Hidden Fire, Kobo (12 page)

From Connor's responses, Randy didn't
think he'd heard the rumors that the entire Pine Hills Police might be a thing
of the past. Would he care? Hell, with his skills, the man could probably work
anywhere.

What about you?

He thanked Connor and called Lieutenant
Eldridge next. There was no point in disturbing Kovak's anniversary
celebration. Bad enough his own evening was sinking like a creep hit with a
Taser.

Eldridge answered on the second ring, an
underlying impatience in his tone.

Randy relayed what little he knew about
Hugh Garrigue. "I asked our lab to search the clay. Thought it might move
things along."

"Excellent. Our guys are backed up
like a constipated cow. I'll touch base with Connor later. Meanwhile, we'll
work on the Hugh Garrigue angle. Good work."

What had he meant by "we"?

And what was the matter with
him
?
Crap, this was
not
a competition. Despite an underlying impatience in
his tone, Eldridge sounded genuinely appreciative of the lead. Connor had no
problems sharing the workload with County.

"Anything else you want me to do?"
Randy asked, wondering what answer he wanted to hear.

"Not necessary. It's still going to
be database searches and a watched computer never beeps. It's Saturday night.
If you don't have to work, don't. I never listened to my ex, which is why she's
my ex and I'm sitting in my office doing paperwork. Talk to you Monday unless
something hot breaks."

Randy ended the call and stared out into
the night.

You are one total coward. Go face the
music.

Reluctantly, he turned. Sarah sat on the
couch, hands in her lap, watching him. Guilt and confusion pierced his gut and
twisted it like wringing out the wash. He was avoiding Sarah. She wanted to
talk and he couldn't face what she might say. What did that say about him?
About the relationship he thought they had?

He made himself smile as he crossed the
living room and approached her. Eyebrows lifted in question, she started to
rise and he motioned her down. "Relax." He settled beside her and
draped an arm around her shoulders. "We're going to eat dinner and you can
have your say."

"You're not going back in? What if
it's Hugh?" She clutched his forearm.

He shook his head. "If it is, they'll
call me. Nothing much I can do. County's got all the big guns. You've given
them something to look for." Her hand was cold through his long-sleeved
shirt. He covered it with his. "I hope it's not Hugh," he said.

She studied his face, her stone blue eyes
piercing through to his soul. "It would make your job easier," she
said.

"It's not about the job, Sarah.
Death is bad enough. To have someone you know, even distantly, murdered the way
that victim was, is not something I'd wish on anyone. Especially you." He
pulled her against his chest. "C'mere. Let's sit for a while."

She leaned into him. He ignored the
tightening in his groin and inhaled the peach perfume of her hair.

"You're not staying because you feel
guilty, are you?" she asked softly.

"Absolutely not."

"Or horny?" The question shook
him, not only in its tone, which held no inkling of humor, but also because she'd
never used that term with him before. She'd always teased, cajoled, using the
play on words with his name.

The bulge in his pants was obvious
enough. "Do I want you, Sarah? Of course. I always do." He ruffled
her hair. "Hell, I can't even eat a peach anymore without getting a
hard-on. But that's not why I'm here."

She leaned away, but he wouldn't let her
go.

She sighed. "This is tough, isn't
it?"

"Tell me what you want, Sarah. I'm
out of my league."

"Maybe we should eat first."

He wasn't sure he could. "You're
right."

She jumped up too quickly and went toward
the kitchen. He moved more slowly, listening to the sounds of the refrigerator
door closing, drawers opening, silverware clicking against dishes. He hung in
the doorway, taking in the way she moved. Determined, focused. Not her normal
smooth grace. She must have found a broom earlier, because the shards of broken
plates were gone. He'd have to square that one with Rich.

"Need some help?" He pasted on
another smile and strode into the room. "I was supposed to be taking you
to dinner. You weren't supposed to have to do anything."

Her shoulders bunched. "I don't mind
doing my share," she said, her voice strained.

Fuck.
What had he done now?

Sarah concentrated on portioning the
salad onto the small plates. After careful consideration, she placed them on
opposite ends of the rectangular table. "I'll let you do the dishes."

"It's a deal." Randy pulled out
one of the chairs and sat, then popped up again.

"What's the matter?" Had his damn
cell gone off? Damn his damn commitment to his damn job.

"Nothing. Be right back." He
dashed out the door.

She didn't care. She sat down, put a
napkin in her lap and began eating her salad.

When Randy came back, she glued her eyes
to her plate, making a point of cutting a cucumber slice into four precisely
equal sized pieces. Behind her, cabinets opened, glass clinked and a cork
popped. Liquid gurgled. When a wineglass appeared in front of her, she raised
her eyes.

"It's a Ponzi Pinot Noir," he
said, his tone guarded.

One of her favorites. A bit beyond her
price range, definitely a special occasion wine. Her face flamed until she knew
it matched the ruby color of the wine in her glass. "Thank you."

He crossed the room and turned off the
lights. One by one, he lit a half a dozen votive candles and placed them around
the table until the room was cast in a glow of flickering gold.

She placed her knife and fork across her
plate and waited for him to sit. Words stuck in her throat. She lifted her
glass in a silent toast. A truce. He raised his in return, nodded and took a
sip.

A few faltering starts at conversation
crashed into brick walls, so she focused on finishing her salad. With the
crunch of lettuce filling the room, she couldn't stand it anymore. "Randy,
I—"

He cut her off with a wave of his fork. "This
was supposed to be a nice dinner. It doesn't take much detecting to figure out
you're upset about something. Apparently I've screwed up and I'm sorry. I
promise to listen to everything you have to say, but let's not spoil the meal,
okay?"

As if there was any pleasure left, even
in Sadie's cooking. "All right. It's kind of hard to talk, anyway. You can't
talk about your work and right now, even if you could, it's not exactly what I
want to hear at the dinner table."

"I'd be happy to listen to your day,"
he said.

His smile melted her bones. Why was it so
hard to know what to do? One minute he had her juices running and her engine
revved, the next, she was tied in knots.

"Maybe later. I keep thinking about
Hugh."

"You're right. I keep forgetting you're
not used to this."

Like having dinner and discussing dead
bodies? That was something she had no desire to get used to. Ever.

They were halfway through the main course
when a cell phone cut through the strained silence. She glared at Randy.

He lifted his hands and shook his head. "That's
yours."

With a mixture of embarrassment and
curiosity, she rushed toward the sound, finding her purse where she'd dropped
it on a chair in the living room.

"Hello?"

"Is this Sarah Tucker?" A male
voice greeted her with more conversation buzzing in the background.

Great. Another telemarketer. Without
waiting, she blurted out, "Yes, but I'm on the do-not-call list and you're
in violation. It could cost you five hundred dollars if I report you."

"Ma'am, this is not a solicitation
call. You're the owner of That Special Something in Pine Hills, are you not?"

She wandered toward the kitchen. "Yes,
why?"

"Ma'am, I'm Officer Brody of the
Pine Hills Police Department. There's been a break-in. We'll need you to come
to your store."

She clutched the back of the nearest
chair. "A break-in? My shop? When? How?" Her heart flapped against
her sternum and her ears rang. Randy grabbed the phone from her hand.

"This is Detective Detweiler, Pine
Hills PD. To whom am I speaking?"

Sarah leaned in close, straining on
tiptoe to hear both sides of the conversation. Randy wrapped his arm around
her, held her close and pushed the loudspeaker button.

"It's Greg Brody, Detective. Looks
like someone entered through the back door of Mrs. Tucker's store. I've secured
the scene, but we need her to come in."

"Tell Connor to get over there, start
processing the scene and wait for me. We're in McMinnville." He ended the
call and ran his fingers along her jaw. She shivered. He handed her the phone
and reached for his own at his belt.

"I'm going to make a few calls,"
he said. "Get some uniforms out looking for witnesses."

"I guess dinner's over. I'll clean
up." She half-stumbled into the kitchen. Hands trembling, Sarah blew out
the candles and turned on the lights. She scraped leftovers into the trash,
went to the sink and started rinsing the dishes, trying not to let the feeling
of violation overwhelm her.

Randy's hand at her waist made her jump.
She pivoted, splashing water on him. "What happened?"

"Someone broke into your shop."

"I know that. What did they take?"

"I didn't ask. We'll find out when
we get there."

She wiped her hands on her slacks. "Shouldn't
we leave, then? We can come back tomorrow and finish cleaning."

"Whoever did it is gone. I've got
people canvassing the neighborhood, calling the other shop owners. There are
patrol officers on scene and Connor will process it. A few more minutes isn't
going to make a difference."

She clenched her jaw to keep from crying.
Things were finally turning around. Why would someone break into her shop
now
?
Hugh Garrigue's pottery? He had a following and a good reputation, but his
pottery wasn't
that
expensive. And she kept hardly any cash on the
premises. A jewelry store would have made more sense.

Randy pressed his hips against her side,
gently nudging her away from the sink. He squirted detergent into the stream of
water. "I said I'd do the dishes."

Numb, she stood at his side, watching the
tiny bubbles mound into a winter snowdrift. Randy shoved his sleeves past his
elbows and started washing.

Absently, she picked up a towel and
dried, putting each dish away where she'd found it.

Randy's voice droned in the background,
but the words ran together into a hum of white noise and she had no
recollection of what he'd said when the last dish was done.

Somehow, she was in his truck and the
road unfurled under them. After awhile, she noticed her jaw ached from
clenching it and her nails bit into her palms until she thought they might
bleed. She forced a series of cleansing breaths, practicing a relaxation
exercise she'd learned at the Women's Center.

Breathe in through the nose for a count
of four. Out through the mouth for a count of eight. She closed her eyes and
went to her refuge place, a warm, white sand beach with turquoise seas and
waving palm trees under a cloudless azure sky.

Foam-edged waves lapped against her toes.
Seagulls circled above. Golden sunlight warmed her face. As each wave receded,
one of her problems floated away with it, carried out beyond the distant
horizon.

And then the truck stopped, the parking
brake ratcheted, and it was as if one of the swaying palm trees had dropped a
coconut on her head. She jerked back to the present.

"Wait here," Randy said. He
angled himself out of the truck and strode to a police officer standing in
front of a strip of yellow and black crime scene tape stretched across That
Special Something's back door.

Sarah's stomach tightened, erasing all
her peaceful imagery.

Wait here?
No way. This was
her
shop. Her
life.
She yanked the handle and shoved the door open.

* * * * *

"What the hell happened, Brody?"
Randy asked.

The officer's eyes widened, his jaw
dropped and he took half a step backward.

"Sorry," Randy said. "This
one's personal. You're doing fine."

"Yes, sir." He didn't look
convinced.

Randy sensed Sarah's approach and turned.
The sparks in her eyes said she wasn't going to wait in the truck no matter
what he said. He made the introductions, defusing some of her fire.