The phone by the bedside rang again.
Gage grabbed it. “Yeah?”
“Sheriff, you wanted a wake-up call?”
He rolled over and squinted at the glowing red numbers on the clock. Six-forty-five in the friggin’ morning. No sane person woke up voluntarily at this hour of the day. He looked around the room. He wasn’t home.
The motel. Walt was on the phone.
“I’m up. Thanks, Walt.”
After he’d left Bobby for the night, he’d walked over and paid for his room and asked the motel owner to make sure he was up this morning. It had taken him a while to calm down the erection kissing her had caused. Now he was awake before the crack of dawn.
He grabbed his jeans, pulled them on, stepped into his boots and headed out the door. Passing Bobby’s door, he knocked once, loudly.
“Don’t forget. My office, first thing,” he said through the door.
Climbing on his bike, he gunned the engine. He needed to get home to shower and shave before his meeting with Bobby. Coffee. He’d need lots of it if he meant to be civil with the woman this morning.
At his house, he threw his keys onto the kitchen table and shoved his hands through his freshly cut hair. He hated keeping it this short, but it was part of the image he now had to display—clean-cut, all-American town sheriff. What he wouldn’t give for a cigarette right now. Tasting the woody, sweet tobacco on the tip of his tongue. Inhaling deep to let the smoke fill his lungs, exhaling slowly as the nicotine calmed his nerves, woke his senses and allowed him to think clearly. Every morning for the past six months he’d craved that first smoke of the day, and mornings like this were the worst.
Lying in the hospital gasping in his last breath, his dying father had asked only two things of him. He’d sworn to the old man he’d stay in this rinky-dink little town to finish out his dad’s last term as sheriff, and he’d promised to quit smoking so he wouldn’t die of lung cancer, too. So no matter how much he craved a cigarette, he hadn’t touched another from that moment on. He wouldn’t break either promise.
“Damn, this is going to be a long day.”
Upstairs, he stripped down to his boxers then saw the blinds in the house next door close.
Dammit! He’d forgotten his voyeur neighbor.
The first morning he’d come home to stay with his dad, nearly two years ago, he’d gotten a rather rude reminder of small-town etiquette. If you didn’t want your neighbor, the widow Munroe, getting a bird’s eye view of you in the buff, you closed your shades at night before taking off your clothes. You didn’t open them again until at least your underwear was on in the morning.
He smiled and shook his head at the memory. Dad had gotten quite a kick out of that, especially since every time he saw Mrs. Munroe from then on, the elderly lady blushed and gave him a sly smile.
That was one thing he missed about living in the city—anonymity. Your neighbors didn’t try to get to know you, didn’t want to know you. And they certainly didn’t get a good look at you completely naked, unless you wanted them to.
He stalked across to the bathroom and turned on the shower. He stood beneath the hot water, letting it run over his body. The hot-water heater in this old house gave out quick. Pretty soon the water temperature would turn cold, so he enjoyed the few minutes of near-scalding water pounding over his muscles.
When he finished showering, he wiped the steam off the glass and studied himself a moment. The three round, puckered scars on his torso stuck out like neon lights. He fingered the one on his upper left chest. When he’d awakened in the ICU, the surgeon had told him that if that bullet had been just a fraction of an inch lower it would’ve hit his aorta, and there wouldn’t have been a chance in hell of saving him.
He slid his finger lower to the one on his left abdomen. That one had cost him his spleen, but at least that was an organ you could live without, if you didn’t bleed to death before help got there. That was the only thing he’d managed to do right that winter night three years ago. The cold kept him from completely bleeding out.
Finally, he slid his finger back up to the midsection of his right ribcage. That one had been the worst of the three. Broke three ribs while it bounced around inside his lung. He still had two thin scars from where the chest tubes sucked the blood out of his lung for nearly a week, trying to re-inflate his collapsed lung. Every time he got a cold and coughed, it still hurt like a son-of-a-bitch.
He stared at all three wounds in the mirror. The betrayal that caused his injuries and his near death hurt worse than any of the bullets had. Most days he tried not to think about it and most nights he tried not to let a bottle of Jack drown out the pain.
Opening the medicine cabinet, he looked for his shaving cream. As he lifted it out, he saw the small glass bottle behind it. He picked it up and stared at the contents. One mangled bullet and a plain gold wedding band—souvenirs to remind him of his own stupidity. He shoved the bottle back into the farthest corner of the cabinet. He couldn’t change what happened in the past, and it had little to do with hurrying Bobby Roberts out of his life and town today.
After receiving Gage’s rude pounding on her door before dawn, Bobby decided to delay her meeting with him and pursue her case with a visit to the bank. Outside the brick building, she tugged her sweater shell and cardigan set down over the top of her slacks, moistened her lips, took a deep breath and entered as if in a hurry. She stepped past the line of patrons and tellers to the office nearest the door.
“May I help you?” The platinum blonde—Geraldine Taylor, New Account Representative, her name plaque boldly proclaimed—looked up from her desk. Lips the color of Pepto Bismol, sky-blue eye shadow applied with a trowel and cheekbones sculpted from three shades of blush suggested she hadn’t had an updated look since the early seventies.
Bobby schooled her attitude, plastered an embarrassed smile on her face and held out her hand. “Oh, I do hope you can. I have a bit of a problem.”
The female bank officer, dressed in a navy gabardine suit tailored to fit the curves of her waist and hips, and a white blouse with a plunging neckline to show off her well-endowed chest, stood to shake her hand. She motioned for Bobby to take one of the two straight-back chairs in front of her desk. “Please tell me what seems to be the problem?”
“I am so embarrassed.” Bobby lowered her eyes and forced herself to swallow hard in order to appear flustered. “I’m traveling through town, and somehow I managed to lose my ATM card. I’ve run out of cash, and frankly I hate putting items on my credit card. The interest is so overwhelming sometimes.”
“There shouldn’t be a problem, ma’am. If you have an account with one of our branches, you can simply cash a check here.”
“I feel so stupid.” Bobby let out a long sigh, twisting the strap to her purse in nervous agitation. “When I left my house yesterday, I managed to only bring one check with me, which I already used. You must think me a complete ninny.”
“Oh, no. Think nothing of it,” the woman reassured her with a gentle smile and a pat on the hand. Only her eyes seemed to say yes, you’re a complete moron. “People do things like this all the time.”
“Since I’ll be doing a lot of traveling in this area for my work, I’d hoped you could wire money from my other bank into a new account here at your bank.”
“Why certainly. Do you know your banking information?” Ms. Taylor pulled open her desk drawer faster than a mechanical rabbit out of the gate at a greyhound race and withdrew several papers. Realizing she was about to get a new account for her bank seemed to take all the cynicism out of her demeanor.
“Yes, it’s all right here.” Bobby fished out the paper she’d written her banking information on early this morning. Knowing Gage slept on the other side of her motel room’s wall, she’d given up on trying to get any semblance of sleep around four. She’d spent the rest of the time before the bank opened deciding on her next plan to find out information about the bank and its employees. Dumpster diving had done li
ttle more than make her a walking bulls-eye for the sheriff. “I’d like to deposit two-thousand today and get a little cash, too?”
“It will be ten days before you will have an ATM card to make withdrawals,” Ms. Taylor explained as she happily filled all the little spaces on the paper in front of her.
“Oh, I won’t need a card. I’ll just come in and fill out a form whenever I need a little cash and I’m in the area. If that won’t be too much trouble.” Bobby gave her a little smile. God, she hoped she wasn’t sounding too inane. If her sisters could hear her now they’d be convinced she needed to visit the little men with white jackets and padded room for an unscheduled vacation.
“If you’re sure.” The woman gave her a look that said she thought she was crazy, as well as stupid.
After handing over her driver’s license, Bobby reassured her it would be no inconvenience to come into the bank for her cash, which was true considering she wanted to have a legitimate reason for being inside it and observing the workers. She sat back and waited as the woman finished filling out all the necessary paperwork. With the signatures on the appropriate lines, Ms. Taylor shimmied her way into the next office to get approval from the bank’s manager for the money wire.
Taking out her pad of paper, Bobby made notes as she surveyed the bank’s layout and personnel. Her PI manual taught that even the smallest observation could have meaning in an investigation. Observing people came easily to her as years ago, when she and her mother went to the mall to shop, she’d developed a passion for people watching.
Behind the long counter sat three female tellers of various ages. They handled the business of the few customers who entered the bank this morning and conversed among themselves. An aged security guard sat near the entrance, flipping through a magazine. Besides the office she sat in, there were two others located far from the tellers on the bank’s opposite side. One was dark, as if its owner had taken the day off.
It was the other office her new best friend, Ms. Taylor, disappeared into. The manager, an older gentleman, nearing retirement age if Bobby had to guess from his white hair and slightly hunched posture, sat at his desk as the new account officer presented him with her paperwork. The man briefly glanced at the papers, but spent the rest of the time leering down his co-worker’s exposed cleavage.
Bobby chuckled softly and wrote his description down in her notebook—near retirement, but apparently not feeling it.
A few moments later, Ms. Taylor returned, a smile lighting up her face. “We have you all set, Ms. Roberts. Your checks should arrive at your home in a week or two. In the meantime if you need any cash, just fill out a form and show the teller your ID to make a withdrawal.”
“That will be just wonderful.” Bobby stood and took the papers Ms. Taylor handed her. “You have been so helpful. Might I ask one more question?”
“Of course.”
“The scenery around Westen is so lovely. If I wanted to buy some property, say in the next six months or so, could you help me with a loan?”
Ms. Taylor shook her head and gave her another placating smile. “I’m sorry. I don’t handle that kind of transaction. That would be done by our loan officer, Mr. Evans.”
“Oh. Would that be the gentleman you were speaking with just now?”
Ms. Taylor laughed. “No, that’s Mr. Peters, the bank manager. Mr. Evans is out of the office today. He should be back next Monday.”
“Well I’m sure I won’t find any property to buy before then.” Bobby laughed and thanked the bank officer once more before leaving.
Out on the street, she paused to write the names of the bank managers into her notepad. Mr. Evans was in charge of loans. He was the most likely candidate to file a lien on the Byrd property. Now she had a name to put in her report to Chloe.
“What are you doing?”
Gage’s voice startled her from behind. She would’ve jumped into the path of a passing pickup had he not grabbed her firmly by the elbow and held her in place.
“Do you have to keep doing that?” For a big man, he moved with great stealth. She narrowed her eyes at him. His reflective sunglasses blocked her view of his eyes, but she’d just bet he’d enjoyed scaring her out of another few minutes of life.
“If you’d stop snooping around where you have no business, I wouldn’t have to question you, now would I?” He kept his grip on her elbow and steered her down the sidewalk toward his office…and the very small, confining, suffocating jail cell.
She dug her heels in, ignoring the stares of the few pedestrians on the sidewalk on a Friday morning. “I wasn’t snooping and I wasn’t doing anything wrong. You can’t arrest me.”
“You were supposed to meet me at my office first thing this morning, Bobby. Instead I find you in the bank. The same bank where I hauled you out of the trash yesterday. We’re going to my office to have that discussion about your case. I’m not going to arrest you.” His voice was low, but the intensity suggested he barely had a leash on his temper. He gave her arm a small, firm tug.
The message was clear. Follow or risk causing a public scene. Without further protest she let him lead her down the block. With her luck he’d probably use an altercation as an excuse for arresting her for disturbing the peace or causing a public nuisance.
She really needed to sit down with Chloe and figure out all the ways she could avoid getting locked up while she tried to work this case. Of course, with a more ordinary and reasonable lawman she wouldn’t have to worry about spending time in jail. However, in the brief time she’d known Gage Justice she’d learned one thing. Ordinary and reasonable weren’t part of his makeup.
At his office, the sheriff released his hold on her and opened the door. For a moment she considered fleeing, but didn’t doubt for a second he’d tackle her, haul her back over his shoulder like some caveman and shove her into the cell once more. She was more scared of the jail cell than she was him. One eyebrow lifting in question above his sunglasses, he stood almost patiently waiting for her to enter as if he knew what she contemplated.
Crap. She might as well get this over with. With a huff, she straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin and marched through the door.
“Mornin’, Miz Roberts.” Cleetus stood from his position behind the computer. “Pleasure to see you here again this morning.”
“Good morning, Cleetus. Please call me Bobby.”
Gage humphed as he strode over to his desk.
He didn’t want her being nice to his deputy? Well too damn bad.
She smiled at the kind deputy. “How was Ruby last night?”
“The doctors have her on a lot of pain medicine right now, but she’s ordering everyone around already, so she must be feeling okay.” He grinned at the idea.
“I’m glad she’s doing well.”
“Thank you for asking, ma’am.”
“Ahem.” Gage cleared his throat, drawing both their attention. He pointed to the chair beside his desk. “Ms. Roberts, if you’re done catching up on the day’s gossip, perhaps we could get on with our conversation? Cleetus, you want to take the cruiser around town before lunch?”
“Sure thing, Sheriff.” Cleetus grabbed his keys and hat from the desk. “Nice to see you again, Miz. Bobby, ma’am.”
Bobby narrowed her eyes at Gage for a moment. The man gave insufferable a whole new definition.
“Nice to see you, too, deputy.” She patted Cleetus on the arm and walked to the seat Gage had indicated. She plopped down on the wooden seat, crossed her legs, leaning one elbow on the desk and propping her chin in her hand. “Now, Sheriff, what is it you wanted with little ole’ me?” she asked in her best Scarlett O’Hara impression.
Gage leaned back in his chair and studied her. Her flippant question caught him off guard and sent heat straight to his groin. If he told her what he really wanted from her, she’d probably run out of town as fast as her legs could carry her. Which is what he wanted, right? Otherwise, why did he have this desire to keep her around until he could ful
fill at least one of the fantasies he’d been having since he’d sat in the cruiser watching her jean-clad ass yesterday?
Holding her in his arms and kissing her last night had been a bad idea. He’d thought it would cure the ache inside him. Only instead of quenching the thirst, it had heightened it like a cold beer after a day of hard work in the blistering sun. All he’d wanted was another.
He’d spent a nearly sleepless night thinking about Bobby lying in the bed on the other side of the wall. He’d wondered if she slept naked or in one of those short little nightie things women liked to wear. Between that image and the nightmare that woke him, it had taken four cups of coffee to get his mind in working order today.
To top it off, she hadn’t come straight to his office this morning like he’d ordered her to do. He’d waited until after ten for her to show up. When she hadn’t, he’d gotten concerned something had happened to her and called Walt over at the motel to see if she was still there. Walt told him she’d left the motel nearly an hour earlier. That had him wondering where she’d gone. He hadn’t believed for a moment that she’d left town. She was here for a reason and wouldn’t leave until she had some answers. That he was sure of.
Determined to find her, he’d started over at The Peaches ’N Cream Café. Lorna, who hadn’t seen her yet that morning, offered him some of her special blueberry pancakes and ham, which normally he’d eat double helpings of, but he’d refused. Until he found Bobby, assured himself she wasn’t hurt and gave her a piece of his mind, he knew he couldn’t enjoy breakfast.
His anger simmering on a low boil, he’d just left the café when he saw the little brunette exit the bank. Instead of feeling some relief at finding her—the fact that he’d worried about her in the first place wasn’t something he wanted to think about anyway—his temper soared and he simply wanted to shake some sense into the woman. He’d settled for scaring her once again. He had to admit it was fun to watch her jump and see that startled, wide-eyed deer look she gave him. The blush that filled her cheeks and her offended tone when she scolded him only added to the fun.
Close To The Edge (Westen #2) Page 7
