by Terry Odell
“Anything on Chief McClusky?”
“Still digging. His surface finances check out, commensurate with his salary.”
“Below the surface?”
“Working on it. But I’d bet the next round of beer that he’s got a nice secondary income source. I’ll get back to you.”
“Thanks, Zeke. Keep digging.” He pressed the end call button and dashed for the house. He flung the door open. “Sanderson. What do you know about drugs? Meth in particular.”
Sanderson bolted upright on the couch, rubbing his eyes. He grunted something. “Guess I dozed off.” He jumped to his feet, apparently remembering. “Did you find Nancy?”
“Drugs, Sanderson. What do you know about them?”
“I’m not on drugs. And I don’t deal. What are you talking about?”
“Scuttlebutt has it that Patterson’s been investing in companies that could have ties to meth production.”
“Meth?” Sanderson said. “Of course, there’s a lot of poverty here, and I’m not going to pretend drug use isn’t going on, but meth usually comes across the border already made. Why would Patterson be manufacturing it?”
“I didn’t say he was. It’s one more thing to look at. The border’s been beefed up. Harder to get the drugs across. Back in San Francisco, they’re paying indigents to go from store to store, buying allergy meds. You see anything like that here?”
Sanderson shook his head. “I can’t see that working. Most of the people go to the free clinics. There are only two or three places in town where they could buy meds, and they wouldn’t be driving to another town. Most of them don’t have cars. In season, they’re bussed to the fields and brought home at the end of the day.” He drew his hands across his face. “These are poor people, but from what I can see, most of them are trying to make an honest wage. If they were doing anything else, why bother picking? And what could this have to do with Nancy?”
“Beats me.” He stifled a yawn. “I worked all day, and we’ve been driving since this afternoon. I’m going to crash for half an hour. Zeke’ll call if he finds anything. Why don’t you try to get some sleep?”
“I couldn’t.” He walked around the desk, straightened books on a shelf, moved the desk lamp so it was perfectly centered.
Dalton recognized the symptoms of helplessness. “You’re no good to anyone if you’re exhausted. Grab a shower. Go lie down. I’ll take the couch.”
Sanderson hesitated.
“Trust me. This is what I do, Sanderson. Go. I’ll wake you if I hear anything.”
“I guess a shower would be good.” He gave a weak laugh. “I’m probably rank.”
Experience told him Sanderson willingly relinquished control. Let someone else be in charge. Which also meant someone else could take the blame if things hit the fan. Sanderson trudged out of the room. Dalton clenched his jaw. Nothing would hit the fan. Not on his watch.
He headed for the couch and a combat nap. As he lay down, he remembered his fourteen hour journey through oblivion at Miri’s. Not this time. Setting his internal clock for thirty minutes, he closed his eyes and sank into immediate sleep.
Headlights jerked him awake. A glance at his watch told him he’d been out twelve minutes. It would have to do. He got to his feet and crossed to the window. Sanderson’s Escalade drove into the carport. Exhaustion and stress couldn’t keep the smile from his lips as he went to greet Miri.
The kitchen door flew open and she stomped inside. “Any news on Nancy?”
“Not yet,” he said, holding her by the shoulders. “Is there any chance—any remote chance at all—that Nancy would be involved with drugs?”
Miri stiffened and pulled away, eyes flashing. “Nancy use drugs? Absolutely not.”
“Whoa, darlin’. Calm down. That’s not what I meant. Would she be trying to work against drugs if she found people using them?”
She sank onto one of the kitchen chairs. He stepped behind her and massaged her neck.
“God, that feels good,” she said, dropping her head. He moved his fingers outward, kneading the taut muscles. She whimpered. “This isn’t what we were supposed to be doing tonight, is it?”
No, damn it, it wasn’t. He bent and kissed her neck. “Life happens, darlin’.”
She spun around in the chair. “It sure does. Nancy and drugs? After all the anti-drug lectures she gave me as a kid? Yeah, she’d take it upon herself to do something. In a heartbeat. You think that’s why she’s missing?” Concern clouded her features.
“It’s all we have to go on. If someone wanted her because she’s rich, they’d have been in touch.”
“So, what do we do?” She craned her neck toward the doorway. “Hunt’s got to have ideas.”
“Wait a minute.” He pulled a chair around and straddled it. “There’s another angle we haven’t considered.”
“What angle?”
He lowered his voice. “What if this is connected to Nancy’s past? Could she have any secrets that might be valuable to someone?”
“I don’t see how. We were anything but valuable.”
“Hunt doesn’t know about your pasts?”
“Not unless Nancy said something in the last week. I know she felt guilty about not confiding in Hunt, but she always thought if his family knew, the consequences would be worse than the guilt.”
“I need you to tell me.” He braced himself for her indignant refusal.
“You won’t tell Hunt?”
Taken aback by her response, he rewound his planned counterargument. “No. That would be your call.”
“No, it’s Nancy’s call.” She glanced toward the doorway again, then stood. “Let’s go outside.”
He followed her to the sycamore tree, more determined than ever to find her sister. That she’d confide such a well-guarded secret reinforced how frightened she must be. She sat on the ground, leaning against the tree. He lowered himself to her side, curling her into him. The half-full moon cast silver shadows as a breeze ruffled leaves under the clear night sky.
“Her name was Rayna. Another Star Trek name.” She picked up a twig and toyed with the dirt beneath the tree. “Rayna was the robot woman from ‘Requiem for Methuselah’, if you remember your Trek. Kirk fell in love with her.”
“I remember. The Roman soldier who couldn’t die. Keep going.”
“We were born in a little town about fifty miles from New Orleans. Belle Vista. I already told you what our childhood was like. After Dad went to prison, Mom moved us to New Orleans and things went from lousy to miserable. Nance and I survived. When we moved to California, Nancy changed her name from Rayna Kozwalski to Nancy Crater.”
He tried to make the connection, but couldn’t. “Another Star Trek episode?”
She nodded against his chest. “ ‘Man Trap’. The first episode ever aired. Nancy was this creature who could change her appearance and be what people expected.”
“Right. The salt monster.” He smiled as he recalled the creature’s grotesque appearance and compared it with Nancy’s sleek good looks.
“Yeah. Nancy liked the chameleon idea. I wanted to keep Miri, but I took Chambers as a last name. Nancy thought it would be better not to be sisters on paper.”
“You’re losing me. Are you hiding your relationship to Nancy?”
“Not exactly. Anybody asks, we say we had different fathers.”
“Okay. One last thing.” He snuggled her closer, enjoying her softness. “Aside from wanting to get a fresh start, was Nancy hiding something—anything else—as Rayna?”
Miri ran her fingers over his knee. “I can’t think of anything special. Our whole lives were about hiding in those days. We were poor, we broke some laws, but nothing on a grand scale. We wanted to eat, not get rich.”
“Could revenge be a motive?”
“Revenge? I can’t imagine anyone being pissed enough to track us down over the loss of a few bucks or a watch. Not after all these years.”
“All right.” He stood, helping her up. “I’
m going to see what Zeke can do with this information.”
She stiffened, then slumped. “I suppose you have to.”
“He’ll be discreet, and nobody’s going to find out what he knows except me.”
She blinked those golden-brown eyes, and in the moonlight, fear shimmered from their depths.
“It’ll be fine, darlin’.” He embraced her, tipping her face up and lowering his. His lips brushed her forehead. She wrapped her arms around him, her heart pounding. Her soft breasts pressed against his chest. The pre-op rush and the warm female curves in his embrace undid him. With a subdued groan, he cradled her face, pressing his mouth to hers. He slid the tip of his tongue across her lower lip. Her lips parted, accepting him. She returned his gentleness with an urgent need. He allowed the kiss to deepen, matching her urgency with his. Too soon, he pulled away, running the tip of his finger across her mouth where his lips had been.
“Go get your brother-in-law.”
Chapter 25
Miri didn’t bother knocking on Hunt’s bedroom door before opening it. She found him sprawled on his belly on top of the bedcovers, a towel beside his naked body, the lamp on. She stopped. Turned away. Cleared her throat. For an instant, she regretted waking him, thinking this was probably the first time he’d rested since he discovered Nancy was missing. But only for an instant. He might hold the key to finding her.
“Hunt. Wake up.” She hovered in the doorway.
“Huh?” He jerked awake, blinking against the lamplight. “You found her?” He raised himself to his elbows.
“No. Dalton thinks there’s a drug connection.”
“Nancy doesn’t do drugs.” He fumbled for the towel. She averted her eyes while he wrapped it around his hips.
“I know. That’s not it. Dalton’s checking with his people. Get dressed and come out to the living room.” She backed toward the door.
“Wear something black,” Dalton called from the other room.
“What?” Hunt said. He scrubbed his hands over his face.
“Black,” Dalton repeated. “Harder to see in the dark.”
“Got it,” Hunt said, not questioning Dalton’s request.
At Dalton’s touch, she spun around. “Do you always have to sneak up on people?” Behind her, the door closed.
“You have anything black with you?” he asked, ignoring her retort.
She thought through what she’d stuck in her bag and shook her head. “No. Jeans and some tops. I think there’s a dark green one.”
“Black is better. Can you borrow something?” He pushed past her, tapping on the door before thrusting it open.
Hunt wore black denims and was slipping a long-sleeved black jersey over his head. She stepped into the room. “Hunt, I’m going to raid Nancy’s wardrobe, okay?”
He pointed her to a small walk-in closet. She pulled a pair of black jeans off a hanger. In the dresser, she found an assortment of shirts in basic black. She selected a long-sleeved silk turtleneck and a heavier polo. She held them both up for Dalton’s approval.
“Layer them,” he said, then disappeared.
She gathered everything into the bathroom and got ready. For what? Her sister was missing, there was something going on with drugs, and she was going out at two in the morning because a man she’d known barely two weeks said so. She splashed her face with cold water and scrubbed it dry with one of Nancy’s ultra-plush face towels.
Exhilaration erased any tiredness from her body. She should be afraid. Shaking, not tingling. Why?
The face in the mirror smiled. Because Dalton won’t let anything happen to you.
A ridiculous assumption, but logic did nothing to wipe away the grin. Their kiss under the tree cemented her confidence that Dalton would make things right.
Dressed, she gave her reflection a quick salute and went to find the men.
Dalton stood in the living room wearing dark camouflage-patterned cargo pants and a matching shirt. He gave her a succinct once-over. “You have any black shoe-polish?” he asked Hunt.
Visions of smearing black goo over her face almost made her laugh. “Are we playing soldier?” She put her fingers to her cheeks.
Dalton pointed at her sneakers. “For your shoes.”
He’d changed from sneakers to black boots, she noticed.
“I’ll get it,” Hunt said. “Anything else?”
“You need something to cover your hair. Watch cap would be fine.”
She noticed Hunt’s blond hair, suddenly aware that it glistened in the low illumination of the living room lamp. She sobered. This wasn’t a game.
Hunt left, then came back with a roll-on bottle of black shoe polish. She set to painting it over her scuffed but clearly white sneakers. No biggie. Almost time for a new pair anyway.
“No cap here—we didn’t bring much stuff,” Hunt said.
“Hooded sweatshirt?” Dalton asked.
Hunt shook his head. “It’s white.”
“I’ve got a cap with my gear,” Dalton said, then faced her. “Put your hair up.”
Nerves fluttering, she dashed back into the bathroom and rifled through the drawers. She found clips to secure her hair in a twist atop her head. Her fingers trembled, and a clip bounced from her hands to the floor behind the wastebasket.
“Damn.” She toed the plastic container out of the way, tipping it over in the process. “Double damn.” Reality set in, undermining some of the confidence of Dalton’s kiss. A sudden need to use the facilities hit. She hurried to replace the contents of the wastebasket, gathering the usual assorted cotton balls, swabs, and lipstick-smeared tissues, before her hand rested on an empty box. She picked it up, automatically checking the label. She froze. A pregnancy test. She let the box fall back into the basket as an ice ball formed in her stomach.
When she finished, Hunt was waiting in the bedroom. He gave her a weak grin as he stepped toward the bathroom. “Nerves,” he said.
She took his elbow. “Hunt, there’s a pregnancy test kit in the trash. Was . . . is she . . . are you—?”
His face went parchment pale. “We think so.” He shook out of her grasp and hurried into the bathroom, kicking the door closed behind him.
Moments later, they assembled in Dalton’s Navigator. Hunter protested, saying his car was less likely to arouse suspicion since he often drove through the area. Dalton vetoed it, pointing out that was exactly why they shouldn’t take it.
“Until we know who has her and why, you’re going to have to be invisible,” he said. “Assuming someone does have her. Let’s not show our hand yet. Miri, take the back. Sanderson, you ride shotgun and navigate.”
Dalton assumed control. His drawl barely evident, he spoke as though he was a general commanding his troops. Which she and Hunt were, she figured. Hunt seemed more than willing to accept Dalton’s leadership. She climbed into her seat and buckled up next to a large green duffel bag. “Ready. Let’s go.”
“Before we leave,” Hunt said. “I want to know everything you know.”
A muscle in Dalton’s jaw clenched.
“Damn it,” Hunt continued. “She’s my wife. She might be carrying my child.”
Dalton smacked the steering wheel. His head snapped toward Hunt. “You’re both happy about it?”
“Of course we are.” Hunt’s voice bristled with resentment. “What kind of a question is that?”
Dalton lowered his head to the wheel. Putting aside her anxiety to get going and find Nancy, Miri reached around the seat and patted Hunt’s shoulder. “He has to ask. He has to consider all the possibilities.”
“Sorry, man.” Dalton said. “Miri’s right. If she didn’t want a kid, that could mean she went off somewhere to—you know. Over and done before you got back, and you’d never be the wiser.”
When Hunt spoke, it was a whisper. “No. She—we—wanted this. Want this.”
“Hey, that’s a good thing. Like Miri said, I have to consider everything. Sometimes it’s the ugly side, but it’s nothing personal. W
e’re going to find her. Zeke’s been checking. He said her credit cards haven’t been used, and no hits on any ATMs.”
“How is that good?” Miri asked. “All you’ve got is what she isn’t doing, or where she isn’t.”
“Eliminating possibilities,” Dalton said. “Increases the odds she’s around here somewhere, not quite so many places to look.”
“Speaking of looking,” Hunt said. “Where are we going dressed like cat burglars?”
“We’ll start with where she’d most likely be and work out from there. You said she was busy planning the new community center. Anywhere else she went regularly?”
“Maybe the old center,” Hunt said. “Beyond that, I wouldn’t know. She hasn’t been here long enough to do anything regularly. And I checked both those places.”
“Let’s check again,” Dalton said, starting the engine. “Which is closer?”
“The old center,” Hunt said. “It’s about two miles from the trailer park. Some of the older kids hang there.”
When they got to the main road, Dalton killed the lights. Miri’s heart thumped as her stress level kicked up another few notches. As if he sensed her unease, Dalton reached over the seat. She took his hand, strength flowing into her like an IV infusion. When he let go, a butterscotch candy lay in her palm.
* * * * *
Dalton centered himself, slowed his breathing, let his eyes adjust to the dim light. As his SUV bounced along the poorly paved road, Blackie’s words bounced in his head. Don’t need any cowboys. Was that what he was doing? Playing cowboy because Blackie grounded him?
No, he was being careful. Nancy was missing in an environment where the worst-case scenario kept popping to the surface. Poverty, drugs, maybe a police chief on the take. What else?
“What’s the immigration situation here?” he asked. “A lot of coyotes?”
“Coyotes?” Miri asked from behind him.
“People smugglers,” Sanderson said. “They sneak groups of people across the border, taking all their money, promising them a better life in the states. The death rate is astronomical, but the coyotes don’t really care. They get the money up front.”