She could only think of one more test. One more piece of evidence that could prove he was indeed her rescuer. She stood, walked around the table, and leaned against it in front of him.
Wynn angled away from her warily. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had a body like yours this close to me, apple blossom.”
“May I look at your hands?”
After a moment, he gave her the barest hint of a nod.
She reached down and lifted his right hand to examine the palm he’d been rubbing. The cuffs that were anchored to the belt around his waist only allowed her to lift it so far, but she could see his wrist.
She didn’t remember much about that night, but she did remember the blood oozing out of a deep wound on her rescuer’s wrist as he tilted the bottle of water to her mouth. The dark stream was thick and pulsing and his hand shook as though a vein had been nicked during the struggle.
“You think those guards can keep you safe?” he asked, admonishing her with a soft warning.
Ignoring the empty threat, she ran her fingers over the inside of first his right wrist, then his left. Nothing. Only a small scar higher up on the inside of his forearm.
Either she remembered wrong or Wynn Ravinder was indeed lying. But if he were, how did he know so much about her abduction? About that night? About her rescue?
She needed to stop with all the questions and just check the DNA. That would give her a definitive answer and a lot more to work with. Still, the Kubrick brothers were not exactly altruistic. Why would he confess to a crime he didn’t commit and in the next breath want to be exonerated from another crime he swore he didn’t do?
There was no way in hell she would take Auri to prison to have a tête-à-tête with a convicted felon, but that was a bridge she could cross when she got to it.
“I’ll be in touch,” she said, dropping his hands.
8
Big girls don’t cry.
They pop a couple Xanax,
wash them down with vodka,
and set a car on fire.
If you are this girl, we can help.
—SIGN AT DALE SAUL, ATTORNEY-AT-LAW
“Well?” Quincy said when they got back to the cruiser. “Is he your guy?”
Sun backed out and entered the prison maze once again. She rolled her eyes at her phone and put it away after seeing three texts from Carver the pest-preneur. “I wish I knew.”
“What’s your gut telling you?”
“It’s conflicted.”
He grinned. “It usually is.”
“Why would he confess to this?”
“I think the bigger question is, why does he want to meet the bean sprout?”
Her conflicted gut clenched in response.
They stopped at the guard shack and waited while the officer searched the cruiser.
“You’re good to go, Sheriff,” he said after a few, closing the hatchback.
She waved a thank-you and pulled onto East Butte Avenue. “What if he really knows who her biological father is?”
“Sun,” he said, growing serious, “I have little doubt that he does, if he knows who Kubrick Ravinder’s partner was. But is that information that you need?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, who cares? Let’s get this guy, sure, but who cares who her biological father is? Will it help Auri? Knowing who violated her mother and got her pregnant?”
“That was why I never wanted her to find out,” she said, her gut twisting painfully now.
“I have to confess something, Sunbeam.”
She cast a nervous glance his way as she pulled onto 79 toward the monastery. “That doesn’t sound reassuring.”
“What happens in the cruiser, right?” he asked, making sure whatever was said between them stayed between them.
“Always.”
“When we find out who he is, he will pay for what he did one way or another.”
“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”
“You disagree?”
“No,” she admitted. “But if we start taking the law into our own hands, we are no better than the criminals we put away.”
“Is that your official stance?”
“It is. Unofficially, however, you will do nothing of the sort, because I get first dibs. I have Auri’s DNA in the system. Have had for years, hoping for a hit.”
“If that’s the case, and Wynn Ravinder’s DNA is in the system already, wouldn’t you have gotten a hit by now? Even if Auri’s biological father were only related to him?”
“It depends on when Wynn’s DNA was entered into CODIS. I haven’t run it in a while, but he’s been in prison for eleven years. Surely it was entered then.”
“Then that would mean her biological father isn’t related to Wynn.”
Sun’s mind raced with all the possibilities the new information could bring. Could she finally find out the truth after all these years? It all hinged on the account of one convicted murderer.
“What do you think the odds are that this is going to work? Will we be able to get Wynn transferred?” she asked.
“That depends on your connections, I’d say. Maybe we should talk to Womack.”
“Royce? Good idea.” Royce Womack had been the Del Sol County sheriff way back when Sun was in middle and high school. He was the first one at the hospital after her abduction, so she’d been told. He’d beat her parents there by a hairsbreadth. Sun liked to think it had more to do with his fondness for her than his connections in law enforcement, but it was hard to say for certain. “I’ll see if he’ll meet us for coffee when we get into town. In the meantime, my gut is telling me something else.”
“And that is?” he asked.
“That Wynn Ravinder isn’t as bad a guy as one might suppose.”
“And you’re certain your gut doesn’t need therapy?”
She gave him a knowing glance.
“Fine. Let’s say you’re right. He’s still a Ravinder. He could be a domestic terrorist and rise above the fold.”
The guy had a point if they were talking only about the brothers. But Levi and Hailey were a different story. With Levi becoming a wildly successful distiller and Hailey turning her life around when her son, Jimmy, was born, they were outliers in the Ravinder clan. Hailey now worked for Levi in the office of Dark River Shine and was going to school at night to get a degree in business. Not to mention the fact that she was secretly reporting Clay Ravinder’s comings and goings to Sun. An activity that was infinitely more dangerous than either of them were admitting.
Speaking of secrets … “Who are you seeing?” she asked Quince.
He turned an astonished expression on her. “This again?”
“This again.”
He put on his sunglasses and turned away. “I’m not seeing anyone.”
“Is she married?”
“No.”
“Is that why you won’t tell me?”
“No.”
“That’s why you won’t tell me.”
“No, it’s not.”
“You’re coveting thy neighbor’s wife.”
“I’m doing no such thing.”
“C’mon,” Sun said, turning into the lot of St. Anthony’s Greek Orthodox Monastery. “I tell you everything.”
He snorted.
“Dude, who did I call first when I got my period?”
“Christ on a cracker.” He covered his ears.
“My mom? My dad? No. I called you. My best friend on planet Earth.”
“Which goes to show there is such a thing as TMI.”
“You’re really not going to tell me?”
“That I’m not seeing anyone? I just did.”
“Then what are you hiding?”
“Oh, that. Well, if I told you, I wouldn’t be hiding it anymore. That makes zero sense, Sunbeam. How can I hide something if I tell you?”
She groaned and put the cruiser in park.
“We have no lives,” she said, suddenly depressed. “We’
re young-ish, oddly attractive human beings.”
“Speak for yourself.”
“What’s wrong with us?” She looked at him.
“I don’t know.” He seemed to deflate, as though he felt her words on a deeper level than she’d expected.
“Quincy?” She put a hand on his arm.
He turned back to her. “We really are pathetic, aren’t we?”
“Hey,” she said, trying to be offended. She failed. “We are. We’re losers. Also, if I guess right will you tell me?”
“I’m not seeing anyone.”
“Then you’re pining for someone.”
“I’m not pining for anyone, either.”
“Besides my mother?”
“Besides your mother.” They sat contemplating their circumstances when he seemed to come to an important decision. “You know what? Enough is enough.”
“I agree. Completely. One hundred percent. What are we talking about?”
“Us.” He gestured, indicating the two of them. “And our general pathetic-ness.”
“Oh, then I absolutely agree.”
“We need to stop pining after something we can’t, for whatever reason, have and take a look at what’s in front of us.”
After some thought, she concurred with a nod. “Absolutely. What’s in front of us?”
He paused a long moment, then said, “Us.”
She tilted her head in confusion. “Us?”
“You and me.”
He turned in his seat to better face her and removed his shades. This must be serious. “Think about it. How long have we been friends?”
“Forever.”
“And who do you love more than anyone?”
“Auri.”
“Okay, besides her.”
“My parents.”
“No, I mean, I know that,” he said, getting flustered. “Besides your family.”
“Levi,” she said, trying not to grin.
He rolled his eyes. “Besides Levi. Wait.” He puffed out his lower lip. “You love Levi more than me?”
“Hmm,” she said, having to think about it. “Not more. Just differently.”
“And where has that gotten you?”
“Nowhere fast?”
“Exactly. Maybe that’s our problem. Maybe deep down we’re attracted to each other.”
Sun couldn’t help the look of horror on her face. “Really deep down.”
“And we just need to work out our true feelings for one another.”
“Way, way deep down.”
“And maybe once we do that we can move on.”
“Like almost nonexistent deep down.”
“I get it,” he said, holding up a palm in frustration. “Your feelings are really deep. Look, what do you want in a relationship?”
She lifted a shoulder. “The usual. Someone I can share my life with who’ll leave me alone most of the time.”
“See? We are so much alike. What if we’re perfect for each other, we’ve just never given us a chance?”
“You mean sex?”
“No.” He started to scrub his face but stopped and looked at her from over his fingertips. “Well, yeah.”
“So, like friends with benefits?”
“No. Yes. Maybe.”
The romantic sensibilities in this guy bordered on legendary. And he was still single. Whodathunk? Sun gazed into the clear depths of blue in his eyes.
He took her hands into his as an orchestra played romantic music in the background.
Without looking, she reached over and turned off the radio, then re-clasped their hands.
“Why didn’t we think of this before?” he asked.
“Because we’ve been besties since kindergarten and having sex would very likely ruin a lifelong friendship?”
“Maybe. But maybe not.” He scratched his adorably scruffy chin. “I like to believe we’ve simply been in denial about our true feelings.”
She squinted in thought. “I don’t think so. But I’m willing to give it a shot if you are.”
At that point, she’d be willing to do anything to lessen the constant longing—a.k.a., obsession—for Levi Ravinder she’d had since she realized boy and girl parts differed greatly. And he was a big part of that discovery.
“So”—he grew serious with a heaping side of wicked if the impish slant of his mouth were any indication—“date night soon?”
Butterflies stormed her belly much like a battalion of soldiers storming a beach. If she didn’t have those kinds of feelings for Quincy somewhere deep down—way, way deep down—why would butterflies attack? Maybe he was right.
Having made her decision, she lifted her chin in a gesture of finality. “You know what? Let’s do this.”
He extended his fist. “Let’s do this.”
They fist-bumped to seal the deal, then sat stewing in one of the most uncomfortable silences she’d ever endured, giving her a chance to take in the grounds around them. The lot was surrounded by foliage and palm trees. A white Santorini-style church sat atop a hill in front of them.
Quince scanned the oasis surrounding them as well. “I feel like having this conversation in the parking lot of a monastery is wrong.”
“Having this conversation is wrong period. But who knows? Maybe you’re right.” She gave him a good appraisal. He was beyond attractive. She’d never questioned that. And she did love him more than just about anything or anyone on Earth. Who knew? Maybe he was onto something.
They got out of the cruiser and headed toward an adobe-style entrance that sat on their right. A beautiful red chapel nestled in greenery sat beyond that, but they headed toward the bookstore first to gain entrance.
The monastery was a lovely combination of chapels, elaborate gardens, and scenic walkways dotted with gazebos and Spanish fountains. They toured the grounds as quickly as possible, considering it was already thirty minutes out of their way, and bought several bottles of olive oil from the monks.
“I suddenly want to sauté something,” Quincy said when they got back to the car.
“Don’t do it in the cruiser. I’ll never get the smell out.”
The trip back was filled with small talk that gave their upcoming date a wide berth. Neither wanted to dwell on it, though Sun’s thoughts did steer in that general direction when Quincy sat snoring in her passenger seat.
Quincy? Quincy Cooper? She prayed she wasn’t making the biggest mistake of her life.
To take her mind off the linebacker next to her, she called Royce Womack. The former sheriff agreed to meet them for coffee later.
He’d become an invaluable asset to her. He’d helped her on a case her first day on the job when the U.S. Marshals were in town hunting for an escaped convict.
“Where are we?” her new beau asked. He stretched and threw in a yawn any lion would be proud of.
“A little over halfway.” The sun had started its descent a few hours earlier and now hung low on the horizon.
“Shit. How long have I been out?”
“Not quite five hours.”
He scowled at her. “I thought we were taking two-hour shifts.”
“That’s so weird. I thought the same thing last night. You hungry?”
“Always.”
“Then you woke up just in time.”
Sun pulled into Gordo’s, one of her favorite restaurants in Gallup, put her cruiser in park, then answered yet another text from Carver asking when he’d get another coffee date.
So she could pay ten dollars for a cup of coffee? No, thank you. She typed, “Out of town. Official business.”
He texted immediately asking when she would return. She groaned and handed the phone to Quince. “You’re my undersheriff. You take care of this.”
A sly brow raised as though questioning her sanity. She snatched back her phone. There was no telling what Quince would say to him. She shot off a quick reply about getting home late, then climbed out into the unforgiving New Mexico sun.
Apparently giving up on t
he low-carb lifestyle, she and Quincy both ordered beef enchiladas smothered in green chile with beans, rice, and pepitas. To top it off, they shared a sopapilla since Quincy swore he couldn’t fit anything else into his stomach. Of course, he said that right before he ate four-fifths of the fluffy, honey-filled pillow.
Sun hadn’t had carbs in days. He was lucky he didn’t lose a hand.
Two hours later, after several rousing renditions of “Fancy” by Reba McEntire, they were having coffee in the Presbyterian Hospital cafeteria in Albuquerque with Royce Womack. He was in town picking up a new recruit to RISE, his rehabilitation program. He’d agreed to meet Sun and Quincy there so they could check up on their stabbing victim, Keith Seabright.
“What are our odds?” she asked him after explaining the Wynn Ravinder situation. She’d never had an inmate transferred across state lines, though she knew it happened all the time. But in most of those cases, it was for prosecutorial reasons and the inmate faced new charges once they arrived in-state.
“It can be done,” he said, though he hardly seemed confident. He took a long draw of his coffee. “As long as there’s no extradition with all the legalities that entails, the approval can happen in a matter of hours. You’ll have to convince the DA, of course, and then he’ll have to convince a friendly judge to issue a warrant, but it can be done. I can talk to Gowan. She’d probably do it.”
As judges went, Gowan wasn’t Sun’s biggest fan, but she and Royce always got along. “So what’s the problem?” she asked.
“The problem is a matter of timing. You seem to want this done—”
“Yesterday,” she said a little too enthusiastically.
He scrubbed his face, his scruffy beard the stuff of legend. “She’s on vacation in Sedona.”
“So, tomorrow?”
He chuckled. “You’re killing me, Vicram. Even if I can get a hold of her, you know how the justice system works.”
“I also know how you work.”
“The judge owes me one,” he said. “But even if she signs it tomorrow, it could take weeks to actually get Wynn here.”
“Which is why you’re going to make a few calls to your friends in transportation.”
“Sunny girl, Sunny girl, Sunny girl. If only the world revolved around you.”
“Wait, it doesn’t?”
A Good Day for Chardonnay Page 11
