Marta’s chin lifted a fraction. “As far as I’m concerned, Frank and his golf clubs can take a flying leap into the nearest water hazard. I have money, a lovely room and I’m on vacation. I’m not leaving until I’m darn good and ready.”
“All right, then.”
The two women exchanged Tombstone addresses and phone numbers. Marta copied hers from the motel receipt, while Caro quickly looked up The Silver Dollar Ranch in the book at the public phone. Caro then reached into her pocket for the two rolls of film taken of the skeleton that morning. She also passed Marta the duplicate evidence bags to mail to her parents. The originals she kept, along with Wyatt’s keys. Caro tried to talk Marta into accepting a retainer, but Marta would have none of it.
“I’m volunteering,” she insisted.
Caro finally gave in, privately deciding they could settle up later. “Just one last thing,” she warned as the waitress came back to present their checks. “This could get dangerous, Marta, especially if the sheriff or someone at his ranch turns out to be involved. I’m not saying we’ll be dodging bullets—forensic experts are rarely a target for criminals— but it’s been known to happen. Don’t do this just because you’re mad at your husband. You can bow out anytime.”
“This is what I want to do. What I need to do. I think I’ll head out to Tucson today and take care of these.” She gestured at the evidence bags and rolls of film.
“Great. I have to finish setting up my lab at the ranch. I’ll call you tonight and let you know tomorrow’s game plan. In the meantime, why don’t you spend what’s left of the morning doing some sight-seeing?”
“I did want to see Camillus Fly’s gallery.”
“There you go. I have some research of my own to do.”
The two women rose. Caro started to reach for her check, but Marta grabbed it, instead. “I’ll get that.”
“Are you sure?”
“You’ve been kind to me, kinder than my own husband. Let me do this.”
Caro knew she would offend the other woman if she argued. “All right,” she said graciously. “But I buy the celebration dinner if—when—we solve this case.”
“Agreed. And, Caro? Thank you for trusting me. You won’t be sorry.”
Marta gave Caro a cheery wave as they parted company.
Some people were so easy to read, Caro thought. If only that was true of Wyatt E. Bodine.
Caro stepped outside into the brilliant sunshine and squarely into the path of the man himself.
“A friend of yours?” Wyatt asked as Marta crossed to the opposite side of the street. “She looks familiar. Boothill, right?”
“Yes. We shared the same breakfast table.”
“Are you ready to come back to the ranch with me?” Wyatt gestured at his truck.
“The ranch? Now?”
“Since you drove out with me this morning, you’ll need a way back,” he said. “The skeleton’s already been delivered. I thought you’d want to get to work. I’ve arranged for one of the deputies to cover for me at the office.”
“Your brother?”
“No, Morgan’s working at his store today. His manager called in sick, and he has a new cashier they’re still training.”
“Who, then?” Caro asked curiously. “Kim?”
“She’s a dispatcher only. I have a staff of three full-time deputies who work the evening and night shifts, and a couple of part-timers like Morgan to help out during vacations and such. So I’m free to get back to the ranch. If you want a ride, it has to be now.”
“Well, then, I guess I’d better get started.” Caro couldn’t help looking down the street toward the sign advertising the O. K. Corral.
Wyatt obviously noticed. “Sorry to cut into your vacation. Maybe when we’re done with the case I can show you around a bit.”
Caro was tempted to jump at the offer, but business was business, so she was noncommittal instead. “Maybe. Thank you for coming to get me.”
He touched his forefinger to his hat brim by way of acknowledgment, opened the door for her and shut it before climbing in himself. Then they were off.
The paved streets of Tombstone proper gave way to the dirt roads of the outskirts. The ground was dusty and dry, and the truck raised beige clouds as it traveled to the valley below. Tombstone was built on a mesa, with the Dragoon and Huachuca Mountains surrounding it. The traditional saguaros, the thin organ pipe and ocotillo cactus firmly established their claim to this patch of desert. Creosote scrub was abundant, interspersed with rare patches of green grass and blooming flowers grown by desert dwellers willing to pay dearly for water.
Caro noticed that most preferred to let nature take its course. Certainly there was a rugged beauty in the interwoven mesas and valleys and mountains, so why try to alter it?
The Silver Dollar was near the San Pedro River in the lowlands, a mere eight miles as the crow flies, but the indirect, winding route meant the drive was almost twice that.
“I can see why you ride a horse,” Caro observed breathlessly after a particularly teeth-jarring drive through a dry desert wash. “I feel bruises forming already!”
“We can stop and let the dust settle for a few minutes.”
Caro glanced at him gratefully. “Thanks, that sounds good.”
A moment later Wyatt slowed and stopped at a fenced pasture. His land, he pointed out. The horses were still far in the distance. Wyatt climbed out of the truck, then went around and opened her door. Caro didn’t make an issue of it. She understood that his courtesies toward women were an ingrained habit, not a statement on her abilities.
“I forget how rough this road is, I drive it so often,” Wyatt said.
“Talk about one heck of a morning commute!” Caro quickly unfastened her seat belt and jumped down from the truck, trying not to react to his steadying hand on her waist. She took a deep breath when Wyatt released her.
He headed over to the fence and hooked a boot over a lower rail.
Caro followed him, but leaned back against the fence so they were more or less facing each other. “Sheriff, why would anyone in this town want me to find a skeleton? Let’s talk about the real issue. Come up with anything?”
“Not yet.”
“Too bad. We need a motive. In fact, we need two, because we have two crimes here. But I’m betting the current one is somehow connected to the old murder. And we both know there’re only three reasons for murder. Money, sex and power.”
“What about revenge?” he suggested.
“I think it falls under the last heading. It’s the ultimate power trip.”
“Not in this part of the country. Revenge is revenge is revenge. Nothing more, nothing less. And revenge could figure in the second crime—if not the first.”
Caro considered that. The sun beat harshly down on her shoulders, adding its burden to the heaviness of Wyatt’s words.
“All right, then, four reasons. Five if you count insanity.”
“That can always enter the equation. But I don’t think it’s part of this case.”
“I’m not so sure. You’d have to be pretty desperate to rob a grave, sneak around with a skeleton, then accurately reassemble it out in the open,” Caro said with a frown. “I mean, think about it! That’s hardly sane.”
“Sane enough if the victim meant something to you. This body was handled carefully, even reverently. Besides, you’re forgetting something.”
“What?”
“Boothill to most people is a tourist attraction—a place to snap pictures and buy postcards. Take away the tourist angle, and remember that this is a bona fide cemetery. We don’t even charge admission—we only ask donations. Maybe our culprit wasn’t after shock value. Maybe he wanted the victim to rest in peace. That’s certainly sane.”
“That’s also speculation at this point. We won’t know until we find the grave robber. I only know what criminals leave of themselves at the crime scene. I don’t always have enough information to know how a criminal thinks.”
; “It’s not hard.” Wyatt swiveled his way, his blue eyes as cold in his face as the sun was hot on her head. “There’s a criminal—maybe even a killer—in all of us, Dr. Hartlan. Some of us ride herd on him better than others. But he’s still there just the same.”
For once Caro wasn’t her usual nonchalant self. Her expression matched his. “I don’t want to believe that. If what you’re saying is true, our dark sides lie very near the surface.”
“You have to think like a grave robber to catch a grave robber. Think like a drug pusher to catch a drug pusher. Think like a killer to catch a killer.” His eyes shone with a strange burning light. “Frankly, I’m surprised. I just assumed that was how you’d achieved your success.”
“Well, it isn’t. Nor would I ever want success that way.” Caro barely repressed a shiver and forced herself to ask the next question. “Is that how you achieved yours?”
“I have a perfect conviction record for every drug smuggler I arrested on the border. And for those very, very few who broke the law here in Tombstone.”
“Impressive.”
“It works.”
“It’s also dangerous. Perhaps too dangerous, Sheriff.”
His eyes still glittered. “I can handle it.”
“Can you? Last night I made a call to the head of the Tucson DEA. He couldn’t tell me why you left Tucson. There was no family emergency, no health problem, no ruined reputation. You just left. Why? Because you couldn’t handle the city? Or because you couldn’t handle big-city crime?”
Caro watched the strange emotion in his eyes intensify. “You’re checking up on me? And what are you saying, anyway? That shoplifting tourists and truant schoolchildren are all I’m good for?”
Caro drew a deep breath. “I don’t know, Sheriff. You took on drug cartels like a pro, then gave up big busts, promotions and glory for a walk-in-the-park job. There must be a reason. As your partner, your temporary partner, I think I have a right to know.”
He gently—so gently it sent shivers down her spine—took her wrist and drew her close. His lips only inches from hers, he said, “A right to know what? If I’m running scared? Lost my edge?”
Caro refused to back down. “Well? Have you?”
CHAPTER FIVE
Thursday, midday to midevening
WYATT COULDN’T BELIEVE the question she’d asked, couldn’t believe she could be so bold—and so dead on the money.
“Evil is something we should all run from, Dr. Hartlan.”
“If you believe it exists within us, where can any of us go? There’s no escape. Ever.”
“There has to be a safe haven. And for me, that haven is here—my ranch, my town.” He willed her to believe it, even though he knew deep inside that this was a woman he could not intimidate. This was a woman who weighed all the evidence and made up her own mind.
Her face lifted to his, her expression as unyielding as the desert heat. She didn’t argue with him, nor did she capitulate. But her refusal to accept his statement was there for him to see.
She actually had the audacity to smile. “As my grandmother used to say, if we believed everything we told ourselves, we’d either be extremely gullible…or very good liars. I tend to agree. What if she’s right and you’re wrong? What then?”
Furious anger rushed into his veins. He pulled her closer until no light passed between them, then pulled her closer still. He wouldn’t let her get away with that challenge—but he couldn’t hurt her, either. So he kissed her, instead.
Hard.
But instead of wilting under his attack, Caro absorbed it as easily as the Arizona desert absorbed the fury of a monsoon downpour, absorbed him until he stood empty, exhausted by his own onslaught. And she stood firm, strong, unyielding.
He admired her, even as he raged against the circumstances that had brought them together. Try as he might, he couldn’t kiss her without the thought of Morgan’s keys entering his mind. Damn you, Morgan! You always did have the worst timing.
Drained but not defeated, he released her. Caro stood apart from him, not moving. He waited to see what she’d say; for there was no way he was going to speak first.
“Was that your answer, Sheriff? Or was it supposed to hide the fact that you don’t have one?” She tilted her head.
Her tone was breezy, even flirtatious, as if nothing had happened, but he noticed that her voice shook a bit. She bent over and retrieved his Stetson, which had fallen to the ground. Wyatt vowed to act as calm as she did as he placed it back on his head.
“I’m not normally at a loss for words,” he said wryly.
“Which means I probably shouldn’t expect another performance like you just delivered anytime soon?”
“A wise assumption, ma’am. Very wise.”
He opened the truck door for her. What she said and did next took him completely by surprise.
“Then again…” she whispered, reaching around his neck with both arms. This time the onslaught was hers, not his. Her kiss was totally unexpected; so was the strength of her passion. Within seconds the energy she’d drained from him earlier was returned—doubled, tripled, quadrupled. Just when Wyatt thought he couldn’t stand it any longer, she withdrew, leaving him breathless and desperate for more.
“What was that all about?” he asked the moment he could trust himself to speak.
“To prove a point.” Caro coolly pushed back her tousled hair, the fall of heavy brown waves he’d run his fingers through. “I don’t believe there’s a killer in everyone, Sheriff. In some people, yes. Maybe even in you. That’s not for me to say. But if there is… if you believe you could be one of them…”
“Yes?” Wyatt’s fingertips itched to touch her hair again. He clenched his fists as he waited for her answer.
“I wanted to show you I’m not afraid, Bodine. Evil doesn’t frighten me. It makes me sick. It makes me angry. It makes me want to rant and rave. It makes me cry until my eyes burn. But it’s never, ever frightened me. That’s why I can do what I do, day in and day out. That’s why I’m so good at it. So if you’re sitting on the wrong side of the fence with this case, be warned.”
She stared him straight in the eye. “I’ll track you down, whatever it takes. There won’t be a place you can hide in this whole world.”
“Or the next, I assume,” Wyatt said, unable to resist the slight jab at her confidence—a confidence some might take for arrogance.
She laughed, a sudden refreshing sound that lightened the serious mood.
“I’ve never considered the possibility of becoming a ghostly Sherlock Holmes. Irene Adler, though, that’s a thought. If anyone could do it, it’d be me. I’ll take the matter under advisement, Sheriff.”
The light in her eyes sparkled. It was still dancing as she climbed back into the truck and closed her own door.
Wyatt slowly walked around to his and wished he could defy evil the way she did. Wished he could shatter its siren call with a wisecrack. But he couldn’t do that any more than he could ignore the twisted part of himself…. The evil part of his brain that thought like thieves and killers. The cunning, shrewd, remorseless genius that could instantly see through any scam, any conspiracy—and come up with a million better ways to execute it. That twisted intelligence of his was a loathsome fluke that fouled his sleep and fought with the goodness of his heart every waking moment. It was why he’d come home. To safety and certainty.
As a lawman, that secret, twisted part of him was his greatest strength—and his greatest weakness.
Not by one word or action had he ever hinted at it. Not one friend or family member in his life had ever even guessed at it—until now. Caro Hartlan was more dangerous than any criminal he’d ever encountered, because outlaws could only hurt his body. This woman—if she learned how right she was about him, how often he wrestled with his own personal demons—could destroy his soul.
How often had he played with making a discovered crime a perfect crime in his mind—long after the trial was over and the criminal jaile
d? How often had he forced himself to end such a dangerous mental game? It was an unhealthy fascination, and he knew it. The law was his choice, his destiny. But maintaining the law wasn’t nearly as exciting, as seductive, as reliving the crime itself.
So far, Wyatt had been able to stay firmly, carefully, on the side of the law. Until now.
Caro’s commitment to this case had already driven him to break his own code of scrupulous honesty. It disturbed him deeply. He didn’t want to lie to Caro about Morgan, about the keys, but he owed his brother a chance to explain. They were family. Blood kin.
If only I could track down Morgan! So far he hadn’t been in his usual haunts, including his studio—where he’d claimed he’d be.
Caro rolled down her window, startling him. “Are you coming, Sheriff?”
“I’m coming,” he said. And they made the rest of the drive to his ranch in silence.
Once there, Caro went to the spare bedroom adjoining hers that Wyatt had decided she could use as a lab. “I’ll finish setting up my equipment,” she informed him. “Then I’m going to unpack the transport case and start working on the skeleton.”
“Lunch is at noon sharp.”
“I know. Luciano told me this morning.” Already she was everywhere, unpacking things with that quick, easy grace of hers.
“Be warned, my cook is temperamental. No one gets room service. When Cook serves, you eat,” he said. “That goes for everyone on this ranch.”
“I snooze, I lose. Got it.” She walked over to the door, grasped the knob and held it, waiting. Wyatt headed for the stairs.
“Aren’t you going to stay?” Caro asked with surprise.
“I’ll check in later. Right now, I need to track down my brother. If you miss lunch, dinner’s at six sharp.” Morg, you’d better be there.
“I won’t forget.” She closed the door behind him.
CARO TOOK A DEEP BREATH and let it out on a slow sigh. The coolness of the air-conditioned room was a welcome change from the already blistering temperature outside— and the heated emotions a certain sheriff had generated.
Anne Marie Duquette Page 7