Like Arrows (Cedar Tree #6) (5 page)

Looking from a set of intense blue eyes to an almost familiar, and certainly more intimidating set of dark ones, I straighten my shoulders and push on. "I can do it," I offer, lifting my chin to show my determination."

"What? What are you talking about?" This from Malachi whose eyes I meet full on for the first time since I overheard him say what's been ingrained in me since childhood.

"I have a key," I offer by way of explanation.

"Hell no."

"Was planning to do some overdue filing this weekend..."

"I said no."

His bossy tone rubs me the wrong way and I plant my index finger squarely in his chest. "Who are you to tell me what to do?"

Malachi stands unmoving, simply looking down at me with those eyes that show a lot more emotion this close up. A soft chuckle from behind me reminds me of the sheriff's presence. Maybe not so smart to blurt out my intentions when the county's top lawman is in attendance. I back away from Malachi, realizing how ridiculous I must look, my five foot three form facing off with his six and half feet—or thereabouts—leanly muscled length. No wonder the sheriff is amused.

"Hate to say it, tempting as it is since you have a valid reason to be there, but I can't let you do that," he says, his smirk disappearing. "Until we find out what we're dealing with it could be unsafe. You should just go about your business and leave the investigating up to us."

Typical brush off.

With the letter in hand and a promise to be in touch before Monday, when Martin's supposed to be back, the sheriff takes his leave.

"You heading out too, Mal?" he says when he's about to get in his patrol car, looking behind me where I can sense his friend lurking behind me.

"Yup." Comes the answer from much closer than I'd expected. A steady look is directed over my shoulder, lasting a touch more than is comfortable, before he slides behind the wheel and backs out of my drive.

Now what?

I turn slowly and am faced with the broad expanse of what is visible of his chest under the thick parka. The man is not moving, forcing me to tilt my head way the hell back to look at him.

"Excuse me." I try to get him to move.

"I can hear the wheels in your head turning, so I'll tell you again. Do not get yourself involved. Do not find an excuse to go on a solo expedition"—I bristle at the bossy tone, when he bends down and gets right in my face—"And do not go into the office until you hear from us." Then he grabs me by the shoulders and sets me aside so he can slip past me and out the door. Well.

I try to stay pissed as I watch him back up as well, but the hot tingle where his hands touched my body is too distracting.

_

Saturday mornings I meet Kerry for yoga at the Heart and Core Yoga Studio on Main Street. I'd told Kerry some time ago when she caught me dozing off in the middle of a conversation, that I had a history of almost constant fatigue. She immediately invited me to go with her for her yoga classes. She said it helped her sleep better at night and actually gave her more energy during the day. I always avoided any type of exercise other than walking, simply because any time I tried to do more, my joints would ache for days after. I'd been told swimming was a good way to get some movement in without putting undue strain on the joints, but that would involve wearing a bathing suit. That is so not gonna happen. I don't think I've been in the water, other than the shower, since I was maybe twelve years old. That was in 'fat-camp,' where my mother sent me to lose weight. Another childhood memory I'd rather forget. I did start going to yoga with Kerry though.

"My turn to buy coffee," she says, stuffing her arms in her coat as we walk out of the studio and to the parking lot. This is something we do after our yoga, head over to the Spruce Tree Espresso House. Kerry often has breakfast too, but I tell her I have breakfast before yoga. I don't like someone watching me eat. It's a thing.

"Sure," I tell her, getting in my car. "Follow you there."

The coffee shop is on the way to Safeway where I'll pick up my groceries after. That way I won't have to go out again.

Saturday mornings are busy and the parking lot at Spruce Tree is packed. Kerry slips into a spot right away but I have to circle three times before I spot someone leaving. By the time I get inside, Kerry already has a table and has put in an order.

"They have pineapple-almond muffins fresh this morning, so I ordered us both one." She looks at me slyly, knowing full well I don't like to eat after yoga. She just doesn't know why. "You know there's a new clinic in Cedar Tree?"

"I thought I saw that the other day when I drove past, but I wasn't sure." I know she worries about me and commiserates every time I get the standard response from yet another so-called specialist. I love her for that. I think Kerry might be the only person who doesn't hold judgement and even encourages me to eat, despite my size.

"It's actually run by a former Southwest Memorial ER physician. A woman. It's like a family clinic but she has a PT working from there as well. I hear she is very open-minded and has no problem integrating alternative medicine as well. Maybe you should set up an appointment."

"Maybe," I tell her, not sure if I want to go through another disappointment so close on the heels of the last one. But as I'm nibbling on my muffin—mostly for show—and sipping my coffee, the thought of driving into Cedar Tree for an appointment might not be a bad idea. Who knows, maybe I'll get hungry for one of those delicious chipotle chicken salads the diner offers.

-

M
y run through Safeway doesn't take long, after I say goodbye to Kerry. I haven't told her about my adventures from Friday, although she'd noticed when I didn't come back after lunch. I simply told her Martin had left me with some errands to run and she didn't ask any further. Not sure why I didn't tell her.

My standard picks barely cover the bottom of my grocery card. Greek yogurt, frozen fruit, bananas, organic peanut butter, eggs, chicken breast and two bags of spinach along with some peppers make up the contents. I'm serious about my protein, whatever way I can get it. I tried just living on fruit and salad, but it would only make me more tired. I discovered that a spoonful of peanut butter in my smoothie or a simple boiled egg for lunch would give me a little boost of energy.

I walk up to the front and push my cart to the shortest line up at the cash registers. An older lady is ahead of me, loading her groceries on the check out conveyor belt, while a younger blonde woman ahead of her leans in to the cashier and starts whispering. Trying to ignore them, I start loading my purchases on as well and am just able to pick up a few lines of mumbled conversation.

"
I'd skip the peanut butter if I were her
," I hear one of them say and lift my eyes to find both the blonde and the cashier's eyes on me before quickly averting them. A hot blush burns my cheeks and I try to hide behind the woman in front of me.

"Should be ashamed of yourselves. Don't hear me saying you should use a different shade of blonde in your hair, because this one makes you look washed out," the older lady in front of me says to the blonde who turns her head in shock. "And you wouldn't want your manager finding out you're being rude to the customers." The girl at the cash register, maybe early twenties, drops her eyes to her hands.

I lower my own eyes to the floor, barely able to beat down the urge to run mortified out of the store. Silently both women in front of me are cashed out. One leaves without looking back and the older lady smiles at me before she grabs her bags.

"I'm sorry." The cashier's voice is soft as she starts running my groceries through. I don't say anything back. I simply hand over the cash and without waiting for my change, snatch my bags and beeline it out of Safeway.

By the time I get home, greet Boo and put away the groceries, my mind is made up. Doesn't take much to find the number and before I get cold feet I grab the phone.

"Oh, I didn't realize there'd be someone there on a Saturday," I respond stupidly to the very friendly voice on the other side. "I'd like to make an appointment."

Twenty minutes later I'm back in my Honda, heading toward the Cedar Tree Clinic where a cancellation had just opened up a spot.

M
al

"I'll give my contact in San Antonio a call. See if he can keep an eye on Vedica," Joe says.

On Neil's suggestion, I took the information he found on the real estate agent—his flight numbers and the hotel he booked in San Antonio—to Joe. Being a former Denver cop and then the Montezuma County Sheriff, Joe had made a lot of law enforcement connections. Where Gus had friends with the FBI he could call on, Joe had them with the various police departments in Colorado and surrounding states. The moment Neil discovered Vedica's hotel, he'd been on the phone, only to find out he'd checked out yesterday even though his original reservation had been for two additional nights. His return flight Sunday night is unaltered. I'd like to know where he is and what he's up to, even though we don't have anything that would stick to him yet. I just like knowing where all my players are. Especially with a potential witness raring to engage in some investigating of her own.

She surprised me yesterday. Not quite the little meek mouse I was expecting—this one has a bit of bite. She didn't cower when I laid down the law. Instead, she tried to get in my face. Too bad she just barely comes up to my chin.  The fire in her eyes was a surprise, one that makes the entire package even more attractive. Don't think I ever would've considered her my type, but I've got to admit that from the first time I saw her I've been intrigued. Judging from my body's response to her proximity by her door yesterday, as well as the feel of her soft shoulders under my hands, I've been wrong. My body seems to think she’s exactly my type, but there’s no way I would act on it. I’ve got a job to do and can’t afford to let that little spark plug to get under my skin.

"Shouldn't be hard for you to get into that office," Joe pulls me from my distracting thoughts. "I've been there. Vedica did the sale of my place."

"Really? Fuck, small world." That gets a chuckle from Joe.

"Newsflash, Cortez is a small world."

"I guess. Did the guy seem okay to you?" I ask.

"Yeah. Can't say I noticed anything off. Had no complaints. He did a fine job for me, or rather, his assistant did. Kim something? Sweet little thing. She did most of the work."

"Kimeo Lowe, says she goes by Kim."

There must've been something in my voice, because I suddenly feel Joe's sharp look on me. Before he can say anything though, I step down the porch and start walking toward my truck parked out front, Joe trailing behind me.

"Not your regular plaything, Mal. She’s too soft and sweet for those games," Joe says from behind me, making me turn around to face him.

"You for real? Someone like her is not for me, you should know my type by now. It’s not some short, overweight secretary." I hear the sharp intake of breath behind me at the same time as Joe's face goes hard.

"Nice job, asswipe." I hear him mumble as I whip around only to see Kim hustling toward her blue Honda, which had not been there when I pulled in earlier. Fuck me.

"Kim, wait!" I try, but it's too late. She's already pulling out of the parking lot, gravel flying up.

Trying to ignore Joe, who is shaking his head at me, I get in my truck and am about to peel out of there after her when there's a knock on my window.

"Leave her be," Joe says, after I roll down my window. "From the look on her face when she overheard you, I'd say you're the last person on the face of the earth she wants to see."

Right. Even though guilt burns a hole in my gut, I curb my initial instinct to chase her down and watch the back of her little blue Honda disappear toward Cortez.

-

B
y Monday, there is still no sign of Martin Vedica. His ticket for last night's flight unused.

I just got off the phone with Drew who was going to check in with Kim to see if she'd heard from him. Gritting my teeth, I find myself telling Drew to go ahead. He seemed surprised I didn't jump in and claim the task of talking to her, but instead remained silent when he confirmed he'd be in touch after.

I pick up my sketchbook and pencil and continue mindlessly drawing. Something I've been doing since Saturday night. It's always been an outlet of sorts for me—sketching. Something I'd enjoyed doing before my sister died of an aggressive cancer that took her from healthy teenager to near skeleton in the span of three short months. I was twelve. My mother retreated and was barely living and my father, who'd descended in the bottle, took his anger out on everyone. Caleb was a year older than my sister Nasha, and we both went wild. Off the rails. Caleb pulled it together at some point and ended up with the Rangers where he got straightened out. I slid the other way hooking up with a gang of disgruntled Native kids whose sole objective was wreaking havoc. The next years the Klesh, the gang I’d gotten involved with, became a bit more structured and a whole lot more criminal as I climbed up through the ranks. From general mischief, vandalism and mayhem, the Klesh turned into a well-oiled criminal organization with its main focus being the drug trade. Two years ago we ran into some trouble with a large Mexican cartel. I was set up as the fall guy and had to go into hiding while my parents’ house was burned down, killing my mom. My father, who'd been able to escape but left my mom to die, succumbed to liver failure last year. Hope he burns in hell, the way he left his wife to burn. The burden of guilt also rests on my shoulders though. If not for my involvement with the Klesh, at least my mother would still be alive. That whole episode shocked some sense into me and when I got to witness my little buddy being born—Mattias, Katie and Caleb's son—it confirmed what I already knew. No way I could ever go back to that life.