“What do you know about me, Sam? I mean, really, we worked together, we were partners, but you know nothing about my past or where I come from.” She chanced a glance at Sam, who shrugged. He really didn’t get it. Geez, were all guys this stupid?
“I know all I need to know about you. Your past and where you come from are your business.”
Okay, maybe he wasn’t stupid. He was just being a guy.
“Well, you might change your mind about me if you really knew some of the juicy details buried in my closet,” she said. Now she was being coy, and she realized she’d cracked open the can of worms she’d sealed long ago. What the hell was the matter with her? She knew better than to play that game, especially about her past.
Sam got up, slid open the door, and strode into Diane’s kitchen. She listened to him rummaging in the fridge and started to get up when he reappeared with two beers. He handed her one of the shiny cans, already cracked open, and then sat down and took a swig. His muscles flexed in his bare arms, and Diane flushed when she realized she was staring at his snug black t-shirt. She’d never thought of Sam in a romantic way—he was Marcie’s, and they had a baby. Diane was just being stupid because, on top of everything else, she was lonely.
“It’s ten in the morning, Sam, and you’re bringing me beer.” She took a long swallow.
“Just call it liquid courage. If you need it, I’ll get you something stronger.”
“You may be sorry for asking, you know?” She took another swallow. He was right, as she felt the light buzz in her head that started to numb her fears. She needed the courage only alcohol could give.
“Let me hear it, Diane. Nothing you can say would ever change my opinion of you. We all have a past,” Sam drawled.
Wow, he sure was saying all the right things. She watched him, seeing him in a different way than as the partner who’d always had her back. “I wasn’t born here,” she began. “My mother was a sister wife, a fifth wife. She was only fifteen when she had me. I had seventeen brothers and sisters, but I was an only child to my mother. As a child, I didn’t know there was another way to live, because the house where I lived, the community I lived in, was run by one man, and my father was under him. I thought…well, I don’t know what I thought. I was just a scared, stupid kid. You did what you were told, and women had no say in anything. You were told where to live, what to do, what to wear. For God’s sake, the kind of underwear all us girls and women wore was dictated by the man who headed the community. They called him the bishop.”
Diane drained her beer and then watched Sam closely. It was the first time she’d seen his face so full of emotion. She squeezed the empty can, and Sam handed her a second beer. “Young girls weren’t safe, and my father decided when they married and when they were sent away. I knew my mother understood what he expected, and the wives fulfilled the obligation willingly, but I fought it, and my mother got beaten for it.”
“Where was this?” Sam asked and then roughly cleared his throat.
“Just across the Idaho border, a little spot nestled in a remote area of Canada. Mountains surrounded it, all private land. The people there, they’re protected, mostly by some of the women who are part of it.”
Sam didn’t say a word. He had a way of giving her all his attention.
“Do you know much about polygamy, Sam?”
Again he cleared his throat. “No.”
“They follow the teachings of a prophet. Where I was, we were part of a sect from Arizona. There are only a handful of these breakaway communities, but make no mistake: All of this is nothing more than a cult. It’s nothing to do with religion, even though they say they’re Mormons. The Mormon church has never condoned polygamy. In the community where I lived, was raised, I was taught that was the church, and the prophet and my father were the only ones who could talk to God, hear God. God would decree the oddest things, and I remember watching how my mother and all the women just accepted it. They did as they were told.
“We were taught that boys were snakes and best to be avoided. If a thirteen-year-old daughter was to be sent across the border to another community to be the wife to a man three times her age, she had no say. We were taught as children to obey. The prophet would receive a message from God, and he’d pass down those decrees to each of his wives and the other men in the community. Everyone was to obey and not have their own minds or wills. I had to watch as girls were shipped off to other sects as child brides, and I knew they were terrified.”
Diane drained her second beer. Sam had the oddest expression on his face, as if he was seeing her for the first time, and that pissed her off. “Don’t you judge me or pity me,” she said. She wanted to throw something at Sam, because the burning, un-reconciled ache that she hadn’t felt in years was creeping to the surface.
“What happened, Diane? It must have been something pretty bad,” Sam asked and glanced away. “You’ve never talked much about yourself. But I have to say I’m a little confused, too. I thought you were close with your father. Didn’t he pass away a few years ago? You got the call in the field that he had mixed up his meds. It was the first time I saw you fall apart.”
“That was my dad, not the man who was my father. There’s a difference,” she snapped. Her cell phone buzzed, and she jolted forward, her damn nerves on edge. She slid her fingers through her short brown hair and yanked, hoping the pain would ground her before she snatched her phone from her pocket. “Diane here,” she barked.
She could feel Sam watching her, and she didn’t like it one bit. Even though she’d just given him a snapshot of her past, she wished she could take it all back. She’d changed her mind; she really didn’t want him to know, because by knowing about something so dark, even though he didn’t know everything, he’d see her differently, and she couldn’t handle that.
“Diane, it’s Casey. Can you come down to the morgue? I want to show you something.”
“Just tell me what it is. I’m not really on the case.” The chair creaked beside her. She didn’t look over at Sam. She was so wound up and annoyed that she was picturing Sam’s disbelief over what she’d said.
“Well, if that’s the case, who should I be calling? Come on, Diane. I know you didn’t want this, and I’m not sure what’s going on, but you and Green have always butted heads. It’s not as if there’s a large pool of cops to choose from. I’m tired of being stuck in the middle.”
She could hear Casey’s sigh on the other end. At any other time, she’d have apologized, grabbed her keys, and driven down to see her, but Diane didn’t want any part of this, and she dug her heels in so hard she could feel the dirt caking in around her. She raised a fist in the air and dropped her arm, the one holding the phone. “You fucking prick, Green!” she cursed before pressing the phone back to her ear. “I’m on my way, but just so you know, this isn’t my case.”
“Okay,” Casey snapped, and Diane realized she’d pushed too hard. Now Casey was irritated, too. Casey disconnected, and Diane stared at her cell phone, unable to stop the flood of guilt drowning her conscience, the waves of regret pounding her over and over. For the first time, the door she had firmly slammed on all her secrets had been cracked open.
Chapter 4
“Thanks for driving, Sam. I probably shouldn’t get behind the wheel right now, especially after you poured all those beers down my throat.” She couldn’t look at Sam as he drove her in the black pickup truck he and Marcie kept parked at the ferry terminal for when they came over from their small island.
“Oh, I figured you needed it. Besides, I’m not letting you get behind the wheel right now.” He rested his hand on the wheel and was holding himself in a way that let Diane know all too well that he was considering something. The question of what he was thinking worried her.
After four beers, though, she was possibly jumping to conclusions, reading more into a situation than was necessary, even though it didn’t feel like it. She couldn’t shake the notion that Sam thought less of her, even though he said he
didn’t. There was something different about him. She just couldn’t put her finger on it. He pulled into a drive-through in town.
“What are you doing, Sam? Hungry or something?” she asked.
He rolled down his window and ordered two coffees and a cheeseburger. After he had paid, he passed the bag to Diane and set the coffees in the cup holders before pulling back into traffic. “Eat your burger, Diane. Drink the coffee so you’re somewhat sober by the time we get there.”
“Sam, I’m not hungry, but thanks for the coffee.”
He gestured toward the bag. “Take it out and eat it. You need to have something in your stomach. You’re such a lightweight with your drinking, and I also know that what you told me is only the tip of what you’ve been hanging on to. When you drink, you talk too much. I don’t know how to help you with this, Diane. I need you to tell me what to do.”
The last thing she wanted to do was give anyone a point by point of what she needed. She didn’t have a clue whether she was coming or going or what the hell to do, except she was damn sure, as shoved the burger in her mouth and chased it down with a swallow of the steaming dark coffee, that she’d shared far too much with Sam.
“Thanks for this, it’s all I needed,” she said, her cheek puffed out, chewing as she shoved the rest of the burger into her mouth. For a minute, she thought he was relieved, and she prayed he’d forget everything as he pulled into the hospital parking lot, just outside the morgue and the coroner’s office.
“Shall we?” Sam took his coffee with him, and she followed along with her own, feeling the sobering effect from the food as it settled like lead in her stomach. He pressed the elevator button, and Diane swallowed the rest of her coffee and pulled a piece of mint gum from her pocket, hoping Casey wouldn’t pick up the scent of beer. Diane had a reputation to preserve, and being drunk on the job was something that could haunt a cop forever. She’d slipped up big time this morning. Hell, she’d been slipping ever since she got the call and details of the body on the road. But she was determined to pull it together now and show everyone she was just fine, somehow shaking the spotlight that had been focused on her since her irrational freak-out at the crime scene. It was a sobering experience, reliving her reaction to Casey, to Sam, when her tightly glued lips had been pried open, revealing just the tip of her deep dark past. How stupid. If only she could go back, she’d do so many things differently.
“I’m fine, Sam, really. Thanks again for this, by the way.” She shook the empty cup and shoved her hand in her jean pocket, touching a couple coins and rubbing them together. She bounced forward on her toes, willing the elevator to hurry and open its doors.
“It’s going to be okay, Diane, but if you’re trying to hide how bothered you are by this…” He gestured and stared at her with an expression she really didn’t want to dissect too hard. “You’re doing a piss-poor job. This is your past, Diane, but you’re going overboard. I see it, and they’re going to see it. Hell, they’re already wondering what the hell is wrong with you. If you want to keep everyone out of your business, stop overreacting. It’s simple what you have to do. Go see the girl, talk to Casey, solve the frickin’ case, and put this baby to bed.”
Well, that was better than a pail of icy water. She allowed her shoulders to drop, and, for the first time in memory, she felt her face heat, turning her cheeks a nice, rosy red. Damn, her self-confidence was taking a pounding. Sam glanced away to give her a chance to pull herself together. She was thankful for that but not for the fact that he was uncomfortable now, too.
The elevator doors slid open, and she stepped forward, glancing up. The man before her was tall, with short dark hair, one side of his face scarred in a way that said he had a story and then some. He stared at her with dark eyes and an expression of familiarity. It sizzled with electricity, and she felt the zap between them. Her insides turned jittery and she blinked, doing her best to hide the emotions she knew were written all over her face. He narrowed his eyes, and she shivered. Still he said nothing, even though she was staring. She stood there frozen, taking in his broad shoulders outlined in a short-sleeved black shirt, the solid cut and bulge of triceps, biceps, every muscle in his arms and chest. It took her a moment to realize that the man could soothe any woman’s worries away. Holy shit, was he tall, close to Sam’s height and with the same hunky build. There was something about him that was so hard, unforgiving, and alone.
“Diane.” Sam nudged her.
Oh, crap! She was mortified as she glanced at Sam. She was so out of it, staring at this guy who hadn’t said a word. “Excuse me,” she said.
The stranger moved to the side, giving her space to get out of the elevator before he stepped in around them. She couldn’t stop herself from glancing back. He didn’t smile, but he sure was watching her as she walked away.
“What’s the matter with you?” Sam asked, keeping his voice low as they paused outside the morgue. “Staring at that guy like that. What are you, two years old?”
He chuckled, and it took her a second to realize he was teasing. “Sorry, forget it. It’s nothing. Let’s get this over with.” Geez, she felt her face warm again. What the hell was the matter with her? Was she actually blushing? “I’ll catch up with you. I’m going to the washroom.” She didn’t wait for Sam to say anything as she hurried to the bathroom and locked the door behind her. Diane leaned against the back of the door and fought the urge to ram the back of her head against the solid wood a couple of times.
“Get a grip. What the hell is the matter with you?” she muttered right before she heard a rustle and then a toilet flushing from one of the stalls. What felt like a thousand pins jabbed her scalp as the stall door opened. What the hell? Why hadn’t she checked to see if someone was in there? She could feel the pull in the way her eyes widened as if they were about to pop out of her head. Diane shuffled her feet and pushed away from the door.
“Hey, Diane.” Casey appeared from the stall and strode to the sink.
“Casey.” Diane winced, wondering what to say, but Casey kept her attention on her hands, washing and then drying them.
“You okay?” Casey asked as she shoved the paper towel in the garbage. Her expression changed to one of concern. “I’ve noticed you seem off since last night.”
“No, I’m just…” She didn’t know what she was, and although she liked Casey, she wasn’t about to share the dark demons of her past with one more person. Hell, she couldn’t believe Sam had managed to lower her guard, because she’d made a promise to herself, the day she ran away and every day after, that she wouldn’t share anything of where she’d come from with anyone.
Someone tried to open the door, and the deadbolt rattled. “Hey, is there someone in there?”
Casey stepped around Diane and unbolted the door. “Sorry about that. I must have accidentally locked it.” Casey held the door open as a woman frowned and hurried into one of the stalls. “Coming, Diane?” she asked. She was watching Diane with a measure of interest. Way too much interest.
“Yeah.” Diane stepped out into the hallway and walked back to the morgue with Casey.
“Whatever’s going on, Diane, I won’t push, but something’s thrown you off your game. This isn’t you, not by a long shot. If you need to talk, I’m a pretty good listener.” She pushed open the double doors ahead of Diane without breaking stride and went inside. She was already talking to someone, likely Sam. She hoped it was just Sam as she stepped inside, worried for a minute that someone else was there as well. She didn’t think she could take any more surprises, not from this case, not today.
Casey snapped on a pair of rubber gloves. Diane tried to avoid the sharp glance Sam sent her way, which she was pretty sure meant “What the hell are you doing?” and a few other choice words. She stood beside him, breathing in the strong scent of antiseptic. It was pungent, but she always could pick up the underlying scent of death, even though others couldn’t in this cold, sterile environment. Even with the dead animals, the butchering from her y
outh, it was always there, that scent, and it sickened her, at times winding into every nerve in her body so that even a dozen showers couldn’t cleanse her. This was the worst part of her job, and she was doing her best not to look at the body covered by a clean white sheet on the exam table.
Sam cleared his throat beside her and nudged her with his arm, gesturing to Casey, who was watching her again as she approached the steel table. At least he didn’t say anything, and Diane didn’t know whether to frown, laugh, or cry, so she smiled and then gestured to the body.
“So what is it?” she asked.
The door pushed open, and Diane’s eyes went straight to the tall, hunky guy with the scars. He wasn’t ugly or grotesque—they were mysterious, adding to the whole bad-boy look he had going on. His eyes, though, were what had her fighting to remain still and not back up like the mad, out-of-control woman she’d become overnight. As she watched him watching her, she felt as if an electric current had shot right through her again. She’d never seen a man who could look at anyone the way he did. His eyes were an odd shade of gray with blue flecks, and the way his gaze took in the room and landed solely on her as he approached the table was so much like the way a jaguar watched its prey. The realization unsettled her, and she swallowed. Out of nowhere, she could have sworn she could feel the deep growl coming from inside him, and she had to fight every urge not to step back.
Sam kicked her ankle.
“Ouch!” she said, and everyone looked at Sam, who gazed up at the ceiling and then back at her, widening his eyes as if to say, Pull it together!
“Sorry. You were saying, Casey?” Diane prompted, lowering her gaze to the wide sheet and the body outlined underneath. Diane was doing her damnedest not to look at the tall guy across from her, with the clean cut of well-sculpted muscles, and his forearm—holy crap, was that a tattoo of a flame and a rising phoenix?
Bounty (Walk the Right Road) Page 2
