by Lynn, Sheryl
“I thought you said he’s a doctor.”
“A plastic surgeon. A very good one, too. The prettiest breasts in Arizona are his doing.” She spooned oatmeal into her mouth. Her eyes looked gray this morning, like an overcast sky, still and solemn. “Don’t think he’s the villain. We were equals in our relationship. Besides, he didn’t leave me, I left him.”
Food lodged in his throat. He knew all about bad husbands who ignored and neglected sick wives. “Why did you leave?”
She cocked her head. She must have heard more in the question than he’d intended to reveal.
“I mean, shees, that’s none of my business. Sorry for prying.” He focused on the food, eating fast.
“You aren’t prying,” she said. “I’m flattered by your interest. I must say, you’re the most non-intrusive bartender I’ve ever met. You actively avoid hearing other people’s stories. Why is that?”
Because learning others’ secrets meant sharing his own. “I’m not a nosy guy.”
She laughed. The husky sweetness of it made him want to sigh. Over the last few months he’d grown used to the sound of her laughter. He’d miss it terribly if she were gone.
“How can a cop not be nosy?”
“It’s different when it’s on the job.” He slathered butter on a biscuit. She used the real stuff, no margarine.
“How long have you lived here?” she asked.
“Going on five years.” He put the buttered biscuit on his plate.
“And still so much the outsider. No one knows who you really are. I only know that because there are a lot of women who are real curious about you.” Her gaze dipped seductively. “Can’t say as I blame them.”
“Don’t pump me for information, Red. Call it a favor, okay? One thing we have in common, we both live day-to-day. The past is past, the future is unknown.” Her even gaze was hard to take. He felt churlish and small. “You accused me of running. Okay, you got me, you’re right. I’m running as fast as I can. But it’s my monster in the closet, not yours. I don’t feel like sharing.”
“I don’t mean to upset you.”
He leaned back on the rickety chair and shoved a hand through his hair. “It’s not you…it is you. I don’t want to spill my guts, but you make me want to.”
“There might be a good reason.”
“Because I allegedly have the hots for you?”
She shook her head, never losing eye contact. “Our souls are encased in flesh for a purpose. In order to understand connection, we have to experience separation. But we’re never alone, not really. When we have a need, the universe provides the means to fulfill it. All we have to do is accept what’s offered.”
His chest hurt, as if she reached inside him and squeezed his heart.
“Some wounds heal by themselves. Some don’t. Especially wounds of the spirit.”
He cleared his thick throat. “No offense, Red, but I don’t need your help healing anything. I don’t need anybody.”
“Perhaps I need you.” She grinned and filled her spoon with oatmeal. “Eat your eggs before they get cold.”
He finished eating, silent, but aware of her watching him. Studying him. He didn’t believe for a second that she needed him. She was as self-contained and self-confident as anyone he’d ever met. Needing her? The question shook him to the core. Even if he did need her, he didn’t deserve her. He tried to muster anger at her, some defense against the effect she had on him. The best he could hope for was physical distance.
He made sure his equipment was in order. He grunted his thanks for breakfast.
When he sat behind the wheel of the Bronco, he made the mistake of looking back. She stood in the trailer doorway, arms crossed, her curls dancing on a light breeze.
Back in New York, there had been a major crimes investigator who was legendary throughout the Boroughs—throughout the entire Eastern seaboard—by virtue of his interrogation techniques. Dubbed the Professor, he wore thick glasses that magnified his eyes into hard-boiled eggs and had ears like satellite dishes. He looked fussy and soft, but put him in an interrogation room with the most hardened gangbanger and the perp would spill his guts. Always. A miracle man.
Tate considered interrogation skills a gift, like being able to draw or turn your tongue upside down. Diana had the gift. He suddenly realized she’d been working on him for months, slowly chipping away his defenses, digging holes under his walls. She was a brilliant interrogator, as canny as the Professor.
Chapter Nine
Bernie stroked the gelding’s nose. He was a nice little critter, mouse gray with black legs, mane and tail. He had enough quarter horse in him to make his head especially pretty. His hide shone like wax from the hours she’d spent grooming him. “Are you bored, too, buddy?” she asked.
The one danger she hadn’t considered when she headed for the hills was that hiding out was a big, fat, bone-numbing, brain-frying bore. Sure Farrah had been a high and mighty muckety-muck, but what was done, was done. By now she must have dropped off those murderous chumps’ radar. Time to move on. Farrah’s bully boys couldn’t chase her forever.
Anger tightened her forehead. Bernie and Farrah had some fun times. Who’d have thought a rich chick like her would have such a slummy side? Farrah had been a good person. Generous, sweet, always ready to laugh. It was like they’d been best girlfriends all their lives.
Bernie had told Farrah everything. The nastier the story, the scummier the characters, the better Farrah liked it. She’d lapped up prison tales like a cat eating tuna. She must have told somebody about Bernie’s family. How else could those chumps have known where Mom once lived?
Bernie sighed. She missed Las Vegas, the noise, the lights, the people. It was the best place she’d ever lived and that bozo Tim made it impossible for her to ever go back.
No more men. They were the real jinxes in her life. Tim had fooled her into thinking he was smart. Smart like a starving dog, nothing more.
She shoved her hands into her back pockets and paced. A grove of aspen trees formed natural palisades on two sides of her camp. She’d used pine branches and rotting boards from an old miner’s shack to make a lean-to. Her camp was small and tidy, hidden by terrain and foliage. She was proud her woodscraft had come back so easily.
“The second coming of Daniel Boone,” Dad used to say about her. It was the only nice thing he’d ever said to or about her.
She lifted her gaze to the sky. If she had to, she could live here all summer. She had a good water supply and the mountains were full of campers. Night raids kept her well-stocked with fresh food. She even had a nice little Walkman to listen to, when she could stand the static from the lousy radio reception.
Absently, she rubbed her aching arm. The wound wasn’t hot anymore and the stiffness was nearly gone. Diana had done a bang-up job of cleaning it up, plus she had an iron constitution and always healed well. Even in prison where the high-carb diet seemed designed to keep the inmates fat and dull, she’d thrived physically.
“I’m going bonkers,” she told the horse. He lipped the ground, in search of sparse grass stems. “Should have borrowed some of Diana’s books.”
She hunkered into a crouch and picked up a twig. She traced idle designs in the dirt. Diana—who’d have ever dreamed she’d give up the cushy life to live in Dad’s old vacation shack!—would have discovered Tim by now. Maybe even figured out the Buick had been stolen. So how long until life got back to normal?
Imagining her sister discovering Tim, she sighed. She felt bad about the mess, but Diana could handle it. That’s what she did best—handled things, cleaned up messes, made the world right. A wave of nostalgia swept through Bernie. Diana was a genuinely good person, always had been even in the days when she’d acted like her sweat didn’t stink. She’d mellowed, a lot, changed into a whole new person. If they hadn’t been twins, Bernie wouldn’t have recognized her own sister.
That Diana was strong hadn’t changed. She’d always been the strong one. The smart one.
Daddy’s little darling, always making him proud.
Too bad, she thought, that all this craziness was going on. She liked the new, improved Diana. Or maybe the old, improved Diana. It was like she was the kid she’d once been, all wide-eyed and curious and fun-loving—before Mom and Dad turned her into a performing poodle. It would have been fun to get to know her again. They could act like real sisters.
She sketched a circle in the dirt. In a few days the moon would be full. She could make it to the shack in one night. The bees would be snug in their little bee beds; Diana would be snug in hers. Take the money and run. A quick detour to Phoenix to sign paperwork and tell Mom’s legal beagle where to send her inheritance, then off to Mexico.
She’d buy a necklace or something to send to Diana. A good quality piece with real jewels to make up for the hassles. Diana would like that. No hard feelings between them.
With any luck at all, she’d make another good, best girlfriend like Farrah. Having a girlfriend had been better than any relationship with a man. Men were bad news, definitely the cause of all her bad luck. She closed her eyes and lifted her face to the sun, envisioning tall, fruity drinks and white-sand beaches and hours of girlish laughter. Life was going to be so sweet.
DIANA HAD BEEN WITHOUT a telephone since moving to the Maya Valley. She didn’t miss it. As a physician, she’d been a slave to her pager. In hindsight, she realized she hadn’t been communicating on the telephone, she’d been avoiding human contact, avoiding having to look people in the eyes and deal with them. It was easy to maintain professional coolness when speaking to a disembodied voice.
Still, it was weird to not know any telephone numbers. She called directory assistance and at the computerized prompting asked for the town of McClintock. She asked for Marlee Crowder’s number. A voice gave it to her, and she jotted it down.
She pondered what she wanted to do. Tate had specifically instructed her to not leave Ric’s place. Remembering the look on that murderer’s face while he strode calmly out of the sheriff’s station squashed all desire to step off the property.
Finding Bernie was the only way out of this mess. She punched in Marlee’s number.
“You’ve reached the number of Dr. Marlee Crowder. Small animal clinic hours are 7 a.m. to 3 p.m. Monday through Thursday. If this is an emergency, please press one now. If this is not an emergency, please leave your name and telephone number and I will get back to you as soon as possible. Thank you.”
Diana waited for the beep, then left the number of the borrowed cell phone. Marlee had been born and raised here, a member of the McClintock family, which had given the town its name. She knew everyone for miles around.
Marlee returned the call in fifteen minutes. “Diana!” she exclaimed. “Is everything all right? Are you okay?”
Diana chuckled. She’d never heard the vet sounding so frantic before. “Safe and sound.”
“Are you sure? I mean, gosh, with everything going on. The whole town is walking on pins and needles. The hardware store had a run on dead-bolt locks. You can’t buy ammunition anywhere. It’s sold out. It’s scary. Are you still up at Ric’s?”
“Yes. And I know you’re terribly busy, but I could sure use your help.”
“I’m only a few miles from you. I just finished turning a breech foal in a mare and I could use a break. I can be there in ten minutes.”
“I’ll put on some coffee for you. Oh, and do you have a good map of the area handy?”
“Somewhere. I’m on my way.”
In less than fifteen minutes, Marlee’s big white pickup turned into the driveway. The vet stuck a wiry arm out the window and waved. She parked behind Diana’s truck and jumped out. She placed her hands in the small of her back and arched, letting her head roll backward.
“Rough delivery?” Diana asked.
“Would have been easier if the owner had called me before the mare was in trouble. Almost lost her and the foal.” Marlee Crowder was tall and lean, her hands strong and her face open. Diana considered her a true wild woman, far more wily and wise than her youth warranted.
“You look stressed out, lady,” Marlee said. “I’m not sure I like your color.”
The vet was the only person in the valley who knew Diana’s complete history. They’d had many enjoyable discussions about holistic healing, spirituality and doctoring both animals and people. She was the only person Diana allowed to fuss over her.
“I am stressed.”
“I know how rumors and stories get spread around here. Hard to tell truth from fancy, especially when folks are spooked. Do you mind telling me what’s really going on?”
Diana hooked her arm with Marlee’s and led her into the trailer. She poured coffee and told her friend about Bernie’s arrival and disappearance, the corpse in the car, the men who’d raided the beehives and their respective deaths, and the hit man who thought she was Bernie.
“Gawd…It’s like a movie.”
“I wish it were a movie,” Diana said with a sigh. “I’d turn it off. That man looked right at me.” A shudder rippled down her spine.
Marlee looked around the trailer. “At least Ric came through for you. He’s always good in a pinch.”
Ric Buchanan was Marlee’s brother-in-law, and the two were as tight as blood siblings. Marlee’s close, loving family always filled Diana with yearning. Her birth family was lost to her, it was too late to have children and even marriage seemed unlikely. “Tate’s been a lifesaver, too. Literally.”
“So what can I do for you?” Marlee asked. “Do you want to come to the ranch?”
“I’m safer here. Besides, I don’t think your mother will appreciate having my goats around.”
“Mama keeps goats as pets for her show horses.” She lifted her shoulders in a quick shrug. “You really should. Mama has more room than she knows what to do with, plus her house has a security system. Plus there are tons of people around all the time.”
Diana considered Bernie’s pursuers. Her driveway had been full of vehicles, but that hadn’t stopped those men from searching her house or tracking the briefcase to the beehives. A street filled with people hadn’t stopped that man from trying to shoot her. Being in a sheriff’s station hadn’t stopped the hit man from committing murder. She couldn’t bear it if anyone else was harmed because of her and Bernie.
“Tate thinks I’m safe right where I am. I trust him.”
Marlee waggled her eyebrows. “I bet you do. Anything I should know?” A not-so-subtle inquiry about Diana’s ongoing interest in Tate.
“When I have something to report, I’ll tell you.”
“I don’t know why you bother with him, Diana. I honestly don’t. Yeah, he’s eye candy, and when he smiles even my sensible little heart goes pitty-pat, but he’s a player. He’s dated at least a dozen women that I know of. He won’t get serious about any woman until he’s sixty and realizes he has no one to fetch his slippers. You can do better.”
“I thought you liked him.”
“I do. I just like you better and don’t want you hurt.”
“There’s more to Tate Raleigh than you see on the surface.”
“Oh, I’m sure.” She leaned back on a chair, and her smile turned wicked. “Like, I wouldn’t mind peeking at what’s underneath his shirt.”
Diana covered her mouth to stop giggles. “Very nice. Trust me.” She waved a hand. “But quit talking about him. I have a problem.”
“Did you see him naked?”
“Dr. Crowder, may we discuss business?”
“If you promise to take pictures next time, Dr. Dover.” She hooted a laugh. “So what do you need help with?”
Diana explained about Sweetpot Lake and how she’d been so certain Bernie might be hiding there. “She left all that money at my place. She must be waiting until the coast is clear. Maybe it’s another place I’m remembering. Do you know of any fishing ponds or lakes, privately owned, with old mining ruins nearby?”
“All the fishing I ever did was in the May
a River. But I do know someone who might know. Edward Keil. He’s an old-time mountain man. He knows more about the area than anyone.”
“Will he talk to me?”
Marlee held up her hands. “Not a chance. He’s paranoid and convinced the government is out to get him. The only way to reach his house is on foot or horseback, and if you aren’t careful, he might shoot you.”
“Then why did you even mention him?”
“Mama has known him since she was a girl. She and I sort of take care of him. We ride up there every spring to make sure he survived the winter. Things like that. He’s crotchety and eccentric, but I like him.”
“I do believe I’m seeing a sweet side to you, girl.”
“Ah, cut it out.” Marlee checked her watch, and her nose wrinkled in concentration. “It takes about two, two-and-a-half hours to ride up to his place from the trailhead. Maybe I can go tomorrow morning.”
Diana noticed Tippy lift his head and cock an ear. She opened the door and leaned outside.
“What’s the matter?” Marlee asked.
Diana heard an approaching vehicle. Rather than waste time coaxing the dog, she snapped a lead onto his collar. Then she picked up the shotgun. “Somebody is coming.”
Marlee stood. “Tate?”
That didn’t sound like the asthmatic old Bronco, but it could be a cruiser. “We better wait outside in case it isn’t.”
Marlee gave the shotgun a pointed look. “I have a rifle.” She hurried to her pickup. She pulled a rifle from a rack and a box of ammunition from the glove box. The women moved behind the trailer where they could watch the driveway without being seen.
A beige SUV slowed at the driveway entrance. Diana’s heart climbed into her throat.
“Recognize it?” she whispered to Marlee.
“I was hoping you did. Oh, my, here it comes.”
Marlee grabbed Diana’s arm in a steely grip. “We’re not taking any chances. Into the woods. Now!”
“DEPUTY RALEIGH, MIGHT I have a word?”
A polite enough question, but coming from an FBI field agent, it sounded more like an order. Tate briefly considered ignoring the man. He’d come to treasure the folksy atmosphere and informality of the small-town sheriff’s department. It hadn’t been until he left New York City that he realized how much he despised bureaucrats, endless rules and regulations and watchdogs in every corner. The agent in his suit and tie represented red tape and slavish devotion to memos and flow charts.
