The Green-Eyed Doll (13 page)

“Here’s an idea. Why don’t I stay here with Rey? Take our own pictures. Then drive over and interview Annie’s night shift waitress. You go deal with the ME.”

The voice of reason and experience, Jake provided a steady counterbalance to Matt’s sometimes-volatile personality. He had earned Matt’s trust.

“I picked a hell of a place to do this, but if you’ll take the job, I’d be proud to have you accept the position of Deputy Sheriff of Crest County.”

Jake raised his eyebrows, pulling his continuous frown into a quizzical expression. “Sort of like a battlefield promotion?”

“Exactly.” Matt used Jake’s phrase on him.

“I accept.” He held his hand out, and his firm grip spoke volumes.

“Good. First, let’s check in with Rey. I want to watch the security camera trained on this night drop lane.”

Before the front door closed behind them, Bank President Tom Logan in his three piece suit, trim haircut, and pocket full of ballpoint pens pounced like a hungry vulture. Twisting his fingers into knots, he rushed toward them, his face the color of a tomato. Rey leaned against a counter. A snide grin on his face.

“Deputy Santos refuses to have that car moved. It’s clogging up the flow of my business.”

Matt directed his comment to Rey. “Good call.”

Rey pushed away, striding toward the exit. “I’ll be outside with the techs.”

Jake gripped Logan by the elbow and escorted the cigarette-thin man to an office. “Sheriff, Tom’s a cooperative fella, aren’t you?” Jake’s words slid out slow and cold.

Logan collapsed in his desk chair, adjusted his crooked tie, and deflated. Whoosh. He was done. “I’ve got a job to do.”

“So do we,” Matt said. “We need to view your security feed starting at ten-thirty last night. Will that be a problem? If so, we can sit here and wait until I get a warrant.”

“No warrant. Right, Tom?” Jake’s head swung like a pendulum while he uttered the word no.

Logan fiddled with the buttons and then turned the small monitor around. “I assume you want me to leave.”

“Thank you. We can manage,” Jake commented.

Matt stared at Jake in amazement as he closed the door behind the disgruntled bank manager. “Damn, I made the right decision promoting you. We’ll do it again formally when we get back to the office.”

“No hurry.” Jake smiled.

His expression returned to his deadpan, stoic persona when he sat and pressed the Slow Forward button. The two of them leaned close to the screen, watching in silence. Ben had been right about his wife’s schedule. The readout said eleven-fifteen when Annie’s car pulled in and stopped. A figure stepped into the shadows, stood at an angle where the camera caught nothing but a hand holding a pistol.

“Stop there.” Matt studied the hand in the picture, looking for identifying marks. Seeing none, he nodded. “Gun’s a .380. Go ahead.”

Annie’s eyes flashed wide, and her mouth formed the word
no
. She held the night deposit bag out the window and waited. Her expression shifted to confusion right before she pulled her arm back inside and then exited the car. Damn. She stepped out of the frame and never returned. They ran the feed twice more. Annie’s kidnapper had avoided the camera.

“She recognized him. Didn’t get scared until she spotted the gun.” Jake backed the action up and hit pause.

“I’ll bet she thought she was being robbed and took the money to him. The bastard knew what he was doing, where to stand and what to say. She trusted him. Didn’t she realize he couldn’t leave a witness? Not after she saw his face.” Matt leaned back in the chair. Pain surged in his temple. “Jake, you’ll get a copy?”

“Yep. You go on. I’ve got this.”

****

Wednesday, August 16th, 10:00 p.m.

Catherine paced and argued with herself. Should she stay or go home? She’d told Matt he’d need a friend after the first woman went missing and now this. She couldn’t imagine the pressure he must be under. Her plan was to have a hot supper waiting for him. She’d basted and basted until the roast withered and fell apart. The once firm potatoes? Mush. The gravy was a light brown paste.

Benedict Arnold stood and trotted to the back door before Catherine heard Matt’s pickup. The dog was glad to know Matt was home, too. She leaned back against the kitchen counter and waited.

“Hey.” A lame greeting, but seeing him stunned her speechless.

Dark circles and cold, weary, blue eyes marred his Michelangelo face. His black hair fell in disarray and looked like he’d raked his fingers through a number of times today. His chiseled jaw and chin were dark with a long day’s stubble. With a couple of long strides, he pinned her between him and the counter. He framed her face with his hands, closed his eyes, and lowered his forehead to hers. They stood in silence for a long time, unmoving, their bodies not touching. Fear for the missing woman radiated off him.

His anguish, more than she’d planned for, hit her hard. His dedication and concern, traits she admired, shook her conviction that no man could be trusted. His tenderness, something she’d never had, touched a long-neglected place in her soul.

In that small space of time, where no one else in the world existed, Catherine’s heart found hope. Tears she’d promised herself never to shed again, slid unchecked down her cheeks. But these tears weren’t because of her pain or grief. She cried because Matt suffered and grieved for the missing woman. She slid her arms around him, stroking his tense muscles.

“Hey, yourself.” He leaned back and studied her face. The warmth behind his eyes returned as he wiped away her tears with the pads of his thumbs. “Were those for me?”

She nodded and emotions swirled in her head. Catherine struggled to regain her perspective. “I have to remove
no more tears
from the
Never
list.”

“Why would you hold yourself to such a never?”

“The only thing crying gets you is red eyes.”

“Okay, tough guy. Maybe someday you’ll trust me enough to explain. Why’d you break a rule for me?”

“The worry for Annie Travers in your eyes broke my heart. I’ve never known anyone with your compassion and dedication.”

“Careful.” The corners of his mouth lifted. “You’ll be calling me John Wayne again.”

“Same soul.” She pushed a lock of black hair off his face. He caught her wrist in his hand.

“Stop, Catherine. I’m nobody’s hero. I failed miserably in that department.” He walked to the stove. “What smells good?”

He’d changed the subject. She understood the maneuver. It was probably for the best, because she’d spooked when he grabbed her by the wrist. She needed to put some distance between them. “Dried-out roast. I should’ve cooked something that could be reheated.”

“This’ll be great.” He lifted the top off the pot, looked inside, and then glanced back over his shoulder. Humor filled his eyes, and the corners of his mouth twitched. “Yum. Looks delicious.”

“Yeah. Right.”

“Does to me. Let’s eat.”

To Catherine’s surprise, the roast tasted okay. As Matt ate, the circles under his eyes seemed to fade with each bite, but nothing could hide the worry hidden under the surface. She regaled him with small bits of gossip and news. Anything to lighten his spirit. But working at a funeral home offered poor fodder for conversation.

She stacked the dishes in his sink. “You need a dishwasher.”

“Too much work involved to install plumbing for one. Besides, until you came along it’s been me and Benedict.” He walked up behind her. His hands slid around her waist.

Surely, he was joking. “You’re saying I’m the first female that’s been in your kitchen?”

“Yep. First one inside since I’ve owned the place.”

“You need to get to bed, and I have to go home.”

“Stay with me.”

He lifted her hair and nuzzled the back of her neck, sending goose bumps across her skin. She tilted her head and relaxed into him, enjoying his low moan. Full body contact with Matt sent her hormones into overdrive. Could she trust her innermost wants and desires to his hands? It was too much control to surrender.

“Matt, I need to go.”

He let out a long, slow breath then kissed the top of her head. “Probably be best.”

Matt moved back a couple of inches then turned her in place and lowered his forehead to hers. For a quiet minute, they stood exactly the same way they’d started the evening. The urge to comfort him roared through her system. With a sigh, he stepped away, leaving her with an empty feeling inside.

“Thank you for fixing my supper.”

Benedict and Matt walked her outside. She placed a kiss on his cheek, rubbed the dog’s ears, and then drove away. Her going home was as much for him as for her, she reasoned. Tired and emotional, he didn’t know what he wanted. In the middle of an investigation wasn’t the time to start an affair. But the yearning in her chest, the desire growing in her lower stomach meant she could feel need. She could desire and be desired.

Catherine dimmed her car lights before she pulled into the driveway to keep from disturbing Emma. Her heart bolted to the back of her throat. A small sack set on her porch.
Another gift?
Fear rose up, smashing into her blood stream at high speed. The roast threatened to come up.
Stop. He might be watching.

Mace in one hand and keys in the other, she ran for the house. She paused only to kick the package inside and lock the door. She turned on every light. Checked the windows and locks. Satisfied the house was secure, she allowed herself to breathe. She pulled her cell out of her purse but couldn’t bring herself to call Matt. She’d left him exhausted, with no end in sight to his mounting problems. Pacing, her panic shifted to anger. She wouldn’t drag him out of bed because some bastard wanted to have fun by tormenting her. Tomorrow, she’d buy a brighter bulb for the porch and ask Emma to leave her back porch light on. If the jerk came back, he’d think she lived on a runway.

Circling the damn sack like an animal wary of its enemy, curiosity got the best of her. She knelt, caught the corners with her fingertips, and dumped its contents on the floor. A pink diary slid across the rug and lay at her feet. It reminded her of the one she’d had as a kid. She knelt and pushed the tiny button to open it. A picture of a man’s torso was inside. On the back he’d signed, “Think of me.”

Chapter Ten

Friday, August 18th, 7:30 p.m.

The scowl on Marty’s face left little doubt in Catherine’s mind where she fell on the decision spectrum. Marty disagreed and voiced her opinion.

“What the hell are you thinking?” She shook her head in frustration, sending her long ponytail swishing back and forth. She ripped the pop-top off a can of beer and shoved it across the bar. “You’ve got to tell the sheriff.”

“If I told him, what would he do?” Catherine added the beer to her drink tray.

Marty lowered her voice. “Are you armed?”

“Does everybody in Texas automatically think gun when there’s trouble?”

“Pretty much. Aren’t you scared?”

“Terrified. But not stupid. I’m careful. Being aware is one of my specialties.”

“Aware my ass. Careful is a loaded .38 Smith and Wesson.”

“No guns.”

“Then you should tell the sheriff.”

“He’s busy. Besides, I haven’t seen him since Wednesday night.” Catherine arranged her tray by customer order.

“Wait. Wait. Wait. You were with our gorgeous sheriff Wednesday ‘night’?” Her eyebrows wiggled up and down. “Tell me more—I need details.”

“There’s nothing to tell.” Catherine hurried away to deliver drink orders.

“You gotta come back sooner or later. I’ll be waiting,” her boss yelled over the music.

JC was late to work. Catherine hoped when he arrived Marty would shift her attention his direction. Truth was, Marty pressuring for information pleased Catherine. She’d made some good friends in the short time she’d been in Butte Crest. People who cared about her. Dare she hope they’d understand if her story leaked? Could she face the shame?

No newspaper had ever printed the truth, not all of it. They didn’t know about her bruised right kidney, Andy’s preferred place to punch. He’d hunted her down every time she’d tried to end their marriage. He didn’t want her, but he wouldn’t let her leave. Andy’s family and their lawyer had spun a good story, all lies. Catherine looked like a jealous, vengeful shrew who’d murdered her husband when he’d asked for a divorce. Did she regret not spouting the truth to every rag or TV reporter who’d listen? No. The matter was too personal and private. The horror of sharing every disgusting detail of her marriage with her attorney and again in a courtroom still made her sick to her stomach. She couldn’t relive those memories.

A sharp tug on the can in her hand snapped her back.

“You gonna stand there all night or give me my beer?” Jessie jerked the can from Catherine and then waved her fingers. “Now move on. Stop staring at my husband.”

Catherine laughed to herself and finished delivering drinks. JC had arrived and looked appropriately contrite until Marty walked away from him. Catherine took a few new drink orders before heading back to the bar. “God, I’m glad you’re finally here. Marty can nose around in your personal life.”

“She been bitching about me being late?” JC asked. He leaned across the bar and patted Catherine’s arm sympathetically.

“Not bitching. But Marty’s full of questions tonight.”

“I’m not answering her questions.” His hazel eyes widened.

“Heads up. She’s right behind you.” Catherine winked and turned to walk away.

“Hold up.” Marty’s hand clasped Catherine’s arm and held tight. “Now that JC’s here, I’m available for romance advice, secret sharing, or you can come right out and tell me. Was it good?”

“Stop.” Catherine laughed, unable to hold it back. Heat rushed up her neck, burning her cheeks. “There’s nothing to tell.”

“Honey, if that’s the truth, we do need to talk.” Marty handed Catherine’s tray to the other weekend waitress. “Take Catherine’s tables for a few minutes.” Marty sat down on a barstool. Folded her arms across her chest. “Give.”