In Full Force: Badges of Becker County

by Kathy Altman

  Hoping for an introduction? Grady wasn’t in the mood.

  “I’ll see if I can find that file, Dr. West,” she said. “Excuse me.”

  His father didn’t respond. He was too busy glaring at Grady. “What brings you here at this time of night?”

  Grady waited for the outer door to close. “I want to know what the hell is wrong with you. Drew told me about the drugs. About how you’re dealing to your own daughter.”

  Hampton drew himself up. The action wasn’t as intimidating as it used to be. “I don’t deal drugs, I prescribe them. Even before Sarah’s murder, your sister was under a lot of stress. She takes antianxiety meds. That doesn’t make her an addict.” He picked up a pen and threw it back down. “Who do you think you are, anyway? Come home to visit maybe once every couple of years and still think you have the right to make these kinds of accusations?”

  “Whether you like it or not, I’m part of the family, at least enough to know Justine’s an alcoholic. She needs counseling, not another fucking prescription.”

  “You’re the one who doesn’t seem to like being part of the family.”

  Grady stilled. Something odd, almost desperate, had latched onto his father’s voice. Charity’s words came back to him. He’s scared. I may not like it, but I won’t judge him for it. Who knows how I’d act under the same circumstances?

  She was right. For his own sake, he needed to dial down the whole judgmental thing, because there was more than fear in his father’s voice. There was loneliness.

  As much as Hampton and Roberta West bickered, Grady had always believed they loved each other. What if that wasn’t true anymore? Was that part of Justine’s problem?

  “Dad,” he said, clawing for patience. “You don’t think it’s a conflict of interest? Prescribing a narcotic to a family member? A family member with a drinking problem?”

  Hampton sat down and picked up a file. “You can talk to me about family when you start acting like family.”

  Grady sensed movement behind him.

  The blonde gave her throat a gentle clearing. “Dr. West? You asked me to remind you about your meeting with Dr. Stephens.”

  His father jumped up out of his chair and charged out of the room as if he were late for a life-saving surgery.

  The blonde held out a hand. “Grady West. I finally get to meet you.”

  Grady couldn’t help the skeptical edge to his words. “My father talks about me?”

  “Not often. I’m friends with Charity Bishop.”

  “Does she talk about me?”

  “Do swear words count?” She arched an eyebrow. “You two used to be an item. Are you here to try to…?”

  “I’m here to try to keep my family out of prison.”

  “Isn’t that what the sheriff’s department is for?” She said it almost fiercely. “Charity doesn’t have the greatest reputation around here, and she’s trying to fix it so she can win an election. You hanging around, demanding to help, sends the message she’s not qualified to be sheriff. If you really care about her, you’ll go back to Seattle and let her do her job.”

  Grady lifted an eyebrow. “Are you trying to defend her or condemn her?”

  “Defend her, of course.” She ran her eyes over him. “What are you trying to do to her?” When he didn’t answer, she flipped her hair over her shoulder. “I’m Kate Young. I’m a temp here.”

  “You’re Allison’s mom?”

  “So Drew told you about Allison. That surprises me.”

  No way he was going there. “Tell me, Kate. Did my dad really have a meeting?”

  She merely smiled.

  Grady merely left.

  He drove to Charity’s neighborhood but resisted the urge to park in her driveway and knock on her door. She was probably still pissed at him, and he wasn’t thrilled with her, either.

  Not to mention, her lights were off.

  He cruised up and down her street a couple of times, then cruised every street that formed her block. Failing to see anything suspicious, he finally parked in front of the house across the street behind a minivan. If he slid over to the passenger side, he had an excellent view of her property.

  He adjusted his seat as far back as it would go and settled down to wait. If her intruder showed up again, the son of a bitch was going down.

  * * *

  The next day was Monday, and it should have been a day off for Charity since she’d spent all day Sunday on the Huffman case. But there was no way she could sit at home. She didn’t even want to take time to hit the range. Sometime today, though, she had to snag some groceries—she was getting dangerously low on milk and cereal. Too bad that meant meeting face after face in aisle after aisle, admitting again and again she’d failed to solve Sarah’s murder.

  She tapped her signal indicator and turned down Judge Purl’s road. While she took her turn at patrol, Dix was back at the station, scouring the murder file for a motive. Mo was sweet-talking the two real estate agents who’d worked with Sarah, hoping to glean some personal details. If anyone could do it, he could, considering both agents were female. Meanwhile Pratt was working the vandalism cases and trying to figure out why Brenda June wasn’t speaking to him.

  The SUV juddered along the dirt road as Charity squinted through the pine trees bordering the judge’s property. Judge Purl had elected against a manor on Pill Hill so he could buy a rundown farmhouse a good twenty minutes outside of town. Instead of putting money into his house, he’d put it into a “pond”—a ten acre lake he’d stocked with trout. Pooh-poohing the river that bordered Pill Hill, he claimed he preferred to fish in waters only he could pee in.

  Despite the dust, Charity lowered her window. The sweet smell of pine, the bright twinkle of sun on water, and the flurry of spring air helped fend off the funk brought on by her last conversation with Grady.

  “Unit Four, this is Dispatch.” Brenda June’s husky voice brought the radio to sudden, startling life, and Charity jumped. “I have a ten-seventy-five with the owner of Lady Luck Liquors.”

  Great. Perfect. Charity grabbed her radio. “Again?” That made the fourth time in eight days. “I’ll head over there now.”

  “Buy me a lottery ticket while you’re there, babycakes.”

  The liquor store owner’s request was simple: he wanted his gun back. The same gun Hank Bishop had stolen from behind the counter while their mother pretended to have a seizure in front of the Jamaican rum display. Somehow Eve Bishop’s blouse always ended up half-unbuttoned during these attacks. Her chest was nowhere near as scrawny as the rest of her and was usually good for a few seconds of distraction.

  Charity had to explain—again—that the sheriff’s department needed permission from the county prosecutor before they could release any evidence. The impatient shop owner took his frustration out on Charity by assuring her he’d start stocking those “fruity ass wine coolers” before he voted any Bishop into public office. Her purchase of a king-sized candy bar failed to smooth things over.

  She was halfway to her Tahoe and already gnawing on her chocolate when a maroon sedan rolled into the parking lot and pulled alongside her. Grady. He got out of the car, looking grim. All kinds of hot, too, in his faded blue jeans and thermal shirt. But noticing his hotness would only get her into more trouble, so she focused on the grim.

  “You don’t get to be mad at me,” she said. “I’m still mad at you. You withheld information. That’s at least another seventy-two hours’ worth of mad.”

  He took off his shades. “Everything okay?”

  “Fine. Why?”

  “You look upset.”

  Charity gestured with her candy toward the liquor store. “This isn’t the first time someone’s told me they’re voting for Oliver Bloom for the sole purpose of keeping me from getting elected.”

  Grady’s gaze shifted from her to the store and back again. “What else did he say?”

  The shop keeper had made a good point. How could the people of Becker County be certain she wasn’t
running for sheriff so she could aid and abet her family?

  When she failed to answer, Grady scowled. “I’ll ask him myself.”

  “Don’t.” She grabbed him before he could turn away and at the same time took a moment to marvel at his instinct to jump to her defense. “You’ll make it worse.”

  “I’m damned tired of hearing that.” He watched her hand as it lifted away from his arm. “Isn’t there anything I can make better?”

  Charity gave a high-pitched, hiccupy sort of laugh as need sizzled to flaming life.

  Chapter Ten

  Grady sucked in a breath. “You look at me like that, and I can’t—”

  “Don’t.” Charity practically gave herself whiplash shaking her head. “Don’t say it.”

  “Because?”

  “I might want to hear it, and that could get us both in a lot of trouble.”

  When his gaze dropped to her mouth she took a step back. She folded the wrapper over the remains of her candy bar and tucked it into her pocket. “Where’s Matt?” she asked brightly.

  Grady shot her a look chock-full of reproof. “Earth science.” He pulled out his phone and checked the screen. “Make that gym.”

  “You enrolled him in school?”

  “I’m not ready to go back to Seattle. He’s not ready to go back to Seattle. We have eight weeks ’til summer break. Easy enough to spend them here. All I had to do was get my lawyer to overnight a copy of my custody papers.”

  “What about your job? Your condo? And Matt—didn’t I hear he’s on a soccer team? If he’s anything like you, he’d sooner wear a skirt to school than miss practice.”

  His lips twitched. Mad, she reminded herself. I’m supposed to be mad at him.

  “My clients are used to dealing with the virtual me, and our home is in good hands. As for soccer, Matt was impressed with the group we scrimmaged with yesterday. He’s hoping to join their team.” Grady frowned. “I heard about the anonymous note.”

  “Let me guess. Dispatch told you where to find me. What are you, BFFs now? And by the way, those boys, Turbo and Will? You should know I caught them drinking at the public dock a month or so ago, and there are rumors of drug use.”

  “Rumors aren’t facts or you’d have arrested them. Don’t change the subject.” His frown got down and dirty, and he shook his head when she opened her mouth to blast back. “You’ve been spied on, vandalized, and threatened. What’s Pratt doing about it?”

  “Pratt is letting his investigators do what they do best. Investigate. And if you don’t start following his lead, one of us is going to end up behind bars. You for obstruction, or me for grievous bodily harm.”

  He shook his head slowly. “I left you that night. I shouldn’t have.”

  Charity fought the thaw and backed toward her SUV. “You don’t need to apologize.”

  He followed her. “I’m not here to apologize.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  “That’s what I want to ask you.” Loose gravel scraped under his feet as he jerked to a stop. “Why the hell do you stay?” he demanded. “You like your job, and the people you work with. I get that. But your family gives you nothing but personal and professional heartache. You don’t date for fear of feeding a reputation that doesn’t have shit to do with how you do your job. Twelve years ago you wanted nothing more than an apartment in the city and the chance to live where no one would know you or your family. Where no one would judge.” He aimed a pointed glance at the liquor store. “So tell me, Char. What’s holding you here?”

  She swung away and marched around the front of the Tahoe. “I don’t have time for this.”

  “Make time.”

  “It’s none of your business.”

  “It’s not about becoming sheriff. Otherwise, you’d say so.”

  Charity yanked open the SUV’s door, then whirled to face him. “It is about that. My family has been crapping on this community for more than thirty years. The least I can do—”

  “They’ll be crapping on it for thirty more. Nothing you can do to change it.”

  “You’re right. I like the people I work with. More than that, I feel a connection with them. I stay because I doubt I could find that anywhere else.” She staved off his response with a shake of her head. “I know you understand. You’re struggling to reforge a bond with your son. Connecting with him means a lot to you.”

  Grady’s eyes went bleak. “Noticed that, did you?”

  “Yes, and I can’t help but think that connecting with me, if only physically, is supposed to be some sort of consolation prize.”

  Silence. Charity tried but failed to break free of his solemn gaze. Some part of her registered the crunch of wheels over crumbled pavement, the heavy thunk of a car door, the gruff greeting followed by a flat electronic tone announcing entrance to the liquor store. She moved her chin in a belated response to the How ya doin,’ Deputy?, but her eyes never left Grady’s.

  “I take it back,” he said. “I am here to apologize.”

  She faltered. “For?”

  “For the way we handled things after the fire. The way I handled things.”

  “No. We’re not going there.”

  He ignored her. “I apologized for getting you arrested. It’s way past time I apologized for talking you into leading Pratt astray. Earlier Jerzy and I had a chance to catch up while Edith showed Matt the fine art of making a milkshake. Jerzy said people never believed our story about accidentally setting fire to his place. He said they assumed you’d done it and I was covering for you. He said it made things tough for you. Especially after you were arrested for vandalizing Mom’s car.”

  Why did he persist in dusting off memories better left on the shelf? Beneath her hat, Charity’s scalp started to prickle. She forced a lazy posture, but the fingers of her right hand curled within her pocket, slowly throttling her keys.

  “They didn’t believe our story because we sucked at lying,” she said.

  He must have caught the edge in her voice. “You think we made a mistake.”

  “I think my brothers should have been punished for what they did, no matter what that would have meant for me and my chances of getting into the academy.”

  He made a noise, a soft grunt, like he’d taken an elbow to the gut. A rogue breeze lifted a dark tuft of hair above his right ear. Charity caught a whiff of cotton, realized breathing eased the ache in her chest, and inhaled again.

  “We don’t know one of your brothers did it,” Grady said gruffly.

  Charity snorted.

  “The lie was my idea,” he said. “It doesn’t matter that I was right, that they tried to get Jerzy for fraud. What matters is that I left and you were stuck with the consequences.”

  “We did what we had to do. Without the lie, Jerzy would have ended up in jail. All’s well that ends well.”

  “You don’t believe that any more than I do. Here I am, telling you to go get yourself a life, and meanwhile I’m part of the reason you’re still here.”

  “Speaking of which…” Sacrificing grace for speed, Charity scrambled into her seat and reached for the door handle.

  Grady got in the way, and she ended up handling his abs instead.

  She yanked her hand back. “Get out of my way, West.”

  He leaned in close enough that she could see the amber banding the dark blue of his eyes. “You don’t even realize, do you?” His gaze drifted from her mouth to her nose to the brim of her dorky hat. Seconds passed.

  “Realize what?” Charity prompted. Dear Lord, why did her voice have to sound as if she’d gone without water for a week?

  “No one’s in your way but you.”

  She was damned tired of hearing that from him. “What are you, Seattle’s answer to Confucius?”

  “Why don’t you visit some time and find out?”

  Her brain sputtered. Since it wasn’t the first time he’d made the suggestion, she had to assume he was serious. She took off her hat, threw it at the seat beside her, and
struggled to cold-shoulder the cautious glee zinging through her veins. “That’s not going to happen.”

  “Why not?”

  Before her brain could even try to draft a response, he leaned in, and lightly grazed his teeth along her earlobe.

  Grady chuckled when she shuddered. “All I’m asking is that you keep an open mind.”

  “It’s not my mind you want open.” She shoved at him. “Sex is one thing. Friendship’s another. Anyway it doesn’t matter. The job comes first.”

  “The job?”

  “My job.” Charity finger-combed her sweat-streaked hair.

  He followed the motion. “Why’d you cut it?”

  The change in subject startled her. Relieved the crap out of her, too. Her shoulders bounced. “Self-preservation. Gives the scrappy ones less to grab on to. How about you? Why’d you cut yours?”

  “Same as you. Image. Clients prefer their personal asset managers with tidy hair.”

  “Tidy hair, tidy profits?”

  “Something like that.”

  “We’re not the same people,” Charity blurted. “It wouldn’t be the same.”

  Grady’s mouth took on a seductive curve, with more than a hint of smug. “I’m happy to report my…reflexes…aren’t as hair-trigger as they used to be. I can guarantee it would be better.”

  Her pelvic muscles gathered, but memories of all the ways he’d once looked out for her had started to overlay the visions of lusty, sweaty sex, and if she didn’t get her ass out of there, she’d end up blubbering all over the man.

  “I have to go,” she said, unable to keep the desperation out of her voice.

  His eyes narrowed, but he moved out of the way. As she jammed the key into the ignition, he pushed her door shut and stepped back, the need in his expression giving way to speculation.

  Her body sagged under the weight of self-disdain. They’d once been so honest with each other. Slowly she opened her door, and climbed back down to the pavement. Grady watched her, body braced, sunglasses dangling from his right hand.