Showdown in West Texas (11 page)

But Cage wondered if her conviction had been dented by the fact that the guy hadn't been home, nor had his girlfriend been able, or at least willing, to provide him with an airtight alibi.

And now she knew the dead man's name was Sergio.

Cage could have told her that at the crime scene. He could have also informed her that the dead guy was directly connected to the murders in San Miguel, but instead he'd kept his mouth shut because he knew the moment he started talking, all hell was bound to break loose.

Cage sat gazing out the window at the passing brown scenery. The sun was like a burning flare overhead, the
glare so extreme he had to squint behind his sunglasses. Little puffs of dust rolled across the desert, and he could feel the grit blowing in through the broken back window and drifting down the collar of his shirt.

Beside him, Grace scowled at the road. He turned to glance at her from time to time, but she seemed so lost in thought, he wasn't sure she was even aware of his presence. Her left hand was on the steering wheel and her right rested lightly on the seat beside her. He could see beads of blood on the tiny cuts, and a couple of her nails had been broken. She didn't seem to notice that, either.

He wondered where her thoughts had drifted to just now, and he wondered who wanted her dead.

Cage knew he couldn't let this go on for much longer. She had a right to know about the contents of that briefcase. But even if he could somehow manage to convince her that he had been nothing but an innocent bystander to the shoot-out in San Miguel, she wouldn't be able to help him. She had no authority outside Cochise County, so when and if Cage was taken into custody, her hands would be tied.

Even so, he couldn't remain silent for much longer—not in good conscience. What kind of a man would he be if he risked her life just to save his own hide?

He turned back to the side window, letting his thoughts drift from one possible scenario to the next.

What if he could show her the briefcase without mentioning anything of what he'd witnessed in San Miguel?

That wouldn't work, though, because he knew how it would play out. First thing out of her mouth would be what happened to the real Dale Walsh. Then she'd
want to know why, if Cage was so innocent, had he come to town with a stolen identity? Why hadn't he come clean from the get-go?

Unless he told her everything, his motivation didn't make much sense and would only serve to arouse her suspicions.

He still hoped, as he had the night before, that the person responsible for hiring the hit man would somehow make contact with him. Even though the transaction had likely been conducted anonymously, he—or she—would still be on the alert for a stranger riding into town. Cage had been there for less than twenty-four hours so some sort of communication was still a possibility. Unless the conspirator had decided to take matters into his own hands.

Maybe that same someone was the person who had fired at them from the canyon.

As they drove into town, Grace glanced at her watch. “It's past noon,” she said. “You want to grab a bite to eat before we head back to the station?”

“Suits me.”

She pulled into a space in front of the diner. “This place okay with you?”

“I'm not particular.”

“The food is nothing to write home about, but it's convenient. I can run across the street to my room and get cleaned up.” She glanced in the rearview mirror, saw the dried blood on the side of her face and grimaced. “I'd rather not be seen looking like this. People might think I'm not up to the job.”

“Then again, they might think you're tough enough to handle whatever comes your way.”

“Well, I guess we'll just have to see about that, won't we?”

They got out of the truck, and Cage watched as she strode across the street and disappeared inside Miss Nelda's. He went inside the diner, washed his hands and face in the bathroom, then took the same booth he'd had earlier at breakfast. A gray-haired waitress with a bad perm came over to take his order this time.

When she handed him a menu, he said, “There'll be two of us.”

“Guess you'll need a moment then.”

While he waited for Grace, Cage once again tried to figure out what he could do to affect the best outcome for both of them, but by the time she slid into the booth across from him, he was no closer to a solution than he had been the night before.

The only difference now was…he was getting to know her. And he liked her. Leaving the briefcase and skipping town just didn't seem like much of an option anymore.

They ordered club sandwiches and iced tea, and while they waited for their food, Cage surreptitiously studied her. She'd changed from her black suit into a light gray one. The formal attire seemed more in keeping with her position at the TBI than as the sheriff of a rural county, but Cage suspected her conservative style was all part of the image she was trying so hard to cultivate. He wondered if she might be better served by lightening up a little, but he was hardly in any position to offer advice. Look at how his career had turned out.

“You sure look serious,” she said.

“I've been sitting here thinking about the shooting.”

“Have you come to any conclusions?”

“Only the obvious,” he said. “Someone's out to get you.”

“You were there, too,” she reminded him.

“But that truck is clearly marked with the Sheriff's Department emblem on each side. I don't think it likely that I was the target. Besides, I haven't been in town long enough to make enemies.”

“And you think I have?”

“You're the top dog,” he said. “You've got enemies by the very nature of your job. Question is, do you have any idea who that enemy might be?”

She glanced out the window at the parking lot. “No. No idea.”

“Have there been any other incidents?”

She paused. “You mean have I been fired upon before? Today was a first.”

That wasn't what he meant and she knew it. She was being deliberately obtuse.

What are you hiding?
Cage wondered.

She was still looking out the window, squinting slightly into the light. “You know, what you said is true. Enemies are inherent with a job like this. I think someone was sending the new sheriff a message today.” She turned back to face him. “Whoever killed Sergio left that altar out there so that I would know they're here, in Cochise County. And that ambush—in the middle of the day, no less—was nothing but pure intimidation. They're testing me. And they're letting me know they're not afraid of the law.”

“Could be,” Cage said. “But from what I know about
drug runners, they're not big on nuance. Their idea of subtlety is a bullet to the back of the head rather than a slit throat. I don't think taking a few pot shots is exactly their style.”

“Normally, I would agree with you.” Idly, Grace traced a drop of condensation down the side of her water glass. “The type of crime we get out here…it's different from anything I've ever seen before. The mindset of the criminal is different, too. But you're wrong about the subtlety. Even the most heinous murder you can imagine—has some sort of nuance. Some sort of message. They want us to be afraid. They want to use our fear to control us. But I'm not going to let that happen. I wouldn't have taken that oath if I hadn't been willing to die. And yes,” she said with a wry smile. “I'm well aware of how melodramatic that sounds.”

She really was something, Cage thought. He'd never met anyone with such a fierce sense of duty. It made him feel a little out of his league.

And when he thought of that briefcase, another of his mother's old sayings came to mind:
Son, you must be feeling lower than a snake's belly in a wagon rut for pulling a stunt like that.

At that moment, he was feeling pretty low, all right. He was glad when the waitress brought over their food. It gave him a chance to change the subject because, God help him, he still didn't know what he was going to do about the briefcase.

“Tell me about Jesse Nance,” he said, when they had both started to eat. “How did you two hook up?”

Grace dabbed her mouth with her napkin, then took
a sip of tea. “We were together all through high school. On graduation night, a bunch of us went down to Tijuana. Jesse got the bright idea to propose, and Colt egged him on.”

“Colt?”

“Colt McKinney. He was always the big instigator in our group. Anyway, the next thing I knew, I was waking up in the bridal suite at the Hotel Lafayette with the worst hangover of my life. Literally.”

Cage grinned. “How did that go over with your family?”

“My grandmother nearly had a cow.” She laughed, but there was a look of embarrassment in her eyes. “Looking back now, it seems hard to believe that I would do something that stupid and irresponsible. I like to think it was completely out of character for me.”

“Or maybe you've just learned to subvert that side of your nature,” Cage teased.

“I wish,” she muttered.

“What did his folks think?”

“His dad was dead by then, but his mother always liked me. She used to say that I was good for Jesse, so she was happy about the elopement. I moved my stuff over to their place and settled in, but I knew right from the start it wasn't going to work. I hung around for most of the summer, and then when the fall semester started, I packed my bags, left for college and never looked back.”

“And Jesse?”

She shrugged. “His mother was a lot more upset than he was. I think she kept hoping I'd get tired of school and come back home. Jesse didn't seem to care
much one way or the other. He was always going to do what he wanted to do, wife or no wife. We got a quiet divorce, and most of the kids I knew at school never even knew I'd been married. I was kind of hoping people around here would have forgotten all about it.”

“This is a small town. People have long memories and they like to talk. But you were what, eighteen? I doubt anybody's going to hold it against you.”

“Probably not. But that whole ridiculous episode…” She shook her head in wonder.

“You think you're the only person who's ever made a stupid mistake?”

“No, of course not.”

“You just don't like having any chinks in your armor, is that it?”

She met his gaze squarely. “No, I don't.”

Cage sat back in his seat and studied her for a moment.

“What?” she asked with a frown.

“You're pretty hard on yourself, don't you think?”

“No.” Her hand was on the table. She lifted it to examine the scratches, then dropped it to her lap. “If I don't have high expectations for myself, why should anyone else?”

She had a point, and Cage reckoned he could learn a thing or two from her about expectations.

“So this Colt McKinney that you mentioned…are he and Jesse still friends?”

“I guess so. They're probably not as close as they once were, though. You tend to outgrow people like Jesse Nance.” She paused as the waitress came over to top off their tea glasses. “Why do you want to know about Colt and Jesse?”

“I saw them in here together this morning. They sat right behind my booth, and I couldn't help overhearing part of their conversation. Did you know that McKinney has made an offer on Jesse's ranch?”

Grace looked mildly surprised and not at all interested. “No, but it's really none of my business.”

Cage couldn't let it go, though. Not quite yet. Something about that conversation still bothered him except he couldn't say why. “From what one of the waitresses told me, Jesse is pretty hard up for money.”

“I'm not surprised. He never did know how to save a dime. But as far as being hard up…you couldn't tell that by all the new furniture and appliances I saw this morning at the house.”

“Evidently, Sookie is a little on the high-maintenance side.”

Grace rolled her eyes. “You think?”

“Here's the curious part of their conversation,” Cage said. “They kept talking about some problem with the deed, and McKinney insisted that Jesse take care of it so he wouldn't have to get involved. Do you have any idea what kind of problem they might have been talking about?”

“Maybe something to do with his mother's will, I don't know. She died the same year I left for college. It happened pretty fast so she may not have had time to get her affairs in order.” Grace was starting to look a little annoyed by the subject. “Anyway, like I said, it's none of my business. None of yours, either, is it? Why are you so interested in Jesse Nance?”

“You know why.”

“Because you think he may have had something to
do with the shooting. You know how I feel about that theory. I haven't see Jesse in years. It's a stretch to think he's carried a torch or a grudge or anything else since we split up. And as far as Colt buying the ranch, more power to him. I really don't care.”