In other words, get lost.
Callie could see the resentment in Gloria’s eyes. Resentment that went back many years. But Gloria did as she was told. And without protest.
When she was gone, Jonah said, “There’s no need for this to get ugly, Marshal.”
Now Callie spoke up. “Tell that to Megan, Mr. Pritchard. And to Jim Farber’s family. She and her friends left him in quite a state.”
“I wouldn’t know anything about that.”
“Wouldn’t you?”
He gave her a look that said he was offended by the remark, but she sensed he was feigning it. Nothing she said could offend him. The old guy was bulletproof.
“Meg decided a long time ago that she wasn’t interested in associating with this family,” he said. “Not that that’s any of your business.”
Callie knew that his words were meant to cut much deeper than they did, but after thirty-four years she was immune to him. She’d long been aware that Jonah despised her. By his skewed logic, his son wouldn’t be dead if it weren’t for her whore of a mother.
The thought of this suddenly brought to surface another part of her life—her years with Harlan—and she wondered for a brief moment if she’d applied her own skewed logic to that situation.
But no. That was different. And she had no desire to wander into any dark alleys right now.
Focus, Callie.
Concentrate on the matter at hand.
“We could clear all this up,” Harlan said to Jonah, “if you’d just let us do our job. If you’ve got nothing to hide, then this conversation is over.”
“It’s already over,” a voice said, and Callie heard the ratchet of a scatter-gun behind them.
She and Harlan and Rusty all turned to find a smiling Landry Bickham holding a pump-action twelve-gauge. He kept it pointed at the ground, but Callie knew he’d use it if the old man gave him the nod.
Her heart started thumping.
This wasn’t the direction she’d wanted this afternoon to go.
Harlan turned back to Jonah. “You’re making a grave mistake, Mr. Pritchard. I could arrest you for obstruction, right now.”
“I suppose you could try,” Jonah said.
They were all silent for a long moment, and Callie could see the fury creeping into Harlan’s gaze. She’d seen that fury before, when she told him she never wanted to lay eyes on him again.
Jonah gestured. “You go on, now, try to get your warrant. If the judge says I’ve gotta open up my house, I’ll open up my house. In the meantime, you’re just trespassing, far as I can see.”
For a moment Callie thought Harlan might do something stupid, but he held back. Thank God.
“This isn’t over,” he said quietly.
Jonah’s gaze didn’t waver. “I don’t doubt that for a minute.”
Harlan stared at him a while longer, then his fury seemed to dissipate and he turned, moving back to the cruiser.
Then they were all inside, Callie feeling both frustrated and relieved as she started the engine and watched Jonah and the others go back into the house.
“You think they’re in there?” Harlan asked.
Callie wanted to punch him. “Even if they are, unless Pritchard cooperates, there’s not much we can do about it right now.”
“He’s one nasty piece of work, isn’t he?”
Callie jammed the car in gear. “Pot…meet kettle,” she said.
Then she turned them around and headed down the drive.
Chapter Six
“You know what you are? You’re an idiot. An idiot disguised as a fool.”
Good old Callie. She’d never been one to mince words, and Harlan could see that she hadn’t changed.
Back in the day it had been a trait he’d found endearing. Most of the girls he’d known in college had been hesitant to show their true colors until they had you on the hook. They spent far too much time playing the games they’d learned in high school, and the guys they pursued weren’t much different.
But Callie had always been what-you-see-is-what-you-get. Take it or leave it. And that was a large part of what had made Harlan fall in love with her in the first place.
That and the simple fact that she was the single most intriguing human being he’d ever met. Still was.
They were rolling along the highway now, headed toward town, Harlan once again relegated to the backseat while Callie drove and her partner Rusty rode shotgun.
She said, “You do realize you almost got us killed back there.”
Harlan looked at her reflection in the rearview mirror. “Don’t be so dramatic. Pritchard doesn’t strike me as stupid. And technically, he was right.”
“You think?” Her hands were gripping the steering wheel as if she had hold of his neck and wanted to snap it. “Then what was with all that cowboy nonsense?”
“Just giving the old guy a nudge, see how he reacted.”
Callie shook her head. “You haven’t changed at all, have you, Harlan?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Forget it,” she muttered.
“No, you opened the box, let’s see what’s inside.”
Callie sighed, glancing at Rusty. He had his cell phone clamped to his ear, speaking quietly into it, pretending not to listen to them.
She said to Harlan, “Maybe Jonah wouldn’t have done anything drastic, but there were no guarantees of that. You make stupid moves, you risk people getting hurt. You should know that better than anyone.”
Harlan knew a lot of things. Like the fact that she wasn’t talking about Pritchard at all.
“Look,” he said, “why don’t we save the recriminations for another day? Right now we need to concentrate on searching that house. And we need to do it legally.”
“That could be a problem,” Rusty said, snapping his phone shut. “Sheriff Mercer tells me the judge went out of town for a weekend hunting trip. He’s trying to track down another judge in Sheridan, but it could take a while. Says we might as well grab some chow, then head back to the station house.”
Now it was Harlan’s turn to sigh. Times like these made him wish real life was more like the movies. Everything happened so quickly on the big screen. Getting a warrant took minutes rather than hours, and the bad guy rarely got away.
He kept thinking about that smirk on Billy Boy’s face, and would like to put a fist in it. But as much as he’d like to play the hero and storm Pritchard Ranch, he believed in the letter of the law and knew that such a move was a mistake for a whole variety of reasons.
One thing you quickly learned in law enforcement was the value of patience. No matter what they might say, Justice was neither swift nor blind.
“Maybe the sheriff is right,” he said. “I haven’t had a bite to eat since yesterday afternoon. By all rights I should be famished.”
Callie eyed him skeptically. “You really expect me to sit down and break bread with you?”
“I expect you to be a professional,” he told her. “Is that too much to ask?”
EVERY TOWN HAS ITS cop hangout.
Williamson’s was a place called the Oak Pit Bar & Grill, a name Callie had always found a bit odd, since Wyoming wasn’t known for its overabundance of Quercus imbricaria. But she supposed the Cottonwood Pit didn’t have the same ring.
As far as she knew, however, there were no trees in evidence here, the indoor barbecue fueled by coals rather than wood. The low lighting and pool hall atmosphere were not to her particular taste, but she couldn’t argue with the food they served, and cops all over Williamson County had made the place a regular pit stop.
No pun intended.
Callie didn’t want to be sitting in a booth across from Harlan Cole, but she knew he was right. As cruel as fate might be, she was a professional and needed to act like one.
Truth was, she was more concerned about Rusty than herself. Poor guy was caught in the middle of a rich and heated history that he knew nothing about. And as his training deputy, she owed it to him to mai
ntain her composure.
Besides, she was hungry. Thanks to Nana Jean’s torturous attempt at matchmaking this afternoon, she hadn’t had a chance to eat before she’d been called back to the office.
So here they were, the three of them sitting there awkwardly as they waited on their food, poor Rusty trying to make small talk with two people who clearly had other matters on their minds.
“How long you been with the Marshals Service?” he asked Harlan.
Harlan pulled his gaze away from the sports report on a nearby flatscreen. “Close to ten years.”
“You trained at Glynco, right? Out in Georgia?”
“That’s right.”
Rusty leaned back, took a sip of the ice tea he’d ordered. “I did my basic at the Wyoming Law Enforcement Academy in Douglas, but for a while there I had my eye on Glynco and the Marshals Service. Recruiter approached me while I was still in college.” He looked at Callie. “Same with you, right? You almost went federal.”
Callie stiffened slightly. “Yes.”
“So what changed your mind?”
“Circumstances,” she said tersely, but didn’t feel like elaborating. Those circumstances were sitting across the table from her.
Rusty gave her room to continue, but when he realized she was finished, he said to Harlan, “So anyway, I decided I’d rather stay local. No chance of being transferred across country, and I like Wyoming. Good place to raise a family. You got family?”
“Brother in California. That’s about it.”
“Have you always been in Colorado Springs, or do they move you around a lot?”
“I’ve bounced around a little, but Colorado seems to be the best fit. Been there five years.”
“They keep you busy, I guess. Transporting prisoners—that must be pretty interesting sometimes.”
“It has its moments,” Harlan said. “Especially when one of them smacks you in the head with your own weapon.”
Rusty smiled. “At least you’ve got a sense of humor about it.”
“One of my trainers at Glynco always said, you don’t find a reason to laugh, you might as well hang it up.”
“Amen,” Rusty murmured.
Callie was thinking that she could use a reason to laugh right now, when someone called out to Rusty—one of the fake-boobed, underdressed cop groupies who rolled in every evening looking for attention. She was standing near an available pool table, gesturing to him with the cue stick in her hand.
Rusty gave her a wave, then turned to Callie. “Citizen needs assistance,” he said. “Call me when the food comes.”
Callie rolled her eyes. She could just imagine the kind of assistance the girl needed, but this was Rusty’s chance to escape the torture and she couldn’t blame him. He quickly slipped out of the booth and left them alone.
Harlan watched him go. “I used to be that young once.”
Callie scoffed. “You’re what—thirty-five? Not exactly Jonah Pritchard territory.”
“It’ll happen soon enough. Goes by fast, doesn’t it? The past ten years are barely a blip on the radar.”
Callie had to admit he was right. She sometimes felt as if she had stepped onto a bullet train, the past decade an indistinct blur of joys and heartbreaks and not much in between.
She found herself thinking about the heartbreak that had torn them apart, when Harlan glanced at her left hand and asked, “You never got married?”
She stiffened again. Why was he asking her that? What difference did it make?
“Cops and marriage don’t mix,” she said.
He nodded. “I found that out the hard way.”
She felt a small stab of disappointment. She shouldn’t have cared, but for some reason she did. “You were married?”
“Thirteen months,” he said. “Lucky number.”
“When was this?”
“About a year after you and I split. But I don’t know what I was thinking. I knew it was a mistake before it even happened.”
“Why?”
His gaze locked on hers, those blue eyes enough to make any woman’s legs tremble. Even one who hated his guts.
“Because she wasn’t you,” he said.
HE DIDN’T KNOW WHY he’d said it.
The words came out impulsively, a surprise even to him. He could just as easily have told her that he and his ex simply hadn’t been in love. But he didn’t often think about his marriage, and until this moment he’d never realized that Callie was the reason it had been doomed from the start.
Because she wasn’t you.
The minute he said it he was plagued by regret, inwardly cursing himself for being so impulsive. He knew how Callie felt about him and she wasn’t likely to be receptive to such a statement.
It was no real shock when she sat up slightly, looking as if he’d slapped her across the face.
“What did you just say?”
“Forget it,” he told her. “That just slipped out. Don’t pay any attention to—”
“You say something like that and you think I’m suddenly going to fall all over you? ‘Oh, Harlan, it’s so good to see you after all these years. Oh, Harlan, I never should’ve—’”
“Stop,” he said. “This isn’t funny.”
Callie paused, studying him soberly. “What you did hurt me, Harlan.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“Didn’t you? These past ten years may have gone by fast, but they don’t change the fact that you’re the reason Treacher is dead.”
So there it was. The thing that had been simmering between them ever since he’d walked into that conference room. They’d both known it was there, but neither of them had been willing to say it out loud. Until now.
She still blamed him for the accident.
He and Treacher and Callie had been inseparable in college. The Three Amigos, everyone called them—a study group that had morphed into a solid, unwavering friendship. And for Harlan and Callie, it became something much deeper.
Treacher had been their best friend, like a brother to both of them, and to say his death was devastating was to understate its impact a thousandfold.
And while Harlan had suspected Callie still blamed him, hearing her express this sentiment with such unflagging conviction—just as she had on their last night together—gave him every reason to get up and walk out of this place without another word.
Instead he said, “I’m not asking for anything from you, Callie. I’m here to catch a wanted man. That’s all. And if you have problems with me, I’d just as soon you keep them to yourself.” He got to his feet. “Now, if you don’t mind, I think I’ll get my order to go.”
He started to walk away, but thought better of it and stopped, turning back to look at her.
“Just so you know, the reason I said what I said about my marriage is because it’s true. I was in love with you, even after you made it clear you wanted nothing to do with me. And every woman I met after we broke up was measured against you. Against what we had before Treacher was killed.” He paused. “You may think you have every right to feel the way you feel, but I’m not the reason he’s dead. If you want to attribute blame, then why not look at the real culprit? Treacher himself.”
He expected her say something, but she remained silent. Wouldn’t look at him now. And he knew that what he’d just told her hadn’t penetrated. The barrier she’d erected was too high and wide and thick, and trying to get through it was impossible.
So why even bother?
Turning, he flagged the waitress and headed across the bar to get his food.
Chapter Seven
She was staring at her half-eaten burger when the call came.
After returning to the table, Rusty had given up on her and had taken his food across the bar to sit with the girl with the fake boobs.
Callie hadn’t put up much of a protest. She’d wanted to be alone. To think about Harlan and what he’d said.
Because she wasn’t you.
There was so much heartbreak i
n those words that she’d found it nearly impossible to maintain her composure.
How do you react when someone tells you something like that? Someone you once loved so deeply you thought life simply couldn’t go on without him?
Do you let go of all the animosity you’ve nurtured? Do you set aside the pain—the pain he still refused to take responsibility for?
Apparently not, if your name is Callie Glass. And not because you don’t want to but because you can’t.
Callie had tried many times over the years, had even thought about getting in touch with Harlan, had often wondered where life had taken him.
But she’d always held back.
Always.
The sting of Treacher’s death had ruptured something inside her. A vital organ had been damaged and refused to heal. And every time she picked up the phone, or thought about entering the name Harlan Cole into a search engine, she had stopped herself.
She would remember all those crazy late nights when the three of them would get drunk together and talk about the future. Their plans to join the Marshals Service, to request assignments in the same jurisdiction, to raise families in the same neighborhood and have backyard barbecues and birthday parties and cheer their kids on at soccer games.
In short, they were inseparable.
The Three Amigos.
And beneath it all was the assumption that Callie and Harlan would get married. Treacher would often smile that crooked smile of his and say, “The two of you were born to be together. God pointed you on a path toward each other from the moment you were conceived.”
What they were all witnessing, he told them, was destiny in motion.
A plan perfectly executed.
On hearing this Harlan would pull Callie into his lap and put his arms around her as she leaned back against him, languishing in the heat of his embrace.
“Soul mates,” he’d say softly, the warmth of his breath against her ear. And later when Treacher had gone home, they would lie together on Harlan’s bed, making love with an urgent passion that Callie had never since felt.
They both knew that Treacher was right. The bond between them—between all of them—was shatterproof.
A_Wanted Man - Alana Matthews Page 4