Hidden Fire, Kobo (11 page)

Sarah followed Randy down the back stairs
to his truck. He opened the door and held her elbow as she levered herself into
the cab. He'd been polite, formal—bordering on nervous. About what? All he'd
said on the phone when he called earlier was they were going somewhere casual.

As soon as she got in, the heady aroma of
chicken and onions surrounded her. "Smells heavenly. Is that our dinner?
You went to Sadie's, right? The chicken with artichokes and baby potatoes?"

There was nothing nervous about his
smile. It sent electric shivers through her.

"And mushrooms," he said. "A
restaurant dinner, but not at a restaurant." His eyes held hers, almost
daring her to object.

She wanted to talk, not pick a fight. "Works
for me. I didn't get a lunch break. I'm starved."

"Can you hang on about forty-five
minutes?"

"For Sadie's chicken, I'll try."

"Wait a sec." He opened the
back door of the extended cab and opened the large paper bag on the seat. With
a flourish, he brought forth a small Styrofoam carton. "Perhaps this will
tide Madame over until we reach our destination."

She sniffed the container. Seafood? Randy
rummaged in back again and produced a handful of napkins. She pried the lid
open. "Salmon flatbread? Sadie's doesn't make this."

Randy climbed behind the wheel and
started the truck. "Rob's does."

"You went to Rob's
and
Sadie's?"

"For you, my sweet, no obstacle is
too formidable. No river too wide, no mountain too high."

Laughter welled up from deep inside,
escaping into resounding belly laughs. "That's so corny, it's cute."
She wiped a tear from her eye. "Am I supposed to share this with you?"

"If you're that hungry, go for it. I
can wait." He leaned over and put his face inches from hers, pursing his
lips, waggling his eyebrows. "But don't you dare go spoiling your
appetite." His eyes twinkled, their hazel flecks like so many stars.

She giggled and her internal mass of
tangles fell free. She broke off a section of salmon-covered flatbread and
offered it to Randy. "You should keep your strength up."

He gave her an exaggerated leer. "By
all means."

She poked a fist at his arm. "For
the drive. For the drive."

"Of course, m'lady. Whatever else
could you have had in mind?"

She shoved the morsel in his mouth. His
mouth captured her fingers, teasing. She pulled free and wiped crumbs from his
lips with a napkin. "Shut up and drive."

He gave her a feigned look of pain before
snagging one more piece of flatbread and driving away.

Once her gnawing hunger disappeared,
Sarah peered out the window, trying to guess where Randy was taking her. When
he turned onto Highway 18, she gave up and studied him instead. He seemed to be
making a pointed effort not to look at her, his hands resting in the ten and
two position on the wheel, his gaze alternating between checking mirrors and
staring at the road ahead.

She watched the way his Adam's apple
bobbed when he swallowed, the way the setting sun turned the hair on his arms
to burnished gold. The scar that made a tiny white part in his left eyebrow.
The downward curve of his nose.

An eagle, she thought. Or a hawk. Long,
strong fingers that could restrain a suspect like talons. And the way a bird of
prey could see a mouse in the bushes from hundreds of feet above, he had the
ability to see the slightest changes in body language.

Including her own, she reminded herself.
She turned to the window again, watching the trees whip by.

She was afraid to start a conversation,
afraid she'd broach the topic that had begun chewing at her since their dinner
date had ended so abruptly at Rob's. Four days ago. Was that all?

Stop it.
She was
not
going to analyze this
to death. She'd planned her speech and she would stick to it. Then they'd talk,
and she told herself for the millionth time that she'd get some inner feeling,
some cosmic message,
something
that would tell her if she and Randy were
meant to be together. She rubbed her nose.

Although the smell of salmon was
delectable on Rob's flatbread, it lost something on the fingers. She flipped
the lid of the console between the seats where Randy usually kept wet wipes. A
piece of paper was shoved onto the top and she set it in her lap while she
searched. She found what she wanted, grabbed two packets and tore one open. As
she wiped her hands with the lemon-scented towelette, she glanced at the page.

"You planning on taking up pottery
now?" she asked.

Randy took his eyes off the road long
enough to give her a questioning glance. "Huh?"

She tapped the paper. "You've got
the chemical composition of clay here."

He snatched the sheet from her lap.

"I'm sorry," she said. "Is
that a top-secret cop code or something? It was sitting there. I didn't mean to
read it, but the formula caught my eye."

"No, no it's fine. Tell me more."
He handed the page back to her. Now his eyes darted back and forth between her
and the road, lingering on hers for longer stretches.

"Not a lot more to tell. My ceramics
classes were a long time ago and I barely remember the science. I wanted to
create things and I didn't care why they worked, only that they did. I know
when you fire clay, it gets hard. I know what kind of clay to use for different
end products, but I don't need to know what the exact percentages of all the
different minerals are."

She offered the second wipe packet to
Randy. He shook it off. "So how much can you tell from this formula?"

Hearing the excitement in Randy's voice,
she studied the paper, trying to remember more of the lectures she'd half-slept
through. Clay was mostly silicon dioxide and aluminum oxide. She recognized
those symbols, but the others escaped her. Wasn't Fe iron? It had been too long
since she'd worked with clay other than at Saint Michael's and there she used
what they provided. "Me? Not much. But someone who knows where to look can
probably tell you exactly where the clay deposits came from. What's this all
about?"

He stared at the road for several long
moments, as if trying to decide what to tell her. His cop face was coming back
and with it, the tangles in her belly.

"It's about the murder, isn't it?"
she said. "I understand if you can't say anything."

Another long moment passed before he
spoke. "I should call it in."

"I said I understand. Your job isn't
a gift shop you can close with the flip of a door sign."

"We can still have dinner. We're a
few minutes away."

"Good," she said, although she
knew the meal would be mere sustenance instead of an experience. "I'd hate
to waste Sadie's chicken."

They turned off the highway and wound
their way through a residential subdivision and around a park. Randy drove up a
narrow, winding road. Trees shaded its surface from the fading sunlight. He took
one more turn, then down a long driveway and stopped in front of a modest
ranch-style house. "We're here." He fetched the bag of food from the
back and opened her door.

"Where's here?"

"The house belongs to a friend of
mine. He's not using it right now."

"And he doesn't mind?" She
followed him up the path to the front door, where he handed her the bag. He
strode to one of the flowerbeds under a window, bent over and emerged with a
key.

"Nope. He's on a cruise in Hawaii."

Inside, he flipped on a light, opened
windows and a slider to a rear deck that overlooked the park. "It's a bit
cool out here, but the view is great."

She joined him and snaked her arm around
his waist. The sky turned pink, then gold, then deep midnight blue. "I've
always loved sunsets."

"Then I'm glad we caught the tail
end of this one." He stepped away and it was as if she'd lost a part of
her. "How about our dinner?" he asked.

She wondered if she'd ever feel like she
had all of him. "I'll stick the food in the oven while you make your calls."

"No," he said. He followed her
to the kitchen. "County's got the report and I left a copy on Connor's
desk. I could call him, but why spoil his weekend?"

She didn't mention that until a short
while ago, Randy had thought nothing of giving up
his
weekends to work.
There was a difference in his attitude tonight.

"You're the cop," she said. She
took the foil pan out of the bag, set it in the oven and adjusted the
temperature.

Randy took a smaller container and placed
it on the counter. "Salad."

She opened a cabinet looking for plates,
not meeting his eyes. "So, can you tell me why you have the formula for
clay in your truck? You know I won't say anything."

He paused, as if trying to decide if this
was a part of his work he could share. Or wanted to. He shrugged. "It's
lab results. They found it under the victim's fingernails."

The plates crashed to the floor. Her face
grew hot, then cold.

"Hey. Easy." Randy's hand was
around her waist and then she was sitting in one of the wooden kitchen chairs.
A glass of water appeared in her hand, Randy's warm fingers wrapped around it. "Sip."

She pushed it away. "I'm all right.
I had this horrible thought. When Hugh's shipment was late, his assistant said
he'd been called out of town on a family emergency, but she hadn't heard from
him. What if he's your dead guy?"

* * * * *

Sarah's words hit him like a smack with a
baton. For an instant, he couldn't draw a breath. His heart thudded. He pinched
the bridge of his nose and ran the possibilities through his mind.

Back up. Don't jump to conclusions, he
reminded himself. Rookie Detective Handbook Lesson One.

"You know what he looks like?"
Randy asked.

Sarah, color returning to her cheeks,
shook her head. "I've never met him. His picture's on his website, though."

"Where does he live?"

"Northern California. Arcata. He's
adjunct faculty at Humboldt State."

California. Which would explain why they
hadn't found him yet. If it
was
him. "Any reason to think he might
be in Pine Hills?"

She rubbed her hands together. "No.
I thought clay, missing potter and my brain made a huge jump. A really huge
jump. It's probably not Hugh at all. I mean, why would he be here? And who
would want to kill him? Forget I said anything."

"I agree, it's probably not Hugh
Garrigue. But since there's a one-in-a-million chance it is—" Farfetched
or not, he still needed to call it in. He reached for his cell, then hesitated.
Would another hour matter?

She lifted her chin. "Do it. I'd
hate myself if I was sitting here eating dinner—even if it
is
Sadie's
chicken—and there was something I could have done."

He leaned down and cupped her face. Her
blue eyes reflected an inner sadness. For Hugh? Or them? Over the past few
months, she'd seen plans changed, dates canceled, dinners interrupted. Was that
what their talk was going to be about? He touched her lips with his. She
returned the kiss, lips parted enough to admit the tip of his tongue. Friendly,
but certainly not passionate. One level beyond chaste.

She slipped her hands over his, her
fingers brushing his knuckles. "Make the call."

He stepped onto the deck and leaned
against the railing. The cool night air against his face helped refocus him. He
thumbed through his cell phone's contact list, debating who to call first. It
didn't take long to decide.

"Connor? Detweiler." He heard
television, male voices in the background. "Sorry to bother you on a
Saturday night."

"No problem. I'm ten bucks in the
hole. Whatcha got?"

"Possible ID. Remote, but it should
be checked."

"Whoa." Connor's voice shifted.
Randy heard the excitement. "How? Who?"

"Who first. Hugh Garrigue. Lives in
Arcata, California. The how isn't important. There's a fax on your desk at the
office with a formula for clay. We might be able to get a handle on whether
this was the kind of clay Garrigue uses in his pottery."

"Probably. I'll have to go to the
station." He paused. "You got the word, no overtime, right?"

Randy shoved a lock of hair off his face.
"I know. It can wait until Monday. Hell, listening to myself saying it
makes it sound all the more ridiculous. The guy doesn't live anywhere near Pine
Hills and has no reason we know of to be there."

"You've pushed my curiosity button.
It won't take long and the poker game will go on without me. They probably won't
notice I'm gone."

"I have to call County, too."

"Go for it. They can do a lot more
than I can, especially if there are warrants involved. Their manpower means
more eyes on the prize."