A Stolen Chance (12 page)

The morning air was brisk. Susan zipped her jacket against the chill as they struck out for their destination. The wind whipped her hair around her head, and she pulled a ski cap from her pocket and slipped it on. Hands in her pockets, she followed Hans through the knee-high scrub brush, cactus, and prairie grass. Here and there rocks littered the red earth amid the foliage.

They reached the abandoned motel, and Hans rushed in and out of rooms, checking for anything living. His bark of excitement announced his success. A mouse ran out, Hans on its tail, to run between two cottages to the back and under a tall pile of brush. Hans sniffed, barked, and poked his nose into every crevice in hopes his prey would allow him to resume the chase.

Susan laughed at his antics, enjoying the sound.

“You have a good laugh.”

She whirled to see Carson approaching.

“Hans is entertaining company. He’s cornered a mouse.”

“So I see. Hans. Quiet.” Hans trotted toward him, nudged his hand and then took off again to pursue other interests. “Good boy.” Carson had joined Susan atop the broken and weed-infested blacktop. “His barking can get on one’s nerves after awhile.”

“Yeah, but it’s a shame to interrupt his fun.”

He slipped his arm around her shoulders and squeezed, his embrace so natural you’d have thought he’d done it a million times a day.

Susan leaned into his side. The contact felt so right. She sighed. “I’ve decided you’re correct. Go ahead and contact Captain Farley.”

“Good.” He gathered her in his arms and held her close. His warmth and strength reassured her that she’d made the right decision.

“Talking to the authorities will ease the burden of worry and fear on your shoulders.”

She wrapped her arms around his waist. “I hope so, but if my location leaks to Dewayne, he’ll come for me.”

His hand traveled up her back and slipped under her hair to grasp her head. “I’ll not let him hurt you, Susan.”

She burrowed against his shoulder, enjoying the faint whiff of his aftershave stirred by the breeze. “Dewayne is evil. He’ll kill you to get to me if he has to.” Plus, he’d do it in such a way as to make Susan suffer more.

He tilted her head up to his and placed a warm kiss on her lips. “Trust me, sweetheart, to take care of you. In my line of work, I met many men like Dewayne and came away unscathed.”

Yeah, that was true in many cases, but cops died in the line of duty all the time. She couldn’t stand it if something happened to him. Oh, God, this man was quickly becoming too important to her. She didn’t want to fall in love but feared she already had.

Susan leaned back to study Carson’s face, searching for clues as to how he felt about her. She knew he cared, but was it just his civic duty, his desire to protect, or something more? Yes, he liked her, desired her, but...

He turned her in the direction of Siesta motel and whistled for Hans. “Come on. Let’s get into town to the shooting range for some target practice.”

****

Susan’s ability to hit the targets pleased Carson. Now he needed to build toward a faster response time. When they went to Albuquerque, he’d see if they could use the police obstacle training range. Many individuals could shoot precisely, but being able to draw the weapon and shoot under stressful situations was something altogether different. Reaction time was of vital importance—learning to drop behind cover, stay out of the line of fire. That ability would be as important to Susan as being able to hit her target.

Her compact .38 Smith and Wesson was a good choice for her but not the greatest for concealment. He wanted her to carry something in her pocket at all times in case Dewayne caught her unaware. She needed a small semi-automatic, like a Ruger .380. They were compact and easily hidden. He’d have to determine if she had enough strength in her hands to cock the pistol.

He didn’t intend to leave her alone but didn’t know how to go about asking her to move into his cabin or allow him into hers. Until he could broach the subject, he’d leave Hans with her. The dog would alert her to anyone in the vicinity and protect her if need be. Carson pitied old Dewayne if Hans lit into him, as the dog wasn’t known for a light touch when he came to attacking. That was the main reason Hans had been rejected from the Canine Program. The force feared he’d kill someone. In this situation, if Hans killed Dewayne, few would weep.

****

The café was unusually busy. An original establishment of the Route 66 era, the Siesta was a big draw this evening. Susan hoped her web design had captured the eye of travelers and encouraged them to stop. Tourists, two couples in their seventies and well acquainted with the Mother Road, chatted as they walked around studying the pictures. Framed clips of the Siesta Motel in its early days of construction up through its heyday in the 1960s hung on the walls, no doubt added by Carson’s grandfather.

The folks sat down. One woman ran her hand lovingly over the red-and-white Formica table. “We used to have one just like this, didn’t we, Henry, right down to the chrome legs?” She shook her head. “I can’t believe we sold it at a garage sale.” She sniffed and turned to her friends. “At the time, I thought it was ugly and wanted something new.”

Henry squeezed his wife’s hand. “Yep. We even had six of these red chairs.” He winked. “Those were the days, weren’t they, hon?”

When the Interstate came through in the 1970s, traffic on the old road had dropped considerably. Today, Route 66 still drew a crowd as travelers of all ages wanted to capture a glimpse of days gone by on the historic road. Susan had to admit she was as curious as everyone else to see it all. Hopefully, one day she would.

****

Carson glanced up as the door opened and a tall man wearing a ski jacket entered. He carried what appeared to be a computer bag. His gaze traveled the room and settled on Shannon. He strode to the empty table beside her and sat down. Muscles tense, ready to spring into action, Carson walked toward the table, watching for a reaction from Susan out of the corner of his eye. She glanced up at the man, smiled, and then returned her gaze to the book she read.

He relaxed and stopped in front of the man’s table. “What can I get you to drink?”

The stranger looked up. His face lit in a wolfish grin that set Carson’s nerves on edge. This man was a predator of some kind. He’d have to watch him closely. “I’ll have a coffee.”

“Coming right up. I’ll bring you a menu.”

“No need. Just bring me a Spanish omelet with toast.”

Carson strode off to turn in the order. When he returned with the coffee, the man’s laptop computer sat open in the space to his left with the webcam on, Carson in full view as he walked toward the table.

“Your webcam is on.”

The man smirked. “So it is.”

“Turn it off.” Carson tried to keep his voice civil. To soften the bite, he added, “Folks around here won’t appreciate being spied upon.”

He drew himself up in his chair. “Well, now, I’m not exactly spying. I just wanted to record part of my travels today, and this makes a good backdrop.” He closed the laptop. “But, I’ll concede to your wishes.”

Satisfied, Carson left to retrieve the man’s omelet and wait on several other customers. Sometime later he glanced over to see the laptop open again, webcam on. Relaxed in his chair, one ankle propped across his knee and a pencil poised over a pad balanced on one thigh, the smirk returned as his customer watched Carson approach.

Carson wanted to wipe the grin from the man’s face, but tamped down his anger. It wouldn’t do to make a scene in front of all these people.

He reached out and closed the computer. “I thought we’d agreed you’d not invade the privacy of these folks.”

“Hmmm, that’s what you decided.” The man twisted his mouth and quirked an eyebrow while tapping the pencil on the notepad. “I believe it’s your own privacy your trying to protect, Detective Rhodes.”

Dread inched up Carson’s spine. “Who are you, and what do you want?”

The man glanced around to see who watched. He’d attracted a few eyes, including Susan’s. “Name is Stanley Roberts.” He withdrew a card from his pocket and handed it to Carson. “Freelance reporter.” He pulled a chair out and motioned to it. “Have a seat, Detective. I’d like to interview you.”

Carson read the card and dropped it on the table. “I’m no longer a detective, and I’m not interested.” He shoved the chair back under the table and picked up the man’s empty plate. “Now get out. Consider your breakfast on the house.”

“Well, now, that’s mighty neighborly of you, but I’d rather pay and get a story.” He stood, laid a twenty on the table, and then waved a hand as he took in the people in the room. He raised his voice. “Wouldn’t you folks like to know what it feels like to have murdered a small child...in the line of duty, of course. Detective Rhodes can tell us, since that’s exactly what he did while protecting the innocent in Albuquerque.”

Nausea churned in Carson’s stomach. He set the plate back on the table and turned toward George. The older man grinned, reached below the counter, and came up with a baseball bat. He tossed it to Carson.

Without blinking an eye, Carson caught the wooden weapon, and then slammed the bat across the man’s laptop.

Stanley jumped and hollered, “Hey, you can’t do that!”

Carson poised the bat to strike again. “This is my café, my property, and I said, ‘Get out.’ Do you need to be reminded again?”

Mr. Roberts picked up his dented computer, bag, and coat as he made for the door. At the exit, he turned. “You’ll be sorry you made an enemy of me.”

“Fine, I’ll be sorry. Now go.”

Joe, wearing a sleeveless shirt as usual, with tattoos covering his arms and neck stood and flexed his muscles. “Yeah, mister. Git. We don’t like your looks. We especially don’t like you digging up trash on folks around here.”

Several of Joe’s buddies joined him. One stomped toward Mr. Roberts and yelled, “Boo!”

Mr. Roberts bumped the door frame as he launched himself through the exit.

The crowd laughed.

“Don’t pay that fool no mind.” Joe squeezed Carson’s shoulder. “Your friends know you didn’t mean to kill that baby.”

Struggling to hold himself together, Carson nodded, turned, and stalked through the kitchen and out the back door.

Chapter Twelve

Susan watched the exchange, compassion twisting her heart. He’d killed a child. Oh, God. How terrible for him. No wonder he’d given up police work. He couldn’t get past the horror of it. In his shoes, she’d be eaten up with guilt. Heart in her throat, her gaze followed him as, shoulders stiff, jaw clenched, he strode from the room. She waited until everyone’s attention had left Carson and then followed the path he’d taken through the kitchen.

She found him outside behind the café, arms propped, holding his weight, against the stucco building, head dropped forward. He drew in deep gulps of air. The screen door slammed behind her, no doubt alerting him to her approach. He shuddered when she touched him, but he didn’t pull away when she wrapped her arms around his waist from behind and laid her head against his back. A groan rumbled from his chest. He turned, pulled her up into his embrace, and buried his face against the curve of her neck. Her feet dangled above the ground, but she didn’t care. She slid her arms around his neck and held on.

Finally, he set her on her feet. She dropped her hands to his biceps. Shoulders rigid, jaw tense, a tremor shook his frame. He appeared to be ready to strike out at something at any moment. Not at her—she knew he’d not hurt her—but she feared he might bloody his hand against the wall. “I’m sorry. I relive the experience in my dreams, but I never thought to be confronted by the media again, especially way out here.” He sighed and thrust his shaking fingers through his cropped hair. “I thought my nightmares would stop when the sun came up.”

“I don’t know all the details, Carson, just what I heard inside, but if you need someone to talk to, I’d be happy to listen.”

Voice harsh, he ground out, “I don’t need to talk. I did plenty of that with the department psychiatrist.” He stroked her cheek. “You deserve to know what I did. I’ll tell you everything later, but right now, just let me hold you.” He leaned against the wall, drawing her body flush with his. With one large hand, he held her close. The other stroked her back as if each caress soothed his torment. Her heart ached for him. His heat warmed her and heightened her awareness of how right it felt to be with him.

Several minutes passed before his ragged breathing eased into a smooth pattern. He straightened and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Thank you for not condemning me. I was afraid after learning the details of why I’d left the department you’d despise me, and I’d see revulsion in your eyes.”

She covered his hands with hers. “I don’t know the particulars, Carson, but I can’t believe you’d ever hurt anyone intentionally, especially a child.” That reporter wanted to make a name for himself. In doing so, he’d be hurting Carson, painting him as negligent or, worse, criminal.

His voice hoarse, Carson uttered, “No, never.” He dropped his forehead to hers. “Her mother’s cries of despair will haunt me to my dying day.”

“Remember this—the child’s mother probably blames herself every day for putting her child in the position that caused her death. She didn’t keep her safe.”

His laugh bitter, he muttered, “Thanks for saying that, but I doubt it. The woman was a crack addict. Reality has no meaning to her. I’ll always be to blame in her eyes.”