Close To The Edge (Westen #2)

by Ferrell, Suzanne

  Since her parents died so young she’d never been around an elderly person in such an intimate fashion, especially not one so obviously suffering from Alzheimer’s. Emma certainly had her hands full with her mother, sons and a new baby on the way.

  Clint cupped his wife’s face and kissed her. The worry around her eyes softened immediately.

  Bobby swallowed hard. If she could look as happy as these two, she’d gladly trade places with Emma, despite all her responsibilities.

  “So did you get a chance to look at those pictures?” Clint asked, sitting across from Bobby and Gage once more.

  “Not yet.” Gage glanced at his aunt, seated next to him and staring off into space. He opened the file in front of him.

  Emma gasped, Gage muttered a curse and Bobby swallowed hard at the gruesome sight in front of them. The young woman—at least she appeared to be young, she was so thin—had stringy blonde hair. Her left eye, black and blue, was swollen nearly shut and the skin just below it over her cheekbone had a long gash that Clint had stitched closed. When Gage turned to the second picture of the woman’s torso, Emma left the room looking rather green and Bobby turned from studying the images.

  “You have no idea who the bastard is that did this?” Gage asked through nearly clenched teeth.

  “No. I never saw him before this morning. Harriett was at the clinic early to type up files for all the summer baseball physicals we’ve been doing, when the guy knocked on the door. She called me, and as soon as I got there, the guy bolted.” Clint drank his coffee. “Figured I best take care of the girl, then call you.”

  “You know,” Gage spread the pictures out on the table, lightly tapping the full-frontal one. “She looks a little familiar.”

  Clint and Emma, who’d returned looking pale but not so green, leaned in to study the picture.

  “Yeah, I think so, too. But not anyone I can put a name to.” He looked at his wife.

  Emma cocked her head to one side. “It’s the color of her eyes, er…eye,” she said, since only one was open enough to see the iris. “Such an unusual shade.”

  Bobby leaned it to see more. Yep, almost a translucent green.

  “Well, hopefully someone will know who she is.” Gage scooted his chair back, gathered his and Bobby’s breakfast dishes and took them to the sink to rinse.

  Emma looked at her watch. “I need to get Mama over to the center. Libby wanted to do some special memory exercises with her today.”

  “Do they help much?” Bobby couldn’t help but ask, rising from her seat.

  “Actually, for a day or two they do seem to help. Clint is also considering increasing her medication dosage.” She smiled at her husband as he wrapped his arms around her. “We’d like to keep her home with us as long as possible. Once she’s in a care facility, I’m afraid her memory will completely disappear.”

  “We’re hoping she’ll get to see her newest grandchild before that happens.” Clint kissed his wife on her cheek.

  Afraid her envy for their obviously happy relationship was written all over her face, Bobby looked at the pictures on the table once more. “It’s a shame no one knows this girl. She didn’t have any identification on her?”

  Clint shook his head. “No. It’s as if he was through using her and threw her away.”

  “Hold onto this for me,” Gage said, handing Bobby the tape recorder. She slipped it into her black bag as he started to gather up the pictures. His hand was on the last one, when Isabelle placed her hand on top of his, stopping his movements.

  “She looks just like her mother.”

  The foursome grew very quiet, exchanging startled looks with each other.

  “Who looks like her mother, Aunt Isabelle?” Gage asked in a quiet voice, laced with his own anxiousness.

  “Teeny.”

  “Teeny?”

  Isabelle tapped her hand on the photo. “Teeny Miller. Her real name is Tina, but she was always such a little shy thing—not really bigger than a minute, barely came up to the middle of her mama’s chest—that everyone called her Teeny. Her mother used to come to church on Sundays looking like this.” Isabelle tapped the picture of the battered woman and leaned closer as if whispering a secret to them. “Twyla always said she’d hit her face on the door, but we all suspected it was her husband’s fist instead.”

  “So you know Teeny, Mama?” Emma asked.

  “Oh of course, you’d already gone off to college by the time she came to my middle school girls’ classes at church on Sundays. I tried so hard to get her to stay out of trouble, but she just couldn’t seem to stay away from him.”

  “Who?” Gage asked, sitting next to his aunt once more, apparently thrilled to hear some gossip.

  “Oh dear, what was that boy’s name?” Isabelle stared off into space a minute. “Something like dirt. Or dust. No that wasn’t it. Rust! Rusty Davis. That was his name.” She leaned closer to her nephew. “He was a no-good troublemaker, always sneaking out during services to smoke. Teeny couldn’t stay away from him.”

  Gage and Clint exchanged looks. Gage patted Isabelle on the arm. “Do you think Teeny is dating this Rusty fellow still?”

  “Oh yes. Like two peas in a very bad pod they were.”

  “Do you know what he looked like?”

  “Who, dear?” Isabelle’s eyes clouded over once more. Her period of lucidity apparently finished.

  ***

  “Do you think he might be the one who did this?” Bobby asked as she and Gage sat in his truck behind the sheriff’s office. It had taken only a few minutes to travel the four blocks from

  the clinic.

  “I don’t know, but at least I have two names to start searching for information with.” He pulled off the baseball cap, which seemed to be his version of the sheriff’s hat and ran his hands through his blond hair.

  Trying not to remember how her hands had felt doing the same thing in the early morning hours, she closed them into tight fists. Get a grip, girl. Yes, it was the best night of sex you’ve ever had and will probably ever have again, but there are more important things going on here.

  She looked down at the closed file in her lap and the contents it held. How could someone be so cruel to another person? “Do you think this Rusty-the-tweaker has anything to do with Harley’s murder?”

  “I doubt it. I’d think he’d be more likely to be involved in the fire two days ago, if there’d been some evidence of a meth lab. Damn.” He turned to her, complete frustration in his eyes. “Last week I lived in my own version of Mayberry. No big-city crime, no worries. Hell, I even had my own Barney Fife. Now, I wonder what the hell is going on. A fire, a murder, breaking and entering, assault and battery. It’s like I woke up in an episode of The Twilight Zone.”

  She shook her head. “Or The Wizard of Oz.”

  “At least I have my own Dorothy to keep me company.” He reached out a hand to flip her dark hair off her shoulder.

  Their gazes locked and tension sizzled in the air between them. Bobby inhaled air like a deep-sea diver. This whole affair was too intense for her, even after last night. She blinked first. “So what are your plans for today?”

  He studied her for a moment longer, as if he tried to decide whether to let her hide behind all the chaos around them or force her to acknowledge this thing growing between them. He swallowed, his decision made.

  “I think it’s time I found out just what’s going on in this town.”

  “How are you going to start? With the murder, the fire, or finding Rusty?”

  “Good question. I think this morning, I’ll see if I can find Rusty. We’ll have to postpone our trip to the bank a little while.”

  “We?” She perked up at his reference. “Does that mean you’ve changed your mind about me helping?”

  “You and I will go to the bank this afternoon for some answers. While we’re doing that, maybe one or two of my deputies can canvas the foreclosed farms in the area.” He climbed out his side of the truck and she followed suit from he
rs.

  “And this morning?” God, she hated sounding like a hopeful puppy.

  He winked at her and headed for the back door of his office. “You get to unravel some more of Ruby’s secret filing system.”

  “Oh, great. Leave me with the work while you go have fun.”

  Holding the door closed, he drew her up against his hard body and grew serious once more. “You saw what this tweaker did to Teeny. I’m not letting you get within a hundred feet of him, if I find him and until I know he’s out of the violent stage.”

  The intense protectiveness rolling off him shook her to the core and Bobby had to fight to take in another breath. She should be pissed he was taking the big, bad alpha male role with her. For all of her adult life she’d been in charge of what she did and where she went. No one had protected her or tried to take care of her. Now here she was with a man who wouldn’t take no for an answer. Of course he had way more experience than she did with crazy drug addicts.

  “Okay. I’ll stay here.”

  Her acquiescence relaxed him once more. He lowered his head and kissed her. Long, slow and with just enough intensity to make her melt up against him. Slowly he eased his lips from hers, smiling. “Besides, yesterday you found the fire pattern buried in the mess. Who knows what other secrets you’ll find in there.”

  She laughed. “Maybe Ruby has the answers to who shot Kennedy hidden in those files.”

  With a shake of his head, he opened the door and held it for her. “You never know what surprises we’ll find waiting to pounce.”

  ***

  “The shipment’s ready.” Rusty Davis paced behind the cookhouse. He shook his other hand wildly. It felt like he’d been stung by a dozen fire ants. The kind that drove him crazy while living one summer in Florida with Grandma Pen.

  “Did you take care of our little problem?” the man asked. The cold in his voice sounded like death.

  Rusty leaned his head to hold the phone against his shoulder while he scratched at his arm. God, he hated the feeling. He’d just bet bugs were crawling on him. “Yeah, the bitch won’t be talkin’ to no one. Not for a long while.”

  “I told you to get rid of her.”

  “No, man. She’s cool. By the time she comes down and wakes up, she’ll know…” he whirled and paced again. “She won’t say nothin’.”

  “I told you. After this batch, I’m shutting down shop for a while. No loose ends.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I got it.” He glanced around to see if anyone was watching. Someone was always watching. He’d just bet the cops wanted to know where he was cooking the meth. But he was smart. Smarter than the law. Smarter than Teeny. Hell, he was smarter than the Man. Of course he’d never say that out loud.

  “Meet me at the usual place in one hour. Bring half the latest shipment.”

  “Sure thing. I’ll be there.”

  “And Rusty, make sure no one follows you.”

  The warning had him looking over his shoulders again. The man knew he wouldn’t let anyone follow him. He was so good at hiding, he was invisible. But he’d made sure this time. No one was gonna find his cookhouse.

  He laughed, the shrill sound hurting his own ears. Yeah, anyone looking here was in for a big surprise.

  Chapter Eleven

  By eleven that morning, Bobby wanted to take all the files and set them on fire, toss in the phone and quite possibly Cleetus, since she felt guilty wanting to throw the injured Ruby onto the pyre.

  With a sigh she glanced down at the shiny deputy’s badge Gage had pinned on her chest before leaving on his “tweaker” hunt. She guessed starting a deadly fire wasn’t in her official duties now.

  So far she and Cleetus had worked their way through traffic offenses, stolen vehicles and DUI. Drunk driving had several thick files going back to the mid-fifties. Seemed it was a popular past time with the local teens then and now.

  They’d also managed to get the assault and battery cases into the computer. Most of these were found under marital problems. Sadly, Ruby had filed them correctly. Why was it men felt the need to take out their frustration on the women they were supposed to protect?

  Bobby glanced at the folder on Gage’s desk. She had to admit, in a few of the cases the woman had been the instigator. Stretching her arms over her head, she arched her back to loosen the muscles.

  She didn’t understand people. Why did they try to destroy the ones they loved? Didn’t they realize how fragile life was? How unsure the future? One man’s senseless drunk driving and her parents’ lives had ended, the marriage they’d worked so hard to keep together gone, and three daughters left to pick up the pieces.

  “You done with that file, Miz Bobby?”

  Cleetus looked up from the computer screen he’d slowly begun to master today. The man’s gentle nature, so at odds with his choice of profession, amazed her. It was an oddity that seemed to fit in this small town. She handed him the manila folder. “One more to cross off our list.”

  The office phone rang on the dispatcher’s desk. Cleetus started to rise from his spot, but she stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll get it, Cleetus. You’re in a groove on that computer.”

  “Westen Township’s Sheriff’s office, how may I help you?”

  “I need to speak with Gage, right now,” the clipped feminine voice demanded.

  “I’m sorry, Sheriff Justice isn’t in right now,” Bobby couldn’t help saying with just a little extra sweetness.

  “Look, I’ve been trying to get the bastard on the phone for two weeks. You put him on right now.” The woman’s anger slashed across the phone lines.

  Like hell I will.

  “The sheriff is currently out of the office, but if you’d like to leave a message, I’ll be sure he gets it.” When snow falls in July.

  The woman growled into the phone and Bobby considered slamming down the receiver. Instead, she patiently counted to ten and waited for the rude woman to make her decision.

  “Okay. I’ll leave a message,” the condescending words almost dripped through the phone. “You tell my husband to call me as soon as he gets back. You tell him it’s urgent. You tell him his wife needs him.”

  Before she could reply the woman disconnected. Bobby held the receiver a moment, staring at it.

  Wife?

  Slowly, she replaced the phone into the cradle. She turned to the only source of information she had available. “Cleetus? How many times has Gage been married?”

  “That’d be once, ma’am,” he said, not looking up from typing on the keyboard.

  She dragged a chair over and sat across the desk from the deputy. “Aren’t they divorced?”

  “Yes, ma’am, but the sheriff, he don’t talk about it too much.”

  Bobby rested one elbow on the desk and braced her hand in her chin. “Do you know what happened?”

  “I don’t think he’d mind you knowin’.” Cleetus stopped his typing and leaned back in the chair. “The sheriff, Gage’s daddy, he was so excited when Gage got married. Said he was finally gonna have some grandbabies. But Gage and his wife only came to visit once. When he left the sheriff was sad as a hound dog on a short leash. Said Gage had married one cold fish. That she wanted to keep her job with DA’s office in Columbus. He doubted there’d ever be babies and Gage was headed for a lot of heartache. The sheriff was right, all right.”

  “So? What happened?” she gently prodded.

  “One night the sheriff gets a call that Gage was shot and in surgery over in Columbus. When he and I got there Gage was barely hanging on in that ICU. I only went in once to see him. All them tubes and monitors beeping.” Cleetus shuddered. “Made me real nervous. But the sheriff, he never left his son’s side. Not ’till the docs said he was gonna live.

  “Funny thing, that wife, Moira,” Cleetus turned hard, angry eyes toward her and Bobby was very glad she wasn’t Moira. “That woman never once came to see Gage or his daddy.”

  Oh my, God! What kind of bitch had Gage married? “Never once?”


  Cleetus nodded. “Worse. Seems Gage was undercover on a drug case when he was shot. He’d been home a few days earlier and told his wife a big bust was comin’ down. Guess she wanted to be the one to get credit to impress her boss, so she had this PI followin’ Gage. That’s how the drug dealers knew he was a cop and tried to kill him.”

  Oh God. No wonder he’d treated her so badly when he found out she was a PI. Poor Gage. Betrayed by the one person in the world who should’ve put his safety above everything else.

  Pain struck Bobby as sure as if she’d been the one shot.

  ***

  Gage cursed and slammed his hand against the rusted slats of the nearly dilapidated mobile home in the back corner of the third trailer park in the county’s northeast corner. All morning he’d been chasing the elusive Rusty Davis from one sketchy lead to another, until finally someone remembered he liked to hole up here.

  And once he got here. Nothing. No Rusty. No meth lab. Nada. Just a trashed-out trailer a hazmat unit should destroy. With his luck somewhere in this mess was a clue to where Rusty might be, or who his meth dealer was. Which meant he, or one of his men needed, to sift through the trailer’s contents.

  He glanced at his watch. Nearly noon. Great. By the time he got back to town the bank’s officers would be at lunch. Time to call in the reinforcements. He flipped open his cell and dialed the station.

  “Westen Township’s Sheriff’s office. How may I help you?”

  Bobby’s voice, sounding just a little too sweet, sent desire sizzling through him. A rush of relief mixed with it. If she was on the phone, she was safe.

  Damn. What was wrong with him? He’d assumed that once he’d had sex with her, her nearness wouldn’t affect him so much. But it just seemed to get worse, like a growing addiction.

  “What are you doing answering the phones?” he asked, a little too harsh.

  “Good morning to you, too,” she replied and he just bet she had that sarcastic little grin on her lips. The one that made him want to grab her and kiss it gone.

  Oh yeah. He had it bad. He gritted his teeth as he sat in his truck. “Find anything in those files?”