“It would be a good idea to ask me in,” Greg said quickly, before she had a chance to dismiss him. “You know, before the neighbors see a uniformed officer at your door and start to talk.”
Beth grinned, looking out at the street in front of her house where he’d left his car. “Oh yeah, like that thing with the big ‘Sheriff’ emblazoned on the side isn’t going to raise any suspicion?”
“Hell, no.” He grinned, too, hands in his pockets as he stood his ground. “They’ll just think the sheriff’s sweet on you.”
“And that won’t cause talk?”
“Well, not the kind I was referring to. You know, the kind where everyone whispers about the possible secret life you’re living and they start to weave fantasies about bank robberies or jewel thefts and lock their windows and doors at night and give you a wide berth anytime they run into you at the grocery store.”
“Oh, that.” Beth started to pale at the ridiculous situation he was describing, but then she laughed. “Yeah, that’s about as likely as the sheriff being sweet on me.”
“I sure hope not,” he said, almost under his breath. And then wished he hadn’t. That was good for a slammed door in his face.
Because he didn’t know what else to do, Greg met her eyes. And that was when it always happened with them. From the first time he’d met her, he’d recognized something in that deep blue gaze. And until he knew what it was, what it meant, he had to keep coming back.
She didn’t shut him out or close the door.
“May I come in?”
Beth just stared. Her eyes were trying to tell him something…if only he could decipher what it was.
“I won’t stay long.”
Still without a word, she stood back, holding the door wide. Greg quickly stepped inside and followed her into the small living room. It was as neat as it had been the last time he was there. Neat and bare.
“Where’s Ryan?” he asked. He’d expected the boy to be playing quietly on the floor, had expected to see some toys out, stacked along the wall, something.
As far as he could tell, Ryan Allen hadn’t discovered the terrible twos yet.
“He’s asleep already. Normally bedtime isn’t until seven-thirty, but I had a cancellation today and we spent the afternoon at the day care. He was beat.”
“Did he and Katie acknowledge each other?” Greg asked, taking a seat on the edge of an old but relatively clean tweed couch, elbows on his knees.
“Nope.”
“Your son doesn’t like my niece?”
“More likely, your niece isn’t interested in giving my son the time of day.” She had a challenging glint in her eyes.
God, he loved it when she was feisty. And wondered why he saw that side of her so infrequently.
“No way,” he said, shaking his head as he grinned up at her. “Katie’ll make friends with anyone.”
“You make it sound like she shows no discrimination at all.”
He shrugged. “She’s a day care kid,” he said. “She really will play with anyone. So the problem has to be Ryan. The boy’s stuck on himself.” He was being outrageous and didn’t care. He’d made her smile.
“Or maybe Katie thinks since she’s so much older, it would be beneath her to play with a two-year-old.”
“Were you that way in high school? Too good to go out with the younger guys?”
“Probably not.”
“Why just probably?”
She looked away, her shoulders hunched as she rested her arms along the sides of her chair, an old but sturdy rocker. “Oh, you know,” she said, “you never see yourself in quite the same way other people do.”
True enough. “Tell me what you think you were like in high school.”
It took her a long time to answer. “Not one of the stupidest kids in class, but not one of the smartest, either.”
“I’ll bet you never failed a single test.”
“Not that I can remember.”
“And you had dates every weekend.”
“Well, I don’t recall a single weekend without one.” She grinned, but was still evading his eyes.
“Did you have a steady boyfriend?”
“Nobody who stayed with me.”
She was finally talking to him. Sort of. He wondered what she’d been like before the loss of her husband, before his death had locked her so deeply inside herself.
But Greg wasn’t going to let her reticence deter him. He understood the grieving process—from personal experience—but he also knew you didn’t stop living.
“What do you enjoy doing?” For someone who interviewed people regularly, he was doing a pretty lame job of gaining his subject’s trust.
But then, Beth wasn’t a subject. She was a woman who had insinuated herself into his thoughts so thoroughly that she was interfering with his calm, predictable life.
“I’m good at business. Numbers. That kind of thing.”
Not quite what he was looking for. And yet, perhaps the first piece of personal information she’d given him.
“So did you go to college?”
He’d just assumed she had no higher education—based solely on the fact that she was cleaning houses for a living. Yet Greg knew better than most how often things turned out to be exactly the opposite of the way they appeared. He knew what a mistake it was to assume anything. To judge anything by appearances.
“I sure didn’t learn about business law in high school.”
“You majored in business?”
“As long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to own my own business.” She was so passionate in what she was saying that Greg almost missed how adeptly she’d sidestepped his question.
“I don’t know how we got that far off topic,” she added, before he could attempt to wade any further through the vagueness surrounding her, “but maybe Katie just doesn’t like kids who are a little more serious in their endeavors and that’s why she won’t play with my son.”
No matter how beautiful the teasing grin she shot him, it didn’t cover the fact that she had, once again, completely turned the conversation away from herself.
From his probing.
“I still think Ryan’s the problem,” he said, quite purposefully egging her on.
“My son is not a problem.” The teasing glint remained in her eyes, but she’d crossed her arms over her chest. Usually a defensive gesture.
At least, when you were a suspect being questioned.
“Okay, problem is the wrong choice of word. But if the kid’s anything like his mom…”
“Ryan plays with other kids,” she said. She’d lost the glint.
Sobering, Greg said, “Bonnie told me the reason you volunteer at the day care in exchange for playtime is that you’re trying to draw the little guy out more.”
“I want him to have a homelike environment during the day when I work, but I did think being around other kids his age might encourage him to talk.”
Greg nodded. He knew how much Bonnie and Keith—and he, too, for that matter—ached over every little glitch in Katie’s life. A measurement that wasn’t right in the middle of the chart. Teeth coming too soon, steps taken too late. Fevers, ear infections, runny noses. An aversion to vegetables. Shouldering all those worries alone had to be hard.
And that on top of losing the man you’d meant to spend the rest of your life with…
“If there’s ever anything I can do—teach him to play catch, empathize with you when he’s sick—you know I’m here, right?” he asked, certain that he was crossing a line he shouldn’t cross.
“Thanks.” Beth smiled again. A sad, very real smile, instead of the quick assurance he’d been expecting.
It wasn’t agreeing to a date. But in Greg’s book, it was far better than that.
And even though she’d given him more information about herself than he’d ever had before, he still didn’t have a clear picture of who Beth Allen really was.
“SO WHAT DID YOU DO TODAY?” Beth asked Greg when silence fell
between them and she was afraid he might take that as a sign to leave.
She felt buoyed up and wasn’t ready to be alone.
He sat back, his uniform creased from a day in the August heat. That uniform made her uncomfortable. It reminded her of everything she couldn’t have. Freedom from fear. Freedom to speak openly. Sex.
“I can’t be sure, but I might have wasted the majority of it.” The words, accompanied by a tired sigh, completely surprised her.
Greg always seemed so on top of things. In control. Able to handle anything.
She couldn’t believe how quickly she wanted to help when she found out that wasn’t the case.
“Anything you can talk about?”
“I’m attempting to find a connection between some recent carjackings and the one involving my father ten years ago.”
Knowing how close Greg and Bonnie were, how much family meant to them, that couldn’t be an easy job. “You think there is one?”
He clasped and unclasped his hands. “I’m sure of it. Problem is, the deputy in charge—the best man in the whole damn department, as far as I’m concerned—doesn’t agree with me.”
“What does he say?”
“That I’m making it personal.”
“Are you?”
“I don’t think so.”
Beth didn’t know much about herself, but thought she had a pretty good sense of this man. The type of person he was. “You’re a smart man, Greg. And an honest one. I don’t think you’d kid yourself about something as serious as this.”
His eyes were grateful when he looked over at her, making Beth feel elated for no reason at all.
“I don’t think so, either,” he murmured.
“So what are the similarities you’re finding? Anything you’re free to discuss?”
“In the first place, we’re dealing with a series of carjackings in both cases. There are other random occurrences, but these fit an identical pattern—several assaults with the same MO over a relatively short period of time. Two guys, late teens-early twenties, just after rush hour—either morning or evening.”
“It’s the same two guys every time?”
“No.” Greg looked more than frustrated when he shook his head. “In fact, they aren’t always even from the same ethnic background.”
“So what else?” There had to be more. Greg wasn’t the type to be this concerned over flimsy evidence.
“They only take place in the summer, for one thing. I have no idea what that means, but it has to mean something. They start midsummer, there’s a rash of them, and then, inexplicably, they stop. No arrests. Not even any real suspects. They just stop.”
“What about the drivers?” Beth asked. “Could they be the tie-in somehow?”
With another shake of his head and a raised brow, Greg said, “I don’t find a single thing to connect them.
Not age. Not where they work or live. Not their religion, where they bought their cars or even their injuries.” A shadow of pain crossed his face.
She winced inside, thankful suddenly for the blessing of amnesia. “They weren’t all hurt?”
His brows drawn together, Greg gave her an apologetic glance. “You don’t have to do this.”
“What?” she asked, a bit afraid of how important it had suddenly become to talk this through with him. To do something to help him. “Talk to a friend?”
“Is that what we are? Friends?” His expression lost none of its seriousness.
“I don’t know.” Beth had to be honest. After a pause, she returned to her earlier question “So, they weren’t all hurt?”
“Of this current group, all but one,” Greg said. His voice was tightly controlled but she could hear the anger.
“Most were killed,” he went on. “But not in the same way. One was shot. Another raped and strangled. One was left unconscious in the desert to either succumb to the heat or die of dehydration, whichever came first.”
Beth swallowed.
“I can stop now.”
“No, go on,” she said. “It’s okay, really. I’m not squeamish. I’m just sorry for these people and their families.”
She wasn’t squeamish. Another characteristic to add to the list she was keeping in her memory notebook. This was a good one. The kind she liked to add. Rated right up there with orderly.
“This summer, a college girl chose to throw herself out of the back seat of her moving car rather than submit to whatever else her abductors had in mind. She was a dancer and knew how to land and roll. She was miraculously unhurt.”
Beth frowned, struck by an uncomfortable thought. Could something like this have happened to her? Had she merely been the victim of a random crime and not the runaway she supposed herself to be?
Of course, that didn’t explain the canvas gym bag, obviously grabbed in a hurry with a couple of diapers and a change of clothes for Ryan stuffed in with various sweats, T-shirts and socks that fit her, or the two-thousand dollars. Not many people traveled with that much cash. And no identification.
Not smart people, anyway.
Beth didn’t know what that bag signified. But she always kept it close. As though it somehow connected her to the self she’d lost.
As for the two-thousand dollars—part of it she’d invested in equipment and supplies to set herself up in business.
“There’s something else,” Greg said slowly. “The front ends of all the stolen cars—ten years ago and now—were smashed in such a way that no matter what make or model, they look remarkably the same.”
“Like they all hit the same thing? Or something similar?”
Greg’s brow cleared as he nodded. “Yeah. Odd, huh?”
“Very. Your deputy didn’t think so?”
“Didn’t seem to. Nor did he seem impressed by the fact that they were all new-model cars. Most carjackers are looking for quick transportation. They aren’t usually so picky.”
“You’re sure this guy knows what he’s doing?” Beth asked, somehow not surprised at the thought that this deputy might not be all that he seemed.
What she found startling was that she was so cynical. She’d just naturally assumed the man was up to no good. People didn’t think that badly of the human race without reason, did they?
Oh God. She was cynical. Two things for the list in one night. This second one was not a characteristic she was particularly eager to have.
These past months of almost no self-revelation at all weren’t looking as bad as they once had…
“I know he does,” Greg said somberly, his words rescuing her from the familiar dark hole she’d been sinking into.
“WERE YOU IN THE MIDDLE OF WORK OR SOMETHING?” Greg asked, pointing to the piles of papers, receipts and ledgers on the scarred desk at one end of the room. Beth had grown silent, and he was kicking himself for bringing up such a personal subject. But then, it was difficult to tell what she considered personal. He’d worked so hard for so long to get in the door, and he hated the idea of losing the little trust she’d given him.
“Just doing my books,” she said, sounding completely relaxed. Maybe for the first time in their acquaintanceship.
He smiled. “Looks like you’ve got enough stuff going on to be running a business the size of the Cactus Jelly plant.”
“I told you I liked numbers. I’m actually keeping a tally of month-to-month percentages on the variance in cleaning supply costs. I check at the local Wal-Mart and at several places in Phoenix. I then keep track of how much cleaning I can do per ounce of solution. I’ll bet you didn’t know, for instance, that Alex Window Cleaner does linoleum more cost-effectively than any of the ammonia-based floor cleaners.”
“No, I didn’t know that.” There was apparently much more to cleaning than he’d ever realized.
But what was of far greater interest to him was the woman who was rattling off dollars and ounces as easily as he did police radio codes.
“I take it your business is doing well,” he said, when she’d given him a rundown on the
benefits of bulk purchasing versus storage costs. Not just for cleaning supplies, but for business in general. Beth hadn’t been kidding. She knew her stuff. More than any business student he’d ever known.
“As a matter of fact, this is the first month that Beth’s Basins—and the Allens—are completely in the black! The bills are paid, money’s put aside for emergencies and Ryan’s education, and I even have some to spare. Ry’s been wanting this balsa wood airplane he saw downtown, and even though it’s really for older boys, I’m going to get it for him.”
“He told you he wants an airplane?” Greg couldn’t believe the change in her. She could have been any normal woman.
Certainly she was a beautiful one. Beth’s loose auburn hair falling over shoulders left bare by the tank top she wore was driving him just a little crazy.
“Ryan hasn’t said so, of course,” she was telling him, her bare feet pushing off the floor as she rocked gently. “But his eyes light up every time we pass it. Hopefully I’ll have time to take him tomorrow.”
“You really love that little guy, don’t you,” Greg said. About that, at least, she was completely open.
“More than life itself.”
Somehow one hour became two and Greg was still there, sitting on Beth’s couch while she rocked in her chair. She’d gotten up once to get them both cans of soda and to check on Ryan, but that was all. Greg, who usually had a hard time staying in one place, was surprised by how much he enjoyed just sitting there looking at her.
Maybe that was why he didn’t push his luck with any more personal questions. He didn’t want her to show him the door.
Even now that she was more relaxed, Beth’s eyes were still inexplicably expressive. Was it just her intelligence he saw there? He didn’t think so.
The woman was a contradiction. Vulnerable one moment, and completely in control the next. Able to accomplish anything. Needing no one.
Teasing—and instantly defensive.
Insecure. And then confident.
And those breasts. He was ashamed of how much he was noticing them, how many times he thought about touching them.
Greg stayed long into that night, talking, mostly about growing up in Shelter Valley—including his college years at Montford University, the Harvard of the West, Shelter Valley’s pride and joy. Beth had a million questions, making him wonder if she’d been storing them up for the entire six months she’d lived in town.
The Sheriff of Shelter Valley Page 5
