The squeak of a chair made him peek through his fingers. Deputy Jennings had his right leg propped up on another chair, a bag of ice draped over the knee, studying him. Lifting his head, Xavier let his hands rest on the desk and met Jennings’s scrutiny head-on.
“Do you miss it?” the deputy asked.
“My leg? Some days.”
Wincing, Jennings shifted as if to get comfortable. “How’d it happen?”
“IED.”
Xavier could see the quandary in Jennings’s features; he wanted the nitty-gritty of how Xavier had actually lost his leg but wasn’t stupid enough to ask the question, because polite people didn’t bring up wartime stories with veterans. And from what Xavier gathered about the people of Iowa, or the Midwest in general, they were all about being polite.
Right, and that makes me a bogan.
He should say something to the deputy, possibly give him some advice on dealing with his own injury, but Xavier wasn’t in the mood to discuss his time in Afghanistan. It was bad enough these people knew what little they did about him. He couldn’t stomach giving them any more.
They were both spared from the awkward silence by Jolie’s return from the sheriff’s office. She glanced between the two of them before taking her seat.
“So?” Xavier asked.
She picked up a pen and jotted something on a pad of paper—he couldn’t see what, as she’d used her other arm to block the notepad. “So what?” she asked absentmindedly.
“Am I ever going home tonight?”
Seconds ticked by before she stiffened and dropped her pen. “Oh, crap. I forgot I was your ride.” She fiddled in her pocket and pulled out her keys. “Let’s go.”
When she stepped away, he read what she’d written on the notepad. Grace Maddox, missing at the age of 12. Never found. All known family members moved away.
Easing onto his feet, Xavier really felt the aches and pains. “Are you sure I can go?”
“Yes. I just … I’m sorry.”
“You do that a lot. Apologize.”
Jennings chuckled and then covered the lower half of his face with his hand. Jolie glared at her coworker.
“Same could be said for you,” she said, bringing her piercing gaze back to him. “Didn’t you go on an apology tour this morning?”
With a shrug, he headed for the exit. He reached the parking lot and was almost to her car before she caught up with him.
“Are you hungry?” she asked as she slid into the driver’s seat.
Folding his body into the passenger seat, he had to guide his leg inside the car. It had been a long and exhausting day. Surprisingly, as much as he’d been overdoing it, he hadn’t succumbed to any more migraines.
“I could eat,” he said, pulling the door closed.
Jolie started the engine. “Why don’t I take you to The Killdeer Pub? You get whatever you want. My treat.”
“Your treat, huh?”
She flushed then made a production out of backing the car out of her spot and leaving the lot.
Xavier tamped down his urge to smile and focused on the green light from the radio. It was too quiet. Reaching out, he punched the power button, and Imagine Dragons blared out of the speakers. Xavier quickly lowered the volume. That, he hadn’t expected.
“Oh, um, I like to play it loud when I’m alone.”
Chuckling, he sat back in his seat and left the radio where it was. Who knew Jolie was a rock-n-roll girl? Letting the music fill the space between them, he closed his eyes and savored the chance to let his mind shut down.
The click-click of the blinker roused him enough to peel one eye open and peek at the woman next to him. Her red hair was doing its damnedest to slip free of her ponytail. The day’s toil had turned her once crisp uniform into a rumpled mess, but it did nothing to detract from her appearance. Tilting his head to the side against the headrest, he blatantly studied her.
What was it about her that he’d suddenly found attractive? In all the time he’d lived in Eider, he hadn’t once taken notice of her like this. True, he’d watched her now and again when she came into the pub, but mostly because she’d come in with Cassy or Nash, and on occasion, with Nic and Con.
Jolie looked his way then did a double take. “What?”
“Nothing.” He focused on the windshield, taking a peek out of the corner of his eyes.
She was frowning but paying attention to her driving.
If he weren’t careful, he’d start teasing her like he did his sister. Ariel had a tendency to fly into a temper if he pushed her buttons too far, but it was fun to get a rise out of her. Was Jolie a stereotypical ginger who had a hothead when set off?
The lights of The Killdeer Pub came into view. Hopefully, Farran hadn’t shut down the kitchen yet. He hadn’t eaten a solid meal since the snag bag Ariel had given him in the hospital.
Turning off the street into the lot, Jolie parked and killed the engine. Xavier exited the car slowly, his body protesting at having to vacate its comfortable position. Too bad, his stomach countered, because he was starving. He’d make it up to his body by soaking in the pool behind the house.
Jolie rounded the car’s back end, meeting him. “Everything okay?”
“Just sore. Don’t worry about it.” He’d merely overdone it with the punching bag and that unexpected jog in the park.
“You sure? You look more than ‘just sore.’”
“Don’t mother me. One is enough.” He steered clear of her and moved at a fast clip to The Killdeer’s entrance.
She caught up with him, skipping around to block his progress. “Hey, I’m not mothering. I’m concerned. You did pass out last night, and we had to rush you to the hospital. Want a repeat performance?”
“Yeah, no. This comes with the territory, ’k?”
“Hello, I’m not a doctor nor an expert on your condition, so I’m not going to know what’s going on with you unless you tell me.” She pointed a finger at him in a pose that was too much like his mother’s.
“It’s fine. I won’t relapse on you. I swear.”
Jolie gnawed on her bottom lip before finally giving him an acquiescing shrug and stepping aside.
Oh, that was too easy, but he’d take what he could get. He didn’t need any more personal scrutiny into his life.
Passing through the heavy wood doors that bore the original stained-glass windows depicting leaves and berries, Xavier entered a festive atmosphere. The place was packed, and the college student manning the bar looked overwhelmed. Hell. He should have come in tonight to help. Both Farran and Maura had warned him weeks ago that the pub would stay busy all through the fair. People from all corners of the county always came to Maura O’Hanlon’s crazy-named pub for some of the best Irish ale and Farran’s Irish-Midwest fusion meals. With both Xavier and Con preoccupied with current events, neither had been able to help the women out.
“Oh, boy, it’s busy,” Jolie said behind him.
“I should help.” He moved toward the bar.
She grabbed his forearm and dragged him back. “Not on your life. For one, you’re hurting and overtasked your head. Second, I brought you here to eat, not work.” She jabbed her chin at the kid behind the bar. “If you bail the substitute out, how will he ever learn to handle a full load?”
“She’s right.” Maura O’Hanlon drifted around to block his way to the bar. The diminutive Irishwoman was a force to be reckoned with, and neither of her children crossed her, especially Con. “Our new barman is doing fine, and ’tis not my first rodeo.”
“There’s not an empty seat, much less two, in the place,” Jolie said. “It might be better to get a to-go order.”
“I’ve got a little booth at the back where Farran and I sit to take a break. It’s away from most of this noise, and the two of you can sit t’ere.” Maura beckoned for them to follow, her body language brokering no arguments.
As they passed the full tables, some of the regulars hailed Xavier. He noticed a few people eyed Jolie with none
-too-nice looks. Gently, he placed his hand on the small of her back, as if guiding her through the throng. Her muscles tensed, but she didn’t reject his touch; in fact, she relaxed, pushing into his hand. A thrill shot through him and strengthened when he caught the raised eyebrows of a matronly pair. Let them think what they wanted. He didn’t care.
Placing paper napkin–wrapped silverware on the table, Maura gestured at the booth as she stepped aside to let them take a seat. “The special tonight is barbeque pulled pork with twice-baked mashed taters, a choice of coleslaw or baked beans, and I have a few slices of key lime pie I can tuck away for you.”
“That sounds really good, Maura,” Jolie said.
“Appetizers?” Maura asked. “Xavier, I’ll assume the usual for your drink?”
He nodded, never letting his gaze drift from Jolie. “Bring us a basket of fry bread and honey.”
“And a never-ending glass of tea for me,” Jolie said.
Her smile broadening, Maura winked and then headed into the kitchen.
Shifting her hips, Jolie winced.
“Problems?” he asked.
“Duty belt is pinching. Still trying to get used to wearing this for long hours.”
“Imagine wearing about twenty-three kilos on top of it.”
She frowned. “What’s that in pounds?”
Sometimes he forgot Americans weren’t used to the metric system. “Fifty pounds.”
“Oh, geesh, this belt feels like fifty pounds. I can’t imagine lugging around one hundred pounds all day, in the desert.”
“You’ll get used to it, and then you won’t even care about the weight.”
That flush was back, and she averted her gaze. Damn, she embarrassed easily.
Maura took that moment to interrupt the sudden silence by bringing them their drinks and the fry bread. Once she flitted back into the kitchen, Jolie grabbed her glass, and, amazingly, she guzzled the whole amount. She could put a party-hard marine under the table with moves like that.
“Thirsty?”
She thunked the glass back on the table, making a sound of satisfaction. That utterance quickened his heart and sent a rush of blood to the all-important region of his body. It was like they were rehashing a scene out of When Harry Met Sally.
“Yep,” she said, snagging a fry bread patty off the top of the heap. She drizzled honey over the flat bread and folded it like a taco. “Do they have fry bread in Australia?”
“Not really.” He took his share and added the honey. “We have damper bread, but it’s nothing like this.”
They enjoyed the rest of the appetizer with only the sounds of conversation and music from the main dining area keeping them company.
He polished off the last bite then wiped the oil from his hands. “That missing girl you mentioned earlier … ”
She paused in chewing and then gulped down her food. “Yeah,” she choked out.
“Other than that you believe in a connection, what’s so special about her?”
Fiddling with the corner of the paper napkin, she began to peel the thin layers apart. Xavier let her stew. In his experience, with someone like Jolie, the less he prodded, the less pressure the other person felt, and eventually the truth would come out. She ceased tearing the napkin to bits and met his gaze.
“At one time, she’d been a friend to my brother. Something about her disappearance changed him.”
Crossing his arms, Xavier pressed his back into the booth cushion. “What can you remember about it?”
“Not a whole lot. I know it threw this community into a state of panic. Parents went overboard with the safety of their children. My mom wouldn’t let Ian or me go anywhere without her, which sucked the big one as a teenager. It was summertime, and when I wasn’t working I wanted to go out with friends. But Mom was a teacher and the wife of the sheriff, and she had to keep tabs on us all day.”
“You were, what, sixteen at the time?” he asked. “I remember a lot when I was that old.”
“Well, you’re not me. My dad didn’t want us to know a lot, and because he was the sheriff at the time, he could control some of what was said at home.” Jolie smoothed back the flyaways then cradled her head in her hand. “I think they eventually considered her a runaway.”
“A common occurrence in this area?”
“Not really. What make her situation and Sarah’s similar are their estranged parents. Sarah’s was her dad, but in Grace’s case, it was her mom. Grace lived with her dad. I do remember that because Ian played Little League with her, and sometimes her dad would drop him off after games or practice. Her mom was MIA.”
“Could be a coincidence on that front.”
Jolie shook her head. “That’s what Con said, and I’m not so sure. There’s a connection, and I’m the one who’s supposed to find it.”
“Here we go,” Maura said, appearing with a tray loaded with their meals and two large pie wedges. After refilling Jolie’s glass with tea and leaving the pitcher, Maura returned to her hosting duties out front.
“You know, this might not be a good place to discuss this,” Jolie said.
“Why’s that?”
“The sheriff doesn’t want rumors flying.”
Xavier looked at her over the top of his pulled pork sandwich. “The chicken has left the coop on that one.”
“We don’t need to perpetuate the problem. This town is bad enough with its gossips.”
“So, why did you stay? You could have become a cop anywhere. Why here?”
Jolie crumpled the napkin and dragged it into her lap, staring at her untouched food. “Better the devil you know, right?”
Mum’s exact words when he told her he was leaving to learn who the real Xavier Hartmann was. She hadn’t wanted him to leave, worried he wouldn’t like what he found or that something bad would happen to him. And whaddya know? Something bad had happened to him. And it got worse with the possibility of murder charges hanging over his head.
The Devil had played his winning hand, taking Xavier’s soul. Who would save him now?
Chapter Eleven
Unable to sleep, Jolie stared at the dark expanse outside her bedroom window. There was no moon, and the acres of pasture ground were still and empty. Somewhere out there in the world, Sarah Kruger was alone and frightened and, God forbid, hurt. Jolie shuddered at the implications. It scared the crap out of her to think that someone could be violating the teenager, and it pissed her off at the same time.
Throwing back the sheet, Jolie vacated her bed and padded out of the room. She had to stop dwelling on those ugly thoughts and focus on finding the girl. In the kitchen, she poured a glass of water and drank. The water was bland in comparison to her first taste of that kombucha she’d had at Xavier’s home. The tart, fizzy liquid had taken her by surprise, just as the man who’d served her the drink. He hadn’t been anything like what she’d thought, and at no point while she was with him for the day did she get the vibe that he was a cold-hearted killer. Jolie placed her glass on the counter.
Why did her mind keep straying to that man? She’d nearly jumped out of her skin when he touched her lower back at the pub, but the feel of it had helped ease the tension she’d been experiencing walking through that crowded dining room, and her natural reaction was to press into it. Oddly enough, she felt comfortable around him, even though Xavier managed to pull out of her the very things she didn’t want to talk about with anyone else.
Draining the glass, she set it in the sink and shuffled to the back of the house and the little den area she’d turned into her office. On his way home, Jennings had dropped off the file on Grace’s case that she’d asked him to locate for her. During Dad’s time as sheriff, he’d fought the growing tide of the computer age, insisting that everything be done as hard copy and in triplicate. Jennings discovered the file in the storage room in the basement. How could a nine-year-old case get dumped off in storage with other cases that were twenty or more years old?
Settled in her chair, she tugged th
e chain on the desk lamp, blinking at the sudden brightness, and then flipped open the folder. A paper clipped to the left side of the folder was a picture of a grinning Grace in a softball uniform, bat resting on her shoulder. Dirt smeared the knees of her pants where she’d obviously taken some slides into base, and there were smudges on her cheeks.
Jolie stared at the photo, letting her memories work their way forward. She hadn’t been honest with Xavier; she remembered more about those days and weeks that led into months than she let on. Grace had been a promising ballplayer, one high school coaches were watching intently. The fact that she and Ian were close friends gave Jolie grounds to tease her brother, saying that one day he and Grace would end up dating, and kissing, and maybe even getting married, all of which drove Ian bonkers.
The day Grace went missing, she’d been waiting for her father to pick her up after a softball game. He arrived, only to find his daughter nowhere on the school grounds and not a sign that she’d ever been there. His frantic call to the station had been typed and added to the file. Jolie lifted the pages on the right side of the folder and found it. The coach claimed she had run into her office to drop off equipment, and when she returned, Grace was gone. The coach assumed the girl’s father had picked her up and left. Grace’s father was adamant he had not, as he was running late. He mentioned that Grace told him her cell phone’s battery was low when she called him to pick her up. With no activity since her last call to him, and no signal, they couldn’t locate her.
Her father begged people to come forward with any information and help. Because of her young age, the folks of McIntire County came out in droves, searching for Grace. Along with her family, Jolie spent long hours combing the green, corn and bean fields, praying she wouldn’t come across Grace’s body.
Jolie’s throat tightened as she touched the image of the girl. The searches proved fruitless, summer faded into fall, and with it came the harvest. Not one farmer found the remains of a twelve-year-old girl. People stopped caring, stopped searching, and Grace’s father fell into a pit of despair that led to an alcohol addiction. The clincher came when Dad announced that Grace was deemed a runaway. Furious, her father threatened to ruin Dad and both law enforcement offices. With nothing to prove his claim, over time, Mr. Maddox faded into obscurity, eventually moving away.
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