She’d wrongly assumed the men who were chasing her had discovered the lane by chance. Instead, they were obviously in cahoots with Valetti. “Think,” she ordered herself. Did the thugs have enough of a head start to make a meeting with Valetti possible? During lucid moments, she’d have said probably not. Sergeant Malone had warned her the men might have local contacts. It was the only thing that made sense. In the café Valetti had admitted to Christy Jones that he needed money. Gillian had heard Christy allude to a case that—how did she put it? It had dropped in his lap. Why else would Valetti have made a concerted effort to get to know her—a total stranger? If he wasn’t working with the bastards doing their level best to find her, why would he be spotlighting a country lane at this hour?
Her cover was blown. That was Gillian’s first and last conclusion. The big question now was: did she have what it took to dig in her heels and face them all?
MITCH GLIDED to a halt. He held the powerful spotlight aloft and went back over a section of trees where he thought he’d seen an outline of something. A person.
“Damn, Trooper,” he said aloud to a big-footed Alsatian pup Ethan had presented him with that very day at suppertime. “Instead of chasing phantom shadows, we ought to be tailing the car that left squirrel marks so close to my corral it scared the living daylights out of my best broodmare.”
Mitch, alerted to trouble outside by his new dog, hadn’t been quick enough to record the dark sedan’s license plate. “Just as well,” he grumbled sourly. “I’d wring their bloody necks if Pretty Baby foals early. Then I’d be viewing the county’s big jail from the inside out rather than the other way around.”
The pup had begun to whine and lick his hand. Mitch tugged absently at the dog’s soft, gold-brown ears. All but smiling, the puppy flopped down on the passenger seat and laid his chin on his new master’s knee.
“Good boy,” Mitch murmured automatically. Off and on during his recovery at Ethan and Regan’s home, he had mentioned maybe purchasing a trained police dog like Ethan’s Taz. It had been the type of remark one made off the cuff. Mitch was stunned when Ethan showed up at his door tonight—with the pup, a month’s worth of food and a bloodline certificate from a Dutch breeder.
Although he had to admit his friend’s timing had been suspect. Not that Ethan had come right out and said a dog would give Mitch something to think about other than the woman—the stranger—who’d caught his interest today at Flo’s. Mitch doubted Ethan had any idea how transparent he was. His old partner probably had to twist arms to take delivery of a pup so fast. The gift was a thoughtful gesture, as Mitch had been restless and at loose ends since the accident.
He’d never owned a dog, so he couldn’t help wondering if he’d be good at caring for one. Taz went everywhere with Ethan. A dog would be great company.
“Shoot.” Snapping off the spotlight, he heaved a sigh. “There’s nothing out there, fella. I’ll run on out to the highway, but I’m afraid I lost any chance of catching our joyriders. I’d hazard a guess it was kids out for a spin in daddy’s wheels. That how you see it, Trooper?”
Raising his head a fraction, the pup yipped sharply.
Mitch chuckled and tossed the spotlight into the back seat. “I see definite benefits to having a pal who always agrees with me.” As his smile faded, Mitch eased off the emergency brake. “If we’d been together a little longer, buddy, I might’ve sent you out to check those bushes. I can’t shake the notion that what I saw was a person hiding there.” Mitch gnawed his upper lip and released it as he peered hard into the deepening shadows. Ethan had told him he was obsessed with the idea that the owner of the suitcase would show up one day to claim its sad contents. Mitch supposed he was. He sighed again as he pulled up to the highway and sat with the car idling.
Not detecting any sign of headlights in either direction, Mitch shut off the Corvette’s lights and rummaged under his seat for a regular flashlight. Climbing from the car, he attached Trooper’s leash. Together, they sauntered back along the lane. When they reached the place where Mitch thought he’d seen a silhouette, he went over the fence. Sure enough, the dog picked up on a scent that had him going crazy. The pup growled so loudly, Mitch knelt down beneath the old mesquite tree to get a clearer look. Thanks to recent rains, the ground shaded by the branches was still soft.
Footprints.
As far as Mitch could tell, considering the less-than-perfect conditions for gathering evidence, what they had here was a single set of prints. Made by a small boot. And the person had stuck around for a while. Unlike in the dusty lane, the soil remained moist enough to show that the wearer of those boots had probably climbed the fence and secluded himself for a time. Several sets of the same tracks crisscrossed, indicating the person had been jumpy, too.
Standing there, Mitch had a strong sense that if he’d explored the area when he’d first stopped he might have solved the mystery of the abandoned suitcase.
He felt a sensation he couldn’t identify. An unnerving impression that somehow time was running out. Whether for him or the person who’d been hiding here, he wasn’t sure.
The uneasy feeling plagued him throughout the night. For that reason, he decided to stay home for a few days. With Trooper, he’d patrol the lane at sporadic intervals.
BACK AT HER APARTMENT, Gillian shucked off her black clothing. The bottoms of her jeans were filthy. Her shirt was littered with twigs and cactus quills, and the soles of her boots were caked with sand. The mess she left didn’t stop her from pacing around her bedroom while she mulled over her options.
In truth they were few. Suppose she decided to pull up stakes and flee, which good sense begged her to do? Money was her biggest stumbling block.
She had not one solid reason to doubt that Mitch Valetti was tied to the men in the blue car. Yet, throughout the return to her apartment, doubts invaded her head and lodged there. It was a huge stretch of the imagination to think that a group of men who did their dirty work in New Orleans would have a Desert City, Arizona, cop in their pocket. How could they possibly have known that this town was where she’d accidentally run out of funds? They couldn’t, she told herself.
On the other hand, Gillian would be first to admit that nothing in this entire debacle made sense. At first, while hiding in the dingy border town, she hadn’t been able to fathom how Daryl—shy, bookish, slightly out of step with the world Daryl—had hooked up with crooks in the first place. Eventually she’d decided he probably hadn’t been the one to make contact. More than likely they’d found him. The fact that Daryl was a conscientious, hardworking CPA would have targeted him as the perfect patsy for men walking on the wrong side of the law.
Gillian flopped down on her bed. None of this rambling provided solutions to her dilemma. However, she continued to believe that the men who’d taken advantage of Daryl weren’t the type to buddy up to an honest cop. Now the question of the hour—was Mitch Valetti an honest cop? Correction—an honest ex-cop? Everything in her screamed yes. The God’s truth—she didn’t know.
So, was she willing to take a chance on her intuition?
Before the night erupted into a bright, sunny day, Gillian resorted to playing eenie, meenie, miney, mo. In choosing mo, she elected to stay where she was in the vicinity of an active, bustling police station.
Two could play the game of snoop. It should be easy to subtly pump Mitch’s friends who ate at the café. Plus, he might keep trying to get her to go out with him. That didn’t mean she had to see him outside the café. If he had something up his sleeve, sooner or later he’d have to show his hand.
Feeling better for having come to a decision, Gillian arrived for the early shift at work exhausted but with a plan in mind.
Too bad Mitch Valetti didn’t cooperate. Not only didn’t he come in to eat that day, neither did he appear the next day. Or the day after that.
Christy Jones came in every noon hour for lunch, acting as if Gillian were personally responsible for Mitch’s truancy. Gillian thought it m
ore likely that Christy’s husband, Royce, was the one deterring Mitch. Royce and company stopped in for food and coffee at varying hours, clearly hoping to catch Christy with Mitch.
“Where’s Mitch been keeping himself?” Flo asked Ethan Knight on the fourth day of Mitch’s absence.
Gillian slowed her pace and perked up her ears. It almost seemed as if Ethan aimed his reply at her, along with a triumphant smirk. “Regan and I bought him a pup from the same breeder who sold me Taz. Pups are a lot like kids. You can’t just take off on a whim and leave them home alone.”
Flo grunted. “You tie Taz to one of the trees out front while you eat. Can’t Mitch do the same?”
“Gee, Flo. Does Bert know you’re hankering after another man?”
As Gillian worked at a nearby table, she recognized Ethan’s attempt to subvert Flo’s line of questioning. She jumped to the older woman’s defense. “Flo only wants to warn Mitch to stay away or risk being torn limb from limb by Royce Jones.”
Ethan slanted a frown at Gillian. “Royce has a beef against Mitch?”
Bert carried two plates of food out of the kitchen instead of placing them under the warming light for Gillian to collect. “I thought you must’ve put a bug in Mitch’s ear, Ethan. We’re all on the lookout for him. I tried phoning him that first day when Royce was in here blowing off steam. I got a recording saying Valetti’s phone’s out of service. Royce has a screwy notion that Mitch is making moves on Christy. He’ll cool off by and by, I expect. Until he does, it’s better if Mitch keeps his distance.”
“Hmm. Royce has a history of letting his temper get away from him.” Ethan rubbed his jaw. “Thanks for alerting me, Bert. I’ll raise Mitch on his cell phone. I don’t think he’s had his house phone reconnected since his surgery. Flo, I owe you an apology…even though you know I was only teasing you about Mitch. All the same, I had you pegged as trying to do a little matchmaking.”
“And so I was.” Flo kept one eye on Gillian as she ran off to deliver the meals Bert had brought out. “Mitch is a good man, Ethan. Right now he’s lonely and at loose ends. He lost Amy and his best friend at the same time. I happen to think a good woman might be what he needs. Gillian’s sort of in the same boat. She has so much time on her hands she’s volunteered to work double shifts, for pity’s sake. Why not get two needy souls together?”
“What do you mean Mitch lost his best friend? I’m his best friend,” Ethan stated flatly.
“Yeah. Used to be you and Mitch were joined at the hip. Now you’ve got a wife and four kids to take up your free time. I’m not saying you aren’t still his friend, Ethan. But you’ve got to admit the dynamics of your friendship are different.”
“Why that woman?” Ethan glared across the room at Gillian’s slender back.
“Why not her?” Flo challenged.
“I got bad vibes that first day she waited on me. Like she’s trouble disguised in an attractive body. Well, okay…for example, that’s not even her real hair color.”
Flo laughed. “If that’s what you’re basing your suspicions on, Ethan, you’ve got some nerve. If it’s a crime for a woman to color her hair, you’d better jail half the females in town. Me included.”
“It’s more than that, Flo. Darn it, I can’t put my finger on anything specific. Except I ran a make on her. Nothing showed for a Gillian Stevens.”
“See there.” Flo did her own smirking.
Ethan shook his head. “You don’t understand. I mean nothing showed. It’s like the woman doesn’t exist.”
Bert snorted and headed for the kitchen. Before reaching the door, he turned and shook a finger at Ethan. “Anyone tell you that cops are naturally paranoid? Lay off the poor kid, Knight. She’s the best damned waitress Flo and I have hired in five years. And if you’ve got nothing concrete, you’d better think twice before dumping this on Mitch. Flo and I figure Amy’s elopement shook him way more than he lets on.”
Ethan’s mouth opened as if he meant to say more. Then not only did the object of their discussion return to their midst, but the front door opened and Mitch himself strolled in, wearing a wide grin. It became patently obvious to everyone watching that his welcoming smile was for the sole benefit of Gillian Stevens.
“Hey, gorgeous,” he teased. “You miss me?”
Gillian’s stomach did handsprings before settling again. Oddly enough, she had missed him. But she wasn’t nearly ready to admit any such weakness. “Dream on, cowboy,” she mocked as she sailed past on her way to pour coffee for a table of customers. “Anyway,” she said, making a face at him over her shoulder, “your friend there—” she indicated Ethan “—said there’s someone new in your life.” Sliding a pencil behind her ear, Gillian continued to walk.
Mitch spun on his former partner. “What lies are you spreading?” Though his tone remained light, there was an aggressive undercurrent.
“I meant the dog,” Gillian exclaimed, stopping mid-stride. For a minute there, she thought Mitch was ready to scrap with his best friend over her. Daryl rarely if ever came to her defense, regardless of provocation. She considered what it would be like to have a protector. She couldn’t deny that Mitch’s action lit a sexual fire deep inside her.
Her suspicions of him made it a foolish reaction. However, at that moment, if Mitch Valetti asked her out again, Gillian knew she’d live dangerously and accept. After all, her life couldn’t be any more on the line than it was now, with people chasing her, wanting her dead. If by some bizarre coincidence Valetti was connected to their efforts, at least she’d be taking charge of her fate.
As long as she remained careful. As long as she never dropped her guard.
CHAPTER FOUR
ETHAN KNIGHT tossed his tip on the counter. He told his new partner to go on back to the station, that he’d catch up. “Got a minute, Mitch?”
“Sure, Big E. Time’s a plentiful commodity with me right now. What can I do you for?”
“I see you haven’t lost your sense of humor.” Ethan smiled with his mouth, not his eyes. “Walk out with me to where I left Taz? What I have to say is private. I want to, ah, discuss a case.” His gaze slid from Mitch to Flo’s new waitress, who’d leaned around the counter to give Bert special instructions on an order.
Mitch’s stance showed resistance to Ethan’s suggestion. Staring at his friend, he capitulated with a shrug, his limp more pronounced during their exit.
Gillian sent a glance at them as they left. What case? She’d felt Ethan’s eyes boring into her back. Did his need for secrecy involve her? A current of fear rattled Gillian’s equilibrium. The fear was accompanied by a vague disappointment that Mitch wasn’t staying around to order lunch.
What was there about the man that caused such conflicting emotions? She snatched up the coffeepot and hurried to refill patrons’ cups, mentally cautioning herself against any loss of objectivity.
Outside, Mitch sauntered over to Taz, who was straining against his leash. “Hi there, sport.” Hunkering down, he rubbed the dog’s head and patted his wriggling backside. “Next time I come to town, I’ll bring Trooper. Bet you’d like company, wouldn’t you?”
Ethan untied the dog and gave him a couple of treats he pulled from his jacket. Propping a shoulder against the tree, he methodically coiled the leash.
“What’s the problem, Ethan?” Mitch asked. “Do we play twenty questions or you gonna spit out what’s bugging you? You need my input on a case? Which one?”
“I lied about wanting to discuss a case. This probably won’t win me any points, but here goes. You’re what’s bugging me, Mitch.”
“Me?” After his initial start, Mitch laughed on seeing Ethan’s grim expression. He relaxed enough so that Taz almost knocked him over. “Jeez! And here I moved out of your house so I wouldn’t get on your nerves.”
“Knock it off. I’m trying to be serious and you’re clowning around.”
Mitch straightened, dusting dog hair from his hands. “You’re so transparent, Ethan.” He puckered his lips. �
��I can take care of myself, so save the lecture. We’re not blood kin, and you’re no longer my senior partner.” Mitch let it stand at that, even though he wanted to say more.
“I am your friend.” Ethan’s sudden, tense stillness dared Mitch to disagree. “What’s more, I wouldn’t be standing here if it wasn’t for you. You took bullets meant for me. I had no defense against DeSalvo when you drew his fire. That damn well bonds us, whether you like it or not, Valetti.”
“Quit it, Ethan. You’re the closest thing I have to a brother. You’d have done the same for me if our roles were reversed. But dammit, man, that still doesn’t give you the right to mess in my personal life.”
“It does if you insist on acting like a fool.”
“Give me a break. Half the department thought you were crazy to get involved with Regan Grant. Did I ever stick my nose in and try to warn you off?”
“No. You tried to steal her away from me right in front of my house. Remember how thick you laid on the Italian charm?”
“Hell, Ethan, if you couldn’t see that I was trying to help you make up your mind…”
“So, is that why you’re flirting with Christy Jones? If it is, her husband isn’t buying your act. She is still married, you know.”
“Christy? Dammit, you oughta know that’s strictly business. And she said you told her I was open to doing contract investigative work.”
“Okay, okay. I did. It was a mistake, okay? Maybe you should think twice about accepting her offer. Bert says Royce is on a tear. We’ve both seen good cops go bad. Royce has never been rational when it comes to Christy.” He squinted at Mitch. “Sort of like how you aren’t firing on all cylinders where Bert’s new waitress is concerned.”
“Ah. Finally we’re getting to the crux of this conversation.”
A guilty expression flashed across Ethan’s face.
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