“I don’t know,” she said.
But Clay was already pushing through the crowd, making his way toward Smitty. Trying hard to ignore the jab of trepidation in her gut, Marty took a deep breath and followed.
The music paused, and an instant later a classic Pink Floyd tune floated through the air like marijuana smoke. Clay reached Smitty and touched him on the shoulder.
“Smitty.”
The man turned on the stool and gave Clay a red-eyed glare. When his gaze slid to Marty, the rise of hostility was powerful enough to send a quiver of uneasiness through her. “Well, if it ain’t the fuckin’ caped crusaders.”
“Can it,” Clay said. “I need to talk to you. Outside. Now.”
Drunks were an unpredictable lot. Judging from the way he leaned on the bar when he stood, that wasn’t the first longneck Smitty had had tonight. It sure as hell wasn’t the first shot of tequila.
Smitty wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “What are you going to do, fire me again? Or maybe you’re going to cuff me and let your female Rambo take a cheap shot.”
“Don’t make this hard,” Clay said.
Smitty snarled something about rutting whores beneath his breath and started for the door.
“He’s a real charmer,” Marty said.
Clay shot her a firm look. “I’ll do the talking. I want you to take a good long look at him and tell me if he was in your house tonight.”
“Okay.”
She trailed both men to the door, trying hard not to notice the eyes burning into her back. For the first time she wondered how much of her past had gotten around town. If the people in this bar knew what she’d done. If they condemned her for it. Or maybe Smitty had put some convenient spin on his recent termination.
The air was cooler and cleaner outside. Smitty walked as far as the corner of the building, then turned to face them. Even in the semidarkness, Marty could see the ruddiness of his complexion. The anger sparking hot in his eyes. The hostility oozing from every pore.
“What do you want?” he asked.
Clay stopped a scant foot away from him, invading the other man’s space just enough to let him know he was in charge. “I want to know where you were tonight.”
“You gotta be kidding.” He thrust a finger at Marty. “What did she do? Make up another story about me?”
“Answer the question,” Clay said.
“I ain’t gonna answer shit until you tell me why I gotta.”
“We can do this here, and when we’re done you can go back in and finish your drink. Or we can do it at the station, where I can ruin your night and probably the rest of your week. Your choice.”
Smitty struggled with that for a moment. Marty could see his alcohol-fuzzed brain working through his options. He must have seen something in Clay’s eyes because he decided to cooperate. He shoved his hands into his pockets and shook his head. “I got back from Plainview about an hour ago.”
“Why were you in Plainview?”
“I had an interview.”
“At the police department?”
Smitty’s mouth tightened. “Yeah.”
“You come straight here?”
“Yeah.”
“Were you alone?”
“I don’t take my fuckin’ mother on interviews with me, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Clay frowned. “Can anyone in Plainview vouch for you?”
Smitty blinked as if realizing for the first time he might have to prove his whereabouts. “The sergeant. Frank Chaney.” His eyes narrowed. “Why are you questioning me?”
“Someone broke into Hogan’s house tonight,” Clay said.
Smitty looked at her and grinned. He looked like a mongoose that had outmaneuvered a cobra and had the snake clenched in its jaws. “She probably mouthed off to the wrong person.”
“Or maybe you blame me for your getting fired,” she shot back.
Smitty hissed another expletive and moved toward her. Clay stopped him with a forearm across his chest. Before the other man stepped back, Marty caught a whiff of cheap tequila and onions.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” Clay warned. “Or you won’t be starting that new job.”
Sneering, the other man jabbed a finger toward her. “She’s a mouthy bitch.”
Clay glanced at Marty, the question clear in his eyes. She didn’t like Smitty and knew the feeling was mutual, but in her gut she knew he wasn’t the one who’d attacked her. She gave Clay a minute shake of the head.
“Enjoy the rest of your evening,” Clay said.
Smitty made a sound of disgust. “Fuck you and fuck her.”
Shaking his head, Clay turned away.
Marty took a final look at Smitty. He stared back, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “You might consider an anger management class,” she said.
“Or maybe I’ll just take you down a few notches with my fist.”
Marty stopped and turned toward him. “How about right now?”
“Hogan. Jesus.” Clay hooked his finger around her belt loop and pulled her back. “I can’t take you anywhere, can I?”
She fell into step beside him, thinking about Smitty and what had happened. Midway to the Explorer, Clay broke the silence. “What do you think?”
“He didn’t do it.”
He cut her a sharp look. “You sure?”
“He smells like onions,” she said. “The guy who broke in smelled like chewing gum.”
“He could have gone for a burger after he attacked you.”
“I looked closely at Smitty, Clay. It wasn’t him.”
“That leaves us with a problem.”
Clay hit the locks and Marty climbed into the Explorer. “If Smitty didn’t do it,” she said, “who did?”
Clay lived on the opposite side of town, in a single-story
redbrick ranch. Marty was still thinking about Smitty when Clay turned into the gravel driveway. The Explorer’s headlights played over a red steel barn, a horse trailer parked next to it and a big Ford F250. A sleek Jaguar lounged adjacent the garage door.
“Nice wheels,” she said.
“Not mine.”
“Don’t tell me Erica drives.”
Clay parked and shut down the engine. “My ex-wife is here.”
Marty wouldn’t have been more surprised if he’d taken out his flashlight and hit her on the forehead with it. She wondered just how ex his former wife really was. “Cozy.”
“I wouldn’t go that far.” Getting out of the Explorer, he picked up her bag and they started toward the side door, where a yellow porch light welcomed them. Clay used his key and they stepped into a kitchen.
The first thing Marty noticed was the smell of some savory dish she couldn’t name. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her she’d skipped both lunch and dinner.
It was a big, airy room with painted white cabinetry above a granite countertop and a pale turquoise back-splash. It was also spotless. “You didn’t tell me you were such a good housekeeper,” she said.
“I’m not. Mrs. Huffschmidtt cooks and cleans for us five days a week.”
“Oh.” She looked around. “Nice.”
What made the house special was the undeniable fact that someone had made it into a home. It was neat and clean with a comfortable amount of clutter that spoke highly of Mrs. Huffschmidtt the housekeeper—and Clay, too.
“Dad!”
Marty turned to see Erica dash into the room. “Hey, Marty.”
“Hey.”
The girl trotted to Clay. “I took Eve out to the barn to see George and she stepped in a pile of poop.”
Eve appeared at the doorway just as an unladylike snort erupted from Marty. Realizing it probably wouldn’t go over well with Clay’s ex-wife, Marty attempted to disguise her amusement with a cough, but she didn’t think she succeeded.
Erica giggled and put her hand over her mouth.
Clay frowned at both of them, then turned his attention to his ex-wife. “Did you get your shoe cleaned off all right?”
Everyone looked down at her extraordinarily impractical heels. “Yes.” Her eyes slid to Marty, sank into her like fangs, then moved on to Clay. “Did you get the emergency taken care of?”
“Everything’s fine.” He cleared his throat. “Eve, I’d like for you to meet Marty Hogan, my newest officer.”
The elegant woman crossed to Marty with the poise of a Paris runway model and extended her hand, but her eyes were cool. “Pleased to meet you.”
Clay glanced at Marty. “This is Eve Sutherland, Erica’s mother.”
Marty gave her hand an extra-firm grip. “Likewise.”
Eve’s perfectly plucked brows pulled together. “You look familiar, Marcy.”
“Marty,” she corrected.
“Have we met?”
“Not until today.” This was the part Marty hated most. The part when the person she was meeting recognized her from the footage they’d seen on television and had to decide if she was a hero or a bad cop.
“I’m sure we’ve met at some point. Where are you from?”
The urge to lie was strong. But Marty had long since learned there was no running from the truth. Somehow it invariably caught up with her. “Chicago.”
“Oh.” Eve put her fingers beneath her chin as if considering, then her brows shot up. “
Oh. That
Marty Hogan. Well, I guess that answers my next question.”
“What question is that?” Marty asked.
“Now I know why you came to Caprock Canyon.” Eve’s gaze went to Clay. “I didn’t realize you were that hard up for officers.”
Subtly, he positioned himself between the two women. “Eve . . .”
When she returned her gaze to Marty, a small, nasty smile played at the corners of her mouth. “He’s always had a weakness for cops down on their luck.”
Marty stared at her, aware that her heart rate was up, that her hands were clenched. She didn’t know what to say or how to feel. She thought about jumping down that slender, elegant throat with a verbal barrage the woman would not soon forget.
But for the first time in a long time, Marty cared what someone thought of her. Not only Clay, she realized, but Erica, too.
Instead of responding, Marty turned to Erica. “How’s it going, buckaroo?”
The name elicited a smile. “What are you doing here?”
“Oh, just some police business.”
“Did you bring your Rufus the Police Dog suit?”
“Ah, not tonight.” Remembering the gift she’d picked up for the girl’s birthday, Marty reached into her duffel and pulled out the small bag. Since she didn’t know the first thing about wrapping or bows, she’d stuck it in a colorful little bag from Fox’s Pharmacy. She had to admit it looked pretty good for a woman who hadn’t a clue about those kinds of things.
“Happy birthday.”
The little girl took the bag. “Thanks.”
“So how old are you?”
“Ten.”
“Wow, that’s really old.”
“Is not.” Erica reached into the bag. Her eyes lit up when she pulled out the figurine. “Oh my gosh! I love it!”
The figurine was of an Appaloosa horse, dashing around a barrel with a little girl in a cowboy hat astride. It wasn’t expensive—just made of resin—but the horse looked just like George and Marty had known Erica would love it.
Spinning, she shoved the figurine at Clay. “Dad!”
Marty couldn’t remember the last time such a simple moment meant so much to her. Kids might be weird little creatures, but they were honest. There were no pretenses. No complicated games. And their joy was incredibly genuine.
“Hey, that’s nice.” Clay picked up the figurine and glanced at Marty. “Where did you find it?”
“I ordered it online.”
“Thanks, Marty.”
Before Marty realized what the girl was going to do, Erica jumped toward her and threw her arms around her. “It’s perfect. I love it. I really do.”
Marty allowed herself to be hugged, but for the life of her she couldn’t think of anything to say.
“It’s charming,” Eve put in. “It reminds me of those adorable little plastic horses I collected as a child. The farm store used to sell them for five dollars.” Her gaze swept to Clay. “Remember those?”
Marty extricated herself from Erica’s arms. Ignoring Eve, she turned her attention to Clay. “Is there someplace I can set up my laptop? I need to get to work.”
“Aren’t you going to have ice cream and cake?” Erica asked.
Clay looked at Marty. “It’s chocolate.”
Marty didn’t want to stick around, chocolate or not. She wasn’t so dense that she didn’t sense Eve’s not-so-subtle hostility. She wished she hadn’t agreed to come here. “I really have to get to work, log in to some databases for research.”
When Erica started to protest, Clay set his hand on his daughter’s shoulder. “We’re working on a case, honey.”
Erica looked confused for a moment. “Is she spending the night with us?”
Clay cleared his throat. “We, uh, had a big case come up. Officer Hogan has some computer research to do. I told her she could use the guest room.”
To back him up, Marty raised her laptop and tapped it. “See?”
“A case?” Eve cut in. “How fascinating. Are your other officers spending the night, too? Or just . . . Marcy?”
Clay’s jaw went taut. “Eve, thank you for staying with Erica during the emergency. I think we’ve got everything under control now.”
The other woman glared at Marty. “Oh, I’ll just bet you do.”
“I’ll walk you out.” He glanced at Erica. “Honey, will you show Marty to the guest room and help her get her laptop set up?”
“Sure, Dad.” The little girl looked at Eve, but the woman’s attention was still focused on Marty and Clay.
Marty didn’t know exactly what was going on between Eve and Clay, but the one thing she did know was that his ex-wife was a cold-hearted bitch. If Erica hadn’t been there, Marty would have told her so.
“Come on, Marty.”
Surprising her, Erica took her hand and tugged her toward the door. Marty let the girl guide her through the living room and down the hall. They ended up in a small, comfortable bedroom furnished with pine furniture, South-western art and a floor-to-ceiling shelf filled with books.
“This is kind of our office.” Erica walked in and motioned toward the shelf. “A desk folds down there. Sometimes Daddy sets up his laptop.”