Hot

by Julia Harper

  “Stay.”

  She startled. She really had thought he was still sleeping obliviously. John narrowed his eyes in anger.

  Turner glanced at him over her shoulder. “I can’t.”

  He watched her soft lips firm. Her cat eyes slid away from him, hiding guilt and some other emotion. His own tightened. “I’ve been running after you with all the finesse of a Keystone cop. I’ve let you slide through my fingers, turned aside when I could have caught you, pulled my punches so I wouldn’t hurt you. But now there’s someone else after you who won’t pull his punches. He wants to kill you, and I’m not going to let that happen.”

  “I—”

  “Even if that puts your little plans all out of kilter,” he finished, his voice even.

  She still couldn’t meet his eyes. “I know that—”

  “No, you don’t know.” He levered himself up to sit in the bed. “I’m not playing by your rules anymore, Turner. If you walk out that door, all bets are off as far as I’m concerned. I’ll bring you down when and where I want. Whether you’re ready or not.”

  “John—”

  “Come back to bed,” he commanded. “Now.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Damn it, Turner, yes you can!” He couldn’t remember the last time he’d lost control of his temper like this. And then he did: it had been on the phone with Turner, not two days ago. “Don’t give me that crap about your uncle and how Hyman has to pay. It’s your life at stake now.”

  “It’s more than that,” she burst out.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “This,” she gestured jerkily at stomach height with her hand, “Between you and me. It’s gone beyond Uncle Rusty. That’s why I have to leave.”

  “You’re not making any sense.”

  “I know!” She was looking a little ragged around the edges. Her eyelids were smudged as if bruised.

  “Tell me what the problem is.” He tried to lower his voice and wasn’t altogether successful.

  “I can’t do that, either.”

  “Turner—”

  “I can’t, John!” She sounded wild.

  Were those tears in her eyes? John frowned and threw back the covers to rise, uncaring of the fact that he was nude.

  “No!” She put both hands up as if to ward him off. As if she feared he might hurt her.

  As if she feared him.

  He froze. She might as well have punched him in the gut with that little gesture. “What is it? Tell me.”

  “I can’t—” She rubbed her eyes. “I can’t stay with you here, John. I have to leave—”

  “For God’s sake, why?”

  “Because every time I look at you—” She broke off, staring with wide cat eyes that flayed him open with their pain.

  “What?” he whispered.

  “I feel.”

  Then she was gone.

  Feel? Feel what, for God’s sake? What the hell did she mean? John stared at the closed door, debating whether to go after her now even though he was still naked. But she was already worked up. If he caught her in the parking lot, they’d just have the same argument, but this time in public. Shit. He ran his hand through his hair. If—

  His cell rang shrilly, breaking his trance. John swore. He hunted around the bed and found his trousers crumpled on the other side. The cell rang again from the case on his belt and he tore it off. Squeaky whined. Shit. She hadn’t even bothered to take her dog, who, from the way he was pacing, needed to go out.

  “Okay, okay,” John muttered to both the animal and the phone. He punched the Answer button and tucked the cell between his shoulder and ear as he yanked on his pants. “MacKinnon.”

  “Sleeping in?” Torelli drawled.

  If he’d been in the same room, John just might’ve taken a swing at the younger man’s smug face. “What is it?”

  “We’ve got SpongeBob and Yoda. Sir.”

  “About time.” John took two steps and opened the bungalow door. Squeaky nearly knocked him over rushing out. “Where’d you find them?”

  “Actually,” Torelli cleared his throat, “it wasn’t me who pulled them in.”

  John grinned tightly. First good news he’d heard today. “Oh, yeah? Then who beat you to it?”

  “A part-time sheriff’s deputy from Sawyer, the next county over, was patrolling a back road. He saw these two guys running along the highway, throwing money into the air and screaming.”

  “Into the air.” John craned his neck out the door to look for Squeaky. It’d be just his luck to lose the dog, as well. “They were throwing the bank money away?”

  “Apparently.”

  “What are they, insane?” Shit. Where was that dog? There was no sign of him, and the highway was only fifty yards away. John walked around behind the bungalow.

  “I guess. The deputy says they’re covered in bug bites and scratches and they may have been attacked by a rabid badger.”

  “Christ. Where did they manage to find a badger?”

  “I—”

  “Never mind.” John shook his head. “So when will you get a chance to question them?”

  Behind the bungalow was a mowed field and then the highway. Squeaky was running back and forth in the field. Thank God. At least he hadn’t lost the dog.

  “Sometime this afternoon, I hope,” Torelli replied. “There seems to be some kind of paperwork holdup over there in Sawyer. They’re dragging their feet about bringing them to the sheriff’s office here. And they say SpongeBob and Yoda might need rabies shots.”

  “Well, geez, Torelli,” John drawled. “The next county over must be all of—what?—fifty miles away? Any reason you can’t get off your ass and book on over there?”

  There was a short silence from Torelli’s end. “I just didn’t want to step on any local toes. Sir.”

  “Good thought,” John conceded. “But the sooner we question these idiots, the sooner we can close this thing.”

  “Speaking of which,” Torelli said. “How’re you doing finding the runaway librarian?”

  “I’m doing just fine.”

  “Don’t need any help?”

  “No.” Squeaky came bounding up with something dead in his mouth and plopped his prize at John’s feet. Wonderful. It looked—and smelled—like a skunk in the greasy stage.

  “Because I can still call in the Madison police,” Torelli persisted.

  “Shit, no,” John said to both his subordinate and the dog. He grabbed Squeaky’s collar and hauled him away from the dead skunk, which he clearly considered breakfast. God, dogs were disgusting—

  “What?” Torelli sounded startled.

  “I said no,” John grunted. It wasn’t easy yanking a Great Dane away from something he wanted. “We’ve been over this already. No outsiders.”

  “But—”

  “And call me as soon as you’ve questioned SpongeBob and Yoda.” John took a firmer hold on the collar and pulled. Squeaky sat down and bowed his head, the collar slipping to right behind his ears and pushing them forward. He looked like a donkey refusing to move. “They sure as hell didn’t plan that bank robbery, and they might tell you who put them up to it.”

  “I thought our theory was that the librarian did it.”

  “The librarian’s name is Turner Hastings, and no, we no longer think she masterminded it.”

  Silence from the other end.

  John stopped hauling at Squeaky but kept his grip on the dog’s collar. Squeaky collapsed in a boneless, but very heavy, heap. “Torelli?”

  “Yes, sir. Can I respectfully point out that you seem to be getting awfully close to this suspect?”

  John tilted his head back. The damn dog smelled, Turner had run away from him— again—and Torelli was pushing every single one of his buttons. All this before his morning coffee. It was enough to make a big bad FBI agent whimper. “No. You may not point it out, respectfully or otherwise. I’ll call you after the meet in Madison. I want some answers by then, got it?”

  “
Yes, sir. Got it.”

  “Good.” John hung up the cell and looked down at Squeaky.

  The dog thumped his tail.

  John sighed. “Come on. We both need a shower now.” He slapped his thigh.

  The dog got up and, after one last yearning look at the odorous carrion he’d bagged, followed without protest. Which was a good thing, because after they both had a bath, they needed to eat and get on the road to Madison. Today was the day he would arrest Turner. No matter her feelings.

  Or his.

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  S o how you all doing?” Calvin said, nice and hearty, as he entered the county sheriff’s office Thursday morning. He carried a cardboard container with four coffee cups from the Kwik Trip and a bag of donuts.

  Doug Larson perked up at the sight. “Gosh, thanks, Mr. Hyman,” the young deputy said, accepting a paper cup of hot liquid.

  “Calvin. Please. Call me Calvin, Doug.” He smiled benevolently. “After all, with a little luck, I might be your legislative representative soon.”

  “Yeah, that’s right.” Doug grinned and selected a jelly-filled donut from the white paper bag. “I’m sure you’ll be elected, Mr. Hyman. Everyone from Winosha will be voting for you.”

  “That’s what I like to hear.” Calvin slapped the younger man on the back while covertly casting a glance around the room.

  It was a typical small municipal office: cinder-block walls, battered green metal office furniture, old oak doors leading to an outer reception room, and a high ceiling with exposed ductwork. The sheriff was lounging behind his desk, feet up, talking on the phone. Clemmons had nodded when Calvin had entered the room, but he hadn’t stopped talking. Flanking the sheriff’s desk was another desk that must have belonged to the deputy sheriff normally. Right now, though, it’d obviously been taken over by the FBI agents. The younger agent—what was his name? Something spic—sat on the corner, also on a phone, this one a cell. He looked none too pleased with whatever the person on the other end of the phone was saying to him.

  Calvin picked up a cup of coffee and carefully pulled back the little plastic tab on the cover. He took a scalding sip and smiled. God, the coffee was awful at the local Kwik Trip. “Had any breaks in investigating our little bank robbery?”

  “Oh, yeah. We had an important one just this morning. The gunmen have been caught.” Doug was opening a little plastic tub of nondairy creamer and so didn’t catch Calvin’s expression. Which was a good thing.

  Calvin had to clear his throat twice before he could talk. “Oh?”

  “Yeah.” Doug finally got the creamer tub open and poured it into his cup. “Over in Sawyer.”

  “Really? That’s not too far away.”

  “Tell me about it. They were just, like, walking along the road. And flinging money in the air, according to the deputy. Can you imagine? This deputy drives by on patrol and sees money flying through the air and two guys yelling or something. Naturally, he stops to see what’s up, and there you are. Two bank robbers nabbed just like that.”

  “Good. Good.”

  “Wish I could have that kind of luck sometime,” Doug muttered into his coffee cup.

  Calvin felt the smile stretched across his face begin to freeze. He wanted to wrap his hands around the deputy’s neck and shout at him until he found out what was going on.

  Instead he widened his smile even more. “I bet you’ve questioned them.”

  “Oh, no.” Doug waved his jelly donut at the sheriff, still talking on the phone. A blob of jelly fell to the linoleum. He didn’t seem to notice. The FBI agent glanced over, apparently attracted by the movement. “Sheriff Clemmons is working that out now. Seems they got bitten by some wild animal.”

  Calvin had been thinking about his own problems, and this non sequitur caught him off-guard. “Who?”

  “You know.” Doug stared. “The bank robbers? The ones in masks? Tuna Fish and Nald. I guess they’d been slogging through the woods all this time, and let me tell you, those guys are not woodsmen.”

  Calvin frowned. “So—?”

  “So they got attacked by something. A bear or a wolverine. Do we have wolverines in Wisconsin? Maybe it was a skunk.” Doug laughed with an unpleasant braying sound. “Anyway, they gotta be looked at by a doctor.”

  “I see.”

  A measure of relief swept through Calvin. Those two bozos hadn’t been questioned. At least not yet. But that still left the other matter that had been bothering him: Turner Hastings.

  “Wonder if they’ll need those shots you get in the stomach?” Doug was musing. “You know those big-ass ones for, like, rabies?”

  Oh, he certainly hoped so. Calvin smiled. “The sheriff’s office is to be commended in resolving this crime swiftly. It’s good to know that our tax dollars are being used so effectively. I’ll be sure to bring the matter up in my next speech.”

  Doug looked a little doubtful. “Well, they were by the side of the road and all—”

  “And your law-enforcement personnel were quick to apprehend them.”

  “’Course, it was the Sawyer County sheriff—”

  “Yes. Yes.” Calvin broadened his smile. God, what a fool! Couldn’t he just take the credit for the job like a normal man? “It was a job well done all around, no matter who actually made the arrest.”

  “Well—”

  “But I suppose Turner Hastings is still on the loose?”

  Doug brightened. “Yeah, but not for long.”

  Calvin’s heart dropped painfully. “What?”

  “Can’t exactly tell you, it’s a department secret.” Doug winked and shoved the rest of his jelly donut into his mouth. He said rather indistinctly, “But take it from me, we’ll have her by this afternoon.”

  That was not what he wanted to hear. Calvin smiled painfully. “Really? Well, I shouldn’t be surprised. This is the best sheriff’s department in the state, after all—”

  Doug’s chest puffed up.

  “—but I find it hard to believe that you’ll be able to get her that soon.” Calvin arched his eyebrows skeptically. “ This afternoon?”

  “Yeah, this afternoon. Today.” Doug caught some of the doubt in Calvin’s look. He leaned forward earnestly and lowered his voice. “No, I mean it. Special Agent MacKinnon will be picking her up.”

  Not if Calvin could help it. “But how?”

  “We’ve got a tip. We know where she’ll be.”

  He could see the younger FBI agent watching their conversation as he listened to the phone. Doug wasn’t aware they were under scrutiny, because his back was to the man.

  Calvin felt sweat bead his upper lip. “Where she’s going to be? You don’t even know where she is now?” He forced a careless laugh. “I’m sorry, Doug, but that doesn’t sound particularly convincing, now, does it?”

  “No, really—”

  “What have you got? An anonymous tipster?”

  Doug seemed to feel he had to defend his department. “She’s totally legit.”

  “She?” Calvin chuckled again. “Some old biddy getting her panties wet calling in tips to the police.”

  “No, no.” Doug leaned forward earnestly. “It’s a woman in the Federal Prosecutor’s Office in Madison. Her name is Victoria Weidner.”

  “Really?” Calvin let a trace of respect show. His heart beat painfully fast in his chest. Shit. A federal prosecutor talking to Turner Hastings. That he definitely couldn’t allow. “But how do you even know she’ll show?”

  “She will.”

  “How do you know?” Calvin just kept from shouting the words.

  Doug’s brows knit in surprise at his vehemence.

  He inhaled and forced himself to open a creamer tub and pour it into his coffee cup as if the conversation didn’t matter. The FBI agent was shifting on the desk corner as if his phone conversation was winding down. Time was running out to get the information out of Doug.

  “I mean,” Calvin said casually, “if she’s just meeting this woman, she might spook at
the last minute. Or decide not to meet her, after all. There’s a lot that can happen between now and tonight.”

  It was a shot in the dark, but it hit home.

  “They’re not meeting tonight,” Doug said triumphantly. “Hastings is going to meet the woman in front of her office building at twelve-thirty. That’s only—” The deputy glanced at his wristwatch. “Geez. That’s less than three hours from now. No way will she miss it.”

  “Ah.” Calvin fought to keep his dismay from his face. Good God, less than three hours. Did he even have time to get hold of Hank? And if he did, was Hank within three hours of Madison? He frantically tried to calculate the time between Rhinelander and Madison, all the while keeping a disinterested expression on his face.

  Doug was still babbling, oblivious to the bombshell he’d just thrown at Calvin. “. . . he seems to be really with it. Guess that comes with the territory, FBI special agent and all. And you know, I’ve been thinking.” The younger man actually blushed. “I might try for the FBI myself.”

  “Really?” Calvin muttered.

  “I mean, you know, try for it.” The deputy stuck his hands in his pocket, looking remarkably like a twelve-year-old boy. “Not that I expect to get in or anything, I’m not that—”

  The younger FBI agent snapped his cell phone shut and stood. He strolled toward them.

  “Good. Good.” God, he had to get out of here and phone Hank. Tell him where Turner would be and make sure she was eliminated before she could talk to the federal prosecutor. “Well, this has been interesting, Doug, very interesting, indeed, but I need to go.” Calvin’s chuckle sounded sickly to his own ears. “No rest for the wicked, you know.”

  “Oh, right. Yeah, right.” Doug blinked. “I should be getting back, too . . .” His voice trailed off as he glanced over his shoulder, apparently trying to figure out what, exactly, he needed to get back to.

  But Calvin hadn’t the time for this. And the FBI agent had almost reached them. “Don’t want to stand in the way of the law.”