Cop by Her Side (The Mysteries of Angel Butte) Page 15

  Other times, too, when they’d thrown themselves into each other’s arms after they had fought, or after Dad had hurt one of them. The times Jane had let him hurt her so that Lissa could slip away. Lissa hardly ever said, “I love you,” but sometimes, when she watched Jane put ice on bruises or welts, she would.

  Of course I love her, she thought, and bent to kiss her sister’s forehead and feel the stir of an exhalation.

  “Please wake up,” she murmured. “Bree needs you, Lissa. I hope you can hear me. Please wake up.”

  She could have sworn her sister’s eyelids fluttered, as if she was trying, but then...nothing.

  CHAPTER TEN

  CLAY WAS JUST coming out of the john at sheriff’s headquarters when his phone rang. His father, he saw with a jolt of alarm, who never called during the day.

  Remembering what he’d told Jane about his mother, how the ever-present fear her cancer would recur had faded without him noticing, he thought, Shit, not Mom.

  “Dad?”

  “Rumor has it the missing Wilson kid is your case.”

  The way his heart had skipped a few beats, Clay battled momentary lightheadedness. He leaned a shoulder against the wall in the broad hallway. “That’s why you called?”

  “Why else would I?”

  “Because you’d been injured. Because Mom—” He couldn’t bring himself to say it.

  “Didn’t you just talk to your mother?”

  “Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “But that was a week ago.”

  “Why would you think anything like that?” Strangely, Chuck Renner sounded angry.

  “The other day I was telling someone about Mom’s cancer. Brought it to mind, that’s all.”

  “Who would you talk to about your mother?”

  A conclave of a couple of punks, one of Clay’s detectives and a woman in a suit who was probably a defense attorney was taking place twenty feet or so away. Clay turned his back. “I’m...seeing someone,” he said, keeping his voice down even as he wondered what in hell he was doing. “Women ask about things like that.”

  “Yeah, she a looker?” His father laughed. “Must be, you always liked big tits.”

  Tits? Oh, crap, it was Jane’s voice he was hearing, burning with fury. No, it’s a rack, isn’t it?

  “I like her.” He cleared some roughness from his voice. “She’s smart, she—”

  “Got you by the short hairs, boy,” his father sneered. “What’s this big-titted gal do? Don’t tell me you got lucky and she’s a masseuse.” He drew the word out, elongated it to make it obscene.

  My father, the asshole. Clay shook his head in disbelief. Why had he thought for a minute he could talk to him?

  “She’s a cop, Dad. A good one. She was in on that operation I was involved in a few weeks ago.”

  “The raid?”

  “She went in first. She’s...” He bent his head and kneaded the back of his neck. “Brianna Wilson is her niece.”

  “What would you want with a woman like that?” His father sounded like he really wanted to know. “You gonna ask her to frisk you when you’re in bed? Cuff you? You like a woman pretending to be a man?”

  “Jane doesn’t pretend anything,” he heard himself say. “She doesn’t have to. She’s a lieutenant for Angel Butte P.D. Outranks us both, Dad.”

  “That’s what you want to go home and snuggle with at night?” His father snorted derisively. “You sure she doesn’t have a dick to go with the tits?”

  Clay stood frozen, thinking, How many times have I talked like this?

  Suddenly impatient, he pushed away from the wall. “There a point to this call? If not, I’ve got a little girl to find.”

  “Maybe you should ask your lady cop to help,” his father jeered, “since you don’t seem to be getting anywhere on your own.”

  “Tell Mom I’ll be calling,” Clay said curtly, and ended the call.

  Sometimes he couldn’t believe he’d been fool enough to emulate this man.

  Yeah, he thought, but this conversation had been his father at his worst. If that was him, through and through, Clay probably wouldn’t be speaking to him at all. But it wasn’t. He and Dad had had a lot of good times together, too. Despite the long hours every cop worked, Dad had spent hours patiently pitching or catching the ball as Clay and his brother had each played baseball, first Little League, then high school. Throwing a football. Clay remembered his father installing a couple of floodlights out in the backyard so they could keep playing ball after dark. His grin would flash as night fell and he declared, “Time to turn on the stadium lights.”

  He’d taught them to ride their bikes, to rebuild automotive engines, to cast a fishing line and handle a gun. Yeah, eventually he’d also taught them some majorly screwed-up attitudes about women—but mostly that had come later.

  Clay fumbled toward remembering the first times his father had shocked him. He thought now that some of it was a kind of swaggering, like he’d been doing himself that day in the squad room when Jane overheard. As he’d grown into manhood—and probably his brother after him—Dad had done a lot more swaggering. It was as if he perceived a threat of some kind coming from a younger male in his own home. Maybe some of the shit he talked was his way of asserting he was a real man and his kids didn’t yet measure up.

  Looked at that way—his posturing was pathetic, Clay thought with faint shock. For the first time, he had to wonder how much of that crap his father actually believed. He suspected he’d never know for sure.

  I will not be like that.

  The vow was grimly taken.

  And, damn, he wished the whole conversation hadn’t started with a lie on his part, one implying he and Jane had something going.

  His phone rang again and he gritted his teeth, but the number that appeared wasn’t his father’s. Instead it was FBI agent Ed Solomon’s.

  Clay’s pulse quickened. “Ed?”

  “We might have something.”

  Instead of continuing into the detectives’ room, he turned to pace back down the hall. “Tell me.”

  * * *

  IT WAS EVENING before he had a minute to do more than think about Jane. Discovering at close to eight that he was starved, he had the fleeting impulse to call her and— What? Invite her out to dinner? Someplace with white tablecloths and lit by candlelight, maybe? Sure. She’s sick with fear because the little girl she loves is missing, and he’s thinking about a romantic evening concluding with sex?

  Except...he wasn’t. The realization came as a shock. What he’d been thinking was that he wanted to talk to her. Hold her hand. Watch the play of emotions on her face. Let her draw whatever she needed from him, the way he had when he’d left the Wilson house last night.

  He swore under his breath. He was such a goner, and over a woman who, at the very least, had terribly mixed feelings where he was concerned.

  He couldn’t help himself, though. He fumbled for his phone in the dark interior of his Jeep, scrolling for her number once the screen lit up.

  “Clay?” she answered after the second ring.

  He hated hearing her eagerness and hadn’t let himself remember that every time he dialed her number, he raised her hopes and then crushed them.

  “Nothing new,” he hastened to say. Same way he had to begin every conversation with her these days. “Maybe I shouldn’t have called.”

  Her breath hitched. At least, he thought that was what the sound was. “No.” All the strain she felt was in her voice. “I mean, I’m glad you called.” She gave an odd sounding laugh. “Did you know I was at the Raynors’ for something like twenty-four hours before we figured out where Matt was being held?”

  Wondering where she was going with this, he’d have given a lot to be able to see her face. “No.”

  “Alec and Julia both
were...distraught. I felt really sorry for her. He could do something, at least. You know? She was stuck waiting. I thought, I don’t ever want that to be me. I even felt a little smug, because I’m a bad-ass cop. Of course that meant I’d never be the little woman, pacing the house praying for good news.”

  Her utter misery, wrapped in wry understanding of her own nature, did painful things to his heart.

  “You know,” he said, “you’re still a cop. No, Bree wasn’t snatched in your jurisdiction. But I’m open to ideas if you have any. I’m not trying to shut you out, Jane.”

  This silence, he wasn’t sure how to interpret. Not until she said, “Thank you for saying that.” The next rasping breath might have been a sob. “I would give anything to have a useful idea.” Her voice shook. “Right now, I’m...paralyzed with fear. I don’t know how Alec made decisions the way he did.”

  Clay hadn’t been so sure Alec Raynor should have been making decisions involving the rescue of his own nephew, a boy he seemed to love more like a son. He’d seen that the man was on the ragged edge of control, barely keeping himself together. The impressive thing was, he’d done it. Clay had gained a great deal of admiration for Angel Butte police chief Alec Raynor, formerly of the LAPD.

  “Being the one stuck waiting wouldn’t sit well with me, either,” he admitted. “You’re doing better than I would.”

  “I’m about to fall apart,” she said so quietly he barely heard her. “If it weren’t for Alexis needing me...”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, squeezing until it hurt. “God, Jane.”

  “I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

  “I called because I wanted to hear your voice. To listen to you.”

  “Did you—” She hesitated. “Was there anything you wanted to tell me?”

  He hadn’t even known, but yeah. He’d wanted to tell her about the conversation with his father. Which was a stupid idea. My father wanted to know how big your tits are. Right. That was what he needed to say to her. The whole topic was made worse by the fact she undeniably had big breasts.

  Am I that predictable? he asked himself. His jaw muscles spasmed.

  No, damn it! He’d been powerfully drawn to her long before she’d faced him and he’d seen her figure.

  “Drew home?” he asked on impulse.

  “No, he’s at the hospital. Why?”

  “I’m going to grab a bite to eat somewhere. I thought maybe if you wouldn’t be leaving your niece alone, you’d come along and keep me company.”

  There was a small silence. “Alexis has gone to bed,” Jane said. “I made spaghetti for dinner and have tons of leftovers. If you want to come by, I could heat some up for you.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “That sounds way better than a burger and fries.” He reached for the key in the ignition. “I’m on my way, just leaving headquarters.”

  She must have heard the roar of the engine, because she laughed. “See you.”

  Ten minutes later, he rapped lightly on the Wilsons’ front door, not wanting to ring the bell and wake the kid. Jane opened it almost immediately.

  God, she looked good, he thought, with the hunger that seemed to be with him all the time lately. Tonight she wore a snug T-shirt and an airy, midcalf-length skirt. Her hair cascaded from an elastic capturing it on the crown of her head, and her feet were bare. He could hardly tear his gaze from those small, bare feet with unpainted toenails and high arches. They looked...innocent. He tried to imagine her painting her toenails and using one of those foam gizmos his last girlfriend had to separate the toes while she worked, and felt pretty confident Jane always had better things to do.

  When he shook his head slightly and looked at her face again, her cheeks were a little pink. His gaping must have been really obvious.

  “Come in,” she said, stepping back.

  One inhalation and he had to swallow saliva. “Man, it smells good.”

  She chuckled. “I don’t do a lot of cooking, but spaghetti is one of my specialties. It was my mother’s—” Her grimace echoed some of what he’d been feeling lately. “I really hate saying that.”

  He kissed her cheek, resisting the desire to nuzzle. Even so, her hair tickled his face. “If your mother’s recipe tastes as good as it smells, you should take pride in the one legacy from her.”

  “Speaks your stomach,” she said lightly, leading the way to the kitchen.

  “Your brother-in-law won’t mind me being here?” Clay said to her back.

  She glanced over her shoulder. “Why would he?”

  Because he wants you and guesses I’m a threat? “It’s his house,” he settled for saying.

  “I told him we’d known each other before. Even worked together once.”

  In the kitchen, she shooed him to a chair at the table and smiled when he asked for milk instead of a beer or wine. He relaxed, watching her bustle. Doing what a woman should, his father would say.

  His father could go to hell.

  She’d not only heated up a generous serving of spaghetti, she’d cooked some green beans and warmed a couple of slabs of garlic bread, all of which she set in front of him.

  “You’re not hungry?”

  “I ate.”

  “Enough?”

  Their eyes met. She made a face. “I don’t seem to have much appetite. I would have said I ate more when I was stressed, but this time—” One shoulder lifted. “It’s not like I can’t afford to lose weight.”

  “You don’t need to,” Clay blurted.

  Her gaze turned shy. “Thank you. If, um, that was a compliment.”

  “It was.” He sounded hoarse. He wanted to say more. Like, “your body is perfect.” But this wasn’t the time, any more than it had been the time to invite her out for that candlelit dinner.

  This was better anyway, it occurred to him. She’d never offered to cook for him back when they were going out.

  He picked up the fork and started eating, trying not to gobble or dribble sauce down his shirtfront or otherwise embarrass himself. It felt a little strange, eating while she watched.

  “You sounded funny when you called,” she said suddenly. “Like...I don’t know. Something had gone sour?”

  He used the napkin. “No. Nothing like that. The day was frustrating, that’s all. Once I thought we might have caught a break—” Seeing her expression, he shook his head. “It was in one way. A witness came forward, a guy who passed your sister’s SUV after it had gone off the road. He’s been away on a business trip, just got back and saw the headlines. He says when he went by the accident, he was going to stop, then saw that someone else already had so he kept going.”

  Jane stared at him, her lips parted and her eyes big and hopeful despite what he’d already said about frustration.

  “All he remembers is that it was a sedan, silver, he thinks. A guy—probably a man although he won’t swear to it, was bending over the trunk of the car, like he’d put something in. The way he stood blocked the make of the car and the license plate. He mostly kept his back turned, but waved our witness on. The witness admits he was mostly gaping at the sight of someone slumped over the wheel of the Venza that had gone off the road. You know what people are like, passing car accidents.”

  She nodded.

  “This guy figured an aide car must already be on the way.”

  “Can’t he guess at what make of car it was?”

  “The best he could do was good-size. Some kind of luxury model. Maybe a Lexus, he said first, then downgraded to a Camry or an Accord or... The man? Well, no, he didn’t see a face or even hair color. More just the gesture waving him on. He didn’t see a kid, but knows the man closed the trunk once he was by. Trouble is, he really wasn’t paying attention. Even in the rea
rview mirror, it was the damaged vehicle and the unconscious person that held his attention.”

  “Oh, no.” Jane looked sick. “He put Bree in the trunk.”

  Any other woman, he might have tried to reassure. Reminded her they couldn’t be sure of anything. But he couldn’t believe Jane would want him to soft-soap the harsh reality. She wasn’t like other women he’d known.

  “If this guy grabbed Brianna, it’s unlikely he helped her into the backseat and fastened her belt for her.”

  Jane’s eyes were fixed desperately on him. “She wouldn’t have gone.”

  “Actually, it’s possible she would have.” Clay had given this a lot of thought. “She’s only seven. If the guy seemed to be trying to help, it might have seemed safer to get in his car than stand beside the road or stay in a vehicle that was tilting toward the creek. Seeing her mother unconscious was probably scary. And what if she knew the man who’d stopped?”

  “Knew him?” she breathed in what he could tell was horror.

  “This is harking back to my theory that what happened wasn’t really an accident. That there was a reason your sister was out on 253rd, maybe to see someone. Doing something she didn’t want to tell her husband. Brianna might not have understood what was going on, if, say, her mom suddenly stepped on the gas because she had a bad feeling about whatever she’d intended to do.”

  “Lissa let herself get distracted calling Drew.” He’d been right about Jane; despite her distress, she jumped off from his speculation into some of her own. “She might not have noticed whatever it was until too late.” Then she focused sharply on him. “But you’re satisfied that the money thing didn’t lead anywhere.”

  Clay shook his head. “I wouldn’t go that far. Stillwell’s explanation sounded logical enough to have me thinking, okay, maybe. But, damn, it was a lot of money to risk loaning to an employee who would never be able to pay it back out of her own salary. I asked if he’d made her sign a promissory note, but he said it was more informal than that.”