by Sandra Brown
Gonzales gave him an I-know-better look.
Dodge said, "All that gossip about me? It's bullshit."
Gonzales pushed aside his empty plate and leaned across the table. "That multiple murder at the strip club last month?"
"What about it?"
"There's nothing to the story that while the detectives were questioning the so-called eyewitnesses, you took the hostess of the club behind the building for a little one-on-one?"
"I was off duty. I just happened by. Got lucky."
"Lucky?" Gonzales scoffed. "I'll say. Within twenty minutes, she'd given up the shooter. You walked the detectives straight to where she told you he'd be hiding. There's no truth to that story?"
Dodge reached for his coffee cup. "I didn't take her behind the building."
"But you got her to give him up."
"Wasn't that hard to do." He grinned. "Not once I'd convinced her that a guy like that was no good for her, that she could do a lot better."
Gonzales was laughing, shaking his head in admiration. "Didn't you say that the solution to most mysteries could be found under a woman's skirt?"
"I never said that."
"You're quoted."
"Locker room talk." But Dodge's sly grin gave away the lie.
They finished their meal, divided the check, and paid out. As they separated outside the restaurant, Gonzales said, "Makes me feel a little better, knowing there's one woman you can't have. That redhead isn't gonna give up a superrich guy, even one who knocks her around now and then, for a street cop. You'll have to live without that one, Dodge."
Gonzales was proven right. When Dodge reported for duty that evening, he learned that Roger Campton had been released from lockdown before noon. His lawyers--plural--threatened a countercharge of police harassment, and Ms. Caroline King had declined to press charges. It was even said by the lawyers that she regretted having involved the police, that it was all an unfortunate misunderstanding, a mountain made of a molehill. Et cetera.
Dodge had figured that was the way it would shake out, but he didn't like it and couldn't leave it at that.
After his shift, he told Gonzales he didn't feel like breakfast and went instead to her house. He was parked at the curb in front of it when she came out to get her morning newspaper. He got out of his car and started up the walk.
"Ms. King?"
She shaded her eyes against the sun and regarded him warily.
"It's Officer Hanley."
She was dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, no shoes. Compared with his size twelves, her feet looked like a child's.
"Oh. Hello. I didn't recognize you without the uniform."
"I just got off duty, thought before I went home, I'd come by, see how you're doing."
"I'm fine."
"You've got a bruise."
She touched the edge of her eye. "Not surprising. My skin is so fair, I bruise if you look at me hard."
"He did more than look at you hard." The statement was out before he could stop it, and he'd sounded tougher and more dangerous than the guy who'd slapped her. But he didn't apologize for what he'd said.
She seemed embarrassed, even apprehensive. "I didn't press charges."
"I know. I checked."
"Roger was mortified by his behavior. He'd had a shouting match with his father and took his residual anger out on me. Both have apologized. Roger has sworn that it'll never happen again. I'm confident it won't."
Dodge wasn't, but he didn't tell her that. "Everything's okay then?"
"Everything's fine."
He stood there, feeling oafish, searching for something to say to prolong the conversation but thinking of nothing.
"I need to..." She gestured behind her toward the front door, which she'd left standing open. "I'll be late for work."
"Oh, sure, sorry. I just came by ... you know, to check on ... things."
"I appreciate the follow-up, Officer Hanley. Truly. Thank you."
"You're welcome."
"Good-bye."
"Bye."
He stood there until she went inside and closed the door.
Dodge and Gonzales were interviewed separately for the task force. Dodge was appointed to it. Gonzales wasn't.
"Hey, Dodge, don't worry about it, man."
"My partner isn't good enough for their task force, they can fuck themselves." His language had been as raw as his mood ever since that morning he'd gone to Caroline King's house and heard from her own lips that everything was hunky-dory between her and Roger Campton.
So rotten was his disposition, people had begun avoiding him. Even Doris, the night-shift clerk at the 7-Eleven, had sensed he wasn't open to bantering about their dancing date. Their recent transactions at the cash register had been uncommonly stilted.
Gonzales, however, seemed immune to his temper. In response to Dodge's opinion of the task force, he said, "Look, partner, I appreciate the level of your loyalty, but don't mess it up for yourself. You wanted on this task force, you got on it. Do yourself, and me, proud."
Dodge continued to grouse and protest, but Gonzales wouldn't hear of him letting the opportunity pass.
"You've got two years of service on me. I'll get my turn," the younger officer said with confidence. "Show 'em what you've got. Kick butt."
He slapped Dodge on the back and was about to walk away when he stopped, snapped his fingers, and turned. "Almost forgot. You see the Sunday paper? Your girlfriend and the rich boy made it official. They're engaged."
CHAPTER 5
PATRONS OF THE PINK AND WHITE TEAROOM PROBABLY DIDN'T drop the f-word that often. Dodge's saying it had shocked Caroline speechless. It didn't used to, but it had been thirty years since she'd been around him. Her ears had grown soft.
He'd used the word specifically to shock her. He was tired of beating around the bush about their daughter's involvement in a shooting, and sometimes shock therapy was the only way to get people to give up information they'd rather not disclose.
"Talk to me, Caroline."
She cleared her throat. "I think, I'm afraid, that Oren Starks meant exactly what he said when he threatened to kill Berry."
"He's not just a goof spouting off?"
"On the contrary, Berry says he's brilliant."
"Brilliant people go crackers all the time," he said. "Get mad, get jealous of competitors, say things they don't mean.
I'm gonna kill you! They rarely follow through, Caroline. If all the people who said, 'I'm gonna--'"
"All right," she snapped. "I see your point."
He waited. She said nothing. He glanced over his shoulder. They were the only two customers left in the tearoom. The server hadn't reappeared since she'd brought their order. Coming back around, he said, "This is the last time I'm asking. What do you know that you haven't told me?"
"Nothing. I swear."
"Okay, then tell me what you suspect."
Her back stiffened. "That's a policeman's word."
"A word that got a defensive reaction from you. Which indicates to me that I hit the nail on the head."
"You're that smart?"
He banged his fist on the table, softly, but with enough force to make the china rattle. "Apparently you think so, or you wouldn't have called me in the middle of the night, asking me to drop everything and haul ass down here, which I was stupid enough to do and am coming to regret."
Her eyes sparked angrily again. He was gifted in ways to make her angry. In a tight voice, she said, "Berry is a lot like me in many ways."
"Dandy. The world can be grateful for that. What's the problem?"
"The problem is..." She hesitated, then said the one thing that she knew would make him stay. "She's even more like you."
Berry was leaning against the wall of the hospital corridor, staring into near space, when out of the corner of her eye she saw Ski Nyland.
He was consulting with a nurse at the central desk. The nurse inclined her head in Berry's direction. He turned and, holding Berry's gaze, absently thanked the nurse a
nd started toward her.
Every time he looked at her, she felt exposed and under scrutiny. What were those razor-sharp gray eyes looking at, looking for? Defensively, she fired the first volley.
When he was within earshot, she asked, "Any progress?"
"Like what?"
"Has Oren been spotted?"
"No, ma'am. At least no spottings have been reported."
She didn't miss his tongue-in-cheek tone, and it annoyed her. "Why do you do that?"
"What?"
"Patronize me."
He didn't deny it. In fact, he seemed about to answer when he changed his mind and motioned at the hospital room's closed door instead. "I'd asked them to notify me as soon as Lofland was moved from recovery into a regular room."
"They just brought him up." She called his attention to the empty metal bracket on the door. "They haven't even had time to get his name card in place."
"Have you talked to him?"
"Not yet. A nurse is helping him to get settled."
"Where's his wife?"
"Her name is Amanda. She's in there, too."
"Let's have a chat."
It wasn't a suggestion or an invitation but an order. However, Berry figured it best not to make an issue of it. He ushered her halfway down the corridor to a small waiting room. As she entered it, she remarked on his familiarity with the hospital.
"My mom was a patient here for a couple of weeks. I catnapped in this room the night she died."
Berry stopped and turned to face him. "I'm sorry," she said, meaning it.
"Thanks."
She looked into his face, expecting elaboration. None was forthcoming. He indicated a love seat that turned out to be as unyielding and uncomfortable as it looked. But it was the largest piece of furniture in the room, and she wondered if it was what he'd napped on that night.
He caught her looking at him speculatively. "What?"
"Nothing."
"You were going to say something."
"Just that ... I'm sad for you."
"Sad?"
"I can't imagine life without my mother in it. Were you and yours close?"
"Yeah. She was great. But she was suffering." He coughed into his fist, an unnecessary, self-conscious gesture. For a moment his eyes lost some of their hard glint, leaving Berry to wonder if there wasn't a feeling human being behind them after all, if there was actually room for sentiment in their narrow gaze. Perhaps he wasn't as tough as he wanted everyone to believe.
He dragged a chair across the low pile carpeting and sat down facing her. When he did, he spread his knees wide to avoid touching hers, causing her to speculate further. Was he just being gentlemanly, or did that purposeful avoidance signify a vulnerability?
Which, of course, was a silly thing to think. He held all the advantages here. Why would he be reluctant to touch her, even accidentally?
He said, "Before I interview Lofland, I wanted to ask you some questions about Oren Starks."
The personal moment had passed, and he was down to business. As he should be. She said, "Mr. Carlisle would insist on being here."
"Call him if you want, but it's unnecessary. What I have to ask you is really background stuff on Starks. His character. Habits. Stuff like that."
Berry deliberated, then said, "All right. I'm happy to answer your questions if I can. I'm sure Ben will be equally cooperative when you talk to him."
"He doesn't have a choice. He's a material witness. I need to hear his version of what happened."
"His version? You think I'm lying?"
He remained unflappable. "I think two people can see the same incident from entirely different perspectives."
"Very diplomatically put, Deputy."
He shrugged. "Lofland may shed new light, give me some ideas as to where Starks might have gone."
"He could be miles from here by now."
"He could. But if he's hurt, he may not be up to traveling. He could be lying low, somewhere in the area, someplace close."
"Someone could be sheltering him."
"Like friends? Family? You tell me, Ms. Malone. Do you know of any?"
"Honestly, no."
"Well, we don't, either," he said. "Houston PD is helping with that angle, and nothing's turned up. He's not working anywhere. Since being fired from Delray, he's been drawing unemployment.
"His only known kin is his mother, who's elderly. She's in a facility for Alzheimer's patients, has been for several years, and she's in the final stages of the disease. For all practical purposes, she's ... gone." He made a gesture to indicate that all the woman's cognition had been wiped clean.
"Neighbors say Starks is a loner. He doesn't host parties. No one remembers friends visiting his house. Asked if he had any outside interests--like a gym membership, an obvious hobby like tennis or golf, church affiliation--neighbors didn't know. Said he kept to himself."
He gave Berry a lazy once-over, the kind of which a woman can't mistake. "You seem to be his only passion." The suggestion underlying his tone was perturbing.
"That's not true. I told you earlier today about some of his passions."
"Right. Puzzles, games, problem solving. According to the officers who searched his house, his home computer had bookmarked several websites relating to that kind of thing. He routinely visits message boards and blogs but never posts on any." Again his eyes flicked over her suggestively. "Anyway, I doubt intricate mazes could hold a candle to you."
"Maybe it's a matter of degree," she said coolly.
"Maybe." A second or two ticked past before he continued. "He's now being sought all over southeast Texas and into Louisiana. We're checking hotels, but I doubt he'd go to one. Usually they require a credit card to check in. None of his has been used since last week. No ATM withdrawals since he took out two hundred dollars three days ago at a branch bank in Houston."
"He would know better than to leave a trail that's so easily followed."
"What I figured," he said, nodding. "But we checked anyway. We're canvassing motels, cabin rentals, like that. What worries me," he said, pulling his eyebrows into a frown, "is that there's a lot of territory around here to hide in."
"You mentioned that this morning."
"If he's holed up in the woods somewhere--"
"The woods?" Berry laughed. "He'd have to be crazy."
"You said he was."
"I said he was unhinged."
"Isn't that the same thing?"
"No."
"What's the difference?"
"Constancy. Crazy is a state of being. Unhinged is a reaction."
"Catching you with Lofland sent him over the edge."
"He didn't 'catch' me with Ben. He caught me in the shower. Alone."
"Right. When I got there, you were still wet." He kept his eyes fixed on hers for several beats before moving on. "You told Sheriff Drummond you'd seen Starks rattled like that only once before. When was that?"
"At the beginning of the summer. Just before I moved to Merritt."
"Starks wigged out on you, and that was the final straw?"
"Exactly. I got scared."
"Do you think he's sinking deeper into psychosis?"
"I have no idea. I'm not a psychiatrist. What I can tell you is that, ordinarily, Oren isn't a raving maniac."
He propped one booted foot on his opposite knee and crossed his arms over his wide chest. "Describe to me what he's like. Ordinarily."
"Well, one thing he's not is an outdoorsman. I can't see him taking cover in a well-protected campground, much less the woods. You can chalk that off your list."
"Okay, where do you think he ran to?"
She bent her head and rubbed her forehead. "I don't know, Deputy Nyland."
"Call me Ski."
She looked across at him but didn't address the topic of names. "Oren's persnickety. Orderly."
"Obsessive-compulsive?"
"Close," she said with an absent nod. "I used to tease him about his desk being the cleanest of any a
t Delray. Everything in its place. His mind works in an orderly fashion, too."
"For instance?"
"For instance, during a discussion over a project, I could jump around from point to point, but Oren wouldn't move from point A to point B until point A had been reviewed, discussed, and approved one hundred percent. He would go back to something a dozen times until it met with his satisfaction."
"What you're telling me is that he'll keep coming back until he gets it right."
"Yes," she said huskily. "Until I'm dead."
"I'll do my best to keep that from happening."
"Thank you."
"You don't have any idea where he might have fled?"
"None."
"Okay." He lowered his foot to the floor and leaned forward. "You've said that Starks made other women employees at Delray uncomfortable, not just you."
"That's right."
Removing a pad and pen from the breast pocket of his sport jacket, he asked if she could name a few. He jotted down the names as she enumerated them. "Sally Buckland in particular," she said. "She resigned from Delray at the beginning of the year. Oren factored largely into her decision."
"You know this for certain?"
"Absolutely. He had a terrible crush on her. She wasn't interested and tried everything to avoid him, but he was persistent. On several occasions she complained to me that he wouldn't take no for an answer."
"No to what?"
"To anything. The situation got so bad, it was beginning to affect her work, so I interceded on her behalf. I told Oren that Sally wasn't interested, that he was wasting his time on her."
"How'd he react?"
She smiled sadly. "He turned his attention to me."
"Was there ever a time when you were interested in him?"
"Romantically? Good Lord, no."
He arched one sun-bleached eyebrow.
"Absolutely not!" She chuckled. "When you see him, you'll understand. He's not at all my type."
"What's your type?"
His question checked her amusement, because the first word that sprang to mind was You. It startled her, rattled her right down to the soles of her feet. Because were it not for the fact that he was investigating a crime involving her, and seemed to harbor some mistrust of her that extended beyond a peace officer's instinctual mistrust of everybody, she would find the deputy sheriff attractive. His imposing bearing, his sheer physicality, even his damn gray eyes, were appealing.