Cop by Her Side (The Mysteries of Angel Butte) (17 page)

“Jane.”

Dazed and yet filled with tumult, her eyes opened.

“All right?” he managed to ask.

Her “yes” was barely a sigh, but it was enough. He seated himself deep, felt her fingernails bite into his back, and began to move. Usually he closed his eyes. He had better control that way, but this time he wanted to see her.

For a moment they watched each other as their bodies danced and did battle. Only when he saw astonishment on her face and heard her whisper, “Clay,” as her spasms started did he bury his face into that mass of hair and let himself go. Every muscle in his body tightened and locked as he came in a powerful rush that went on and on.

In the aftermath, he tried to roll enough to take some of his weight on his shoulder, but movement above that seemed to be beyond him. It was a while before he even realized he had a mouthful of Jane’s hair. Somehow that struck him as so funny he began to laugh as he tried to spit it out.

She jerked, then shoved at him. “What...?”

Clay managed to lift his head enough to grin down at her. It was probably a stupid, loopy, besotted smile, but he didn’t care. “Your hair was trying to smother me.”

She giggled and tried to corral it with one hand. “I’m sorry. It’s impossible.”

“It’s glorious.” He let his head flop back down.

“I’m glad you think so.” She sounded shy.

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m sold on all of you.” He squeezed her hip then slid his hand upward until he could capture a breast.

“Except...” It was hardly more than an exhalation, so soft he wasn’t sure he’d heard.

He shoved himself up on his elbow so he could see her. “Except what?”

Suddenly she was flaring defiance at him. “Except for the fact I sometimes put on a tactical vest and distract the
real
cops by insisting on going where you don’t think any woman should go.”

“Damn it, Jane—!”

“It’s true!”

“It was true.” He didn’t know any other way to say it. He’d wounded her then more than he’d realized.

She had been pushing at him, but now her hands went still. “It’s only been a few weeks.”

The muscles in his shoulders tightened. “I want you. The woman you are.”

“That’s...hard for me to believe.” There was the sadness again.

Was this her way of retreating? Clay had to wonder. Did she need to pull back? Or when she’d said she would never trust him again, had she meant it?

“Give me a chance,” he said.

Her eyes were anxious again. “What do you call this?” She waved at their bodies, still tangled together.

“If you don’t trust me, it’s sex,” he said flatly.

She swallowed. “This isn’t easy for me.”

It wasn’t easy for him, either. Clay knew he still had internal battles to wage. He wouldn’t like seeing her put herself in danger in the future any better than he had three weeks ago. Maybe because she was a woman; maybe because of how he felt about her. Part of him wished she was a teacher, an attorney, an administrative assistant, a biologist. Damn near anything but a cop. He wasn’t sure he could keep his mouth shut if the situation arose.

The pride he also felt was the new and unsettling part.

“Give me a chance,” he repeated.

“I am,” she said softly. After a discernible pause, “I think I am.”

“All right.” He tried to smooth the roughness from his voice, too. “We’ll take it as we go, Jane.”

He managed to heave himself off her, although then his butt stuck to the leather of the sofa and he watched her wince as she unglued herself enough to sit up, too.

“Next time, let’s make it to bed,” he suggested.

Her gaze flashed to him, but to his surprise she chuckled. “Or you can take the bottom.”

He leaned over and kissed her, hard and fast. “I know you can’t stay, but I wish you could.”

“I wish, too,” she said, so wistfully he knew she was remembering everything she’d been able, too fleetingly, to forget.

Clay went to the bathroom to discard the condom and returned to find her already half dressed and struggling into her bra. He watched with regret as her gorgeous breasts were covered, then resigned himself to getting dressed, too.

He refused her offer to help him clean the kitchen, wishing she wasn’t the one who had a dark drive ahead of her. He didn’t share that thought with her, though. He could imagine her incredulity. Chances were, like any cop, she’d spent years patrolling at night, getting out of her squad car to step into the middle of domestic violence scenes or gang turf wars. And no, he didn’t like picturing any of that.

For the first time, he was glad she was a lieutenant, and largely confined behind a desk.

Something else he wasn’t going to say.

She found the two hair combs, one on the coffee table, the other almost under the sofa, then retired to his bathroom to put herself back together.

When she was ready, Clay walked her out to her SUV, putting a hand out to stop her before he got in so he could kiss her again. She made a throaty sound and kissed him back, but both of them made a conscious effort to keep it light.

She got in and reached for the door handle, but didn’t close it right away.

“Do you know where you’re planning to start tomorrow?” she asked, with that renewed anxiety.

“Yeah.” He’d thought about it earlier, before Jane arrived. “Stillwell Trucking. We’ll see what kind of welcome I get.”

“Instead of Lissa’s friends?”

Inspiration hit him. “I was thinking I might leave that to you.”

With only the porch light and a half-moon, he couldn’t see her face well, but her surprise still showed. “You mean that?”

“I have a feeling you’re as good a detective as I am.” He wished he’d thought of this sooner. “What’s more, I’m guessing your sister’s women friends might talk to you more openly than they would to me.”

She nodded, said, “I’ll start first thing in the morning. Thank you, Clay,” and finally drove away. He stood out in the dark watching until the last flicker of red taillight disappeared, reluctant to go back into his too-empty house.

* * *

B
Y
NOON
THE
next day, Jane had talked to half a dozen of her sister’s friends, although it developed that
friends
wasn’t quite the right word for most, who were closer to acquaintances—current or former coworkers, or mothers of one of Bree’s or Alexis’s friends. Jane had left messages for others who were likely at work.

Drew called once to say, “She’s making sounds, Jane. Not quite words, but...”

“She’s going to wake up.” Jane had begun to believe it. She only wished it wasn’t taking so long. This was Friday. Six days since Bree had vanished so completely, no one at all had seen her since.

“Yeah, I think so, too,” he said abruptly, and ended the call.

Her relief was huge when Clay called. She’d felt stupidly girlie that morning when she awakened, thinking about their lovemaking, wondering how much of what he’d said he had really meant, hoping he’d call. Her stomach had been in a knot ever since, even though she had discovered she didn’t doubt him as much as she should, given his history.

She kept seeing the way he’d looked at her when he’d said,
I want you. The woman you are.
And then he’d asked her to join the investigation even though her doing so was against the rules.

He asked because I’m a woman, and he thought Lissa’s friends would talk to me.

Maybe. But he must have women deputies he could have had make the same calls.

“Hi,” she said shyly.

“I wish we’d woken up together.”

She wished they had, too. Instead she’d tossed and turned, and had to get up twice with Alexis. Then she’d sat across the breakfast table from Drew instead of Clay.

“You know I couldn’t stay.”

He grunted acknowledgement. “Getting anywhere?”

“Without learning anything useful.”

“Don’t suppose you can meet for a quick lunch.”

“Sure.” She went for casually pleased. “When and where?”

Ten minutes later, she walked into Subway and found him waiting. The sight of him, as always, stirred something in her. He was so solid. Not exactly handsome, but a man every woman noticed. Maybe more so today because of the weapon and badge he wore at his belt.

Probably because he was official, he only kissed her cheek, though his smile was intimate. Then they ordered, and took their sandwiches to a table in the back where they weren’t likely to be overheard.

Unwrapping his sandwich, he said, “How far did you get?”

She told him about the conversations. “I’ll try to reach the others this evening. They’re probably at work. But I actually talked to two of the women I thought of as Lissa’s close friends. They do spa days, shop together, that kind of thing.”

He nodded, his blue eyes intent on her face even as he took a bite.

“One of them admitted that Lissa grumbled about Drew sometimes. Then she hurried to say, ‘But you know how it is. Just because we’re friends and she could. Not like anything was really wrong.’” Jane shook her head. “Money worries? ‘Gee, Lissa didn’t say anything.’ Only ten days ago they went for a mani-pedi at the spa at Arrow Lake, which is not cheap.”

“A what?” Clay stopped in the act of lifting the sandwich to his mouth again.

“A manicure and pedicure? You know. Fingernails and toenails? And usually you get a foot and hand massage, too?”

“Do
you
do that?”

“Um...” She looked down at her unpainted nails, cut short. “Do I
look
like I do?”

Clay’s gaze followed hers. “No, thank God.”

Jane rolled her eyes. “It probably feels great. A lot of women have jobs where they feel like they need to be decorative. And plenty of men
like
long red fingernails.”

“Not this one.” He resumed eating.

Jane felt a surge of pleasure. What was it he’d said? He was sold on
all
of her? Not exactly poetic, but...she didn’t really want poetry. She wouldn’t trust it, especially from a man like him. Apparently he was sold even on her fingernails, kept utilitarian short.

“Good to know.”

A smile crinkled the skin beside his eyes.

“It’s funny,” she said, returning to her original thought. “Lissa was always the social one, part of the in crowd. The phone rang all the time for her. But now I’m thinking how shallow most of her relationships were.” She frowned. “Are.”

He didn’t have to say that avoiding emotional intimacy was also classic behavior for a woman with her history.

“What about you?” she asked. “How did your morning go?”

In between bites, he told her. She finally had the chance to start eating.

“Stillwell wasn’t pleased to see me. He professed not to understand why I’m treating a woman who lies unconscious in the hospital as a suspect.” He grimaced. “Not that you haven’t said the same.”

“Not recently.”

“No.” He went on to say that Lissa’s boss had understood why he needed to interview Lissa’s coworkers. “Mostly it was a waste of time. I got the same thing you did. I was told how bubbly she is, how much fun. A couple of the women were obviously taken by Lissa’s husband.” He sounded wry. “And what
darling
daughters. I heard how devoted a mother she is.”

“I actually think she is. It’s...one of her redeeming qualities. Her not wanting to take Bree along on an errand is really unusual. I mean, she didn’t want to be a stay-at-home mom. She insisted she’d go out of her mind, but she does spend a ton of time with them.”

Clay seemed to accept what she said. “The one place the vibes weren’t quite as warm and fuzzy was, interestingly enough, in the finance department. An overblown description for an office with a grand total of three employees. They have a temp filling in for your sister right now,” he added.

On a spasm of grief, Jane wondered if Lissa would ever be going back to work at Stillwell Trucking. Or to work at all. She bowed her head momentarily, concentrating on poking a tomato slice back into the roll.

“This time Ms. Bitterman, the other bookkeeper, sounded a little catty. I didn’t get the impression they liked each other much.”

“I’ve had the impression Lissa didn’t like her,” Jane admitted. “She didn’t think Betty Jean did a fair share of the work. Lissa thought Mr. Stillwell should let her go.”

“Did she call the boss mister? Not by his first name?”

“No, it was always Mr. Stillwell.”

He nodded. “Arnett, the accountant, was irritated I was wasting his time. He’s not a real friendly guy. I may be mistaken, but I’d swear I caught a flash of intense dislike for your sister before he hid it with impatience.”

“But...how does it matter? Do you picture either of them forcing Lissa off the road and then abducting Bree? Why would they?”

“Betty Jean, no. Arnett... I’ve got to tell you, my impression is he’s cold enough to do anything he thinks he has to. Why, though, that’s another story. What I didn’t get from anyone at the company was the sense Lissa had anything going with Arnett, or any other man, for that matter.” He wadded up the wrappings. “No hint of an affair from any of her friends?”

Jane shook her head. “Nope.”

“All right. Keep at it.” He rolled his shoulders as if the muscles were tight. “Goddamn, I wish she could talk to us.”

“Drew thinks any minute. He said she’s making noises that aren’t quite words.”

“That’s good.” His tone was encouraging, but his eyes said as clearly as words that Lissa might never speak coherently again.

Suddenly losing her appetite, Jane set down the heel of her sandwich and bundled it into the wrappings, ready to throw away.

“Now what?” she asked, hopelessness stealing over her again.

Clay’s gaze met hers. “Your sister has been in a position to see the money trail at Stillwell Trucking. Stillwell was a little too alarmed today. I think he’s dirty. I don’t know how, but I’m going to start poking around.”

She stared at him. She’d spent a good part of the last year investigating the messy world of drug trafficking. Law enforcement attention had mostly been focused on private airfields and the small planes flying in and out, but trucking... That was another form of transportation, one that rarely caused a second glance.