You Can't Escape (9781420134650)

by Bush, Nancy

  She hurried to do so, flipping on a light on the way. The sudden, bright illumination was almost a surprise; she’d half expected there to be some problem. Heading to the wall just outside the kitchen that held the dial thermostat, she said, “My God, I can make breakfast.” She could have cheered, but added immediately when she saw Dance working his way toward her, “Which is a fried egg and some toast under the broiler, so don’t get crazy with excitement.”

  “I’ll try to hold myself back.” He stopped and leaned on his crutches as Jordanna turned up the temperature. After a hiccuping sound, she heard the rumble of the furnace, and she turned with a brilliant smile toward Dance, damn near wanting to embrace him.

  “You hear that?” she asked.

  “I do.”

  They were standing close to one another. The way he was leaning on his crutches dropped his height so he was nearly eye to eye with her. She could see the striations of darker color within his blue eyes and she felt a jolt of awareness that spread through her in a charge of heat. She immediately moved away, muttering that she was going to charge up her phone and iPad, which although the truth, wasn’t the real reason that she needed some space.

  Oh, brother, she thought, both tantalized by and afraid of how easily he inflamed her senses. What the hell. It felt like she was reliving a schoolgirl crush.

  On her way to the kitchen, she called over her shoulder, “I’m almost afraid to ask, but I guess I will. Do you need a pain pill?”

  She heard him thump his way into the kitchen behind her, but she kept her attention on the older-model refrigerator, attempting to plug it in. She hoped to hell the damn thing didn’t blow up or something. It looked as if it was on its last legs.

  “I took one in the middle of the night,” he admitted. “But I’m gonna get off ’em.”

  There was no sound from the refrigerator even though it was plugged into the socket. “Uh-oh,” she said, opening the refrigerator door and looking inside its dark interior. She wanted to believe the bulb was out, but there was no humming, no sound at all. “I suppose it was too much to ask to expect it to actually work. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to get more ice.” She looked over at him. “The pain pills are on the counter.”

  “I know where they are.”

  “Okay.”

  He seemed more relaxed, she realized, so maybe he was right about the pills. Maybe making the decision to confront his old pal and brother-in-law had eased his mind, too. Hiding out like a scared rabbit wasn’t his style and didn’t sit well with him, even if it was the best course of action.

  “You never told me about the branded man,” he reminded her now.

  They’d gone to their respective beds soon after she’d returned, so they hadn’t discussed it further. She’d tried to help him to bed, but he’d made it clear he was through with being an invalid, so she’d gone upstairs and changed, then returned to the living room couch to sleep. Surprisingly, she’d slept pretty well and it was only when she’d heard Dance stirring around in his room about six that she’d risen from the couch. She’d heated up water on the woodstove, and they’d had instant coffee and orange slices, cheese, and crackers for breakfast before Randy had arrived.

  “I really didn’t learn much, except that he was found somewhere on government property almost straight east of here. If you keep on Wilhoit Road, the way we came in, it just heads south. A lot of this property is still original homesteads. But a couple farms down, Summit Ridge Road branches east into the foothills and winds up past Fool’s Falls into the lower hills and Cascades.”

  “How do they know he was homeless if they don’t know who he is?” he asked.

  “Good question. He was found several years ago and no one ever claimed the body, so maybe that’s why.”

  “You said the chief didn’t want the branding of the body made public?”

  “That’s the way I heard it.”

  “Because he wanted to withhold that information, hoping it would aid in making an arrest?” Dance looked dubious.

  “Chief Markum does things his own way, and he’ll give you a lot of reasons for what he does that are supposed to make sense.”

  “You know him well?”

  She’d told him she hadn’t been back in Rock Springs in years, so his skepticism was warranted.

  “I know him. He was the chief when I shot my father.”

  “Ahh.”

  “Yesterday I learned that there’s someone else at the station I might be able to talk to other than the chief—Peter Drummond. Not that he’ll want to help—my friend Rusty calls him Mr. Shitface—but he was a classmate of my older sister, Emily. I don’t know in what capacity he works for the chief, but it sounds like he has loose lips. I can also check back issues of the Pioneer and see when exactly that body was found.”

  “Wouldn’t your father know something about it? This is his property.”

  “He’d be the last person I’d ask,” she stated firmly as she plugged her iPad into a kitchen outlet. Yes, her father ought to know, not only because the body had been found somewhere behind his property, but also because he and Chief Markum were such good friends.

  “Father- and son-in-law, too,” she muttered.

  “What?” Dance asked. He’d turned toward the living room, and she hadn’t expected him to hear her.

  “Nothing. You ready for those eggs and toast? Kind of a brunch?”

  “Sure.”

  With a glance at the iPad to make sure it was beginning to charge, she next plugged in her cell phone, then pulled out the small skillet she’d brought from her apartment, placed it on the electric burner and added in a pat of margarine. Within seconds, the margarine was sizzling along the bottom of the pan as it spread and melted, and Jordanna settled in to make one of the half dozen meals she’d mastered in the kitchen.

  September set her jaw determinedly as she breezed into the station and past Guy Urlacher’s desk. Before he could speak, she ordered, “Open the damn door, Guy.”

  “You haven’t signed—”

  “And I’m not going to . . . Guy.” She wanted to say asshole. Really wanted to. “I’m not going to sign in like a visitor.”

  “I’m just following protocol.”

  “Really? That’s what it says in the handbook?”

  Guy pinched his lips together. “Every officer is required to sign in.”

  “Does the lieutenant sign in? Does Gretchen? Does my brother? Don’t answer. I don’t care. I’m not going to sign in, and if you don’t open the damn door, I’m going to phone every officer in this building and tell them what’s going on right here, right now. Believe me, we’ll get some action then, and you can explain protocol until you turn blue. Nobody wants to hear it.” She yanked out her cell phone and placed a call through to Wes, who would be only too happy to help her if he was on the premises.

  Bzzzz.

  September pushed through the door before Guy changed his mind, hearing it close with a loud click behind her. She smiled grimly, knowing it was a temporary victory. Guy would seethe for a while, then he would go back to acting like nothing had changed. It was the dumbest war on record, but there it was. Guy and his own need for power. She suspected she could get him fired over his pettiness, but he was just the kind of guy to file a lawsuit for harassment or something, and well, there was the “official handbook,” which probably backed him up in some way. She just needed to get stronger and intimidate the hell out of him in a silent stare-down. Then he wouldn’t be able to repeat anything she might say that she would regret. It was harder to complain to the powers that be that a woman had intimidated him or bullied him or harassed him just by staring at him.

  Three hours later, as she was coming from the break room with her messenger bag, ready to head to an early lunch, her desk phone buzzed and she saw it was from the front desk. Guy. Bracing herself, she picked up the receiver and said coolly, “Detective Rafferty.”

  “Someone here to see you,” he responded tonelessly.

  “Do
you have a name?”

  “Yes.”

  Counting to five, September said, “I’m on my way out, so you may need to send them to someone else.”

  “They asked for you specifically.”

  “All right, then I’ll meet them outside.” She slammed down the receiver, causing George, the only other person currently in the squad room, to lift his brows.

  “The fiancé?” he asked innocently.

  “NO.”

  September headed out of the squad room and pushed through the door to reception, where she was confronted with a woman in a tight, burnt-orange dress and heels, her brown hair artfully pulled into a messy bun, her dark eyes boring into September as if looking for flaws. She seemed vaguely familiar, but September couldn’t place her.

  “I’m Detective Rafferty,” she said. “Did you want to see me?”

  She narrowed her eyes and lifted her chin, in a consciously, or maybe unconsciously, arrogant post. “I thought Detective Rafferty was a man.”

  “Ahh, I believe you’re looking for Detective August Rafferty, my brother,” September said.

  “Oh.” A pause. “Yes.”

  “You might have better luck at Portland PD, as he’s affiliated with them now, more than here.”

  “I called Portland PD. They told me Detective Rafferty was the man I should talk to about the bombing, but the hospital told me Detective Rafferty was with the Laurelton PD.”

  It was September’s turn to pause. “I’m sorry. Who are you?” But she suddenly knew, in that precognitive way, even before the woman said her name.

  Her brain made the frizzing leap, at the same moment she introduced herself as, “Carmen Danziger. I’m Victor Saldano’s daughter, Maxwell Saldano’s sister.”

  September was momentarily at a loss for words. This woman was a far cry from the fresh-faced, hazel-eyed woman with the almost coltish look, the one who’d been introduced by Jay Danziger himself, as Carmen Danziger, his wife.

  “Detective?” the woman asked when the moment hung out there a bit too long.

  “Yes . . . um . . .” Out of the corner of her eye, September sensed Guy Urlacher’s growing interest and it brought her back to the present. “Yes . . . Mrs. Danziger. My brother is the one you should really talk to. But I do know a little bit about the case, so you can come on back to my desk, if you like. I’ll hunt down Auggie for you, er, the other Detective Rafferty, in the meantime. I know he’ll want to talk to you.”

  “Thank you,” she said, coolly imperious.

  September shot Guy a look. If he chose now to play his game and not buzz her back inside . . . but instead he decided to be the picture of helpfulness . . . greeting Carmen Saldano with a brief nod before buzzing them both past security. In front of others—people who mattered—Guy could be a totally different person.

  Snake in the grass, September thought as she held the door for Carmen. She followed after Jay Danziger’s real wife, watching as she tip-tapped her way quickly and efficiently toward the squad room, moving on extremely high heels with practiced ease. September was given a view of her undulating hips as the orange dress swayed to and fro ahead of her.

  You were right, big brother. There was no missing the woman’s overt sensuality. She practically sizzled.

  So, who the hell was impersonating Carmen Danziger? And why was Jay Danziger playing along?

  September led Carmen to the chair on the far side of her desk. While Carmen arranged herself into the seat, September heard the squeak and squeal of George’s desk chair. She slid him a look. George was gazing raptly at Carmen. She could practically see the slaver. She held his gaze until George came back to himself. With an annoyed noise, he returned to his computer monitor.

  “Let me text Detective Rafferty,” September said, pulling out her cell phone.

  “I understand a woman managed to fool you all into thinking she was me.”

  September was in the middle of creating the text for her brother and fumbled a bit over the tiny letters. She hoped her face didn’t reflect her dismay. “You . . . were at the hospital?” she guessed.

  “That’s right.” She was clearly seeking to hold in her emotions, but she was doing a piss-poor job of it, as she was seething with rage.

  Forced to defend herself, September said, “Mr. Danziger identified the woman as his wife.”

  “His wife . . .” She clearly wanted to say more, but what came out was, “Well, now Mr. Danziger is missing from the hospital, kidnapped by this imposter.”

  September added, Hurry, may have a situation here to her longer message about the appearance of the real Mrs. Danziger and quickly sent Auggie the text.

  “I believe Mr. Danziger was complicit in the deceit and left on his own free will,” September answered carefully.

  “Complicit.” She sniffed. “He had a head injury.”

  “He signed the release papers.”

  “Or, were they forged?”

  “I’m . . . sure that can be determined.” September didn’t want to say too much, but neither did she want to act like she was stalling. So far Carmen seemed to be feeling her way, and September didn’t want to set her off.

  On my way

  Thank God. “Detective Rafferty’s on his way here now. Would you like a coffee while we wait? Or tea? Water?”

  “No, thank you,” she said. “How soon will he be here?”

  “Twenty minutes, maybe?”

  She pursed her lips and shook her head, as if she just couldn’t believe their ineptitude, then settled into the chair, recrossing her legs in a manner that had George craning his neck and goggling once again.

  “4G, my ass. I’m getting nothing out here,” Jordanna grumbled, staring at her phone. “Must not be a cell tower for a hundred miles.”

  “Take it into town,” Dance suggested.

  She gave him a suspicious look as she reached for the handles of her laptop case. “You trying to get rid of me? For the Love of Joe looked like it had Wi-Fi.”

  “One of us should be doing something we want to.”

  His earlier good mood had evaporated and she suspected he was in some pain. Better to get the hell out while the getting was good. “If I learn anything, I’ll let you know,” she said on her way out.

  “Good,” he answered, and she had the feeling he really meant it.

  Carmen Saldano was not a patient waiter. She tapped her foot and gazed over the tops of September and George’s heads as if she were mentally sending herself to some distant place, far away from the riffraff and peons before her.

  When Auggie appeared, she perked up, her gaze lingering on him in a way that both amused and annoyed September. Yes, her brother was attractive: near black hair, blue-gray eyes, strong chin, the hint of a dimple, and a mouth that quirked with humor.... The man had turned more than a few female heads. But August Rafferty had met his waterloo when Liv Dugan crossed his path, leaving the Carmen Saldanos of the world shit out of luck. Not that Jay Danziger wasn’t equally attractive, she reminded herself. Beneath the bruising had been a pair of piercing blue eyes and a lantern jaw, and the five-o’clock shadow had added a raffish air.

  She was annoyed with herself for fantasizing.

  “Detective Rafferty?” Carmen greeted Auggie, unfolding herself from the chair and slowly rising to the feet. In her high heels, she was only a few inches shorter than he was.

  Auggie thrust out a hand. “Mrs. Saldano.”

  Her mouth tightened momentarily as she shook his hand. “You’re the man in charge of the bombing investigation?”

  “I’m working the case,” he answered easily. Clearly she hadn’t connected with the feds yet. “So, I understand you weren’t the woman at the hospital with your husband,” he said. “You have any idea who she might be?”

  “Isn’t it your job to find out?” she said, throwing a look around the room to encompass all of them.

  “We’re investigating the bombing, and to that end, anything your husband can add would be helpful,” Auggie countered.
“September—Detective September Rafferty—already spoke with him. I’m sure she told you about it?”

  “I just want to know what’s being done,” Carmen said before September could respond.

  Her preemptive manner didn’t phase Auggie. “Fair enough. Right now we’re examining the mechanism that controlled the bomb, and we’re checking video footage from different cameras angled toward Saldano Industries. There were several across the street that may give us something, since the cameras inside weren’t working.”

  “I mean about this woman,” Carmen said impatiently.

  “Mrs. Saldano—” Auggie began.

  “Carmen,” she corrected.

  “Carmen,” he began again. “We certainly want to find her and talk to her, but . . .” He took a moment and rubbed the tip of his nose in a gesture September had seen him employ as a means to gather his thoughts a hundred times before. “She’s not the focus of the investigation as your husband went with her willingly.”

  Carmen reared back as if she’d been slapped.

  “I spoke with your husband’s physician, Dr. William Cochran, who said your husband was eager to be released. Having this woman impersonate you is unorthodox—”

  “Criminal,” she hissed.

  “—and we certainly want to get to the bottom of it, but our prime focus is to find the parties responsible for the bombing.”

  “Maybe she’s responsible,” Carmen said, flushing. “I can’t believe you’re going to let her get away with this!”

  “We’re determining if a crime’s been committed,” Auggie tried to appease her, to which she practically shivered with rage.

  “When you figure it out, talk to your superior, because that’s who I’m calling next. Thank you for your time,” she practically sneered. With that, she moved smartly toward the front exit, no sashaying this time, and Auggie, after lifting his brows at September, followed after her, clearly hoping to ameliorate the situation.

  “Whoo,” George expelled.