Hidden Fire, Kobo

by Terry Odell

  Dizzy, faint, she sank to his sweat-filmed chest. "Wow."

  "Way past wow." He traced his fingers along her spine.

  After a time, his strokes grew slower, then stopped. He softened inside her and she rolled away in search of the small towels in his nightstand drawer. After cleaning herself, she wiped his semen-coated belly. He mumbled something incoherent and turned onto his side.

  "Good night. Again." She checked the clock and set her internal alarm for six. This time of year, it would be getting light by then and she'd be able to get home, dressed and to work in time to meet Jennifer at eight. Closing her eyes, she spooned herself behind Randy and let his even breathing put her to sleep.

  * * * * *

  "Phone for you, Sarah." Jennifer poked her head out of the shop's small office where she'd been taking a well-deserved break. "Randy. You want me to take over while you talk to him?"

  Sarah glanced at her watch. One. She'd been too busy to notice he hadn't called, but what was becoming a too-familiar irritation slammed into her gut. "Please."

  "Hugh's pottery's been an amazing draw," Jennifer said as she slid past Sarah in the office doorway. "I can't remember being this busy since last Christmas."

  Neither had Sarah. So busy, in fact, she'd had to abandon her backup paper receipt system. She'd download everything from the sales receipts later and use that for her marketing spreadsheet. No matter. It wouldn't kill her to work in the store instead of at home a couple of nights to catch up.

  She grinned. "What I like is that they're buying everything, not just his stuff. It's good business for all the artists." The chimes jingled. Sarah glanced at the customer coming through the door. "Think you can deal with Mrs. Gromley?"

  "I can handle her. Go."

  "Call me if she starts whining." Sarah wiped her hands on her skirt as she stepped to her desk. She took a cleansing breath and picked up the handset. "Hello, Randy."

  "Hi. Why didn't wake me when you left?"

  "I didn't want to disturb you. You needed sleep."

  "I got it." His voice was husky.

  "Are you just waking up?"

  "Not exactly. Showered and had breakfast. Or lunch."

  Both of which were more important than calling her? She chastised herself. Give him a break. He hadn't eaten the night before and they'd worked up a sweat. She almost forgave him. Almost. "They figure out who the dead guy is? Catch the killer? We've been swamped and I haven't had a second to catch any news updates. The gossip mills are quiet, which surprises me."

  "I know as little as you do."

  "Don't you have to go in?" she asked.

  "No, I'm off today." There was an unusual testiness in his tone. "Can we have dinner?"

  She paused, considering. "I guess so. I'm going to stay open until five, though. Things are going great and I don't want to close at two."

  "Right. Hugh Garrigue's pottery exclusive. Opening day."

  Warmth crept through her like a summer morning. "You remembered."

  "Of course I did. Sarah, I was running on less than fumes and work threw me some nasty curves. If I did or said anything to upset you, please forgive me."

  She bit back the automatic agreement. "We'll talk."

  There was a brief silence. "Pick you up after work? We can go to Woodford. Dinner, movie, dancing. You name it."

  Jennifer poked her head through the doorway, an apologetic expression on her face. "It's getting crazy," she whispered. "Customers are asking for specific pieces that aren't on display yet. They're tourists, not locals, so I can't say, 'Come back tomorrow.'"

  "Got to run," Sarah said to Randy. "Pick me up at my place. Six?"

  "I'll be there."

  Sarah hung up and dragged the cartons with the uncataloged pieces to the middle of her office. "Photograph everything. Hugh's prices are on my desk."

  "I know the drill." Jennifer picked up the small digital camera and set the first piece on the black-draped table against the wall.

  "Thanks." Excited that Hugh's work was drawing a new clientele, Sarah grinned and went to deal with her customers. Her grin widened as she saw the line at the register. A line.

  A man and a woman she didn't recognize stood away from the counter, eyeing the door to her office. These must be the ones Jennifer was talking about. The man, mid-twenties, she estimated, wore faded jeans and a threadbare plaid shirt. He wore his curly brown hair longish in back, probably to make up for his receding hairline in front. The slender woman, her hair a shade of red not found in nature, wore a designer pant ensemble. Not together, was Sarah's initial impression. She hurried over to them and explained the delay.

  "No worries," the man said. "I'm happy to wait."

  "Why don't you browse?" Sarah suggested. "Jennifer will be right out with your pieces."

  He nodded and wandered to the back of the shop.

  "She's checking something for me," the woman said. "I'll wait here."

  Definitely not a couple. With a smile and a nod, Sarah threaded her way through the people lining her counter.

  "I think I'm next."

  Sarah stopped for a breath. "I'm so sorry you had to wait, Lorraine. That's a great choice." She tipped the bowl over and checked the price.

  "Have you heard anything else about the dead man?" Lorraine said. "Isn't your boyfriend a cop? Why hasn't he caught the killer? It's getting so you can't get away from crime anywhere."

  Sarah tuned her out as she rang up the sale. Would it always be like this if she stuck with Randy?

  * * * * *

  Randy hung up the phone. We'll talk. Damn women. We'll talk. What was that supposed to mean? It meant his breakfast congealed into a boulder in his stomach.

  He'd slept until noon, awakened alone, wondering if he'd imagined Sarah coming over, or if he'd made love to a dream. It wouldn't have been the first time. When she'd demanded distance after her trauma, he'd spent many nights alone in the dark, imagining her face, her laugh, her scent. Merely thinking about her was enough to send him over the edge, hands free.

  The matted hair on his belly and the tangled sheets said there'd been some kind of action.

  He remembered playing the piano and little else until an hour ago when the need to pee had reached the point where it couldn't be ignored.

  You're a detective, asshole. Figure it out.

  He'd stripped the bed, smelling Sarah's scent along with his own as he carried the bedding to the washer. She'd been here.

  Hope I didn't disappoint you.

  Now he needed to regroup. Jim Eldridge had been polite about it, but he'd pretty much told Randy to butt out. "Enjoy your weekend," he'd said. As if cases came to a screeching halt at six p.m. on Fridays.

  His stomach roiled at the thought. Had the chief been right? Was he in it for the glory? He went out to the back porch and refilled the cats' food and water dishes and tended to their litter box. He tossed the empty cat food bag into the trash.

  "Looks like you're stuck with me." He chucked Starsky under the chin and rubbed Hutch's belly. "I'll hit the store and get you more food. Any requests?"

  Starsky regarded him with a solemn stare, as if contemplating the choices.

  "Okay, guys. Here's the biggie. Dinner with Sarah. She wants to do that talk thing. Do I take her out for dinner or bring her here?"

  Hutch rolled over and stretched, mewing.

  "Yeah, I know. I'm hoping we'll end up here. I think last night was a good sign. If I didn't do something totally stupid. But maybe we ought to start the evening somewhere more public. She seems to prefer that."

  Both cats hit their food dishes and he watched them crunch for several minutes, remembering them at the vet those months ago, unconscious, hanging on to life by a thread. He'd get them some new toys, too. "Enjoy your breakfast."

  He called Kovak from his truck. "You get any leads?"

  "Connor's got the bank list for the key narrowed down to about eight. That's eight bank chains, not branches. Most of them are nationwide. But wheels are turning. I
've got a list to follow up from witness reports of cars at the scene. Slow going without full plates or accurate descriptions. How about you? County treating you right?"

  "Separate but equal is what Eldridge's saying. What he's thinking about us small-town cops is another story. You want to go over what we have? I was told to take the weekend, but there's got to be something we can find."

  "Sorry, big guy. I've got to drop my kids off at my sister's in Tillamook. She's being the good Samaritan and taking them for the weekend so Janie and I can celebrate."

  Celebrate what? Not being allowed to do their jobs? Randy's brain clicked into gear. "Right. Happy anniversary. My best to Janie. I'll see you Monday."

  "Randy?" Kovak's voice dropped. "Can I ask you something? As a friend and a colleague?"

  Great. Sarah wanted to talk and now Kovak was doing the as a friend bit. His stomach tightened. "Shoot." From behind, a horn coughed and he realized he'd been sitting at a stop sign. He eased the truck through the intersection.

  "Why make a big deal about County's help on this case? We've worked with them before. It's not like you to get your shorts in a knot and you know damn well we're not equipped for something like this. From day one, you've pounded teamwork into my skull. 'It's the result, not who gets the credit.' What's different this time?"

  His pulse throbbing in his ears, Randy backed his Ford F-150 into a reserved slot behind the Municipal Building. Kovak was right. This was an emotional reaction, pure and simple. Something he rarely allowed to interfere with his job. Why now? He honestly couldn't say. He turned off the ignition and closed his eyes. "Nothing. You're right. I don't know why I went off the deep end. I've been carrying a bucketload of resentment for no reason. Eldridge's been fine."

  "Good. I thought maybe it had something to do with …"

  He heard Kovak's unspoken word. Sarah. The only other time he'd crossed any lines was when he'd been worried about her, when she'd gone missing. Had she triggered his reaction when she'd insisted on the dinner at Rob's Wednesday night? Had she burrowed so deeply into his being that her feelings were affecting his work?

  He opened his eyes and sat up straight. "Lack of sleep, for starters. I crashed for about fifteen hours and my head's back on straight."

  Kovak's silence filled the truck's cab.

  "Okay. Maybe my time in 'Frisco made me hot to show what I learned and I overreacted. Too bad I'm not a woman. I could say it was that time of the month and the subject would be dropped."

  Kovak snorted. "Thanks for putting that picture in my head."

  Randy laughed. "You enjoy your weekend. I'm cool."

  "Good," Kovak said. "I hate it when I have to pound sense into you."

  "Especially since I'm bigger, better, and you always lose."

  "Exactly."

  "Thanks for the mental pounding, then."

  "Part of my job." An unusual pensive tone coated Kovak's words. "See you Monday."

  Kovak hung up before Randy could ask what was wrong.

  Abandoning his plans to spend the afternoon developing a case of eyestrain studying databases and reports, Randy loped into the building and down to his locker where he changed into running shorts and t-shirt. Fifteen minutes later, he parked his truck under a tree at the edge of the park and laced on his running shoes. A mind-clearing run was what he needed. Maybe a runner's high would give him the answer to his first question, where to take Sarah tonight.

  He did some stretches, then started down the wooded path at a slow jog. After the first circuit, he picked up his pace until there was nothing but the slap of his sneakers against the packed dirt trail. Sunlight filtered through the tree branches, casting mosaic patterns of light and shadow at his feet. Randy wasn't alone in taking advantage of the clear, crisp weather hinting of autumn days to come. Some ran in pairs, carrying on breathless conversations. Others were anchored to earphones. Most nodded as they passed. Randy returned the unspoken greetings, but in this world, each stride carried him through a self-contained universe, communing with lungs, legs and personal limits.

  He lost count of his circuits, but his body told him he'd done enough. One more trip over the mile-long course at a slow jog brought his breathing and heart rates down. He walked the last hundred yards to his truck where he took his gym bag out of the bed. He toweled off, swapped his sweat-soaked t-shirt for a clean one, and pulled sweat pants over his shorts. The run had done its job and he was ready to enjoy the rest of the weekend. As he chugged a bottle of water, he decided to skip showering at the station. Instead, he'd go to Thriftway for groceries, then to Sadie's and order dinner. Sarah wanted to talk and they'd talk. The two of them. In private, not handcuffed by rules of proper behavior in a public place.

  When his cell rang and the call was from Charlotte, he debated letting it roll to voice mail. On the third ring, he pressed the talk button. "Detweiler."

  "I'm forwarding the preliminary report on the substance under the victim's fingernails."

  "Thanks. That's nice of you. Eldridge too busy?" He heard his sarcasm. "Sorry, Charlotte. I do appreciate it."

  "Look, Detweiler. Jim Eldridge's a good cop, but he's overworked and his boss is breathing down his neck on this case. Jim's not going to keep you out of the loop intentionally, but he's not going to have you at the top of his priorities, either. He's assigned the case to one of his detectives, who probably has at least ten, maybe twenty other cases. In the spirit of inter-departmental cooperation, I've faxed the report to your office. I'm calling because I didn't want it to get lost in the weekend shuffle, if your place is anything like ours."

  Phone to his ear, he jogged to the trash can and tossed his water bottle. "And?"

  "And the dirt was definitely not something he picked up in that field. Our guys are going to see if they can narrow it down. It's high on their to-do list, but it's a long list. Maybe it'll ring a bell with your lab guys."

  "What about the bridgework? Any hits there?" Randy slammed the cover of the truck's bed shut and got behind the wheel. He pressed the loudspeaker button on the phone and set it in the console.

  "Not my job, Detweiler, but I'll try to find out. Monday."

  "Understood. I've been ordered to take a weekend myself." Right after he picked up the report.

  "Sit tight. Give it a few days. The crime rate in the county being what it is, Jim will be happy to give this one back to you."

  "Anyone ever tell you you're one wise woman?"

  She laughed. "Not often enough. Thanks. Go enjoy yourself."

  "I intend to."

  Randy swung by the office and dug through the stack of papers in the tray beside the fax machine. Charlotte's was the only one pertaining to the case. He looked at a chemical formula, but he had no idea in hell what it was. He made two copies, put one on Connor's desk, the original on his own and took the third with him. He'd Google it later, but first things first. Sarah wanted to talk.

  Chapter Seven

  Sarah followed Randy down the back stairs to his truck. He opened the door and held her elbow as she levered herself into the cab. He'd been polite, formal—bordering on nervous. About what? All he'd said on the phone when he called earlier was they were going somewhere casual.

  As soon as she got in, the heady aroma of chicken and onions surrounded her. "Smells heavenly. Is that our dinner? You went to Sadie's, right? The chicken with artichokes and baby potatoes?"

  There was nothing nervous about his smile. It sent electric shivers through her.

  "And mushrooms," he said. "A restaurant dinner, but not at a restaurant." His eyes held hers, almost daring her to object.

  She wanted to talk, not pick a fight. "Works for me. I didn't get a lunch break. I'm starved."

  "Can you hang on about forty-five minutes?"

  "For Sadie's chicken, I'll try."

  "Wait a sec." He opened the back door of the extended cab and opened the large paper bag on the seat. With a flourish, he brought forth a small Styrofoam carton. "Perhaps this will tide Madame over unti
l we reach our destination."

  She sniffed the container. Seafood? Randy rummaged in back again and produced a handful of napkins. She pried the lid open. "Salmon flatbread? Sadie's doesn't make this."

  Randy climbed behind the wheel and started the truck. "Rob's does."

  "You went to Rob's and Sadie's?"

  "For you, my sweet, no obstacle is too formidable. No river too wide, no mountain too high."

  Laughter welled up from deep inside, escaping into resounding belly laughs. "That's so corny, it's cute." She wiped a tear from her eye. "Am I supposed to share this with you?"

  "If you're that hungry, go for it. I can wait." He leaned over and put his face inches from hers, pursing his lips, waggling his eyebrows. "But don't you dare go spoiling your appetite." His eyes twinkled, their hazel flecks like so many stars.

  She giggled and her internal mass of tangles fell free. She broke off a section of salmon-covered flatbread and offered it to Randy. "You should keep your strength up."

  He gave her an exaggerated leer. "By all means."

  She poked a fist at his arm. "For the drive. For the drive."

  "Of course, m'lady. Whatever else could you have had in mind?"

  She shoved the morsel in his mouth. His mouth captured her fingers, teasing. She pulled free and wiped crumbs from his lips with a napkin. "Shut up and drive."

  He gave her a feigned look of pain before snagging one more piece of flatbread and driving away.

  Once her gnawing hunger disappeared, Sarah peered out the window, trying to guess where Randy was taking her. When he turned onto Highway 18, she gave up and studied him instead. He seemed to be making a pointed effort not to look at her, his hands resting in the ten and two position on the wheel, his gaze alternating between checking mirrors and staring at the road ahead.

  She watched the way his Adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed, the way the setting sun turned the hair on his arms to burnished gold. The scar that made a tiny white part in his left eyebrow. The downward curve of his nose.

  An eagle, she thought. Or a hawk. Long, strong fingers that could restrain a suspect like talons. And the way a bird of prey could see a mouse in the bushes from hundreds of feet above, he had the ability to see the slightest changes in body language.