Hidden Fire, Kobo (16 page)

He grabbed her wrist. "Wait. First
you're going to tell me what you're looking for. Then,
we'll
get to
work."

She couldn't have fought him, even if she'd
wanted to. "All right. Let me get some papers, because so far, this makes
no sense to me."

* * * * *

Reluctantly, Randy let her go, wishing he
could punch a "pause" button for the world so he could keep holding
her. Not even make love, simply hold her. Inhale her scent. Absorb her warmth.

All right, thinking about Sarah wasn't helping.
He'd gone off the deep end when Carmen had called, but Sarah was safe. Hadn't
been in danger, except in his own mind.

He forced those thoughts away. He was
working a case, and putting the world on hold was
not
an option.

She returned, a look of confident
determination in her expression. In control. Taking action. He smiled inwardly.
Being Sarah. Of course, when she was Being Sarah, that usually left him Being
Randy. He adjusted his jeans, trying to ignore the tug at his groin. And even
more, the tug in his chest.

"Might be easier if you came in
here," she called from the office. "I can show you the computer
files, too."

She sat at her desk, a printout covered
with yellow highlights lying beside the keyboard. She tapped the papers.

"These are the pieces of Hugh
Garrigue's pottery that I inventoried." She pointed to the highlighted
entries. "I'm trying to reconstruct the ones I sold."

"Go on." He couldn't resist
stepping closer, leaning over her shoulder. The peach scent of her hair, as
always, tripped his pulse rate.

"The sales were good, but there
should be a lot more of his pottery out here. I was looking for it until I was …
interrupted."

He glanced at the sheet. Names, many
familiar, but mostly abbreviations and what he assumed were Sarah's codes for
her merchandise. "I'll help, but I'm clueless about what to look for."

She tapped a key. He watched the screen
fill with images of vases, mugs, bowls and other assorted pottery. Even to his
untrained eye, there was a sleek, underlying beauty to them.

"Hugh Garrigue's?"

"Right. His glazes are distinctive.
He's got his own special formulas and nobody else does anything like them. Even
in bits and pieces, I can tell the difference between one of his and anything
else in the shop."

"Are you telling me you're planning
to go through all that rubble and put Hugh Garrigue's pots together and see if
you can account for all your inventory?"

"I don't think that'll be necessary,
but we need to check. Do you think you'd recognize the pieces?"

He'd damn well try. "Can you print
that out for me for reference?"

She clicked the icon and the printer
whirred.

"All right," he said. "I'll
start on one side of the room, you can take the other. I'll meet you in the
middle."

She smiled. He succumbed. Pulled her out
of the chair. Crooked his finger under her chin and tilted her face up. Bent to
meet her lips with his.

She reached for him, threaded her fingers
through his hair. Jolts of electricity zinged through each strand, into his
scalp, down his neck, his spine, all the way to his toenails.

His tongue traced the seam of her mouth,
seeking permission to enter. Her lips parted in invitation and he accepted,
testing the warmth, exploring her lips, her teeth, teasing her tongue.

She returned his kiss, her tongue
following his as he explored familiar territory yet uncovered new treasures.
Every kiss with Sarah brought new discoveries.

Her hands drifted down his neck, along
his shoulders, wrapped around him. Until they reached his holster. She broke
the kiss and stepped away, obviously reminded of why they were here. He tucked
a strand of hair behind her ear, noticing for the first time she wore the pearl
stud earrings he'd given her for her birthday. A brief sense of relief spilled
through him. Whatever she'd wanted to talk about a lifetime ago when this night
had started, it hadn't been splitting up. If it had been, the earrings would
have been in a box, not her ears.

"Break time's over," he
whispered. "But remember where we left off." He tapped her nose.

In the shop, she made a direct path to
the first pile of broken pots and glass, kneeling beside it, picking through
it, examining bits and pieces.

"Careful. Don't cut yourself."
Knowing she didn't deal well with blood, he fished a pair of latex gloves from
his jacket pocket. "You should probably put these on to be safe."
When she didn't respond, he dangled them in front of her. "Broken glass.
Ouch. Blood. Not good."

One hand reached out, snagged the gloves
from his hand. He pulled on a pair himself. He wasn't particularly fond of
blood, either. "Okay, then, I guess you're looking over here. I'll start
over there." He pointed across the room, but he doubted she heard him.

After searching his first pile and not
seeing anything resembling his pictures, he moved to another section of the
room, with the same results.

"Sarah, do you want to come check
this? I must not have a good eye, because I can't find any of Garrigue's
pottery."

She got up from where she was searching. "I'm
not surprised. That was what seemed off to me. So far, there's not a single
shard of a Hugh Garrigue piece anywhere in this room. And the extra box in the
storeroom is missing, too."

Even his tired and distracted brain could
jump to the logical conclusion. "This mess was a cover-up."

Sarah peeled the gloves off, fanning her
hands in the air. "So, someone wanted Hugh's pottery and instead of
stealing it, they had to wreck my entire shop. Why? If they wanted to cover it
up, why not steal a bunch of other stuff, too?" Her voice headed up the
decibel scale and Randy reached for her.

She retreated. As much as he wanted to
hold her, he gave her space, letting her be Sarah. He rose, removed his gloves
and wiped his hands on his jeans. He twisted and felt the release as his
vertebrae clicked back into place.

"Are you positive it's only the
Garrigues that are missing?" he asked.

Sarah lifted her eyebrows. "Positive?
For that, I'd have to put everything together, but if he wanted it to look like
vandalism, wouldn't he have broken some of the Garrigues, too? I'm willing to
go out on a limb here and say he wanted the Garrigues and broke the other
stuff. Did he think we wouldn't figure it out?"

"Maybe he thought he was buying some
time," he said. "So he could get a head start."

"I'm lost here."

"I admit, it doesn't sound like this
creep was very smart. Maybe he was just mad."

"Great. I'm the victim of a temper
tantrum?" She yanked on her hair. "You have no idea who might have
done this, do you?"

"Not now, no," he admitted.

"But you will, right?"

He was quiet for a beat. "I'll do
everything I can," he said.

Her face fell. She'd heard his
hesitation. "Are you saying you can't solve it?"

"Of course not. But I don't make
promises I can't keep."

"What can I do?" she asked.

"There's not much more we can do
tonight. I need to make notes, try to get everything laid out in my head. Find
a motive. See whether this could tie into the murder."

Her mouth dropped open. "Oh my God.
I totally forgot. Here I've been upset about
things
and a man is dead.
Maybe Hugh." She buried her face in her hands.

"Hey, shh." He took her hands,
eased them from her face. "It's my job to catch these people. What you've
discovered tonight could be a major breakthrough."

A flash of pride crossed her face. "So
why don't you get back to work? A murder has priority and rightly so."

He rubbed his temples. "Not tonight.
Come home with me. Or let me come home with you. I'm tired, you're tired, and I
want to be with you."

"But the case? You're not going to
work on it?"

"It's not that I wouldn't work round
the clock for you, Sarah, but there's nothing more I can do tonight, other than
make a call to County, which I'm going to do. They're the ones working on the
murder, and since Garrigue doesn't live in Oregon, it's even further out of my
hands. Not to mention I'm officially in violation of the department's new no
overtime policy."

"No overtime? But you're a cop. I
thought cops worked 24/7."

He tried not to let his frustration show.
"As a department, yes. As individuals, not so much anymore. The town
council passed the ruling. Budget cuts." He tried not to think beyond the
no overtime ruling. Like the no job ruling.

"Well, are they going to hire more
cops to cover the hours, if they won't let you work overtime?"

He laughed. "Yeah, right. Maybe they'll
figure out a way for the crooks to work forty-hour weeks." He kissed her
palm, then folded her fingers closed. "So, where to? Your place or mine?"

She sighed. "My place, I guess."

From her tone, she didn't seem happy
about it.

Sarah followed Randy's F-150 to her
apartment. Before they'd left, Randy had called the county sheriffs and updated
them on the pottery lead. Although he was a car-length ahead of her, it seemed
his grim attitude created a bubble of gloom that included her Element. Budget
cuts. No overtime. Knowing how seriously Randy took his job, she understood how
frustrated he must be. And how could the town council put money above the
safety of its citizens? Someone was grandstanding, she figured. Trying to prove
how much money he saved the town. For what? So people could break into her shop
because there wasn't anyone around to notice?

Randy parked in the slot next to hers
behind the building. She got out of her car and waited while he yanked his
small canvas tote from the floor behind his seat. She smiled, knowing it contained
clean underwear, a fresh shirt and basic toiletries, because a case could keep
him out all night—at least that was the reason he'd given her when he
conveniently happened to have it with him after one of their earlier dates.

His expression was as stony as it had
been when he'd been talking to the deputies.

She broke the silence. "Always
prepared, aren't you?"

Finally, his features softened. "Hope
springs eternal."

"Randy … I'm tired. So are you."

He nodded. "I'm spending the night,
so I'll need this in the morning. I'll sleep on your couch if you prefer, but I
would rather hold you. Nothing more." His lips curved upward. "Unless
you ask."

"Let's go up."

He insisted on checking her apartment
before he let her go in. Resignedly, she handed over her key. Behind the closed
door she paced in the hallway along with the new swarm of butterflies in her
stomach at the reminder someone could have been in her home.

He returned and waved her inside like a
palace guard granting entrance. Strains of quiet piano music played in the
background. She recognized it as one of the CDs Randy had given her. Mozart,
she thought, although she still couldn't put a title with the piece. Too many
numbers. Didn't matter to her. It was soothing and that's what she needed right
now.

"You want to sit for a few minutes?"
she asked. "I'm still a little wired." She crossed to her
entertainment center and opened the side cabinet door. "Brandy or Irish?"

He lifted his eyebrows in surprise. "Not
hot chocolate? Chamomile tea?"

"Not tonight. I had something
stronger in mind."

He shoved his hair off his forehead. "Irish,
thanks."

"Why don't you get the glasses?"

While Randy was in the kitchen, she
unscrewed the cap of the Jameson she'd bought for him. She held it to the
light, checking the level. About half full.

See. Not half empty. You're an optimist.
You've never let anything interfere with your shop and this is just another
setback. What's one more?

Randy appeared with two glasses. She
poured a generous serving of the Jameson for him and a more modest portion of
brandy for herself. Her usual libation when she wanted more than wine was a
quick glug of the brandy in her chamomile tea, but tonight she went for the
full-strength approach.

Randy settled into the corner of the
couch. Still unsettled, she took the opposite end.

"So," she began. "Tell me
about this new no overtime policy. Does this mean you'll be working
eight-to-five Monday through Friday instead of the 24/7 deal?"

His face clouded. "I don't know
exactly how it'll play out. My guess is they'll try to stagger my days and
Kovak's so we have someone on duty or on call every day."

"What about the regular cops? Like
that guy who came to my shop tonight?"

"In a small force like ours, we're
all regular cops. Some of us have more specialized duties, that's all."