Despite the real threat of being arrested, relief poured through her. When she passed her PI test, she’d dreamed of adventure. Being handcuffed and raped wasn’t one of them. An hour in jail was definitely a much better scenario. Heck, hadn’t every television PI been in jail at least once?
The man opened the door. She’d half expected him to haul her out and shove her in front of him. Instead he held her firmly by the upper arm, and helped her get out of the backseat as gracefully as she could, considering she wore cuffs. Thank God they were in back of the jail. She’d be so embarrassed to be taken into the jail in front of the whole town.
“If you’d just look in my purse—”
“Quiet.”
He might not be manhandling her, but he wasn’t any less angry. And for what she didn’t have a clue. Sure she had a gun, but she also had a permit to carry it. Was there some town law she’d unknowingly broken? Her book said trash in a public container was no longer considered private property. It hadn’t said she needed to check with the local authorities before searching the trash for information.
“I got a cell ready, Sheriff…” The giant standing in the hallway, dressed from head-to-toe in an official uniform, stopped mid-sentence as the sheriff walked her inside. “She’s the suspect?”
“Yes. I caught her rifling through the trash.” The sheriff turned her so her back was toward him then he unfastened the cuffs and gave her a gentle push into the cell.
“I thought we were going to talk. Why are you arresting me?” Bobby asked, just as he closed the cell door. The automatic lock clicked loudly. Her breath caught at the sound. This was not a good thing. Despite the openness of the bars and the window, the confining space wrapped around her like a smothering blanket.
“I’m not. For now you’re in protective custody.”
What? “Who are you protecting me from?”
“No one.” He pointed to his shirt. “I’m protecting the citizens of Westen from you.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
He ignored her comment and stalked through the open door into the other room she assumed was the main office to the jail. She tried to rack her brain. Wasn’t she allowed a phone call? But whom would she call? Certainly not Chloe. Her sister might be a lawyer and at the moment her client, but the last thing she wanted was to give her younger sister a chance to say, I told you so.
And she couldn’t call Dylan. Her youngest sister was getting ready to graduate from med school. She didn’t need the distraction of bailing her oldest sister out of jail.
No, she’d save her phone call for later. Right now she needed to figure a way out of this mess. She paced the cell a minute then stopped to listen for any information from the front room.
“What are you going to do with her, Sheriff?” she heard the other officer ask.
“I don’t know, Cleetus. She’s carrying a gun and claims to be a PI. Hell, she looks more like a schoolteacher than a PI.”
How was she supposed to look? She was a schoolteacher—or at least she had been the past eighteen years. Her handbook hadn’t said anything about looking different to be a PI. In fact the thing said the best ones blended in. What did the man expect? A trench coat and hat?
A drawer slammed in the front room. “Until I know for sure, I’m locking her weapon up and her too. Maybe that will keep her out of harm’s way.”
“Who’s she gonna harm? She’s just a little bitty thing.”
“Herself for one, me for another. Where’s my clean shirt?”
Several more drawers opened and closed.
“It’s in the back storeroom. Ruby said it wasn’t right to have clothes in the filing cabinets.”
Bobby hurried to sit on the cot that passed for a bed in her cell, just as the sheriff stomped back through the hall. She sucked in her breath at the sight of the man. Apparently she’d gotten more than just an old banana peel on him when she’d fallen into his arms. He’d stripped out of the shirt and was naked down to his waist.
Lord, she hadn’t seen a naked man that looked like this…ever. From the brief side view she could tell he didn’t have weight lifter six-pack abs, but he was all muscle, and she was sure that if he stood still she’d be able to count his lower ribs. The man had locked her up, humiliated her by cuffing her, and all she wanted to do was run her hands over every inch of his torso? There had to be something seriously wrong with her.
Maybe she had a fever? She put her hand to her forehead. Nope. Cool and dry. This was not good. Not once in her life had she let a man get her flustered. Not one male teacher or administrator had ever interested her romantically. Because she wouldn’t date any of them some had even assumed she was a lesbian. They’d been wrong, but she hadn’t tried to convince them otherwise.
Flirt. Oh, there was an idea. Lord knows she’d watched her younger sisters use the trick on their boyfriends for years.
She shook out her hair, and went to the cell door. “Sheriff?” she called in as sexy a voice as she could muster just as he started back up the hall. He’d put on the new shirt—same faded blue denim as its predecessor—and had it almost completely buttoned.
“What?” He still sounded surly as he removed the baseball cap and ran his hands over his short, military-cut, sandy-blonde hair, then slapped the cap back on.
This close she noticed the pierced holes in his left ear. How odd.
“Can’t we come to some compromise?” She cocked her head to the side, just like Dylan did when she was a little girl, and peered up at him.
He’d removed his glasses and she saw his eyes were the color of winter spruce. His lips twitched and he seemed to be buying her act.
The phone rang in the front room.
“And just what are you offering, Ms. Roberts?”
Heat from him radiated through the bars. She licked her dry lips. Nerves or excitement, she wasn’t sure which, but the man certainly had the effect of a desert storm on her mind and body.
“Well…”
“Sheriff, there’s a fire out at Aaron Turnbill’s place.” The other officer stood in the doorway.
“Shit. Call the county fire department.” His attention completely focused on his deputy he stomped away from the cell to the front room.
Crap! She’d lost her chance.
“Aaron already did, both the county and the local volunteers. That would be me, too, Sheriff.”
“I’ll meet them out there. You’ll have to stay here this time.” Sheriff Justice grabbed his hat and glasses and hurried out back. He stopped in the doorway. “And Cleetus?”
“Yes, Sheriff?”
“She stays here, got it?”
“Yes, Sir.”
With that order, he was out the back door.
Bobby’s heart sank. So much for sex appeal. She’d known it was a long shot, since she’d never had any before, so why had she thought she could conjure some up today? This day, her very first day on her very first case, was turning out to be a complete disaster.
What was the sheriff going to do with her when he got back? How was she going to convince him she was a legitimate PI investigating a case? And just how long did he plan to keep her in this jail?
Chapter Two
Gage turned from the asphalt onto the gravel country road, spinning dirt as he hurried to the Turnbill’s farm. However, his mind remained on the woman locked up in his jail.
What the hell had come over him? He’d never used his power as a policeman to manhandle someone, especially not a woman. So why had he gone off the deep end this time?
Simple. He’d liked holding Bobby Roberts, even though she’d dumped garbage on him. It’d been a long time since a woman had intrigued him, even if what intrigued him had been mostly her bottom half. But the minute he’d seen that gun, he’d reacted on instinct. Three years ago he’d naїvely let one woman’s looks almost get him killed. He wasn’t going to let another, even if she did look more like a schoolteacher than a dangerous criminal.
His radio crackled.
>
“Gage?” John Wilson, chief of the volunteer fire brigade was on the other end of the line. “You on your way out here?”
Gage lifted the mouthpiece. “I’m less than a mile from the farm, John. How’s it look?”
“Aaron called it in, but the fire isn’t really on his property, over.”
“Where exactly is it?”
“On that abandoned land next to his back forty.”
Shit. If he’d been told that before he left, he could’ve taken the paved road all the way to the property. He knew exactly the area John described. Driving the gravel road around the Turnbill place took him the long way round.
“I’ll be there in about three minutes.”
Once he’d come on board as a deputy, Dad had taken him on a tour of their patrol area, telling him which lands the bank had foreclosed on before he'd moved back to Westen. At least with all the recent spring rains the brush around the abandoned place wouldn’t be dry. The fire shouldn’t spread to the Turnbill farm. Had it been the dead of summer, with the occasional drought and dry grasses the area had, the story would be different.
As he drove by the Turnbill’s the smell of smoke filled the air. Farther up the road the gray-white fumes hovered over the charred remains of an old barn. Both volunteer fire engines flanked the road, the men milling close by continuing to pour water onto the site.
He parked his vehicle behind one truck to leave room for the county fire truck, whose approaching sirens filled the air as he climbed out of his cruiser. One of the best things the town—with his dad’s prodding—ever did was form and train the volunteer fire teams. The county’s response time was under four minutes in the larger city and county seat, but out in the rural areas it took more than ten minutes for them to get to a fire. The volunteers kept the fires contained until the bigger units with full-time fighters arrived.
Before closing the door he pulled a pair of latex gloves out of his glove compartment. A solitary figure separated from the group of men keeping watch on the barn’s smoldering wood and headed his way. John Wilson’s tall, thin, and slightly bowed frame announced him as a man who worked long hard days in his farm’s fields eking out a living for his family.
“Glad to have you here, Gage.” They shook hands then approached the burn area.
“Do you have any idea how the fire started?”
“Not really.” John pointed to the barn’s side. “My best guess is it started on this side and spread. Aaron said he’s been seeing vehicles go past his house late at night lately, ever since the weather warmed up. What with all those warnings about the dangers from crystal meth labs the State Fire Marshal’s been sending out, I kept my men out of the actual fire area. Figure the professionals have the equipment and experience, so they can go in and figure out the cause.”
“Makes sense to me.”
Meth lab fires produced toxic fumes, and he’d too just as soon the volunteers, who were mostly farmers, stay clear until an actual cause was determined. He looked around at the volunteer fire team. “Is Aaron around?”
John shook his head. “Said he had to finish planting his soybeans before dark, but he’d come back over as soon as he finished.”
“Good. I’ll see if he can give me a description of those suspicious vehicles he’s been seeing.”
The county fire truck and EMS squad arrived. While John stepped over to fill the captain in on the fire and their actions, Gage circled the perimeter, careful to stay out of any area that might still smolder. Off to the rear of the barn he found a pile of empty beer cans. He squatted down and with a pen he lifted the can and sniffed. Just beer.
Several butts of rolled cigarettes littered the area. He pulled on his gloves, lifted one and sniffed. Grade A pot.
“Find anything, Gunslinger?” A deep gravelly voice spoke from behind him.
“Hey, Deke.” Gage shook his head at the high school nickname as he stood and held the butt toward his old friend, Deke Reynolds. “Looks like someone’s been smoking pot and drinking beer out here.”
“Any sign of a burn pit?”
“Nope.” Gage scanned the area once more. A burn pit was an area away from the building where a meth lab was housed, with stained soil or dead vegetation from the meth cooks dumping their chemicals or waste. “I don’t see any trash other than beer cans and pot, either. I’d guess just some local kids partying.”
“Maybe we’ll get lucky and that’s all this will turn out to be.” Deke bagged the cigarette butt and beer can before walking to the perimeter of the fire area where several of his men had donned hazardous-chemical suits and masks.
As County Fire Chief and a detail-oriented man, Deke donned his own suit and mask and led them through the nearly dilapidated pile of charred lumber.
As he watched his friend give orders to his men Gage’s stomach rumbled. Once he finished here, he’d best get some lunch over at the Peaches ’N Cream café. Low blood sugar wouldn’t make dealing with his other problem—one small, nicely shaped female with the impaired belief that she was a private detective—any easier.
Just as the café owner’s daughter, Rachel, refilled Gage’s mug with fresh coffee, Mayor Tobias Rawlins slithered into the booth with him. Two members of the town council and the owner of the local paper, Rawlins’ constant entourage, scooted in with them.
Great. Just what he needed today. First his dispatcher breaks a hip, next a PI comes to town, errant cows cause a traffic jam, a fire, and now small-town politics.
Couldn’t he eat in peace?
Seven more months to play sheriff in this town then someone else would be elected to watch over the crazies and he could move back to the city. Nothing could induce him to stay one more second than was absolutely necessary. Sometimes what this town needed more than a sheriff was a zookeeper.
To relieve the ache talking to the town’s chief politician always caused, Gage rubbed his forehead and looked at each of the other men. “Something I can do for you gentlemen?”
“Sheriff, we want to discuss the situation with regards to Ruby Martin,” Rawlins said just loud enough for anyone in a two-booth radius to hear.
And that’s exactly what they did. Lorna and the café’s staff stopped serving, the banker and his two managers stopped their daily lunch meeting, even the two ladies from the antique store all leaned his way to hear the news on Ruby. In this town, no matter what you tried to keep secret, sooner or later the whole town knew your business. You couldn’t fart without someone spreading the news.
“What situation do you mean, Mayor?” he asked, as he cut another bite of Lorna’s killer meatloaf and ignored the multitude of curious stares.
“Well, frankly Ruby should’ve retired years ago. And now, with her falling on her way to work this morning, we’re just wondering if she’ll try to sue the town for not providing adequate transportation.” The mayor sat back and adjusted his suit, waiting for his reply. The three councilmen nodded like bobblehead dolls.
The sheriff’s office had employed one secretary-dispatcher for the past fifty years, Ruby Martin. Working for the department was what kept her young, that and the fact she walked to work daily. Unfortunately, today she broke her hip on the way into work which had left him shorthanded. And here Tobias was trying to score political points at her expense.
Gage cut another chunk of the meatloaf with his fork, scooped it through thick brown gravy and ate, chewing slowly and letting the quartet wait on his answer. He hated politicians, he hated attention seekers, he hated people who used other’s problems to make themselves look important, but today he really hated anyone getting between him and Lorna’s meatloaf special.
“Gentleman,” he said as he finished, setting his fork on the rim of the plate. “Rest assured that Ruby has no intention of suing the town.”
“Are you promising us there will be no repercussions?” Richard Davis, the newspaperman asked, taking out his pad and pencil.
“No, Dick, I can’t. But off the record,” Gage said loud enough for
everyone to hear him, “I’d say Ruby won’t want to bother. Everyone knows she kept working because she liked the stimulation. She walked to work because she liked the exercise. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”
He managed to leave the café with only a dozen people stopping him to inquire after Ruby’s health.
***
Bobby looked at her watch again.
Breathe. Exhale. Breathe again. It wasn’t that bad.
She’d managed to survive her first hour locked in a jail cell. Albeit a very small cell.
Cut it out. The cell was probably a standard size.
From her sister’s conversations over the last few years she knew the overbearing sheriff couldn’t hold her for more than twenty-four hours without formally charging her with something. So technically she had twenty-three hours left to go. She could do this.
Her stomach growled.
Great. This morning she’d been so excited to get started she’d inhaled a sausage sandwich and coffee on her way out of Cincinnati and nothing since. Weren’t they required to feed prisoners?
She leaned into the cell’s door. “Officer?”
No response. Up front the deputy’s shoes shuffled across the wood floor and his low muttering filled the silence as he talked to himself.
“Deputy?” She called a little louder. “Excuse me, Deputy?”
A moment later he filled the doorway. “Yes, ma’am?”
“Could I have something to eat and drink? Please?” Her mother always said a man loved a sweet voice more than a sour face.
“Ma’am, Gage didn’t give me permission to leave.”
“Please call me Bobby, Deputy. You don’t have any water or snacks up there in the office? Or maybe you could give me my purse. I have a bottle of water and a granola bar in it.”
He looked like he was going to refuse, but her stomach picked the most opportune time to growl very loudly. The deputy grinned at her and turned away. A moment later he returned carrying her bag. She reached for it, but he held it out of her way.
“Now, the rules say you’re not supposed to have access to your belongings while in jail, but Miz Ruby told me never to rummage through a lady’s purse without her permission. So, I’ll just get those things out while you’re watching. Okay?”
Close To The Edge (Westen #2) Page 2
