by Lyn Stone
“I joke,” Clay declared, frowning down at her.
“You lie,” she accused, looking a little sad for him. “And sometimes you don’t do it as well as you think.”
Clay knew she was right. He had very little in the way of a sense of humor. Sometimes he envied the others he worked with, especially Eric and Joe, when they started horsing around. Maybe it wasn’t something that could be learned, but was inborn.
He looked at Vanessa’s family, talking and laughing with one another, and wondered if living in large groups developed that sense of play.
She had done her best to include him in it, though. That was something. He had played a little and he had liked it. Maybe it could be learned. He offered her a smile of thanks and loved the way she winked back and toasted him with her drink. Was there another woman like her in the world? He wondered.
The next morning they had barely finished breakfast when her cell phone erupted with Beethoven’s Fifth. “Walker here. What have you got?”
“A possible sighting of the suspect over near Cade’s Cove,” the voice responded.
“We’re rolling. ETA, seventeen minutes.”
They made it in fifteen. Two uniformed officers stood by the squad car speaking to a tall lean man who was pointing and gesturing. Van hustled to join them and Clay followed.
“It was like he knew I’d be here and wanted me to see him,” the witness declared, flapping one long hand at the small village set up to simulate for tourists what life had been like when the cove had first been settled. “He went in one of the cabins, stayed a few minutes, came out and then drove off in an old black pickup. Went north.”
Vanessa included Clay in the conversation by introducing the witness. “This is Cleve Little. He works here in the cove doing maintenance. Hightower knows him, knew he would be here, wanted to be seen.” She turned to the officers. “Order all visitors out of the cove, rope off the parking lot and put up a closed sign,” she said in a clipped voice and watched one of the cops take off immediately to do that.
Then she addressed the witness again. “Cleve, you know for sure it was James?” Van asked.
The man nodded. “Sure I’m sure. That’s why I called the station. Heard you were looking for him. Shame about him killing Brenda. Wish I’d a been on that jury.”
“Thanks, Cleve,” Vanessa said, giving the man a reassuring pat on his arm. “Did you get the tag?” She smiled her approval when he rattled off the number and made a note of it while the local officer did the same.
She was a toucher. Liked to make a connection with whomever she was talking to. Clay wasn’t sure he approved of that, but he had to admit it probably encouraged better results than he ever obtained with intimidation.
He ought to include her penchant for familiarity in his report to Mercier. However, he had to consider that she knew these people. They were her friends, people she had grown up knowing. Still, she had touched him, too, when she hadn’t known him from Adam.
Her brisk tone interrupted his thoughts. “Soon as they arrive, let’s get the EOD guys to that cabin and check it for explosives.”
“Come on,” she said to Clay and headed back to the car.
“What’s the plan? We giving chase?”
She shook her head. “He has too great a head start. With all the side roads, James could be anywhere in the mountains by now and there are scads of places to hide the truck.”
Clay silently applauded her focus, ability to form quick decisions and her willingness to delegate. Definitely a team player, but possessing good leadership qualities, too. Vanessa seemed the perfect candidate for COMPASS.
She more than met the eye, that was for sure. Her pal in uniform had been correct, she had an indefinable quality about her that made her seem somehow “blessed.”
Clay was not a toucher, that just wasn’t his way, so it really struck him as odd the way he really needed to touch her now.
Without dwelling on it, he reached out tentatively and placed his hand over the one she rested on the knob of the gearshift. He gave it a light squeeze.
She took her eyes off the road long enough to shoot him a look of surprise and a soft little smile. “What?”
Clay quickly looked away and slowly moved his hand off hers. “Nothing,” he replied, blowing out the breath that had caught in his throat.
She chuckled, a sweet seductive sound coming from her. “Okay.”
He felt ridiculous, exposed, but strangely gratified at the same time. She knew he’d lied when he’d said it was nothing.
He wanted to classify that uncharacteristic gesture as professional, the reassurance of one partner for the other. Respect. Encouragement. Admiration.
Hell, who was he trying to kid? “You did just fine back there, the way you called the shots. Everything right by the book.”
She sighed, her smile dimming a little. “Thanks. I guess I forgot you were observing my performance of duties. It wasn’t for show.”
“I know that. You took care of business without second-guessing yourself. That’s how it should go. As I said, I’m just here to watch, and assist if you need me.”
“If I need you…” she repeated under her breath, then shook her head and laughed wryly. She made a left into the parking area of the precinct.
Clay turned his head and met her gaze as she braked and slipped the gear into park. He didn’t even want to guess what she was thinking. The look in her eyes spoke of something a hell of a lot more explosive than the C-4 Hightower had stolen.
By mutual, unspoken agreement, they abandoned that subject of need then and there. He figured it would come up again, probably like clockwork, until this operation was over.
Chapter 4
The phone call from Mike came less than an hour later. Vanessa and Clay were in the chief’s office going over Hightower’s arrest records while waiting for search results.
“They’ve cleared everything.” Vanessa pondered what other locations Hightower might have wired. “I wonder why he was there? And why he made sure Cleve saw him.”
“Maybe he was leaving a subtle message.”
“Right. He’s saying Look what I can do and you can’t stop me. Setting off a bomb there would have cut down considerably on tourism and hurt the economy. The casino bombing has had an effect, but most everyone thought it was a random act, or that it was planted by someone with a grudge against gambling or something. I think he’s going to go after the community now. Did I mention he’s banned, not supposed to return here because of his crime?”
“You mentioned it briefly. Is that standard?”
“Pretty much for any crime that a perp might repeat. He’s half Cherokee and was raised here. I guess he feels he’s being denied something he’s entitled to. He’s not entitled, of course. You do a certain crime, you get punished, then banished.” Yet there was not much the police could do to enforce it other than apprehend the violator and escort him out of the Boundary.
“What’s in the works concerning protection of the individuals involved in his apprehension and conviction?”
“I arranged for protection,” she assured him. “Well, except for me.”
“You think he’ll go after you personally?”
“I’m sort of hoping he will,” she said with a grin.
“Don’t even joke about that,” Clay ordered, his tone of voice sharp. “What about little Dilly?”
Vanessa shrugged. “James has never shown the slightest hint of interest in his daughter, never seen her or even asked to. But maybe I should ask a couple of guys to keep an additional watch on her when I’m not around.”
“Won’t the force searching for the explosives be stretched pretty thin with all the protection surveillance necessary?” Clay asked.
“These aren’t cops. We’re a close community here. We look out for one another.”
“You’re involving civilians?” Clay demanded. “You know that’s���”
“Necessary in this case,” she informed him just as c
urtly. “The chief deputized everyone who had the right experience to deal with something like this. We’ve got ex-military, retired law enforcement and so forth. They know the town and surrounding areas. If we borrowed officers from outside the Boundary, they’d be virtually useless.”
“Good point,” he said. “And just for the record, I’ve got your back.”
“I know.” Vanessa scooped up her phone and car keys and slung her purse over her shoulder. “Let’s get out of here for a while. I’ll show you around town. You might as well get familiar with the landscape, what there is of it.”
She drove by the museum, offering to give him an inside tour. “I worked there one summer.”
“That’s all right. I’m not much for museums,” he said, declining.
She pulled in the parking lot anyway. “Well, I need to check in with them, see of anyone’s seen James,” Vanessa told him.
“Why? How likely is it he would take a tour of the museum?”
Vanessa looked at the building, the pride of the community, the tribe. It held their history, the record of their culture, priceless artifacts. “If he wants to deal us a blow, this would be the place. And there are any number of places to stash a bomb. It won’t hurt to have a look around.”
Clay nodded, still appearing reluctant to accompany her inside. Vanessa couldn’t understand his reticence, but figured it had to do with something in his past.
“Let’s go then,” he said, unbuckling his seat belt. He got out, adjusted his tie and buttoned one button of his jacket. For the first time, she thought he looked a little self-conscious.
She led the way in and smiled a greeting to Jolly, who was selling tickets. “Hey, how’s your mama?” she asked.
“Arthritis is acting up, but she’s still going like a house afire. What’s up, Vanessa?”
She turned to Clay. “This is Agent Senate. We’re on the lookout for James Hightower. Wondered if he had been around here lately.”
Jolly nodded and shot Clay a speculative look. “Nice to meet you. What’s Hightower done now?”
Vanessa didn’t want to panic Jolly and the rest of the employees by mentioning a bomb. “Just need to talk to him. Who else is around today?”
“Clerks in the gift shop,” he said, inclining his head to the brightly lit set of rooms that held the souvenirs and books. “Only one docent, Mollie Osprey. She’s somewhere in the back if you want to talk to her.”
Vanessa stuffed a twenty in the donations glass and beckoned over her shoulder for Clay to come along.
She detoured through the shop and spoke with the two clerks working there, then took Clay on the set route through the museum. She noted every nook and cranny that might afford a hiding place for a bomb. There were too many to list, unfortunately. She would have to send in a team to do a thorough search.
Clay lingered at the pottery, studying the glassed displays with a keen eye. Trying to recognize patterns? she wondered. The costume exhibit seemed to fascinate him, so she slowed as they passed through it. When they got to the language bay, he hesitated, then lifted a set of earphones and put them on.
Vanessa smiled to herself, imagining how the soft, sibilant sounds of her native tongue sounded to him. She loved to listen. Almost no one spoke the old language fluently enough to use it in everyday conversation anymore. It was making a comeback, though, in the schools. At least it wouldn’t be lost forever.
She saw Mollie and held up a hand in greeting. The girl was the daughter of one of Vanessa’s grade-school teachers. At nineteen, Mollie Osprey represented all that was beautiful about their people, both in looks and attitude. She and Vanessa had had many talks about the possibilities for Mollie’s future. Vanessa liked to think she had a little to do with the younger woman receiving a scholarship in history from the University. “How’s school, kiddo?”
“Fine, thanks,” Mollie told her, sliding a curious glance at Clay, who was still listening to the earphones. “Looks like you’re doing okay, too.” She mouthed, “He’s hot! Who is he?”
Vanessa laughed. “Down girl. That’s Clay Senate, agent from D.C. who’s helping me out on a case. We just dropped in to see if anyone’s seen James Hightower around here.”
Mollie frowned. She was a little young to have followed the case when James had been sent away and probably didn’t even know the man by sight. Then her lips rounded and she nodded. “The one who was married to your cousin, right? I don’t know what he looks like. You think he’s going to come around and cause trouble?”
“Could be,” Vanessa admitted. “If I get you a photo, will you pass it around and let me know if anyone’s seen him? And if he turns up, I need to know about it immediately.”
“Can do. Gosh, I never thought I’d get to help out in a real investigation. That’s what this is, isn’t it?” Again, she glanced at Clay.
“You bet.” She gave Mollie’s arm a pat. “Thanks. Come on over and I’ll introduce you to the guy since you can’t keep your eyes off him. He’s too old for you, though.”
“Not for you. I say go for it,” Mollie teased.
Vanessa laughed, but secretly wished she could go for it.
Mollie didn’t help matters. After the introduction, she sang Vanessa’s praises to the skies, crediting her with single-handedly orchestrating Mollie’s higher education and inspiring her by example. Clay must have been wondering how much Vanessa had offered to pay the girl for the character reference.
Later, when they left the museum, Clay remained quiet, thoughtful, maybe even a little disturbed.
She pointed out some of her grandmother’s baskets in the window of the culture center across the street where arts and crafts of the locals held the spotlight. He nodded, gave the objects a cursory glance, then suggested they go to the stadium where the fair would be held.
“How about some free tickets to see Unto These Hills? That’s the play, the story of the People. Season’s over for this year, but you could come back in the spring when we resume. I had a role when I was in high school.”
“Thanks, but I can’t make plans that far in advance. Could be out of the country. Anyway, I’m well acquainted with the history of the Removal.”
Why did he continue to act so disinterested in any symbols of their culture? Vanessa wondered. She would think he’d want to explore it a little more, given that he’d been raised as white. “What’s the matter, Clay? Afraid you’ll trip over something familiar?”
He met her eyes as she stopped at the red light. “I know how proud you are of your heritage,” he said, his voice gentle. “Maybe it’s just that I’m a little envious.”
“Maybe so,” she said. “But don’t say I didn’t offer to share.”
He gave her a smile that looked a little too practiced. “Face it, I’m a loner by nature and I like it that way.”
No, he didn’t like it, she thought. He suffered it. Maybe she should leave well enough alone. But she knew she couldn’t.
Clay knew he had insulted her, though he hadn’t meant it that way. He only wanted to avoid getting caught up in the community. He wasn’t geared for it, and he would be expected to give something in return. Unfortunately, he had nothing to offer.
He had no political pull in Washington that would benefit the People. He had no right to expect any woman, especially one with such close family ties, to enter into a relationship with him when he wasn’t even sure who or what he really was.
Besides, Vanessa definitely was not his type. He invariably chose women who were quiet by nature, lacking in curiosity about his job or background, and sophisticated enough to be satisfied with the status quo. They demanded no more than he offered, which was never more than a mutually satisfying encounter, repeated only if they didn’t seem overeager for a second date. Vanessa was the absolute antithesis of all that.
So why did he want her so intensely? Why would it enter his mind to start anything with her in the first place?
And what kind of ego trip was he on that made him think she would e
ven be interested? One kiss was not something to base that on, especially when he was the one who had initiated it.
He mentally switched off that troublesome line of thought and forced himself to think about the very real problem of the bomber. Was it James Hightower? Stood to reason it was. He had motive, the means, and was out there probably looking for more opportunity.
It shouldn’t be that difficult to find him. Everyone knew the guy and was looking for him. Sooner or later, he would turn up. Like Vanessa had said, Clay hoped it was sooner, not later, for more than the obvious reasons.
“There’s the casino he bombed,” Vanessa said, pointing to her right. Clay observed the former crime scene as they passed by it. It wasn’t Harrah’s, but one of the tribal casinos built before the giant had come here to roost with its multi-storied hotel and bright lights. This was a modest, two-storied structure that was only a fraction of the size of the chain.
The damage must have been repaired already. It appeared they were doing business as usual today.
The report said the damage had been significant, mostly due to the resulting fire. The bomb itself had been small, homemade with dynamite and set with a timer. That probably meant Hightower was saving the C-4 for a bigger project. Or projects.
Surprisingly, no one had died in the casino. It had happened in the early hours of the morning when there had been few customers, all of whom had escaped right after the blast. Those trapped on the second floor in the offices and observation rooms, including Vanessa, had been most at risk.
“Whatever possessed your cousin to choose a man like Hightower to marry?”
She shrugged. “Oh, James can be charming when he puts his mind to it. And he’s handsome as homemade sin, no question about that. I figure it was probably the old bad-boy thing that got her hooked.”
“What do you mean exactly? I’ve heard of that before, but I just don’t get it. A woman knows a man is trouble, but is actually attracted to that quality in him?”
“Oh yeah.” She nodded, a small frown marring the smoothness of her brow. “It’s an inborn need to fix them, straighten them out.”