by Sheryl Lynn
“It was in the locker. The FBI found money still in the casino wrapper. When you got the money, was it wrapped?”
Her frown deepened. She reached into a box as if fearing a snake and picked up a dancing doll made from wood and wire. Its painted face was faded and chipped. “I am not sure what you mean.”
“Was the money your father sent bundled in wrappers?”
She frowned and tapped a finger against her lower lip. “I’m not sure. Why?”
“Those wrappers came from the casinos. Every bank in the country was on the alert for them.”
Awareness dawned on her face. “Oh! They could have traced it to the hijacking.”
“You couldn’t have known. Anyway, the FBI finished gathering evidence from your things.” He debated giving her the copy of Frank Shay’s birthday letter. It would make her feel bad. But his protection extended to her physical self, not her feelings. He fished the copy from his pocket and handed it over.
“What’s this?”
“A letter from the locker. The FBI kept the original.”
She crushed the paper into a ball and tossed it into the trash. She smiled, but it was sad and she dropped the doll back into the box. “I’ve toted that box of junk all over the country for years. I can’t stand it, but it’s art and sacred.” She pulled the locket from her shirt and gazed upon it as if it spoke to her. “Do you know what really upsets me?” She used her fingernail to pry open the locket.
Thin rigid plastic protected two tiny portraits. One depicted Madeline as a young woman in three-quarter view, her face regal. Executed in ink, it was as perfect as a photograph. The other was of a little girl wearing a tiara. The girl’s black braids clued him in that this was also Madeline.
“All that talent gone to waste. He could have been a successful artist. He could have done so much good. But instead…” She closed the locket with a snap. “His life was a total waste.”
He touched her cheek with a knuckle. “There’s you.”
He longed to kiss her, ease her sadness and earn her wonderful smile. He’d never make it back to work. “Good news is the FBI has enough evidence to justify paying for a full-scale search of your property. They have manpower, sonar, metal detectors and dogs. If it’s there, they’ll find it.”
“I take it they didn’t find anything at my mother’s house.”
“Nothing. No mention of Deke Fry, either. I suspect Frank Shay warned Fry to stay far away from her.”
“Figures.”
“I have to go back to work. Do you promise to stay here? Lock the doors? Don’t let anybody inside?”
She raked a finger diagonally across her chest. “I promise. After I take care of Rosie, that is.”
“Okay.” He wanted to kiss her. He shouldn’t.
He needed to.
He caught her face in both hands, canted his head and kissed her beautiful mouth. She was so sweet, smelling of creek water and salt and sex. He wanted to drown in her mouth, lose himself in her body. He made himself stop. Her eyes sparkled. She touched the tip of her tongue to her upper lip and sighed.
“I have to go.”
“If you see smoke from the chimney, don’t panic. It’s just me burning the past.”
CARSON WATCHED a black Lincoln Navigator cruise down Main Street. Dark windows concealed the driver, but Carson knew who owned the overpriced, oversize luxury SUV. Maurice Harrigan had a weakness for status symbols. He was proud of his ambition, his business sense and his wealth.
Carson waited for Maurice to slow, roll down the window, call hello or pull over. The Navigator’s speed didn’t change as it sailed past the courthouse. His friendship with Maurice had ended when Jill and Billy died. They managed civility, and Maurice needed to stay abreast of what went on at the police station. Lately Maurice acted as if Carson didn’t exist.
“Hey, Chief,” Pete Morales called. He walked down the steps and stood beside Carson. He watched the Navigator grow smaller in the distance. “If he knows about Madeline, we’d know it. You put the fear of God into Judy. She won’t talk.”
“Let’s hope so.”
“Need some cheering up?”
After Madeline, he felt pretty darned cheerful. “What you got?”
“Sheriff called. Results are in from the lab. They lifted a partial print from a shard of glass. It’s not Madeline’s. I faxed the Harrigans’ fingerprints.” He snorted a laugh. “Good thing we’ve busted those boys before. No way would their daddy or the mayor allow us to take their prints now.”
“Even if there’s a match, the boys can say it’s from earlier. Kids trashed the house.”
“Could say it, but the lab found traces of kerosene on the glass.”
“Let’s hope it’s Sug’s fingerprint and not Matt’s. Sug will crack, but Sheriff Gerald could work Matt over with a rubber hose and he still wouldn’t say boo.”
“My fingers are crossed,” Pete said. He looked around. “Where’s old Luke off to?”
“I saw him toting lumber scraps. Must be making new signs.” He and Pete went inside to the station.
He’d just sat down behind his desk when he heard Wanda giggle. Only one man he knew could make Wanda sound like a giddy girl. Tony perched on the edge of Wanda’s desk and whatever he said turned her face rosy and set her to wriggling like a happy puppy. Tony spotted Carson and waved.
He blew a kiss to Wanda and sauntered into Carson’s office.
“Are we still on the hush-hush about you know?”
Tony didn’t have a subtle bone in his body, so why did he bother? “Yes.”
Tony closed the door then draped himself over a chair. “I had lunch with Nick. That is one interesting guy. I thought I’d been around. He makes me look like a homebody.” He picked up Carson’s brass nameplate and tossed it from hand to hand. “I always thought it would be fun to write a book. Never had time before, but this story is so good, I might give it a shot. How would you like a famous author for a neighbor?”
Carson laughed.
“I’m serious. This is a great story. Big money, violence, mystery, and a beautiful woman right in the middle of it all. We’re talking bestseller.”
“Go for it, man.”
Tony replaced the nameplate and plucked a pen from the cup holder. “Got a piece of paper?”
“You’re going to start now?”
“That’s me. I want it, I go for it.” He grabbed a notepad, turned to a fresh sheet and asked, “So this guy that started the whole thing. The insurance man. What made him come to you?”
“Tony, my friend, I will not discuss an active case. I can’t.”
“You told Nick.”
“He’s not exactly a civilian. He’s a card-carrying journalist with an editor breathing down his neck.”
Tony tapped the pen against his chin. “I’m a nobody.”
“As far as the investigation is concerned, afraid so.”
A knock on the door and Carson called for entry. Officer Terry Robwell, twenty-two years old and a rookie, popped his head inside. “He’s not in town, Chief. Nobody matching Mr. Bannerman’s description is registered or did register at any area motels.”
Carson looked askance at Tony, who grinned in triumph while he wrote furiously on the notepad. “Spread it out, Robwell. Keep Wanda posted about your twenty and she’ll give the heads-up to other agencies. Did you check the rental car companies like I told you?”
The young man nodded eagerly. “Yes, sir. I even put in calls to some of the smaller companies down in Phoenix. Nothing.”
Carson stroked his jaw. He had washed his hands, but he still smelled Madeline. He dropped his hand before he embarrassed himself. “I know it had Arizona plates, but I didn’t note the number. Okay, pass what we have to the FBI and maybe they can come up with something. Light blue Crown Victoria. Ninety-nine or two thousand. Speak to Agent Lipton.”
“Yes, sir.” Robwell backed out and pulled the door closed.
Carson held out a hand. “You are not taking notes a
bout our investigation.”
Tony displayed a crude sketch of a cop with an obscene “nightstick.” Carson snorted and choked. He called Tony a rude name and told him to get out of his office.
Chortling wickedly, Tony sauntered out. “Have fun saving the world from evil.” He blew a kiss to Wanda, leaving a trail of giggles in his wake.
Carson gazed upon the pile of paperwork on his desk. He wanted to go home, wanted to see Madeline. Ruff didn’t pay him to chase women. He tore Tony’s sketch from the pad and threw it away. Tony was a jerk, but he was a funny jerk.
An hour later, Pete rushed into the office. “Bingo! We got a match.”
“Matt or Sug?”
“Sug.”
Carson smacked the desk with his fist. Yes! They needed more than a partial fingerprint to convict the little thug, but it was enough for an arrest. Without Matt around to put a curb on Sug’s mouth, he’d start singing even before he reached the sheriff’s interrogation room.
“Deputies are on the way to arrest him now. Sheriff wants to know if you want to be there when they question Sug.”
He did, but he wanted to go home to Madeline more. “I trust them to do it right.”
Pete gave him a funny look, then shrugged and turned away.
Carson wondered if sex showed on his face.
When five-thirty finally rolled around, he had to refrain from running out the door like a boy released from school. His good mood died when Maurice caught him in the parking lot.
“You’ve got some nerve, Cody,” Maurice growled.
“If you mean Sug, you’re talking to the wrong man. Sheriff Gerald is handling the case.”
“I know who’s handling the damned case! What I want to know is why you didn’t tell me they were arresting him?”
“So you and your brother can interfere?” He shook his head. “This isn’t a prank. They almost killed a woman.”
“The boys were with me! All night. They didn’t have a thing to do with that fire.”
“Evidence says otherwise.”
“What evidence?”
“Take it up with Gerald.”
Maurice shook a bony finger. Even his hands had lost their robustness and grown old before their time. “I’ll have your job.”
Go for it, Carson thought and opened the car door. He pulled off his hat and slid behind the wheel.
Maurice caught the door before Carson could close it. “Damn you! I already lost my son because of your wife and now I have to lose my nephew on account of you?”
Rage blasted from the deepest part of him and threatened to take over his mind. He clenched the steering wheel so tightly his hands ached. He sucked air, desperately trying to cool the fire. Only when certain he would not punch Maurice in the face, he got back out of the car.
“Jill loved Billy like he was her own,” he said with only a slight quiver in his voice.
“If he hadn’t been working for her, he’d be alive today.”
“If you’d locked him in a padded room, he’d be alive. What happened, happened. Nothing is going to change it. Not hatred, not revenge, not anything. Blame Jill all you want, but nothing will change.”
“It was those goats and llamas that did it. Boy didn’t care a lick for cattle, but he sure liked those—”
“Get over it! Llamas and goats and Jill didn’t kill your son. Frank Shay did and he’s dead. Get over it. Do it for Mary and the girls. They’re still alive and they need you.”
Shaking his head, his eyes glazed, Maurice backed away. “You tell the sheriff to turn my nephew loose, or else.”
Chapter Thirteen
Madeline rubbed her hand slowly over Carson’s bare chest. Pale morning light outlined the curtains. Waking up in Carson’s bed, in his arms, was so comfortable it seemed she’d been doing it all her life. She pressed her nose against the juncture of his neck and shoulder and savored his scent, branding it into her brain.
“Do I stink?” His voice was husky with sleep.
“Yeah, and I love it.” She lifted her head to see his face. “Do you have to go to work today? Call in sick.”
“Don’t tempt me, woman.”
The telephone rang, making her jump. She sat up to stretch. He picked up the handset, but held it in midair, arrested by the sight of her bare breasts. She poked his ribs and he put the phone to his ear.
“Cody.” As he listened, a slow smile captured his mouth. It turned crooked and satisfied. Finally he said, “Don’t apologize. That’s worth waking up to. Good job, Gerald, you’re the man.” He hung up and laced his fingers behind his head. “They arrested Matt.”
When he had told her last night about Sug Harrigan’s arrest, tension she hadn’t even been aware of released from her back and neck. Now, with both Harrigans in custody she didn’t need to worry about a Molotov cocktail crashing through a window.
A little stunned, she left the bed and went down the hall to the bathroom. When she returned, the light in the room had turned pearly gray. Stark naked, she stretched for the ceiling and rolled her head side to side, enjoying the way he followed her every move. “Mmm, I think I’ll stay naked all day long.”
“You really don’t want me to go to work, do you?”
“You’re the one who thinks being chief of police is more important than fooling around with me.”
He covered his eyes with an arm. “You’re evil.”
She hopped onto the bed and stripped back the sheets. He was ready and willing and she was more than happy to oblige. She loved the texture of his skin and the thickness of his hair through her fingers and the way he smelled and his fascination with her breasts and the hungry way he kissed her. She loved everything about him.
If she didn’t get out of here, she was going to fall in love with him.
That thought crept in while she lay in the afterglow, her skin cooling, while listening to Carson shower. Now that the Harrigan boys were in custody, the present danger was to Carson’s job and reputation.
She clutched a pillow to her belly. Carson sang in the shower. He had a powerful baritone. She’d never been in love, never even pretended or fooled herself into thinking she was in love. She remained in control, always.
She had no idea how to explain the way she felt about Carson.
He melted her with a look. Thrilled her with a soft word. Around him, even her beloved beads took a distant second.
She could not, would not allow him to suffer on her account.
The shower shut off with a clunk in the pipes. A few minutes later he walked into the bedroom, naked and pointedly not looking to see the effect he had on her.
I am such a slut, she thought and stifled a giggle.
He was gorgeous, with long legs and a narrow waist and well-defined muscles in his back and shoulders. Her hips loosened just looking at him. It wasn’t until he had on his trousers and was buttoning his uniform shirt that she trusted herself to speak.
“I guess I don’t need protective custody anymore?”
“You’re not totally in the clear. Boxer Harrigan, the boys’ daddy, is a lawyer. Between him and Maurice, they’ll figure out a way to get Sug’s confession thrown out. Keep your fingers crossed that the sheriff finds boot-print or tire-print matches.”
“I imagine Mr. Harrigan is really mad at you.”
“He knew when he hired me I don’t play favorites with the law. I don’t care if you’re the queen of England. Break the law in my town and I’m making an arrest. End of story.”
God he was sexy when he talked tough.
“Don’t bother getting up. I’m meeting Gerald for breakfast.” He caught her chin in his big hand and tipped her face for a brief kiss. “See you later.” He walked out of the room. He walked right back in and said, “You’re a hard woman to say goodbye to.” He lifted her off the bed for a deep, satisfying, bone-melting kiss. He patted her bare bottom and walked out.
HUMMING, Carson checked costs on requisition forms against budget figures. His ability to juggle the depart
ment’s tight budget was almost as important as his policing skills. Wanda informed him the fire department had responded to a brushfire call.
“Dispatch two cars for traffic control and keep me posted,” he said.
Wanda took a step, then stopped and turned to peer at him, narrow-eyed behind the rhinestones. “Are you okay, Chief?”
Well, the Harrigan boys were sitting in a cell, contemplating their sins while their daddy tried to convince the magistrate to release them on bail. The FBI had turned out in force on the Shay ranch. If the missing money was there, the feds would find it. A federal presence was keeping treasure hunters away. Stories about the hijacking had retreated to the back pages.
Madeline was incredibly sexy and warm and alluring and mind-boggling. Making love to her was like visiting heaven.
“Couldn’t be better. Why?”
“No reason, I suppose.” Clucking her tongue, she returned to her desk and radio.
A ruckus brought Carson out of his chair. A pair of officers restrained old Luke. His army-green overcoat twisted up over his shoulders as he squirmed and twisted. His face was bright red and sweaty. His mouth was wide-open and he sounded like a steam engine. “Chief Cody! Chief!” he cried and gasped.
Carson saw in a glance that Luke was excited but not drunk.
Carson caught the shoulder of one of the officers. “Let him go, Terry.” He couldn’t smell alcohol and Luke’s eyes were clear. “Turn him loose,” he ordered. Cautiously, hands on their pistol butts, the officers backed away.
Luke shook himself like a hound and tugged his coat straight. He breathed hard and his mouth opened and closed, fishlike. Carson curbed his impatience and waited for the man to catch his breath. He asked Wanda for a cup of water. Openly disdainful, the woman did as he asked. Luke gulped it, dribbling into his beard, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“What’s the matter, Luke?”
Luke drew a deep breath. “The mayor’s gone crazy. I heard him over at the Big Rim telling everybody he’s gonna catch him an Indian girl and hustle her back to the reservation. That’s a quote, Chief. Swear to God!”
