by Dana Mentink
She paled. “Mads...”
“I’m sorry, Kate. I love you and I’m happy you’ve got Sterling in your life, but you know what I’ve got? My job. That’s it. That’s all I’ve got, my job, and I need to do it.”
“But James...?”
“I said, that’s all.” Her voice was so bitter she didn’t even recognize it. “I’m going to nail down one more detail tomorrow, and then I’ll be finished with the piece and I’m leaving Desert Valley.”
Kate stared at her. “I think you’re hurt because James isn’t jumping on your police theory. Well, he’s a cop, Mads. What do you expect him to do? He’s loyal to his colleagues, and you wouldn’t respect him if he wasn’t.”
“That’s not it.”
“Then what is it?”
I love him, and he doesn’t love me back. Not enough. Not nearly enough. She cleared her throat. “I’ve got some writing to do. You take the bedroom and I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“Mads...”
“It’s all right. I’m going be working late, anyway.”
She got up from the table, but Kate stopped her with a touch on her arm. “James was hurt badly in the past, Mads, just like you...” She stopped and swallowed hard. “Just like we were. It’s hard to let go of the past, isn’t it?”
Her sister’s touch was warm and gentle and full of a strong surety Madison had never known in her before. “Yeah,” Madison said, throat going thick with tears. “It sure is.”
Without a word, Kate got up and embraced Madison. They clung together, and Madison felt the twin pangs of anguish and joy. She cried, and so did Kate. They mingled their grief about a father who had fallen into deepest sin, and a mother they would never know. Madison added tears of gratitude that God had returned her sister. When their tears were depleted, she kissed Kate and pushed her away.
“I’ve got a job to do.”
“Just promise me you’ll talk to James one more time before you hit the send button and leave town.”
“I’ll think about it,” she said, turning to her laptop. Let James into her life one more time? Could she? Her heart supplied the answer. No way. No more. Lesson learned.
* * *
James didn’t arrive back at the campground until after two o’clock in the morning. His eyes were bleary with fatigue, and his shoulder ached. Someone had given him Madison’s sweater, which she’d forgotten inside the grange hall. He left it in his car, lying on the front seat, faintly scented by her perfume. Since Hawk was still at his parents’, the trailer was silent, lifeless. He’d stayed on scene long enough to know that the only fingerprints lifted from the knife were Falkner’s, indicating whoever had stabbed him wore gloves. He’d known in his core that Madison’s prints wouldn’t be there, but part of him had been hoping King’s would be. In his perfect scenario, King had killed Falkner after he’d botched the truck job. The evidence tape at Frances’s house had no doubt been a false lead. There was no evidence to suggest that police were involved in any part of the protection racket, and that whole mess could be put away with no reputations ruined and no dirty cops exposed. Neat. Tidy. Easy.
Madison had been so sure the guy talking to Falkner was a cop. But she was scared, and it was dark. Fear. Poor visibility. Easy to make a mistake. Could have been King or one of his guys. He threw off his jacket and unfastened the top buttons of his shirt, staring out the window at Madison’s cabin. Everything was dark and quiet, as it should have been at 2:00 a.m. He continued to stare, anyway. What was he hoping for?
To see her walk by the window so he’d have an excuse to go talk to her, he realized. The look in her eyes haunted him, the expression that revealed how much he’d meant to her and how massively he’d blown it. He’d shown that his first loyalty was not to her, but to his brothers in blue. You didn’t believe her. You broke her heart. He dropped down onto the couch and folded his hands to pray.
What should he ask? How could he fashion the pain into a plea? He prayed for Madison Coles, that she would be delivered from the past that still imprisoned her, that she would find a partner to trust completely, though it burned inside to think of her with someone else.
Something poked at him. The reason he’d not supported her wasn’t loyalty. There were cops in the department—Marlton, Bucks and others—whom he did not respect much. That was not the entire reason he’d let her down. He had stepped as close as he’d ever come to giving his whole soul to a woman, and it scared him. Could he trust his heart, the ridiculous organ that had beat feverishly for Paige? There was still doubt, a pervasive shadow, that made him question himself.
“Let go of the past.” Were they just divine words to comfort others? The quiet seeped into him along with the current of emotion he’d buried deep for so long.
He got down on his knees then.
Lord, help me to trust myself again. To believe that the past is forgiven and You’re making a new path for me, if only I would have the courage to follow it.
To trust, to believe, to forgive.
Overcome with his burdens, he lay on the couch and tried to sleep.
Twenty-One
King’s guard peered at Madison through the iron gate. “Lady, it’s barely eight o’clock in the morning, and Mr. King had a late night.”
“I need to see him.”
“Got an...?”
“No, I don’t have an appointment. Tell him I believe he’s being set up by the Desert Valley PD.”
His eyes widened, and he made a call. In a few moments she was standing in Mr. King’s lush front room. King sauntered in, dressed in workout clothes and holding a bottle of water.
“Fortunately I’m an early riser. What do you want?” He made no move to sit, and neither did she.
“Information. I know there is a protection racket going on in this town, and the police suspect you’re the ringleader, especially since they found a stash of your cigarettes at Jennings’s lumberyard.”
“Those were planted. I have nothing to do with muscling local business.”
“I believe you.”
He cocked his head. “Why?”
“Because someone killed Myron Falkner last night. You wouldn’t have stabbed him in the back.”
“And why are you so sure of that?”
She stared him right in the face. “Because you’re the kind that would have wanted him to see what was coming, to know who took him out before he died.”
King smiled. “You’re very perceptive. I have an alibi for last night, anyway. Cops already came here. I’m clear, so why do I need you?”
“Because they still suspect you. They will stick to you and watch your every move, and you don’t want that because it messes with your smuggling business.”
He started to protest.
“I’m not interested in the smuggling,” she said. “I just want the cop who’s behind the protection racket exposed. I’m sure you do, too. It will take some of the pressure off you.”
He eyed her warily. “So what do you want from me?”
“Tell me what you know about the Desert Valley cops. Rumors. Innuendo. I’m sure you hear things with your connections. This cop, whoever he is, arranged for Falkner to steal your truck and wreck it, to focus the attention on you.”
“Why assume it’s a cop?”
“Falkner knew where you parked your truck because he used to work for you, but someone also knew how the cops would set up the sting, exactly where the cops would intercept the truck, and passed that on to Falkner. That’s how he made his plan to send the truck off the bridge and escape before the cops closed in. Who could have known that kind of information unless they were on the inside?”
He regarded her, unreadable. “All right. I’ll play along. I’ll tell you who I think it is, but there’s a little something you need to understand first.”
“What’s that?”
He put the water bottle down on the table and moved one step closer to her, mouth in a tight line. “If I find out you betrayed me, or you’re trying to get info on me to pass along to the cops, you will die. Do we have an understanding, Miss Coles?”
She forced a nod. “Yes. Tell me who you suspect.”
* * *
She left King’s house an hour later, facts and worry swirling around in her mind. One more bit of research and a talk with Frances and she’d have enough to write the story. It was not easy to get an appointment at the prison to see Veronica Earnshaw’s brother, Lee Earnshaw, but after an interminable wait, she was granted a visit. The prison was an hour outside Desert Valley, and the drive gave her time to put some order to the questions swirling around in her mind.
When Lee Earnshaw was escorted in, her stomach tightened into knots. He sat, facing her across the table, hands cuffed. His dark brown eyes and hair stood out against his pale face. He was tall, muscular, twenty-eight years old and a rancher before he went to prison, she knew.
“Why did you want to see me?”
“You claimed you didn’t have anything to do with the gas-station robbery you were convicted of.”
His face was wary. “That’s right.”
“You further claim that evidence against you was falsified.”
“Also correct.”
“I want to know by whom. Which cops handled your arrest?”
He frowned. “You can get all this from the files. Why come here to ask me?”
“I’ve only seen the public records that name Bucks and Marlton as the arresting officers. The cops aren’t interested in letting me see their detailed files.”
He laughed. “You’re a reporter, right? Working on some sort of police-corruption story, I gather? I can see why you’re persona non grata.”
“Which cops handled your case, Mr. Earnshaw? Who do you think framed you?”
“I’m not sure I want to talk to you.”
“Why? It can’t make your situation any worse, can it? If I can expose a crooked cop, maybe you can get your conviction overturned.”
He considered for such a long time that she was afraid he was going to decline to speak with her. “The three cops who handled it were Ryder Hayes, Ken Bucks and Dennis Marlton.”
Hayes, Bucks and Marlton. “Which would have reason to want you to go to jail?”
He didn’t need to think about that question. “Bucks. He blames me for stealing away the girl he loved.” His eyes clouded over. “Her name was Shelley Graves and she was a few years older than me. The short version is she had a rough time because Bucks was obsessed with her, followed her around, stalked her basically. I offered sympathy which she mistook for love. Bucks went nuts. Made my life miserable in every way he could.”
“Did he hate you enough to fabricate evidence?”
“No doubt, but I didn’t get any warm fuzzies from Hayes or Marlton, either. Both could have framed me to get an arrest credited to them, or deflect blame from someone else. Now they’re supposedly out there solving my sister Veronica’s murder. I know she was a hard woman in some ways, and she made a lot of enemies, but she deserves justice. I don’t see the cops making much progress.” He rubbed a hand over his eyes. “I’m not a real believer in the justice system at the moment.”
“Sometimes justice is a long time coming, Mr. Earnshaw.”
“You say that like you’ve got some experience.”
“I do.”
He considered for a moment. “I am innocent. I know you probably don’t believe that because everyone in here would claim the same thing, but you’re looking at a guy who doesn’t deserve to be here.” His eyes were intense.
What if he was telling the truth? What if Lee Earnshaw had been set up? Incarcerated and stripped of his freedom by the people who were supposed to protect him?
She thanked him, and the guard let her out of the room.
Hayes, Bucks and Marlton. She reviewed her plan as she walked out. She’d check with Frances and Tony again. They might have seen one of the cops lingering around the bridal shop or her house, heard Falkner drop a name. Something. She’d compare their answers to King’s. Then she’d write up what she had and hope it was enough to please her editor, and put enough pressure on the bad cop to force him to make a mistake.
As she hurried to her car, her heart thudded to a stop. James was there in uniform, leaning against his Crown Victoria. Hawk sniffed and slobbered his way over to her, and she scratched his wrinkly head.
James frowned. “What are you doing here, Madison?”
She kept scratching the dog. “Researching.”
“By interviewing Lee Earnshaw?”
“He says he was framed.”
“They all do.”
“Maybe he is the one who really is telling the truth.”
He let out a long sigh, and she flicked a glance at him, noting that he looked exhausted. She knew he hadn’t returned to the campground until early morning. He’d probably gotten no more than a few hours of sleep. Worry squeezed at her. If he was working with a crooked cop, how safe was he?
He can take care of himself, Mads.
“I heard you went to see King this morning, too.”
“You don’t have to keep tabs on me anymore, James. Falkner is dead, so he’s not coming after me.”
“But the guy who killed him might, if you keep nosing around in things.”
She stood as tall as her frame would allow. “I’m going to find out the truth, whether you like it or not.” She expected anger, belligerence. But she saw only sadness, and it puzzled her.
“Madison, I am sorry I hurt you.”
She blinked, confused. “You were doing your job. I’m doing mine. It’s business.”
“No it’s not, not all of it. Fact of the matter is, I think you’re right. You’re onto something, and I believe you. I’m sorry that I hurt you, because I couldn’t say that earlier.”
She was thunderstruck. “Thank you for that.”
He moved closer. “And I’m worried—beyond worried, more like terrified out of my mind—that you’re going to get hurt following this trail. I want you to stop.”
“Stop?”
He put his hands on her shoulders and moved her closer to him, close enough that she could see herself reflected in his eyes. “Let the story go for now, Madison. Please. And before you say it, I’m not ordering. I’m asking.”
Her soul stirred at the entreaty in his voice. How she longed to have someone care about her as much as he appeared to. She found herself leaning into him as he pressed a kiss to her temple, her cheek, tracing his lips down her face toward her mouth. She felt so safe, so cherished there in the circle of his arms.
Through the heady sensations, she felt the seed of doubt take hold again. He wanted her to stop writing because it would embarrass his police force. He wasn’t what he seemed to be. He wasn’t someone she could trust with her heart. With a wrenching ache, she pulled out of his grasp.
“I’m writing the story, and you’re not going to talk me out of it by faking concern.”
He jerked as if she’d slapped him. “I wasn’t faking.”
“I’m going to meet with Frances and write the story, and then I’m out of here. No more Little Red Riding Hood in your way.”
“Madison, you were never in my way.” The words were so quiet, so tender, that she wanted to cry.
“I’ve got to go, James.”
“I want you to stay,” he said.
One long moment of staring at the sweet emotion on his face nearly made her change her mind. Would she trust him? Could she take the new path that her heart tugged her toward?
She shook her head, got into her car, and drove away as fast as she dared
.
* * *
James pulled up at the police station, her words still ringing in his ears.
“...in your way.”
“...faking concern.”
Was that really how he’d made her feel? How had he managed to send those messages when she filled his every moment and thought? Was it his past or hers that was keeping them apart? He no longer knew or cared. He was filled with a profound sense of dread that if he didn’t get to the bottom of who was behind the protection-racket scheme, Madison’s life was in danger. If there was no future for the two of them, then the only thing left was to ensure her safety.
The station was quiet. Carrie sat at the reception desk, working away on her computer. She waved at him. “I can’t believe we had another death on the night of the dance.”
James nodded. “But not in the way we’d anticipated.”
“I’m just glad it wasn’t you.”
“Thanks, Carrie. That makes two of us. I’m going to work at my desk for a while.”
He pulled up Lee Earnshaw’s file on his computer. The arrest had been made before his time began in Desert Valley, but he knew the particulars. The primary cop involvement had been from Hayes, Bucks and Marlton. He mentally crossed out Ryder. There was no way he was a crooked cop. James didn’t know either Bucks or Marlton well. Which one? If either? It was possible they were wrong, all wrong about everything. He gripped the file and scanned every line, every detail.
When his eyes began to burn, he left Hawk snoozing under his desk and went to follow another lead. He checked in with the supervising clerk who had a desk opposite the evidence room, a sandy-haired lady of some fifty-five years named Alice. She greeted him warmly and swiveled a binder toward him so he could sign in. Then she handed him a key.
He unlocked the door and stepped inside. The shelves were neatly stacked with plastic bags, labeled and sealed with red evidence tape. The air was stale, the only movement from a spider busily tending a web in a far corner of the ceiling. Nothing stirred his instincts. What had he been expecting? A neon sign pointing to a clue?