In Too Deep

by Janelle Taylor

  “I’m not like your ex-wife, Hunter. I know you think I have no concept of money, but I do. But don’t expect me to act rationally when my son’s gone God knows where.” She swept her arm in a wide circle, close to tears again. “But I’m glad you arrived when you did,” she added in a small voice. “Thank you.”

  Hunter reached his left arm toward her and she hurried to curl up next to him, to hear his heartbeat and know she was safe. He inhaled deeply of her delicate scent, loving the closeness. Their game, for the moment, was over.

  “Do you think Rawley’s alive?” she finally asked. “Please don’t lie.”

  “Yes, I do. I think he’s been calling.”

  “Well, then, where is he?”

  Resting his cheek against the silky crown of her hair, Hunter wondered the same thing.

  Jenny wouldn’t have believed she could sleep, but though her mind raced and raced, her body relaxed. She and Hunter spent another night on the couch, and in the morning they stirred themselves awake.

  At nine o’clock the phone rang. “Give me Calgary,” Ortega barked into the phone, irascible as always.

  Hunter frowned. “Hello.”

  “This blasted rain’s brought your bum friend back and he smells like a garbage dump. Get him outta here. And are you working for this department, or not? If so, get in here.”

  “I’ve got to take Jenny to pick up her Volvo in Taos.”

  “Well, isn’t that nice. Russell looks as if he’ll walk again, more’s the pity. Talk about shooting yourself in the foot!” He laughed harshly.

  “I’ll stop by and check on Obie.” He hesitated. “Nothing on the boy yet?” He saw Jenny stiffen and look his way.

  “Not a damn thing.”

  “What did he say?” Jenny asked as Hunter hung up. He shook his head.

  “We’ll break Russell. We’ll make him talk.”

  “But every hour that goes by is just—” She broke off, unable to continue.

  “Come on. We’ll stop by the station and I’ll figure out what to do with Obie, then we can get your car.”

  “Who’s Obie?” she asked without any real interest.

  “Just a crazy old guy who doesn’t like the rain.”

  The snow had melted into puddles. Rain still fell lightly but the storm was passing. “That’ll probably be it till next winter,” Hunter observed. “Not a lot of precipitation around here, normally.”

  Jenny stared out the side window of the Jeep. “I had all these dreams about my restaurant and a new life. The hell with it. Only Rawley matters now.”

  “We will find him,” Hunter said with grim determination.

  “He would have come home by now. He wouldn’t let me worry.”

  “Don’t think that way.”

  “I can’t help it,” she said in a suffocated voice.

  Hunter moved his injured arm to touch her fingers. She lifted tear-drenched eyes to his and his gaze moved over the bruise on her cheek. “I love you,” he said.

  The tears spilled down her cheeks and onto her hands. She loved him, too, but Rawley was still out there somewhere. Alone? Hurt? She had no way of knowing.

  Obie Loggerfield stamped his feet outside the door of the police station. His fingers were frozen. He didn’t have his poncho on and that sure as hell didn’t help things. Damn, whoever invented rain, anyway.

  The sergeant stood inside the doors, hands on his hips, scowling like the mean bastard he was. To Obie’s utter shock, he suddenly thrust open one side of the glass double doors and ordered, “Well, get in here.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Obie said respectfully as he crossed the threshold and dripped melting snow and rain onto the floor.

  “Keep it right there.” He pointed to a square of linoleum. Enough room for one old bum, in Ortega’s opinion.

  “I wish to see Detective Calgary,” Obie said, sweeping his knitted cap from his head.

  Ortega gave him a look. “Why do you come all this way, just to have him drive you back?”

  Obie stuck out his chest. “I have an important message for him.”

  “Yeah, right. They’re all important.” Shaking his head at the puddle forming at Obie’s feet, he strode back to his office.

  Jenny sat frozen in the Jeep beside Hunter, keeping her mind on routine matters and off Rawley.

  “I have to call Gloria,” she said dully.

  “You know that Gloria can handle the restaurant’s operation. The paperwork will wait for your return.”

  “What’s going to happen after I get my car?” she asked. “How many hours do I have to wait until …?”

  Hunter interrupted her. “Troy’ll talk,” he said with grim confidence.

  “I don’t know …” She’d had him at gunpoint and he hadn’t coughed up the information on Rawley’s whereabouts. He’d known she was serious and still said nothing.

  They pulled up a block from the station. Hunter” opened her car door and Jenny stepped onto the wet street, avoiding the dirty snow that lined the curb.

  Lights were on in the police station. Hunter held the door for her and she stepped inside. An indescribable odor hit her nose and she glanced over at a begrimed man in ragged clothes who shivered in the entryway, water pooling at his feet, his brown stocking cap held deferentially in his hands.

  “So, Ortega let you in,” Hunter said. “Where’s your coat?”

  “Had to give my poncho away.”

  “Who was the lucky recipient?”

  “A friend in need.”

  Hunter noticed that the door to Ortega’s office was open. “Stay here a minute.” He motioned for Jenny to follow him.

  Obie called, “I need to give you some information, Detective Calgary.”

  “I’ll be right back and we’ll drive out to your place.” He placed his hand on the small of Jenny’s back, guiding her inside. “That’s Obie,” he said in her ear. “An olfactory delight.”

  “He’s very nice,” she said as they walked toward Ortega’s office. “He gave his poncho to someone who needed it more.”

  Hunter smiled. “Hard to imagine who that could be.” He stuck his head around the door jamb and spoke to Ortega. “Your dedication is a thing of beauty.”

  “Don’t get all gooey on me. Get your smelly pal out of here and buy him a cheap raincoat. He’s giving our station a bad odor, so to speak.”

  “When can I see Russell?”

  He shot him a look. “You taking your job back?”

  “Depends on when I can see Russell.”

  Hunter glanced at Jenny who said, “He knows where my son is.”

  “I’m aware of that, Ms. Holloway. Russell is in big trouble. He shot Hunter in California, and he took a minor across a couple of state lines.” He pursed his lips. “There’s a second kidnapping charge in New Mexico—” He inclined his head in Jenny’s direction. “Not to mention attempted rape and assault” Lieutenant Perkins has detectives waiting to interview him already.”

  Hunter glared at Ortega, who added tersely, “You’re out of this one, Calgary. For a lot of reasons. That bullet wound being one of them.”

  Jenny gazed from one to the other, her anxiety mounting. “What does that mean?”

  “It means I don’t get to talk to Russell myself,” Hunter bit out.

  “The department doesn’t want to risk being slapped with a lawsuit,” Ortega explained. “They would keep Hunter Calgary and Troy Russell in opposite states, if they could.”

  “So, when will these detectives talk to him?” Jenny wanted to know.

  “Soon.”

  She had no faith in any of this. Troy wasn’t going to give Rawley up. Why should he? He’d believed he could get away with anything where his long-lost son was concerned.

  Sergeant Ortega wanted to go over a few more aspects of the case with Hunter, and Jenny could take a hint. She stepped out of the room, signaling that she would wait in the hall. Walking around, healthy and basically unharmed, had a nightmarish quality to it when she had no idea what
Rawley’s condition was.

  She sank onto a wooden bench. Realizing Obie was still waiting patiently in the anteroom, she reminded herself to be polite and got up. Obie seemed to be a caring human being who deserved better than being forced to wait on a twelve-by-twelve square of linoleum.

  “Hey, there,” she said. “Why don’t you come in and sit down?”

  “Oh, the sergeant wouldn’t like that.”

  “You’re freezing. It’s warmer in here. I want you to come in.” She held out a hand to him.

  Obie hesitated, his eyes darting warily toward Ortega’s open door. The rise and fall of authoritative voices seemed to intimidate him.

  “Come on,” Jenny said, holding her breath a bit.

  Obie stepped into the brighter light, blinking a bit. His hair was a rat’s nest. She doubted it had been combed in years. Still, he self-consciously pulled lank strands behind his ear and lifted his chin. A beard had been hacked at and hung lopsided from his jaw.

  Around his dirt-grimed throat he wore a necklace of pink fake pearls.

  Jenny stared. Her hand flew to her own throat. “Whwhere did you get that?” she whispered, her voice failing her for a second.

  Obie looked down at himself, alarmed. “What?”

  “The necklace.”

  “Oh!” His face split into a grin. “That’s from my friend.”

  “The one you gave the poncho to?” He nodded vigorously. Jenny swallowed, scarcely able to breathe. “Is this friend a teenage boy?”

  Obie lifted his chin. “I never asked his age. Wouldn’t be polite.”

  “Is his name …Rawley?”

  “You know him!” Obie said in delight.

  Jenny swayed. She held her arms out for balance, overwhelmed with relief and about to faint. Obie darted forward and caught her. “Detective Calgary!” he called.

  Hunter instinctively leapt from his chair at the tone of Obie’s voice. Seeing Jenny in his arms, he rushed forward and gently drew her toward him. “Jenny!” he whispered, alarmed at her paleness and the tears filling her eyes. But a smile trembled on her lips. She couldn’t speak. She reached a finger toward Obie and touched the incongruous string of pink pearls circling his neck.

  Hunter gaped. He remembered it from their days in Puerto Vallarta—Jenny had said it was a birthday gift. “You got that from Rawley Holloway!” he snapped at Obie.

  “A gift!” Obie declared. “A gift, sir!”

  Jenny was nodding. “And he gave Rawley his poncho.”

  “What?” Ortega demanded behind them.

  But Hunter was already helping Jenny to her feet and hustling Obie out the door.

  Obie’s tent was surrounded by snow. Hunter screeched to a halt outside, but Jenny was out the door before he’d yanked on the brake.

  She ran to the entry flap and flung it aside. Rawley looked up, gasped, then threw his arms around her as soon as she entered and buried his head in her shoulder. Jenny laughed through tears of joy. “I love you. Oh, God. I missed you. I was so scared.”

  “I tried to call …” he choked out. “But you weren’t there. I was afraid he was—”

  “Shhh. Don’t talk,” she ordered, stroking his hair, then asked in the next breath, “How did you get here?”

  “Where is he?” Rawley asked fearfully.

  Hunter stuck his head inside the tent. “Troy’s in police custody,” he informed him.

  Rawley released his grip on Jenny. “Are you all right?” he asked Hunter. “I thought he shot you.”

  Hunter took a deep breath and said, “I’ll tell you all about it. Want to continue this reunion in fresher air?”

  Rawley gazed down at the filthy poncho Obie had lent him and said, “Guess I’m kinda used to it.” He peeled off the poncho and said solemnly to Obie, “Thank you.”

  “Keep it,” the old man said magnanimously.

  They managed to convince Obie that he needed the poncho more than Rawley. During the drive back to the condo Rawley sat in the back seat with Jenny. Holding his mother close, he explained what had happened, recounting his escape from Troy and adding, “I got away about an hour over the border from California into Arizona. I just ran and ran. Eventually I circled back to the road and I got picked up by a trucker. I wasn’t even hitchhiking. I know it was dangerous, Mom, but it was better than running into Troy.

  “I got another ride outside of Phoenix from a couple of guys driving a farm truck. Then an old codger who could barely stay on the road. I gotta learn to drive,” he added seriously. “Right away. I mean, I had to hold the wheel half the time to keep us on line.”

  Jenny said, “I’m just so glad you’re okay.”

  “Then we got into New Mexico and I got scared he would find me. I was scared for everybody.” Rawley shot a look to the front seat where Hunter stoically drove on. “So, when I recognized the foothills I got out of the car and went to find Obie. He said he’d go get Hunter. I knew you’d said Hunter had called, so I figured he was still alive …” He drew a sharp breath and expelled it. “Did he do this?” Rawley asked, looking at the bruise on Jenny’s face.

  “He didn’t get away unscathed,” she responded.

  Rawley’s face darkened. “I’ll kill him.”

  “There are a few of us ahead of you,” Hunter drawled. “Might as well wait your turn.”

  As they reached the outskirts of Santa Fe, Jenny burst out, “Let’s go to your ranch, Hunter.”

  Rawley pricked up his ears. “Ranch?”

  “Is that all right?” Hunter wanted to know.

  “Where’s Benny?”

  “We’ll pick him up on the way,” Jenny said.

  An hour later all four of them jumped out of the Jeep and into the fast-vanishing vestiges of snow. Benny barked joyously and ran around the perimeter of the house. Jenny could scarcely release her grip on her son, but Rawley was eager to chase the dog.

  “The recuperative power of youth,” Hunter said, unlocking the door.

  He made a fire while Jenny stood in the center of the room. “This feels more like home,” she said lamely, trying to explain her desire to come here rather than her own condo.

  “It’s not as fancy.”

  “I love it. Just the way it is,” she said firmly.

  “Good.”

  They locked eyes.

  “You told me you loved me,” Jenny said haltingly, “and I wasn’t able to tell you how I felt about you.” She swallowed. “Do you still feel the same?”

  “That was just a few hours ago.”

  “I know. But do you still feel the same?” she asked again.

  “Yes.”

  She stopped and smiled. She loved him so much. And she suddenly wanted to tell him before another moment passed.

  “And?” he questioned, waiting.

  “I love you, too,” she said simply and when Hunter opened his arms, she hurried into his strong embrace.

  He nuzzled her ear. “If this feels so much like home, do you think you could live here?”

  “Yes,” she answered promptly, happily. “But can you live with someone who’s going to inherit—the amount of money I’m going to inherit?”

  “Half of New Mexico, half of Texas, and half of Arizona?”

  “I think it’s only a quarter of Texas,” she murmured.

  Hunter laughed. “To be honest, no.”

  “No?”

  He spread his palms. “Look around you. I’m not going to change.”

  “Well, neither am I!”

  “So, what would you do with all that money?”

  Thinking about it, she said, “Maybe I can talk my father into donating to some philanthropic causes. That’s what I would do. Give most of it away.” Jenny felt as if she’d suddenly discovered something that was always there. She’d been hiding from who she was. Denying that she was Allen Holloway’s daughter. But it wasn’t going to work. She was going to have to face the responsibilities that she’d been born into whether she liked it or not.

  “Is it my turn
for a question?” Hunter asked.

  “I have no idea,” she said with a grin.

  “Would you marry me?”

  He took her completely by surprise. She pretended to consider for a moment. “Well, I don’t know. I come with a fifteen-year-old son and a dog of indeterminate parentage. Do you think you can handle that?”

  “Hm …” He rubbed his jaw, then looked down at her, amusement in his eyes.

  She hugged him as fiercely as she dared, remembering his injured arm.

  “I guess I could take a chance,” he said.

  “Then the answer is an unqualified yes,” she said, tipping up her chin. Hunter’s mouth slanted tenderly down on hers.

  By the time Rawley and Benny came inside, the fire was licking vigorously around a stack of pine logs, the fire crackling with pitch, and Jenny and Hunter were warming themselves in front of it. They’d jumped out of their embrace like criminals caught in the act at the sound of Rawley’s return.

  Rawley was oblivious to their mood as he joined them for some heat.

  “Oh, my God. You need a shower,” Jenny declared, wrinkling her nose. Rawley smelled like Obie.

  “I could use one too,” Hunter observed. To Rawley he called, “I’ll get you some clean clothes.”

  Thrilled with happiness, Jenny used the time to investigate Hunter’s refrigerator. She was suddenly ravenous, and she didn’t care what she ate. In the end she made grilled cheese sandwiches and heated canned chicken soup for one and all.

  Rawley arrived first, his hair wet. He looked awfully scrawny in the clothes he’d borrowed from Hunter. His expression was grim. “Something wrong?” Jenny asked, her heart leaping.

  “I saw his arm.”

  “Oh.” Jenny nodded. “He’s lucky.” Thinking how she would feel if something had happened to Hunter, she shook her head. “We’re all lucky.”

  When Rawley didn’t respond, she slid a sandwich his way, encouraging him to eat it. Hunter appeared a few moments later, also with damp hair and in clean clothes. She noticed how tired he looked.

  “It’s not exactly gourmet fare, but it’s hot,” she said and set his bowl down in front of him at the pine table.

  He looked up at her. “It’s perfect,” he said simply.

  “Thank you, Hunter,” Rawley said, staring into his bowl of soup.