Cain's Law (Cowboys on the Edge Book 3) (3 page)

“Next door to your left,” he said from behind.

Carina entered a small room, barely larger than her old walk-in closet, noted the table and the chairs, and knew this was where he interviewed criminals. Was that what she was? Did living with a mafia enforcer make her one?

“I need to pat you down.”

Her eyes widened. “You arresting me?”

“No, but I don’t want to endanger anyone here. How about you turn and face that table? You can lean your hands against it if you like.”

He was going to touch her? She shivered. The last man who’d touched her had taken her against the side of his car, in full view of anyone who might have passed them on the street. For some reason, she felt just as vulnerable, and her pulse beat just as fast. Maybe because this man was probably a decent guy, but he was looking at her like she’d crawled out from under a rock—his blue eyes hooded and unblinking, staring as he waited for her do as he’d asked.

Slowly, she faced away—then remembered the bankroll in her pocket. Well, hell. He would find it. That stash was all she had to start over somewhere safe. Somewhere Joey wouldn’t find her. But she couldn’t think of anything she could say to stop this from happening. When his hands landed on her shoulders, they were gentle. He briskly skimmed her back, her sides, then knelt and quickly framed the outside of her thighs with his large hands and moved downward. “You’ll need to spread them,” he said, tapping the inside of one calf.

“Is that even legal?” she muttered. “Shouldn’t you have a female deputy feeling me up?”

“If we had such a thing, I’d be sure to drag her out of bed on a Sunday night to come
feel you up
, ma’am. Now, widen your feet.”

She blinked at the amusement in his voice, her jaw dropping just a bit. But she did as he’d asked, inching her feet apart, and then standing rigid as he skimmed his hands upward between her thighs. When he rose behind her, he continued upward, his hands cupping her hips, and then sliding forward. One hand slid over the roll of cash and tightened around it, before moving away.

“I’ll need you to take whatever that is out of your pocket and put it on the table in front of you.”

Knowing she didn’t have a choice, she obeyed, reaching deep into her pocket then depositing the bankroll on the table. “It’s mine.”

He stood still behind her, not touching her. “Go ahead and take a seat, Miss Black.”

She eyed the money and nearly cried. The deputy intended to keep it. Would likely have someone run the numbers on each bill to see if the cash was part of some robbery. Then she’d be in even deeper shit, because she didn’t know where the money came from, except that her boyfriend had kept it inside a boot in his closet. A fact she’d discovered one day when she’d gotten curious about who he was and what he did, and had methodically taken apart every cupboard, drawer, and closet before placing everything back exactly where she’d found it.

Why hadn’t she left after she found his stash of weapons in the false bottom of his chest of drawers? Or that huge roll of hundreds? She’d still been too blinded by the romantic notion of belonging to a mobster—enough so, she’d tolerated his rough edges, even in bed.

The deputy sat in the chair opposite her, his straw cowboy hat shading the upper half of his face in the glare of the overhead light. She felt as though she was the actress in a TV crime drama. How many times had she rolled her eyes when the suspect sat, sweating, and then with the slightest pressure spilled his guts? Strange enough, if the deputy asked the right question, she was pretty sure she’d spew every secret she’d ever harbored.

Not that he was scary, but he was judging her. Sitting there staring with those intense blue eyes until she felt sweat sprout on her upper lip. Her stomach growled. Good Lord, was she about to vomit?

His glare didn’t stray as he unbuttoned one of the pockets of his denim shirt and pulled out a small notebook, then slid out a stubby pencil from the wires coiled at the top of the pad. When he began asking his questions, they came like bullets—quick and targeted—and because she was tired and too scared to think anymore, she told him everything.

Well, not quite everything. Being backed up to a car and fucked as punishment for her disobedience was just too humiliating. That she kept to herself. Already, she felt small and stupid. A girl who’d played dress-up while her boyfriend flaunted her and the law, and committed violence to earn the roll of cash that sat on the table like an indictment against her. Because she’d taken what he’d stolen. Robbed a thug of his stash.

When the deputy was done with his questions, he sat back, his fingers strumming the table top. “Why Caldera?”

“Because it was as far from Chicago as I could get.” Some of her fear leaked into her voice, making it quaver.

His deep blue gaze flickered over her, touching on her messy hair that hadn’t seen a comb in days, her oversized blouse. “Has he ever hurt you?”

Carina swallowed hard. Hurt? Joey’s rough treatment that night outside the florist’s shop had left bruises, but not anywhere the lawman could see. She shrugged, hoping his keen eyes didn’t note her tremor of repulsion. She needed this to be over. For him to stop probing.

“I asked a question.”

She closed her eyes. “That night, when he beat that man inside the florist’s shop—he caught me outside of the car…”

His fingers curled tightly around the pencil he held. “What did he do?”

“We had sex,” she whispered over a lump in her throat.

“Did he rape you?”

She lifted her chin. He would not brand her a victim. “He wasn’t gentle,” she said, her voice tightening.

Again, he stared. Not even a breath lifted his chest.

Just when her nerves felt stretched, ready to break, a knock sounded on the door.

A man, wearing a dark uniform, poked his head inside the room. “Sheriff’s on his way. Said to sit on her for now. She’s not goin’ anywhere.” The broad-featured deputy gave her a quick hard glance then closed the door.

Alarm rattled through her. “Am I being charged with something?”

He frowned and began to rise. “We’ll get to that later. I’ll have Rita bring you a cup of coffee.” He reached for the bank roll.

No!
She shot out her hand to grab it first.

His hand closed over hers and squeezed. “I’ll keep this safe.”

She’d never see it again. She knew it by the steadiness of his stare. Every hope she’d held bled away. She slumped in her chair and sighed. “What will happen to me?”

“Not a thing, if I can help it.”

Carina blinked.
How can he say that with such certainty? He doesn’t even know me. Do I dare believe him?

“You’re safe for now.” He leaned toward her. “Let me do my job. If you’ve been honest with me, then I’ll know soon enough. We’ll go from there.”

Somehow his low rumbling tone soothed her. Her eyes began to fill, and she gave him a quick nod, because she knew she’d blubber like a baby if she tried to speak. For days, she’d been scared, watching over her shoulder for Joey to catch up to her. And now that he had, she didn’t have to face him alone.

Maybe she was reading more into the deputy’s harsh expression than she should, but she had to hold tight to something or she’d fall apart. “Thank you,” she said, her voice breaking.

“Name’s Cain Whitfield.”

“Deputy Whitfield,” she repeated and swiped her eyes with the back of a hand.

His lips tightened, and at last, he turned and left. The door closed behind him.

Carina bent forward and rested her cheek against the cool wood table. For now, she didn’t have to do this alone.

‡

C
ain closed the
door and stood, staring at the roll of hundreds in his hand.

“Holy shit.” Tank walked up beside him to stare at the bankroll. “You take that off the girl?”

Cain nodded. “She robbed the bastard that tried to run us off the road.”

Tank whistled. “Don’t think he’ll be pressin’ charges.”

Cain straightened and blew out a deep breath. “Perez watching the front?”

Tank nodded. “Not even a tumbleweed blowin’ through.”

“It’s pretty certain he’s watching. And I’m not a hundred percent sure he’s alone.”

Tank’s head tilted toward the closed door. “What about her?”

“Still need to run her prints.”

“Want me to do it?”

After what Carina had said about what happened outside that florist’s shop, the thought of a man touching her, even if only her hands, didn’t sit well. He already felt guilty about frisking her. “I’ll have Rita do it.”

Tank’s eyes narrowed as he studied Cain’s expression. “She get to you, bro?”

Cain aimed a glare at his friend. “She’s not Susan.” No, she was prettier. And even though she’d held steady for the most part throughout the interview, he knew she was the real deal. A fucking damsel in distress, amped up on steroids. His weakness.

If
she was telling the truth. “She’s not going anywhere,” he said, casting a glance at the closed door. “I’ll send in Rita. Soon as we run her prints through the database, we’ll know more.” Or not. And then he’d have to give her the benefit of the doubt.

“It’s your collar,” Tank murmured. “Can I say she’s hot—even in those ugly clothes?”

Cain grunted. “How about you take a turn around the back of the station? Make sure we don’t have any company.” With that, he strode toward the front where Rita was once again handling dispatch. After he’d sent her back to interrogation with a live-scan reader, he set the bankroll on the desktop, placed his hat on the rack behind the desk, and settled into her chair to listen to the radio traffic. The fire still raged. Teams combed the surroundings. The fire chief had called for his wife, the mayor, to gather more volunteers to deliver coffee and snacks.

And an arson team out of Austin was flying into the Cutter family’s air strip. Cain knew the FBI might be roped in, too, since the arsonist was probably involved with organized crime.

They’d be all over Carina. He thought about how she’d looked in her dirty, purloined clothing, sitting small and lost across the table. Without second-guessing the urge, he reached for the phone and dialed a number.

“First a call from the chief, now the station?” Sherry Thacker, the fire chief’s wife, didn’t bother prefacing her statement with a hello.

“You already leave for the cabin fire?”

“Still at City Hall, waiting on doughnuts and cookies. Why?”

“The girl we pulled from the house. She needs clothes and shoes.”

There was silence, followed by, “Poor thing. Anyone similar in size you can think of?”

Cain cringed then rasped, “My ex.”

“Well, she’s long gone,” she drawled. “But I know someone. Give me a few.”

She hung up without another word, and Cain stared at the receiver before hanging it up. He was glad she belonged to Blake. Sherry was a pushy woman. And quick to anger. The whole town had walked on eggshells the months she and Blake had been separated. And all over a reporter who’d been more interested in the mayor than she had been the fire chief.

Cain shook his head. Women were a mystery.

“I got ’er done,” Rita said beside him. “She’s clean. Not even a parking ticket.”

Relief rushed through him. Completely out of proportion with the situation. The woman might not have any arrests, but she ran in a dangerous crowd. “Thanks,” he said, pushing up from the chair. He tapped the bankroll. “I’ll need you to count this, and then make a list of the numbers on each bill to turn over to the FBI. Send the mayor on back when she gets here.”

Rita’s eyebrows shot up, but she didn’t say a word as she took her seat in front of the dispatcher’s desk. Rita had worked the night shift for years. A widow without kids, she considered the sheriff and the deputies her boys. “Now, don’t be fallin’ for those puppy dog eyes…”

Cain grunted and felt his cheeks begin to redden. He strode to Deputy Roman Perez, who stood to the side of one of the front windows, staring through the narrow space between the frame and the blinds.

At Cain’s approach, he straightened away. “It’s quiet. Really think he’d try to storm the station?”

“I don’t.” Cain shook his head. “But he’s not wrapped too tight. He tried to muscle a cop off the road.”

“What’s her story?” he asked, pointing his chin toward the corridor where Carina waited in interrogation.

“Ms. Black was his girlfriend. She left him after relieving him of a big wad of cash.” He didn’t want to talk about her anymore. Certainly didn’t want to relate the parts of her story he was still churning over. “I’m doing a search on her boyfriend. You keep a sharp eye.”

His lips twitched. “Yes, boss.”

As he walked away, Cain shook his head. He wasn’t muscling for Josh’s job. He could keep it. Cain preferred patrolling. Liked being on his own in his car, keeping the peace and to himself.

He took a seat at a desk with a view to the front of the station, typed a quick transcript of his interview, and shot it via email to the sheriff. After he’d completed a search on Joey Guiducci, he leaned back, a knot settling hard in his gut. Little Carina Black sure could pick ’em. Several arrests for assault. A person of interest in at least one homicide. Known connections to a crime family whose reach stretched down the east coast to Florida. Despite his run-ins with the law, the man had never served a day of jail time. Witnesses either disappeared or recanted their stories.