by J. S. James
When she got to yes, it came on a snicker at his obvious confusion.
“What’s so funny?”
“You know what’s ridiculous? Wearing this suit in my own hot tub, way out in the country with only the stars to see.”
“Well, not just the stars.”
Her smile widened, giving him her version of a Cheshire grin and a challenging arch to her eyebrow. “I will if you will.”
His hands dove underwater, thumbs at the sides of his waistband, as she reached behind and unhooked. “On three. One—”
The water erupted in front as she sent her blue top sailing into the darkness.
As expected, the change in view distracted the poor guy so badly he fumbled his take-off. She already had her thumbs inside the bottoms when he protested.
“Cheater. Don’t the disabled get a head start?”
Laughing, Delia shifted over on one haunch. “Not when I have more to take off.”
Above water, his grin matched hers. Down under, he was shoving frantically at the waistband. Overcoming the last obstacle—in front, no less—his shorts launched skyward. But not before her bottoms cleared the water.
She gave out a victory whoop, then a laughing guffaw, pointing up to where his tossed article of clothing had caught on the top of an arborvitae. He laughed with her, watching the longest frond sag under the strain of its soggy hangings.
The lower the droop, the more breathless she got, hooking her arm inside the crook of his elbow, squeezing it to her breast in delight as the tall shrub bent like a harp. The branch sprang back and the skivvs came down beside Clawed with a plop. The big cat sprang sideways and strutted off in a huff, his tail switching.
Delia’s shoulder heaves brought on a series of gasps. Catching her breath, she wiped at her eyes. “Oh boy, can’t get more romantic than this.”
“Who knows. Maybe if we try harder …” His Bradley Cooper blues glittered with more than mirth.
“Close your eyes,” she said, realizing she’d wanted to be naked with him ever since she’d hauled him into her lap on that river snag pile.
“Do I have to?”
“Yes.”
He did. Her heart pounded as she looked him in the face, lightly skimming her hands across the curves of his chest and down his sides, over his taut stomach, then lower—ever the detective, probing for clues about what he really felt. Thought.
Eyes still closed, his arms encircled her, the fingers of both hands meeting in the cleft of her back, traveling up between her shoulder blades, making her shudder with anticipation. She dove in and kissed him hard, craving to be above him. On him. Heart against heart.
His hands tripped down the sides of her body, helping glide her over him, her legs scissoring his. Mouth on mouth, he drew the rest of her in close, gasping when she touched down on his thighs. His eyes were now fully open in their shared sensation.
The water burbled, the stars twinkled, and the kiss went on and on.
28
Augustus Grice was a morning man. Did his best thinking over breakfast at the Blue Garden. At seven AM his brain box just plain worked right—especially with some added lubrication, making restaurant coffee stay down better. Same for the lump of misgivings he had about elevating his nephew to Investigations.
The night before, when Gus had asked Craig Castner how badly he wanted off patrol duty, he bit like a bullhead on a doughball. Joked, “Who do I have to kill?”
Now Gus dearly hoped he wouldn’t regret bringing Craig in on his deal, even partway. But like Mama used to say, “Risk nothin’, get nothin’.”
He’d finished dappling a platter of biscuits and gravy with hot sauce when Next-to-Nothin’ rapped on the outside of the restaurant’s window. Craig pointed to himself, then at the empty booth space.
Without so much as a nod, Gus picked up a fork and inspected it for cleanliness. Corralling the big plate inside his forearms, he dove in and crammed his mouth.
Chill air from the open door rustled around Gus’s ankles. Craig trod across the yellowed linoleum, plucking at the seat of his regulation browns. “Man,” he said. “Don’tcha hate leavin’ shower soap between your balls and your butt crack?”
Gus dropped his utensil onto his plate and sat back, wiping at his mouth. “You’d better have something good for me.”
His nephew waved off the waitress, eyes jerking around as if scanning for eavesdroppers. “Okay, Gus. I found out what happened after Chavez’s river fiasco. Just like you wanted.”
Gus squinted across the table. “Last time I checked, Deputy Castner, I was sheriff.”
“Geez, sorry. Sheriff.” He yanked a notebook out of a coat pocket, flipped a few pages and closed it, pulling his detective face back together. “Well, your instincts were right. Chavez mishandled that whole stakeout and pursuit deal. What backup she’d called in had only the lower Willamette sealed off. Different story upstream. Marion County had only one boat on the water. ’Course those cell phones we’re issued are pieces of—”
Gus slapped the table, making his nephew jump. “Damn, son. We know all that. Question is, did anybody see anything afterward?”
“Sure did, Sheriff.” Craig fumbled through the pages again, moving his lips as he read. “An hour after Chavez last reported sighting the Zodiac, Sergeant Dan Baxter and another deputy gave chase to a rigid-hull inflatable that eluded them in heavy fog.”
“That’s him. What did you tell them about Bastida?”
“Not a goddamn thing. You’d be proud of me, Sheriff.”
Gus pushed his breakfast aside and leaned in. “Where was that Zodiac when they lost it?”
“Upriver from Salem. Almost to Eola Bend. Baxter swore neither one of them heard that big ribbie slip past. Figured it musta been running on some kind of electric trolling motor. He happened to sweep his spotlight over to the far bank and lit up the side of a hull painted like a damned python. Said the boat cranked up a pair of big outboards and scooted. A four-hour search turned up zip.”
“Sound baffles, no electric motor.” Gus inspected his cuticles.
“Sound what?”
“Naval special boat units, deployed on night insertions and river operations, had their outboards retrofitted for ultra-quiet running. Saw it done when I was in the Navy. Our guy has quite the past.”
Craig blinked, wide-eyed again. “You? In the Navy?”
Gus had lost touch with his sister when he’d gotten run off the ranch in Texas. Even after she’d reached out, he’d kept her and his nephew at arm’s length.
He sat back and patted the sides of his belly. “Didn’t always have this bumper guard, son. Six years in Colombia wearing an SP armband. Chased señoritas like a whore hound, cracked drunken sailors’ skulls, and rubbed elbows with DEA agents. Navy SEAL units, too.”
Enjoying his nephew’s astonished look, Gus pulled a silver pick from a tiny case and had a go at the spaces between his teeth. “Developed a nose in that jungle air. Smell of cocaine flowing downriver, greenbacks motoring up.” He leaned forward and spoke quietly. “Only part of the take got to Cartel del Costa Norte.”
He could almost picture the rusty wheels of understanding grind away behind his nephew’s smile. He leveled the toothpick at him. “And you know something? I’ve got that scent again. From the second one, anyway.”
Gus worked the toothpick awhile before wiping the tip on his napkin and stowing it away. “What about Matusik’s boat? You check it out like I asked?”
Craig’s head tilted. “Scraped up, but serviceable. Why?” A pained look slid over his face. “Tell me you’re not sending Chavez and that Polack back onto the river.”
“What’s it to you?”
Craig licked his lips. “Nothing, but I—” The waitress shuffled by.
“Lean in real close and I’ll whisper what I have in mind.”
After he listened, Craig’s brows joined above his nose. Sighing deeply, Gus spelled it out.
* * *
At nine AM, Delia entered t
he courthouse basement and sauntered over to the com bay, sore in places that hadn’t been sore for a long while yet feeling like she could walk on air. Earlier, she’d left Jerzy off at the Hummer, so she had only a few moments to chat with Annie.
The morning-after smile she’d worked up to tantalize her friend melted away as she saw Annie’s intern, Darrell, manning the com bay.
She’d barely noticed Castner lounging outside the sheriff’s office, her thoughts drifting back to the night before. When she and Jerzy had become different people. How, in the span of days, he’d calmly invaded her life, her everyday thoughts. How his mere presence seemed to fill a gaping empty space.
She drifted toward the counter’s rear opening.
“Ms. Cox’ll be back in a few?” Darrell said. “My, don’t you look cheerful this morning?”
Delia’s gaze shifted back to him and found he had swiveled around and was peering at her, the corners of his mouth in an upward creep. She glanced away, squelching a blush. Annie would pick a fellow gossip hound to intern with her.
“Yeah, uh, tell Annie I’ll catch her later, after I—”
The intern sat up, his eyes aglitter. She felt a presence on her left.
“Hey, Darrell. What’s crackalackin’?” Jerzy grinned at both of them, nudging her elbow, nodding toward the sheriff’s office. “Ready to see the man, Detective?”
As they turned away, Darrell fluttered a hand. “Oh, ah Jerzy? Mr. Matusik? The sheriff would like you to wait outside?” He gestured toward the waiting room. “With Deputy Castner?”
Uh-oh. “Annie gave my report to the sheriff, right?”
Darrell threw Delia an answering shrug. “She didn’t say?”
During that solo walk past Castner’s smirk and into the sheriff’s office, Delia’s feet were definitely back on the floor.
* * *
Standing front and center at Grice’s desk, she breathed a smidgeon easier. Annie had come through. Those marked-up pages corralled inside his thick forearms had to be her account of yesterday’s stakeout and river chase.
Old Lizard Breath hadn’t gotten up or looked up or acknowledged her, except for a shushing gesture when she tried to speak. She stood because there was no place to sit. The armchairs normally fronting his desk had been pushed against a table at the far wall.
Grice sat up and slid the pages off to one side, uncovering the Polk County Sheriff’s policies and procedures manual that had lain beneath her report. Without looking up, he opened the manual, spun it around, and shoved it across the desk.
“Please read aloud regulation three-dash-three-oh-four.”
She picked up the manual and wedged its spine into the crook of her arm. Another dressing-down, a demotion maybe. But she wasn’t giving him the satisfaction of seeing her shake.
“Sheriff, I know policy and procedures by heart—”
He thumped the desk pad with the flat of his hand. “Read it.”
“‘Members of the department shall promptly obey lawful orders from their supervisor.’”
“Am I or am I not your supervisor?”
“Of course you are. That cell phone crapped out, so I made a judgment call to—”
“Well then, what part of my instructions to ‘tail only and not to pursue’ were unclear or unlawful?”
“None, but Bastida forced our hand when he sidetracked on us, and we—”
“So, you did a lousy job of tailing that resulted in your countermanding my orders.”
She slammed the covers together and dumped the manual back on his desk. “We were on a river, not a goddamn highway where you can hang back in traffic.”
Grice stood up and leaned forward, his knuckles sinking into the desk pad. “You still don’t get it, Cha-vez. That’s gross insubordination. Your reckless actions unduly alerted the subject, thereby placing the entire investigation in jeopardy.”
“You read my report. The subject left me no choice. Sheriff, you’re building a mountain out of a—”
“Your insubordination, on top of your incompetence, leaves me no choice. You are hereby suspended from duty. I’m filing for your dismissal.”
Delia took a step backward, his last words a punch to the gut.
“I’m let go? Fired?” She spread her arms wide in exasperation. “Because of a guy who outmaneuvered everybody on the river? Because we got suckered into a situation nobody could have predicted?”
He sat back down, clicked a ballpoint pen, and started writing on a notepad. “We’re done here. Leave your weapon and ID with me. And don’t slam the door on your way out.”
“I’ll turn over my service automatic but the handgun is mine. Bought and paid for.”
“You have a valid concealed carry?”
This time, Delia failed at hiding the shakes as she placed her badge wallet on a corner of his desk and shook out the folded carry permit. He waved it off with a glance.
Her brain in full stun mode, she knew she had to leave him with something to think about.
“I’m onto your side game, Grice. You and me? We’re not done. Not by a long shot.”
Delia left his office door wide open, taking with her a small consolation. Her threat had kindled a flicker of fear in his pond-water eyes.
* * *
“Delia, what the devil’s going on?” Jerzy grabbed her arm and spun her toward him. “Castner says he’s taking over the case. That I’m working under him now.”
Time crawled. Her mind hazed over and her gaze drifted around the anteroom. Toward Craig Castner, who took forever doubling over Jerzy’s river map. Stuffing its waterproof pouch into a coat pocket.
“We’re up to bat, Matusik.” Things sped up. Castner was out of his chair and trucking toward Grice’s still-open door.
Jerzy’s head swiveled toward the sheriff’s office, then back to her. “Christ, what an outfit you work for.”
“Correction, worked for.” Folding her arms over her chest, she ginned up a gallows smile. “You’d better get in there. Got to keep Beezer in kibbles. You don’t want the bank coming after your boat.” She searched his eyes. “Do you?”
He didn’t budge. She reached over and touched his wrist. “I’m all right with it, really. Do your job and we’ll come out of this together.”
His eyes stayed locked on hers. She laid the palm of her hand against his chest, lingered for a moment, then gave him a firm shove. “Go. We’ll be okay.”
“Matusik. Get your ass in here,” the sheriff yelled. “And shut the door behind you.”
“Hang back in parking, okay? I’ll meet you at your car.” Jerzy said this backing away, making a sit-tight gesture.
She nodded, indicating she would, and he turned and stalked into Grice’s office. Instead of the jamb-rattling bang she half expected, the door eased shut behind him.
* * *
When Matusik hung back at the closed door, Gus didn’t react. He and Castner stayed bent over the map at his office table, even when he felt a pointed tap on the shoulder. He didn’t have to ask Dr. Ruth to know Matusik had provided Chavez with more than water-taxi service. The two of them had gone overboard in more ways than one. And now the man was fixing to chew fire over her dismissal. But if he was still going to be of use, Gus had to step on his lip.
“Sheriff.”
Ignoring Matusik, Gus asked his nephew to show him where Bastida had last been sighted.
Castner edged in, moving a cup full of pens, pencils, and Sharpies off to one side. “Here, at Eola Bend,” he said, stabbing the river map. “Maybe we should start farther downstream, though. Canvass every—”
“Sheriff, we need to talk. In private?”
Gus didn’t move, didn’t look at Matusik. “If it’s about Cha-vez, we do not.”
“Look, she made the right decision. It was my bad that Bastida caught on to us.”
Nose snorts erupted from Castner as he sneered at Matusik from over his shoulder. “Was it your bad, too, that she hatched up a piss-poor backup plan?”
�
��You wanna talk piss-poor? That military cell phone she got saddled with was a piece of crap.”
“Yeah, says the guy that—”
“Enough of this horseshit.” Gus twisted to his right. “Deputy Castner, shut your cakehole.” Then he wheeled back on Matusik. “Now think real hard, son. Before you say anything you’ll regret—” Matusik reared back, as if offended by Gus’s breath or something. He stepped in even closer. “And then ask yourself, do I want to keep working for this office? For any sheriff’s office? Ever?” He knew the guy was still making back payments on that big-ass boat.
Gus matched Matusik’s glare, giving him time to think it over, knowing what was going through his head—whether to tough it out or tell his employer to shove it.
Matusik broke off eye contact and turned toward the map. As if nothing had gone on between them, he bent over the table and put his finger on one of several red asterisks Gus and Castner had Sharpied in along the course of the Willamette. “Bastida sightings?”
Gus knew he had Matusik back on track. “Little good they’ve done,” he said with a shrug. “He’s all over the map.”
“Dates? Directions?”
Gus flicked a hand toward his desk. “Only rough notes.”
“Then this search is back to square one.”
“Square two,” Gus said. “I just put square one behind us.”
Gus sent Castner and Matusik off with instructions to nose that riverboat into the armpits of the Willamette—every nook, cranny, and creek mouth—until they found where Bastida parked his butt. He yelled out the last order just as they left his office.
“For God’s sake, don’t spook him.”
* * *
Cleaning out her desk took no time—shove personal items, along with the shame of that morning, into a cardboard box and leave quietly, eyes down. Not much to show for a meager six weeks as acting senior detective.
Then she remembered another box, the one Annie had brought to her and she’d hastily stuffed into Harvey’s desk. Why not? It deserved at least as much trunk space as the rest of her junk. One never knew what might get pieced together with enough glasses of red. Yeah, sure.