What She Saw (4 page)

“Ex-military. I have privileges because I was medically discharged. That card means I can use base facilities, like the exchange and the hospital.”

“What happened?”

“That’s a long story for another time. There’s a more pressing matter.”

Slowly she handed the cards back to him, but her eyes were on his face. “Buxton Devlin,” she said slowly. “It looks real, I guess. But Buxton?”

“My mother’s maiden name. She died having me and my dad named me for her. I guess he figured Mary wouldn’t work.”

Humor sparkled briefly across her face. “I guess it wouldn’t.”

“Anyway, Buxton became Buck real fast. My dad shortened it when I first started talking and couldn’t get the whole thing out right. Good thing, too, since I was a military brat. It was easier navigating childhood as Buck.”

“That probably would have been true almost anywhere.” She paused, waiting. Okay, his name appeared to be real, but what else could she be sure of? A little childhood story hardly added up to a huge heap of truth.

He shoved his wallet into his jeans pocket and picked up his coffee. “This is hard.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m not used to having to prove my credentials. I either worked solo, or with a group of other MPs. Either way, I had a badge. Explaining this to someone who doesn’t have any background...” He paused, then shrugged. “I’ll try. Ask questions. I’ll answer what I know.”

“Okay.” She was agreeable to that. Her eyes followed another group walking toward the little student union, hardly more than a coffee shop, but a great place to gather.

“Before I left Seattle on my last run, my boss asked me to keep my ear to the ground. It seems some shipments are getting messed up and they can’t figure out how or why.” He stopped. “Maybe I need to backtrack.”

She just nodded and waited.

“We’re pretty careful about what goes on our trucks. Drivers are supposed to be extra careful, because when we sign for a load, we’re responsible for it until it reaches the next terminal or destination for off-load. You get that?”

“Perfectly.” It seemed sensible to her.

“Okay. Well, everything that comes into the terminal for shipping is in crates or containers. Those are all labeled. Everything has a bar code. So we scan those labels every time we move anything around. When my truck gets loaded, I stand there, count crates, and every crate is scanned while it’s being loaded. I have a manifest of what they said they were going to load, to compare to the scan of everything that goes on my truck. It covers my butt, and covers the company. So when I pull out of the terminal, I know my manifest matches exactly what’s on the truck.”

She nodded. “Makes sense.”

“It does. And it works. Or it did until about four months ago. Then something started to go wrong. My boss said they couldn’t find anything wrong at the terminal. No mismatched scans or anything. But somehow, by the time trucks arrived in Denver, the cargoes had changed. Some crates arrived late and on different trucks. And it’s getting more frequent.”

Suddenly she understood. “What I saw in the lot!”

“Maybe. Bill, my boss, figured something had to be happening along the road, and he asked me to keep an eye out because I used to be an MP.”

“Why not just call the authorities?”

“Because we’d have a federal investigation. Interstate commerce and all that. The head honchos are afraid they’d shut us down by opening and searching every crate going in and out of our Seattle terminal. It would kill business. So he doesn’t want to do that if we can solve the problem ourselves. I guess he figures that if I can nail something down, we can put the authorities on the right track without sacrificing all our business.”

She sipped coffee, noting that her hand had started to shake a little. It matched the uneasy fluttering in her stomach. “It just got bigger, didn’t it? Ray, I mean.”

“I’m seriously wondering about that. I could drive that stretch of road blindfolded. No reason for a truck to roll. Or for a driver to be dead.”

She had to put her coffee down as her heart started to climb into her throat. “What do you want from me?”

“I want two things. The first is to keep an eye on you, because you might have seen the very kind of cargo switch I was supposed to be looking out for. A few people already know what you saw. I’m worried about you. That’s why I told you not to say any more about it. Maybe word won’t get around, but I can’t be sure.”

“What else?” Her voice sounded a little thin even to her.

“Give me cover. People are going to start wondering why I’m hanging around. Like you said, this isn’t a dream vacation spot. So let me hang around, doing the lovesick-puppy thing. I’ll ask you out. You can keep saying no. I’ll look like a fool, but not in a way that arouses any suspicion. In the meantime...”

She turned to face him. “Yes? In the meantime what?”

“Well, you can let me know if you hear or see anything. Just me. I’m going to keep a pretty close eye on that truck stop, but there are other things. For example, the Liston family got an anonymous donation for that fancy funeral.”

Haley gasped. “I wondered. Oh, man, I wondered. They’ve never had any money, and I know how much I had to cut back on my own mother’s funeral last year. I looked at that... Do you know how much it costs to have a two-night wake? Or a coffin like that?”

“Thousands.”

“More than a few thousand. How did you find out they got a donation?”

“I heard somebody talking.”

“Well, I heard somebody talking, too. Apparently Ray had been telling at least one person that he was about to come into some money.”

“Money.” He almost spat the word. “Well, that would tend to confirm it.”

“Confirm what?”

“Where there’s a lot of money, there’s a lot of danger. Money and power are the two biggest corruptors, and when either gets involved, lives don’t seem to matter. I just wonder why they contributed to the funeral. Can’t be much conscience in somebody who would kill to keep a secret.”

“But folks around here do stuff like that. People would have chipped in so the Listons could bury Ray. They would have.” She remembered the offers she had received to help pay for her mother’s expenses. Offers she had been able to turn down because she had just enough. “Maybe that’s all it was, folks chipping in.”

“Maybe. But then you have Ray talking about coming into money.”

She didn’t like the way this was making her feel. She looked around at the familiar quad, in darkness now, and realized her world had shifted hugely. Would she ever see her friendly little town in quite the same way again? She suddenly experienced the most childish urge to close her eyes, as if that would make it go away. Like hiding under the bedcovers when you thought a monster was in the closet. How much protection did refusing to see give you? Zip, she thought unhappily.

One of her neighbors might be involved in something so ugly he was willing to kill. She shuddered. “I don’t want any part of this.”

“I don’t think you get the choice anymore. You saw something. If the wrong person knows...”

She didn’t need him to finish the thought. Another shiver ran through her and she leaned over to throw her coffee into the trash can at the end of the bench. Then she wrapped her arms tightly around herself and looked out at the alien world she had just landed in. If the wrong person knew. She had no idea who the wrong person might be. The Listons, who had asked her if she’d told the police that Ray had seemed fine? Claire or Hasty, who had heard what she told Micah and Sarah when they came in to ask questions? No. She couldn’t believe any of them could mean her any harm.

“Haley...” All of sudden, strong arms wrapped around her, hauling her close. She should have resisted, but that embrace felt so good, and those arms felt so strong and protective. It had been way, way too long since anyone had hugged her, and her throat tightened as she realized how much she had missed that kind of comfort. So much, evidently, that it felt good even from a stranger.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he murmured. “That much I can swear. Not one bad thing is going to happen to you.”

“You can’t promise that,” she said weakly into his shoulder. “Nobody can.” Life had certainly taught her that lesson the hard way.

“I can. It used to be my job. Nobody’s going to hurt you. They’ll have to get through me first.”

“Why? Why do you care?”

“Because I do. Some things I just care about. You’re at the top of my list right now. Besides,” he added in an evident attempt to lighten the moment, “I’ve had my eye on you for months. You’re a temptation, woman.”

A feeble laugh escaped her. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

He moved her back so that his dark eyes stared straight into hers. “It should. It’s been a long time since I had any desire to camp on a woman’s doorstep.”

The words left her speechless. She could see he meant them by the look in his eyes, and sexual heat began to drizzle through her until it pooled achingly between her thighs. Rationally she knew her reaction was foolish, but rationality had nothing to do with it. She’d been noticing this man for months, even daydreaming about him in ways she hadn’t daydreamed about anyone since high school. Every time she saw him, she felt that same pull, that same desire for something to happen between them.

Now something was happening, and it was not at all what she’d imagined. Almost unconsciously, she clamped her thighs together, wishing she wasn’t abruptly aware that every breath she took made her shirt slide over nipples that were suddenly sensitive even through her bra. She made herself look away from him, trying to get her grounding. Trying to think sensibly. Trying to regain her self-control.

As soon as she looked away, his arms dropped from her. The loss of his touch was almost enough to draw an incautious protest from her. She bit it back. There were more important things. This man had just told her she might be in danger. She couldn’t afford to lose sight of that.

“This is hard to take in,” she said after a minute.

“It’s not the usual way of looking at things,” he admitted. “And I could be wrong about you being in any danger. God willing, I am. I just don’t want to risk it.”

That was reasonable, she supposed. She tried to shake off the feeling that the deepening shadows around her might hold a threat. God, she wasn’t used to thinking this way. Life had dealt her its blows right out in the open.

And now here she was, putting in place the first building blocks of a future, and some guy came virtually out of nowhere to tell her that she might wind up like Ray? All because she had glimpsed something in the truck-stop parking lot?

Deal!
Her brain almost barked the order at her, and she stiffened. If she could say nothing else about herself, if there was one thing she knew about herself for certain, it was that she dealt with life’s curveballs. All of them.

She sat up straighter, drew a breath and thought,
All right. This is how it is.
Now what was she to do about it?

There was one thing she knew instantly, of course. “Well, you’ve successfully made me afraid to go home alone.”

“I’m sorry. Like I said, I’m not sure you’re at risk. But equally, I can’t be sure you’re not. You saw something that nobody was supposed to see. You saw the driver of the other truck, right?”

“Yes. He came in for coffee, too.”

“And you saw the transfer of cargo.”

“I
think
I did. It’s not easy to see that parking lot clearly from inside the restaurant at night.”

“But you mentioned it. Others may have mentioned it after they heard what you told the police. Regardless, if I was that other driver, I’d be feeling a bit edgy. You could identify him. Maybe you could describe his truck. He might lie low and wait, but then again, killing Ray seems awfully stupid to me. If you want a quiet operation, you don’t draw attention to it by murder.”

She looked straight at him. “Do you think Ray was killed because of
me?
” The thought made her heart quail.

“Actually, no. I suspect Ray had irritated them in some other way. Maybe by talking about coming into some money. Something made them think he was a liability. But again, that’s my guess. I’m not even going to be sure of that until I see the accident reports.”

“How will you do that?”

“I’m going to talk to the cops in a few days.”

He couldn’t have said anything more likely to make her believe he was exactly what he said he was. “Why would they talk to you?”

“Because I’m here on behalf of my company. And they’re going to do a background check on me and find out I used to be a cop just like them. They’ll talk.”

She nodded, believing it. Cops were a tight bunch.

“As for your apartment...if you don’t mind me knowing where you live, I’ll go home with you and check it out. Then I’ll leave and you can rest comfortably.”

She sat quietly, common sense battling with more primitive needs. She liked this man. She liked his attention, but what did she really know about him? She’d seen couple of IDs, but she had no way of knowing if they were real.

For all she knew, this was flimflam, and she didn’t have any means of checking it out. So...did she want him to know where she lived? Heck, the way he had glommed on to her might put him squarely on the side of the wrongdoers. If there
were
any wrongdoers. She couldn’t even know that for certain.

All she knew was that he seemed determined to frighten her and then set himself up as her savior. When she thought of it that way, her internal alerts started to go off.

“No, thanks,” she said, standing. “Don’t follow me.”

There were other ways of dealing with all of this, but none of them involved inviting Buck Devlin any further into her life. As for going home alone, she did that every night, and she’d never been afraid until this man had suggested it.

All of a sudden she didn’t like him.

Turning on her heel, she walked to the car, leaving him sitting on the bench behind her. Something smelled fishy, and when things smelled fishy it was best to stay away.

Chapter 3

B
uck watched Haley walk away, feeling something between frustration and genuine concern. He couldn’t blame her for her response. It
did
sound like something out of as movie, and something for which he was willing to bet life in this town hadn’t prepared her.

On the other hand, his life experience had taught him to be suspicious by nature. If things didn’t fit, if things weren’t orderly, then something was going on. Sometimes it wasn’t a big deal. All too frequently it had been. And noticing those out-of-kilter things had often been his biggest guide to solving a crime.

He’d come on this trip expecting to find out absolutely nothing at all. He’d figured it would be a while before he learned something about what was happening with those shipments, if he heard anything at all. Instead it had practically landed in his lap because of an observant waitress. Follow that with a dead driver who’d been seen doing something squirrelly with another truck, and his internal klaxon had become deafening.

But how did he explain that to someone else? Especially someone like Haley, who had no idea that long-haul trucks shouldn’t be trading loads in a truck stop in Nowhere, Wyoming, or that a driver might be killed because of it. Who wouldn’t even begin to understand the dimensions of shipments disappearing and reappearing.

It was an alien world to her.

Then, of course, he must seem like the next best thing to a drifter to her. Rootless, wandering, a total unknown who had just approached her with the wildest story imaginable. She was just being smart, by her lights.

Maybe she was right. Maybe nothing threatened her at all. Maybe he looked like a bigger threat than having half seen something through the window of the diner.

He’d certainly come on pretty strong and from somewhere out in the stratosphere, given the world she knew.

He sighed and rose, heading back to the motel. So, okay. He couldn’t ignore his instincts. He couldn’t be sure that Haley was at risk, but he couldn’t be sure that she wasn’t. That didn’t leave him any really good options, except to do his best to keep an eye on her from a distance without worrying her.

In the meantime, he had to wait a few days before he went to the local cops to get the result of their accident investigation. He wanted autopsy results. He wanted toxicology results. Those took time.

For now he just had to remain on alert for anything that seemed odd.

Like a very expensive funeral, paid for by an anonymous donor, for a guy who’d been bragging that he was about to come into some money.

As he was walking along quiet, darkening streets, he thought about that funeral. A large donation struck him as a bit obvious for someone who wanted a quiet operation.

But maybe it had bought some silence. Maybe the Listons were up to their necks in this.

If they were, he had to find out.

He realized as he strode the quiet, tree-lined streets that he’d resumed more than the mantle of his old job; he’d resumed its habits. As if he’d never let go of them, his vigilance heightened, his eyes scouring every shadow and cranny, his ears listening for anything unusual.

Tension ran along his nerve endings, more out of habit than real necessity at this point. No one other than his bosses had any idea why he was hanging out here, and to the casual observer it must appear he had his eye on Haley.

Well, hell, he did. Not that that was going anywhere, but he was an ordinary man and like any other guy he couldn’t avoid being attracted to a woman like her. He’d seen enough other truckers noticing her in the same way.

He wondered if he should have just kept his mouth shut, left Haley out of his suspicions, made himself a bit obnoxious by seeming to be interested in her without telling her why. It would have been an easy enough role to play.

But he didn’t want to scare her by acting like a stalker, although maybe that’s what he had done anyway.

Losing his touch, he thought. Or maybe it was one he’d never really had. Dealing with soldiers was a whole different ball game, requiring a very different approach. His touch with women hadn’t won him any high marks, either.

As he neared the motel, though, he knew the game was about to change, for good or ill. There was a squad car parked near his unit, lights off, motor off, and occupied by a large deputy.

He took care to make some noise, make his approach overt. He’d never taken kindly himself to someone coming upon him without warning.

As he neared the car, the big deputy he’d seen the night before last climbed out. “Got a minute?” the big man asked as Buck neared.

“Sure. Want to come inside or talk out here?”

“Inside. A little privacy is a good thing.”

“That seems to be a major concern around here.” Buck pulled out his key and threw the door open, flipping on the lights. He was careful to step inside, keeping his hands in the open, then stand away from any possible weapon and wait.

The deputy looked around, taking in the duffel, the freshly made bed, the absence of any other personal belongings.

Then he regarded Buck from head to foot, as if measuring him. Buck returned the look. Some things were second nature. The deputy might have a few pounds on him, and an inch or two in height, but at thirty-four he had at least a couple of decades on the deputy. He noted, though, that the man hadn’t felt the need to unsnap the holster on the nine-millimeter pistol hanging from his utility belt. For the moment, this was a friendly visit.

The big man stuck out his head. “Micah Parish.”

Buck shook it. “Buck Devlin.”

“Mind if I sit?”

“Help yourself.” Since there was only one chair, Parish took it and Buck settled on the edge of the bed.

“We’re a friendly town, Mr. Devlin,” Parish said.

“I get that feeling.”

“Not many folks around. We kinda keep an eye on each other.”

Buck figured he knew where this was leading, but he didn’t try to head it off. Let the man have his say.

“Someone said you seemed to be having a bit of a disagreement with Haley Martin outside the funeral home.”

“It probably looked that way.”

Micah’s eyebrow lifted. “So what way was it?”

“I was trying to explain something to her.”

“Is that what she would tell me?”

“I honestly don’t know what she would tell you at this point. I’m fairly certain she thinks I’m a nut or a liar right now.”

One corner of Micah’s mouth hitched up, but it wasn’t with humor. “Would she be right?”

“By her lights.”

Micah’s mouth tightened into a straight line. “Quit fencing with me unless you want to be escorted out of town in the next hour.”

Buck hesitated. It went against the grain to let anybody in on his investigations before he was ready, but he decided to let the cat out and see where it went.

“Wallet,” he said, so Micah wouldn’t think he was reaching for a weapon, then dug into his pocket. He drew out both his IDs and turned them over.

Micah scanned them. “So you’re a truck driver and disabled vet. Neither one is necessarily a recommendation.”

“No. But maybe Army Third Military Police Group, Tenth Battalion will help.”

Micah’s brow furrowed, his dark eyes searching Buck’s face. “Tenth Battalion. Criminal investigation division. I know what you guys do. The only question is what you’re doing here. This card says you’re medically retired.”

“I am. My boss asked me to look into something for him. My misfortune to be the only former MP he has working for him.”

Micah tapped the two laminated cards against his knee. “Mind if I keep these for a few hours? I want to run a background.”

“Help yourself.”

Micah slipped the IDs into his breast pocket. “Tell me what you think is going on in my town and just how Haley fits in. That girl’s had enough trouble in her life. You bringing her more?”

“Actually, I’m suffering from a white-knight complex. I’m hoping to keep her from getting into more trouble.”

“That’s not helpful, Mr. Devlin. Is there some reason you don’t want to talk to me?”

“How about that I don’t know who is involved?”

Micah stiffened at that. “Maybe you should come to the office with me. I think our sheriff might want to talk to you, too.”

Buck rose to his feet. “Let’s go. I’d like to meet your sheriff. Then maybe you two can tell me enough about yourselves that I know I can trust
you
.”

Micah’s frown deepened. “You’ll ride in the cage,” he said flatly.

“Fine by me. I’d rather look like a criminal than your cohort right now.”

Micah wasn’t exactly gentle as he put Buck in the back of his vehicle. Which was fine by Buck.

If anybody was paying attention, and they might be since his hanging out here was apparently suspicious enough to garner legal attention, they’d think he was in trouble.

Right then, that’s just how he wanted it.

* * *

Miles away, in a living room that looked ancient in every way, Mr. and Mrs. Liston sat in their usual chairs, hands linked, still wearing their best clothes. Mrs. Liston was crying quietly, but her husband looked almost empty.

Across from them sat their eldest son, Jim. He had arrived only a few hours ago from Los Angeles. Until just a few months ago, he’d pretty much disappeared from their lives, much as Ray had, and they couldn’t understand it. But at least he was coming home again. For the past half year or so they’d seen him every few weeks. In a way they were grateful to him, because he’d helped Ray find that trucking job.

But now Ray was dead.

“I’m so sorry,” he said yet again. He sat there looking fine in his expensive clothes, and the corners of his mouth drooped.

“We’re all sorry, son,” Mrs. Liston finally said. “You know your brother was a good boy.”

“I know. We kept in touch, obviously. But you say the cops are asking about drugs?”

Both the elder Listons nodded.

“It was just a terrible accident,” Jim said soothingly. “Ray hadn’t been driving that long. I’m sure that’s what they’ll find out.”

Mr. Liston spoke. “He didn’t do no drugs. I know that much. And that Martin girl said the same thing.”

“What Martin girl?”

“Haley Martin. Works at the truck stop. She saw Ray just before...she said he was fine. Just fine. She don’t believe it was no drugs, either.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t,” Jim said firmly. “I’m positive. Ray wouldn’t do that.”

“No,” Mr. Liston agreed. “No. Not my boy.”

Mrs. Liston wiped away her tears. “I’m gonna go get in my nightclothes. Then I’ll make us all some Ovaltine.” It had always been her soothing solution to everything. No one disagreed with her. Her husband went with her to change clothes.

Jim sat where he was, then as soon as he heard them reach their bedroom, he stepped outside and pulled out his cell phone. The signal was almost nonexistent, but he got through. The call was brief; he said very little.

But he did mention Haley Martin.

* * *

The sheriff’s office was located in a storefront on a corner across the street from the courthouse square, a bit of eastern charm transplanted to the West. Inside, the dispatcher’s desk was surrounded by other desks apparently for use by deputies. Each desk boasted a relatively new computer, all of which looked out of place on desks that were at least thirty years old, maybe older. Wooden floors creaked with every step.

A young deputy sat at the dispatcher’s desk, sipping coffee and looking bored behind a console that would have done a big-city operation proud.

Micah pointed Buck to a chair next to one of the desks. “Wait there.” Then he crossed to the dispatcher.

“Get Gage in here. I need him. Then run these IDs.” He pulled out Buck’s IDs and tossed them on the dispatcher’s desk. “I want everything you can find, and then you’re going to forget all of this unless I say otherwise.”

Evidently, Buck thought with mild amusement, gossip could be a problem in this office, too.

“Who made the coffee?” Micah asked.

“I did,” answered the young deputy, whose name tag said he was Rankin. “It’s not lethal.”

Micah glanced at Buck. “Coffee?”

“Black, please.” Evidently they hadn’t gotten past being courteous, always a good sign.

Micah brought two mugs over to the desk, handing one to Buck. “Getting decent coffee around here is a trial. Our day dispatcher, Velma, turns it into battery acid. Nobody has the heart to tell her to stop making it.”

“I’m used to stuff you can stand a spoon in.”

“Then you might like Velma’s brew.”

Silence fell. A call had been put out, but then the radio grew quiet. The only sound was Rankin tapping busily away, looking into Buck’s background.

“Do you really need a night shift around here?” Buck asked eventually. Not that he was opposed to silence, but a little friendly conversation seemed in order. He wanted these guys to cooperate, if possible, but at the very least not to get into his way. Unless they turned out to be part of the problem.

“We have roadhouses,” Micah said, as if that explained it all. It probably did. “You must have broken up a few drunken brawls in your day.”

“Plenty.”

“Cowboys coming in off the range are pretty much like soldiers on a pass. These days, cowboys aren’t often on the range.”

“Times are bad everywhere.”

Micah nodded. “Not getting any better, either. Too many folks trying to drown their sorrows.”

The sheriff arrived in about fifteen minutes. A man who appeared to be somewhere in his late fifties, with a burn-scarred face and visible limp, entered the office wearing a light jacket, jeans and his badge clipped to his belt.

He paused, looked at Buck. “What’s up?”

“Well, that’s what I’m trying to find out,” Micah said. “Got a complaint from someone that this guy seemed to be bothering Haley Martin. According to him he wasn’t bothering her.”

“Have you talked to Haley?”

“Not until I figure out what’s going on here. Rankin’s pulling his background right now.”

“And you needed me for?”

“Well, I thought you and me together in a quiet office might get a little further. I get the feeling there’s something we need to know.”