Reckless

by Selena Montgomery

The sun dipped low heading toward sunset. Gold swathed his cocoa skin, danced over the broad shoulders and powerful body. As though he sensed her watching, Luke glanced up and winked at her.

  Kell smiled back, gave a short wave, and moved inside. She gently closed the door, her smile fading as her thoughts returned to the conversation with Eliza. A dead drug dealer killed with a kitchen knife from her house. Murdered the day he attacked one of her charges and hours after she threatened to kill him.

  She’d taken on worse cases, but not by much. On the plus side, no arrest had been made and Luke gave no indication that he thought Mrs. F or any of the children might be involved.

  One dinner with Sheriff Luke Calder and a few phone calls to the right place, then she’d take her mangled car and traitorous body back to Atlanta where they both belonged.

  CHAPTER 5

  Luke strolled into the sheriff’s office, whistling a nameless tune. Cheryl and the rest of the staff took note of their boss’s uncharacteristic lightness. For a week that started with murder, he was unusually good-humored, a fact that didn’t pass without remark. Sheriff Calder took police work seriously, not himself, but it was hard to tell the difference sometimes. Cheryl watched him stroll through the office, chatting with deputies, with a casualness he didn’t often allow.

  During his time at the department, he’d never developed the kind of relationships that strayed outside the office doors. No questions about kids or weekend plans, no shared confidences or personal advice on a bad breakup. Everyone agreed Luke was a great boss, but nobody managed to scale the invisible barrier that separated collegiality from friendship.

  Today, however, that wall had come down a few inches, leaving the sheriff more relaxed than she’d ever seen. Not that Cheryl imagined Griffin’s death had left his thoughts for an instant. Or the two unidentified victims from the warehouse. Something had shifted in him, but not his dedication to the work. She’d learned his patterns, and despite the easygoing demeanor, his brain was processing clues. Working with Luke taught her that detective work required patience and rumination, taking the time to gather the facts and sift through for the unexpected or the too familiar. With this case, as with every other, Luke’s hunches would hold until he’d received a coroner’s report from their borrowed M.E. and the chemical analysis he’d sent to Atlanta for evaluation.

  In the meantime, though, it appeared Sheriff Calder had found something else to occupy his mind.

  Oblivious to his staff’s reaction, Luke circled the office, gathering reports on car accidents, petty theft, and a missing cow. As easy as those cases would be to solve, human bodies were piling up. First the discovery at the abandoned warehouse and now this. Luke had good officers, but none who had the experience to handle a murder investigation solo. As much as it rankled, he realized he might have to ask Chief Graves for help, giving the other man another plank in his platform when he challenged Luke for sheriff.

  But Luke had neither the time nor inclination to worry about Graves’ electoral plans in November, he decided, listening to a recount of a goat-on-pig fight out at a farm, where the pig proved rather fiesty. Instead, Luke accepted wryly, he would rather concentrate on mile-long legs, a smile that morphed seamlessly into a smirk, and a sharp tongue that kept him on his toes. Each encounter with the combative Ms. Jameson left him intrigued and impatient to solve the mystery of his attraction to her.

  “What do you think, Sheriff?”

  “Hmm?” Luke forced his attention back to the deputy’s report and away from Kell Jameson. “Oh, right. Give Mr. Parsons a second warning about his pig. If it happens again, let him know we’ll be having a luau the next evening.”

  “Yes, sir,” Deputy Little agreed with a guffaw. He picked up the phone to call the Parson’s farm.

  Kell would look fantastic in a sarong, Luke imagined, pausing by another workstation. Immediately, the image popped into his head, her curves draped in flowered silk. He stared blindly down at that desk, savoring the picture.

  “Aren’t they adorable?”

  Luke snapped his attention back. “What?”

  Jr. Deputy Gallings lifted a photo of twins for closer inspection. “My grandkids. Aren’t they darling?”

  Focusing on the photo, Luke pretended to be impressed by two squalling blobs appearing to share three strands of red hair between them. “Cute,” he managed.

  While Gallings beamed, Luke hurried to Sergeant Marane’s desk, wondering at Kell’s stubborn occupation of his thoughts. He’d never thought he had a type, but Kell was like no one he’d ever met. Or wanted. Something about her stirred his senses and upset his normally even keel. Luke prided himself on his ability to remain dispassionate and observant, to withhold judgment until all the evidence was in. But with her, he found himself jumping ahead to a number of pleasant conclusions.

  Determined to put her out of his head, he dove back into murder. “What have you got for me, Sergeant?”

  Marane tapped the file on his desk. “Some tips on the warehouse bodies, Sheriff. Mostly pranks, but I intend to follow up on the more promising leads.”

  “I’d like you to clear those up today. Take Krenicki along if you intend to interview. Tape recorder too.”

  Marane tried to hide his disappointment. His wife was going to kill him, he thought glumly. “Will do, sir.”

  Luke caught the crestfallen expression and glanced at the calendar on Marane’s blotter. “Tonight’s your anniversary, Marane?”

  The older man straightened in his seat. “Yes, sir. Thirty-fifth. Thought I’d take the missus to a show up in Atlanta, but I can postpone.”

  “The tips can wait until tomorrow. Go see your wife.”

  “Sure thing, Sheriff,” beamed Marane.

  Luke headed for his office, his movements followed by dozens of bemused eyes. Unaware, his thoughts returned inexorably to the puzzle of Kell Jameson. If pressed, he thought, he could make a few guesses about what captivated him. It had to be the challenge she presented. After all, a car like hers showed a connoisseur’s eye for power and control. Kell, he imagined, relished the display and he knew from experience, she rankled at any implication that she didn’t exert complete dominance in a situation. Her quicksilver slide from flirtation to defiance spoke of a volatile temper, one he imagined she held ruthlessly in check—unless provoked beyond standing.

  He welcomed the opportunity to test the depths of those reactions tonight at dinner.

  Luke swung past the reception desk on his way into his office and inclined his head in greeting to the dispatcher. Curly Watson’s long sunburned face and grizzled red beard returned the greeting with a canny smile. To Luke’s knowledge, Curly had never carried a gun or a badge. What he did possess was an encyclopedic knowledge of Hallden and its workings, from the size of a farmer’s crops to the newest comer.

  “Hear you had a run-in with the lady lawyer,” he offered with a smirk. “Also heard she ran away. You find her at the Center?”

  “Yes, I located Ms. Jameson.” Shaking his head, he passed the desk, mystified. The speed at which Curly accumulated information constantly astounded him. “Do you have surveillance cameras in town? A tracking device on me?” he asked, giving himself a mock pat-down.

  “Don’t need ’um. Got eyes everywhere, Sheriff.”

  “And a mouth like a telegraph,” Luke muttered as he walked into his office and shut the glass-paned door.

  Chuckling, Curly reclined in the swivel chair that creaked in protest and propped his feet on the battered metal desk that had been there as long as he had. His boots clanged against the corner and echoed through the cozy space. The Hallden County Sheriff’s Department employed a staff of eleven, including three sergeants, four junior grade deputies plus administrative staff.

  Unlike the rest of the staff, he’d never let Luke’s wall keep him on the other side. Whipping the department into shape was hard work, and Curly understood that the boy needed at least one good friend who understood what Luke was doing. And he had to give th
e sheriff credit for what he’d accomplished with the department. Luke took his time building a solid department, and he’d done a fair job of the thing. The dregs and a few good cops had slunk off to the city police department with Chief Graves, leaving Luke with a lot of empty spots to fill.

  Curly knew Graves thought he’d decimate the department and force them to hire him as sheriff once Luke failed. But Luke had blown that plan up but good. Oh, Graves and some folks had grumbled about hiring an outsider to take the place of their beloved Sheriff Patmos, but the county commission dug in their heels and Luke had proven them right.

  Like it or not, Hallden was changing. The county sat three hours south of Atlanta. A new exit ramp added to the freeway brought traffic off of I–75, including semis and commerce and regular guests for Magnolia’s B&B. Access also brought meth and crack and the sins and pleasures people used to have to travel north to find.

  After a string of robberies and Patmos’s third heart attack, the political leaders knew they had to have a chief law enforcement officer who’d actually handled real crimes, rather than watching the ones shown on COPS. The biggest case Captain Graves had handled was Mrs. Block’s attempted murder of a philandering fourth husband with a skillet and a wicked backhand. But when crime came to Hallden, the area had to have a sheriff who didn’t flinch at the job. Just so happened, Curly’s cousin worked dispatch at the Chicago P.D. and sent an interesting news clipping Curly’s way.

  Studying the sheriff, Curly rested his hands on a belly protected by a solid layer of fat. In Chicago, a fatal accident had left Luke the sole survivor. The article mentioned Luke’s temporary leave of absence, and Curly had seen in the blurry photo the man Hallden was looking for.

  Some machinations and a few words in the right ears, and Luke Calder took to Hallden like fish that had been out of the water too long. Gasping and flailing, but settling down quickly. He’d learned not to chase after shadows, even the ones that clouded his own eyes on occasion. Curly hadn’t burrowed so deep that he had the whole story, but he had time yet.

  He lifted the receiver by his elbow and pressed the intercom button. When Luke lifted his phone, Curly inquired, “How’s little Kell doing? Haven’t seen her in years.”

  From behind the glass door to his office, Luke kept his face noncommittal. “Ms. Jameson seems well.”

  “Good, good. Grew up at the Center. Left town, say, 1991. August, I believe.” Curly shook his head. “Shot out of town like a light and didn’t look back.”

  Luke straightened, his interest peaked. “What are you talking about?”

  “Just musing. Seems interesting she’d be home again after so long away.”

  Luke mulled over the information. “Any idea why she’s decided to return now?”

  “Nope,” Curly answered honestly. However, he had his own plans on solving that mystery.

  “Didn’t the warehouse fire happen in 1991?”

  Curly hesitated. “Thereabouts.”

  Sifting on his desk for the notes he’d requested, Luke checked chronology. “August 1991. Warehouse burned down.” And two bodies had lain hidden since, Luke thought. “Was there any connection between Kell Jameson and the fire?”

  Curly coughed uncomfortably. The story of the two orphans who’d skipped town the week of the big blaze didn’t get much retelling. And as much as Curly enjoyed sharing information, he wasn’t a gossip. “No solid proof, Sheriff. In fact, Sheriff Patmos took that under consideration when the fire happened, but the evidence didn’t amount to much. No sense in spending county funds on account of that place. Whole town knew the only goods run through there had a bad end in mind.”

  Luke considered these new details. Kell Jameson’s arrival on the heels of their discovery had his antenna up. He sent Curly a stern look through the pane of glass and crooked a finger. “Here. Now.”

  While Curly slowly made his way across the phalanx of desks that stretched between the reception area and his office, Luke punched a series of digits into the phone.

  Cheryl picked up her line with a brusque greeting. “Deputy Chief Richardson.”

  “I need you to pull any files we have on Kell Jameson.”

  “Right away.” On the other end of the line, a frown wrinkled her brow. “Any reason you’re asking, Sheriff? I thought you’d given her the citations this afternoon at Mrs. F’s place.”

  Luke scoffed in disbelief. “Does the entire town have radar?”

  “This is simple deduction, sir. I assumed after I told you about her connection to Mrs. Faraday, you’d go to the Center to deliver her tickets. Although, I do understand that you’re taking her out to dinner tonight. Might I recommend—”

  “No, you may not,” Luke interjected hastily. “Just grab those files for me. I also want the rest of the records connected to the 1991 fire at the warehouse.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He disconnected the call and rubbed wearily at his neck. The Fates possessed a perverse sense of humor. For the first time in a while, a smart, beautiful woman caught and held his attention. Now, he learns that his ticket-dodger had been considered in a probable case of arson and, now, possibly a murder. Worse, the entire county likely knew by now that he’d made a date with her for tonight.

  Absently, he scratched notes onto the blotter on his desk. Kell Jameson. 1991. Arson?

  “Interesting research project for a date, Sheriff,” Curly commented in the doorway.

  “Come in and close the door.”

  Dragging his left leg slightly, the dispatcher came inside and gingerly lowered himself into his favorite seat in the office. Luke inherited Sheriff Patmos’s digs, complete with an aged sofa that dipped comfortably in the center. A careful observer would note the deliberate contours that matched the body settling into its embrace. Curly propped his leg on the armrest, where boot black had long since joined the flowered motif.

  “You got something on your mind, Sheriff?”

  Luke sent the man a pointed look. “Am I going out with an arsonist tonight?”

  “Kell? Naw. She and those girls could find trouble in a church, but they weren’t criminals.”

  “Which girls?” Luke flipped his pen in a swift arc over his thumb repeatedly, a habit he barely noticed. “Who were they?”

  “Findley Borders and Julia Warner. Now, Fin had no affection for the truth. Or the consequences for that matter. Bald-faced liar with a smile that made you want to believe. Julia, though, there was an angel for you. Only time I knew Fin to even entertain the notion of shame was if Julia made a comment. But Kell was the ringleader. She’d been at the Center the longest.”

  “All three of them lost their parents?”

  “Not exactly.” Curly reached into his shirtfront for a stick of gum. He methodically unwrapped the silver foil and folded the gum into a stack. As he folded, he wondered how much he should tell the sheriff. Man hadn’t been out with a woman since he broke up with a doctor out of Canton months ago. Much as he enjoyed a good story, Curly felt no call to ruin a perfectly good date with history best kept buried.

  Reading his mind, Luke prodded, “I’m not planning to arrest her tonight. But I’d like to know more than I appear to know right now.”

  Curly shrugged. Sooner or later, some busybody would tell him. Might as well be him. “Kell’s parents skipped town on the child when she was old enough to understand what they were doing. Just knocked on the door to the Center and handed the child over. Mrs. F is the only momma that girl ever really knew.”

  “And the others? What happened with their parents?”

  “Julia’s family died in a house fire when she was eleven. Child showed up all tiny and frail. Kell took a shine to her and made the other kids leave her be. She and Fin.” Curly smiled at the memory. “Girl had a helluva right hook.”

  “Kell can punch?”

  “Yep, but Fin had more fun with it. That’s a girl after my own heart. She brought herself to the Center. Marched right up to the door and asked to stay.”

 
“Where were her parents?”

  Curly chewed his gum slowly, then he shook his head. “Some stories belong to the folks who made ’em, don’t you agree, Sheriff?”

  Hearing the reminder, Luke didn’t press. “The night of the fire. I discerned from the police reports that some of the inventory ignited and burned the warehouse. According to what I read, Sheriff Patmos and the GBI assumed the illegal contraband in the warehouse exploded.”

  “The Georgia Bureau of Investigation didn’t do much more than sign on the dotted line,” Curly corrected with a snort. “The sheriff asked for help in proving arson, but nobody wanted to wade too deep into the mess. A fire marshal from Atlanta agreed with the GBI and the case got closed.”

  “Then why put Kell and her friends on a question list?”

  Curly sat up and swung his legs to the floor, rubbing at his bad knee. “Back then, no one would talk about the warehouse or what it was being used for. Getting information from that side of town was like pulling teeth.”

  “Fear or complicity?”

  “I reckon a bit of both. But no one cried when the fire happened.”

  A knock sounded and Luke saw Cheryl at the door. He motioned her inside. “So there’s a fire without witnesses and two dead men who go unburied for a decade. I still don’t see a connection to Kell and the other two girls.”

  Hearing her cue, Cheryl extended a thick manila file to him reluctantly. Grove Warehouse Fire had been typed onto the tab. When he took the documents, she explained, “At the time, Captain Graves took a statement from a young man who claimed to have seen Kell, Fin, and Julia at the warehouse before the fire.”

  Opening the file to the page she’d marked, Luke read the statement quickly, and his gaze narrowed. Curly joined Cheryl in the doorway. “Now, Luke, this fire happened a long time ago.”

  “That may be, but I don’t like coincidences, you two.”

  Cheryl and Curly exchanged troubled glances. Cheryl spoke first. “I’d forgotten the connection until you asked for the file, sir.”

  With a cough, Curly added, “I didn’t believe him then and I don’t now. He was sniffing after Kell something fierce then, probably trying to make some trouble.”