by Addison Fox
“Even if said murder happened on my property?”
“Even then.”
They lapsed into silence once more, a decade’s worth of anger and hostility fueling the quiet. She nearly called a halt to the search then, but it was only sheer, stubborn will that had her pressing on.
That and the sudden high-pitched wail from the metal detector.
* * *
He stared down at the face of the metal detector, its sudden screech splitting the air. Tot whinnied lightly and shied to the side, and Tate let out on his lead so the horse could move away from the insistent noise. He took a few more steps, the noise quieting, so he doubled back, sweeping over the ground to see what had set off the metal detector.
Belle rushed to his side, dropping to her knees as he homed in on the location that emitted the strongest signal. She was already pushing the machine away, her gaze eagerly roaming over the ground.
“Do you see anything?” Tate switched off the metal detector, the whine beginning to echo in his head.
“Not yet.” She leaned farther forward, her nose practically in the dirt as she searched the wet grass.
He wanted to drop to the dirt as well but between Tot’s lead and the heavy weight of the metal detector, he was stuck. So he watched Belle, her focus absolute. Where someone searching for a small object like keys or an earring would be pawing at the ground, she was methodical, her gaze roaming over the earth even as she touched nothing.
“There.” The triumphant shake of her fist would have been funny if it weren’t tied to something so serious, and in moments, she had her hands in her back pockets, digging out a pair of rubber surgical gloves, an evidence bag and a pair of industrial-sized tweezers.
“Where was that hidden?” The question came out before he could help it, the memories of her naked and draped over his body still far too fresh for comfort.
“I got them out of the back of the car. After...”
After they’d made love. And now she was back to business.
As if to prove his confusion on what should have come next, her attention was already back on the ground, her focus absolute and very clearly on her job.
Her dedication to her task gave him a moment to watch her and he was helpless to look away. The blond curls that had always captivated him had tightened up in the moisture and a few sprinkled over her cheeks as she worked, having fallen away from where she’d piled her hair in a haphazard twist high on her head. Her shoulders were slim and her body remarkably strong. The woman he’d made love to before she went into the police academy had grown stronger, her muscles long and lean, producing the woman he’d made love to today.
It had been amazing—a mix of what he’d always remembered, yet in some ways entirely new. It had been a long time since they were together and while his memories were strong, he had to admit some of the specifics had faded. He hadn’t quite remembered, for instance, the pitch of those light moans that spilled from her throat as she expressed her pleasure. Nor had he remembered the exact weight of her breasts as they curved into his palm. Nor had he ever seen the tight muscles of her stomach and the clear strength that was an outward sign of her job.
All of it had fascinated him, the woman who he’d known practically a lifetime who could still surprise him. Who could still be new in so many ways.
“Oh, my God.”
Her quiet utterance brought him back to the moment, his attention shifting quickly from the images of her delightfully curved backside to the misty gray day that surrounded them. “What is it?”
“This.” Belle pointed toward something small where it lay, half in, half out of the mud.
“What is it?”
“I’m not entirely sure, but it’s something. It has to be.” She held a small item in her hand and scrubbed gently at the face with a gloved finger.
Tate was careful where he stepped, but moved closer. He’d already dropped Tot’s reins, giving the horse the room to roam once more. Although he couldn’t fully make out the definition of the item in her hands, it looked like a pendant or a charm someone would wear on a necklace. Had it fallen off the body?
Or the killer?
“It looks expensive.”
“My guess is gold. It’s a solid piece and it’s very finely made. It looks like a religious symbol of some sort.”
Tate leaned closer to take a look, only to catch her warm scent. Once more, images of lovemaking filled his thoughts, the woman standing before him wavering in and out with the images of her rising up over him in the car.
“Tate?”
He snapped to attention, refocusing on the small item in her hand. “It looks like a small gold piece of the Blessed Mother.”
Belle rubbed her hand over the face of the pendant once more before nodding. “You’re right. I don’t want to remove too much in the event they can get a print on this, but it is a pendant of Mary.”
The people who lived in the Pass were predominantly Catholic and it wouldn’t be a surprise for anyone to have a piece of jewelry representative of their faith, but it was a surprise to find it on the land. While he didn’t personally know the beliefs of his ranch hands, he’d spent enough time with all of them to know they didn’t wear any personal jewelry when they worked.
“I don’t think this came from any of my guys. I can ask if anyone’s lost any jewelry, but I’ve never seen something like this on anyone.”
“I didn’t notice any jewelry on anyone I interviewed either. And while several had tattoos, nothing seemed overtly religious.”
Belle’s observation caught him up. “You looked for that?”
“Hmm?” She glanced up from the pendant, her gaze refocusing on his face. “Looked for what?”
“My guys who you interviewed. You looked for jewelry and tattoos?”
“I looked for a lot of things. What they wore. What they said. How they acted. It’s my job.”
He hated what she did. Hated that it put her at daily risk from gunshots and madmen. But he respected her. And he respected what she was determined to do.
“You’re a good cop.”
A wariness settled in her eyes, one he knew was a direct result of his attitude over her professional choices. “I like to think so.”
He gently laid the metal detector down before dropping into a crouch so they were on eye-level. “I know we sit on opposite sides of a very large chasm. And I know I’m a jerk about it most of the time. But you’re a good cop.”
That wariness softened. “Thank you.”
“You’re going to do right by the man who was killed here, even if he doesn’t deserve it.”
“Yes,” she sighed as she stared down at the small pendant in her hands. “I am.”
“There’s something to be said for that. It’s easy to stand for the people who deserve it. It’s a lot harder to do it for the ones who don’t.”
The lingering vestiges of wariness vanished completely, replaced by something he couldn’t quite define. He might have said satisfaction, but there wasn’t anything there that suggested gloating or victory. Only a calm sort of acceptance.
He wanted to believe that counted for something.
He got back to his feet and extended a hand. When she clasped his, her fingers tight, Tate pulled her up. And fought the shudder that she possibly held in her hands the personal possession of a killer.
* * *
The scent of burgers and french fries filled the air as Belle and Tate walked into the Reynolds kitchen. A note lay on the table and Tate snagged it after they walked in.
“Arden left us dinner with her compliments.”
“That was awfully nice of her.” Belle glanced around the kitchen, the counters empty of the clutter that usually filled her own. Instead of clutter, there was a large bowl of mixed fruit on the center of the table.
Her friend might have fought a
gainst the notion, but Arden cared for her brothers. While Belle had no doubt Ace, Hoyt and Tate were well able to care for themselves, Arden saw to it that the house had just enough of a woman’s touch to be both comforting and welcoming. She highly suspected none of the Reynolds boys would have thought to artfully display peaches and grapes nestled around a large grapefruit.
“Arden made Juicy Lucies.”
“She made what?” Belle glanced up from the fruit.
“Only the best burger in the whole world. The cheese is inside the patty.”
“Sounds delicious.” And it did. If she were staying. “You enjoy. I’m going to head out.”
“Why?”
“I’m cold and wet and I need to get into the station with the evidence.”
“It’s after six. Who’s there to take it?”
“I can check it in. Lock it up.”
“So go do that and come back.”
“I—”
His gaze was direct, his voice even more so. “Come back.”
Whether her emotional resistance was still low from their heated lovemaking in the back of her car or the fact that she just didn’t want to be alone, Belle wasn’t sure. But there was something about his offer that was irresistible.
“Okay.” She nodded. “I also have a change of clothes in my locker, so there’s an added benefit to running into the precinct quickly.”
The heated look that filled those green depths suggested she didn’t need clothes at all, but he didn’t say anything and Belle hightailed it for her car before she could consider his reaction too closely.
Even if she was still considering it twenty minutes later when she walked into the evidence room at the precinct. One of her favorite deputies was there, looking bored as he played on an iPad.
“Hey, Ricky.”
“Belle!” The guy looked up, his bright smile infectious. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”
“Been trying to keep busy.”
“So I hear. This killer case has everyone running, but very few clues.”
“That might have changed.” She pulled the small evidence bag from her pocket. “I found something on Reynolds land this afternoon. I think it may be tied to our killer.”
Ricky’s eyes widened and he muttered something under his breath in Spanish that sounded suspiciously like an impressed curse. “How’d you do that? They swept the site pretty well.”
“I got lucky.” In more ways than one, her conscience immediately leaped up to taunt her.
“Don’t mistake hard work for luck.” Oblivious to her thoughts, Ricky reached for the evidence bag, holding it up to the light. “Looks religious. My grandmother had something like this.”
“Oh?”
“I loved to play with it when I was little and sitting on her lap.” Ricky was careful as he shifted the pendant around beneath the plastic. “It’s an image of Mary. Lots of people wear them. Captain wears one, I think.”
“Captain Grantham?”
“Yep. He’s a good man. I see him in church every week. He was in a bad way for a long time after his son died, but he seems like he’s been doing better lately.”
Ricky chattered on, his words echoing in her head and clanging with all the finesse of pots and pans being slammed together next to her ears.
Captain Grantham?
The second in command at the precinct behind Chief Corden.
The father of a young man who died from a drug overdose.
Was it possible?
Even as the questions and scenarios tripped over themselves for prominence in her mind, she willed herself to slow down. It was easy enough to check him out. If the man wore a similar necklace, then this couldn’t be his. He was the captain, for heaven’s sake.
Their leader.
“Um, Ricky. Can we keep this quiet for now? Log in the evidence so it’s secure but would you mind not saying anything?”
That bright smile faded, his gaze going dark. Ricardo Suarez was a good cop and she saw that skill and talent rise to the fore immediately. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Sure.” She nodded, hoping desperately her voice was light enough. Easy enough. “Feds have been all over this one and I want to make sure I talk to Chief Corden first. Give him the heads-up about what I found. See how he wants to handle this before everyone’s beating a path to your desk to look at the evidence.”
“Sure.”
Belle waited, curious to see if Ricky would say anything else, but he only waited her out.
“Okay then,” she sighed, her thoughts still roiling and bubbling like a witch’s cauldron. “Lay that paperwork on me.”
* * *
Tate saw the tension and the upset the moment Belle walked back in the door an hour later. She’d promised she’d come back but it was a relief to see her actually walk back in. “You okay?”
“Sure.”
“Belle?” Before he could act, she was across the room and in his arms, her hug tight and absolute as she gripped his waist. “Belle? What is it?”
She didn’t answer right away and he gave her the space, wrapping his arms around her back and simply holding her, giving the comfort she needed. He took a surprising amount of it in return.
While he was sorry she was upset, somewhere deep inside he reveled in the fact that she’d come to him with whatever it was that bothered her. That she took solace in him—in what was still between them.
He pulled back slightly, tilting her chin so she had to look up at him. “You want to talk about it?”
“No.”
“Usually a good reason to talk, then.”
She nodded, her eyes wide in her face. It was that look—that innate vulnerability that tugged at him—that had the warning bells going off. “What happened?”
“I can’t—” She broke off, seeming to gather herself. “I can’t tell you.”
“Can’t? Or won’t?”
“I can’t.” She slipped from his arms, taking a few steps back to put some obvious distance between them. “You’re a civilian.”
“What does that have to do with it?”
“I can’t. It’s against procedure. And it’s wrong.”
He watched as she worked through it in her mind, each argument and personal frustration playing across her eyes, cheeks and lips in an emotional dance. He wanted to argue, telling her he had a right to know about anything that made her this upset, but some small instinct held him back. Whatever he wanted to do, now was the time for listening. And for putting into practice the fact that he did respect her and her ability to make decisions.
Even if it was killing him to stay quiet.
When those vivid and varied expressions finally stilled, he sensed she’d come to a decision. “I’m under specific orders to say nothing on this subject.”
“Okay.”
“Which means I can’t tell you.”
“I believe that’s the definition of saying nothing.”
“Don’t be a smartass.”
Duly chastised but pleased to see her slight smirk, he pointed to a seat. “I’ll get the coffee. You’re going to tell me and I’m not going to say anything to anyone and we’re going to figure this out. Together.”
She took the seat so he figured that was good for something, but it was her words that caught him up short. “Your mother used to do that. Pour coffee to talk at her kitchen table. I think the first cup I ever had was in this kitchen.”
His hand shook as he put the carafe back onto the warming plate, memories of his own conversations with his mother still some of his most comforting.
“Would those be the conversations when she told you her middle son was an ass?”
“Those came later.” He whirled at that, surprised to see the smile on her face. “After you actually were an ass. I’m talking about before.”
“Before what?”
“Before my mom died. Before I knew what to do about her and her moods and her addictions.”
“You talked to her about that?” Tate set the mugs on the table, pushing one across the surface toward her.
“Yeah. I wasn’t going to. I didn’t want to talk to anyone about it but she had a way about her. A way of pulling things out.”
“You called me the horse whisperer, but my mom was the people whisperer.” It had worked on everyone but his father, which had an odd sort of irony to it. One he avoided thinking about all that often.
Shaking off the memories that always made him feel useless and more than a little sad, he shifted back to his concern for Belle. “She was a vault. I never knew she talked to you about your mom.”
“I sort of figured she had. And after my mom died...”
“Well, she didn’t. Ever.”
Although he thought about his mother often, he hadn’t thought about those kitchen conversations in quite some time. Either his own or the ones she invariably had with others who came to their home.
“Okay.” She nodded.
“My mother was good with people and one of the reasons was because she respected who they were and what they needed to say.”
“It helped to have someone to talk to. And she somehow understood that I’d had to play parent way too early.”
While he’d always sensed there was even more to the story than Belle had told him, he knew her formative years with her mother had been difficult. “Isn’t that is a rather kind description.”
“Yeah, but it’s true. She struggled, you know. My mom. And she loved me. I knew that, even if she had no way to show me.”
“That doesn’t make it any better.”
“No. It doesn’t. But as time has gone by, it’s given me some measure of acceptance. Working with others. Seeing the situations I do in my job. Some people just aren’t cut out for life. Or for what it throws at them.”
“And that doesn’t bother you?”