Читать книгу Under The Western Sky - Laurie Paige - Страница 9

After canceling his date, Tony drove home, staring at the road while the late-afternoon sun began its glide into the evening. He examined the swelling across his nose and under his eyes. On the way to his temporary home, a room in the local park headquarters barracks, his thoughts strayed to the jail. He wondered what the captive was doing at this moment. Probably giving an earful to whoever happened to be handy about her wrongful arrest.

She’d probably sue him if she was innocent.

At the long, low residence barracks, he parked in front of his unit, which was one big room with a bed, sitting area and kitchen consisting of an under-thecounter fridge, a two-burner hot plate, a sink and a microwave, and went inside. He had his own bathroom here, unlike some hostels he’d stayed at during his college years while working for the park service.

All the comforts of home.

The nosebleed returned when he took a shower. Ten minutes later, dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, he held a new batch of ice cubes to his nose while he studied the contents of the cabinets.

As usual, his choices ran to cereal, sandwiches or soup. Not exactly a gourmet selection, but better than the food the suspect would likely get in jail.

He suddenly wished he could confide the happenings of the day to his foster uncle. Jefferson Aquilon—his mom had once been married to Uncle Jeff’s brother, so the older man was sort of a stepuncle—had always treated him and his sister, Krista, as if they were his own flesh and blood, the same as Jeremy, a nephew who was also an orphan and their stepcousin. Uncle Jeff was a good listener.

Tony needed some advice on his own confusing reactions to the suspect. The fact that he halfway believed her story probably meant he was ready for the loony bin.

Strangest of all, he regretted that she would have to spend the weekend in jail and wondered if he should call the D.A. and judge at home to see what they thought should be done with her.

Man, what was he thinking? After what she did to him, she didn’t deserve any special treatment. No way.

He selected a can of soup and made a ham sandwich, then settled in front of the television to catch the news while he ate the solitary meal. With the summer help gone from the barracks and the information office closed, he had the place to himself.

The world news didn’t distract his thoughts from the prisoner, he found. It was probably scary to be locked in jail. Especially if she was as innocent as she proclaimed.

Not that he was considering taking her side. He wasn’t that gullible to her charms, although she’d felt pretty good nestled against him. As if she belonged there.

Shaking his head at the fantasy, he finished the meal and cut a huge slice from a chocolate cake he’d bought at the grocery that morning. It seemed an age since he’d blithely gotten up, done the shopping and gone down to open the souvenir store at nine o’clock.

And arrested one of the most fascinating suspects he’d ever met after a tussle that lingered in his mind with as much stubborn determination as she’d displayed in her attempts to escape.

Taking the last bite of cake, he savored the chocolate flavor, then wondered if prisoners got dessert.

Twenty minutes later, after a change of clothing, Tony pulled up in front of the state patrol building. He was still arguing with himself about the wisdom of being here when he went inside. He’d decided to use the treat to soften up the suspect and get some info out of her about her contacts with the gang of thieves looting the Chaco sites, assuming there was a gang and the thefts over the past year were related.

“I, uh, brought the nurse something,” he said to the sergeant at the desk. It wasn’t the same one as earlier in the day.

“What nurse?”

“The suspect I brought in this afternoon. I figured she might need some nourishment after having dinner in here.”

“Hey, we have the meals catered,” the night-duty officer declared.

“Yeah, right.”

After a chuckle, the man said, “I’ll have to check what’s in the bag.”

Tony waited, feeling more and more foolish as the cop opened the bag, examined a plastic fork, then the napkin and removed the top from the plastic bowl. “Man, that looks good,” he said.

“Sorry, I didn’t bring any extra,” Tony told the sarge with a sardonic smile. “Got any fresh coffee?”

“Yeah, I made a pot when I came on duty less than an hour ago. Want me to bring you some?”

“That would be great.”

The officer repacked the treat. “I’ll buzz you in. She’s in cell number one.”

The television set mounted on the wall outside the cell was turned on, but Julianne wasn’t listening to the news. She was still wound up from the ordeal with the police.

In spite of being dead tired, she couldn’t get into the mood to sleep. If she’d been at home, she would have tried aromatherapy. Lavender was supposed to be soothing when steeped in hot water. Chamomile tea was a sleep aid, but she doubted the jailer had any on hand.

A loud buzz startled her. The door to the cell block opened and a man walked in. Her heart knotted up in alarm, then relaxed as she realized who he was.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she muttered. She rose from the hard bunk. Glaring between the bars on the door, she demanded, “What are you doing here?”

Her nemesis from the tourist shop stopped in front of her. “I brought you a present.”

He held out a brown paper bag. She eyed it as if it might explode any second.

“It’s okay,” he assured her. “It’s cake.”

“Cake,” she repeated suspiciously.

He gave her a quick but thorough perusal as he slipped the bag between the bars. “It’s safe,” he added with an ironic grin before grimacing and touching his swollen nose.

Twin bruises under his eyes gave him the masked look of a raccoon. She frowned at the pang of guilt that assailed her and reminded herself she’d acted in self-defense.

“Look,” he said, “I felt kind of bad about the hassle we had earlier, I thought about the jail food, so I, uh, brought you some dessert. Chocolate cake.”

She took the treat and sat on the cot. “You’re weird,” she told him. “I know it’s a slow night since there’s no one else in jail, but I’d have thought you could find something more interesting to do on a Saturday evening than hang out at the jail.”

He snorted. “You’re in the women’s cell block. There are several inmates in the men’s section.” He glanced at the two empty cells. “I guess they don’t get many woman criminals around here.”

She ignored the anger that demanded she refute his calling her a criminal. Instead, she gave him a fulminating glance, then opened the brown bag and removed the container.

The fury receded somewhat when she saw the contents. Chocolate was one of her favorite things. She wisely decided not to throw the cake in his face.

When the night-duty officer brought in two cups of coffee, she accepted one of those, too, and thanked the man. Taking a bite of the dessert, she closed her eyes, savoring the rich flavor.

“I have a question,” her captor said, pulling a chair closer to the bars and taking a seat. “Who taught you how to take defensive action?”

For a second she remembered being ten and coming home from school, excited because she’d gotten a perfect score on her math test, then going into the house and finding her mother.

It wasn’t until she’d been in nurses’ training and a rape victim had been brought into the emergency room during her rotation there that she’d realized what her mother must have gone through that terrible afternoon.

Julianne locked the memory away as ancient pain careened around her chest, but it was still a moment before she could speak. “My father sent me and my two brothers to self-defense classes while we were growing up.”

She could almost see the wheels turning in his head as he considered the information. Earlier in the day, when she’d given her personal information, she’d reported her father as her next of kin and her mother as deceased.

“Was there any particular reason he thought you needed them?” he asked.

Replacing the bowl and fork in the bag, she faced him without allowing any expression in her tone. “Our home was broken into when I was ten. My mother was killed.”

For a second his face took on the fierce expression of a warrior who would defend his tribe to his last breath, then it softened and she recognized other emotions—a certain kindness for those who’d been hurt, a touch of sympathy, maybe pity.

Pity was something she didn’t want and didn’t know how to handle when it was offered. She usually mumbled something about life going on and changed the subject, but now her throat closed and she couldn’t say a word. Old emotions, heightened by the events of the day, threatened to overcome her. She swallowed hard and refused to give in to them.

“Were you there when it happened?”

She shook her head.

“Did they find whoever did it?”

Again she indicated the negative.

“Crimes by total strangers are not often solved,” he told her, his tone gentle as if she were still that hurt child of long ago. “There’s no connection or motive for police to follow as there is with husbands or boyfriends.”

“Yes, that’s what the detective said who handled the case.” She returned the bag to him, having eaten three or four bites of the treat. She took a drink of coffee and noted that it was much better than the brew Chuck had given her earlier. The warmth eased the cold spot in her chest, and she relaxed once more. “Thank you for the cake. That was thoughtful. Now I have a question. Why did you bring it?”

“Well,” he drawled, “I know that jail food comes from the lowest bidder.”

That made her laugh. “It wasn’t so bad. We had spaghetti and rolls and a piece of lettuce with a sliver of carrot that was supposed to be a salad, I think.”

After that they talked about the worst meals they’d ever had as if they were acquaintances who were fast becoming friends. He told her the three kids in his family had to take turns preparing meals once a week. He had her cracking up over his description of recipes made with green stuff like lime gelatin or broccoli. His cousin Jeremy would clutch his throat and accuse him of trying to poison them.

“Your family sounds like mine,” she told him. “I took nutrition classes in college, but I could never convince my brothers that green, leafy vegetables were really good for them. They now send me magazine clippings that extol the value of blueberries.”

“Ah, smart men,” he said.

Laughing, she glanced at him, then away. Then, pulled by unexpected forces stronger than her will, she met his gaze through the dull glint of the steel bars. Their eyes locked. The laughter faded.

Something was happening to her. She felt it as a primal shift somewhere in her soul. He felt it, too, she thought. His chest lifted and fell in a slow, careful breath as if he, too, were on shaky ground.

She looked away, wondering how they could have gone from laughter to something profound and infinitely challenging in a heartbeat.

Maybe arresting people did that, although it wasn’t what she would call a bonding event. Recalling his arousal as they struggled, she felt heat creep up her neck. That had certainly been a new and different experience for her.

He could have hurt her, but he hadn’t. Instead of fury, she’d seen self-mocking humor in his eyes when he’d told her to quit thrashing about.

Though she’d been frightened until he’d shown her his badge, their struggle had been oddly exciting, too, she decided after she thought it over while sitting here in the cell. Other than her father and brothers, she knew she had a problem with trust of the male half of the population.

The fact was that men always expected more than she was willing to give at the moment. Just when she was starting to feel comfortable with the guy and with kisses and caresses, then, well, things moved too fast, becoming too demanding. One date had accused her of holding out.

She’d been left feeling humiliated and in the wrong for reasons she didn’t know. It certainly hadn’t increased her comfort level with the opposite sex.

Glancing at her captor’s hands as he linked them together between his knees, his gaze on the floor as if deep in thought, she realized that no matter what defensive move she’d made, he’d countered with only enough force to halt it, but not once had he bruised her in any way.

When he’d folded her into his arms and pulled her against him, it was as if she’d been wrapped in a protective cocoon and all he’d wanted to do was keep her from getting hurt. It was such an odd thought….

Staring at the dull green wall, she admitted she was mystified by his visit, by their shared laughter, by the intriguing currents that ran between them that were almost as disturbing as her arrest.

“It’s late,” he said. “I should leave and let you get some rest.”

“I don’t think I’ll sleep very much tonight.”

He nodded. “I was still wound up after the day’s excitement, too.”

“I’d have thought arresting people was old hat to a special investigator for the National Park Service.” Her tone was mildly sarcastic.

He grinned, then winced and touched his nose. She was at once sorry she’d been so rough, even though it was his fault for scaring her.

“Hardly,” he said. “Mostly I authenticate archeological finds for the department and set up security, especially on ancient sites like the dig up at the canyon. I investigate thefts and other problems at various national parks. They send me wherever they need some help.”

“I see.”

Regaining her equilibrium, she decided his work sounded like an easy job to her, nothing that called for springing handcuffs on innocent people without warning.

Gazing at his nose, which was noticeably swollen, she forgot her indignation over the arrest and advised, “You should ice your bruises for forty-eight hours, then switch to four minutes of heat followed by one minute of ice three or four times a day after that for two or three days.”

“I kept an ice pack on it most of the afternoon.”

“Good.” After observing him for a moment when he made no move to leave, she asked quietly, seriously, “What are you really doing here? I think you came because you want something from me.”

Before answering, he drank the last of the coffee. He crushed the paper cup and tossed it in a waste-basket near the door, then studied her for several seconds. “I want you to take me to the guy you said gave you the pottery.”

“Tonight?” she asked incredulously as disappointment hit her. She realized the cake, the kindness and the easy laughter had been a method of softening her up before he made the request.

“No, but soon. I don’t want him to get word that something funny went on at the store.”

Leaning against the wall behind the cot, she took a drink of coffee and noticed he was dressed in dark slacks, a white shirt informally open at the neck and well-shined loafers. She’d already noticed his aftershave, the fragrance familiar to her from their earlier encounter.

So, he’d cleaned up before coming to the jail. Was that part of the ploy to win her confidence and encourage a sense of camaraderie between them?

Tired and discouraged, she regretted letting herself drift into familiarity, especially the sharing of her past. It was something she rarely talked about, but he’d seemed truly concerned, as if he already knew that she’d been injured by events of long ago.

“How far is his place from town?” he continued.

“Over fifty miles, off Standing Rock Road.”

“I’ll be here around eight in the morning to pick you up.”

“Will they let me out of jail?”

“You’ll be released into my custody.” His tone implied it would be no problem.

“If we find Josiah and he confirms my story, will I then be free?”

He hesitated, then said, “I’ll talk to the district attorney on your behalf. He’s the one who’ll decide whether to charge you with a crime or let you off if you cooperate.”

“I’ll cooperate,” she assured him coldly. “I want to clear my name as soon as possible and put this experience behind me.”

And you, she added silently. She wanted him out of her life. He was a threat, although she couldn’t say how.

When he rose, she, too, stood. He rattled the doorknob, the buzzer sounded and he walked out, leaving her standing behind the metal bars of the tiny cell. She immediately experienced the sense of abandonment again, as if he was her only savior in a world she no longer knew.

She rubbed her wrists, but there were no purple marks from fingers digging too harshly into her flesh. She remembered how careful he’d been when examining the priceless pottery and the way he’d stared into her eyes as if looking directly into her soul. She’d never felt that before. For the briefest moment, she wondered what it would be like to have him wrap her in his arms again, to feel his lips on hers…

She blinked, appalled at the strange path her mind had taken. Pressing her hands against her eyes, she felt dismay, anger, exasperation and other feelings too tangled to comprehend.

Glancing around the cell, she made up her mind to fight fire with fire. She had to smile. She knew just who she needed to get in touch with. Special Investigator Aquilon might be a force to be reckoned with, but she wasn’t without resources of her own.

“Sergeant,” she yelled. “Sergeant, I need to talk to you.”