Take Me Back (Paradise, Idaho Book 4)

by Rosalind James

  Travis eyed him. “You’re not just going to leave this here, though, for them to come take again.” It wasn’t really a question.

  “Well, no,” Jim said. “I’m sleeping in the cab for the rest of the night.”

  “Need help?” Luke asked.

  Travis said, “Give me a minute to drop Rochelle back home and pick up a shotgun, and Luke and I’ll hang out in the truck in front of the house.” Rochelle huffed, and Travis looked at her and said, “What? Would you rather I squeaked, ‘Don’t shoot me,’ and used you as a shield?”

  “Well, no,” she conceded. “If you put it that way.”

  “I do put it that way. You might as well get used to it.”

  “Gosh, you’re masterful,” she said, and Luke sighed and said, “Guys.”

  Jim said. “Thanks, but I don’t need help.” He wasn’t bringing civilians to his fight, and if he couldn’t handle two clumsy rent-a-lowlifes by himself, he needed to go into another line of work. “I don’t really expect them to come back. Just say that I’m . . . annoyed.”

  Which he was, he thought when they’d left and he was bedded down as best he could in the front seat with a couple blankets, a pillow, and his shoulder holster, and with Mac safely behind a locked door. This was annoying, and it was alarming.

  He’d have time tomorrow on the drive to think it through and figure out what to do. For now, he was going to make sure that if anyone showed up again, they came back to a nasty surprise in the form of one seriously pissed-off cop.

  His last thought before he fell asleep was Rochelle’s voice asking, “Who robs a cop?” Which was a very good question.

  DEDUCTIONS

  The night passed, and nobody came. It wasn’t the best night Jim had ever spent, but it wasn’t the worst, either. In the morning, he hauled his stuff back to the house, made Saturday-morning pancakes with Mac and dropped her at Anthea’s, and at eight thirty, he was rolling for Spokane and calling his brother.

  “Wha . . . ?” Cole, unlike Jim, didn’t wake easy.

  “I’ve got a question about last night,” Jim said.

  “Huh?” Some rustling that was probably Cole sitting up in bed. “What time is it?”

  “Almost nine. Time to get up.”

  “I’ve got a question myself,” Cole said. “Were you ever actually, you know, young?”

  “I could be grumpy,” Jim conceded. “That tends to happen when you get woken up in the middle of the night by three guys stealing a safe full of guns out of your driveway.”

  “Huh?” The sleepiness was gone. “They’re gone?”

  “Nope. That is, the guns aren’t gone. The guys are.”

  “Oh, man.” Cole’s voice was awed. “You shot them?”

  “What? No. Of course I didn’t shoot them. They ran away.”

  “Oh.”

  “I normally only shoot people who give me a really good reason,” Jim told him. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

  “Those were some sweet guns, though. Isn’t that a good reason?”

  “Nope. They’re property. And how do you know they were sweet guns?”

  “Uh, you told me.”

  “No. I didn’t. I told you there was a good hunting rifle or a Winchester twelve gauge you might want.”

  “Well, somebody else must have told me, then.”

  “Uh-huh.” Jim took a curve, noting automatically that most of the farmers up here had their plowing done, and said, “When would that be?”

  “I was over at Tom Ingeborg’s house last night,” Cole said. “Somebody there was mentioning.”

  “Huh,” Jim said. “Exactly who was mentioning? And who was listening?” He’d pushed ‘Record’ on his phone before making the call, fortunately.

  “Um . . .” Cole said. “You don’t think somebody from over at Tom’s stole them, do you? It was just a bunch of high school guys. I mean, some of them have their licenses, but . . .”

  “No,” Jim said. “I don’t think it was any of them. The guys I saw weren’t sixteen, or eighteen, either. But I think it’s possible somebody told somebody else. In fact, somebody had to have told somebody else. And it wasn’t Luke or Cal, because I asked. They didn’t mention it to anyone but their wives, obviously. And they’re checking, but I seriously doubt that it came up as a topic of conversation for Kayla or Zoe.”

  “Maybe Hallie did.”

  “Maybe.” Jim held on to his patience. “I’ll be asking her, too. This is Police 101, that’s all. You find out what the possibilities are, and you go from there. You tell me there were only two guys there with you last night, and I’ll be thrilled, because it’ll make finding the person who did this a lot easier. But I don’t think there were only two guys there. And finding out matters,” he went on when his brother was silent. “Unless it’s all right with you to have low-life scum in my driveway and Mac on the porch, it matters.”

  He had to unclench his fingers from the steering wheel. That was the real problem. Mac. And Hallie. Maya had called him on the protectiveness more than once, just as Rochelle had done with Travis the night before, but Jim couldn’t help it any more than Travis could. Like he’d told Hallie—he was hardwired.

  “Mac was out there?” Cole asked, finally sounding something other than wary.

  “Yeah,” Jim said grimly. “She was. So come on. Name some names. Give me something to go on.”

  Cole gave him four or five names and said, “That’s who I think was there when we were talking about the guns, but there were other people around.”

  “Who was most interested?” Jim asked. “Who told you they were sweet guns?” he went on when Cole didn’t answer.

  “Uh, this friend of Tom’s brother,” Cole said. “But that doesn’t mean he—”

  “No, it doesn’t,” Jim said. “Tom’s the invisible-hand guy, huh.”

  “Yeah,” Cole said. “His brother’s cool, though. He’s a senior. He’s probably going to Stanford. And their mom’s a professor. I don’t know his friend much, but—”

  “Lower social class doesn’t necessarily correspond to scum level,” Jim said.

  “Huh?”

  “Nothing.” Jim thought about asking where Tom Ingeborg’s professor mother had been during the evening, but he didn’t. He figured he knew the answer, and asking the question would just make Cole clam up again. He was going to have a talk with their own mom, though, and soon. “What time was this?” he asked, instead. “When you were talking about the guns? And did you mention them to anybody before last night?”

  “No,” Cole said. “I know I didn’t say anything before. Because—you know. I didn’t want to say about whose they were.”

  Right, Jim thought. Awkward. Until, maybe, you had a beer or two in you, and bragging seemed like a good idea.

  “What time . . .” Cole went on. “Probably about ten. We were playing a video game, you know, and talking some. They have a sweet rec room.”

  Not much time between ten and two thirty for word to get around, and for somebody to round up two buddies, or two hired hands, from some bar. Anyway, Jim didn’t believe for a second that some senior at Paradise High School was a budding criminal mastermind, Stanford bound or not. He’d check it out, but his gut told him this wasn’t the source.

  “Well, thanks,” he told Cole. “For telling me. That’s helpful.”

  “Is Mac OK?” Cole asked. “Did she get scared?”

  Jim smiled. “In a way. She got mad at me for going after them. But she’s at Anthea’s today. If you wanted to stop by and check in with her—that’d be good. I won’t be back till three or so. You could get her to tell you about it, maybe.”

  “You think that’d help?” Cole asked. “You think she’s got some trauma or something?”

  It was actually a pretty sensitive question. Jim said, “You know—I think she could have. I suppose when you’ve got one parent, you don’t like to see him out in the driveway in his underwear with his weapon drawn.”

  “Seriously?” Cole asked. “You
went after them with your gun, in your underwear?”

  “Yep. Sure did.”

  Cole laughed. “Wicked.”

  And Jim hung up, shook his head, and thought that it was too bad that fifteen-year-old boys so rarely thought with their higher powers.

  But asking about Mac had been a good sign.

  It was three hours before he called Hallie.

  “Hi, Jim,” she said when she picked up, unfortunately sounding not one bit like a woman who wanted to be kissed against his tailgate again. “What does the dealer say? What’s he offering?”

  “Well, you know what,” he said, “I’m all done and on my way home.”

  “What? I thought you were going to call me.”

  “Yeah, well, I walked out to do that, you know, like the car salesmen do, checking with my manager, and you didn’t pick up, so I just pretended I’d talked to you and went for it. I had him wriggling on the hook, and I wanted to net him.”

  “Nice image.”

  “Thanks. I liked it.” He was feeling good.

  “So what did you get for them?” she asked.

  “You know—I’m going to surprise you. Got a money order here for you. I decided that was safest.” He’d kept an eye out behind him on the drive and hadn’t seen a thing, but even so, he hadn’t wanted to walk around with that kind of cash, shoulder holster or no. He sure didn’t want to leave Hallie holding it, not after what had happened the night before. “I’m about an hour out,” he told her. “Want me to swing by the house?”

  A long pause, and she said, “I’m not saying I’m irresistible, but . . . a restaurant might be better. Maybe I could buy you lunch, since you went to all this trouble.”

  “You’re irresistible,” he said. “Unfortunately.”

  “Oh.”

  There was a long pause on the other end, and he finally said, “But you could buy me lunch.”

  “Maybe not in town,” she said. “In case anybody sees us. Since that’s what this is all about. I mean, it’s clearly a perception issue.”

  “A perception issue,” he said slowly.

  “Well, yes,” she said, in what must be her teacher voice. Brisk. Businesslike. “It’s not really about what we do. It’s what we’re perceived to have done. Who’s going to determine whether you and I had a sexual relationship? Somebody who sees us leaving each other’s house at six in the morning, kissing passionately on the front steps. Or catches us—”

  “Having sex on the hood of a Pontiac,” he said. “For example.” Although he’d take passionate kisses on the front steps. Or both.

  “Right,” she said, still businesslike. “That would be a no. And so would drinks on Main Street. Or at your house, or at my house. Your truck can’t be in my driveway all the time, or it doesn’t matter how innocent it is, it’s going to look bad. I appreciate your selling the guns, and I’d still like to pay you a commission, but—”

  He wasn’t feeling good anymore. He was getting downright irritated. “Yeah,” he said. “I got it. And I told you. You don’t have to pay me off. In any way.”

  He heard the soft sigh. “I didn’t say that, and I didn’t mean it.”

  He said, “Sangria Station, over in Marshall, on the highway. One thirty,” and hung up.

  Not exactly worth sleeping in the truck for. Except that he hadn’t been able to do anything else.

  He got to the restaurant first, as he’d known he would. Another thing Maya had taught him. He might not be happy with Hallie, but he wasn’t going to leave her sitting at the table alone.

  The restaurant was across the state line in Washington. A different university, a different crowd, and there was nobody he knew in here. He took a booth in the back, though, just in case.

  He had one eye on the door when Hallie came in wearing a white dress with a skinny belt and cowboy boots with blue roses on them, holding a jean jacket in one hand. He was on his feet without knowing how he’d gotten there. Her curls were bouncing, her eyes were flashing, and she was stalking across the floor like a panther. Like anything but Hallie.

  She stopped in front of the booth and said, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Uh . . .” he said. “Tell you what? You look great, by the way.”

  She made a swatting motion with her hand, and he wished her dress didn’t have tiny little sleeves and that sort of heart-shaped neckline. Or that her breasts didn’t make a heart shape in it, or whatever was going on there. That there wasn’t that heart shape.

  She didn’t sit. She stood there and hung on to the back of the leatherette booth like she was going to launch off of it and said, “Somebody tried to steal those guns last night, and you were out there with your own gun chasing them off, and you didn’t tell me? I didn’t tell you to put yourself in danger for me!”

  He didn’t lose his temper. He controlled situations, they didn’t control him. Except now. “I guess I didn’t get my instructions right, then,” he said, and if it was a growl, who could blame him? “Instead, I decided to follow my training and prevent a burglary that was happening on my property.”

  “You slept in your truck. With your gun.”

  “Yeah. I did.”

  “Why?”

  “Why what?” he asked, so exasperated he could barely talk. Her chest was heaving again, she was all fired up and redhead hot, and he didn’t want to yell at her, he wanted to kiss her. Hard. “Why did I protect my property, and your property? Because that’s my job. That’s my life. And how do you even know about this?”

  “Rochelle Marks called me. Half an hour ago. But she’s not Rochelle Marks anymore. She’s . . . Rochelle something. I’m not up on it.”

  “Rochelle Cochran. Still got a big mouth, though. What’s she telling you that for?”

  “She wanted to say, welcome back. She just happened to tell me how come she knew I was back. She was surprised I didn’t know. And so was I. Why didn’t you call me last night, so I could have . . . I don’t know. So I could’ve guarded my property, if somebody had to do it?”

  He said, “Well, hell,” and ran a hand over the back of his head. “How about we sit down, you buy me a beer, and I tell you why that is the most terrible idea I have ever heard.”

  She gasped, and he said crossly, “And quit that.”

  “Quit what?”

  “That . . . sucking in your breath thing. Next to biting your lip, that’s the thing you do that bugs me the most. And you’re doing it again,” he informed her. “Stop it. Sit down.”

  She sat down with a thump, her pretty mouth still half open, then said, “I take it back. You haven’t changed at all.”

  “The bad boys always get the hot girls, though,” he informed her. He was still mad, but it felt better. “You still buying me a beer? Because one of us is buying me a beer. I earned it.”

  She waved a hand again, shook her head helplessly, and said, “I’m buying you a beer.”

  “Good.” The waitress was headed their way, too. “You want one? Or something else?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Beer. Since you’re telling me what I want.”

  “I’m not telling you what you want. I’m telling you what I want. Except not.” The waitress was there, and he said, “Two Coronas, please. And we’ll hang on to the menus for a minute.”

  She went away again, and Hallie said, “Except what not?”

  “Telling you what I want.”

  “We are not going there,” she said. “Tell me what happened.”

  “Wait. I need my beer first.”

  She scowled at him. “I liked you better when you were being nice.”

  “Nah,” he said. “You didn’t. And for the record, I like you like this a whole lot, even though you’ve got my pulse rate way up there where it shouldn’t be.”

  “You don’t get to choose. Which way I am.”

  “Nope. And neither do you.”

  She had her arms crossed over her chest, and he smiled. “You look just like my daughter last night.” The waitress showed up with t
heir beers and a couple glasses, and he said, “Thanks,” skipped the glass, and waited until Hallie poured hers, then took a sip that tasted pretty good.

  “How did your daughter look last night?” Hallie asked.

  “Like that. With the arms and all. When I went after those guys trying to steal the guns. Which I did,” he added, “carefully and methodically.” Well, except for being in his underwear. “I’m a cop. I was a soldier. It’s my job.”

  “I’m not crazy about it.”

  “Women usually aren’t. Unless they’re cops or soldiers themselves. Or unless they think cops and soldiers are a little hot,” he decided to add.

  “The idea of it, maybe,” she said.

  She took a good sip of beer, then touched her mouth with a napkin, not leaving a mark on it, and he said, “You still don’t wear lipstick much.”

  “I don’t like it.” She was looking belligerent again. “Too bad.”

  “Nah. I like your mouth. Always have. How it’s so pink and soft and . . . uh . . . naked.”

  Her pupils were dilating, he could swear it, because her eyes were darker again, and he could see her swallow. “Well, good,” she said weakly, and took another drink.

  “So tell me about last night.”

  “Let’s order, and then I’ll tell you. I’m not shutting you out,” Jim added when she would have objected again. “It’s a serious deal, and I know it. You distracted me for a little bit there, but I’m ready to get back into it. First, though, I’m going to order some kind of fancy thing with prawns. I’ve got a millionaire buying.”

  They did get serious, unfortunately, once they’d ordered. He’d been right. It was a serious deal.

  “I have to think,” he told her, “that somebody knew about those guns. That was a target of opportunity, sure, but it’s not like anybody could have walked by and seen them. I didn’t tell anybody I was picking them up, and neither did Cal or Luke or their wives. Cole did, though. Did you?”

  “Yes.” She was serious, too. “I told my aunt and uncle, and I told Bob Jenkins.”

  “When?”

  “Wednesday for Dale and Faye, Thursday for Bob.”

  “Anthea says Faye talks.”