Holding the Truth

by Calle J. Brookes

  And besides, she was waiting on a call from the Wichita Falls lab with results from twenty-eight years ago or something. And he should know that—because she’d texted him that information on both the past two mornings.

  He’d felt like a chastised little boy. It was the first time he’d seen signs of the old Bailey in there at all. He’d almost promised to stay in the precinct today and wait by the phones just for her. She’d made it clear she wouldn’t be coming in today herself—she’d had another commitment that she’d refused to miss.

  He’d almost asked her if it had to do with that ass Chase.

  Good sense had prevailed.

  He had to be there at the game today himself, or Houghton’s wife would clobber him. Mel had once dropped an entire Dr. Pepper down the back of his uniform when they’d worked a joint case four years or so back. He’d apparently said something stupid.

  He was thrilled Houghton had snagged her. Mel was one hell of a woman. She’d been one hell of a cop before her career had ended, thanks to a bullet.

  He thought it was great that his idiot cousin had ended up with her. She was good for Houghton. Kept him grounded in the real world.

  But she’d taken it on herself to keep Houghton and his cousins in line—with her wishes.

  Mel was relentless. She'd told him it was for a good charity, his department would be represented, and he needed to get his ass there. And then she’d called in every favor he’d ever owed her.

  Since he’d probably be dead if it weren’t for her—they’d worked a few undercover operations together—there were quite a few debts she could collect on.

  In exchange, she'd promised to keep her husband off his back at all upcoming family events for a year and promised to fund the recently storm-damaged roof over his precinct.

  It was the roof that had him pledging one thousand dollars if the W4HAV team won.

  He took a seat on the bleachers, surprised at the turn out. From what he knew, the charity Mel was involved with wasn't all that old. But then again, he'd heard the governor's wife was heavily involved in it, too. That would make a difference.

  He thought that had been Texas's first lady running out toward right field, but he wasn't certain. He took a look at the W4HAV players. Clay had played competitive baseball in his college days at Finley Creek University, along with Micah. He'd always enjoyed the game.

  He recognized a few of the players. Lacy Deane, a woman he'd known casually through Mel for a while, took first. They’d had dinner together once. He thought that was one of Mel’s sisters on the pitcher’s mound, too. Mel had a few. All redheaded and just as mean as she was. In a good way.

  But it was the third-base player that caught his attention immediately. Familiar gold hair stuck out the back of her cap. Moore was emblazoned across her back, right above the number six.

  Bailey.

  He shot a look at the dugout, where Mel directed everything.

  She looked at him and smirked. Then she waved and blew him a kiss. Damn it. She’d gotten him here on purpose. His department was represented.

  Clay just glared back until she smiled and turned away. That woman was scheming and definitely up to something.

  He'd have to talk to Houghton about her. Maybe Houghton could keep his wife in control. That woman was a seriously diabolical creature.

  And he was stuck there watching Bailey.

  There wasn’t any other way he wanted to spend his day off than watching her. Not when he was honest with himself.

  Bailey was one hell of a baseball player. He found her easily at third, where she scooped and tossed the ball toward the catcher to make another out.

  She scooped and dove and ran and hustled and bent and had him tied up in knots by the end of the first inning.

  Hot and bothered and he wasn't even playing the game.

  Someone clamped a hand on his shoulder. Clay turned to the second cousin, who was only a few months older than he was. Mr. Successful himself. There wasn't a slacker among the Barratt cousins of this generation. But Houghton, taller, wealthier, older, more powerful, was the most annoying of the lot. "See you made it."

  "Your wife wheedled a thousand out of me."

  "It's for a good cause."

  "Then why didn't you just write a check?"

  "I did. So did Turner, Tucker, Alex, Mac, Powell, and the rest." Houghton smiled like the shark Clay knew him to be. "Why don't you triple your contribution? Then you’ll be Mel’s favorite for the day."

  Clay looked at his favorite player and found himself nodding. "Tell me about this charity."

  "It's for women who've been victims of violence. Your girl at third is a regular visitor to the counselors there. Hangs out there quite a bit. Melody has decided to keep her. So be forewarned. She may end up at a family dinner or two, if Mel has her way."

  Clay nodded again. He was. "I didn't know she knew your wife or the Deanes."

  He didn't know a damned thing about her life outside of the TSP and the Dillons. He knew a great deal about his other deputies, but this one...

  He avoided knowing any more about her than he had to. If he knew more, he’d be tempted to do something he’d regret.

  Clay had no delusions where Bailey was concerned.

  "It's a good place. W4HAV has helped them all heal." Houghton's words were solemn for a moment. Clay knew some of the story. Houghton's wife's family and friends had gone through literal hell because of political and police corruption going back decades. Hell, they'd just been collateral damage.

  Same as Bailey.

  If W4HAV had helped her heal to where she was laughing and enjoying herself, then, hell, yes, he'd give his entire damned savings, if he had to.

  "Make it two thousand, Houghton."

  "Pretty girl. I think you ought to take her to the hotel penthouse for a week. Show her how much you care. Just carry her off. I can guarantee if you do it right, it works."

  "I'd have to arrest myself." Family legend said several Barratts had just carried off the women they wanted—including his idiot cousin, who was lucky he hadn’t been arrested for kidnapping Mel. Clay wasn't about to repeat family history.

  Thankfully, Mel hadn't pressed charges. His cousin had been a total ass to her when they’d first married. But she’d loved him.

  "I'm not involved with Bailey." He looked up at a particularly loud cheer to see the woman playing left field for Bailey's team make a difficult catch. She bulleted the ball to Bailey who tagged a runner out at the last second.

  Bailey had had to stretch in a particularly intriguing way.

  He was such an ass, drooling over his damned deputy.

  "The way you stare at her tells its own story. I suggest you either act on it or scrub your eyeballs. Because people are starting to talk. My father-in-law mentioned it to me. He thought you two were already involved. Kevin is rarely wrong, so thanks." Houghton grinned at him. "And Melody's getting ideas. She likes to match make. She invited Tucker. Seems to think he'd be a good fit for your little blond elf there."

  Like hell, Tucker would. His cousin was about the same age as Bailey, but there was no way his player of a cousin was ever going to be able to give a woman like Bailey what she needed. "Control your wife, Houghton. That woman is a menace."

  "Hey, preaching to the choir here. But I'm loving every minute of it. You might just try it. It'll improve your chronically cranky disposition."

  He never had liked Houghton. The guy had always been an ass.

  And an idiot.

  Clay ignored his cousin until Houghton wandered off, being replaced by Bert Dillon ten minutes before the game ended.

  Chapter 40

  Cutting the lawn at a damned baseball complex was the last thing he wanted to be doing right now. But Glen knew how to play the game. He had to mind his p's and q's and do what he was told like a good little boy until the last few weeks of his parole were completely up.

  Today wasn’t so bad. He'd been assigned the task of mowing the grass near the only
softball field that had been booked for the day.

  Women. Pretty ones, at that. He'd always enjoyed baseball. And blondes.

  There were three blondes on the green team today. Each one of them was just the right size for a man to have a lot of fun with.

  He liked to make blondes scream. Whether from pleasure or pain, it was all the same. He bought himself some time to watch near the third-base line by fiddling with the belt on the bottom of the riding lawn mower.

  There was a sweet little blonde on third and one on second. Another knelt behind the plate.

  It was his lucky day.

  Then he turned his head and looked right at the last sonofabitch he ever wanted to see.

  Sheriff Clayton Addy himself.

  That damned prick was responsible for Glen losing the last eight years of his life to the Texas state prison system.

  Addy had taken him down and Glen had fought him. Broken four of his knuckles. Over a trumped up assault charge. Then Addy had taken the stand and made it clear he thought Glen was worthless and belonged locked up like a damned animal. Calm, quiet, perfect. Like Addy had never made a single mistake in his life.

  Every parole hearing since, until this last one back in April, had had Addy on the stand, reminding the parole board of every sin Glen had ever committed.

  He smiled. If Addy only knew the full scope of those sins, he'd have been there in April, too.

  Glen kept himself entertained by watching Addy. Imagining who it was Addy was watching.

  It became clear after the game when the sweet little thing from the green team walked up to the sheriff.

  That's when it clicked who she was.

  He'd made it a point of following every mention of Clayton Addy in the newspapers and court documents and anything else he could find during his infrequent computer privileges.

  The reason the asshole hadn't been at the parole hearing in April had been because one of his deputies, a sweet-looking little blonde, had been abducted by her own father. The refrain of “It's a Small World” rolled through his head, and Glen smirked.

  Yes, it was.

  Stupid coward Lou Moore’s precious baby girl.

  He'd told Glen all about his daughter Bailey, even showing pictures Lou had printed from the internet. Until he'd realized that Glen had gotten turned on by sweet little blondes exactly like her.

  The girl and Addy walked over to a large truck. The sheriff helped her into the too big truck. Addy's hands lingered.

  Glen smirked. So Lou Moore's daughter was screwing the sheriff.

  Sheriff Clay Addy, of all men.

  It would serve the sheriff right if someone came along and took that pretty little thing away from him.

  Left her body in pieces somewhere for Addy—or the animals—to find.

  He made a point of putting the lawn mower back in the supply shed. He looked at his boss—aka babysitter. "Can I take an earlier lunch? The heat is getting to me today. I'm feeling a bit sick to my stomach."

  "You get the field finished?"

  He'd put the damned mower up, hadn't he? That should be a big indicator. Damn jackass. "Yes."

  "Then go. You can scrub the bathrooms when you get back. In the air-conditioning." The pimply-faced twenty-something-year-old boy barely looked at him. Why should the kid? He was sitting nice and cushy in a government job. He wouldn't have to work hard on anything.

  As soon as Glen was finished working this job he'd been assigned by his parole officer, he was going to hit the road.

  See the country.

  Make a few friends with some of the blondes he'd find along the way.

  But first, he might take some time to mess with Clay Addy a bit while he could. There was always that sweet-assed little blonde.

  In the meantime, he needed to find himself a girlfriend. It had been three weeks since the last time a woman had even smiled at him. There had to be a bar in Finley Creek somewhere where a man of a certain age could find a young lady to show him a good time.

  Glen had eight years to make up for.

  He may have passed his fiftieth birthday in the prison system. But he still had a good twenty or thirty years in him.

  Glen could make his mark on the world. He had plenty of time.

  Chapter 41

  Bailey grabbed her equipment bag and finished talking to her teammate Nikki Jean—she'd played ball throughout high school and still had had all her equipment just moldering in Bert’s barn, waiting for her—and made her way out of the dug out.

  A good portion of her teammates were either related to each other or worked with one another at the Finley Creek hospital. Lacy Deane, the surgeon who'd saved her life, was the catcher. Jillian Deane, married to the other surgeon who’d saved Bailey, was their pitcher. Annie Gaines, a trauma nurse, had been their first baseman. She, Jillian, Izzie, Fin, and Margo had all known each other for a long while.

  Bailey sometimes felt left on the outskirts of her new friends. She suspected Nikki Jean understood—the surgeon a few years older than Bailey seemed to make a point of checking on Bailey sometimes. Nikki Jean lived in Value, too. Apparently, Nikki Jean had been the last to join this particular group, too.

  She'd never had close women friends. Except for Kyra, now. But she thought Nikki Jean and the rest could be eventually. W4HAV was making that happen. They also had a choir benefit in two months that she was participating in. And she was volunteering to teach a teens life-skills class to children of the women that W4HAV helped. Most of the charity’s clients were just passing through, needing temporary, immediate help. But others, like Bailey, were going for long term assistance.

  Bailey would probably need the support system W4HAV offered for a while. Until she was healed enough to move on. Or help others coming up behind her. And there would be far too many of those.

  She had community, she had a purpose.

  The TSP wasn't her entire life any longer. Far from it. She was finally finding balance.

  She hopped up the last three steps out of the dug out and came face-to-face with the last man she had expected to see today. She hadn’t been able to get him out of her head since she and Kurt had kissed—if she could call it that—in the Barratt Hotel parking lot. "Clay."

  "Bailey. Great game."

  "I didn't know you'd be here." He wasn't dressed in official clothing. The FCU Owl covered his T-shirt and made his shoulders look broader. "Have you seen Bert? He's my ride."

  "He had to take off. Jake called him. He’d forgotten he’d had a PT appointment at the house this afternoon and someone had to get the baby from the sitter’s. I’m your ride now.”

  It fell like lead in her stomach. Today had started off as a great day. A forty-five-minute ride with Clay Addy had the potential to change all of that.

  Chapter 42

  Clay helped her into the truck, taking the equipment bag and tossing it in the rear seat. "You did a great job today."

  "I enjoy softball. And the women at W4HAV are my friends. It's for a good cause."

  "Mel talked me out of a nice chunk of change. I'd have given whatever she asked, if I could."

  "Mel's good at managing people. That's for sure."

  He just nodded and adjusted the air-conditioning until it was pointed at her. It was going to get hot, and the approaching storm wouldn't change that. "You cool enough?"

  "I'm fine. Thanks again for the ride."

  He waited for her to say more, but she didn’t. Finally, he shot another glance her way. “You’re quiet today. You’ve been quiet for a while.”

  "Not exactly a lot for you and me to talk about."

  Clay got the message. “You enjoy your date with Chase?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Oh. I’m...glad.”

  He thought about it as the miles passed.

  No. Hell, no. They couldn’t go on like this.

  There was something boiling between them, and they both knew it. It was time to get it out there. Clear the air.

  He pulled t
he truck off to the side of the road.

  Bailey stretched up to look at the front glass. "What's wrong? What are you doing?"

  "Out of the truck. Now. I think we need to talk about what almost happened at Bert’s—and I don’t want to be distracted while we do it."

  He didn't give her a chance to protest. He grabbed his keys from the ignition and hopped out. He rounded the front of his truck and opened the passenger door. "Get out here. We're going to talk—without distractions."

  She just sat there and gawked down at him like he’d gone crazy. He waited as long as he was going to. Then Clay took action.

  Clay hopped onto the running board, reached up and around her. He clicked the latch on her belt and pulled it out of her way. He wasn’t exactly carrying her off according to Barratt family tradition, but he would at least get her out of the damned truck.

  Bailey just kept staring at him. Finally, she spoke. "What? Are you having sunstroke right now? I’m trying not to distract you anymore."

  He just shook his head, then wrapped one hand around hers. He never should have told her that. He hopped off the running board quickly. Bailey had no choice but to follow.

  He didn't let go of her hand until they were a hundred feet away from his truck, on the edge of one of Lamar Sandoval's bean fields. "We're going to talk. Now."

  "About what? Work? We can do that. It's all we can really talk about. All we’ve ever really talked about. You've never wanted to talk to me before. I’m too distracting."

  The look she shot at him was so full of sass and snark and anger and spirit, Clay almost stopped walking.

  “Well, we’re going to talk now.”

  Chapter 43

  Bailey stared up at the man, total shock keeping her from stalking back to the truck and letting her idiot boss follow. "Why would we do that?"