Borrowing Trouble (21 page)

He laughed. “I think it went pretty well. The inn emptied out right after breakfast this morning and we don't have any bookings until tomorrow. So I'm off until tomorrow afternoon—get to sleep in.”

“Lucky you.”

“Want to go for a run?”

Sloane considered it. “Nah, I just want to relax, have a glass of wine, and do some laundry. But don't let me stop you.”

“I'll probably go in a few minutes. We could have dinner after. I could cobble together a meal from the wedding and breakfast leftovers.”

“I'm all in favor of that. I'll change, put in a wash, and set the table while you take your run. You don't mind if we do it in my place, do you?”

“Nope. I love ruffles and lace.”

She poked him in the arm, went inside and quickly put on jeans. Throwing together a load of laundry, Sloane hauled it to the washer and turned it on. She was just about to set the table when her cell rang. It was her oldest brother, Aidan.

“Hey, everything okay?” Usually she and Aidan just emailed.

“Everything's fine. I'm just checking on you, little sister.”

“Nothing to report,” she lied.

“How's Nugget?” For some reason every time Aidan said the name of Sloane's new home he laughed.

“What are you laughing at, goofball? It's good here.” Then even she started laughing. “Of all the McBrides, you would like it here the most.” Aidan was the outdoorsman of the family. He liked nothing more than to hike up a mountain and sleep under the stars.

“If the pictures you sent are legit, I probably would. You still on bear patrol?”

“I'm still trying to hunt down the identity of the remains we found. And in my free time, I'm running a pilot program for at-risk teens.” She rolled her eyes. Rhys came up with some doozies.

“That sounds right up your alley.”

“Being a social worker instead of a cop? Thanks.”

“Ah, Sloane, we're all social workers to some extent; otherwise we wouldn't have gone into public service. I just meant that you like helping people. Isn't that why you became a cop in the first place?”

Yeah. To solve crimes. Major crimes
. “What's going on there?”

“Not much. Just finished Kids' Weekend.” It was a huge event for the firehouses in Chicago. CFD opened its doors to the community, giving kids tours, letting them climb on the firetrucks, and helping parents put together ID kits for their children, to aid law enforcement if, God forbid, the kid ever went missing. Sloane's dad had always been the chief organizer.

“How did that go?”

“Exhausting, but nice, though it gets our folks riled up about not having any grandchildren.”

“You and Sue better start cranking them out then.”

“Yeah . . . about that.” Long pause. “She got sick of waiting for a marriage proposal and is seeing someone else.”

“She moved out?” Sloane was taken aback. When had this happened?

“It's been a few weeks . . . I should've told you.”

“Ah, Aid, I'm so sorry.” Now Sloane knew the real reason for the call. “You guys have been together forever . . . maybe she'll come back.”

“Nah. I screwed up. She's done with me, Sloane.”

Sue had wanted to get married and Aidan had kept putting it off. First he'd decided that they should wait until he got elevated to the arson detail. Then he'd decided they should wait until after Sue got her teaching credential. There had always been an excuse.

“Hey, Aid, you think maybe she wasn't the right one for you?”

“She was the one for me.” His voice got quiet. “But I guess I wasn't the one for her.”

“Why don't you take a few days off and come here? You could fly into Reno. I have a couple of days coming to me and we could go fishing, camping, or just hang out. Whatever you want to do.”

“I'll think about it,” he said. “I've got a call coming in. But it was good talking to you, little sister.”

She hung up, feeling sad. Sue had been such a big part of their family. She and Aidan had been going together for three years. A year ago, she'd decided to change careers from technical writer to middle school teacher and moved in with Aidan so they could save money while she got her credential. Sloane suspected what Sue had really wanted was to start making a home and family with Aidan. But her brother had put it off and put it off until Sue probably felt like she was running out of time.

Apparently, her smart, ambitious big brother could sniff out a firebug a mile away but was clueless when it came to women and their biological clocks. Sloane considered calling her parents or Arron or Shane to get the full scoop, but someone was knocking on her door. Lately, she'd been real careful about keeping it dead-bolted. It seemed too soon for Brady if he'd gone on that run.

She looked out the peephole, grinned, and unlocked the door. “You didn't go?”

“I'm feeling lazy.”

“You deserve a day off. You worked so hard this weekend.”

Brady came in carrying two bags. “I need to heat some of this stuff up. You hungry?”

“Uh, yeah, I guess.”

“What's wrong?”

“I just got off the phone with my brother Aidan. He and his long-term girlfriend broke up.”

“I gather you liked her,” Brady said.

“A lot. She was part of the family. Aid said she got tired of waiting for him to marry her and is dating someone else. He sounded depressed.”

“Why didn't he marry her then?”

“Good question.” She helped unload the sacks of food. “You brought the prime rib. God, that was delicious.”

“Homemade horseradish, too.” He held up a small jar. “Maybe he's just not into marriage. It's not for everyone, you know?”

“Well, then he probably should've told her that right off the bat, instead of making her think that a proposal was just around the corner.”

“I agree. Everyone needs to be on the same page. It saves a lot of heartache in the end.”

She wanted to know what page they were on, but felt self-conscious asking. As it turned out, she didn't have to.

“That's what I like about us,” he said, and preheated the oven. “You understand that given my situation I'm in no way able to commit to anything. Hell, at any minute I may have to pull up stakes and go somewhere else.”

“You're giving Sandra too much power.”

“No, I'm keeping the people I care about safe.”

But Sloane was starting to wonder if Sandra was just an excuse and whether Brady suffered from the same malady as her brother. Commitmentitis.

“L
et's talk about the menu you want for your birthday party, Lkiddo.”

“ ‘Beware, the chef is hot.' ” Lina read the inscription on Brady's apron and cocked a brow. “Well, don't we think highly of ourselves?”

Brady laughed. “Sloane gave it to me yesterday.” His Valentine's Day gift.

“Did she now?”

His and Sloane's relationship was starting to get complicated. He'd never given a woman flowers for Valentine's Day. It had always screamed obligation and a bunch of other pledges Brady had never been comfortable making. The fact was, he liked flying solo. Still did. The only reason he'd given the dozen roses to Sloane . . . Ah jeez, he didn't know why he'd done it. Just seemed like the right thing to do.

“Are you guys a couple now?”

“Menu, Lina. Focus.”

She smirked at him knowingly and got back to the party. “I want it to be fun. Nothing over-the-top.”

“You'll have to be more specific.” Brady poured them both cups of coffee. He'd slept in and it was his first cup of the day.

“I loved what you did for Jake and Cecilia, but that's way too fancy for what I have in mind. If it wasn't February I'd want it to be a cookout—hamburgers, hot dogs, that sort of thing. Plus, I don't want this party costing my brother and sister-in-law an arm and a leg.”

“Okay.” That gave him something to work with. “What do you think of pigs in a blanket, mini fried-chicken sandwiches, sliders, and a variety of salads? We'd be playing on that cookout theme, only keeping everything indoors. For dessert we could go old-school—ice cream cake.”

“You're a genius!” she said, and threw her arms around him. Lina backed up and read his apron again, and in a breathy voice said, “And a hot chef to boot.”

“Yes, I am. So you better not touch or you'll get burned.”

“Griffin might come to the party.” She hopped up on a stool, sipped the coffee Brady had poured, and tried to act casual. Brady knew better.

“Oh yeah? How did that come about?”

“My truck broke down near Chilcoot. I called for a tow and he came to the rescue. He told me that the real estate agent isn't in the picture, kissed me, and afterward did what he always does.
Sorry
.
That shouldn't have happened.
I told him no big deal, mentioned the party, and told him to drop by if he was in the area.”

She poured more cream into her coffee. “That's the shorthand version anyway. But more or less I did what you told me. I played hard-to-get.”

“Wait a minute,” he said. “I did not tell you to play hard-to-get. I told you to finish school and then worry about men.”

“You also told me that men don't like needy women. So I'm being cool as a cucumber.”

Brady looked at her and shook his head. “No, you're playing games. Men don't like that either.”

“Frankly, Brady, I'm tired of the push me, pull me. Griff is full of mixed messages. He tells me I'm too young for him, then the next thing I know he's kissing me. I'm so over it.”

“Then why did you invite him to your birthday party?” He bobbed his chin at her in challenge.

“Because he's a friend. No matter what, he'll always be a friend.”

“Fair enough. Who else is coming to this shindig?”

“A bunch of my friends from school. Obviously Rhys, Maddy, Emma, and my little brother, Nate and Sam, the McCreedys, Donna and her husband, the entire police department, probably the mayor. You know how it works in this town.”

Brady cracked a smile. “Yep. We're gonna have a full house.” He'd have to make room in the deep freeze for the cake and the pigs in a blanket, which he could prepare in advance.

“I better get back to the desk,” she said. “Nate's here and you know what a taskmaster he is.”

“I am not.” Nate breezed into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and popped his head in.

“What are you looking for?” Brady asked.

“Nothing. I just do it out of habit. That's why I've gotta lose five pounds.”

“Brady just came up with the most excellent menu for my birthday party.”

“Yeah?” Nate sat next to Lina at the island and she told him what they'd planned. “Andy is under the impression that his band is playing. I hope you disabuse him of that notion as quickly as possible.”

Lina snorted and got to her feet. “I don't know where he got that idea. Not from me, that's for sure. But I'll go break the news to him right now.” She rushed out of the kitchen.

“You want something to eat?” Brady asked Nate.

“I'm good. How's the menu for the restaurant at Gold Mountain coming along?”

“Fine. I cruised by the other day on the way to Glory Junction. Looks like you're making headway.”

“I'd like to have it open in time for Memorial Day weekend.”

Brady jerked his head in surprise. “That soon, huh?”

“Things have been going so well with the rehab that we're thinking we could actually make it happen in time for the holiday. If you think it's too ambitious for the restaurant, we could always roll that out later.”

“No, we should do it all at the same time. Makes a statement that way. After Lina's party, I'll cut back on the catering and go at it full throttle.”

Nate stared at him for a second. “If you think I don't know how overqualified for the Lumber Baron you are, you're kidding yourself. What happened at your last job, Brady? What are you running from?”

Brady really didn't want to have this conversation. But from the time he'd taken the job he'd known it was inevitable. “Nothing happened as far as Pig and Tangelo. I was a rock star there and that's the truth, Nate. I had some personal problems with a woman and felt it was best to leave.”

Nate watched him closely, clearly not buying it. “And come to a Podunk town like Nugget, where you could flip pancakes at a bed and breakfast?” He shook his head. “I'd like you to play a bigger role in Breyer Hotels, Brady. I really would. But not until you're straight with me.”

With that, Nate moseyed out of the kitchen, leaving Brady to wonder what a bigger role meant. And how welcome would he be after Nate learned that a deranged woman wanted to hunt Brady down and do God-knew-what with him.

 

Sloane thought she was being watched. Maybe she was just creeping herself out, but twice she'd heard footsteps on the porch and twice she'd looked outside her living room window to find no one there. Still, she had the bizarre sense, a gut instinct so to speak, that there were eyes on her. Like she was the focus of one of those Hollywood point-of-view shots that lets the viewer know something scary is about to happen.

She'd first felt it as she carried groceries in from her truck. The hairs on the back of her neck stood at attention, signaling that she wasn't alone. In the police academy, recruits were taught to be hyper-aware of their surroundings, and suddenly her body had gone taut, on alert. Shielding her eyes from the sun, she'd searched the trees, only to spy a pair of squirrels chasing each other from branch to branch. She'd sniffed the air and for a second thought she detected cigarette smoke. And then, just like that, it was gone. Lord, how the mind played tricks.

Just the same, she checked the lock again, absently touched the handle of the Glock at her waist, and went back to the kitchen. Tonight she planned to finally deliver on that dinner she owed Brady. She'd gotten a recipe from her mother's beloved
Silver Palate Cookbook
for a French chicken dish made with olives, prunes, capers, and herbs. Just exotic enough to surprise the pants off Brady.

Getting Brady's pants off hadn't been all that difficult. But this evening she'd like to do it with a home-cooked meal. One she'd made, instead of him. While the chicken baked in the oven she prepared the vegetables for roasting, drizzling them with olive oil and sprinkling them with salt. She read the directions for the couscous a second time and filled a pot with water. That's when she heard the noise, a kind of
thump thump
, coming from the back of the duplex. Sloane peered out the window.

“This is ridiculous,” she muttered to herself, and unlocked the back door with the key she kept in the drawer. Stepping out onto the deck, she called, “Anyone out there?”

Her answer came in a loud shriek from a crow. Three deer dashed down the ravine and leapt across the railroad tracks. For crying out loud, she chided herself. What was wrong with her? Sloane went back in the house and relocked the door.

With her prep work done, she began setting the table, thinking how she'd spend tomorrow. Two days off in a row. For an officer in a small, country police department, Sloane worked a lot of hours. Especially with the John Doe case hanging over her head. Now she had three kids to look after in her so-called pilot program. Rudy Mendoza had turned out to be a shy boy with a pronounced limp. He'd been born with one leg significantly shorter than the other. His parents had tried to compensate by putting a lift in one of his shoes, but he really needed custom-made orthotics, which were pricey.

Sloane planned to talk to Tawny, who'd designed plenty of boots for customers with special needs. They'd of course have to get guidance from a doctor, and Sloane didn't know whether the Mendozas had insurance—Rudy's father supported the family by getting seasonal work on local cattle ranches and farms.

Unlike her other kids, Rudy spoke fluent Spanish, which would come in handy for the new project she had in mind. Sloane wanted to organize a children's-ID-kit fair in which they'd help parents assemble fingerprints, updated photos, and medical information about their kids in case of an emergency. She'd gotten the idea when Aidan had mentioned CFD's Kids' Weekend. A big part of Nugget's population was Hispanic, and Rudy could act as an interpreter. She also wanted to bring Emily on board. Sloane thought it would fit in nicely with the volunteer work Emily did for the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children.

At the sink, she washed dishes, trying to get the kitchen presentable. That's when she heard a noise again. This time it was closer and sharper, like someone banging. Sloane immediately shut off the faucet to listen and realized someone was at her back door. No one ever used that door. Not even Brady, whose apartment shared the same deck. Whoever visited always came to the front.

She moved away from the windows, flattened her back against the wall, and withdrew her Glock. “Who's there?” Sloane called.

No answer. Just the sound of footsteps coming around the side of the house. Whoever it was continued to the front. Sloane confirmed that theory when she heard boots on the porch steps, then a tapping on her door. Possibly a ruse. Home-invasion robbers worked in teams. One person knocked on the front door while the others pushed their way in through the back. No home-invasion robberies in Nugget, but she hadn't ruled out Roger Buck and his merry band of assholes. Or maybe she was just being paranoid.

Pressing against the wall, she carefully peeked out the window over the sink. No one out there, unless they were hiding behind the trees. The knock came again and Sloane crept her way to the living room, avoiding windows. She plastered herself against the door, stuck her head out just enough to peer through the peephole, sighed, and unlatched the lock.

Opening the door a crack, she said, “How'd you find my house?”

“I asked around.”

“You shouldn't have come here.”

“Why? You come to my house . . . walk right in like you own the place.”

“What do you have behind your back, Skeeter?”

He pulled out a bouquet of grocery-store flowers. She tucked the gun in the back of her waistband and walked out onto the porch.

“What's that for?” she asked, nudging her head at the flowers.

“A thank-you . . . for what you did for my sister. The haircut and letting her help you with the dead guy. She seems . . . I don't know, less depressed.”

She let out a breath and looked for Skeeter's car. “How did you get here?”

“I walked over from the railroad yard.”

“Did you come to my back door first?”

“Yeah.” He looked at her like she was a kook. “I wasn't sure if anyone was home, so I planned on leaving the flowers on the front porch where I thought you'd see 'em better. What's the big deal?”

“Did you ask Andy where I live?”

“Andy who?”

“The reservationist at the Lumber Baron.”

“I might've. Rosie didn't know, so I put some feelers out. What the hell you so spooked about?”

“Cops don't like house calls,” she said, and immediately felt bad. He was just trying to show his appreciation. “Before coming here I worked in Los Angeles. It was different there . . . lots of scary people. The flowers are very thoughtful. I'm glad that working at the police department has been a positive experience for Rose. She's a smart girl.”

“Yeah, she is.” He shoved the bouquet at her. “If she could get a scholarship, she could go to college, do something better with her life than working on the railroad.”

“I think that's a possibility,” Sloane agreed. “But she'll have to behave at school.”

“Nothing wrong with her protecting herself from those little bitches.”

“She can't take matters into her own hands, Skeeter. Her best course of action is going to an adult.”

He snorted. “Yeah, right. That did her a lot of good. Will she be able to work at the police department when her suspension is up?”