by Janice Kay Johnson - Cop by Her Side (The Mysteries of Angel Butte)
Drew lifted his head long enough to cast a desperate glance at Clay. “No one has seen anything yet.”
“They will,” Clay said with more confidence than he felt.
“It’s our best hope,” Jane said, but her voice was so soft he knew she feared that hope was a faint one.
He left them long enough to get cold drinks from a machine. The sugar and caffeine seemed to revive Drew, who finally asked if the reporters would be gone. Clay went out to look and came back to say that the coast was clear. Drew left after telling Jane he was going back to the hospital, but would pick Alexis up himself.
“I’ll see you later at home, then,” she told him, watching as he left.
Then she turned to Clay, her expression bleak. “I want to think we did some good.”
Aware of the expanse of glass that allowed people to see in, he couldn’t take her in his arms the way he wanted. “You did everything you possibly could,” he said, feeling how inadequate the words were.
“Will you just have to wait for tips?” she asked.
“I’m most hopeful your sister will be able to tell us something. But, no. I’m going back to Stillwell Trucking to talk to coworkers. I’m going to interview your sister’s friends. Could she have been involved with a man? Up to something else? Someone must know.”
“Wouldn’t Drew have guessed—?”
For once, she was neither tough nor cynical. The glimpse of her despair gutted him.
“I think he did,” Clay said quietly.
He expected argument but didn’t get one. After a moment, she nodded, her usual energy subdued. “I’ll let you get back to work.”
“Can you get away for a while tonight, Jane?” he asked, voice raw. “Maybe I could feed you dinner.”
“You mean...go out?” She sounded uncertain.
“I was thinking I could cook. Since you fed me last night.”
“You mean...at your place?” She shook her head and his heart sank until she said, “That’s a dumb thing to ask. Where else are you going to cook? On a grill at the park?”
He let himself smile. “Well, we could.”
“I think I’ve been stared at enough for one day.” She wrinkled her nose. “If you mean it, I’d like that. Unless something happens.”
He thought she was blushing. “That goes without saying,” he said easily, and it did. They were both cops; something quite often happened to interrupt previously made plans. Clay had dated more than one woman who thought his profession was sexy until she got tired of him canceling on her. He guessed men would be even less understanding of a woman who constantly put her job ahead of a dinner date.
In this case, though, he knew they were both hoping something would come up—a promising tip, or her sister opening her eyes.
They agreed she’d drive herself to his house, and set a time. Then he walked her out, feeling a complicated stew of emotions that ranged from compassion at her pain to triumph because, for whatever reason, it seemed she might be giving him a second chance after all. He took the chance of kissing her cheek before she got into her macho black Yukon. At his last glimpse of her, she was definitely blushing.
* * *
JANE’S GAZE LINGERED on the Peruvian rug that hung above the river rock fireplace in Clay’s log home. He’d surprised her in so many ways tonight, she was still reeling.
The log house in the woods wasn’t a surprise; especially after becoming disenchanted with him, she’d relegated him to the stereotype of a redneck backcountry jerk, and a log cabin fit with that image. What didn’t fit was the interior. For one thing, his space was spotlessly clean, and not as if he’d hastily stashed the empty beer cans, pizza boxes and dirty socks out of sight for her benefit. Instead she had the sense an orderly environment was important to him. That didn’t mean he hadn’t enriched it. She’d been taken aback by tall built-in shelves filled with books covering a huge gamut of subjects. His stereo system and speakers were impressive, but the television was small, and from its location, appeared to be an afterthought. A tall clay sculpture filling one corner was abstract and kept catching her eye. An antique copper boiling kettle held a pile of newspapers and kindling by the fireplace. The furnishings were simple, 19th-century antiques, well cared for. One huge, glorious framed photo was taken across Sparks Lake to what she recognized as South Sister. Otherwise, he’d hung a watercolor of black-eyed Susans in bloom.
He didn’t offer her the classic bachelor fare of a grilled steak and baked potato for dinner, either. Instead he cooked chicken in a red wine sauce spiced heavily with marjoram over brown rice, with green beans that were currently in season.
Jane kept wondering over dinner whether he had any idea that he’d confounded her. She hadn’t gotten to know him when they first dated nearly as well as she’d thought she had. Had she already been nursing preconceptions? Or had Clay been protecting himself, either consciously or unconsciously? He certainly hadn’t invited her to his home.
He was the one to steer the conversation while he cooked and then while eating. They discussed national politics first, then the local electoral races.
“Does everyone in the department assume Sheriff Brock will be reelected?” she asked.
Eugene Brock was the incumbent Butte County sheriff, the one in danger of being ousted in November by her boss, Colin McAllister. Jane was aware that Colin and the Angel Butte police chief, Alec Raynor, both despised Brock.
Clay smiled at her question. “We’re very careful not to talk about it. Personally? I think he’ll lose. The dirty politics were a mistake.”
Jane nodded. Someone on Brock’s campaign staff had learned that Angel Butte mayor Noah Chandler had blacklisted Brock’s main opponent, Colin, back when the city police chief job was open. Unfortunately for Brock, the mayor had come out strongly in support of Colin and explained in a way people understood why he’d made a decision then that no longer applied. Raynor was also enthusiastically supporting Colin, as were many of the county’s most prominent citizens.
“My boss isn’t popular among his officers,” Clay said after a moment, his gaze resting on her. “He hasn’t fought for funding the way Raynor is doing in Angel Butte. Training and manpower is inadequate. As a result, deputies screw up more often than they should. There’s been a culture that encourages contempt for minorities and unnecessary violence. There may be deputies who are afraid of change. The rest of us are hoping for it.”
He had to trust her to have told her so much. His views could damage his career if Brock did win reelection.
“You’ll like working for Colin if he wins,” she said. “I’ll miss him.”
“He’s the one who promoted you.”
The restraint in his voice told her he’d heard the rumors implying she must have slept her way into the job. How else could a mere woman get so far, so fast?
“I felt unqualified,” she admitted, without telling him there were still times when she wasn’t sure she was up to the job. “Some people thought he should have gone outside the department to hire. Things had gotten so bad at that point, we’d lost a lot of people who had the seniority and experience to step in. He claims to have been impressed with how I handled the investigation into the payoffs we discovered Chief Bystrom had been accepting.”
“That had to have been tough.” Clay cradled a coffee mug in one large hand. “With him your boss, and you only a detective.”
She was grateful he didn’t add that she was a woman. If he’d said, “only a woman,” she’d have had to walk out.
“The thing is, I despised Bystrom,” she said in a burst of honesty. “If I’d had any respect for him at all, it would have been way harder to grill him.”
Clay laughed. “I only wish I had the chance to look into Brock’s activities.”
Once, she’d have been shocked. As it was, she simply raised her
eyebrows. “You think he’s corrupt?”
He waggled one hand. “I’ve wondered, that’s all. What I know is that he’s lazy and incompetent.”
“Bystrom was both those things, too.”
“I’ll be voting for your boss.”
“I’ll tell him after the election, if he wins.”
“Since I can’t, without looking like I’m apple polishing?”
Jane chuckled. “Right.”
His mouth had a curve, but his eyes were serious. “Do you expect to have a shot at his job?”
“Captain? Wow. No.” Then she noticed how still he was holding himself, and felt a surge of disappointment. “You’d hate it if I got another promotion, wouldn’t you?”
His expression didn’t change. “I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.” She started to gather herself. “It’s time I be getting home.”
“No.” Clay leaned forward, pushing his empty plate away, the intensity deepening the blue of his eyes. “I didn’t say that, and I didn’t mean it. I really was just curious.”
“Not competitive.” She didn’t believe him.
“Would I feel a sting if my—” the hesitation was so slight she almost missed it “—girlfriend outranked me by that much? Sure.” He shrugged. “I could live with it. What you’ve accomplished is amazing—a woman facing down men who share the attitude I grew up with. The longer I know you, the more I admire you.”
Her chest was suddenly so tight it hurt. The burning in the back of her eyes told her she was perilously close to tears. Right. Tears would really impress him.
The thought that came to her then almost took her breath away. Maybe I don’t have to impress him.
“I always make those assumptions with men,” she said, shocked both by the realization and by her willingness to say it out loud, here and now, to this man. “I didn’t know I was doing it. I’m the one who’s competitive. Who thinks every guy I know resents my success.”
“Because so many of them do? Or did your father belittle you as a girl?”
She shouldn’t have been surprised by his perception, but she was. “Maybe both. Dad was a really unhappy, angry man. Nothing I did ever impressed him.”
“Jane...” He hesitated, then asked quietly, “Did he sexually molest your sister?”
Stunned, she could only stare at him.
Suddenly he was on his feet, torment altering his face. “Or you?”
She closed her eyes. “Not me,” she whispered. “But Lissa...I think he did. Oh, God.” She bent over, holding her stomach. “I tried so hard to keep her away from him.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
“HOW DID YOU KNOW?” Jane asked him.
The way she’d almost crumpled, the shock and misery on her face now, battered Clay with emotions. The need to protect her was paramount, more powerful than he’d ever felt. The contradictions in this woman—her vulnerability coupled with her strength and competence—had him on a knife-edge. The last thing she’d want was him to promise he’d never let anyone hurt her again, however much he wanted to. How was a man with his core beliefs supposed to deal with a woman like her?
He wished he had a clue.
But a thought jabbed at him. Maybe his core beliefs weren’t the same as they’d always been. Maybe the seismic shift in him wasn’t as shallow as he’d thought; maybe it had gone bedrock deep.
Yeah, he thought, disconcerted. It could be.
Lissa. That was who they were talking about. Not him.
“I didn’t know.” He had persuaded Jane to move from the table to the big leather sofa. He’d sat beside her, but gave himself enough space to see her as they talked. “It really was a guess.”
“You don’t even know Lissa.” Her expression was almost hostile. Her instincts, he guessed, were to be defensive. This was a secret she’d kept for a very long time.
“In a way, I do,” Clay pointed out. “From what you’ve said about her, what Drew has said. Other people, too. Her relationship with you is classic. She knows you tried to save her and is grateful, but she’s also angry because sometimes you couldn’t. I get the feeling she holds men in contempt, but also glories in her power over them. And maybe in the looks that bring her attention, even though those looks also were the cause of something so bad happening to her.”
“Yes.” Any defensiveness had collapsed. “She was conflicted with Dad. Sometimes creeping around him, scared of him, but sometimes wrapping him around her little finger and spiteful to me because she could and I couldn’t. I think—” She took a deep breath that had him tightening his grip on her hand. “I think it started when she wasn’t very old. I wasn’t old enough to suspect. It wasn’t until later—”
“But she never told you.”
Jane shook her head. “I...hinted a few times and she would blow up. I’m still not positive.”
“It’s only a suspicion on my part. We may both be wrong.”
“But it would explain things about her. Her need to hold the upper hand.” She paused. “I asked once if she wanted a little boy, and Lissa said she was praying to have only girls. She didn’t know if she could deal with a boy. She was really vehement.”
That was his Jane—clear-sighted even at her most distraught. He was disconcerted again by the pride he felt in her.
“You never got any hint your father looked at you that way?”
“No.” She shrugged. “He talked about how at least he had one beautiful daughter.”
“Damn him,” Clay said with such force her eyes dilated.
“Sometimes I hated him.” She bit her lip. “I wanted to believe it didn’t hurt when he said things like that.” She made a funny sound he thought might be intended as a laugh. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. I sound so pathetic.”
“No.” His throat wanted to close, but he kept talking anyway. “I’ve never known a woman as strong as you.”
“Strong.”
He couldn’t tell if that was disbelieving or sad. Had she become strong precisely because she believed her father that she’d never be feminine or beautiful in anyone’s eyes and this was her compensation?
“Your father was wrong.” The words came out raw. “You are beautiful. That first time I saw you, I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”
Her eyes, glorious and unblinking, never left his.
“Thank God he was such an idiot. Thank God he never wanted you.”
“Lissa—” Tears overflowed, but she didn’t seem to notice. “I tried so hard to keep her safe.” Her tongue swiped her lips. She must have tasted the salt of her tears, because she lifted a hand in disbelief to find her face wet. “I never—” Her mouth worked. Formed an O of anguish.
He caught her as she collapsed. Held her tight as she sobbed. Clay wondered if she’d ever let herself cry like this when she was a girl, trying so hard to be the adult, the protector, even though she must have known deep inside she was bound to fail.
He rocked her, his hands moving ceaselessly in an effort to comfort. Cheek pressed to her head, Clay had a bad feeling he was crying, too. He couldn’t remember the last time he had. Not since he was a young boy. His father would have been scathing if he’d ever seen his son shed a tear.
Had Jane’s wounds healed as scars that barely twinged, or had they only scabbed over? He imagined them breaking open every time she saw her sister. No wonder she had given so much to her nieces, even though they already had two parents. She saw it as a chance to keep them, at least, safe. Irrational though it would be, she must feel now as if she’d failed Bree. Mostly she’d held herself together, but guessing how she was torturing herself with guilt tore something open in Clay.
“Oh, Jane,” he murmured. “Sweetheart. You’ve had to hold so much in. Let it out. It’s okay.”
She didn’t
cry as long as she should have. Of course she didn’t. She must hate losing control as much as he did. More, maybe. Jane had been trying to save not only her sister, but herself. Her scumbag of a father, Clay couldn’t let himself forget, might not have sexually molested her, but he had hit her.
His own need for self-control felt petty in comparison. An ego thing.
A memory swept over him, stunningly real. He knew exactly how he’d felt at that moment, trying not to quail from his father.
“You gonna let me goad you, boy?” Dad, right in his face, stabbing Clay’s chest with a forefinger. “Are you?” He sneered. “Sure you are. You don’t have the guts to stare me down, do you? Huh? Do you?”
He shut down the memory. There were a thousand like it lurking inside him somewhere. Not abusive—Dad would have said he was toughening his kid up—but suggesting he’d felt a need to dominate Clay from early on. Seen him as a threat, maybe, only because he was male?
Clay shook his head. He wasn’t going to let his father impact his psyche anymore, not if he could help it.
Jane pulled away from him, swiping furiously at her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into me. I need—” Breaking off midsentence, she fled for his bathroom.
Clay carefully wiped beneath his eyes to be sure no moisture lingered, then stacked his feet on the coffee table and laid his arms along the back of the sofa, staying firmly planted on the middle cushion. Maybe he should clear the table or start cleaning the kitchen—but he intended to be right here when Jane reappeared.
When she did, her face was puffy and splotched with red. Any trace of makeup was long gone. She looked painfully self-conscious as she hovered in the middle of the main room.
“I really ought to be going. Drew might want to go back to the hospital.”
“Don’t go yet.” Clay held out a hand, tenderness and desire tangling into a huge knot beneath his breastbone. “Come sit with me.”
Longing and wariness did visible battle on her face. He waited to see which would win. After a moment, she took a small step toward him, then another, a doe approaching a waterhole despite the fear of predators. He didn’t want to pressure her, so he didn’t urge her, just smiled wryly. At last she came and perched at the end of the sofa, her back straight and her hands clasped on her lap like the prim, good girl he suspected she’d been growing up. When she wasn’t warrior woman defending her sister, that was.
