“I suppose I can subpoena the bank records.”
“Not yet, Chloe. If those letters disappeared, a subpoena won’t make them reappear. Let me see what I can find out.” Bobby tried not to sound panicked. She’d convinced Chloe she could get the information and she would. Besides, she wasn’t ready to leave Westen and its arrogant sheriff just yet.
“I don’t know, Bobby. I hate to have you wasting your time and money…” The hesitation on the other end of the line gave her an opening.
“I’m not wasting my time. As far as money goes, believe me I’ve hardly spent more than gas money.” Staying locked in the jail she hadn’t even spent money on food today. “If nothing else, after tomorrow I’ll be able to tell you the Loan Officer’s name to put on the subpoena.”
“Okay. Jeez, I wish you’d decided to go on a cruise for adventure. I never should’ve let you talk me into investigating this case for me.”
Bobby rolled her eyes and stuck her tongue out at the cell phone. Dammit, her sisters owed her this time. “You know Chloe, I didn’t complain when you wanted to follow your dream to go to law school.”
“Oh no, don’t you start telling me how you worked summer school every year to supplement my law school scholarship.” Chloe laughed into the phone. “I know I owe you for that and so many more things. Why do you think I gave into this harebrained scheme of yours?”
It was Bobby’s turn to laugh. Both Chloe and Dylan had outgrown her guilt-complex lectures. “So I’m still on the case?”
“Sure, Sis. Just keep me posted if you find out anything I can use. The case doesn’t go to court for another two months.”
They talked a few more minutes about Chloe’s other cases and their sister’s upcoming graduation. Bobby promised that no matter what she’d meet Chloe in Columbus for Dylan’s Med-school graduation ceremony.
It was what her parents would have expected of them. All three daughters graduating from school and with professional jobs. Well, okay, two out of three had professions they liked.
Bobby sighed as she closed her cell phone. Chloe had thrown her this bone of a case to let her “play” detective. It was up to her to do a good job. The idea of being trapped teaching class one more year made her cringe with sick dread.
Her stomach growled loud enough to be heard three miles away. The snack bar she’d eaten earlier wouldn’t get her through the night. Unlike her younger siblings, she couldn’t survive simply on junk food. She needed some all-American protein, in the form of a cheeseburger. She glanced at her watch. Nearly nine. That little café in the center of Westen was probably closed by now.
Okay, she had two options. She could climb into her car and drive down the highway until she found a fast-food place, get a burger and some fries, bring them back and eat in her room, which would mean her food would be cold and congealed. Or she could take a chance and eat at the greasy-spoon diner less than a hundred yards from her room.
A glance out her window showed the light on at the café on the near side of the parking lot. A man stood behind the counter serving people. Her stomach growled again followed by a hollow pain deep inside. Okay. Greasy-spoon diner it was. She grabbed her purse and room key.
Chapter Four
Assistant District Attorney Moira Dudson stalked back into her office, clicked on the florescent lights and slammed the door behind her. Today’s verdict was her third loss in as many months. If she wanted her party’s political backers to support her bid for District Attorney this fall, she needed to make some headlines—fast. Her political career was going to hell faster than a serial killer in the electric chair.
She slumped down into her leather chair, kicked off her Carmen Ho linen stilettos and turned to stare at the photos on the wall beside her. There was a picture of her shaking hands with the chief of police. The headline read, “Assistant DA Instrumental in Cracking Cocaine Ring”. Another photo showed her at a political fundraiser, arm-in-arm with both the Mayor and Governor. Those photos were nearly three years old.
It was supposed to be so easy. As a junior assistant, she’d managed to catapult herself into the limelight three years ago with that high-profile drug bust. There should’ve been more of those. After all, she’d had an inside man undercover in the drug scene.
Gage. The greatest disappointment in her life.
Frustration rumbled through her like the beginning of a late-spring thunderstorm. They should’ve been the dynamic duo. Him busting the criminals and she prosecuting them, making a name for herself and moving them both into the state’s political realm. Instead he spent the first three years of their marriage undercover following a cocaine trail. Just when the major raid took place and they should’ve been soaring into the limelight, he managed to get himself shot.
Not just once.
Not just twice.
But three damn times.
A tentative knock sounded on her door.
She swallowed the urge to yell at the intruder. What little patience she had today had been used up kissing her boss’s ass tonight at dinner. But gossip traveled fast in this office and she had an image to maintain. Screaming like a fishwife at the door wouldn’t help her get anywhere.
The knock sounded a second time, this time a little stronger.
Exhaling, she kicked her shoes under the desk, opened a file and pulled out a pen.
Always give the illusion of being busy.
“Come in.”
The door opened and her secretary—plain, efficient, the nondescript type of helper she preferred to make her stand out whenever they were seen together—stepped inside.
“Sorry to disturb you, Ms. Dudson, but I wanted to give you your phone messages before I left for the night.”
“Thank you, Lisa.” She held out her hand and took the slips of paper from the mousy blonde, who waited while she flipped through them.
Damn. Gage hadn’t returned her call. The man was impossible.
She clenched her teeth to keep from grinding on the expensive orthodontic work she’d paid for to give her a million-dollar smile. Pressure built inside her chest and she stared at the slips in her hands as if thinking, all the while forcing air slowly into and out of her lungs.
“No message from Sheriff Justice over in Westen?” She never referred to Gage as her ex-husband within earshot of subordinates. That part of her life was in the past. She refused to admit to a failure.
“No, ma’am.”
“Thank you. Be here bright and early tomorrow, I’d like to get a head start on the Smith-Johnson case.” She glanced at Lisa, who had edged out of the office and started to close the door. “Leave it open.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Focusing on the papers in front of her, Moira listened for the elevator bell signaling she was alone in the office. She tossed her pen onto the desk and leaned back in her chair once more.
Gage wasn’t calling her back just to piss her off. The man gave stubborn a whole new meaning. After three years you’d think he’d have forgiven her at least enough to take a phone call. He’d answered her first call to his cell this morning, but hung up immediately. The next three calls had gone directly to his voicemail, which he apparently planned to ignore.
She opened her phone book and dialed his home number, the one his father had originally given her. It rang and rang. The clock on the shelves lining her office read eight. Lord knows that small town closed its doors early. Where else would he be?
Suddenly the phone clicked over.
“This is Gage. Hear the beep. Leave a message.”
Abrupt and to the point. He’d gotten almost sullen since his little accident.
The phone beeped.
“Gage, it’s Moira. Look, I have some interesting intel I need to talk with you about.” She lowered her voice to sound huskily seductive, just the way he’d always liked. “Call me.”
After hanging up, she opened her bottom file drawer and lifted out the file the narcotics detective she’d been sleeping with had given her.
He’d told her the State meth taskforce was looking at the northeastern to central area of the state, right where Westen was located, as a possible new source of the drug. They also had major drug raids scheduled to get the current supplies off the streets. When they’d done so, they planned to concentrate efforts to close down the rural labs.
If she moved quickly, she could position herself to not only tip off the taskforce, but get credit for the bust and possibly maneuver herself out of local politics into the state arena.
All she needed was Gage’s cooperation. And she’d get it no matter how dirty she had to play.
***
Gage cursed himself for a fool as he rode back down the highway to the one-stop motel and diner again. The lady detective was safe and sound behind her locked door. She was probably sound asleep in her bed.
The idea of her in bed had the vision of the first moment he saw her popping into his mind once more. Okay, the first moment he’d seen her ass. He wondered if it looked as good in the flesh as it had with those jeans stretched across those round curves. He’d love to see her on her hands and knees in front of him, his hands cupping those firm round cheeks in his palms as he…
“What the hell?” His erotic dream burst as he pulled into the parking lot and found it missing one thing. Her car. “Where the hell has she gone at this time of night?”
He stopped the bike in front of room number six and stomped to the door. No sign of forced entry. He tried the knob.
Locked.
He pounded on it. “Bobby?”
No answer.
Was she inside? Hurt? Had someone attacked her? Stolen her car? Left her for dead?
“Something I can help you with, Sheriff?”
Gage swung around to see Walt Sanders strolling out the diner’s door. He met him halfway. “Do you know where the lady who’s staying in this room might have gone?”
“Ms. Roberts?” The motel owner’s head shook as he spoke, his white hair bobbing with the effort.
Gage nodded.
“Nice lady. She came in a little while ago wanting something to eat. I hated having to tell her the grill was busted. All I’m serving tonight is coffee and dessert. She said she needed something with more meat on it.”
“Did she head toward the McDonald’s over near the interstate?” Gage started for his bike.
“Nope. I sent her on over to the Wagon Wheel. She was looking for a big thick burger and onion rings. You know they make the best in town, even if they are my competitors.”
“Thanks, Walt.” Gage straddled the bike and kicked the starter. “Hey, Walt, is room five or seven open tonight?”
“Seven is. Why?”
“Hold it for me, okay?”
“Sure thing, Sheriff.” Walt gave him a puzzled look.
Gage gunned the engine and headed back toward town and the tavern on the other side. He didn’t want to take the time to explain he’d be staying in the room to keep an eye on the lady PI tonight. He just prayed she hadn’t gotten into any more trouble over at the Wagon Wheel.
What had Walt been thinking to send her there? As much as Gage liked hanging out at the tavern, drinking a whiskey and trying to forget his problems, it wasn’t exactly a place a lady like Bobby should be visiting. Westen didn’t have a lot of troublemakers or delinquent types. But what few there were called the Wagon Wheel home.
With every mile his bike covered he cussed a blue streak. He should’ve tossed her back in the jail cell for the night. Nothing good came from private investigators, especially women who played at being one.
Damn, damn, damn.
The Wagon Wheel’s parking lot was filled with a couple of eighteen wheelers and cars that had mostly seen better days. No Lexuses or BMWs among the bunch. In fact, the only vehicle that had any street value was Bobby’s little Toyota. He maneuvered his bike next to it, so he wouldn’t have far to go after he hauled her fanny out of the tavern.
The twangy sound of a steel guitar playing the bridge to an old Conway Twitty song blasted Gage’s ears as he entered. It was the kind of place where a man could down a few drinks with the guys without some tight-assed woman whining at him. The tables were covered with red-and-white plastic tablecloths. Dartboards and neon-trimmed beer signs hung on the walls and over the bar. If a fight broke out or the toilets overflowed, well, it just added to the place’s ambiance.
In one half of the tavern sat felt-covered pool tables where three guys decked out in biker leathers and worn jeans held pool cues while a fourth took his shot. Half-drunk beers sat in clear mugs on the tables lining the poolroom. Two women he knew were the area’s working prostitutes sat on barstools flirting with the men watching the game. Tonight was their lucky night. There was only one woman he planned on taking out of here.
At the bar sat two regulars, Harv and Mac. The two men must be near eighty. They’d served in Korea together, were widowed and spent every night at the bar just to keep from going home to their empty houses. Luckily they only drank a couple of beers while they reminisced and he’d never had to arrest either for DUI.
As Gage scanned the room it took a moment for him to find Bobby, but that was only because she’d managed to get herself caught at a corner table with two burly men who blocked his view.
Her gaze met his and she barely hid the slight look of panic in them. Something hot and feral leapt inside him. No one was going to hurt her, not on his watch. His first instinct was to pummel both men, then carry Bobby, over his shoulder if necessary, out of the tavern.
For a moment he studied her and the two men. She didn’t seem to be in any real trouble. She took a bite of her cheeseburger and smiled at one of the men. The same kind smile she’d given Cleetus, but not him. Most women would be nervous being cornered by two strange men, whom he’d bet were truckers staying at the same motel she was. The naїve woman seemed to be trying to sweet-talk them.
What was the matter with him? Not like she was his responsibility. Last he checked America was still a free country and the woman had the right to get herself raped or killed if she wanted to. He ought to just turn around and head home.
Wait a minute. Why should he be the one to go home? He was here. The food was good. A bottle of Jack was behind the bar. Might as well have a shot. It might be fun to watch the lady detective get herself out of this mess.
He sauntered over to the bar.
“Evening, Sheriff.” Ralph, the Wagon Wheel’s owner and chief bartender greeted him, setting a shot glass in front of him and filling it with the fine amber whiskey. “You’re a little late tonight, aren’t you?”
Did Ralph really know his habits so well? He didn’t come in every night to drink. Or did he? He certainly had when he’d first come back to Westen last year. He’d needed something to chase away the nightmares so he could sleep. Dad had been patient with him, even driving by to take him home on those first nights when he’d nearly drunk himself into a stupor. But after a few months at home his nightmares had eased. Subsequently, he’d had to deal with his father’s cancer and death. Now he only had one drink. Something else he’d promised his dad.
“Had a council meeting tonight.” Gage straddled a barstool at an angle that let him easily observe the corner table behind him through the bar’s mirror.
“Maybe I ought to pour you a double,” the bartender laughed.
“No thanks, Ralph.” As tempting as the idea was, Gage had a feeling he’d better keep his wits about him. Who knew what trouble Ms. Roberts could get herself into? “Although, just listening to Mayor Rawlins drone on about his plans for the town would make a Baptist minister drink.”
Ralph laughed again. “That it would, Sheriff.”
The crowd by the pool tables called for more beer and Ralph went to pour another pitcher. Gage sipped his whiskey, his back to the corner Bobby sat in, but he could see every detail in the mirror across from him.
The little brunette nodded at something one of the men said, picking up her burger and sinking her perfectly straight whit
e teeth into the bread and meat. Wonder what it would feel like having those pearly whites nibble their way over his skin. Heat surged to his groin and he swallowed hard, nearly choking on the whiskey.
What was it about this woman that had him thinking like some hormone-crazed teenager? The last time he’d had this problem was when he’d seen Maureen Yoder in her bikini at the high school swim meet his freshman year. Now, getting all hot and bothered over Maureen he could understand. The girl had the figure of a Playboy pinup.
He glanced in the mirror. But Ms. Roberts? She looked more like the pinup of the year for the National Education Association. Wholesome. Sweet. Nothing to really stand her out in a crowd. Well, nothing if you didn’t include that nice ass.
“Ralph.” He called the other man over as he stepped behind the bar once more. “How about asking Margie to throw me a burger on the grill?”
“Sure thing, Sheriff. Fries, too?”
Gage glanced at the mirror where his little detective still held court. He was pretty sure only one of his hungers was getting eased tonight. “Might as well.”
Since laughter emitted from the corner booth and neither man had made an unwanted move on Bobby, Gage leaned over the bar and sipped his whiskey while he watched the sports channel on the bar’s TV. Once his food arrived, he split his attention between watching Bobby and catching up on the day’s baseball scores as he ate. Every so often he’d glance into the mirror to find Bobby’s gaze on him. For a moment he’d watch her, always waiting until she looked away.
Three more bites and he’d be finished. Afterward he’d have to convince her it was time to return to the hotel. He just had to remember they were getting separate rooms.
A movement in the mirror caught his attention. She’d stood, slipped her purse on her shoulder and was moving his way.
Great. He didn’t want to leave his dinner unfinished, but there was no way he wasn’t following her back to the motel.
“Hope your dinner was as good as mine, Sheriff,” she said right behind him just as he took half of his remaining burger in one big bite. She sauntered away, only she didn’t head for the exit. Oh no, not her.
Close To The Edge (Westen #2) Page 5
