In Too Deep Page 23

  “Mom …” He struggled upward, shocked.

  “Don’t trust him. Don’t let him hurt you. I can’t— see him. Do you understand?” she asked shakily, on the verge of tears.

  “Maybe … maybe he didn’t mean to,” Rawley struggled, unable to hear anything bad about the father who’d suddenly reentered into his life. “Are you sure?” he asked in a pleading voice.

  She gazed at him. He couldn’t grasp it. He wouldn’t. She didn’t know what to say. She was no psychologist and she was dealing with tricky issues. Drawing a breath, she said in an uneven voice, “I’m going to the store. I’ll be back in a little while.”

  “Mom …”

  “I’m too tired to talk about it anymore,” she said, and she headed out to the Volvo.

  Rawley’s defection hurt. Really, really hurt. There was no way Jenny could be that big and brave about it. He was fifteen. A kid. And he wanted a dad more than anything else, something she hadn’t really known but maybe could have guessed. But he seemed determined to ignore the truth— even the truth about what Troy had done to her! She hadn’t thought she could be more upset about everything, but she’d learned the hard way that there were many, many levels of emotional pain. Children could wound you without a thought.

  And wasn’t it enough just to have Troy back in her life? Wasn’t that enough penance for keeping the truth from him?

  She finished grocery shopping and got back to the condo, where she looked inside the bags and almost wondered if she’d picked up someone else’s purchases by mistake. She had no recollection of buying the items inside.

  “Mom?” Rawley stood at the end of the hall. He wore a baseball cap which shadowed his face. “I called him back. I told him what you said.”

  “You called Troy?” Jenny leaned her arms on the counter, needing the support.

  “He said it was a mistake. He said he told you he was sorry. That you guys were arguing and then he pushed you, or you pushed him, or something …” He shoved his hands in his pockets and tucked his shoulders in tight. “Is that about right? I mean, is that the way you remember it?”

  He glanced up at her, so anxious and afraid that Jenny scarcely knew how to respond.

  “He said he’s still sorry,” Rawley added. “He wants things to be right between you again.”

  “Sometimes you can’t go back,” Jenny tried, skirting the issue. Rawley was too hopeful and idealistic to listen to the truth about his father. And she knew only too well how Troy could manipulate people and point the blame in all directions. “There are just too many problems between us.”

  “Well, maybe, not yet…”

  “Rawley, not ever,” she said softly.

  He opened his mouth to say something else when the doorbell rang, a loud buzzing that startled them both. Jenny hurried to look through the peephole, then felt a rush of relief and excitement to see Hunter on the porch. She threw open the door and might actually have flung herself into his arms if Benny hadn’t wriggled through and started barking wildly.

  “Benny!” Rawley’s jaw slackened. He knelt down and grabbed the dog’s silky head, to which Benny began sloppily licking him and panting and furiously wagging his tail. “What is he doing here?”

  “Surprise!” Jenny shrugged, smiling, watching her son hug the dog and feeling like her heart might break in two. “It was Janice’s suggestion and Brandon agreed. He thought you could use a friend.”

  Rawley wouldn’t lift his head. His cheek lay against Benny’s collar. Benny kept trying to squirm around and lick his face.

  Hunter gazed at the boy and the dog. Benny had whined and thumped his tail and fretted during the ride, but bringing him to Santa Fe had been Jenny’s one request. Now, seeing them together, Hunter was glad to have played some part in their reunion.

  “Thank you,” Jenny said sincerely.

  “I might have to get myself a dog,” Hunter responded.

  Coming to himself, Rawley cleared his throat. He couldn’t look Hunter in the eye. “Thanks for bringing him,” he managed.

  “My pleasure.”

  Rawley tipped his chin, eyeing Hunter warily. He clearly wanted to ask what Hunter’s role was in Jenny’s life, but it had been a pretty emotional morning already and he let the moment pass.

  Jenny wanted to tell Hunter all about her trouble with her son. She wanted to confide in him, trust him, have him as a close friend. But all she could think about when she saw his lean hips and long legs and wide shoulders was making love to him again, and so she said a trifle breathlessly, “Breakfast? I got groceries this morning.”

  Rawley looked up, his eyes registering dismay. Hunter gazed at Jenny, his thoughts traveling the same paths hers were. He shook his head. “I’m going to talk to my old boss. Think I need to get a job.”

  “The Santa Fe police?”

  “Maybe.”

  Rawley gave him a hard, long look. “You’re a cop?”

  “Was. Expect I will be again,” Hunter drawled. “Ortega predicted as much.”

  “Ortega?” Jenny asked.

  “Sergeant Ortega. I thought I’d drop Benny by on my way.”

  Rawley’s interest was piqued in spite of himself. “You’re going there now? To the police station?”

  Hunter eyed him thoughtfully. “Would you like to come with me?”

  Rawley took a step back. He was so easy to read that it melted Jenny’s heart. And she wanted to kiss Hunter for picking up the vibes and going with the moment. “Go,” she told Rawley. “When you get back, we’ll have lunch. It’s too late for breakfast anyway.”

  “What about Benny?”

  “He can stay here with me,” Jenny said, looking in one of her grocery bags. “I did manage to pick up dog food, I see. The brain is a mysterious organ.”

  Rawley gave his mom a quizzical look, threw a glance at Benny, hesitated for just a moment, then barreled through the door. Hunter winked at Jenny, then followed after her son.

  The heat from that look and the memories it invoked caused Jenny to lean against the counter and blow her bangs out of her face with a weak, “Whew!”

  She wished she’d known what real passion was when she was younger. If she’d known what she was looking for, she might not have made the mistake of marrying Troy Russell.

  “What a mistake,” she said aloud, as she returned to the task at hand.

  Thirty thousand dollars had once seemed like a lot of money. Now it was chickenfeed. Holloway had actually managed to give it to him in hundreds. It had been a nice, fat envelope and Troy had gone right out and bought himself a car. They’d hassled him about financing, so he’d just plunked down twenty thousand and settled for a used green Explorer, which kinda stuck in his craw. He’d seen himself driving a white Lexus with gold trim. The Explorer was fine, but there was a ding in the right fender and the black paint didn’t quite match over one wheel well. Still, it was better than his piece-of-crap rental.

  Next, he’d ordered up a cell phone. God, he hated those salesmen! All dumb as horsemeat, although he’d let them talk him into a program that included free long distance. Might as well keep Jenny within free calling range.

  Now, he chuckled as he cruised along the freeway that crossed Texas. Good old 10. He knew it well. You could take 10 all the way across the land. It started in Santa Monica and just kept right on going. He’d have to head northward in New Mexico to reach Santa Fe, but he loved the drive.

  “Hey, baby,” he said, stroking the dashboard and chuckling some more. He felt kinda horny. It had been a while since Dana and he really wanted to feel some female flesh. He’d flirted around with a gal in a bar last night. Not some dumb shit-kicker place like that country western bar. No, this place had been upscale Houston all the way. A sudden cold snap had brought the women out in furs and the men in suits. Sure, some of the losers wore those western shirts with the slit pockets all embroidered with little arrows on the edges. Bunch of yahoos who thought they were cowboys.

  But everyone in there smelled of mo
ney and success. He’d cozied up to a lady in a cool white gown, her mink slung carelessly over her shoulders. No Texas accent for her. She was pure East coast and about as frigid as a Nor’easter. He’d watched the diamonds at her neck wink in the light from a series of votive candles. All he could think about was sticking his dick between her dark lips—some ugly new kind of lipstick that looked almost purple. But what a turn-on. She’d smelled like sex, too.

  But she hadn’t been alone. Just as soon as Troy turned on the charm, up came her husband. Football player size. Looking down at Troy from beneath the brim of the biggest, ugliest cowboy hat he’d ever seen.

  “Y’want somethin’, friend?” he inquired in a nasty drawl and a smile that said he could read Troy’s dirty mind. He was sweating like a hog.

  Troy shrugged. “You’re a lucky man, sir.”

  The guy’s grin widened. “Yes, I am,” he said, sliding an arm around the ice princess. She didn’t look any too happy about it. Married him for his money, Troy guessed. Well, he could hardly fault her. The guy looked as if he had truckloads of it. Still, he’d probably smeared his sweat all over her fancy dress.

  They moved away from Troy, but Mr. Football Player left his jacket on the stool. Troy casually hooked it, took it into the bathroom, then checked the pockets for money. He was disappointed to find nothing but a couple of matchbooks and business cards. He threw the coat onto the urinal. He would have left it there but a memory of Val intruded, and he recalled the letterman’s jacket she’d worn over her shoulders. He could picture this burly monster lovingly dropping his coat over the ice princess’s smooth, white shoulders. With cold precision Troy proceeded to masturbate for all he was worth, letting his semen spew onto the cashmere coat.

  He left moments later and laughed all the way back to his hotel. No fleabag joint for him anymore. Nothing but the best now, thanks to Allen Holloway, the soul of generosity.

  Settling into the seat, Troy tried to put his horniness on hold. He really needed more than his own right hand to take care of the problem, but it was best he left Houston as soon as possible. He had a few thousand left and nothing but time to kill.

  “Oh, Jenny,” he sang softly. “Get ready, ‘cause here I come!”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Hunter tried out the chair at his desk. It squeaked protestingly as he leaned into its hard back. He was mildly irritated to realize someone had his chair for one of their own. The substation wasn’t huge—and it wasn’t far away from the main offices of the Santa Fe Police Department. There were only a handful of employees here. Hunter couldn’t rightly complain, however, since he hadn’t completely committed to the job yet. He’d fully intended to, when he and Rawley stopped by the station two days earlier, but thinking about Troy Russell had made him want to stay a free agent, at least until that situation was resolved one way or another.

  Ortega, aware that Hunter was sitting at his old desk, came to stand in the doorway. The man had a way of bristling even when he was standing still. “So?” he demanded.

  “What are these files doing here?” Hunter pointed to the pile dumped in the center of his desk. “Have you been saving them for me?”

  “Of course I have! You think I trust anyone else to do your job?”

  Hunter drew an exasperated breath. He experienced a sense of stepping into quicksand. Hadn’t he escaped this job because of burnout?

  “It’s raining,” Ortega added darkly. “I expect we’ll see your smelly friend again.”

  Hunter almost smiled. Obie Loggerfield was sure to find his way to the station and camp out on the steps.

  “What are you grinning about?” Ortega demanded. “You can damn well drive him into the next county. Just keep him away from me.”

  Hunter’s smile turned into an out-and-out grin. Ortega snorted with disgust. Picking up the top file, Hunter examined the case. A rather suspicious death. The wife claimed she’d thought her husband was an intruder and she’d shot him six times, killing him with the second bullet.

  “Thought you might talk to Annie Oakley,” Ortega said, inclining his head toward the file Hunter held.

  “What’s that file over there?” Hunter jerked his head toward the empty desk at the other side of the room.

  “You want it?” Ortega demanded.

  Hunter gave Ortega a long look. He knew how irascible the man was. He also knew he generally had a good reason to be. He wanted Hunter on these cases even if he wasn’t yet officially a full-time employee. He wanted to whet Hunter’s appetite and get a fresh take on the crime at the same time.

  Ortega grabbed the extra file and tossed it on Hunter’s desk, smiling evilly to himself. Hunter knew he’d led with his chin even before he read the account of the UFO that had landed outside of Santa Fe and whose alien occupants had taken over the brain of the person reporting the crime. Apparently there was a question of whether the said person was responsible for igniting the gas tank of his neighbor’s pick-up-camper combo, and inadvertently injuring the man’s milk cow who was standing nearby in the process. A psychiatrist’s report was underway.

  “Sounds like the police work’s done on that one,” Hunter observed.

  “That’s why it’s on the other desk. It’s a civil case. The D.A. isn’t interested in it. Let the insurance companies haggle it out” He chortled to himself, obviously enjoying running Hunter around in circles.

  Ignoring Ortega, Hunter read the particulars on the trigger-happy wife. Her small ranch lay east of town, near the banks of the Santa Fe River, a nearly dry waterbed that was an extension of the Rio Grande. Santa Fe’s water was drying up at an alarming rate as people moved to the city in droves. A headache for the city leaders that wasn’t going to go away.

  Picking up the file, he headed for the door. Ortega scowled at him from his office.

  “If that stinking bum shows up here, I’m calling you!”

  “He actually has a permanent place. In the foothills of the Sangre de Cristos.”

  “Fine. You can take him there!”

  In his Jeep, Hunter swung out of town and down Canyon Road. He’d chosen this case because he could stop by Geneva’s on the way. He parked about a block away. It was late afternoon and the lunch crowd was still dawdling as Hunter entered the restaurant Geneva’s had been open a week and its clientele was growing fast. He’d heard people on the street talk about it, and it made him feel proud by association.

  True, he wasn’t strictly in Jenny’s life anymore. She was busy with work and wasn’t interested in having him disrupt her frenetic life. Still, he’d taken to stopping in the restaurant in the afternoons and he hadn’t missed the lightening of her expression when she saw him. She generally managed to say a few words while he drank a cup of coffee at the bar.

  And sometimes Rawley, who bussed tables after school, managed a terse hello. This was the extent of their communication, but it was an improvement from the overt hostility he’d first experienced. Ever since Hunter had taken Rawley with him to the station, and Ortega had demanded, “Who’s the skinny kid?”, shooting Rawley a suspicious look as if he were sure the teenager were a juvenile delinquent, Hunter had somehow shot up in Rawley’s estimation. Apparently the kid loved the whole law enforcement idea. And though he wasn’t keen on Hunter himself, he was willing to put up with him in order to hang around the police station. Ortega hadn’t warmed up to Rawley, but Ortega never warmed up to anyone. And Rawley seemed to embrace the challenge.

  It was about all Hunter could hope for at the moment. And though he didn’t know where he stood with Jenny, he knew she was relieved and happy that Rawley had some kind of direction—and that direction did not include Troy Russell.

  Walking into the restaurant, Hunter spied Rawley clearing off a table. The kid did resemble Russell. Hunter hadn’t seen Troy since that time after Michelle’s death, but he remembered everything. It was surprising, really, that Russell had managed to sneak into Jenny’s apartment and see Rawley without either Jenny or him noticing. Jenny believed Ra
wley had called his father when she was gone. Hunter suspected that was true as well, and it was troubling to think Rawley was so completely entranced by his father.

  God knew what was on Russell’s mind. Hunter suspected it was nothing good.

  “Hey,” Rawley said, glancing up as he carried a tray of glassware from one of the tables to the kitchen bar.

  “I’m heading out on a call.”

  “Can I go with you?” he asked swiftly.

  Hunter shook his head apologetically. The woman I’m interviewing plugged her husband with six bullets as he came into the house through a window. She said it was a mistake, though.”

  Rawley’s eyes widened with interest. “She kill him?”

  Hunter nodded. “Yeah, but the D.A.’s stalling. Not enough evidence to get her on a murder charge. Ortega wants me to interview her and see what I think. As a favor to the department,” he added with an ironic smile.

  “Sounds dangerous.”

  “Hard to tell until I see her.”

  Jenny came out of the backroom, leafing through a sheaf of papers. She looked up and smiled in a way that made Hunter’s chest feel tight. Rawley’s brows came together and his momentary connection with Hunter ended as he grabbed another tray and headed to another table.

  “All’s well,” she told him.

  “Good.”

  “Want a cup of coffee?”

  “No, thanks.”

  They were like two strangers who didn’t quite know how to be friends. To hell with that, Hunter thought. He didn’t have to examine his feelings too closely to know that he wanted a hell of a lot more than friendship.

  “I’ve had to reassess a few things,” he told her.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re the hardest-working heiress I’ve ever met.”

  “That’s a rare compliment coming from you,” she said, lifting one brow.

  He liked her this way. Happy and relaxed and involved in her restaurant. He hated thinking Troy Russell was out there waiting to spoil it.