Truth and Consequences (8 page)

Whistling an off-tune version of “Ring of Fire”, Jason jogged up the steps of the sheriff’s department. Thanks to a last-minute call, his shift had run an hour over, but he found himself grateful. Only an hour until he was supposed to be at Kathleen’s—time to clock out, run home to shower and hotfoot it over to her place.

He felt like a seventeen-year-old with a hot date and no matter how many times he told himself this was business, part of his job and not a real date, it did nothing to kill his excitement.

For once, quiet lay over the squad room. Even the television was turned off. Jason moved through his end-of-shift routine with rapid efficiency. He remembered the wild tangle of his mother’s tiny rose garden at the trailer. A couple of the overgrown plants bloomed, spilling creamy pink and vibrant red buds on the too-high grass. Maybe he’d cut some of those, stick them in one of the cheap milk-glass vases under the sink. Something to keep him from showing up at Kathleen’s door empty-handed.

As he walked to the dispatch area to clock out, pink message slips fluttered on the window separating the small office from the squad room.

Berta, the second-shift dispatcher, waved toward the glass. “You got messages, Harding.”

“Yeah?”

Her smirk set the nerves off in his gut. These were not good messages.

The first bore Jim Ed’s distinctive scrawl.
Meet me at the rec center ball field.

The second heaved his stomach straight to his feet.
Kathleen Palmer called. Dinner’s off. Permanently.

A cacophony of voices and the soft thuds of baseballs hitting broken-in gloves filled the early evening air. Another month and the temperature would be unbearable at this hour, but tonight a breeze flirted across the Haynes-Chandler rec center’s baseball fields. Jason paused by the concession stand, scanning the crowd for Jim Ed’s sturdy frame.

The aroma of fresh popcorn tickled his nose and made his mouth water. The bowl of Rice Krispies he’d run home to eat at lunch was long gone. He regretted Kathleen’s cancellation of their dinner plans for more than one reason.

Set free from their mothers, a pack of young children ran wild and played chase under and around the bleachers. On the nearest field, a T-ball game was underway, the current batter biting his lip in concentration as he lined the bat up with the ball. A father yelled encouragement from the stands.

Jason smiled, eyeing the strawberry blond curls poking out from under the batting helmet. If he and Kathleen…

Whoa. Hold up, Harding. Where are you going with that? You and Kathleen, nothing. And certainly not kids. Your concern is her safety and helping bring down a section of the Dixie Mafia. Not necessarily in that order either, pal.

But, man, he’d love to have a kid one day, except he wanted to be out there on the field, coaching. Not sitting in the stands, in any aspect of a child’s life.
His
son would know he had a father, wouldn’t always be the one who stood out because his father was long gone, because he’d been abandoned.

And look at the home Kathleen had created in the small lake house. He’d bet money she’d be an awesome mother. He shook off the daydreams, the ones that had plagued him since dinner the night before. Waking dreams of what it would be like to make a life with Kathleen Palmer.

Maybe when this was all over. When he was himself again. If he didn’t make her hate him in the process.

“Come on, Jamie! Catch that ball!”

Yeah, that was Jim Ed’s big mouth.

Jason wound through the crowd to the bleachers facing the east field. Jim Ed sat halfway up, empty spaces around him affording a bubble of isolation. Jason chuckled. No one wanted to be near his cousin’s foghorn of a yell. Stacy sat a few feet away, chatting with a group of mothers.

He climbed the bleachers to take an empty spot by Jim Ed. “Hey. Dispatch said you wanted to see me.”

His cousin’s gaze didn’t waver from the field where the two teams warmed up. “Saw your message from Palmer. Guess your little plan isn’t working.”

“It’s been one day.” Jason stretched his legs out, resting his feet on the empty bench below them. “She doesn’t trust me.”

“That’s the way, Jamie! Great catch!” Jim Ed surged to his feet, clapping loudly for a moment before sitting again. “It was a stupid idea to begin with.”

“Thanks a lot. And putting a snake between her doors worked? I don’t see her backing off.”

He actually felt the angry tremor that ran through the other man. Wonder what the price was for challenging Jim Ed’s authority? Jim Ed shot him a look, then, amazingly, began to laugh.

“What?” Jason shook his head.

“You always were scrappy.” Jim Ed’s gaze wandered back to the field. “Hell, you might just pull this crazy shit off. So what went down last night?”

Jason shrugged. “We had dinner.”

“That all?”

“We talked.”

“What about?”

“My stint in the army. Books. Stuff like that.”

His cousin’s gaze swung his way, pinning him like an insect to a biology pan. “She didn’t ask you again what you saw?”

“No.” Jason refused to look away. “She knows she’s gonna keep getting the same answer. I didn’t see anything.”

“Good.” Jim Ed nodded, satisfaction in the smile shaping his mouth. “Keep it that way.”

For the next hour and a half, he endured Jim Ed’s bellowing and watched the game, trying not to dwell on Kathleen’s message.

Permanently.

He shouldn’t be surprised that she’d changed her mind about seeing him. He should be surprised she’d considered seeing him in the first place.

The third baseman tagged Jamie out and Jim Ed cursed. Only one run separated the teams, with two outs left in the final inning. Jason glanced toward the other team’s dugout, where Tick Calvert leaned against the fence, calling encouragement to the players and conferring with the other volunteer coach.

Calvert was the kind of guy everyone expected Kathleen to want. Educated. Honest. Responsible. Everything he appeared not to be.

A double play between first and second ended the game, and Jason sat, letting the stands empty around him. Jim Ed, his face dark with resentment and bad sportsmanship, glared down at him. “We’re going for pizza. You coming?”

Oh, yeah, he wanted in on that little family outing. Even the thought of fresh, steaming pizza with all the trimmings couldn’t lure him into sitting through a meal listening to Jim Ed berate Jamie for how he’d played. He shot a glance at Stacy, who waited at the bottom of the bleachers, gathering the children around her like chicks under a protective wing. Her gaze was on Jim Ed and wariness lurked in her blue eyes.

Jason shook his head. “Nah. I’m beat, man. Just gonna go home, shower and hit the bed.”

Jim Ed shrugged, a tight, irritable movement. “Suit yourself.”

Jason watched him descend the steps. At the bottom, Laurel launched herself at him, blond ponytail bouncing, her face bright with adoration. Jim Ed swung her up to perch on his hip, but his comments were directed at Jamie. The teenager’s solemn face tightened, his gaze downcast. Jason shook his head, glad he couldn’t hear his cousin’s critique of the kid’s game.

He waited until Jim Ed’s family disappeared into the crowd. On the field, the victorious team gathered, chattering and hooting with exultation. Parents and siblings stood in straggling groups. Every hamburger joint in town would be packed with hungry families and their camaraderie.

Envy tightened his chest. He hadn’t experienced that kind of solidarity since he’d left the army. He and the guys in his unit had played softball and football, even in the desert sands, and he’d formed a kind of loose family structure with a few close friends. The rigors of Quantico usually fostered tight friendships, but he’d found it difficult to connect with his classmates, although he was never sure why. Maybe because he knew they’d be going on to standard FBI duty and he’d be disappearing into the dark abyss of his past.

Families reunited and voices blended in cheerful conversation.

“Dad! I’m riding with Riley, okay? We’ll meet you at the Dairy Queen.”

“Come on, John Ray. Get your glove and let’s go.”

Jason stood and took the steps two at a time. He pulled his keys from his pocket and threaded through the crowd, invisible in his isolation. The flow of people slowed near the gate, with players and spectators arriving for the next set of games. Beyond the entrance the crowd thinned.

Two preteen boys sprinted by him, playfully jostling each other and trading insults. He saw the impending collision in the seconds before it happened, but couldn’t stop it. The boys, focused on each other, careened into a tall brunette, sending her and the contents of her purse sprawling. Jason winced for her as bare knees and palms hit the gravel parking lot.

One of the boys glanced over his shoulder. “Hey, sorry, lady!”

Not sorry enough to stop. The kids kept running.

“Are you okay?” Jason hunched and reached for the woman’s arm, meaning to steady her. At his touch, she flinched away with a violent motion.

“I’m fine.” She rocked back, still crouched, brushing gravel and dust from her legs. Blood trickled down her shin. A long breath shook her slender frame and she pressed her fingers to her forehead. “Oh, Lord.”

“You’re sure you’re all right?” Jason leaned over, snagged her purse from the ground and began gathering the spilled items. Worried, he eyed her pale face and trembling jaw. Extreme reaction for a minor spill.

She nodded, then shook her head, blowing at the scratches on her palm. Jason dropped a small makeup bag, change purse and a calendar in the purse. Bottle of painkillers. A lipstick. He handed her the tissues. Did all women carry this much stuff with them?

What did Kathleen carry in her purse? Did she carry one at all?

The brunette swiped at a tear, leaving a dusty trail on her cheek. She was crying. Oh, man. He didn’t do crying women. He didn’t remember his mother ever crying, although she must have had plenty of reason to do so, especially after his father ran off.

Cell phone, pack of gum, mints. A tiny leather-bound New Testament. Good God. He hadn’t carried this much equipment on active duty. A photo album. Tampon. He shoved that find in the bag. A set of keys with four cutesy key chains attached.

She took a deep, audible breath. Jason rose, holding the purse in one hand. She brushed back her dark brown hair and stood.

A smile trembled across her lips and she rolled a tissue between her bleeding palms. “Thanks. Sorry for acting like a crazy lady.”

“No problem.” Jason studied her still-pale face and surveyed the near-deserted parking lot. He couldn’t just leave her standing here. “Are you with someone?”

Her dark eyes, oddly familiar, shuttered and she took her own quick appraisal around the lot. Tension tightened her features further. “Yes.”

Jason jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Do you want to walk back and—”

“Tori?”

Jason glanced back to see Tick bearing down on them. He stepped out of the other man’s way.

“What happened? What’s wrong?” Calvert stopped by the young woman, taking her hand in his, his sharp gaze roving her face, the cuts on her palms, the bloody scrape on her bare leg. He glared at Jason. “Harding? What the hell?”

“A couple of kids knocked me down.” Frowning, Tori moved away from Calvert’s looming protection. “No big deal.”

Jason’s eyebrows rose. She’d been in tears and now it was no big deal? He studied her and Calvert, noting the identical eyes, the shape of the jaw, the stubborn set of similar mouths. Siblings. Calvert’s sister.

A victim of his other Reese cousin, the rapist.

Oh, hell.

Yeah, his family was a real prize. A rapist and a possible murderer. No wonder Kathleen wanted nothing to do with him.

Jason jerked a hand through his hair and held out her purse. “Glad you’re okay.”

“Wait.” Tori Calvert straightened further. A stronger smile lurked at her mouth. He could actually feel the effort she exerted to pull herself together. “Let me buy you a burger or something. A thank you for rescuing me.”

“I didn’t—”

“Tori, that’s not—”

“I insist.” She overrode both their protests and shot a narrow-eyed glance at her brother before beaming at Jason. “I mean it. We were going for something anyway. I’m not as crazy as I appear and you have to eat, right?”

“Tori.” Tick’s voice held a stern warning.

“Tick. Back off.” She turned a dazzling smile on Jason. Man, he did not want to get between these two and the epic power-struggle brewing in the warm evening air. “So what do you say? And ignore my overprotective big brother. He thinks he’s in charge of my life.”

“Someone needs to be.” Tick glanced sharply at Jason.

“I really can’t,” Jason said, looking around. Just standing here with Calvert, his skin crawled. Being seen with him, no matter how innocent the circumstances, was not a good idea. He searched for an excuse to get him out of the invitation. “I’m expecting a phone call and I need to be at home. Thanks anyway.”

He didn’t miss Calvert’s relieved expression. Tori opened her mouth, probably to protest, but Tick took her arm and steered her toward the lot. “C’mon, Tor. Stop harassing the guy.”

In his truck, Jason sat and watched the families trickling in and out of the recreation park. The isolation pushed in on him again and he shrugged off the despondency. During the training he’d received before going undercover, he’d been warned about the sense of remoteness, how dangerous it could be to give in to it. He needed to focus on the outcome.

His cousin in prison. A family destroyed.

Cursing, he fired the truck to life and pulled out of the lot, resisting the compulsion to squeal the tires. He navigated the near-deserted streets, trying not to glance at yards that held playing children and grilling fathers. That wasn’t his life, probably never would be. With his luck, this was as good as it got.

The thought chilled him.
Get over yourself, Harding. Enough self-pity.

He swung into a space in front of the post office. He hadn’t checked his mail for three days and didn’t know why he bothered now. The only thing awaiting him would be a stack of bills and junk mail.

Fluorescent lights hummed in the lobby. He opened the little metal door and pulled out a handful of envelopes. Power bill. Promotional mailings. A distinctive brown envelope bearing the US Treasury address.
Hot damn
. His tax refund.

He ripped open the envelope. Visions of real food danced in his head. The Winn Dixie cashed refund checks. No more Rice Krispies. Whistling, he tucked the check in his pocket and jogged back to the truck.

His luck was looking up.