by Unknown
Sunshine looked back at the man and watched the door close with a faint click behind him, and in a few heartbeats Brody’s footsteps had vanished, just like the heat. Her hands roamed for something under which she could cover all the places Brody had touched. She couldn’t figure out if she’d been used or if she’d used him? Either way, she felt cold, and not from the temperature in the room.
“Jackass!” she shouted and tossed a half-empty water bottle across the room, hitting the wall on the other side, making less damage than her fury had intended.
Chapter Fifteen
“Brody, you need to do something about this guy,” Wendy’s shrill voice shouted from the main hall outside his office. “He looks absolutely ghastly. Have you seen him?”
“Of course I’ve seen him.” He was not in the mood today. Not for talking, not even for capturing criminals. He just wasn’t sure what he was in the mood for. Oh, well, deep down he knew but he did his damnedest to erase the thought of her—Sunshine. Her moans, the way her body had shivered under his touch. How that picture of doing Sunshine hard against the wall didn’t seem at all that bad. But most of all he wanted to erase the face she’d made when he’d up and left her. Like he’d done something filthy then left her to rot. Although it had been deliciously dirty, her face had told him she wasn’t okay. Either way he couldn’t stay. His mind was in a state of chaos.
“Ghastly?” Brody repeated Wendy’s words.
“Oh, you know, Downton Abbey and Foyles War are absolutely splendid, and with this desk job,” she answered and spun around on her chair, “I live my life vicariously through English noblemen and their ridiculously lavish lives in times of war.”
Brody shook his head and went back to taking down another complaint about the lack of speed bumps on Main Street before he rose from his chair and joined Wendy at her desk.
“Show him to me again,” he said and seated himself on the counter next to her computer screen, quietly swallowing a shot of pain stabbing through his bottom cheek.
“Oh, I hope you haven’t forgotten who he is, Brody, or else he might be anywhere here in Gass County, just walking around for all we know.” Wendy smiled and scrolled down to the photo.
“First of all, I remember exactly what he looks like. I also know his criminal background, which I wish I didn’t have in the back of my mind, as horrifying as it is.”
Wendy nodded and waited for the file to open. “And secondly,” Brody continued, placing his muscular arms across his chest and looking down at Wendy. “I’m Office Jensen to you, your supervisor, not Brody.”
Wendy took a sip of her coffee and blew raspberries at him. “Whatever, Brody, you went to school with my older brother,” she articulated. “Here is the photo. Please memorize it. I can’t stand staring at him anymore,” she said and left to use the bathroom down the hall.
Brody’s eyes drilled in on the screen. Wendy was right. He was ghastly. Bloody ghastly, for sure. James Hemmerson looked evil. His face weathered not so much by age, but by what he in life had accomplished. Two previous rounds in prison for sexual assault, statutory rape, disorderly conduct, you name it. His last round, that got him for life, was attempted murder of a woman. James Hemmerson had a thing for women. Young women. Preferably under twenty. Brody had seen these types before. On television. Not in the circumference of his district. This town was a hidden pearl and he prayed to God that Mr. Hemmerson had decided to run the opposite way. His blonde hair was combed back in the photo, his face lined with wrinkles. Yet, he barely surpassed Brody in age. It was his eyes that said it. Told his inner secret. They smiled. James Hemmerson—a person with absolutely no regard for human life had eyes of mischief and Brody didn’t like it. Not one bit.
“So, will you remember him now, Brody?” Wendy sat down in the chair, closed the photo, and rolled herself back toward the coffee maker for another cup of diuretic wish-wash.
Brody stood. “I’m going out. Call if you need anything.”
“Sure, boss.” Wendy saluted him and then turned on another song on the radio. This one a sure hit from the eighties.
* * *
“Rick, I need black coffee.”
“You got it.”
“So, tell me. What do you want me to do here, Brody?” Melanie Orchard was still in town, answering the jungle call from a valley in despair. Or maybe not so much the valley, but rather helping Brody having made no progress at all in finding Mr. Hemmerson.
“I’m not sure how to tackle this. And you’re the only who knows I ever said that, understood?” His tone was furtive because of the eager ears at tables and at the bar.
“I think he might be hiding out somewhere.”
“You think?”
“Hey, don’t be a jackass with me. If you’re mad at someone, keep me out of it.”
Rick had placed the coffee before him, and Brody sipped it slowly and stared at the cold world outside the window.
“Is she bothering you that much, huh?” Melanie smiled and stuffed her mouth with a cheese-covered croissant.
“Nobody is bothering me.”
“Okay, well then this will be interesting.”
The door to the restaurant opened and Sunshine stepped inside, pulling her jacket tighter around her and walking to the bar, where Rick was busy pouring two beers to the regulars in the corner: Wyatt Tessler and his partner in crime, Orward Kline. Drinking buddies since Elvis had had his first hit on the radio.
“No more after that.” Brody’s voice echoed along the walls, catching the looks of the two gentlemen, who stopped chitchatting.
Sunshine turned at the familiar sound and met Brody’s eyes. Brody didn’t say anything but stared at the chuckling woman across the table. “Shut up, Mel.”
Sunshine’s face neared an eight on the boredom scale and it looked like she’d bit into something sour before she turned back to Rick and smiled.
“Your tactic here is that you haven’t seen her to avoid talking, is that it?” Melanie leaned back in her chair and smiled out the window.
“Just . . . be quiet.”
He looked in Sunshine’s direction and went back to admire the dark color of his now-cold coffee. He noticed her hair was tossed up in a high bun and she placed two large bags of what looked like flour on the counter for Rick before she left the same way she had come in without giving Brody another look.
“She probably thinks you’re an idiot.” Melanie smiled and stared out the window.
“Why would she think that?”
“Because of something you obviously did.”
“How would you know anything has happened?”
“I’m a woman, I read female language and that right there was obvious. You made her mad.”
Brody ignored the comment and finished his coffee before he stood up and placed his Stetson back on. “Find out from other towns if anyone has seen or heard anything. And I mean anything.”
“Sure.”
Brody stopped in his tracks out the door and looked back at what seemed to be his new partner. “How old are you, Melanie?”
“Why?” she asked, eyes suddenly dark and stormy. “That right there,” she spit out, “is the reason women think men are idiots. You ask stupid questions.”
Brody rolled his eyes and repeated his question.
“I’ve passed thirty-five, not yet hit forty. Is that good enough?”
“Good. At least Mr. Hemmerson will keep his hands off you should you see him. His taste is singular—young and slender.”
“Are you kidding—”
Brody never finished listening to Melanie, and why should he? He wasn’t asking her, he simply stated a fact. Hemmerson didn’t care for women her age.
The rest of the afternoon felt colder than an arctic blizzard and Brody decided the best he could do to survive the day was to stay in his squad car, crank the heat, and take the few calls that came through. No need to run around looking for clues when he didn’t know where to start. For all he knew, Hemmerson could have already p
assed them and been in Canada by that time. The thought settled his nerves and made it easier to swallow the hot coffee without extra butterflies in his stomach. He watched the sun settle at the horizon, coloring the icy sky a shade of pink and blue, before he turned the car back to town and civilization.
Brody drove down the highway leading straight through town. He was after all not on duty, per se, but being the chief of police had its drawbacks. He was never, really, off duty. Who else was there to call if something happened? Juster’s County, where the youngest officers were pushing an average age of sixty? There wasn’t a lot of crime in Primrose Valley, not petty theft, not robbery. Although, there had been a child abduction a few years earlier and it had been cleared up within hours on the same night, and, he sighed, not long before, there had been that one nightly shooting in Wayne’s bedroom. An attempted murder derailed at the last second as Officer Melanie Orchard had pushed through the door and placed a lethal bullet in the shooter before Wayne could meet Christ. “If you could just stay put, Mel.” Brody sighed and chewed the inside of his cheek as he always did when something bothered him, making him starkly resemble a pissed off Wyatt Earp walking the dusty streets of Tombstone. At least according to the female population of Sandra’s senior living facility, a place he visited often in case one of the seniors got ahold of a phone and punched in the direct number to the station. He knew the outcome of the call as soon as the number showed on the receiver, yet it was his duty to respond to any calls, placed by accident or not.
Primrose Valley wasn’t a large town. Big enough for a police station, a fire department, a bakery, a school at each end of the town’s inlet along the slumbering highway, three hair salons in continuous competition with one another, and city hall with the widely popular Branson Roberts as mayor. Voted in three times in a row. Not so much for his political talent but for opening up the heated indoor pool to the seniors which was otherwise open to personnel only.
Driving from one end of the highway to the next, from one county line to the next, was something Brody did in his cruiser about six times a day if nothing was called in. He wrote speeding tickets, mostly to teenagers on homemade, hopped-up motorized bikes, and he cursed every parent in town for not knowing what the heck their kids were doing. Drug arrests, murders, robberies were things of rarity. Yet, he knew he needed to be prepared should the event show up. Because every time something on the larger scale happened, it had always taken him by surprise, and he hated it, not being in control and not knowing what to do next. As an officer, especially in his position, it was to him people came with concerns and wishes for resolution and safety. He couldn’t let anyone down.
Sure, as a soldier he’d been able to withstand unpleasant feelings and moments, but out in civilian life there were always things unexpected. Like now, his sudden hike of heartbeat seeing Sunshine’s truck parked in front of Hayley’s VIP salon.
He had no business parking next to her, and absolutely no reason to see Hayley. Like, ever again. He shuddered and filed the memory of her drunken vulgarity from the last town hoedown in the back of his mind. No need to open that file again.
He swerved around the corner of the post office and went back down the street for a second look. Sure enough, Sunshine’s car was still there but she was nowhere to be seen. Who knew being a farmhand could be so lucrative you’d be able to get a fancy new do? But what did he know, he usually buzzed his head in the bathroom, each time remembering the same ritual as a soldier.
Five o’clock, one more hour until the bakery closed, and he pulled in behind the building. If anything, some hot coffee and a chocolate croissant would warm up his evening. The only thing waiting at home was Wayne yelling at the screen while watching recorded football games he’d missed for the last few months while under the dark cloud of depression and shock.
Chapter Sixteen
The door to the bakery swung open and Sunshine stepped inside the almost deserted café, escaping the last light of the day and the start of another dark night. At least she was back in her regular setting, now that Brutus the beast was back home. Gosh, she’d missed him. Her life without him would be lonely, less cuddly, and probably lived in silence. She spoke to Brutus the way she spoke to a human and found his responses were the most intelligent, albeit mostly done with raised eyebrows and barks. Brutus’s eyes spoke in his silence, and that was more than any human had succeeded in doing.
She threw another glance at the baked goods at the counter and stepped forward. Right into a wall of hard muscles, someone’s back. Brody “Smarty-pants” Jensen. Damn, she had just calmed herself down from his complete lack of emotions, the way he’d left after she had been dumb enough to let him take off her pants. Yet, here he was again, and her body couldn’t stop igniting those hot flames she’d felt.
He turned slowly, reacting to the back-slamming, not that he could have felt it too hard being all muscles, vest, and starched beige shirt. Maybe he wore something underneath? Maybe nothing but smooth skin dusted in that dark hair her eyes had witnessed, trailing down—
“Evening.” That’s it? F you, her mind screamed. He turned away from her and pulled up a few bills from inside his wallet. “Have a good night.” Brody tipped the front of his hat and with a small box of dessert items walked out the door like she was a stranger. It wasn’t until she watched the door to his car close that she turned back to the counter only to be met by a sulky teenager. Picking her nails, waiting for an order.
“So, you want anything before we close?” Wow, wasn’t that the best sales pitch she’d ever heard.
With a somewhat sizeable bag under her arm she sat herself back in the car. Thank God Hayley had already left her salon and couldn’t see her gulp down at least two sugared-covered doughnut holes. Okay, so there might have been four. To be completely honest, it was five. The windows on the front of the salon took in the light of the overhead streetlamps, the insides of the shop eerie and calm. She’d let Hayley cut her hair in past. A lot. And today she’d been angry and hungry, and decided to chop it off. So much for throwing your hair over your shoulder, or tucking it in a bun on your head when going to work. No man had ever noticed the seductive gesture of fingers twining a strand. To hell with it. This was better. She’d be the singer Pink for all she knew, and she’d like it. It gave her confidence. Short, spiky, and she could definitely give Brody competition for most-styled hair in town. Brody. Her heart pumped faster at the thought of his name, even more furious he hadn’t even noticed her new hair just a bit earlier. Idiot.
She tossed the empty paper back on the floor on the passenger side and pulled out from the long line of parking spots at the side of street. “Brody,” she muttered, and then licked the last of powdered sugar off her lips.
She hadn’t realized she’d been speeding until the high numbers flashed on a speedometer at the side of the road and made her push the brakes slightly.
The police station was closed, so the sign on the door stated, but, stepping out of the car, she saw Brody’s cruiser at the side of the building and she swallowed hard before trying the front door. Surprisingly, unlocked.
The front desk was dark and quiet. A lonely Windows cube flew across the computer screen on the opposite side of the desk, except from that nothing but the continuing hum of the AC flying through the vent in the ceiling. She took another step and noticed light escaping the slight opening of one of the doors leading from the front room. Without knowing why, she went over and pushed it open.
“Shit!” Brody leaned back in his chair and held his large hand over his heart. “Don’t you ever knock?” he roared like a lion, making her regret her impromptu visit. “What is it? What?”
As he was about to stand, she took a step inside and seated herself on the opposite side of his paper-filled desk. Immaculate piles stacked in order. She coughed and glanced around the office. Undersized for a guy holding the title chief of police.
“What happened to your hair?”
“Cut it, obviously.”
<
br /> Brody hummed and looked her over. “Can I help you?” Brody straightened his navy-blue tie and corrected his seating.
She bit the inside of her mouth and blurted. “Am I just a piece of dust to you? Nothing? We slept together once.” Her eyes darted around the room. He smiled suddenly, a crooked, one-sided smile, and placed his huge locked hands on the desk in front of him. His arms and hands taking up most of the space.
“No, we didn’t.”
“All right, fine,” Sunshine sighed and swallowed down her embarrassment. “But we did things . . .” Her words ended in a whisper and she watched a pen roll leisurely between his fingers.
“Oh, we sure did.” Why wouldn’t this guy stop grinning?
“So?”
“Yes, what, Sunny?” He leaned back in his chair again, looking too superior for his own good. She felt the urge to reach across the desk and smack his gorgeous face.
She stood and pushed the chair against the desk, regretting her visit. Maybe wishing for a different outcome, she turned to walk out the door.
“Hold up.” The legs on Brody’s chair scratched against the brown linoleum floor of his office and as she turned to look at him, he was already by her side.
“Look,” he started. “I’m sorry I left our . . . shenanigans the way I did. But,” he sighed and stared at the door behind her, “we really didn’t do anything that would make a difference between us. Like, we’re not in a relationship or anything. You know what I mean, right, Sunny?”
Sunshine shook her head and let out a frustrated laugh.
“I’m not sure how to respond to that, because I usually don’t let random men see me naked and do . . . what you did.”
“You seemed to enjoy it, though.”