“I mean, how drunk were you, exactly, to stuff a used condom back in your pocket? Were there no trashcans in Hot Sex Land? Were you hoping to use it again? Because I have to tell you, that’s highly ineffective. Not to mention a little gross. Of course, not quite as gross as seeing it stuck to your cell phone. Now I’ll have that image in my head every time I call you, thanks very much. But just for the record, way to be bold and exciting. I had no idea you were the colored condom type.”
He’d had no choice. They’d been the last available box at the drugstore.
Apparently the pharmacist had miscalculated demand, or there’d been a full moon when he wasn’t looking. Maybe something in the water.
“Do they come in a rainbow assortment,” Kim asked, “like, you know, today I’m in the mood for Do Me Blue? Or are they all that shockingly red? Were they flavored?”
The door, thank God, opened at that exact minute.
It was Josh Harding, bearing his composite, which he’d already transformed into a box full of flyers. “Sorry to interrupt.” He jostled the box to get a better grip. “But we’re a little short on manpower at the moment, and I was wondering if I could press you into service.”
Clay looked at Kim, who nodded and shut down her computer. “We’ll be happy to help.” He stood, stretched his legs. “Do you have a list of addresses for the establishments you want us to visit?”
“Right here,” Josh said, using his knee to balance the box while he procured the list. “A few post offices, several mail box places and a list of grocery stores and restaurants. I figured the guy has to eat.”
“Right,” Clay said, finally finding a companionable smile for the deputy. There was a busy brain behind the pretty face.
Then he took a sizable stack of flyers, and he and Kim went to work.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
JOSH Harding carried a flyer into the Main Street Diner, sweating through his second uniform shirt of the day. It was ninety-two degrees, so humid the air was like syrup, and he was starting to smell almost as bad as Agent Copeland.
But at least he didn’t reek of having had one too many the night before, and then somehow fallen into a field of pansies.
It was petty, he knew, because Copeland honestly seemed like a good guy. But Josh had overheard part of the two FBI agents’ conversation, and the fact that the pansy field Copeland had fallen into the night before had involved Tate Hennessey and the use of a condom… well, it was okay to be bitterly pleased that the guy smelled bad.
Lucky bastard.
What kind of a name was Clay, anyway? It was like calling your kid Dirt.
Or… Sediment.
Mud.
Feeling marginally better, Josh scanned the restaurant, locating Sally Huggins – who’d worked at the diner since the dawn of time – and put on his cop face as he strode over. As Sally insisted on reminding him, she’d known him since he was in diapers, which meant she tended not to take him seriously.
His baby face was a definite liability in his line of work, but damn if he could help it. Unlike Copeland, who’d started to look ragged around the edges by twelve o’clock, Josh was cursed with appearing terminally clean shaven. And his hair – he didn’t even have to arrange it. It just did that thing all on its own. And so what if he preferred to smell good? People thought he was obsessed with his appearance, and cultivated that teen idol image, but oh, if they only knew.
“Hello Mrs. Huggins,” Josh said sternly, trying to set the stage for a serious discussion.
But apparently he’d only managed to look adorable, because Sally smiled and reached across the counter to pinch his cheek. “Joshua, honey, how are you? You want to sit down here and have a little pie? Lordy, baby, your cheeks are all red. Why don’t I get you a glass of tea while you get out of this heat. Or would you rather have one of them grape sodas? They always were your favorite.”
So much for Sally taking him seriously.
“Actually, I’m here in an official capacity.” He placed the flyer on the counter.
A group of teens came in, momentarily distracting Sally, and she waved to them to let them know she’d seen them. They wandered down to the opposite end of the bar and took up residence on several stools, their cargo shorts dropping so low on their hips that they verged on indecent exposure.
“Be with you in a minute, boys,” she called out. Then she turned to Josh with a frown. “Hooligans,” she told him in an undertone. “These young ones nowadays don’t know from respect.”
Josh eyeballed the pack of young boys, thinking that they were probably more mischief than trouble. But if they were giving Sally a hard time, he wanted to know it. “Any problems I need to take care of?”
“Don’t you worry yourself, honey.” She patted his hand. “T’aint nothing old Sally can’t handle. Just the usual shenanigans – loitering, stirring up the other customers, but there’s no reason for you to be worried.”
Josh shifted, placing his booted foot on the rail. “Well you just say the word, Mrs. Huggins.”
“Thank you, baby. Now tell me your official business.”
Josh handed her the flyer, the one showing their perp as Tate described him. This diner was right in the heart of the target area, which should fit Copeland’s theory exactly. Of course that was assuming he wasn’t too hung over to know what the hell he was talking about.
“I was just wondering if you might remember this man,” he asked, “there’s a chance he may have come in here.”
Sally pulled her glasses up from the chain around her neck, perching them on the tip of her nose. “Not that I can recall. Unless it was one of my off days. What’s he done, son? Robbed a bank or something?”
If only. “You know I’m not at liberty to say, Mrs. Huggins. Let’s just call him a person of interest.”
Sally gave the flyer another, more thorough, once over. “Sorry, Joshua. You know I’ve got a memory like an elephant, but I can’t say as I recall this one.”
Josh pulled out the second flyer, the one showing the man as an albino. “Do you by chance recall seeing this man?”
Glasses in place, Sally studied the flyer a moment. And a moment was all that it took before excitement had her hands fluttering. “I certainly do!” Her exclamation caused several customers to turn in their seats. “He was in here, oh, must have been a few days back. Almost got in a fight with those boys over yonder.” She flicked a hand toward the teens.
Josh’s boot slipped off the foot rail as he straightened in disbelief. Holy crap. Copeland had been on the money.
“They was calling him names, and snickering, being disrespectful, just like I said. Man can’t help the face God gave him, I always say.” She tapped her finger on the flyer. “Well this one, he was having none of that. He would have torn a strip off their hides, if not for his buddy.”
Josh’s heart beat double time. “His buddy?” he prompted.
“Yes’sum. A real swell-looking blond fellow. Bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. Well, exceptin’ for yours, honey.”
Josh ignored that and grabbed Sally’s fingers. “If I came in here with my sketch pad, or you came down to the station, do you think you’d be able to describe what he looked like?” He knew the diner didn’t have a security camera.
“I’m sure I could. But if you want another opinion, you should ask Ted.” She gestured toward the long-haired teen currently demonstrating his spit-wad shooting prowess. “He got a real good look at that other man. Made Ted just about run right out the door.”
CLAY’S cell phone jangled, and Kim smirked as he slid it from his pocket.
He supposed every time the phone rang from now on he’d have visions of red condoms dancing in his head like so many X-rated sugarplums.
Pausing under the meager shade of a large oleander, Clay wiped the trickle of sweat that slipped down his neck. “Copeland,” he said on a sigh.
“You were right,” an excited voice gushed. “Holy crap, you were totally right.”
It took him a
moment to place the voice as Harding’s, another to translate what he meant. “You had some luck?” he hazarded a guess. Damn, but it was hot.
“The albino composite did it. I showed it at a local diner, and some people there remember seeing our perp. He almost got in a fight with a group of kids, just like you said he’d be inclined to. And the really spectacular part of this is that they also remember the man he was with. I’ve got at least two witnesses who can help with a composite. I thought you and Agent O’Connell might like to interview them, so they can tell you what they remember.”
Well holy crap, Joshua. That was indeed exciting news. Clay hadn’t expected it so soon.
“We might have a visual on the albino’s partner,” he told Kim, hand covering the phone’s receiver.
Kim made the facial equivalent of holy crap, giving him two thumbs up.
“Okay,” he told Josh. “Agent O’Connell and I are on our way to the station. Are you in route with the witnesses?”
“My ETA is about twenty minutes. I’ll meet you there.”
“Right. See you then. And Harding?” he said before hanging up. “Nice work.”
IT was late when they finished the interviews, after factoring in waiting around for Spitball Ted’s parents and sitting through an endless litany of Sally Huggins’ stories.
Josh Harding had apparently been an adorable, well-mannered child.
Who would have guessed?
Clay dropped Kim at her hotel room, and felt like a shit as he considered dialing Tate for the umpteenth time.
He’d called once, at six o’clock, to say he was still working.
And again, at seven, to say the same.
He knew that Max couldn’t wait forever to eat, so at eight he’d told her to go ahead and feed him. Twenty-four hours into their official relationship, and he was already destined to disappoint her. He should probably just head back to Justin’s and spare them both the pain of facing that awkward truth. She’d tell him that it was really no problem, but there would be hurt and a little resentment in her eyes. She’d probably pout.
Withhold sex.
Send off all those behavioral clues women used to indicate you’d displeased them.
He’d apologize again – although he already had, profusely – and then feel defensive and slightly hunted that he’d been required to do so.
The whole situation was just a disaster waiting to happen.
Nevertheless, he pulled into the parking lot behind the B&B. Luckily, he’d had the foresight this time to bring a change of clothing, just in case Tate let him spend the night. And provided he decided to stay.
Who was he kidding?
The second she blinked at him he’d fall headfirst into her bed.
Disaster or not, he just couldn’t seem to keep this from happening.
Gathering up his duffle, he locked his Glock in the glove box and set the alarm before heading inside, as curious little boys and weapons did not a good mix make.
He wondered if the little guy was sleeping. It had to be past his bedtime. Feeling a rush of disappointment for that missed fast food dinner, he climbed the step to the back stoop and knocked gently, hoping Tate would hear him.
A few moments later, the door swung open, and he was enveloped in sweet-smelling female. Peaches, he thought, unable to stop himself from burying his face in her hair. And when she took his hand, pulling him inside, he waited for the recriminations.
“You must be totally starving. And I know you have to be exhausted from working so late. I take it things went well today?”
“We had a good lead come in,” he told her, listening for the other shoe to drop. For the hints that she’d grown tired of waiting, that she was upset with him for letting down Max.
“That’s great,” she told him instead, squeezing his fingers in her soft hand. “Any word yet on locating Casey?”
“Nothing positive. But we’re a good bit closer to identifying her abductor. The composite really helped.”
In fact, if it hadn’t been for Tate, this entire investigation wouldn’t be happening. If she hadn’t seen that man talking to Casey, the girl’s disappearance wouldn’t have been given the attention it deserved, and he never would have put the observations he’d made earlier that day into use.
“I’m so glad,” Tate said genuinely, “that I could help.”
The smell hit him as they entered the kitchen – cookies, fresh-baked – and even as his mouth watered he caught sight of an obviously sleepy Max. The little boy glanced up from the truck book he’d been studying and smiled brilliantly when he discovered Clay.
“Mr. Clay!” And then suddenly he was around Clay’s legs. “Mommy made you dinner, and I helped mash the potatoes, and I baked cookies for you all by myself. Well… Mommy took them out of the oven, but I got to scoop the dough onto the cookie sheet, and I didn’t even drop any. And I saved the biggest one for you, ‘cause you’re the biggest, even though that one had the most chips. And I’ve just got to put my fingers over my nose because your pants really stink.”
Laughing, charmed, utterly taken aback, Clay sank down to Max’s level. Bright green eyes blinked at him over small fingers, and Max grinned from behind his hand.
If there was a man in the world who could resist that face, his name certainly wasn’t Clay Copeland.
“Thank you for making me dinner. And for saving me the biggest cookie.” He reached out, stroked Max’s hair. “I’m sorry I got here so late. Maybe we can do McDonald’s another time.”
“That’s okay,” Max said diplomatically. Though he kept his hand in place. “Mommy said that we could have just as much fun making dinner at home, and she was right, ‘cause I love making chocolate chip cookies. And it was even more fun making them for you.”
Clay looked from the child to the mother. Felt love settle, just settle, more comfortably than he could have believed. This, he realized, was what it was all about. It was why people put forth every effort to make relationships stick.
It was why perfectly reasonable men did completely insane things like go and fall in love on their vacations.
Sighing, ridiculously content, he straightened and held out his hand. Max slapped it in their now customary manly exchange. “Do you think you could show me to the shower, my good man, so that I can get rid of these really stinky pants? I don’t think your mama would appreciate it much if I came to the dinner table smelling like a brewery.”
“Moms are funny that way,” Max said philosophically, which had Clay fighting not to laugh. Then he took Clay’s hand and headed toward the back stairs. “I’ll show you where the shower is, so that she won’t get mad and make you eat mushrooms.”
So Clay showered, changed his clothes, and ate a delicious if reheated dinner that showed absolutely no trace of mushrooms.
Later, after he’d put Max to sleep with a story, and he and Tate shared a bedtime ritual of a different nature and lay tangled together beneath her sheets, Clay realized the other shoe was still on.
And about that, he felt they should talk.
“Tate,” he whispered softly, stroking the arm draped over his chest.
“Hmm?” She stirred, shifted.
“I just thought that you should know… I mean, I’d like you to be aware… that what happened tonight is par for the course. My job is very demanding. It makes it difficult to have a life. Especially one with commitments.”
Tate made the effort to open her eyes. “Are you saying that this is just about sex?”
“No.” Offended dignity made him stiffen. “If this was just about sex I wouldn’t have…” Stopping that train of thought before it quickly derailed, he shook his head in consternation. “That’s not what I was trying to say.”
She waited a beat. “Are you setting up an out?”
“A what?” Clay’s tone held suspicion.
“An out,” she repeated. “You know, like when they put that little disclaimer on the packages of cigarettes portending that smoking may be hazardous to yo
ur health? Then they market the hell out of them anyway, and fall back on their disclaimer when the entire population comes down with lung cancer. We told you these things were no good for you. It’s like a ‘Get out of Morality Jail Free’ card. They don’t have to feel guilty when things go into the crapper, because they’ve already established their ready-made excuse.”
She leaned up to study his face. “So I was wondering if that was what you were doing. Protecting yourself from future guilt by warning me ahead of time. I didn’t mean to hurt you, Tate. My job made me do it.”
“I’m not…” He started to protest, but then blinked at her, looking chagrinned. “I know that’s how it sounds, but I promise not to use my job as a fallback excuse for a lousy relationship.”
“Good.” Tate snuggled in again. “I know your job is demanding. Believe it or not, mine is, too. Not just running the inn, but being a mother. And I can’t promise that I’ll always be perfectly understanding, just as you can’t promise you will be either. It’s difficult, in a new relationship, when there are three people to consider instead of two. Any relationship is going to be work, and ours might present some bigger challenges than most. You might get irritated when Max comes down with the flu, and I have to cancel our dinner plans. Or worse yet, when you come down with the flu because Max sneezed all over your coffee. I might get irritated when you have to fly off to Nebraska instead of us going camping for the weekend. It will be hard as hell to only see you if and when your schedule allows. But unless I’ve read the situation wrong and have made a lot of erroneous assumptions, those are just some of the issues we’ll have to deal with, as part of the regular program.”
The hand stroking his chest went still. “I’m willing to deal with them as they come along. Are you?”
Blown away by her perspicacity, by her firm grasp on the situation, Clay lay there for another moment, too stunned to speak. She’d shocked the hell out of him tonight. Sweet as she was, Tate Hennessey was no man’s fool – not any more. And he’d do well to remember that in the future.
A future, he realized, that they both saw happening together.
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