by Rose Beecham
“It’s funny, at the search, people were so nice to us.” Debbie sounded wistful. “I started thinking maybe I’m being too careful. But then I realized—it was because everyone thought Lone was a man.”
Jude could see how that might happen. Lone would get called “sir” wearing a dress. She said, “Well, I’m sorry she’s not here right now. I was hoping to talk with her about something we were discussing the other day.”
Debbie brightened. “I have an idea. Why don’t you come have dinner with us one night? I’ll cook up a storm, and you and Lone can talk about whatever butches talk about when you’re by yourselves with an unlimited amount of beer.”
Jude laughed with genuine pleasure. It made a nice change not to have to be guarded about her sexuality. She wished she could get to know a few more lesbians around the area, but showing up at the local chapter of GLAD would attract more attention than she needed, and in this close-knit community, gossip traveled like wildfire. She wasn’t willing to jeopardize her FBI assignment by being outed.
“Dinner sounds like a great idea,” she said. “Want to pick a night now?”
“Sure.” Debbie poured their coffee. “I’ll call Lone and see when she’s free.”
Jude got to her feet and offered, “I’ll take those.” She made a point of looking Debbie up and down, just enough to communicate a sensual awareness of her.
Debbie got flustered and dropped her cell phone. Jude picked it up and stood just close enough so that Debbie would be aware of her height and strength, but not so close she would come across as disrespectful. Reaching past her, she picked up the coffee mugs.
Debbie gave a nervous laugh like a hiccup and focused on her phone once more, but instead of retreating politely while she dialed Lonewolf, Jude took a sip of coffee like she couldn’t wait. Then she put one of the mugs back on the counter and distractedly patted her pockets as if her pager was going off.
With an apologetic smile, she produced her cell phone and mouthed in an undertone, “Excuse me a moment. I need to pick up a couple of messages.”
As she moved away, she entered the number she had just observed Debbie dial and hit “save.” Then she went through the motions of clearing her messages while Debbie spoke to her paranoid partner.
Sure enough, Debbie’s tone started out animated, then she sounded a little startled and said, “She’s right here, having coffee.”
Jude put her cell phone away and said, “Want me to talk to her?”
Debbie hesitated, but she was the kind of woman who respected authority figures so she caved right away, blurting chirpily, “She wants to say hello, honey.” She quickly passed the phone to Jude.
“Sandy. Hey,” Jude said. “How are you doing?”
“Good.” Sandy wasn’t giving much away. “I saw you arrested the boyfriend.”
“If you could call it that.”
Sandy thawed slightly. “Don’t you want to smack guys like him in the mouth?”
“In the worst way. I guess you’ve seen your share of them, too.”
“It’s one thing when they don’t speak the language and get themselves confused. But your baby butcher was working it.”
“Wall-to-wall TV reporters,” Jude remarked. “I’ll tell you all the details next week. Your lady is mighty persuasive, by the way.”
Sandy was trapped and she knew it. “Yes. She said something about dinner.” She couldn’t have sounded less enthusiastic.
“I don’t get home cooking very often,” Jude continued, acting oblivious. “So it’ll be a real pleasure to share a meal with you folks. Thanks for the invitation.”
Try getting out of that one. She waited for Sandy to find an excuse not to break bread with her, but after a beat, their subject said, “How’s next Friday?”
“I’ll be here.”
They said perfunctory good-byes, and Jude returned the phone to Debbie. “We’re on for next Friday.”
“That’s great.” Debbie beamed.
She was one of those women who glowed from inside, Jude thought. She wasn’t good-looking in an obvious way, but she had the same appeal as a baby animal, all sweetness and vulnerability. She would never be able to hide her fear or guilt if she was involved in something illegal or if she knew her lover was. In either scenario, she would not have invited a cop to dinner.
Jude felt angry with Sandy, then. What was she thinking placing this woman at risk? Foraging in the recesses of her mind, she tried to come up with alternative explanations for the C-4 purchase. It could be entirely innocent. The woman had property. Maybe she was planning to blast an unwanted building or part of a hillside. Maybe she was simply a survivalist with a thing for weaponry.
Whatever she was up to, Jude was determined to be certain of her facts before she made a move. She wasn’t going to jump to conclusions just because Sandy Lane was an intense individual with the kind of profile that could fit a domestic terrorist—ex-military, a loner, paranoid, antisocial. She had more pressing priorities, like finding out if the ASS was ninety percent hot air and wishful thinking, or if they posed a serious threat.
Now that the snows were melting and March was moving toward April, it would be viable to access the remote location their operations had been traced to. Jude anticipated a rundown shack complete with a stockpile of anti-Semitic literature, Nazi memorabilia, and unsophisticated half-built bombs.
Meanwhile, she would take her time getting to know Sandy and Debbie. She would build trust and gain access to the lives of these two women so that she could observe patterns. That way she could detect the tell-tale signs that signaled a plan underway. Now that she had a cell phone number for Sandy, she would be able to track her location and conduct some basic surveillance.
Sandy didn’t strike her as a woman who rushed into anything, so Jude felt time was on her side. This mattered, because if the couple was involved in something stupid, she wanted the chance to change their minds. Maybe she could steer Sandy in a different direction before she could destroy what they had with each other.
*
Quietly, Chastity closed the door to the guest room. “She’s asleep.”
Jude glanced at the suitcases next to the garage door, a gluey sensation in her stomach. Tomorrow she would be by herself again, and she was kidding herself if she thought it was going to feel good to watch Chastity and Adeline drive away. Yet part of her was relieved.
She had so much to think about in preparing for Miller’s trial, she would be lousy company. Even Yiska would probably abandon her bed in disgust.
“It feels strange to be leaving,” Chastity said as she moved across the living room toward Jude.
“Come back any time you want,” Jude invited. “Next week is open.”
Smiling, Chastity reached up and pulled the bands from her hair, allowing her copper curls to tumble down around her face. “Has it really been okay?”
“It’s been better than okay.” Jude allowed herself an eyeful of Chastity’s breasts. The thought that she would soon get to caress them made her breathless. In fact, the thought of touching Chastity anywhere made her feel like a high school kid fantasizing about the class hottie she would never have.
“So, it’s just us, now.” Chastity advanced on Jude. Her dark eyes gleamed and her expression was playful. “Feeling the pressure?”
Jude hooted with laughter, then forced a solemn tone. “Well, I’m aware there’s a lot riding on my performance. If it all goes south you could be scarred for life, and I’ll spend yet another horny night feeling sorry for myself. No pressure.”
“I’ve been worrying that I set my sights too low,” Chastity confided. “Second base. It’s not very adventurous, is it?”
Jude couldn’t resist. “Well, that depends on who you’re playing with.”
Chastity’s small gasp made her mouth part deliciously. “Come here and say that.”
Jude grinned. Chastity was right in front of her, so close that her jeans were brushing against Jude’s legs. All Jude had to do w
as reach out and she could unbutton her neat dove gray shirt. While she was contemplating that possibility, Chastity pushed her firmly into the sofa cushions, slung one leg over Jude’s, and lowered herself to sit astride her.
“I can see that you’ve given this some thought,” Jude said, impressed by the seductive move.
“Only all day.” Chastity brushed her fingertips slowly past Jude’s lips. “I did some reading.”
“Really?”
“You have some very informative books.”
“You checked out my bedroom bookshelves?”
Jude tried not to be horrified. Somehow, the thought of Chastity flicking through lesbian erotica was far more disturbing than it should have been. She wondered why. Chastity was not a child. If she was alarmed by something she read, she could close the book.
“You sound shocked.”
“No. Just surprised.” Jude was aware of an increasing ache in her groin and the tantalizing pressure of Chastity’s weight. Huskily, she inquired, “Is this your norm? You don’t do things by halves?” A compelling thought, on many levels.
“I was a late starter,” Chastity murmured, her breath dampening Jude’s cheek, “So I have this thing about making up for lost time.”
Jude placed her hands around Chastity’s waist and drew her firmly down, spreading her legs a little wider. The stifled gasp she heard made her ache even more, and she slid a hand between them, easing it beneath Chastity’s crotch. Slowly she worked the knuckles back and forth.
“Does that feel good?”
Chastity’s night-dark eyes met hers. She whispered, “Kiss me.”
They moved together, their mouths caressing, gently teasing, not really going there. Jude had no idea how long she could keep this up. Holding herself in check was going to make her crazy. She thought maybe two more minutes would be a safe bet, then she would have to take a cold shower or she would totally blow it.
She kissed Chastity with a little more intensity and moved her hands down over her hips and around to her great little ass, exactly the kind she liked to spank occasionally. Trying not to go there she continued the gentle caresses, waiting for a cue from Chastity that she wanted more.
But slow, subtle buildup didn’t seem to be working as it should. Chastity was returning her kisses and she seemed aroused, yet Jude had the impression she’d be happy if they made out on the sofa for the rest of the evening.
Experimentally, she parted Chastity’s mouth with her tongue and lifted a hand to one of her breasts, taking its modest weight in her palm and squeezing. Chastity responded by kissing her more urgently and bucking slightly against Jude, and in that moment the second base plan was off the menu entirely. Months without sex had made gradual exploration torture instead of the erotic fun it was meant to be. All Jude could think about was standing up with Chastity’s legs wrapped around her, finding the nearest wall, and fucking her senseless. What happened to finesse?
Jude’s legs felt weak, but she stood up anyway, holding Chastity close until her feet hit the floor. She was promptly flooded with uncertainty instead of arousal. If she made love to Chastity now, in this state, she would scare her.
“What is it?” Chastity touched her face. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No.” Jude took a step back. “I think we’re going too fast.”
Chastity’s hand slipped into hers and she tugged Jude toward the bedroom. “We can slow down.”
They made it inside the door. Chastity reached for the waistband of Jude’s pants and unbuckled her belt. Jude cursed the tiny buttons that kept the gray shirt closed. She couldn’t believe she was fumbling, trying to squeeze them through the holes. Chastity saved her the trouble, pulling the shirt up and over her head in a single fluid motion.
They stared at each other, both breathing hard.
Jude said, “I can’t do the second-base thing.”
“I don’t care.” Chastity was so close Jude felt her shiver. “I just want you.”
They systematically discarded their clothes until they stood naked before one another. Chastity placed a fingertip on the hollow at the base of Jude’s throat and tentatively stroked. Then she drew Jude’s head down to hers and they kissed again, this time with greedy intensity.
As she lost herself in Chastity’s mouth, Jude walked her to the edge of the bed and lowered her onto the pale sheets. “You’re beautiful,” she said. “And I have to make love to you. Please don’t say no.”
Chastity gazed up at her and opened her arms. “Come here.”
Chapter Nineteen
“We should be selling tickets to this,” Sheriff Pratt grumbled as he and Jude fought their way through a swarm of reporters to the relative haven of the Montezuma County Courthouse.
Wade Miller’s trial had now occupied the court for two weeks, which was a long time by local standards. Jury members were complaining about the heat and the food. The judge had thrown various people out of the courtroom: friends of the accused who tried to slip him a bottle of beer, outraged citizens calling for a hanging, and vocal supporters of the goat’s head gang who kept leaping to their feet with placards that announced Gums Is Innocent. Jude thought Griffin Mahanes had probably hired these groupies.
Mahanes held court with the media on a daily basis, making the usual accusations: that police had a vendetta against his client and had ignored witnesses who might have implicated other potential killers; his client had been framed by planted evidence; and no one knew where Corban had been murdered.
Which was, as far as Jude was concerned, the biggest weakness in the people’s case. They hadn’t located the crime scene or clothing that would conclusively tie Miller to the killing. They also had no murder weapon. The sledgehammer used to weigh Corban’s body down was not the weapon, and its owner was unidentified.
To get a conviction, they had to win the jury because they were relying on a combination of circumstantial evidence and the obvious guilt of the defendant. If the jury believed Miller, they would not convict. If they believed Gums Thompson, they would. And today was the day Jude and the sheriff would know. Thompson was taking the stand, the star witness for the prosecution. They hadn’t found the key or the tequila bottle that would support his story, and Jude hoped this would not prove too costly.
Jude had heard that Mahanes was planning to put Miller on the stand when the defense presented their case, a decision that surprised her. She’d been fairly certain he wouldn’t risk exposing his client to a probing cross-examination that was bound to expose him as lying through his teeth. But she figured he would want the jury to compare both men. Miller would be coached extensively, of course. He already looked like a blind date most women wouldn’t hide from. The mullet was gone and so was the black hair dye. Mahanes had dressed him like a schoolteacher.
Jude cast a sideways glance at Pratt and found him looking distinctly ill at ease. “You were right,” he said. “We should have waited.”
Jude didn’t comment. She was still seething over the rush to trial. Pratt had used all his considerable political muscle to obtain an early court date so they could get a guilty verdict in time for his re-election. Griffin Mahanes had played ball, falling over himself to make it easy for them. Jude would have done the same in his shoes. Why give the prosecution time to build a stronger case?
Throughout the trial, she and every other detective working the case had continued to chase every lead that could lead them to a murder site. This meant investigating the tips of half the crazies in the region, interviewing everyone they could track down who had ever had a beer with Miller, and canvassing door to door through most of the streets in Cortez. They had found more dead dogs and sorted through more bags of discarded clothing than she wanted to think about.
It confounded her that in a small town environment like this one, where every member of the public was obsessed with the case, a child could have been murdered bloodily and no one heard or saw a thing. She supposed there were a million places Wade Miller could have gone to do
it. The Four Corners was a wilderness. One day, in years to come, hikers would probably find the rusted crowbar Mercy had flagged as the most likely murder weapon, and they would get the proof they needed long after the fat lady had sung.
Pratt mumbled something and stared past her toward a small crowd of people sweeping through the foyer. At their center was Griffin Mahanes, a man who dyed his light brown hair silver for added gravitas when he was appearing in the courtroom. This morning he was wearing a high quality but unpretentious navy blue suit and a conservative, almost dated, striped tie. He’d swapped his usual black cowboy boots for a pair of brown ones that had seen better days.
“His own family couldn’t trust him to play Santa on Christmas Eve,” Pratt commented in disgust.
Jude said, “I hope to Christ Gums can remember what he’s supposed to say.” Her cell phone was vibrating and she excused herself to take the call.
“I called to wish you luck.” It was Chastity, sounding calm and happy.
“Hey, how are you?”
“We’re doing fine. Adeline wants a tattoo.”
Jude laughed. “Welcome to fifteen.”
“You’re still coming, aren’t you?”
“Of course. Just as soon as this fiasco is over.”
Despite their best intentions, they hadn’t seen each other since the visit in March. Four months felt like a long time. They spoke often, and Jude felt they were building a real friendship, but she had no idea where it was headed. And on some level, it hurt that Chastity hadn’t come back to the Four Corners to see her.
She knew it was impossible for Jude to get away. The investigation had consumed her, and she’d been preoccupied with her ongoing investigation into Sandy Lane. Arbiter was also on her tail about the ASS. So far, she had covertly entered two properties owned by the men in question, and the only biological agent she’d uncovered was a few sacks of chicken shit. With the Telluride film festival only six weeks away, they were no closer to confirming the credibility of the threat, and Arbiter had just ordered a bunch of agents into the area to focus on the case.
