Tough Customer- Sandra Brown

[Dalyia]

"Drop it."

Gonzales shrugged good-naturedly and picked up the subject where he'd left off. "I was saying we should volunteer for that task force they're pulling together to catch that bank robber." He plopped a strawberry into his mouth and chewed vigorously. "What do you think?"

"You read my mind."

"Yeah?"

Dodge had been thinking about it for days, ever since he'd heard about the task force. For more than a year, an armed robber had been plaguing area banks. During the last robbery, a bank guard had been shot. He was still recovering from a serious wound. It was feared that, if the culprit weren't caught, someone would eventually be killed. The perp had grown bolder with each robbery, and now his holdups had taken on a taunting attitude, as though he was enjoying his celebrity, having a whale of a good time, and thumbing his nose at the police in the process.

Working with several law enforcement agencies, including the FBI, Houston PD was determined to catch him. They had a list of possible suspects comprised of felons convicted of similar robberies who had served their sentences or were out on parole, but there was no evidence connecting any of them to the current crimes. The robber could be one of them or a new and clever crook on his debut crime spree.

Bottom line, the authorities really didn't have anything. Thus, the task force.

With the ink on his sheepskin from Texas Tech barely dry, Dodge had joined the HPD. His goal was to make detective and ultimately Homicide as soon as possible. He had the innate skills for crime solving. He just needed to pay his dues in the rank and file, get some seniority, and distinguish himself.

He'd been thinking that this task force might provide him an opportunity to prove himself a notch above the rest. If he got one of the coveted spots on it and impressed his superiors, it would speed his way toward achieving his goal.

"I put my name on the sign-up sheet yesterday afternoon."

Gonzales looked crestfallen. "You did? Oh."

Dodge smiled at him. "I put yours on there, too."

Gonzales beamed. "Good. Great. We'll both look more handsome out of these uniforms."

"Whoa. A lot of cops want on the task force. We haven't been selected yet."

"We will be. You for sure."

"Why me for sure?"

"It's bound to involve undercover work." Gonzales bobbed his eyebrows. "That's your speciality, partner."

Dodge cut into his rare steak. "Rumor."

Gonzales gave him an I-know-better look.

Dodge said, "All that gossip about me? It's bullshit."

Gonzales pushed aside his empty plate and leaned across the table. "That multiple murder at the strip club last month?"

"What about it?"

"There's nothing to the story that while the detectives were questioning the so-called eyewitnesses, you took the hostess of the club behind the building for a little one-on-one?"

"I was off duty. I just happened by. Got lucky."

"Lucky?" Gonzales scoffed. "I'll say. Within twenty minutes, she'd given up the shooter. You walked the detectives straight to where she told you he'd be hiding. There's no truth to that story?"

Dodge reached for his coffee cup. "I didn't take her behind the building."

"But you got her to give him up."

"Wasn't that hard to do." He grinned. "Not once I'd convinced her that a guy like that was no good for her, that she could do a lot better."

Gonzales was laughing, shaking his head in admiration. "Didn't you say that the solution to most mysteries could be found under a woman's skirt?"

"I never said that."

"You're quoted."

"Locker room talk." But Dodge's sly grin gave away the lie.

They finished their meal, divided the check, and paid out. As they separated outside the restaurant, Gonzales said, "Makes me feel a little better, knowing there's one woman you can't have. That redhead isn't gonna give up a superrich guy, even one who knocks her around now and then, for a street cop. You'll have to live without that one, Dodge."

Gonzales was proven right. When Dodge reported for duty that evening, he learned that Roger Campton had been released from lockdown before noon. His lawyers--plural--threatened a countercharge of police harassment, and Ms. Caroline King had declined to press charges. It was even said by the lawyers that she regretted having involved the police, that it was all an unfortunate misunderstanding, a mountain made of a molehill. Et cetera.

Dodge had figured that was the way it would shake out, but he didn't like it and couldn't leave it at that.

After his shift, he told Gonzales he didn't feel like breakfast and went instead to her house. He was parked at the curb in front of it when she came out to get her morning newspaper. He got out of his car and started up the walk.

"Ms. King?"

She shaded her eyes against the sun and regarded him warily.

"It's Officer Hanley."

She was dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, no shoes. Compared with his size twelves, her feet looked like a child's.

"Oh. Hello. I didn't recognize you without the uniform."

"I just got off duty, thought before I went home, I'd come by, see how you're doing."

"I'm fine."

"You've got a bruise."

She touched the edge of her eye. "Not surprising. My skin is so fair, I bruise if you look at me hard."

"He did more than look at you hard." The statement was out before he could stop it, and he'd sounded tougher and more dangerous than the guy who'd slapped her. But he didn't apologize for what he'd said.

She seemed embarrassed, even apprehensive. "I didn't press charges."

"I know. I checked."

"Roger was mortified by his behavior. He'd had a shouting match with his father and took his residual anger out on me. Both have apologized. Roger has sworn that it'll never happen again. I'm confident it won't."

Dodge wasn't, but he didn't tell her that. "Everything's okay then?"

"Everything's fine."

He stood there, feeling oafish, searching for something to say to prolong the conversation but thinking of nothing.

"I need to..." She gestured behind her toward the front door, which she'd left standing open. "I'll be late for work."

"Oh, sure, sorry. I just came by ... you know, to check on ... things."

"I appreciate the follow-up, Officer Hanley. Truly. Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"Good-bye."

"Bye."

He stood there until she went inside and closed the door.

Dodge and Gonzales were interviewed separately for the task force. Dodge was appointed to it. Gonzales wasn't.

"Hey, Dodge, don't worry about it, man."

"My partner isn't good enough for their task force, they can fuck themselves." His language had been as raw as his mood ever since that morning he'd gone to Caroline King's house and heard from her own lips that everything was hunky-dory between her and Roger Campton.

So rotten was his disposition, people had begun avoiding him. Even Doris, the night-shift clerk at the 7-Eleven, had sensed he wasn't open to bantering about their dancing date. Their recent transactions at the cash register had been uncommonly stilted.

Gonzales, however, seemed immune to his temper. In response to Dodge's opinion of the task force, he said, "Look, partner, I appreciate the level of your loyalty, but don't mess it up for yourself. You wanted on this task force, you got on it. Do yourself, and me, proud."

Dodge continued to grouse and protest, but Gonzales wouldn't hear of him letting the opportunity pass.

"You've got two years of service on me. I'll get my turn," the younger officer said with confidence. "Show 'em what you've got. Kick butt."

He slapped Dodge on the back and was about to walk away when he stopped, snapped his fingers, and turned. "Almost forgot. You see the Sunday paper? Your girlfriend and the rich boy made it official. They're engaged."

[Dalyia]

CHAPTER
5

PATRONS OF THE PINK AND WHITE TEAROOM PROBABLY DIDN'T drop the f-word that often. Dodge's saying it had shocked Caroline speechless. It didn't used to, but it had been thirty years since she'd been around him. Her ears had grown soft.

He'd used the word specifically to shock her. He was tired of beating around the bush about their daughter's involvement in a shooting, and sometimes shock therapy was the only way to get people to give up information they'd rather not disclose.

"Talk to me, Caroline."

She cleared her throat. "I think, I'm afraid, that Oren Starks meant exactly what he said when he threatened to kill Berry."

"He's not just a goof spouting off?"

"On the contrary, Berry says he's brilliant."

"Brilliant people go crackers all the time," he said. "Get mad, get jealous of competitors, say things they don't mean. I'm gonna kill you! They rarely follow through, Caroline. If all the people who said, 'I'm gonna--'"

"All right," she snapped. "I see your point."

He waited. She said nothing. He glanced over his shoulder. They were the only two customers left in the tearoom. The server hadn't reappeared since she'd brought their order. Coming back around, he said, "This is the last time I'm asking. What do you know that you haven't told me?"

"Nothing. I swear."

"Okay, then tell me what you suspect."

Her back stiffened. "That's a policeman's word."

"A word that got a defensive reaction from you. Which indicates to me that I hit the nail on the head."

"You're that smart?"

He banged his fist on the table, softly, but with enough force to make the china rattle. "Apparently you think so, or you wouldn't have called me in the middle of the night, asking me to drop everything and haul ass down here, which I was stupid enough to do and am coming to regret."

Her eyes sparked angrily again. He was gifted in ways to make her angry. In a tight voice, she said, "Berry is a lot like me in many ways."

"Dandy. The world can be grateful for that. What's the problem?"

"The problem is..." She hesitated, then said the one thing that she knew would make him stay. "She's even more like you."

Berry was leaning against the wall of the hospital corridor, staring into near space, when out of the corner of her eye she saw Ski Nyland.

He was consulting with a nurse at the central desk. The nurse inclined her head in Berry's direction. He turned and, holding Berry's gaze, absently thanked the nurse and started toward her.

Every time he looked at her, she felt exposed and under scrutiny. What were those razor-sharp gray eyes looking at, looking for? Defensively, she fired the first volley.

When he was within earshot, she asked, "Any progress?"

"Like what?"

"Has Oren been spotted?"

"No, ma'am. At least no spottings have been reported."

She didn't miss his tongue-in-cheek tone, and it annoyed her. "Why do you do that?"

"What?"

"Patronize me."

He didn't deny it. In fact, he seemed about to answer when he changed his mind and motioned at the hospital room's closed door instead. "I'd asked them to notify me as soon as Lofland was moved from recovery into a regular room."

"They just brought him up." She called his attention to the empty metal bracket on the door. "They haven't even had time to get his name card in place."

"Have you talked to him?"

"Not yet. A nurse is helping him to get settled."

"Where's his wife?"

"Her name is Amanda. She's in there, too."

"Let's have a chat."

It wasn't a suggestion or an invitation but an order. However, Berry figured it best not to make an issue of it. He ushered her halfway down the corridor to a small waiting room. As she entered it, she remarked on his familiarity with the hospital.

"My mom was a patient here for a couple of weeks. I catnapped in this room the night she died."

Berry stopped and turned to face him. "I'm sorry," she said, meaning it.

"Thanks."

She looked into his face, expecting elaboration. None was forthcoming. He indicated a love seat that turned out to be as unyielding and uncomfortable as it looked. But it was the largest piece of furniture in the room, and she wondered if it was what he'd napped on that night.

He caught her looking at him speculatively. "What?"

"Nothing."

"You were going to say something."

"Just that ... I'm sad for you."

"Sad?"

"I can't imagine life without my mother in it. Were you and yours close?"

"Yeah. She was great. But she was suffering." He coughed into his fist, an unnecessary, self-conscious gesture. For a moment his eyes lost some of their hard glint, leaving Berry to wonder if there wasn't a feeling human being behind them after all, if there was actually room for sentiment in their narrow gaze. Perhaps he wasn't as tough as he wanted everyone to believe.

He dragged a chair across the low pile carpeting and sat down facing her. When he did, he spread his knees wide to avoid touching hers, causing her to speculate further. Was he just being gentlemanly, or did that purposeful avoidance signify a vulnerability?

Which, of course, was a silly thing to think. He held all the advantages here. Why would he be reluctant to touch her, even accidentally?

He said, "Before I interview Lofland, I wanted to ask you some questions about Oren Starks."

The personal moment had passed, and he was down to business. As he should be. She said, "Mr. Carlisle would insist on being here."

"Call him if you want, but it's unnecessary. What I have to ask you is really background stuff on Starks. His character. Habits. Stuff like that."

Berry deliberated, then said, "All right. I'm happy to answer your questions if I

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can. I'm sure Ben will be equally cooperative when you talk to him."

"He doesn't have a choice. He's a material witness. I need to hear his version of what happened."

"His version? You think I'm lying?"

He remained unflappable. "I think two people can see the same incident from entirely different perspectives."

"Very diplomatically put, Deputy."

He shrugged. "Lofland may shed new light, give me some ideas as to where Starks might have gone."

"He could be miles from here by now."

"He could. But if he's hurt, he may not be up to traveling. He could be lying low, somewhere in the area, someplace close."

"Someone could be sheltering him."

"Like friends? Family? You tell me, Ms. Malone. Do you know of any?"

"Honestly, no."

"Well, we don't, either," he said. "Houston PD is helping with that angle, and nothing's turned up. He's not working anywhere. Since being fired from Delray, he's been drawing unemployment.

"His only known kin is his mother, who's elderly. She's in a facility for Alzheimer's patients, has been for several years, and she's in the final stages of the disease. For all practical purposes, she's ... gone." He made a gesture to indicate that all the woman's cognition had been wiped clean.

"Neighbors say Starks is a loner. He doesn't host parties. No one remembers friends visiting his house. Asked if he had any outside interests--like a gym membership, an obvious hobby like tennis or golf, church affiliation--neighbors didn't know. Said he kept to himself."

He gave Berry a lazy once-over, the kind of which a woman can't mistake. "You seem to be his only passion." The suggestion underlying his tone was perturbing.

"That's not true. I told you earlier today about some of his passions."

"Right. Puzzles, games, problem solving. According to the officers who searched his house, his home computer had bookmarked several websites relating to that kind of thing. He routinely visits message boards and blogs but never posts on any." Again his eyes flicked over her suggestively. "Anyway, I doubt intricate mazes could hold a candle to you."

"Maybe it's a matter of degree," she said coolly.

"Maybe." A second or two ticked past before he continued. "He's now being sought all over southeast Texas and into Louisiana. We're checking hotels, but I doubt he'd go to one. Usually they require a credit card to check in. None of his has been used since last week. No ATM withdrawals since he took out two hundred dollars three days ago at a branch bank in Houston."

"He would know better than to leave a trail that's so easily followed."

"What I figured," he said, nodding. "But we checked anyway. We're canvassing motels, cabin rentals, like that. What worries me," he said, pulling his eyebrows into a frown, "is that there's a lot of territory around here to hide in."

"You mentioned that this morning."

"If he's holed up in the woods somewhere--"

"The woods?" Berry laughed. "He'd have to be crazy."

"You said he was."

"I said he was unhinged."

"Isn't that the same thing?"

"No."

"What's the difference?"

"Constancy. Crazy is a state of being. Unhinged is a reaction."

"Catching you with Lofland sent him over the edge."

"He didn't 'catch' me with Ben. He caught me in the shower. Alone."

"Right. When I got there, you were still wet." He kept his eyes fixed on hers for several beats before moving on. "You told Sheriff Drummond you'd seen Starks rattled like that only once before. When was that?"

"At the beginning of the summer. Just before I moved to Merritt."

"Starks wigged out on you, and that was the final straw?"

"Exactly. I got scared."

"Do you think he's sinking deeper into psychosis?"

"I have no idea. I'm not a psychiatrist. What I can tell you is that, ordinarily, Oren isn't a raving maniac."

He propped one booted foot on his opposite knee and crossed his arms over his wide chest. "Describe to me what he's like. Ordinarily."

"Well, one thing he's not is an outdoorsman. I can't see him taking cover in a well-protected campground, much less the woods. You can chalk that off your list."

"Okay, where do you think he ran to?"

She bent her head and rubbed her forehead. "I don't know, Deputy Nyland."

"Call me Ski."

She looked across at him but didn't address the topic of names. "Oren's persnickety. Orderly."

"Obsessive-compulsive?"

"Close," she said with an absent nod. "I used to tease him about his desk being the cleanest of any at Delray. Everything in its place. His mind works in an orderly fashion, too."

"For instance?"

"For instance, during a discussion over a project, I could jump around from point to point, but Oren wouldn't move from point A to point B until point A had been reviewed, discussed, and approved one hundred percent. He would go back to something a dozen times until it met with his satisfaction."

"What you're telling me is that he'll keep coming back until he gets it right."

"Yes," she said huskily. "Until I'm dead."

"I'll do my best to keep that from happening."

"Thank you."

"You don't have any idea where he might have fled?"

"None."

"Okay." He lowered his foot to the floor and leaned forward. "You've said that Starks made other women employees at Delray uncomfortable, not just you."

"That's right."

Removing a pad and pen from the breast pocket of his sport jacket, he asked if she

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could name a few. He jotted down the names as she enumerated them. "Sally Buckland in particular," she said. "She resigned from Delray at the beginning of the year. Oren factored largely into her decision."

"You know this for certain?"

"Absolutely. He had a terrible crush on her. She wasn't interested and tried everything to avoid him, but he was persistent. On several occasions she complained to me that he wouldn't take no for an answer."

"No to what?"

"To anything. The situation got so bad, it was beginning to affect her work, so I interceded on her behalf. I told Oren that Sally wasn't interested, that he was wasting his time on her."

"How'd he react?"

She smiled sadly. "He turned his attention to me."

"Was there ever a time when you were interested in him?"

"Romantically? Good Lord, no."

He arched one sun-bleached eyebrow.

"Absolutely not!" She chuckled. "When you see him, you'll understand. He's not at all my type."

"What's your type?"

His question checked her amusement, because the first word that sprang to mind was You. It startled her, rattled her right down to the soles of her feet. Because were it not for the fact that he was investigating a crime involving her, and seemed to harbor some mistrust of her that extended beyond a peace officer's instinctual mistrust of everybody, she would find the deputy sheriff attractive. His imposing bearing, his sheer physicality, even his damn gray eyes, were appealing.

But he seemed bent on trying to trip her up, to catch her in a lie, which made her dislike him intensely. Pulling herself up straight, she said, "Oren was my colleague. Bright. I'd even go so far as to say gifted. But he became a rejected suitor who stalked me, and who last night vowed to kill me. He said he must."

The deputy studied her for a moment longer, then replaced his notepad and pen in his pocket and stood up. "Maybe Lofland's settled in by now."

When Ski entered the hospital room, no one was happy to see him. Not the nurse, who told him the patient was still very weak and asked that Ski not take too long. Not Mrs. Lofland, who when he introduced himself was polite, but only because she had to be. Not the patient, who seemed the least happy of all that Ski was there.

Ben Lofland, fresh from the surgical recovery room, was attached to various lines and tubes and looked like warmed-over death. Oren Starks's bullet had gone clean through him, creating entry and exit wounds but, miraculously, doing only moderate damage to tissue on its passage. It had missed all his organs and the bowel. The worst of the injury had been the amount of blood lost. Either Lofland was living right or he had the devil's own luck.

Ski was betting on the latter.

His condition was far from critical, but he came across to Ski as a whiner. Once introductions were out of the way and the nurse had left the room, he said, "I really don't feel up to this right now."

"I'll be brief," Ski said.

"Why do you need to talk to Ben? Hasn't she told you what happened?"

Ski turned to Amanda Lofland, who'd placed hard emphasis on the she, making the pronoun sound like a word for something that smelled bad. "Ms. Malone gave a detailed statement last night and again this morning. But it might help us catch Starks--"

"You haven't caught him yet?"

Ski disliked the implication of incompetence that had underscored Lofland's question. "Ms. Malone didn't see his vehicle. She was busy trying to keep you from bleeding out on her bedroom floor."

Ski knew it was the mention of Berry Malone's bedroom and not pain that caused the guy to wince. Lofland shot a worried look at his wife, who was hugging herself as though at any moment she might fly apart.

Without further prompting from Ski, Lofland said, "I heard Berry scream. Heard their voices. I ran--"

"Were you asleep?" Ski removed his notepad and pen from his pocket.

"What?"

"Did her scream wake you up?"

"Uh, no. I hadn't gone to sleep yet." He cast another look at his wife, who had moved to the window and was looking through the blinds at the ventilation chutes on the roof.

"You were still awake," Ski stated.

"Right."

"But you hadn't heard Starks come into the house."

"No."

"Car engine? Boat motor?"

"You think he came by boat?"

"It's possible. We're checking it out."

"I didn't hear a boat motor."

"Anything?"

"No."

"Okay."

Lofland paused to see if Ski was going to ask something else, and when he didn't, Lofland continued. "I ran along the gallery to the other side of the house." He gave his wife another glance, as though to ensure she'd heard how far away from each other the two bedrooms were.

"When I got to Berry's room, I rushed over to the bathroom. That's where the voices were coming from. Oren was standing in front of the bathtub, his back to me. He must've heard me. He turned around and shot me."

"Did he say anything first?"

"No." Lofland grimaced with discomfort. "Can I have some water, please?"

Amanda went to the bed. She poured water from a carafe into a plastic cup, then leaned over him and guided the bent straw to his mouth. When he'd drunk, he looked up at her and touched her hand. "Thanks, sweetheart."

She gave him a lukewarm smile, returned the cup to the nightstand, and then resumed her study of the ventilation apparatus outside the window.

"He just spun around, saw you in your undershorts, and pulled the trigger," Ski said.

"Yes. He seemed completely unbalanced."

"Why do you think? Jealousy over the two of you being together in the lake house?"

"I don't know the cause for Oren's precarious mental state, Deputy."

Ski disliked his tone. To keep himself from knocking the sanctimonious jerk out of the bed, he scanned several of the sheets in his notepad. "What happened after Starks shot you?"

"I can't tell you. I blacked out."

"Ms. Malone says you were conscious right up till the paramedics got there."

"I was? If so, I don't remember. I must've gone into shock. I don't even remember feeling any pain until I regained consciousness in the recovery room this morning. I didn't know where I was. I was so disoriented, I freaked out. The nurse told me I'd been shot and had undergone surgery. Things began coming back to me then, but between Oren firing that pistol and my waking up in recovery, everything is blocked."

"How well do you know Starks?"

"Only as a co-worker."

"You hadn't seen him since he got fired?"

"No."

"You two ever hang out? Go for a beer after work?"

Lofland was shaking his head. "I never saw him socially."

"Mrs. Lofland?" When Ski spoke her name, she jumped and came around quickly. "What are your impressions of Oren Starks?"

"I don't have any."

"You never met him?"

"Well, yes. Ben introduced us at a company function."

"You only met him that once?"

"Once or twice. I don't remember."

"Nothing about him stood out to you?"

"They were casual introductions, Deputy. Insignificant. If I had known that one day he would try to kill my husband, I would have paid more attention."

In Ski's opinion, these two people deserved each other. One was as unlikable as the other. He returned his attention to Ben. "Did you and Starks get along okay in the office?"

"He was off-putting to some people, but I never had any issues with him."

"Did Ms. Malone?"

"Wouldn't you call stalking an issue?"

Again, his smart-aleck tone grated on Ski. He wanted to yank hard on the catheter draining Lofland's bladder, see what effect that would have on his sarcasm, but he settled on glaring at him coldly.

Lofland got the message. His smirk dissolved. "Berry told me Oren was stalking her."

"When?"

"When did she tell me? First I heard of it was when she decided to spend the summer here in Merritt. Naturally I was surprised."

"Why?"

"Berry's such a workaholic. Rarely even takes vacation days. First one in the

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office each morning, last one out in the evening. But Oren had become a real pest, she said. She wanted to disappear for a month or two, hoping he'd lose interest. She's been working from the lake house. She calls it the annex."

"How'd that go?"

"Not as well as when we're both in the office. We've been working as a team, almost exclusively, on a campaign for an important client." He gave his wife a quick look.

"A hundred miles isn't as convenient as next-door offices," Ski observed.

"No. The distance created a few efficiency problems. Here in the boonies the Internet connection isn't one hundred percent reliable, especially out toward the lake. But it's been okay. And if it helped her shake Oren, I was willing to put up with a few inconveniences and delays."

"Hmm." Ski pretended to think about that statement, give it importance. Then he said, "You brought some materials up here to her yesterday."

Amanda Lofland's shoulders raised and lowered on a deep breath.

Lofland sought a more comfortable position on the hospital bed. "How much more, Deputy?"

"Not much. You brought work up here yesterday."

"We had to put some finishing touches on our proposal before presenting it to the client next week. The mock-ups weren't coming through very well on the PDFs. Berry asked if I could run them up here, let her see them exactly as the client would. She had to sign off on a couple of other elements that had been added. So a trip up here seemed called for."

"Who knew you were coming?"

"Well, Amanda."

"Besides her. People at Delray?"

"I had to let people in the office know that I'd be out for the entire day, so yeah, I told a few."

"Three, four?"

With distinct impatience, he said, "The receptionist who answers the phone for our department. My immediate supervisor and his assistant. I can give you their names."

"Besides them, no one else knew?"

"Not unless one of them told somebody."

"Would they have told Oren Starks that you were spending the day with Berry?"

"I doubt that any of them kept in contact with Oren, but if you want to know, you'll have to ask them."

Ski smiled. "I have." Before Lofland could respond to that, Ski asked, "What time did you arrive yesterday morning?"

"Ten-thirtyish. We got right down to it and worked all day."

Ski flipped through several more pages in his notepad, then said idly, "You two get in the pool?"

Lofland shot a quick glance toward his wife where she still stood at the window, her back to the room. "After we knocked off, we each swam some laps to cool off, work out some kinks."

"You'd brought your swimsuit?"

Ski's question caught him off guard. "Uh, no. I had some gym shorts in my car."

"That was convenient." Lofland said nothing. Ski continued, "I guess the shorts are somewhere in the house?"

"I left them hanging on a towel bar in the guest bathroom."

"Okay." Ski let that reverberate for several moments, as though weighing its significance, when actually he'd found the gym shorts in the guest bathroom, exactly as Lofland had described. He just wanted to rattle him in front of his wife, see what shook loose when he did. Unnecessarily, he referred to his notepad again. "You and Ms. Malone grilled steaks for dinner."

"We didn't take a lunch break. We were hungry."

"It got late, you decided to stay over."

"Only after consulting Amanda," Lofland said hastily. "By the time Berry and I had finished dinner and I'd helped with the
cleanup, it was well after dark, and it doesn't get dark till nine-thirty or better. That's when I called home."

"It was eleven oh three," Amanda said, keeping her back to them.

Lofland, looking sickly, said to Ski, "I didn't realize it was that late. But since it was, Amanda said she'd rather I not head back to Houston."

Ski nodded. "Probably best."

"Right. It would have been one o'clock or so before I got home."

"And you shouldn't have been driving after drinking."

Amanda turned suddenly and looked at her husband. His eyes moved from her back to Ski, looking both uneasy and resentful. "Berry and I had some red wine with our steaks."

"And beer."

Lofland pulled his lower lip through his teeth. "I had a couple while the steaks were cooking."

"And Ms. Malone?"

"She joined me for one."

"Huh." Ski looked over at Amanda Lofland's rigid back before returning to her husband. "You ate dinner in the living room?"

"No, in the dining area."

Ski shared a long look with the man, letting him know that he'd seen wineglasses on the living room coffee table in front of a very comfortable-looking sofa. He decided to let Lofland explain the significance of that question to his wife.

He closed his notepad and slid it and the pen back into his pocket. "I think that's everything for now."

"Good," Lofland said. "I feel like crap and would like to sleep."

Ski left them with the promise not to disturb his rest unless it was absolutely necessary and to keep the two of them updated on the manhunt for Oren Starks. As he left the room, he met a nurse going in with a phlebotomy kit. Ski held the door for her, then stepped into the corridor, where Berry Malone was still standing sentinel outside the room.

"They'll probably need a minute to draw blood," he said.

She nodded. "How is he?"

"Better than dead, which he could be."

That sparked her anger. "You're doing it again."

"Pardon?"

"You toss out these little editorial comments, most of them snide, when a simple statement would do."

He slid his hands into the seat pockets of his jeans but then realized that the position revealed the handgun holster attached to his belt, so he lowered his arms back to his sides. "Your friend is no doubt uncomfortable, but the surgeon--I talked to him by phone on my way here--said the wound is clean and that he'll be fine. He'll have bragging rights in the locker room."

The nurse emerged. There were several new vials of blood in her tray, so her mission had been accomplished, but still Berry seemed hesitant to go into the room. "What's Ben's state of mind? He must hate me."

"Why would he hate you?"

"For dragging him up here only to get shot! And poor Amanda."

"He says he called her."

"He did."

"She gave him permission to spend the night."

"It was late."

"That she knew." Gauging Berry's reaction, Ski added, "She didn't know about the cocktail hour and wine."

Berry raised her hands at her sides. "Are you going to make something of us having a couple of drinks?"

"No. I was just wondering--"

"What?"

"What kind of red wine goes with work?"

With exaggerated patience, she said, "The wine didn't come out until dinnertime, and Cabernet goes very well with filets mignons."

"When did you put the robe on?"

She looked at him for several seconds, then shook her head with puzzlement. "Excuse me?"

Ski took a step to bring himself nearer to her. "When I got there, all you had on was a robe."

A robe made of some soft, filmy stuff that had clung to her damp body, then seemed to dissolve within his grip. The imagery was strong, vivid, and way out of line. As was the irrational anger with which he asked, "At what point did you put on that robe? When you took off your wet swimsuit? Is that all you were wearing during your dinner hour with Lofland?"

He was leaning in close to her, unnecessarily close. Why? In order to intimidate a truthful answer out of her? Or for a reason totally unrelated to his investigation?

Amanda Lofland chose that moment to come out of her husband's room, and her displeasure upon seeing Berry there was glaringly obvious.

Ski hastily stepped back, placing appropriate space between Berry and himself.

"Hello, Amanda," Berry said.

Ski thought her apologetic, sympathetic tone sounded heartfelt.

"How is Ben?" she asked.

"Sleeping."

Amanda Lofland's curtness was in keeping with the anger emanating from her.

[Dalyia]

Ski noticed that her hands were fisted at her sides.

"I can't tell you how sorry I am," Berry said. "I would rather Oren have shot me than--"

Amanda's bitter laugh cut her off. "Oh, I doubt that."

"It's true." Berry's voice cracked. "I would never have thought Oren capable of doing something like this."

The other woman seemed not to have heard that. Her eyes were narrowed with hatred. "You had to prove it, didn't you?"

"Prove what?"

"That you could snap your fingers and Ben would come running."

"What are you talking about?"

"You can't stand the thought that he is happily married to me, so you lured him up here to--"

"Amanda, what--"

"I hated the idea of him spending a day here with you. But I pretended that it didn't bother me. It was for work, after all."

"It was for work. Our deadline to deliver that campaign is Monday. We are committed to meeting it."

"Exactly. So what kind of shrew would I have been to say, 'No, you can't go'? What kind of wife would I have been not to trust my husband?"

"You can trust him. Ben adores you. He called you several times throughout the day. I heard him."

"Oh, yes. He called periodically to assure me how hard the two of you were working."

"We were."

"In between dips in the pool and bottles of wine."

Berry groaned. "It wasn't like that. Please, Amanda, don't do this."

She extended her hands toward the other woman, but Amanda Lofland recoiled. "Do not touch me. And stay away from my husband!"

She sidestepped them and rushed past, blindly colliding with the couple who'd been standing only a few yards away and had overheard everything.

Ski hadn't noticed them until now. Caroline King was staring at her daughter with dismay. It was harder for Ski to define the expression of the tough-looking man with her, but his deeply shadowed eyes were also fixed on Berry.

[Dalyia]

CHAPTER
6

IT WAS JUST AS WELL THAT D ODGE WASN'T IMMEDIATELY REQUIRED to speak, because he couldn't have if his life had depended on it.

He was world-wise and world-weary. Nothing much bothered him. He was hardened to the cruelty one person could inflict on another. Oh, if he saw pictures of starving babies in Africa, or American fighting men torn to bits in the name of some fanatic's god, he was moved, but more toward rage than toward sorrow. Sorrow had little place in the heart of a card-carrying cynic. The same went for all the softer emotions.

He'd thought he had prepared himself to see his daughter. After all, he didn't know her. It wasn't like he'd once had her in his life, had formed a strong attachment, and then had had her wrenched away. He didn't have photographs of the two of them together. He hadn't made memories with her like he'd made with Caroline.

He and his child had no common bond except for a shared bloodline. He figured that when he met her he might experience a few butterflies, maybe a slight dampening of his palms, but those would be the extent of his reactions, and they would be short-lived.

So he was completely unprepared for the profound physical reaction he underwent when he and Caroline rounded the corner at the end of the hospital corridor and Caroline said, "There she is."

At first sight of the lanky, auburn-haired young woman, it was as though every cell in his body was slapped with an instinctual recognition factor, as though each stood at attention and declared, "I know her."

His heart damn near stopped. He barely controlled the impulse to clutch his chest as he gasped for breath. The sound of rushing air filled his ears. He felt dizzy and uncoordinated to the point that he almost reached out to Caroline for support.

Even more surprising than these physical reactions was the emotional one. A sharp tug deep in his gut, a constriction around his heart, a piercing of his soul, all painful in their intensity.

This beautiful young woman with Caroline's coloring was his flesh and blood, his kid. The miracle of her being overwhelmed him ... for the second time. But the first time, he'd been too young and stupid, too much in love with the mother, to fully appreciate the miracle of the child.

Along with these visceral and emotional reactions, another arose that was even more surprising but equally eruptive. Suddenly, he was Conan the Barbarian, proprietary and protective to a savage extent. God help anybody who laid a hand on his kid. He'd tear their throat out with his teeth.

Yeah, with all these new and explosive impulses running amok through him, it was a good thing that he didn't have to say anything right then. But God, or whoever was in charge and running this show, extended some mercy and let him survive the next several moments without making a fool of himself.

He managed to continue along the hallway at Caroline's side, his gait reasonably normal for a man whose knees seemed to have dissolved. Because he was overjoyed to be seeing Berry, but Caroline had admitted that even she couldn't predict how Berry would react when introduced to him.

He imagined she might be as nervous as he. Or she might spit in his face, or refuse to acknowledge him on any level, or fly into histrionics and rant, or scream and faint. Whatever she did, however she handled it, he'd have to live with it. He didn't expect the best, he deserved the worst, and he was braced for anything.

But the anticipated introduction wasn't imminent after all because Berry was otherwise occupied. Dodge and Caroline were close enough now to overhear the exchange taking place between her and a blond woman, whose pretty features were distorted by anger.

"Oh, yes. He called periodically to assure me how hard the two of you were working."

"We were."

"In between dips in the pool and bottles of wine."

Berry groaned. "It wasn't like that. Please, Amanda, don't do this."

Her placating gesture was rebuffed. After telling Berry not to touch her and to stay away from her husband, the blonde came barreling around a big dude in cowboy boots and ran flat into him and Caroline. She muttered an apology as she stumbled past.

Dodge placed his hand beneath Caroline's elbow. "She nearly knocked you down. You okay?"

She nodded absently and went quickly to their daughter. "Good Lord, Berry. What was that about?"

"Oh, Mother, this situation just keeps getting worse."

Caroline turned her aside, and the two began to speak in undertones. Having been shut out of the confidential conversation between mother and daughter, Dodge and the quasi cowboy sized each other up. Finally the cowboy said, "Ski Nyland."

Dodge shook the large hand extended to him. "The deputy sheriff."

"That's right."

He had cool gray eyes and the no-nonsense demeanor that Caroline had described. Dodge said, "I heard about you."

"Okay." Then after a beat, "Who're you?"

Under the strained circumstances, Dodge took no offense at his directness and answered in kind. "Friend of the family." He glanced over his shoulder in the direction the blonde had taken, but she had disappeared. Coming back around to Nyland, he asked, "Ben Lofland's wife?"

The deputy nodded. "And she's not a happy lady." His cell phone chirped. "Excuse me." He turned his back on Dodge to take the call.

Berry and Caroline were still conferring in whispers, leaving Dodge to his own devices. He decided to go and look for Ben Lofland's unhappy wife, who appeared to be in desperate need of someone to talk to.

And just like that, he realized he was in. Committed. This was his kid, his problem, his fight.

A half hour later, Dodge's cell phone rang. He saw the caller was Caroline. As soon as he answered, she asked, "Where'd you go?"

"Outside to smoke."

"We're on our way out."

"Have you told Berry--"

"No."

He digested that, then said, "I'll be in my car."

They disconnected. Dodge made his way along the landscaped pathways of the hospital campus to the parking lot where he and Caroline had left their cars in side-by-side slots. He finished his cigarette, got into his car, and started the motor so he could turn on the air conditioner.

Atlanta could have its humid days, but, shit, this air felt like a wet blanket. It clung to hair, clothes, skin. Its density congested nasal passages and bronchial tubes. The

[Dalyia]

unrelenting humidity was one reason he hadn't been sad to abandon the coastal plains of Texas thirty years ago. The only reason.

He was watching the exit doors as the two women emerged. Berry was a full head taller than Caroline, but her limbs were as slender, and she moved as gracefully. When they reached the cars, Caroline bent down and spoke through his lowered passenger window. "Follow me."

He nodded and looked past her toward Berry. She opened the passenger-side door of Caroline's car, then tipped her sunglasses down and regarded him curiously across the roof of the car. After a long moment, during which Dodge's heart acted like a jackhammer, she replaced her glasses and got in.

It was several minutes before his cardiac system settled down, but he continued to wonder how Caroline had identified him to Berry. What explanation had she given for his sudden presence in their lives?

Well, whatever, it wouldn't be long before he found out.

From the hospital parking lot, the drive to the lake house took seventeen minutes. Three of those minutes were spent at traffic lights on Bowie Street, which was the main drag through the center of Merritt.

Just past the high school football stadium on the outskirts of town, Caroline turned onto Lake Road, which was aptly named because, five miles beyond the turnoff, it ended at a three-way stop with the lake lying directly ahead, separated from the road by a bait shop/convenience store, a fishing pier, and a public boat ramp. The left and right extensions of the T were narrow roads lined on each side by forest, mostly pines.

Caroline turned left. The road followed the curves of the lakeshore. The occasional houses they passed were upscale and exclusive judging from what Dodge could see of them behind extravagant landscaping and estate walls. A few of the houses and several waterfront lots were advertised for sale. Caroline King Realty, the signs read. Her name was written in cursive white letters on a deep green background. A little gold crown was perched on top of the capital K.

Her house sat about a hundred yards off the road in a clearing that had been carved out of the surrounding woods. Pines and oaks gave way to cypresses nearer the lakeshore. The calm water reflected the sun like a mirror. A short pier jutted out over the water, but Dodge didn't see a boat.

The house itself was surprisingly modest, not nearly as grandiose as some they'd passed. The clapboard exterior was painted dove gray, accented by white window shutters and columns along the porch. There was a patch of yard in both front and back, the St. Augustine grass surrendering gracefully to the forest floor at the perimeter of the clearing. Well-tended flower beds provided patches of brilliant color, the plants neatly tucked under blankets of pine straw.

He pulled his rental car alongside Caroline's, cut the engine, and got out. Again, his knees felt unreliable.

Caroline said brightly, "Let's go inside to make introductions. Get out of this sun. Berry and I tend to freckle."

He was about to say, I know. He'd spent one whole night trying to get around to kissing each one of her freckles. But still clueless as to what Caroline had told Berry about him--certainly not that--he said nothing as he followed the two women up a set of back steps and through a door that opened directly into the kitchen.

As soon as they were inside, Caroline said, "I hope you don't mind coming in through the back, Mr. Hanley. We're informal around here and rarely use the front door." She sounded a bit breathless, like she had when she first shook hands with him at Mabel's Tearoom. "Berry, this is Dodge Hanley."

Berry removed her sunglasses, setting them and her purse on the kitchen table, then reaching across it to shake hands with him. "Hello."

He took her hand, touching her flesh for the first time. "Hi." For several seconds, that was all he could manage to articulate. Then he muttered, "Call me Dodge."

Still using that overly chipper voice, Caroline said, "How about some iced tea?"

Berry was still staring at him, taking his measure. Absently she said, "Sounds good."

He said, "Fine."

Caroline suggested they go into the living room and make themselves comfortable while she got the tea ready.

"This way," Berry said, disappearing through an open doorway.

Dodge shot Caroline a perturbed glance. She whispered, "Go on. It's fine."

He followed the younger woman from the kitchen, and when he reached the living area, she got directly to the point. "Mother tells me that you're a private investigator."

So, to some extent, Caroline had decided to be truthful. Truth was always helpful when you had to lie. "That's right."

"I've never actually met one before."

"It's not like on TV."

"How is it different?"

"Well, I've never had to leap off a tall building to avoid being shot, or been trapped by a bad guy in a dark, dead-end alley. Mostly I chase paper, not people."

She smiled like she didn't know whether or not to believe him. "You're from Atlanta?"

"I live there now. I work for an attorney. A defense lawyer. The best. Or worst," he added. "Depending on which side you're on."

"He's tough?"

"The toughest. I overheard an assistant DA accuse Derek of sprinkling ground glass over his Cheerios every morning."

She smiled again, but it quickly inverted into a frown. She went to a wall switch and turned on the overhead fan. "Mother had professional cleaners come in this morning. I can smell the solution they used. Can you?"

"No. My sense of smell is shot. Too much smoking."

"I tried it in high school. One cigarette, mind you. But Mother caught me. Those days, I was certain she had superpowers, eyes in the back of her head, amplified hearing. Anyway, she and Daddy had a fit, grounded me for two weeks and, worse, took away my phone for a month. I never lit up again."

He smiled, but an arrow went through his heart at the mention of "Daddy." "Good. That's good. It's a nasty habit."

She held his gaze for a long time, then motioned him toward a rocking chair. "I'm sorry. I'm forgetting my manners today. Have a seat."

She claimed a corner of the sofa just as Caroline came in with a tray bearing three tall glasses of iced tea. She set the tray on the coffee table.

[Dalyia]

Berry looked at it and murmured, "Our wineglasses."

Dodge took the glass of tea that Caroline passed him. Although there was a sugar bowl and spoons on the tray, Caroline didn't offer him any because she knew that, while he preferred his coffee with two spoonfuls, he drank his tea unsweetened. He wondered if Berry had noticed. She hadn't; she was still staring thoughtfully at the tray.

"What was that, dear?" Caroline asked as she spooned sugar into a glass before handing it to Berry.

Berry took the glass, sipped from it, then seemed to come out of her momentary trance. "Nothing."

She looked across at Dodge, who was trying to sit still in the rocker, because each time he moved, the cane seat squeaked. More like groaned.

She returned her glass of tea to the tray, rubbed her hands together to get rid of the condensation, cast a look in Caroline's direction, then addressed him again. "I'm not sure why Mother retained you."

"I told you why," Caroline said. "Mr. Hanley comes highly recommended."

"So you said, Mother. You learned of him through a friend of yours in Houston for whom he did some work." Looking back at him, she said, "But I don't know what you can do for me. For us."

"I don't know what I can do, either. But based on what your mother tells me, and on what I saw of that scene at the hospital, there's no question you're in a jam."

Caroline said, "Mr. Hanley--"

"Look, stop with the Mr. Hanley, okay?"

Caroline was momentarily silenced by his harsh tone.

If he'd sounded meaner than he'd intended, he was sorry, but her addressing him as Mr. Hanley was annoying the hell out of him. And wasn't it a little ridiculous that she wouldn't use his first name, especially when you took into account--

No, better not to take any of that into account.

"I'm sorry," Caroline said. "If you prefer being called by your first name--"

"I insist on it, Caroline."

"All right, Dodge."

"I guess that makes me Berry." Their daughter seemed amused and puzzled over the name debate. She divided a look between them, ending on Caroline. "You were saying, Mother?"

"I was saying that Dodge has years of experience with criminal investigations. I thought it would be helpful to have someone with his insight and skills on our side."

"To do what?" Berry asked.

"For starters, to find this asshole who's threatened your life." He caught himself. "Sorry for the language."

Berry made an impatient gesture that implied Forget it.

"I need to find this guy before he carries out his threat to kill you," he said.

"Isn't that up to the authorities?"

He made a scoffing sound. "Wild Bill Hickok?"

She smothered a laugh. "Referring to Deputy Nyland?"

"I like him," Caroline said staunchly.

Berry looked at her with surprise. "I thought you only met him last night."

"I did. But I like what I see."

Dodge's pang of jealousy was misplaced but undeniable. What was it that Caroline liked so well when she looked at the tall, rugged Deputy Nyland? His tanned face and sandy hair? His broad shoulders and flat belly? His stern mouth and cleft chin?

"Nyland's probably a stand-up guy," he grumbled. "Competent enough. But I don't have the confidence in the authorities that you do, Berry. I've found fugitives while the guys with badges were still trying to organize their search. I don't have to file paperwork. I don't have to get clearance from guys who're a lot dumber than me. I don't have to follow rules or fear demotion if the situation goes south."

Berry looked toward Caroline, who took her daughter's hand and pressed it between her own. "Dodge can keep his ear to the ground. Keep us informed. I don't want to be blindsided by anything, especially by the reappearance of Oren Starks."

"I'd rather avoid that, too." Addressing Dodge again, Berry asked, "Aren't you required to have a license in the state where you're working?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe. Probably."

She laughed. "You don't care?"

"Do you?"

She looked at Caroline, who foundered. "We, uh, Dodge and I haven't had time to discuss all the particulars of his ... uh ... inclusion."

He jumped in. "I introduced myself to Nyland as a friend of the family. I'm not official."

"Until your bill comes due," Berry said drily. "What do you charge for keeping your ear to the ground?"

"A fair rate. I won't fleece you. That I promise. And as long as I'm not on retainer, we can honestly say to Nyland, or to anyone else who asks, that I'm operating in an unofficial capacity."

Obviously Berry still had misgivings. "It's a strange setup. But these are strange circumstances, at least for Mother and me. I don't suppose it can hurt to have someone working for us behind the scenes."

"I believe Dodge will be a tremendous help," Caroline said.

"Does Mr. Carlisle know about him?" Berry asked her.

"I'll inform our attorney when the time is right."

Berry withdrew her hand from her mother's clasp, stood up, and began to roam restlessly around the room. "I don't understand the need for a lawyer. I haven't done anything wrong."

"All the more reason to have an advocate," Dodge said. "Anytime Nyland wants to interview you, you don't say a word without a lawyer present."

"I already have."

Dodge cursed under his breath.

Caroline asked, "When was this, Berry?"

"At the hospital before you arrived. He and I talked."

"About what?"

"Oren's characteristics. Anything that might give Deputy Nyland a lead to follow. It was harmless."

Dodge had his doubts. "Don't do it again. Understood? My boss would advise the same thing."

"Of course he would. That's how he makes his living."

"True. And a damn good living. But I would trust him with my life. Lots of people have."

"Guilty people."

"Innocent people, too," he returned calmly. "Including the woman he ultimately married."

Caroline sat forward. "He married a client? I sense an interesting story."

Dodge looked across at her. "Yeah. It's a story about a woman in trouble, and the guy who came to her rescue. A very old-
fashioned kind of story. Boy meets girl, and just like that, he's in over his head."

"Boy lost girl?" Berry asked.

"No," Dodge said. "Lucky for Derek and Julie, their story had a happy ending." His eyes remained locked with Caroline's, and for several seconds the atmosphere was fraught with tension. She was the first to look away.

Dodge uncomfortably shifted his position in the squeaky chair and motioned down at the tray on the coffee table, calling Berry's attention to it. "That seemed to spark a memory earlier. You mentioned wineglasses."

She resumed her seat in the corner of the sofa and tucked her feet beneath her. "After dinner, Ben and I decided to split what was left in the bottle of wine. So before going upstairs, we sat in here to drink it. Deputy Nyland must have seen the glasses on the coffee table and jumped to the wrong conclusion about what they implied."

"Wine-fueled hanky-panky?" Dodge said.

"Something like that." A vertical frown line appeared between her eyebrows. "I wonder if he pawed through the trash to count the beer and wine bottles we'd consumed."

"It was the happy hour that set Mrs. Lofland off," Dodge remarked. Both women looked at him inquisitively. "I talked to her."

"You talked to her?"

"When?"

They asked the questions simultaneously. Dodge explained. "After that ugly scene outside her husband's room. The two of you put your heads together for a private conversation. Nyland got a phone call. I thought I'd find the lady, see what was on her mind. She was in the hospital cafeteria, sitting alone, having a Coke. She was crying. I went up to her, told her I couldn't fail to notice that she was upset, asked if I could be of help."

He recounted to them almost verbatim the conversation he'd had with Ben's wife. It had been explanatory, enlightening, and, largely, troubling.

When he finished relating to them what had been said, neither Caroline nor Berry would look him in the eye. The thin bead chain dangling from the ceiling fan clinked against the metal casing. Dodge's breath soughed in and out of his overtaxed lungs. The cane seat of the rocking chair squeaked again, although he would have sworn he hadn't moved a muscle. Those sounds emphasized the silence of the two women.

Finally Dodge asked bluntly, "Is it true, Berry?"

She nodded.

He frowned and looked across at Caroline, who was staring at her hands, which she was clasping and unclasping where they lay in her lap. He cleared his throat and stood up. "I need to smoke."

He was almost out of the room when Berry, head lowered, said quietly, "When

you come back, I'll explain."

"That would be helpful."

"What I don't get--"

"Yeah?"

She raised her head and looked at him. "Had you ever met Amanda Lofland?"

"Never laid eyes on the woman till I heard her telling you to stay away from her husband."

"Yet in half an hour's time she had poured out her heart to you. How did you gain her confidence that quickly?"

Softly Caroline said, "That's his speciality."

[Dalyia]

CHAPTER
7

Houston, Texas, 1978

THE TASK FORCE WAS A DUD.

At least in Dodge's opinion it was. Serving on it wasn't nearly as challenging as he'd been led to expect, nor as exciting as his fantasies had spun. He was glad to be out of uniform and off the night shift, but so far his task force duties had amounted largely to attending mandatory meetings conducted by egotistical windbags with nothing constructive or informative to say.

The group of elite police officers and FBI agents convened daily in what was called headquarters. Even in euphemistic terms, that lofty name hardly described the space. The unlabeled office was on the ground floor of an obscure office building on the outskirts of downtown. In an area where all the buildings were derelict, this was the worst of the lot. The only thing it had going for it was the cheap rent.

Here they met to review eyewitness accounts of the robberies, to watch the videos of the holdups from the banks' security cameras, to update one another on individual progress in tracking down leads, and to discuss strategy on how to proceed.

The premise that the group was elite was laughable. They'd reviewed the testimonies and watched the videos till they knew the contents by heart. They didn't have any leads, and, as for how to proceed with the investigation, nobody, especially the men in charge, had the least friggin' idea. These so-called high-level meetings usually evolved into swap fests of big fish stories.

Dirty jokes made the rounds. Cars were debated at length. Sporting events were argued over and gambled on. They drank gallons of high-octane coffee and snacked on empty calories. Those who smoked kept the room cloudy. They insulted one another, also one another's clothes, cars, alma maters, wives, mothers, and dogs. They held farting contests. They talked about women endlessly--who they'd laid and who they'd like to.

What they didn't do was capture the bank robber.

By the end of the second month, even the dirty jokes had turned stale, not to mention the snacks. Tempers were getting short, especially those of the higher-ranking HPD officers, who were feeling the heat of criticism from their superiors and the disdain of the feebs.

To address these issues, a meeting was called exclusively for HPD officers.

"Even the chief is catching hell from the mayor. He wants this guy caught before he comes up for reelection." The police captain presiding over this pep rally couldn't see his shoes for his overhanging gut. As he lectured on, Dodge's scorn increased. He wondered how many years it had been since this fat ass had covered a beat, tracked down a perp, made an arrest. He had his nerve to chew out subordinate officers when all Dodge had seen him do to distinguish himself was mooch coins for the cigarette vending machine and tell the stupidest jokes.

Because they had nothing else cooking, the task force members were discussing the viability of the suspects they had, based solely on their criminal profiles, not because any of them could be placed at or near one of the banks during a robbery.

One of these suspects had been arrested for drunk driving over the previous weekend. "He's in jail for parole violation. So if he's our man, he won't be holding up a bank anytime soon," the captain said.

"I don't think he's our robber anyhow," one officer remarked. "He's a punk. Cocky. Hotheaded. Hasn't got the coolness required to plan and execute these jobs."

Another cop said, "Last robbery, the guy flipped off the security camera."

"So?"

"So, if this guy is cocky, doesn't that sound like something he would do? Our robber is a smart-ass. He struts his stuff."

"From behind a disguise."

"Yeah, but you know what I'm saying."

A debate ensued. Dodge, who agreed with the first officer, had nothing to contribute, so he tuned out the argument and tried in vain to stifle his yawns.

Then, "Hanley!"

Dodge roused himself and sat up straighter. "Yes, sir?"

"How far have you got with Madison's girlfriend?"

Tommy Ray Madison, one of their suspects, was also on parole, having served his time for the armed robbery of a fast-food restaurant. He also had one botched bank holdup on his record. He fit the general height and weight description of their unidentified culprit.

Dodge replied, "In the way you mean, sir, I haven't even got to first base."

"First base?" Another officer chortled. "Admit it. You've struck out."

Dodge confirmed it with a weary nod. "I've struck out, Captain."

"How come? You're supposed to be the department's Romeo."

"The chemistry's off. The lady is knocked up."

"Aw hell. Who by? Madison?"

Dodge made a thumbs-up gesture. "She's four months along. She and Tommy Ray are in love. He's walking the straight and narrow, loves her, loves the baby to be, wants to get married."

"You said she was a sharp girl."

"That's how she strikes me."

"Madison is a goddamn felon!" the captain shouted. "She's falling for that hearts and flowers crap?"

Dodge shrugged. "That's love for ya. Besides, she says Tommy Ray found Jesus in prison."

"Jesus was in Huntsville?" another officer quipped.

"Always the last place you look," said another.

The captain squelched the responding laughter. He asked Dodge, "Who does she think you are?"

"Nobody except a regular customer who always orders the fajita combo. She brings me my Corona before I order it. Two limes. I tip her well, and I'm a good listener."

"You two talk a lot?"

"As much as I can swing without making her suspicious. I hang around till near closing. When the dinner crowd thins out, she dawdles at my table. I think I've won her confidence."

"What story did you give her?"

"I have nowhere else to go, and I hate spending my evenings in my empty apartment, where I live alone on account of my wife taking up with another guy and moving him into our house."

"I'm getting all choked up here." A cop pretended to be crying.

"Sounds like a sad country song."

The captain frowned over the interruptions and turned back to Dodge. "What's your take?"

Dodge had been giving Tommy Ray Madison and his girlfriend a lot of thought. Although his honest assessment wasn't what anyone in the room wanted to hear, he gave it to them straight.

"She's a nice girl. Too nice for Madison, but who can explain love? And maybe he did find Jesus and is now a changed man. On the other hand, if Tommy Ray was robbing banks, or even if she suspected him of parole violation, I think she'd dump him, baby or no baby. I think she'd turn him in for his own good. She's got this integrity thing going on, so I don't believe she'd harbor him if he was our perp."

"He's not our guy. That's what you're saying."

"I'm not positive of that, Captain, but he's not at the top of my list, no."

The other members of the task force, none joking now, took a moment to assimilate that, and it flattered Dodge that they gave such weight to his opinion. The captain ran his hand down his face, rearranging the fat folds. "Keep doing what you're doing. Watch for signs of a change in their relationship."

Dodge didn't need to be told that, but he nodded as though to say, What a good idea, Captain. I certainly will.

"What about the other one, Albright's squeeze?"

Franklin Albright was another parolee, but, beyond that, he and Tommy Ray Madison had little in common. Albright was scarier, meaner, and Dodge was almost positive he had never even looked for Jesus, much less found him and signed on.

Frowning, he replied to his captain's question. "The girl's name is Crystal, and this one's more difficult."

"How come?"

"Access. Albright is the jealous type. Watches her like a hawk. Drops her off at work every morning, picks her up at quitting time. She doesn't go out unless he's with her, not even on mundane errands. Supermarkets are usually good for accidentally-on-purpose bumping into someone and striking up a conversation, but Albright is always right there with her. He's alienated her from her friends and family. You see the problem? I haven't had an opportunity to get near the lady, much less become her confidant."

The captain stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Where does she work?"

"So now this fat jerk-off has got me working at her place of employment."

Gonzales laughed so abruptly he choked on his orange juice. After recovering his breath, he wheezed, "You're kidding."

"Swear to God. He adjourned the meeting, made some calls. Twelve hours later I reported for my first shift in the janitorial department."

"Oh, man."

"I've got a mop bucket, a push broom, a shirt with my name embroidered on the pocket. Can you believe it? But I have access to the whole place. I get to wander around, go everywhere, and nobody thinks anything about it. At least I'm not stuck in one spot all day."

He could be working on the assembly line of the tire manufacturing plant, making steel-belted radials instead of replacing burned-out fluorescent tubes and emptying trash cans. All in all, though, it sucked.

"A janitor, huh?" Gonzales could barely control his laughter. "Who knows? You may decide on a career change."

"Screw that, and screw you." Dodge doused his eggs liberally with Tabasco. The two had made a date for breakfast between the time Gonzales's night shift ended and when Dodge had to clock in at his new day job.

"You met your target yet?" Gonzales asked.

"We've made eye contact. She's a clerk in the payroll office."

"What's she look like?"

Dodge grinned. "Put it this way, it won't be hardship duty."

"Tits?"

"Two," Dodge said, then laughed at Gonzales's expression. "C cup at least. Good legs, too."

Gonzales gazed at him with a mix of admiration and envy. "And you're getting paid to put the moves on her."

Dodge glanced around. "That's not my official assignment, you understand." He pulled a somber expression. "HPD wouldn't condone an officer using--"

"Save it," Gonzales said. Then, leaning across the table, he whispered, "But we both know that's what they want you to do." He stuffed a three-ply wedge of syrupy pancakes into his mouth. "You live a charmed life, my friend."

"Don't forget that she's got a hard-case felon for a boyfriend. What I've heard of him, he'd probably slit my throat for taking a gander at her tits. Just for thinking about taking a gander at her tits."

"Bad one, huh?"

"Real bad. Series of armed robberies. Two assaults. One rape charge fell apart in pretrial, so he squeaked by there. He was suspected of a fatal stabbing in the prison