by Terry Odell
He stared at his workspace. Instead of his small, but comfortable office, he had a cubicle. The sterility taunted him. He felt like an outsider, like someone marking time. An intruder. Lazy, it shouted.
No, I'm not.
This assignment was genuine and he knew his job. The surroundings should not make a difference in the way he did it.
He opened his briefcase and transferred papers and files. An exploratory trip through the desk drawers gave him notepads, markers and push pins. Somewhere, he assumed, the detectives had a workroom or an office with whiteboards, but for now, he was content to lose himself in the case alone.
He got out his legal tablets and made lists. Highlighted. Prioritized. Made charts. He started pinning notes and diagrams to his fabric-covered walls, along with a timeline. He studied the lab reports, but they wouldn't be useful unless they had a suspect to match them to. They went into a file folder on the corner of his desk. Then, with a sigh, he reached for a message slip. Away from the familiarity of the Pine Hills citizenry, he had no way to prioritize the calls. Starting at the top seemed to be the best approach. He picked up the phone and hoped for the best.
He'd eliminated the first five when his cell rang. Thoughts of Sarah added to the pleasure of the interruption. A glance at the unfamiliar number on the display dashed those feelings. "Detweiler."
"Randy? It's Maggie Cooper. I just saw a policeman take Sarah away in a police car."
* * * * *
Neville's attempts at a friendly smile did nothing to reassure Sarah. He cleared his throat. "Understand you've had a lot of problems with your little gift shop."
Her stomach twisted. "Until the other night, they were in the past. Do you think this burglary has anything to do with what happened before?"
"I wouldn't know, ma'am. I'm not a detective."
The sneering emphasis he placed on detective let her know exactly who he was talking about. "Then what are we doing here?" she asked.
"Doing my job, ma'am. We're a small town, our duties overlap from time to time." His lips tilted upward. "I'm helping out. I don't want to bother the detectives if it's not related to your burglary."
More likely so you'll get the credit for discovering an important clue if it is.
"You said you're missing some pots from that fancy artist, right?" he continued.
Wondering if Neville could read her face as well as Randy, she nodded warily. "Yes. There weren't any fragments of his pottery. Someone stole them."
He reached into his shirt pocket for a notebook. He uncapped a pen. "So you say. Why would they do that? And break the other stuff. Why not take everything? Or break everything?"
She fixed her gaze on his eyes. They flitted to his notebook and lingered there before meeting hers again. "Isn't that the police's job, Officer Neville? I've already told this to Detective Kovak and Detective Detweiler." This was getting too creepy. She should have risked calling one of them.
"Please answer the question ma'am. Sometimes repeating information jogs the memory. What was so special about that pottery?"
She forced herself to clear her mind. No anger. Calm. Cooperative. "I don't know. It's high quality. One of a kind. Hard to get while he's running an exclusive. People collect his pots. Maybe you should check eBay."
He waggled his pen between his thumb and forefinger but didn't make any notes. "That might be a good idea. You do a lot of eBay shopping?"
"You actually think I took my own merchandise and am selling it on eBay? That's ridiculous."
He leaned forward and the coffee on his breath had gone sour. She stiffened, but refused to draw away as he spoke. "I didn't say that, ma'am. But you could collect the insurance from the burglary and sell the stuff again. Seems like a sweet scam."
Fury flooded her and she knew she must be crimson. Would he think she was lying? She inhaled slowly, counted to ten and exhaled even more slowly. "I don't like what you're implying, Officer."
"I'm not implying anything ma'am. Just tossing ideas out there. Like, why did you go to your shop late at night? And what did you and Detective Detweiler do after I left? Seems the two of you would have had plenty of time to make those fancy pots disappear. Can't be bad having a police detective for a boyfriend, if you know what I mean."
"Are you calling Randy—Detective Detweiler—a thief? That's even more ridiculous than selling my pottery on eBay."
"Don't know, ma'am. It seems he hung around an awful long time after I left. Plenty of time to pack up and hide those pots."
She twisted the strap on her purse until she thought she might break it. "How would you know? Were you watching us?" She couldn't stop the shudder of revulsion.
Before Officer Neville could respond, the door flew open. Sarah turned to see Randy commandeering the room.
"Don't say another word, Sarah."
"But I'm—"
"Not a word. I mean it." His lips were a flat, white line.
She swallowed her indignation at the way he spoke to her. A few minutes ago, she'd wanted him to be here. Now that he was, why did she wish he wasn't? She'd been handling things in an adult and calm manner. She didn't need a white knight.
Randy leaned on the table, dwarfing Officer Neville. Randy's hands were clenched into fists and Sarah was afraid he was going to punch the officer.
She reached for him, but withdrew her hands before she made contact. "Randy, it's—"
He glared at her, his eyes cold and dark in his anger-flushed face. "Later." He addressed Officer Neville. "Did you Mirandize her?"
"Hey, chill, Detective." Officer Neville's words dripped with scorn. "She's not under arrest. I just wanted to ask her some questions."
"Did you tell her she was free to go, or that she didn't have to answer your questions?" He looked at her. "Did he?"
She shook her head. "He …" Her voice quavered. Hating the show of fear, she swallowed. Regrouped. "He told me I had to come down here with him."
"That's not how it works, Neville and you know it. What the hell are you trying to pull?"
"You shouldn't even be here, Detective. There's something fishy going on and you've got no business working a case when your girlfriend is involved."
"Fishy? What's he talking about?" Sarah asked. Incredulity replaced any fear and her voice was steady.
Randy chest expanded, then contracted, as if he'd sucked in half the air in the room before exhaling. "I have no idea. And for your information, Officer Neville, I'm not on this case. It's Kovak's. However, that has absolutely no bearing on the fact that you're crossing lines you have no business crossing. You think something's fishy, you go to Kovak."
"Yeah, tell me the two of you aren't like this." Officer Neville sneered and crossed his first two fingers into an X.
"Then go to your commanding officer. Or hell, take it to Laughlin. But you never—I repeat—never violate a person's rights. Do I make myself clear?"
"Crystal."
"Good. Now get out of here before I do something I might not regret."
Sarah clutched the strap of her purse, trying not to stare as Officer Neville drew himself to his full height and marched out of the room.
Randy paced the small room, clawing his fingers through his hair. After five circuits, he crouched beside her chair, his eyes level with hers. The anger was gone from his gaze, replaced by warm pools with hazel flecks like autumn sunlight on a mountain pond. Worry suffused his face. "Are you all right?" The huskiness in his voice dissolved any remaining shreds of irritation into nothingness.
"I'm fine. You didn't have to come thundering in here like a bellowing Neanderthal, you know."
"Neanderthal?" His lips twitched. "Neanderthals were short. And I most certainly don't bellow."
She dovetailed her fingers with his. "Can we get out of here and talk about this? Or do you have to get to work?"
"Right now, I think you are my work." He lifted her sweater from the back of the chair and held it open for her. She draped it over her shoulders.
"H
ow did you know I was here?"
"Maggie called. Said some cop had come for you. She described Neville to a T and I—"
"Got on your charger and rode to rescue the damsel in distress."
"I thought I was a Neanderthal."
"So sue me. I mix metaphors when I'm stressed."
He winged his eyebrows. "Oh, so you admit to being stressed."
"Look at this place." She turned and swooped an arc with her arm. "It's enough to stress anyone, innocent or guilty."
"Which is what it's designed for, so good to know we got it right." He spun her around so she faced him and rested his hands on her shoulders. "May I hug you, my independent Sarah Tucker?"
"I think I could use that, yes." She melted into him, let his heartbeat resonate through her. Slowly, like summer waves on the beach, each one coming a little farther ashore, her thoughts grew clearer. He'd come because he was worried about her. Not because he didn't think she could handle herself. Not because he wanted to be in charge. Because he wanted to help. Helping wasn't bad.
"Is there a hidden camera in here?" she whispered. "Or a microphone?"
"No. We use the hand-held-by-a-real-human varieties when we need to tape someone."
"Then will you kiss me? At least if I'm going to have dreams about this room, there will be something good in them." She tilted her head upward.
His hands swept from her shoulders to her buttocks, cupped them and he lifted her to his waist. She wrapped her legs around him, her sweater falling to the floor. Up close, Randy's scent masked all others. His shampoo, his spicy aftershave. A faint trace of sweat. For a fleeting instant, she wondered if he smelled the fear-induced sweat on her. Then his lips pressed hers, his tongue tracing the seam of her lips. His arms cradled her against him. She reached behind his head, threading her fingers through his tousled hair, tipping her head so their mouths joined.
Gently, he nibbled her lower lip. She parted her lips, ran her tongue along his teeth. He tasted like spearmint. With the quiet buzz of the lights and the soft sounds of gentle kisses in her ears, she deepened the kiss. Plunging, seeking, demanding. Erasing all memories of Officer Neville. Obliterating doubts. When they were together, she felt whole. For now, that was enough.
He returned her kisses, his tongue delving for her soul. Quiet moans dominated her hearing. Hers, his, or both? It didn't matter. She gripped his head tighter, drew him closer. His hands, big and strong shifted her so she felt his arousal. She tightened her legs around him, wriggled so her breasts rubbed his chest, flooding her core with desire.
He staggered backward, knocking over the chair with a resounding thud. His grip on her loosened and she broke the kiss. It took a moment to catch her breath. She ran her fingers along the back of his ear, enjoying the velvety smooth feeling. "I think that should do it," she said, still breathing hard.
"Do what?"
"Change my associations with this room."
"Right. That's what we were doing. Yeah." He grinned. "Kind of a reconditioning."
"Pavlov would be proud."
"Woof," he said. "Can we have dinner now?"
"Sounds good to me." She bent to pick up her sweater and purse.
"I'll carry that," he said, reaching for her sweater.
"It's not a problem."
"Not for you, maybe. But I've got one and there's no way I'm walking out of here carrying your purse."
Chapter Sixteen
Randy swung his truck into the parking lot behind Saint Michael's. Taking Sarah's hand as they walked around the building to the main entrance, she gave him a gentle squeeze. She hadn't had to do much arm-twisting to get him here, especially when she'd told him Kovak would be here, too. Randy had faced his demons and nursing homes no longer covered him in a blanket of memories of his grandmother or guilt that she might be alive if he'd made it home sooner after her stroke. But he knew Sarah worried. And that filled him with a warm glow. He squeezed back.
"I wish you'd let me go home and change," she said. "I feel so … dirty … after being in that room with that … creep. And everyone's dressed up."
"Only the residents," he said. "You're fine."
"Sarah!" He looked across the room at the sound of Maggie's worry-filled voice. He spied her crimson curls bobbing among the people gathered in the reception area. She bustled over and gripped Sarah's hands. "I didn't know you were coming."
"I promised to help out and I'm here," Sarah said. "I suppose I should find out what they want me to do."
"Child, how are you?" Maggie said. "I was so worried."
"Fine, Maggie. No harm, no foul and my white knight flew to my side after you called him."
Maggie tilted her head back and tossed him an embarrassed glance before looking back at Sarah. "They didn't arrest you or anything, did they?"
"No. And Randy explained to me"—she shot him a withering glare—"in great detail, exactly what the cops can and can't do and I've taken an oath not to utter another word to a cop without a lawyer at my side for the rest of my life."
"With one exception, I hope," Randy said. There was a conspicuous pause and she looked at him, her expression impossibly blank. She was kidding, wasn't she?
"All right, you two," Maggie said. "I promised to help escort some of the residents to the rec center. Have fun." She bustled away, her orange and pink caftan swirling around her legs.
"And I should go see if I can find Kovak," Randy said. "Maybe he can break away after the show."
"You might want to rethink that," Sarah said. "Cammie will be so excited after the show. Those are special times a dad needs to share." Her eyes sparkled.
"You're speaking from experience, aren't you?" He caressed her cheek.
"Those occasions were few and far between with my dad. But when they happened, yes, they're memories I cherish. They overshadow a lot of the not-so-nice ones."
He thought of building memories with a child. A chill swept over him. Did men have biological clocks? If they did, was his ticking? It didn't matter. This was not a time to be going there.
"Sarah!" Randy heard the high-pitched voice, but couldn't find a body to connect it with. He scanned the crowded lobby and watched bodies shift, creating a path that closed in again as a petite woman wound her way toward them. Gray-haired, wearing a red-and-white-striped apron over a pair of blue slacks and a white blouse, she barely hit five feet. She wore an ID badge pinned to the apron, but he couldn't read it from where he stood.
"That's my cue," Sarah said. "Save me a seat." She turned and waved.
The woman joined them, breathing hard as if she'd run an obstacle course. "Sorry I'm late," Sarah said. "Put me to work."
Randy felt the woman's eyes slide from his toes to his head and back again. Her smile widened and she and Sarah exchanged one of those female looks he never understood.
"You're in the staff lounge," the woman said. "It's the girls' dressing room tonight."
He let his gaze linger on Sarah as she walked away. Damn, he liked the view as much retreating as approaching. Things stirred below his belt and he dragged his thoughts back to murderers and burglars.
The rec room buzzed as people found seats, greeted loved ones and tried to keep the youngsters from racing around in the paths of elderly residents with walkers and wheelchairs. Any semblance of orderly rows was lost as families shifted seats, making room for residents with special needs. Wheelchairs sat amid the folding metal chairs, walkers rested in front of and behind their users.
Randy spotted Kovak and Janie and wound his way to their row. Janie's smile was guarded when she saw him.
"Don't worry," he said. "I'm here for the show. But I'd like to borrow your husband for a few minutes. I promise he'll be in his seat before they start."
Her brown eyes squinted enough to tell him he was toast otherwise. Kovak kissed her forehead and ruffled Morgan's hair. Blond, like his father's, but longer. Curly, too, although he'd never seen Kovak with anything but a close-cropped cut, so who knew if the curls were hereditary
. Janie's deep auburn hair hung in loose waves. Why was he thinking this now? He'd seen them countless times. Was he wondering what a child he and Sarah created might look like? Once again, he buried the thoughts.
They made their way upstream against the flow and exited the building. In the relative privacy of the parking lot, they leaned on Kovak's SUV, where Randy related what Neville had done. The nearest light was three cars away, but there was enough glow to read his partner's face as it changed from curious to incredulous to furious.
"You're kidding. I mean, the guy's an asshole, but what the hell did he think he was doing?"
"I don't know and since I'm not around the station, I can't pick up the scuttlebutt."
"I'll definitely dig around. But you didn't drag me out here to tell me that." He pressed a button at his wrist, illuminating his watch. "You've got ten minutes, max, before Janie has my head."
Randy took a breath and plunged in. "Tell me what's wrong."
Kovak shoved his hands in his pockets and studied the ground. "That obvious?"
"Only to me. Money?"
Kovak nodded. "Partly. We've always hugged the line between being in the black and the red, but it's Janie's mom." He scratched his head. "She's got a rare form of cancer. The treatments weren't doing anything and she decided to go with an alternative, thinking it would be covered by Medicare the way the other treatment had. But it wasn't. Her folks are in debt over their eyeballs, losing their house, and there's not much we can do to bail them out financially."
Kovak rubbed the back of his neck. "Moving in with us—well, I love them, but—let's say I'm hoping to find an alternative. Hell, the remodeling we'd have to do to take them in would put us in debt until the devil wears a snowsuit."
"What about a place like this one? Assisted living?"
"You think these places are cheap? Not the good ones and Janie's parents are dead set against it for now. They keep insisting everything will turn out all right and they're happy where they are."
"How's she doing, health-wise, after the treatments?"
He snorted. "Ironic isn't it? Apparently, the treatments did some good, because now they're saying she's got a few years left, but there's no money. Janie's looking for work, but with the kids and school—by the time we factor in all the extra expenses, most of whatever she'd bring in would be eaten up. Losing my overtime's like taking a pay cut."
