Beauty and the Badge

by Lyn Stone

  Why couldn’t he forget it the way she’d told him to? He shook his head, but it wouldn’t clear the way he wanted it to. All he could see in his mind was Mary in the moonlight, her eyes closed, her lips parted, that glorious body tensing with passion.

  Even if it had been a mistake, Ford knew he would always measure any future encounters with other women against what had happened last night. Never in his life had he wanted anyone the way he had wanted Mary; the way he still wanted Mary.

  The anger he felt over that surprised him. Why had she done this to him, made him feel this way? He might never enjoy sex again with anyone else and she’d made it pretty clear that she was no longer interested. Mary had ruined him for other women; it was that simple.

  They ate canned pears and corned beef as they watched the news on the small kitchen television. At least it filled the ponderous silence. Ford felt rumpled, exhausted, and in no mood for conversation.

  “How about a nickel tour?” she asked, a little too brightly, after she had cleared away their dishes. “I could show you around the place so you could check out the security.”

  “It’s nonexistent,” he grumbled. “I’ve determined that already.”

  Ford knew she was offering this to try to alleviate some of the tension between them. He ought to cooperate and get his ill humor under control. There really wasn’t anything else to do other than explore the house. Nothing sane, anyway.

  “I’ve already checked the perimeter,” he assured her, “but I guess it wouldn’t hurt to look around inside.”

  Mary pretended excitement as she led him down the hallway past the door to the den. The fact that she was trying so hard to establish a different kind of connection between them dissolved most of his resentment. Mary hadn’t set out to undermine his future love life. And not only had he let it happen, he’d participated—an understatement to end them all, he thought with a grunt of wry humor.

  “The house was built in 1848,” she informed him, sounding just like one of those guides out at Andrew Jackson’s Hermitage. “Though Union soldiers did set fire to it, we are fortunate that they didn’t stay to make certain it burned. This is the foyer.”

  “And what a foyer it is,” Ford said as he cocked one brow and looked around. Light spilled in through the clerestory window over the double front doors, highlighting the intricate pattern of the inlaid oak floors, the richly carved molding around the ceiling, and gleaming antique furniture that looked original to the house.

  He touched one of the small chairs flanking a marbletopped hall table. “Late Georgian?”

  “Very good!” she said, smiling up at him.

  “Mom sells antiques,” he explained. “Used to drag me around to all the auctions to lift and tote. You pick up stuff, literally and figuratively.”

  “Ah,” she replied, pleased. “An appreciative audience.”

  “You’ve done this before, haven’t you? Shown the house, I mean.”

  “Yes. Gran and I used to conduct tours for architectural and design students and a few historical groups.” She proceeded toward a door that led into the dining room.

  Ford took it all in—the brocade wallpaper, the matching drapes, the ornate silver service on a highly polished buffet. There were sixteen chairs set against the walls and two more bracketing an impossibly long table in the center of the room.

  “Barbie’s convertible zoomed really well on that, but it did leave tracks,” she confided, trailing a finger along the edge.

  He tried to imagine that. It wasn’t hard to see her as an impish little sprite testing her limits. “That was allowed?”

  “No,” she said with a wry chuckle. “But at the time, I liked living on the edge.”

  Ford wondered if she still liked it. She would say not, of course, but he couldn’t be too sure after last night. Somehow she’d made it past that and all the preceding events of a nerve-racking day without becoming the basket case he’d expected.

  The crying didn’t count. That was just her safety valve. Much as Ford hated to admit it, he suspected their lovemaking had served as a confidence boost and maybe provided a little revenge on her ex-fiancé. If nothing else recommended it, at least Mary seemed okay now. Seeing her at the moment, no one would ever guess all she had been through yesterday and might face in the coming days.

  He listened while she continued around the room, chattering about this and that, introducing objects more as dear old friends than proud possessions. To Mary, these were more than just expensive things to show off.

  Her attitude made him more comfortable with it all, and Ford supposed that must have been her intention. He liked her for that. This girl had so much class it humbled him.

  She pointed out a huge dent in the cherry breakfront. “Rode my tricycle into that and got the spanking of my life!” she declared, shaking her head and laughing at the memory. “Even so, Gran never repaired it. She said it gave the piece character!”

  Ford laughed with her. “I rode mine off the end of the back porch. Chipped my front teeth.”

  “Oh no!” she cried, leaning forward to peer at his mouth. “Thank goodness it was your baby teeth!”

  “Yeah...” Ford’s smile died. Her sweet scent enveloped him. Her hand on his arm shot a current of need through him that threatened his good sense.

  His swift intake of breath must have warned her, because she deserted him immediately, turning toward the floor-to-ceiling windows of the dining room. “Here! I wanted you to see these. They could be a problem. The levers are so old. What do you think?” She rattled one up and down as if desperate to get out.

  Ford approached her from behind, determined not to touch her, but to set her at ease. “I think we could hide in this house till the cows come home. He would need a map to find us even if he did manage to get inside.”

  “If he does, there’s the wine cellar,” she said, quickly skirting him and heading directly for the door. “Come see! We could retreat there if he breaks in. It locks!”

  “Take it easy!” he said, following her. “You’re safe, Mary. No way could he know where we are.”

  But Ford knew that might not be true for long. What if Perry decided to check the county records and found out she owned this property? Since it was Saturday and the records office would be closed, they had two more days and nights—unless Blevins could block the information. Then they could stay here where Mary felt at home, until the task team caught Perry and found the diamonds.

  “I need to call in,” he said, heading back toward the kitchen where he’d left his jacket with the phone inside it.

  “You can call from here,” she said, pointing to the phone, a Victorian replica.

  Ford declined. “I’ll use my cellular.”

  “Is that safe? Even I know people can monitor those using scanners,” she said, using her schoolteacher tone. “What if—”

  “Mine is encrypted. Safer than your land line,” he replied, nodding at the fancy phone. He left her there in the hallway and went back to the kitchen to make his call.

  “Where the hell are you now?” Blevins demanded.

  “Near Franklin,” Ford said. “Did the patrolman catch Perry?”

  “No, but we’ll get him. Look, Devereaux, I need your location.”

  “I told you,” Ford said, and then started to relate the details of the shooting incident.

  Blevins interrupted him immediately. “Damn it, exactly where are you?”

  Ford decided not to tell him. He was fed up with Blevins’s overbearing attitude, and furious about how he’d destroyed Mary’s doll collection. There was no doubt Blevins had done it or had it done, since nobody else knew Antonio had given her two dolls that night.

  The fool had alienated every Tennessee Bureau of Investigation agent and local cop he’d met since arriving in Nashville. The only men who would have anything to do with him were his junior agents, who had no choice. Blevins could go hang.

  “Moving around,” Ford hedged. “I’ll call you when we get settle
d.” Tomorrow night, he would call, and not a minute before. And then he and Mary would leave immediately after. The fewer people who knew where she was, the better.

  “Have you found the diamonds yet?” Ford asked.

  “No, have you?”

  “She doesn’t have them,” Ford said.

  “You heard the tape. He gave them to her.”

  “I told you he gave her dolls, which she stuck m her purse, by the way You had no call to—”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Blevins said. “Your job is to stay with the woman. Find an out-of-the-way place to hole up and then call me back immediately. That’s an order.”

  Ford hung up without acknowledging.

  “Don’t worry about it?” It seemed a little out of character for Blevins to be more concerned about Mary’s safety now than finding the diamonds. And he didn’t seem all that gung-ho on catching Perry, either.

  Blevins had botched everything right from the first, and Ford couldn’t see matters improving Squabbling over who got the job of heading the task force wouldn’t have done Ford’s new career any good, however. He had several years less time in the Bureau. Also, Blevins was supposed to be the gem expert, as well as the computer wizard who coordinated with headquarters and the teams on the other robberies.

  The TBI and Nashville’s finest had all but thrown up their hands and quit since Blevins had ordered them to bug off several times too many. The two members, other than Ford, on Blevins’s team were fresh out of training at Quantico, green as gourds. No help there.

  After discovering the common thread among the widespread thefts himself, Ford felt responsible for winding up the investigation with some satisfaction. He had a feeling that his fumbling leader was only getting in the way of that.

  Team sports had never been Ford’s thing, anyway. He’d been pretty much on his own when he was military. They gave him an assignment and turned him loose with it. Sharing all the info on this case with three other people didn’t come naturally, and he was tired of working that way.

  He just wondered how in the world he could find the diamonds, get Perry out of action, and keep Mary safe all at the same time. It would take some juggling, that was for sure.

  Chapter 7

  “I phoned Mr. Knoblett,” Mary said as she came in. “He’s bringing some groceries.”

  “You did what?” Ford shouted.

  She sighed and rolled her eyes. “We needed some things we don’t have here, all right?”

  “No, it’s not all right!” Ford argued. Even without sex, the woman was going to drive him nuts. “How am I supposed to hide you if you tell everybody and his brother where we are?”

  “I only told Mr. Knoblett! I impressed on him that no one else is to find out I’m here. He’s just a nice old man who runs a store, for goodness’ sake, not some...some criminal!”

  “Is he coming out right away?” Ford demanded, wondering if he should take the man into custody when he arrived, to make certain he didn’t spread the word.

  Mary seemed to relax a little now that he’d lowered his voice. “Soon as he gets the things together. Less than an hour, I’d guess. It’s so early, he hadn’t even opened the store yet.”

  Ford forced himself to calm down.

  Thirty minutes later, they saw a gray pickup truck creep up the long drive and disappear around the side of the house. Mr. Knoblett knocked at the back door off the kitchen.

  He wore faded overalls, a checkered shirt with sleeves rolled up to the elbows, and weathered brogans. Ford thought him somewhere in the neighborhood of sixty, maybe sixty-five, with a thin, wiry body, a head of stiff white hair and a farmer’s tan. Age hadn’t been kind to the man, but he didn’t seem to mind.

  “Mary, Mary, quite contrary!” the fellow said with a lopsided grin that exposed a gold tooth. “We’ve missed you, girl!”

  “Hi there, Mr. Knob! How’s Miss Thelma?”

  He stepped inside and nodded a curious greeting to Ford as he answered, “Thelma’s doing good. She come over with me Wednesday and give the place a quick goin’-over. Got rid of the dust and then packed up some of Miz Lisbeth’s clothes for you.”

  A flicker of grief darkened Mary’s eyes as she thanked the man.

  Knoblett. acknowledged the thanks, but didn’t mention her grandmother again. Instead, he shoved the box of groceries toward Ford. “Well, here’s your stuff. Didn’t have no fancy water so I brung juice. That do?”

  “That’s just fine,” Mary said.

  Ford accepted the heavy cardboard box full of items and went to set it on the kitchen counter.

  “Mr. Knoblett, I’d like you to meet Ford Devereaux. He’s with the FBI.”

  Ford shot her an incredulous look. Tell him the whole story, why don’t you? Before he could finish shaking the dry, gnarled hand of their visitor, she was well into doing just that.

  “Lordy, you two got yourselves in a mess, didn’t you?” Knoblett said when she paused for breath. “You ort to be all right if nobody don’t know you’re here. I’ll call you if I see any traffic head up this way.”

  “We’d certainly appreciate that, Mr. Knob,” she said. “Would you put the groceries on my account? I left my purse at the school.”

  He nodded at her and narrowed his eyes at Ford. “You married, son?”

  “Uh, no, I’m not,” Ford answered uncomfortably.

  “Well, you behave yourself, then,” Knoblett warned. “Always felt like Mary was partly mine and Thelma’s. Don’t want to have to come after you with no shotgun!” He spoiled the warning with a hoarse laugh and a wink. “She’s a beauty, though, ain’t she, boy?”

  Ford couldn’t keep his face straight. “Yes, sir, Mr. Knoblett. She surely is that.”

  Mary blushed bright red.

  “I’ll see y’all,” Knoblett said as he ambled back toward the open door. “Holler if you need anything else.”

  They stood, silently watching through the panes on the door as he climbed back into his truck and backed away with a final wave.

  “Well!” Mary said with a clap of her hands. “I’ll bet you money Knobby put some candy bars in that box, and I’m starving for chocolate. He knows I love it.”

  She left him standing there, wondering if he’d made a mistake letting the man leave. But something had convinced Ford that it would be safe to trust the old guy with their secrets. Mary’s “Mr. Knob” had seen a lot more of life than tending a roadside grocery in rural Tennessee.

  Despite that country-boy uniform he looked so comfortable in, the wise old eyes and the Semper Fi tattoo on his wrinkled brown forearm attested to that.

  Knoblett admitted a proprietary interest in Mary, too. That meant he wanted her protected. Ford found that reassuring. He feared that the old couple down the road might be the closest thing to family she had to rely on.

  Her grandmother was dead and Mary didn’t even know where her father was. Ford suspected that even if she did, it wouldn’t matter. They obviously weren’t all that close. Ford really hated to think that no one would be looking after Mary when all this was over.

  There was no way he could do it, even if he did feel himself leaning in that direction.

  He wished like hell he’d kept more to himself on this case and not gotten so involved with her. She had wormed her way right under his guard in less than twenty-four hours. So much for his self-discipline. Something about that deceptive fragility of hers had driven him toward her with the speed of a runaway train.

  He had given up his first career to try to meet Nan’s needs and demands. And here he was again, trying to make everything right for a woman. Ford leaned against the kitchen wall and crossed his arms over his chest, his mind in turmoil.

  Mary hadn’t asked for any of this, he reflected, determined to be fair. She had been busy teaching, minding her own business, when he had barreled into her life trying to save it.

  How could he even think about blaming her for anything that had happened since then? Mary didn’t expect him to offer her a
lifelong commitment of protection or anything else. Especially the “anything else.” She would probably laugh her pretty head off at the very idea.

  She was not his type and he was definitely not hers. They had absolutely nothing in common. Except the greatest sex he had ever experienced in his entire thirty-two years.

  And he was supposed to forget about that? Right.

  The day wore on as Ford created opportunities to put a little distance between Mary and himself. He had spent most of the afternoon outside, but now it was time to go back in. It would be dark soon. The muffler on the van worked now, though the fix he’d applied was temporary. Molly would have a fit when she saw all the bullet holes, but he couldn’t do much about those.

  He noted the patch where he had broken the window on the kitchen door, and shook his head at the woeful lack of security. A child could break into this place, he thought. He’d done it with a rock. All anyone would have to do was cut the power and the alarm would be useless.

  Ford regretted having to take Mary somewhere else, but he decided he had little choice. One more day shouldn’t hurt, though. That might give her time to get herself together. This current mood of hers was about as forced as a smile on death row. The edginess of it seemed almost tangible.

  Last night’s sex was to blame for some of that unease. Ford felt like kicking himself, especially when he admitted he might do it again if she gave the slightest indication she wanted to. He was trying to prevent the opportunity.

  Mary needed his reassurance and protection. Maybe she had thought, subconsciously, that she had to ensure that somehow. If he took advantage of that, then he was the worst kind of jerk.

  He knew she was upstairs. The water had been running when he’d walked along the hall up there earlier. A picture of Mary, wet and naked, suddenly flashed through his mind. “Whoa,” he cautioned himself aloud. “Get a grip before you go ape.”

  No way would he go looking for her. He’d just go back to the study and watch a little television. That one room was the only place he felt comfortable. He couldn’t even go to the kitchen for a snack without that window seat stirring recent memories into a frenzy. The rest of the house made him uneasy, as though he’d wandered into a museum where he wasn’t supposed to touch anything. Yeah, the “study”—what his folks called a “den”—that was his best bet.