Jason nodded, as if it wasn’t a big deal.
Huh. No complaints? Maybe they were making progress after all. Now for the next hurdle. “Should we see what there is for breakfast?”
“I want to play.”
“Play while I get breakfast.”
“I want to play with you.”
At first, Nick wasn’t sure he understood. His son wanted to play, he got that. But he actually said he wanted to play with Nick? As his shock wore off, he registered Jason’s stare, waiting for an answer. To hell with breakfast. “That sounds like a lot of fun, Jason. Let’s do it.” Apparently something had changed last night. Maybe not with Melissa, but something had changed between him and his son.
He followed Jason to the fireplace. The little guy plunked down on the floor and set his Spider-Man action figure on the stone hearth. “My guy is climbing this.”
“Where’s my guy?”
Jason pointed to a blue Power Ranger laying on the floor. “He’s your guy, but he’s not in charge.”
“Is your guy in charge?”
“He’s Spider-Man.”
“Okay.” He guessed that answered that, though he wasn’t sure how. He picked up the blue ranger and mimicked Jason’s movements, making the toy climb the side of the hearth.
Jason watched him. He scratched his chin, the little crease in the center so much like Nick’s own.
“What is it, Buddy?” Nick asked.
Little eyebrows scrunched low over serious eyes. “There’s a big problem.”
A big problem, huh? Nick couldn’t wait to hear this. “What’s the problem?”
“I don’t have a horse. Your guy needs to ride a horse.”
Nick smiled. So the blue Power Ranger was a rancher. He should have known. He nodded at Spider-Man. “What about your guy?”
Jason looked down at the plastic man in his hand. When he glanced back up at Nick, he paused for a moment, then bobbed his head up and down. “My guy needs a horse, too.”
MELISSA COULD HEAR NICK’S words of the night before echoing in her ears louder than the roar of construction equipment remodeling the county jail. You need someone you can rely on, and I’m here. It doesn’t have to mean any more than that. That’s all there needs to be.
The problem was, it did mean more than that. She’d been awake half the night, her mind whirring with all the things that it meant, a list that seemed to grow with each day.
She had no business feeling the way she felt about Nick. She’d only known him a few days. Yet there it was. This feeling. This need. Budding inside her like a spring flower. And she was so afraid to trust that it was real, let alone rely on it to grow.
She passed through security, smiling and sharing a few words with the deputy at the metal detector. Everything was different at the jail. Everything either torn up or detoured into an area it didn’t belong. She felt lost. But not nearly as lost as when she concentrated on her own thoughts. Took note of her own feelings.
It doesn’t have to mean any more than that. That’s all there needs to be.
Did he feel anything more? Want anything more? She thought so. When she caught him looking at her, she was sure there was something there, something as strong as the feelings that clamored inside of her. But when he wasn’t next to her, she wondered if she made the whole thing up.
She held a cool hand against her forehead. Did any of it even matter?
She couldn’t do this. It had nothing to do with Nick, and yet it had everything to do with him. Around him she felt so vulnerable, like he’d opened a wound inside her that would never quite heal.
She threaded through the detoured corridors, her heels clacking on the waxed tile floor. There was only one answer. Nick and Jason had to go back to the ranch. And it was up to her to do whatever she could to make sure they were safe enough to do so.
She reached the area where lawyers visited their clients. The place was oddly cheery, in a bland, government-building sort of way. The upbeat jangle of music from the local forecast of the Weather Channel bounced off concrete and tile.
A deputy ushered her into one of the meeting rooms. The room was little bigger than a phone booth and smelled of body odor, floor wax and a faint hint of the ever-present construction dust hanging like an invisible fog in the air. In front of a Plexiglas window, a stainless-steel counter stretched, a stool bolted to the floor beneath it. The setup was the same on the other side. Telephones were attached to the wall by a short cable on either side of the shatterproof glass. She perched on the hard plastic seat and waited for José Sanchez.
Sanchez was shorter than she remembered, barely five foot five, but he carried himself like he was twice the size. Shoulders back and chin held at a haughty angle, he peered at her as if upset she’d interrupted his day. He lowered himself onto the bench on his side of the window and stared at her a good long while before picking up the phone.
She picked up her phone as well and held it to her ear.
“You with the D.A.’s office?”
She’d expected some type of Hispanic accent, but his words sounded as flatly Midwestern as if he’d grown up on a farm in Kansas. Strange to think that she’d been working on the case against him, and yet she’d never spoken to him until now. She’d never even seen his face, except in his booking photo. “My name is Melissa Anderson. I’m an investigator with the district attorney’s office.”
“My lawyer said you might be trying to trick me into talking with you.”
“I’m not on the job anymore. I’m suspended. I’m here as a private citizen.” Of course if Seth knew she was here, he’d wish he’d given her a pink slip instead of administrative leave.
“Whatever. I don’t got to talk to you. Not without my lawyer.”
“I don’t need you to talk. Just listen.”
“Okay. Why not?” He plunked an elbow on the counter as if settling in for the duration. His gaze drifted down toward her chest.
She resisted the urge to button her blouse another notch. His leer was meant to intimidate, to make her uncomfortable, and she wouldn’t give him what he wanted. Besides, it wasn’t going to be easy to sell a lie to a practiced liar. She was going to have to give the performance of her life. If her nonexistent cleavage and not-very-sexy uniform of blouse and blazer distracted him enough to keep him from spotting the lie, she might as well use it to her advantage.
She leaned forward an inch. “I’d like to go over some theories with you.”
“Knock yourself out.”
“The D.A.’s office thinks you were bribing police officers.”
“Now why would I do that?”
“To be specific, they think you were bribing Detective Bernard.”
Sanchez stretched his mouth open in an exaggerated yawn.
“They think you killed Gayle Rodgers because she was informing the district attorney about the bribes.”
That got his attention. He straightened, intense brown eyes drilling into her. “I didn’t kill no one.”
“That’s not all.” She paused. “Four members of your gang shot and killed Detective Bernard and a victims’ rights advocate two days ago.”
“I told you, I didn’t kill no one. And I didn’t tell no one to kill no one, either.”
Right. She couldn’t count the number of times defendants proclaimed their innocence. It was a line each of them might as well have tattooed to their forehead along with the myriad of gang ink each one sported.
“Two of those same friends of yours—”
“Who says they’re my friends?”
“Sorry, members of your gang.”
He tilted his head. “I’m not part of any gang.”
“Fine. But these four men are members of the Latin Devils. Or, I should say, two of them are. The other two are dead.”
“Lady, you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
“I was there. Two of the men attempted to murder a witness to the shooting of Detective Bernard. They crashed into a ravine. I kn
ow what I’m talking about, since I helped them do it.”
Sanchez shook his head. “Whatever. Not that. I don’t know about that.”
Right. “I’m sure their mothers would like to give them funerals. But we don’t have any names.”
“And you think I know their names?”
“Yeah, I think you just might.”
“And why’s that? Because we Latinos, we all know each other?”
“Because you and the four men I’m talking about are all Latin Devils.”
“You’re crazy, lady.”
Her turn to throw that “whatever” back at him. She leaned toward the Plexiglas, planting elbows on stainless steel. “I’m doing you a favor, José. Giving you a gift. So listen up.”
He heaved a sigh and dropped his eyes once again.
“Our witness can’t identify the two Latin Devils who are still alive. There’s no reason for them to risk going after him again. We’ve got nothing on them. The police have nothing. They’re off the hook. Understand?”
Sanchez let out a scoff. “I understand perfect. You’re the one who don’t understand. These gang members you say shot the detective, they weren’t no Latin Devils.”
“Right. Just make sure you tell them—”
“Didn’t you hear me? They ain’t Latin Devils. I ain’t saying I’m part of the gang or nothing. But I hear stuff, even in here. The usual gossip. You know? Who is part of what. Who does what. And I can tell you there ain’t no way anyone in the Latin Devils killed no police detective. And they didn’t try to kill some witness, either.”
“Why should I believe you?”
“I don’t care if you believe me or not.” He shrugged again, gesturing with his free hand as he talked into the phone. “It don’t have anything to do with me. I still don’t see why you’re telling me this stuff in the first place.”
Was he just playing with her for entertainment? She had to admit it was a possibility. Even a probability. Her best bet was to make her point and pray he got the message through to the rest of the gang. “No one will ever be able to prove who killed Detective Bernard. The witness is no longer a threat.”
Sanchez bobbed his head and rolled his eyes, mocking her. “And you think I can call off the Latin Devils, save this witness some pain?”
“And maybe save your friends a prison sentence, too. Think of that.”
“I told you, they’re not my friends.”
“Yes, yes, I know.” She was tired of Sanchez’s games, tired of being jerked around by a hoodlum. “Will you make sure they know the witness can’t identify them? Will you pass that along?”
“Maybe I could and maybe I couldn’t if these four were Latin Devils. They ain’t. So I can’t really do a thing for you, can I?”
She leaned her forehead on the heel of one hand. He had to be lying. Didn’t he? It was what men like José Sanchez did. “The D.A.’s investigator on the case says they are Latin Devils. Who am I supposed to believe? You or him?”
“Me.” Sanchez pointed to a series of tattoos that marked his face from temple to neck. “Your cop killers, they have marks like these?”
She remembered Nick mentioning tattoos in his original statement to police, but he’d never given her a detailed description. “Those mark them as Latin Devils?”
Sanchez smiled. “Something like these. Not saying I’m in a gang.”
He didn’t have to say it. She knew he was. “Mind if I take a picture?” She pulled out her cell phone.
“The cops have my mug shots. You want one for your own use?” He sent another leer down to her chest.
“Yeah, whatever.” She snapped a few pictures of the side of his face. “I’m going to have a chat with Detective Marris from the gang bureau, too, José. Just so you know.”
He leaned back on his stool. “You do that. He’ll tell you the same as me.”
“If this is a line of B.S., you’ll be hearing from me.”
“Should’ve told me that before.” He lowered one lid in a wink. “I would have enjoyed another visit. Only next time, wear something sexy.”
NICK HAD JUST FINISHED some of the most imaginative, expansive and exhausting action-figure adventures he’d ever known when the door to the little cabin swung open and Melissa stepped inside.
“Melissa!” Jason leaped up from the fireplace and scampered across the floor.
She flung her arms wide and engulfed him in a hug. “Did you guys have fun today?”
Jason beamed up at her. “Daddy and I played that our guys were on a ranch. They were exploring mountains.” He pointed to the fireplace.
Nick was still caught on the word daddy.
Melissa met his gaze across the room. She smiled, as if she’d noticed, too. “It sounds like you and your daddy had a blast.”
Jason squirmed out of her hug. Grabbing her hand, he pulled her toward the fireplace. “I’ll show you. You can have a guy, too. ’Cept I don’t have any girl guys.”
“Wait, Jason.” Melissa gathered him toward her and knelt down. “I have to talk to your daddy for a minute. Then you can show me the guys. Okay?”
“Okay.” He let go of her hand and returned to the fireplace.
Melissa stepped toward the kitchen end of the room and motioned for Nick to follow.
He joined her, leaning one hip on the sink in a posture much more relaxed than he felt. Before she told him her piece, he had a question he needed to ask. “Where were you?”
She paused, as if she wasn’t certain she wanted to tell him. Finally she met his eyes. “Jail.”
“Jail?” He narrowed his eyes, hurriedly shifting the pieces into place in his mind. He had a feeling she didn’t mean behind bars. At least not her. “You visited José Sanchez?”
She nodded.
“Why did you have to see him?” He tried to make the question sound light, as if he was merely curious, but his tone sounded more like aggressive interrogation.
“I wanted to find out a little more about the Latin Devils.”
“And you couldn’t just talk to one of the gang bureau detectives?”
“Not about this.”
“Isn’t a guy like that dangerous?”
“It’s my job. I have to deal with guys like that all the time. Who do you think gets prosecuted by the D.A.?”
She was right. What in the hell had gotten into him? He was being ridiculous, trying to protect a woman who didn’t want his protection, didn’t need it, and wasn’t his to protect.
And never would be.
He heaved a deep breath. Time to start over. Try to stay sane this time. Focus only on things that concerned him. “What did you ask him about? The men who followed you last night?”
“That didn’t come up.”
If that hadn’t, he knew what did. “The men who shot Jimmy.”
She nodded. “I told him our witness couldn’t identify the two who were still living.”
“You…what?” He could see what she was doing. Trying to make it possible for him to return to the ranch with Jason. A goal he would be happy about, thrilled about really, if only it hadn’t come hard on the heels of their discussion last night. Now he saw it for what it was. Not Melissa trying to give him his life back, but Melissa pushing him away.
He glanced at Jason, busy making Spider-Man climb the fireplace’s rock wall. If he’d ever needed a reminder of his priorities, this morning had been it. He needed to keep Jason’s best interest foremost in his thoughts. Jason’s and his own. “Good thinking. If they don’t know I can identify them, I’m not a threat. Jason and I can go back to the Circle J.”
She didn’t answer, just canted her gaze to the side, focusing on a spot just off his right shoulder.
“Did Sanchez buy your story?” he asked.
“He says the men who shot Jimmy and Essie weren’t Latin Devils.”
“Of course he’s going to say that.”
“That was my reaction, too. But he insisted. Said no Latin Devils killed Jimmy and no Latin Devils were g
unning for witnesses.”
Nick shook his head. He could guess the rest. “And he said that he’s innocent, too.”
“Yes.”
“Isn’t that the way it always works with these guys?”
“Usually, yes.”
“But you believe him?” He knew she was desperate for evidence that Jimmy hadn’t taken bribes or had an affair. And after the credit card records had proved Calhoun’s theories more than disproved them, she might be grasping at anything that went against Calhoun’s version of events. But he was still surprised she’d buy the story of a man like José Sanchez. The man who killed Gayle.
“I don’t know what I believe.” She reached into her bag. “I need you to take a look at something for me.”
“Me? You’re really asking for my help this time?”
She gave him a frown, still not quite meeting his eyes.
He knew he should keep his personal disappointment out of this. She certainly hadn’t promised him anything. There wasn’t anything more between them than a single kiss. There never could be.
He took off his hat and set it down on the tiny kitchen table. “What do you need me to look at?”
She fished her cell phone out of her purse. She hit a few buttons and handed it to him.
He looked down at the phone and focused on a photo of the side of a man’s face. The image was a little distorted, as if shot through some kind of glass. The reflection of lights blocked out part of the man’s shaved head.
“See the tattoos?”
How could he miss them? Thick black lines met with more intricate swirls, marking the sides of the man’s face, his head and his neck. Every mark both art in a visual sense and profanity for what he knew it stood for. “These look like the ones on the guys who followed you last night. I’m not sure they’re exactly the same, though, since they were wearing hoods. I didn’t see all of the tattoos.”
“How about the guys who killed Jimmy?” She pointed to a button on the phone. “I have more than one shot. Another might give you a better angle.”
He flicked through all the photos on the phone. Different angles, same effect. Finally he looked up at Melissa.
A Rancher’s Brand of Justice Page 12
