by Dana Mentink
He laughed. “Don’t thank me, Harrison. I think you’re going to find that your redhead is more of a problem than that couch-eating bloodhound. You know your brothers and sisters in blue have nicknamed her Little Red? Something about her attracting big bad wolves.”
Great. He could only imagine what Madison would say when she heard that nickname.
“I think it suits her. Maybe you should get her a red cape so you can spot her more easily when she sneaks away next time.” The chief was still laughing when James closed his office door.
Burning with embarrassment, he beat a hasty retreat out of the chief’s office, reminding himself of his partial victory and trying to forget the humiliation. His redhead?
You can’t fight it.
He didn’t have to fight anything. Yes, she was an attractive woman with amazing spirit, but she didn’t want a man in her life, and he couldn’t blame her, after what her father had done. And he wasn’t in the market for a girlfriend, especially one who couldn’t stay out of trouble. He’d had a few girlfriends over the years, but not serious, and he intended to remain painfully single until he could be sure, completely sure, that he could trust himself to choose the right one. And you just might be an old man by the time you get that nailed down. He had plenty to do in the meantime—killers to be caught, a rascally dog partner to manage, and the need to sock away what little money he could to buy back the family ranch.
His balance restored, he was surprised to find Madison in the lobby with an irate Carrie. Uh-oh. He’d arrived just in time.
Catching sight of James, Carrie shoved her glasses up in frustration. “This lady is thorough, I’ll give her that.”
Thorough as Hawk on the trail, he thought. “That she is.”
Carrie stapled a stack of papers with an emphatic whack of her palm. “But I told her I won’t track down Frances Andrews’s cell phone number for her. It’s not right.”
Madison had the decency to look chagrined. “I wouldn’t have asked, except no one is answering at the bridal salon, and I’m sure Frances is ready to talk to me. She was just reluctant at the hospital.”
“Thanks, Carrie,” James said, giving her a sympathetic look. “We’ll let you get your work done, and I owe you a coffee.”
“Thank you,” she said to James. “You’re my new best friend.”
The woman now known as Little Red to all Desert Valley cops twirled a paper clip between her fingers. He sighed. “Come with me and we’ll pay a visit to Frances at her home,” he told her as they left the building.
“I can drive myself. My car’s out front.”
“No, you’re coming with me. I’m your protection detail again.”
“Why? You drew the short straw?”
No, it’s because you’re my redhead, according to the chief. He wasn’t about to tell her he’d argued for the job. Instead he went to the passenger side and opened the door for her. Hawk was happy to settle into the backseat after he’d given Madison a lick on the back of the neck. She wiped it away with a giggle.
He could only watch her in wonder, this woman who was part giggly girl, part danger magnet and 100 percent fascinating. Little Red. Oh boy.
She felt him watching her. “What?”
He turned on the car. “Nothing.”
She checked her phone, eyes opening wide in surprise.
“I can’t believe this,” she said.
James waited.
She looked from her phone to him. “My sister is meeting up with your brother at the dance?”
“It’s not a date.”
Madison worried her lower lip between her teeth. “I didn’t realize they’d hit it off so quickly.”
“Me neither.”
“My sister is just thinking they’re friends, not anything more. Is that...?” She wriggled on the seat and tried again. “Are you sure that’s how your brother sees it?”
“I haven’t talked to him about it.” It could have been a conversation plucked right from high school, but he wasn’t about to comment further after the turn their conversation had taken the previous night.
“Really?” Her nose crinkled. “I thought you would have warned him away from my sister by now.”
He felt a stab of guilt. At some level, her earlier accusation when she’d labeled him a hypocrite held a grain of truth. How could she be expected to let go of the past and learn to trust when he’d thrown it in her face while trying to look out for Sterling? He let out a breath. “I’m protective of my brother.”
“And I’m protective of Kate.” An awkward silence unrolled between them. “I guess seeing each other at the dance doesn’t really mean anything, right?” she asked.
“Right. I mean, everyone in town is invited. You, too.” He flashed on an image of Madison dressed to the nines, catching the eye of every man in the room, especially his own. He imagined that she’d be enveloped in a delicate scent, something fresh and woodsy, wearing a gown that would enhance the color of her hair. He blinked. What was the matter with him? “Everyone is invited, single or with a date.” Had he said date aloud? Would she leap to the wrong conclusion? “I’m going stag, of course. I’ll be on duty.” His words were flopping around like fish out of water. He fixed his eyes on the road and hoped she hadn’t noticed.
“You sure it’s not going to be dangerous?”
Not for the civilian guests, he thought.
It was as if she read his mind. “Oh, right,” she said. “You’re hoping for a little danger.”
He didn’t answer as they pulled up at the bridal-shop owner’s residence, a single-level house at the end of a dry gravel road. Relieved to be saved from a conversation that was as uncomfortable as his feelings, he hastened from the car.
Madison was already knocking on Frances’s door by the time he’d loosed Hawk. There was no answer, so she tried ringing the bell.
She raised her hand to knock again when she stopped and turned to him, fingers on her lips. “I think I heard something,” she whispered.
Now he could hear it, too, raised voices from the backyard area. Angry voices. He put his hand on his gun.
“Stay here,” he said without any hope that she would actually do what he told her. Pressing his back to the wall, he skirted the house and headed for the backyard just in time to hear a crash.
* * *
Madison stayed as far behind James as she could make herself, but at the sound of the crash, both she and Hawk geared up to a jog. James darted around the corner first.
She skidded to a stop at a tiled patio with a fire pit in the middle and several worn wooden chairs scattered around. The fire licked softly, puffing a faint scent of smoke into the air.
Odd to use a fire pit at midday, Madison thought, when it was already approaching eighty degrees.
Frances was crouched over a broken flowerpot, gathering up the shards. Her son, Tony, stood with his arms crossed, face red with anger.
After checking out the scene, James took his hand away from his gun. “I’m sorry to intrude, ma’am.”
Frances leaped to her feet. “What are you doing here?”
“We knocked on the front door,” he said, “and then I heard something break. Is everything okay?”
Hawk trotted over to Tony and began to lick his hands.
Frances eyed James and Madison warily. “We were just...arguing, and I knocked this pot over. We’re fine.”
“No, we’re not,” Tony said. Though he continued to rub Hawk behind the ears, his gaze was hostile, fixed upon his mother. “I’m not leaving Desert Valley. My friends are here. That’s what we are arguing about. She wants to send me away.”
Frances heaved a weary sigh. “To go stay with my sister in Tucson, just until things here are more settled.”
“Because you’re scared of Myron Falkner
?” Madison asked.
“That’s the dude that I nicknamed Brick?” Tony asked.
Madison nodded.
Frances looked nervous. “You’re going to be better off with Aunt Rhoda,” she said. “The reason isn’t important.”
“Yes it is, Mom,” Tony said, turning to James. “If she won’t tell you, then I will.”
“Anthony William,” Frances snapped. “Don’t you dare disobey. I want you to go inside and stay there.”
“I’m not a child, Mom,” he said. “You can’t put me in time-out like you did when I was five years old. They already know the guy’s been harassing you.” Tony looked at James. “He keeps her in line by threatening to hurt me.”
“They aren’t just threats.” Frances gripped one of the pottery shards as if it would somehow protect her. Her glance shifted to the empty lot next to her property. The dry grass was knee-high. The shrubs had grown tall enough to create the perfect screen. “He might be watching right now.”
Madison steeled herself against a shiver that crept up her spine. It was as if she could feel his hands pressed to the pillow, sealing off her oxygen, and hear the creaking of the trailer roof as it slowly crept down to crush her. “You have to tell us or he might never be caught.”
She shook her head. “No. We can’t talk to you. Go away, please.”
“At the hospital you were ready,” Madison pressed. “What’s changed since then?”
She looked away, lips pressed tight together.
“Mom, this can’t go on forever.” Tony jammed his hands in his pockets. “Falkner, or whatever his name is, comes to the salon once a month to demand money.” Francis tried to interrupt, but he ignored his mother’s protests. “It used to be fifty dollars, seventy-five, petty stuff, but now it’s five hundred a month or bad things start to happen. We tried not paying once, but he made good on his threats.”
James frowned. “What happened?”
“Broken windows at the salon, flat tires on the car. Lately, though, when you started nosing around, things changed. Falkner said if we talked to you or the cops, they would up the ante.”
“They?” Madison pressed. “Who is Falkner’s boss?”
“I don’t know.” Tony looked at his mother. “Do you, Mom? If you have any idea, you gotta tell them.”
Frances shook her head, lines of weariness grooved into her face. “I don’t know, but it’s someone who has connections, because Falkner’s afraid of him.”
Madison looked at James. Bruce King.
“And Falkner’s hitting up other businesses, too, isn’t he?” she asked.
Frances nodded. “Bill Baxter at the Tool Corral, the flower shop until he squeezed them dry and they closed, and...” Her voice broke. “Albert Jennings. We were friends since I moved to town twenty years ago, right after my divorce. He was a huge help to me. He’d fix things for nothing and let me pay when I could. His wife would send over pies and jars of jelly, and we did some quilting together.” Her face crumpled. “I can’t believe he’s hurt. I’m going to do whatever it takes to help them.”
James’s posture was tight with anger. “Jennings finally said no more?”
Frances sighed. “He’d been getting pressure from Falkner for too long, and he’d had enough. He told me he was going to end it once and for all. I begged him to be careful.” She started to weep silently. “I’ve been so afraid, for such a long time. I came to Desert Valley because I wanted a good life for my son, in a small town where people cared about one another.”
Tony put his hand on her shoulder. “Mom, it’s okay,” he said gently. “Now that it’s out in the open, they can arrest him.” He looked at James. “Right? You’ve got enough to arrest him now and put him away?”
“As soon as we find him,” James said.
Something was niggling at Madison. “But what made you change your mind about talking to me before? Did he threaten to hurt Tony again?”
“It was more than a threat this time.” Frances shot a look at her son.
He nodded. “Tell them, Mom. It’s all right. They will believe you.”
Frances sucked in a breath. “I was getting ready to take Tony to school—he has one of those late-start days today—and I noticed his backpack was not where he usually dumps it.”
Tony shrugged. “I’m not very tidy.”
“Anyway, something made me unzip and check.”
“She was snooping.”
“And there was a packet inside, white powder in a plastic bag.”
James let out a whoosh of air.
“Drugs?” Madison could hardly believe what she was hearing. “What kind?”
She raised her hands. “I don’t know. Cocaine? Heroin? I’m not an expert on that kind of thing, but I know Falkner planted it in Tony’s backpack so when he went to school, there would be some kind of telephone tip and he’d be suspended. He promised it would happen if I talked to you, and now...” Her eyes filled again. “Who knows what he’s going to do to us after this?”
“We’ve got the whole department on the lookout now,” James reassured her. “I’ll have a patrol car drive by your house and your business every couple of hours. He’s not going to come back.”
“Yes, he will.” Madison could see the glint of fear in Frances’s eyes. “He’ll do what his boss tells him to. Don’t you see? In order to plant those drugs, he was in my house. In...my...house while we were asleep.” Her throat convulsed, and Madison shared her horror. “He could have done anything. That’s why I want Tony to go stay with his aunt.”
“I’m not missing the last few weeks of school. Gonna go to the waterslides with my friends and there’s a field day and fun stuff. I like it here, and I’m not going to run away.”
“Fine,” she said, exasperated. “For one week, then. I’ll call the school and tell them and get your work. Please, Tony.”
Tony snorted. “That’s just caving in. You always told me to stand up to bullies.”
Frances put her hands on Tony’s skinny shoulders. “Your father walked away from both of us, and I’ve tried my best to raise you. Please do this for me. I can’t keep the salon going and worry every moment about you.”
There was a long pause. “Just for a week?” Tony repeated, more to James than his mother.
“I promise you I’ll do everything I can to put this guy behind bars,” James said. “We have a good lead that might take us somewhere tonight.”
Madison’s pulse ticked up. He knew something, something that he hadn’t shared with her, cagey cop.
“All right.” Tony slammed open the back door. “I’ll go pack.”
Frances let out an enormous sigh of relief. “Thank you for helping convince him.”
“What did you do with the drugs?” James asked.
“I burned them in the fire pit.”
With a look of horror, James ran to the pit. Madison followed. The flames curled around a blackened mess at the bottom. There was no possible way any of it could be used for evidence. Sighing, he photographed it, anyway.
As they returned to the front, Hawk was snuffling every inch, particularly interested in a spot to the side of the driveway covered in white carpet roses. James looked but spotted nothing unusual.
“Come,” James told his dog. Hawk ignored him. Madison got into the car while James went to check on Hawk again.
After what seemed like a long while, James loaded Hawk in the car, an odd expression on his face. He fetched a plastic bag from the trunk, and fiddled with it for a minute before putting it into his pocket.
Frances leaned in to talk through the open passenger window. “Please arrest Falkner and make him tell you who he works for. I’ll never be safe until that happens, and neither will my son.”
“I’ll arrange for you to have some protection.”
> She shook her head. “No, I can take care of myself. Just catch Falkner.”
James assured her he would, and then he started the car.
“Never be safe,” Madison echoed. As they drove past the field of long grass, she wondered if Falkner was out there, watching, ready to exact retribution on Frances and her son for talking to her.
Or maybe he’d skip that step and make sure he ended things permanently.
Fourteen
James was lost in thought on the way back to the campground. Pain whacked against his temples in a regular rhythm, and he longed to rip the bandage off his arm and yank out the stitches, which itched like crazy. Madison watched him warily as they drove back, and he offered only short responses to her queries. He wanted to get to a place where he could think, to decide what to do about the suspicion that had lodged itself in his mind like a hammered nail.
He pulled up at his cabin just before five, thoughts still zinging madly through his overworked brain.
She was out of the car before he could open the door for her. He let Hawk out.
“Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you?” Madison demanded. “Does it have to do with the plastic bag you put into your pocket?’
Was he going to tell her? It was a concern too strange to be broached, yet. “I’m...”
She waited, eyebrows raised, lips quirked into a neat bow.
Seconds ticked by. “...going to cook,” he finished, opening the cabin door and climbing inside.
“Cook?” She poked in her head, face lit with astonishment. “We’ve got to catch a killer and there’s something going on tonight you haven’t told me about, not to mention this police dance looming in the not-too-distant future, and you’re going to go all Betty Crocker?”
He threw a towel over his shoulder and washed his hands. “I think better when I cook.”
She gaped. “You’re crazy.”
He handed her a cutting board. “Are you going to help or call me names?”
She stared from the cutting board to James and back again. He almost laughed at the confusion on her face, which made her look all of eighteen years old.