
“A peck.”
“You melted like butter. That had to mean something.”
She grimaced. “It means I’m hard up, remember? You were the one who pointed that out last night.”
“I didn’t say you were hard up. I said you don’t have a lot of discreet options.”
“And you offered me a one-night stand.”
“An offer that has since been rescinded, by the way. You missed your opportunity.”
She folded her arms beneath her breasts and, although it wasn’t intentional, the action drew his attention to the cleavage showing above the top of her wide-necked T-shirt. “You’re saying you don’t want me anymore?”
Want had nothing to do with it. “Nope. Not now that I’ve seen you without makeup.”
She slugged him. “Thanks for the ego boost!”
“About time I returned the favor,” he said as he laughed. “After all, you’re the girl who destroyed my ego fifteen years ago.”
He’d meant that last part as a joke, but she sobered immediately.
“I’m sorry about that, Rod. At fifteen, I was nothing but a…a spoiled brat. I can’t tell you how bad I’ve felt about that incident ever since. When Starkey told me you were back in town, I was hoping I wouldn’t even have to see you, I was still so embarrassed.”
He hadn’t expected such an honest and heartfelt apology. It made the grudge he’d been carrying seem childish. But he wasn’t noble enough to completely relinquish the power her contrition gave him—not without having some fun with it first. “So what are you going to do to make it up to me?”
“What do you want?” She sounded suspicious, but she was smiling.
He stepped inside, crowding her.
She moved back to make room for him. “I’d like to see if you have any more tattoos.”
“I don’t.”
The door closed with a click. “Prove it.”
Her throat worked as she swallowed. “How?”
“Lose the shirt.”
“Here? Now?”
“Quit stalling. You’ve already seen everything I’ve got. Now you owe me.”
“I thought we were even.”
“Not by a long shot.”
She took another step back. “I let you out of jail last night.”
“You shouldn’t have arrested me in the first place.”
“That’s not strictly true.”
“Excuses. What, are you too chicken to give as good as you got?”
Her chest rose as she drew in a deep breath. “Still getting up my nerve.”
She was going to do it? “Should I help?”
“Absolutely not.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Then why don’t you start?”
Slowly, she began to bare her midriff.
“That’s it,” he murmured as more and more of her came into view. He spotted a pretty little beauty mark below her rib cage, noticed how smooth and creamy her skin looked. But once she exposed her breasts, all his blood headed to his groin, and he could hardly breathe, let alone think.
When he didn’t react, confusion and uncertainty entered her eyes. She assumed his silence meant he didn’t like what he saw and was lowering her shirt.
He needed to say something. But he was too busy wrestling with himself. Part of him wanted to seduce her, to slip his hand up under that shirt and cup her breast. He was pretty sure she’d let him. She was lonely, hungry for physical fulfillment, as vulnerable as he’d been fourteen years ago. The tables had turned just as he’d always dreamed. But he couldn’t allow himself to take advantage of her. He refused to be that selfish, that callous.
Swallowing hard, he lifted his shoulders in a shrug of indifference. “Not bad.”
Such a bland response was almost a slap in the face, but it worked. His lack of appreciation stung her enough to make her defensive, unwilling to trust him again.
She crossed her arms over her chest, even though her shirt was back in place. “Well, whether you enjoyed the show or not, I did what you asked. So…you forgive me, right?”
“For what?” He was so busy battling the effects of the testosterone flooding his body that he couldn’t even remember what they’d been talking about.
“Standing you up for Homecoming.”
“Of course. You made the right decision. Whoever you chose over me probably took you out for steak and lobster. I barely had enough money for pizza.”
He’d just been referring to the practical benefits of going out with someone who had more money than he’d had at the time, trying to divorce feeling from action so they could forget what had happened and move on. But his words only made the strain between them worse.
“That wasn’t why I did it,” she said softly.
Suddenly angry at himself for using her apology as leverage to get her to flash him, he scowled. “Yeah, well, forget it. I was joking earlier. You were never that important to me.”
She blinked several times. “You can be an insensitive jerk, you know that?”
But an insensitive jerk was better than what he’d be if he carried her into the bedroom and convinced her to give him what she wouldn’t give anyone else. “Better you learn that now.”
“Or?”
“Or it might be a harder lesson later.”
Her laugh was more of a scoff. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
Those words offered a fresh challenge, a new temptation, but he didn’t let himself react the way he wished he could. “Milt called to tell me the FBI has formed the task force you’ve been waiting for and they’re going to jump all over this UDA case,” he said, turning the conversation to business, where it should’ve been from the beginning.
She avoided his gaze but made an effort to speak more stridently than she had a moment earlier. “Took them long enough.”
“They had to replace two senior agents. T
hey won’t say why, but they made some transfers and are now ready to come on board. The special agent in charge wants to meet us in an hour.”
“Us?”
He knew she must want to be rid of him now more than ever. He’d coaxed her to let go, to be daring, and then he’d made her regret it. But once she’d actually lifted her shirt, he didn’t see that he’d had any other alternative. “Us,” he repeated. “They called you to set it up, even though I’m the chief of police.”
Thanks to him, she was having a very bad afternoon, and he knew it. “I told you I have friends in high places.” He was joking, but she didn’t crack a smile, and he wasn’t feeling very happy, either.
He waved at her general dishevelment. “Why don’t you jump in the shower while I make breakfast?”
She shook her head. “There’s no need for you to wait here while I get ready. I’ll meet you. Where do I go?”
He’d been hoping to make up for what he’d just done. He liked to cook, liked taking care of people. But she wasn’t about to let him. She was slipping back into tough-cop mode.
“The meeting’s at the Sierra Vista Resident Agency,” he said. “There’s no point in both of us driving that far.”
“Except that I have a lot of errands to run on my way home.”
“You’ve got to eat.”
“I can manage on my own.”
It wasn’t going to be easy to work with her. They couldn’t seem to find any middle ground. They were either too busy hating each other or wanting to make love.
Figuring it might help to give her more space, he nodded. “Fine. I’ll see you in an hour.”
She waited politely until he went out. She even waved as if he hadn’t embarrassed her. Then she closed the door and when he heard the dead bolt slide home behind him, he understood she was barring him from more than the house.
Damn, she was an idiot. What had she been thinking?
Sophia slid down the wall to the hardwood floor. She’d just flashed Roderick Guerrero, and he’d looked at her as if he wasn’t the least bit interested or impressed. She couldn’t imagine anything more humiliating, couldn’t imagine feeling more self-conscious than she had in those few seconds when he went silent and still. She usually avoided situations that made her emotionally vulnerable. So why had she taken such a risk? What had she hoped to achieve?
Forgiveness. She’d been sincere about that. And, regardless of the fact that she’d had the law on her side, she regretted bursting into his motel room without even allowing him time to dress.
But still… She’d been crazy to set herself up for his revenge. He’d exacted it so quickly and easily, with a mere look. Or maybe it was the lack of a look. His face had gone completely blank.
Obviously, she wasn’t her usual self. Not only was she fighting a deep-seated fear that she wouldn’t be able to solve the UDA case, she was terrified that there’d be other victims. She didn’t want to feel responsible for their deaths. Roderick was handsome and exciting and he’d created a distraction from the endless worry and doubt. Then there was the drive to prove herself desirable enough to appeal to a man like that. Dick’s behavior—cheating on her with a seventeen-year-old girl—must’ve taken more of a toll on her self-esteem than she’d realized.
So she’d made a mistake. It wasn’t catastrophic. She’d pretend it had never happened and go on. Roderick had wanted to get even, and she’d let him. Done. Over. She had too much going on to worry about the fact that he hadn’t been the slightest bit tempted by what he’d seen. He lived in Southern California, for crying out loud. Hard for natural breasts to compete with all the surgery-enhanced beach bodies in L.A.
Determined to get moving, she scrambled to her feet and called Lindstrom to tell her about the meeting. Then she headed for the shower. But the phone rang before she could turn on the water, and caller ID showed her a number she couldn’t resist. It was a number she’d called again and again and again—the one she’d found in José’s sock.
14
“Hello?”
The man on the other end of the line had the same strong accent Sophia had heard on his voice-mail recording. “You left me a message?”
“Yes. My name is Sophia St. Claire. I’m the chief of police here in Bordertown, Arizona. Who are you?”
“I’d rather not say.”
He didn’t have papers. He was afraid she’d turn him in and he’d be deported. She was astonished he’d even called.
“You were trying to contact me about José Sanchez,” he said.
“Yes.”
“What about him? Has he done anything wrong?”
This man hadn’t heard about the shootings. Which meant he hadn’t been in recent contact with José’s or Benita’s families. Surely the Mexican consulate had notified them by now. “I’m afraid I have some very bad news.”
“They’re dead?”
“Yes.”
“That’s why I haven’t heard from him.” The fatalistic note in his voice said he’d expected something terrible like this. “How did it happen? Did they get lost? Run out of water?”
“They were shot and killed early Sunday morning.”
“By the border patrol?”
“No. It was a random act of violence. We’re still looking for the perpetrator.”
“I promised him it would be okay,” he muttered, almost to himself.
“You encouraged him to cross?” she asked.
“He was already set on it. He wanted to bring his wife here. I told him I’d help him get a start.”
“So he was planning on meeting up with you?”
“He and his wife were going to live with me until he could get a job and they could move out on their own.”
She eyed the clock. The minutes were ticking by, but she couldn’t risk asking if she could call this man back for fear he’d change his mind about talking to her. “Can you tell me anything that might help me track down the people they met along the way?”
“I recommended a good coyote. And I told them about a safe house in Bordertown.”
She’d found their coyote, so she focused on the other part of that statement. “I’d like to talk to the people who run that safe house. Can you tell me how to find it?”
“No. I don’t dare.”
“I have no interest in shutting it down.” That wasn’t her job. “I can’t promise it won’t happen, but I only want to find José and Benita’s killer. I need your help in order to do that. I’m guessing you’re a friend or a relative of some sort, right? So you want to see justice done. The person who killed your friends has killed before—ten other Mexican nationals. We have to stop him before he acts again.”
“Pero…I could get in trouble if I say too much. There are people who will be angry if I give out this information.”
“You’re talking about the owners of the safe house?”
“Sí. I think it might be the Mexican Mafia. That’s what they act like. Anyway, whoever owns it won’t be happy that you know about it.”
She got the impression he’d done some work for the Mafia, maybe as a mule for drugs. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have assumed they were affiliated with the safe house. “I’ll say I found the address on José’s body. They can’t do anything to him now.”
He blew out a sigh. “You’re asking me to be disloyal, to help the policía.”
“I’m not your adversary. I’m trying to solve José’s and Benita’s murders.”
Nothing.
“Do it for José,” she prodded.
Finally he responded. “It’s at Wildflower and Dugan Drive—2944 Dugan Drive.”
“Thank you. Thank you for doing the right thing.”
“I hope you find the person who killed them. And I hope he goes to prison for the rest of his life.” A click sounded in her ear and he was gone.
First, Lindstrom. Now the Feds. Until the UDA shootings, Sophia had never joined forces with another police entity. This was only her second murder investigation. The first one ha
d involved a jealous husband and a cheating wife. The evidence had been overwhelming and the husband had been apprehended shortly after leaving the scene.
Unfortunately, this case wasn’t as easy. It was going nowhere fast and becoming a political hot potato. On her way out of town, Sophia had spotted two different news vans, one at Bailey’s Breakfast Dive and the other at the hardware store. Although she hadn’t turned on her television set in more than a week, she was guessing that the national media had picked up on what had been reported in the local papers. They’d broken the story on a much bigger scale and were now swooping in to monitor developments. From here on out, they’d be attempting to scoop each other, and she’d be hounded constantly for more detail and commentary. Unlike some of the bigger police departments, she had no media-relations personnel. The buck stopped with her in every respect. And she felt the weight of it from the minute she arrived at the meeting and was introduced to the FBI agents.
“Chief St. Claire?”
Sophia blinked and refocused on Special Agent Charles Van Dormer, who sat across a large oak desk from her, Roderick, Lindstrom, Sean Carver and Glen Billerbeck, the other two FBI agents assigned to the task force. She’d already briefed them on everything she knew about the murders. Everything except the information she’d just received on the safe house. She wasn’t quite sure she wanted to share that in mixed company, so to speak. Her desire to trust the FBI warred with her distrust of Lindstrom, who was also part of the conversation. “Yes?”
“When you submitted the cigarette butt found at the last scene, did the state crime lab give you any indication of how long it would take to process?”
She shot a glance at Rod. When she’d entered the room, she’d purposely taken the seat farthest from him. Still, he’d been kind enough not to reveal that he’d found the butt after she’d finished processing the scene. She hadn’t lied about its discovery; she’d merely presented the information in a general way, talked about what was found instead of how and when. And he hadn’t added any further detail.
