Tough Customer (46 page)

Understanding the implications, she laid her head on his chest and hugged him close. He went one further and pulled her on top of him until they were belly to belly. She lay perfectly still while he strummed his fingers along her spine. He stroked her ass and as far as he could reach down the backs of her thighs. Because she lay so still, he thought she might have fallen asleep. And that was okay. He would have lain with her like that for hours, days, but eventually she stirred and moaned with pleasure, and the tenor of his caresses changed.

"That night at the lake house," he whispered as he worked his hand between their bodies and cupped her sex. "I caught a flash of this."

"I thought you might have."

"I did. And I wanted it. I've wanted it every breathing moment since." He stroked her, felt her quick, hot breaths inside his mouth. "And now..."

"Ski ...," she gasped.

"I want
you.
"

BERRY AND SKI ENTERED THE LAKE HOUSE THROUGH THE BACK door, feeling chagrined but without regret. The kitchen was empty. The house was silent. "Knock, knock," Berry called.

"In here." Caroline's voice wafted from the dining area.

Ski leaned close to Berry as they crossed the kitchen. "Thank God. It occurred to me we might've caught them doing the same thing that kept us from brunch."

"Shh."

Both were snickering as they entered the other room and found Caroline sitting at the dining table all alone. Her forlorn expression instantly alarmed Berry.

"What's wrong?"

"Dodge left."

"What do you mean by left?" Berry asked.

"What part didn't you understand?" Her snappish tone surprised them all, especially Caroline herself. Her shoulders slumped forward, and she raised a hand to her forehead. "I'm sorry."

Berry took the nearest chair and looked at Ski inquisitively as he sat down across the table from her. He shrugged, letting her know that he didn't know what to make of this startling turn of events, either.

Berry asked, "When did he leave?"

"He never returned from the supermarket." Caroline lowered her hand, clasped it with her other, twisted her fingers, released them. "After half an hour and he still wasn't back, I called his cell phone. When he didn't answer, I got a feeling..." She hiccuped a sob. "I went up to the guest room. His things weren't there." Miserably she said, "He left."

Tears began to overflow her eyes. Angrily she brushed them off her cheeks. "For thirty years I did without that man. I did fine. Better than fine. Then, I saw him and ... In only four days' time he became essential. And now..." She buried her face in her hands, rubbing the heels of them into her eye sockets. "I hate myself for crying over him again."

Nobody said anything until she lowered her hands from her face.

Berry spoke first. "Your reunion wasn't one-sided, Mother. You spent last night together."

Caroline smiled through her tears and gave a small nod.

"And it was ... good?"

She burbled a soft laugh. "Like we'd never been apart."

"Then he wouldn't have just up and left without saying something."

"He did."

Ski asked, "He gave you no indication that he was going to split?"

"Something was troubling him. I asked him about it last night, and again this morning, but he put me off, told me it was nothing, made jokes. But I think..."

"What?" Ski prompted.

"I think he'd done what he came here to do. The bad guy had been caught." She shrugged with helplessness. "He dreaded a prolonged good-bye."

Ski pushed his chair back, stood, and moved to the window. He slid his hands, palms out, into the back pockets of his jeans, a habit Berry was coming to recognize and find endearing. After a moment, he turned back to them. "With all due respect, Caroline, I don't think that's it. Not entirely anyway. He was bugged."

"About what?"

"As we were leaving the hospital after Starks died, he told me about Berry's missing bracelet. He hated that he would never get an explanation for that. Was it or was it not the one on Sally Buckland's wrist?

"He was complaining that this case had been wacky from the start, that Oren Starks had never followed a pattern, which was odd for a methodical guy so into solving puzzles. It wasn't just the dread of an emotional parting that was bothering Dodge."

"Then why would he leave without a word? Why won't he answer his phone?"

"He's a coward," Berry declared.

"When it comes to situations like this, yes, he is." Caroline reached for Berry's hand and pressed it between hers. Smiling sadly, she said, "Even if he wasn't going to say good-bye to me, I thought he would want to say something to you."

It's better this way,
Dodge told himself for the hundredth time.

He'd got in, he'd got out. He had done what he'd come to do. He'd helped get his kid out of a scrape. The culprit was history. Mission accomplished.

Personal issues that were decades old also had been resolved. He'd met his daughter. They'd established a good rapport, far better than he'd had any right to hope for.

As for him and Caroline, he'd have thought the world would end before she shared a bed with him. Last night...

If he let himself think about that, he would turn the car around so fast, he'd give himself whiplash. Loving her, having her love him, had been a bonus, a gift he hadn't expected and didn't deserve. To his dying day, he would be grateful for it. Leave it at that.

Why spoil all the good stuff with a tearful farewell scene? It was better to make a clean break.

Without him, their lives would return to normal. He would be no more missed than a hand that's removed from a bucket of water. That's what his old man used to tell him whenever he threatened to run away from home.

"You know what happens when you take your hand out of a bucket of water? Instantly, it's like it was never there. So go! See if I care. See how long you're missed."

That's how this would be. Caroline had her work to sustain her. Berry was strong-willed and talented. She would recover from the trauma of the last few days and do just fine. And if she needed support, Nyland was there to lend it with his big broad shoulders. Big cock, too, probably.

But if the deputy ever did wrong by her, and Dodge learned about it, he'd come back and kill him.

His phone rang for the umpteenth time. "Why won't that damn woman give up?"

But he saw Derek's number on the readout. He was calling for the second time this morning. Dodge hadn't answered the first time, but, thinking that he might just as well get this conversation over with, he yanked the phone from his belt and barked into it, "Yeah?"

"Dodge?"

"Isn't that who you called?"

Derek chuckled. "Hello to you, too."

"Hello."

"How are you? Are you okay?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Julie and I have been worried. You said you were going to call. You haven't."

"I've been busy."

"How're things going down there?"

"Fine."

"Then why do you sound so out of sorts?"

"Because I'm probably going to be charged a fine for smoking in this rented car."

"Well, you should be."

"That's discrimination. What I need is a good trial lawyer to fight my case in court. Except I don't know one."

"Ah, hitting below the belt. That means you're good and pissed over something. What's going on?"

"Nothing. I'm coming back."

"This soon?"

"I'm flying out tonight. Maybe tomorrow morning. Depending."

"On what?"

"I may hang around tonight and eat some decent Mexican food. God knows you can't get it in Atlanta."

"The problem that took you there, did it get solved?"

"Yeah."

"Good. That's good. Hold on." Dodge could hear whispering in the background, then, "Julie says to ask how your daughter is."

"She's all right."

"So you saw her?"

"Yeah."

"It went okay?"

"It went fine."

"What's she like?"

"Her mother."

"Is that good or bad?"

"Look, Counselor, you're exceeding the minutes on my calling plan. Are you going to reimburse me?"

"Come on, Dodge, talk to me."

"I thought that's what I was doing."

"If there's a problem, and you need my help--"

"There's no problem, and all I need your help with is this phone bill."

After a couple of beats, Derek said, "Stop this and tell me what's going on."

"There's nothing to tell."

"I find that hard to believe."

"Sue me."

"You told us that your daughter was in a jam. A police matter."

"You got a remarkable memory, Counselor. Anybody ever tell you that?"

"Has the police matter been resolved?"

"Yeah. I mean, for the most part."

"For the most part?"

"The culprit's dead, and she's safe."

"So why aren't you happy?"

"Who said I wasn't?"

"You don't sound happy."

He was tempted to lay it all out there and get Derek's opinion. Because he really did value it, although he'd deny it with his dying breath. But the personal aspect of his dilemma was a sad tale, and he was the ogre of it, and he didn't want to lessen Derek and Julie's regard for him, which couldn't be all that great to start with. As for his misgivings over the "police matter," they were just that. Unsubstantiated, unidentifiable, and, at this point, irrelevant.

Crossly, he said, "You don't have enough drama in your life, Counselor, you gotta borrow from mine?"

Derek sighed with resignation. "Have a safe flight."

They disconnected. Supremely agitated and in need of a cigarette, Dodge pulled onto the shoulder of the freeway and lit one. He was at a crossroads. Literally. Up ahead the freeway divided. The right fork would take him to the airport, where he could probably get on a flight to Atlanta this evening. The left fork would almost certainly lead him on a wild-goose chase.

Why was he even debating the choice? Why didn't he just go? He'd made a clean break.

But that was bullshit, and even he was no longer buying it.

He hadn't made a clean break, he'd sneaked out.

He'd run away because he was too chickenhearted to say good-bye. The two women he'd left behind would be furious, frustrated, maybe a little heartbroken.

And even without taking their feelings into account, there was this other thing nagging him, holding him back when he should just get the hell out of the freakin' state of Texas.

"Shit." He drew hard on the cigarette one final time and tossed it out the window. Cursing himself for being every kind of fool, he put the car in Drive and shot across four lanes of traffic in order to take the left fork.

"You're not supposed to be in here now. Didn't you read the sign? Visiting hours are over."

Dodge turned away from the bed. The nurse filling the doorway was maybe four feet, eleven inches tall and almost that wide. Her scrubs had clown faces on them. Her hair had been plaited into dozens of cornrows with multicolored beads that dangled against her shoulders.

He gave her his most engaging smile. "I like your hair."

She propped a ham-size fist on her ample hip.

Instantly he switched tactics and became repentant. "I must have missed the sign."

"Um-huh," she said, like she'd heard it all before. She waddled into the room and looked down at the tiny form on the bed. "How you doin', sweetheart? You gonna sit up and talk to your gentleman caller here?"

With obvious compassion, she stroked the patient's cropped white hair. The woman who'd given life to Oren Starks showed no sign of awareness even though her eyes were open.

"Is she always like this, Glenda?" Dodge asked, reading the name on the tag clipped to the nurse's top.

She looked him up and down. "You a relative?"

"Friend of the family."

"You know the son who got himself shot? We got the news this morning."

"Actually, he shot himself. I hadn't had the misfortune of meeting him, but I know a lot about him. He did some bad stuff." Dodge, feeling a rare urge to tell the truth, said, "I was in on his capture."

"Huh." He was subjected to another once-over. "You look like a cop. You got a gun?"

He turned his back to her and raised the hem of his jacket.

She harrumphed. "You're not supposed to have firearms in here."

"I must have missed that sign, too."

She tsked and shook her head as though he was a hopeless case, then returned her attention to the patient. "I can't see her boy's dying making much difference to her."

"How long has she been like this?"

"It came on gradual like, you know, the way it does. But she's been unresponsive for more than a year. Some of the sorry help in this place just ignore the poor little thing. Never talk to her. But I take good care of her, and we have our chats." She plucked a tissue from a box on the nightstand and used it to wipe a string of drool off Mrs. Starks's slack lips. "Don't we, sugar? You feel free to chime in now anytime you get a mind to."

"You're a saint, Glenda."

"You're full of shit."

"No, I mean it."

"So do I." But she was grinning.

He laughed. "Guilty."

"What are you doing here, Mr. Cop?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"No. And that's no shit." He looked thoughtfully at Mrs. Starks. "I guess I hoped she would enlighten me."

"Like how?"

"Like tell me something about Oren that would explain why he whacked out, killed a woman, a sixteen-year-old boy, and an old man, then wished another person dead with his dying breath."