by Karis Walsh
She walked to the center of the arena and called the riders over to her. “Great job, everyone. You can use this same technique as often as you want, both to teach your horses and to strengthen your connection with them. Anytime you have an hour to spare, come out here and work with your horse. Bring whatever unusual objects you can find. Bikes, strollers, plastic jugs filled with rocks. Tomorrow afternoon we’ll work with the raincoats again, but while you’re mounted.”
Rachel lingered in Bandit’s stall while Cal and the rest of her team groomed and fed the horses. She had made a little progress today, and the praise from Clark and Don made the hours she had spent on their horses seem worthwhile. But she still didn’t believe they’d accept her in the joking, playful circle they’d formed around Cal.
She brushed Bandit’s tail until it was silky and tangle-free, standing off to one side in case he decided to kick. He seemed to have a great work ethic, and he tolerated her leadership in the arena whether she was on foot or in the saddle, but he still seemed to resent her when she came into his stall, his private space. So she spent as much time there as possible. They were partners, and he’d have to learn to accept her presence no matter where they were. Plus, she needed a place to hide during those lonely times when she heard the unit talking and laughing, just beyond her reach.
Cal didn’t come over to Bandit’s stall like she had the night before, but she was sitting on an upturned bucket when Rachel finally emerged after she heard the patrol cars leave the yard. Rachel’s step faltered when she saw that Cal had changed out of her more formal teaching clothes. The gray polo shirt emphasized the color of her eyes and hair, making her look silver and gold. The worn and faded jeans were snug, drawing Rachel’s attention to Cal’s ass—the exact area Rachel continually fought to avoid staring at whenever she was near Cal. She cleared her throat before attempting to speak.
“Give me a minute to change, and we can go find Skunk.”
“Skunk?”
“It’s his street name,” Rachel said. She didn’t know why, and she wasn’t particularly anxious to find out. She had recognized his given name, Warren Albuez, on the reports she’d read the night before. Every cop in town had dealt with some member of the Albuez family at some time during their career. Usually more than one member, and more often than once. There should have been a separate chapter in the training manual to cover this one extended family. Skunk was a minor player in the clan and not the most reliable of witnesses.
Rachel took her backpack into the office and closed the door behind her. She quietly turned the lock even though she felt silly doing it. She wasn’t sure whether she was worried Cal might walk in when she was changing, or worried about what she’d do if Cal did come in. And part of her did want Cal to walk through the door. To catch her when she had stripped down to her briefs and sports bra…
No. They were too different. Rachel was attracted to Cal, more turned on than she cared to admit by Cal’s persistent and overt flirting, but she couldn’t allow the relationship to move any further than where it stood. They were colleagues of a sort, united in their drive to make the mounted unit a success, although for very different reasons. Cal was there to have fun, to play at being a mounted police trainer, an undercover detective, any role she could find. Rachel was there for one reason. To salvage her reputation.
Those differences were the very reasons Rachel wouldn’t sleep with Cal, no matter how hard Cal pushed. And no matter how much Rachel wanted her to push. Cal would be moving to the East Coast soon after the Fourth. She’d continue her bid to be polo champion of the world while playing with the next available woman who came along. Rachel wanted a stability Cal could never offer. A home, a family. A safe place to live surrounded by friends, and a lover she trusted to stand by her no matter what. She might not find it with TPD, and she definitely wouldn’t find it with Cal. But she had to keep striving for it.
Rachel peeled off her tight uniform and pulled on her most faded, most comfortable jeans. They were frayed at the crotch and the knees, not because of a fashion statement but because they’d had a hard life on the ranch. The rest of her outfit was black. Studded belt, tight ribbed tank top, leather jacket, cowboy boots so dusty they were almost gray. She tucked her gun into her jeans at the small of her back and shoved her wallet and commission card into a pocket. She might look like a street thug, but everyone in the bars she and Cal were going to visit would make her as a cop. She’d probably arrested most of the people they were going to meet. They’d be safe enough, but she was having second thoughts about bringing Cal along. She knew it was too late to back out—there was no way Cal would go home now—and she seriously doubted she could force Cal to stay in the truck with the doors locked.
Rachel left the office and pulled the door shut behind her.
“Oh my God,” Cal said.
Rachel turned around and Cal closed the distance between them with two long strides. She pushed Rachel against the door. Rachel hadn’t managed to shut it all the way before Cal was on her, and they stumbled backward into the office as the door banged open again. Rachel automatically put her arms around Cal’s waist to keep from falling.
Cal tangled her fingers in Rachel’s short hair and pulled her forward for a kiss. She had been lecturing herself about going slow with Rachel. Being content with brief touches like the brush of their fingers today in the arena. But then Rachel had walked out of the office looking like some sort of sexy badass biker chick. Cal changed tactics in a heartbeat. Flooding. Kiss Rachel until she stopped fighting so damn hard.
Rachel’s kiss was better than Cal had hoped. Her lips were soft, her teeth were rough, her tongue thrust against Cal’s when she slid it into Rachel’s mouth. Rachel was oh-so-definitely kissing her back. Rachel kicked the door shut and shoved Cal against it, pressing her thigh between Cal’s legs. Cal moved against her, already wanting to come, but Rachel broke their contact and their kiss so suddenly Cal almost dropped to the ground.
“No, don’t stop now,” Cal insisted. But she could see Rachel’s closed expression. She was so far away right now, she could be in a different state. Fuck. Cal had pushed too hard, too fast, but she couldn’t help it. Cal was always so good at this game. Reading her potential sex partner. Understanding instinctively when to move forward, when to hang back and let the other woman do the chasing. She had been right about the need to go slow, but all of her common sense had disintegrated when she saw Rachel.
“I take it you approve of this outfit,” Rachel said. Her voice was steady enough, but she could feel a tremor in her hand when she ran it through her hair.
“It’ll do,” Cal said. Her eyes had gone steely gray and her skin was as flushed as Rachel’s felt. “I’m sorry I…”
Her voice trailed off and she raised a hand to fix her now-disheveled ponytail. Rachel made a shushing sound as she stepped closer and captured Cal’s hand with her own. She tucked a strand of gold hair behind Cal’s ear with her free hand, sliding it down to cup Cal’s chin.
“Don’t be. Please,” she said as she rubbed her thumb over Cal’s bruised-red lips. “We both wanted that kiss. But I don’t do casual.”
Cal smiled against Rachel’s thumb. “And casual is all I can do. But if you change your mind…?”
Rachel pulled Cal forward and kissed her cheek. “You’ll be the first one I call.”
She kept her fingers wrapped around Cal’s as she shut and locked the office door, rattling the knob to make sure it was secure. “We can leave your car here and take my truck. It’s only a short walk to my apartment, and I think the fresh air will do us some good.”
“And then we can work off our sexual frustration by shaking down some perps.”
Rachel laughed. She kept hold of Cal’s hand until they got to the yard’s gate, wanting to prolong the contact. Was she insane to push Cal away? To keep her confident, breezy persona in place when inside she was trembling with desire? No. She had to keep her distance.
“We’re not shaking anyone d
own. We’re just going to have a conversation.”
They were silent on the short walk to Rachel’s apartment. Her hand felt ice cold without Cal’s warmth. But Rachel was too familiar with loneliness. She had lived with it for her first fifteen years, when it had been all she knew, and its return had hurt like hell this year. After living with Nelson and Leah and her foster brothers, after newfound friends in high school and college and, more recently, a tightly bonded police family, she’d learned what it was like not to be lonely. But these past few months, she had been thrown back to childhood nights on strange beds, mission floors, detention cell cots. When she had lain so still under thin blankets and felt as if she were the only person on the planet, as if her breath were echoing through an empty, uninhabited world.
A night with Cal would be amazing. Based on tonight’s kiss? Spectacular. Their breath joined together as they’d fought to capture a connection and release. But then Cal would go away. And Rachel would be even emptier because she had experienced a night of incredible fullness.
Rachel unlocked the passenger door of her pickup and opened it for Cal before walking around to the driver’s side. She started the engine, conscious of Cal’s eyes on her. Please don’t touch me. Please don’t challenge my willpower because I’m not that strong.
“So what’s the plan, Sarge?” Cal asked. She clasped her hands on her lap as if she had heard Rachel’s silent plea. “Are we going to troll the streets for Skunk?”
Rachel laughed. The combination of Cal’s sexy, cultured voice and the goofy sayings was endearing. This might be a worthless night of investigating, but she was suddenly glad to have time with Cal. To have been shaken by her kiss, to laugh at her silliness. To have a friend.
“We’re going to check out a few bars, have a beer or two, and ask some questions. Maybe we’ll find Skunk, maybe not.”
Cal settled back in her seat as Rachel drove through the North End streets, heading out of the more respectable residential area and toward Tacoma’s downtown. She wanted to touch her again, but it was too dangerous. Rachel was right—they were looking for different types of relationships. But Cal worried about something else, something too unsettling to dwell on for long. Rachel’s kiss had turned her on, exciting her more than she had expected and making her want more. That was fine. Great. The scary part was how affected she had been by Rachel’s gentle touch after their kiss. The friction of her fingers against Cal’s chin and lips. The comfort of Rachel’s hand holding hers. Those were girlfriend moments, and Cal couldn’t allow herself to want them. Her heart belonged to polo, and she didn’t have time for anything more serious—and Rachel was unquestionably serious—than a casual fling.
“What are we trying to learn from this conversation? Do you really think Randy Brown is innocent?”
“I doubt it,” Rachel said, checking over her shoulder before she changed lanes. “Clare said he got a text at three, but the cell phone is missing. It wasn’t booked as evidence or property when he was arrested, and it was a burner, so unless Clare finds it, there’s no way to find out if she’s lying. Skunk’s statement says he met Randy in the vacant lot by the police yard a little after one. He left after their transaction, but Randy stayed behind. The next morning, he hears that a cop was shot in the same place, at the same time. So Skunk, being an upstanding citizen, calls the cops.”
“And if he really met Randy at three, like Clare said?”
“Then maybe someone else killed Alex and is trying to frame Randy. It’d have been easy to steal his gun and then stick it under the seat in his car while he was in the park with Skunk.”
Rachel parked in the tiny gravel lot behind a decrepit brick building adorned with a faded painting advertising a long-gone furniture store. She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. “This is crazy. Of course Randy did it. All the evidence points at him. And of course Clare was lying. Why wouldn’t she? She’s desperate to protect him.”
Cal reached over and poked at Rachel’s stomach until she laughed and caught Cal’s hand. “So we’re going with your gut and against common sense? Must be scary for you to stray from the rule books and the police reports for once.”
“Very funny,” Rachel said. She squeezed Cal’s fingers lightly and let them go. “I can be as spontaneous as anyone.”
“Given adequate time to prepare.” Cal unhooked her seat belt. “So what makes you think Mr. Skunk will be hanging out in a bar on a Tuesday night?”
“Well, let’s just say he doesn’t have to get up tomorrow and go to work, so any night is as good as the next to be in a bar. And if he did help someone set Randy up, he’ll have been paid for his trouble. From my experiences with Skunk, I think it’s safe to assume he’ll be drinking twenty-four/seven until the money’s gone.”
Cal followed Rachel into the dimly lit bar. The crowded room fell silent when they entered. “Jeez, I feel like I walked into a saloon with the bad guy in a Western,” Cal said quietly to Rachel. She noticed a skinny girl next to the bar, wearing a tight skirt, a fake-fur-lined sweater, and a scowl on her face as she watched Rachel. “Miss Kitty over there looks particularly unhappy to see you.”
“I’m the sheriff, not the bad guy,” Rachel said. “And you always start by questioning the person who looks least inclined to talk because they usually have the most to say.”
Rachel walked over to the young girl and leaned against the bar next to her. “Two Sam Adams,” she said when the bartender walked over. She picked the first brand she saw that came in a bottle and wasn’t on tap because she wasn’t about to drink out of one of the bar’s glasses. She turned toward the girl while the bartender went to get the beer. She felt Cal close by her side, not touching, but definitely close. “Hey, Lyla. How’s it going?”
“I’m not working,” Lyla said belligerently. “I got every right to be here.”
“Oh, really? You turned twenty-one lately?”
Lyla only scowled harder in response. Rachel took that as a no. The bartender returned with the two bottles, and Rachel tried not to notice how grimy his fingernails were. She dropped a twenty on the counter. “Either of you seen Skunk lately?”
Rachel saw Lyla eying the money, so she fished another bill out of her pocket and set it in front of her. She knew what Lyla had to do to earn twenty dollars. If her own life had taken a few different turns, she might have been standing in Lyla’s shoes right now. On the wrong side of the badge.
“So?” she asked.
The bartender swiped the twenty and put it in his pocket. “He was in here a couple nights ago.”
“Drinking more than usual?” Rachel asked. The bartender wiped the counter with his questionably clean rag, so she dropped another twenty on the counter. Doing off-duty investigating was fucking expensive.
“Maybe. Bought a round for the whole place, and stayed ’til closing.” He shrugged. “That’s all I’ve got,” he said as he walked away to serve another customer.
Rachel resisted the urge to wipe the mouth of her bottle before she took a drink. Cal’s interest in playacting apparently didn’t extend to germ warfare—she used the hem of her gray polo shirt to clean the bottle. Rachel laughed and turned back to Lyla.
“You got anything else for me?”
“Maybe,” Lyla answered. The twenty in front of her had already disappeared.
Rachel pulled out another. She’d have emptied her pockets if she thought the money would help Lyla, but it would only get her drunk or high enough to survive the night.
Lyla took the money and tucked it in the top of her high-heeled boot. “I saw Skunk last night at the Oyster. Drinking pretty good. He even bought me some fancy gin for nothing. I mean…not that I drank it.”
“Of course you didn’t,” Rachel said. She took another swig of her beer and set the bottle on the counter. She pulled out a card and wrote her number on the back. “You ever want out of this game, give me a call. I’ll help. Come on, Cal, let’s go.”
“Bye, Lyla,” Cal said as Rachel tugged her towa
rd the door. “I like your sweater.”
“What was that for?” Rachel asked with a laugh as she held the door open for Cal.
“I was being good cop,” Cal said. “Poor girl. She looked about fourteen.”
“Sixteen. Plenty of cops have tried to help her and the other young ones off the street, but we can only do so much. And I thought good cop was the one doling out money.”
“No. Your voice changed when we were in there, and you sounded very intimidating. Are we going to the Oyster, whatever that is?”
“The Oyster’s Cove. A dive down on the Tideflats. And yes, it’s our next stop.”
Cal climbed in the cab of the truck. Rachel had sounded so sure of herself in the bar, but her concern for Lyla had been clear to see. She could see the tight set of Rachel’s jaw as she drove across the Puyallup River and onto the industrial Tideflats area. Cal looked away. The large cranes used to on- and offload containers from ships were silhouetted against the twilit sky. Massive tanks at the oil refinery appeared only as lurking shadows on the horizon. The normally smoggy and smelly underbelly of Tacoma appeared interesting and mysterious in this light. Cal didn’t expect the next bar to be even as clean as the last one had been. She’d probably need a bucket of hand sanitizer—and not just the hem of her shirt—to make their bottles safe enough to drink from.
Rachel turned off the truck’s headlights as she pulled into the lot of a tiny shack covered with neon beer signs. She squinted through the windshield before she threw the truck into park.
“Stay here,” she ordered before she jumped out of the truck and ran toward the back of the building.
“Leaving so soon, Skunk?”
“Hey, I was goin’ home for the night. Minding my own business.” Rachel had the front of his T-shirt in her hand, pressing him into the wall so he was standing on his toes. He was still at least three inches shorter than she was.