In Too Deep Page 24

  Hunter could last a long time in this pleasant limbo. Still, he hoped things would change all the same. Waving good-bye, he headed back outside.

  “Wait!”

  He turned around slowly. She held the papers close to her breast. “I’m leaving early tonight for the first time since we opened. I was wondering—would you be interested in stopping by? Tonight?”

  He gazed at her anxious face. “I guess that depends on what for,” he drawled.

  “Dinner? Magda and Phil are coming over.”

  Disappointment swept through him, but he hid his feelings. “You work in a restaurant all day and you still make dinner for guests?”

  “Are you kidding? I bring food home. And Magda’s making drinks.”

  “I’ll try,” he said, and he saw disappointment on her face. “I’ve got a few things to do,” he added. “Work related.”

  “Oh, okay. Whatever.”

  “All I’m saying, is I might be late.”

  “We’ll wait,” she said brightly.

  Arms loaded with sacks of food, Jenny could barely get the key in the lock, then nearly toppled one sack as she twisted the handle. She hurried inside and dropped her bags on the counter with a sigh of relief and Rawley followed with a couple more. Too much food, but then Gloria had practically had a fit when she learned Jenny was planning to take home only a few of her dishes. She had prepared them herself and demanded that Jenny and her friends sample everything.

  “She’s a nutcase,” Rawley observed on the ride home from the restaurant.

  “She’s a genius.”

  “Same thing.”

  Now, as Jenny pulled out white takeout containers filled with enough mouth-watering food to feed a small army, she had to admit Rawley was right. “We’ll make Magda and Phil take some of this with them.”

  “We’ll be eating it till next week!” Rawley said, unwrapping a box and looking longingly at a steaming pile of tamales wrapped in corn husks.

  “Don’t think about it.”

  “We’re never going to eat it all. I might as well start.”

  “Uh-uh. I invited Hunter to join us, too. He’s going to be late, and I realize he won’t be able to eat that much of it, either,” she added lightly, “but at least he’ll help make a dent.”

  Rawley pulled out another takeout container and stacked it on two others. He didn’t reply.

  “I’ve got to figure out how to keep all this warm,” Jenny rattled on. “They should be here in fifteen minutes, five if Magda’s driving.” When Rawley emptied the sack and walked out of the room, Jenny said loudly, “You like going with him to the police station.”

  “I like Sergeant Ortega,” Rawley corrected shortly.

  “All right,” she conceded. “What don’t you like about Hunter, besides the fact that he’s a friend of mine?”

  Rawley disappeared into his room, again without answering. Jenny gathered up the empty sacks and tried not to mind too much. It wasn’t as if she was doing anything with Hunter these days. And where did Rawley get off, anyway?

  When the phone rang, she grabbed for it before Rawley could pick up the extension. Too late. She heard him answer, “Hello?” in that eager tone he’d adopted since Troy had reentered their lives.

  “Rawley?” Allen Holloway asked.

  “Oh. Mom’s on the phone.” He clicked off.

  “Jenny?”

  “Hi,” she said.

  “I was at your restaurant.”

  “Geneva’s?” she asked blankly.

  “I came to see you,” he said, growing impatient. “I flew to Albuquerque and picked up a rental car. There are some things I want to talk over with you.”

  Unprecedented. Her father had rarely come across town to her apartment in Houston, and now he’d flown to Albuquerque and driven the sixty miles to Santa Fe? She drew a breath. The vision of having him here with Magda, Phil, and then Hunter wasn’t a pretty one. Her father could alienate the most stalwart friend in thirty minutes or less.

  “I’m busy tonight,” she told him.

  “What? You’re not at work.”

  “I’m having guests for dinner.”

  He sounded taken aback. A moment later, he asked in disbelief, “Are you still involved with Calgary?”

  “No. I’m not.” She was firm. And mad.

  “Then who’s coming to dinner?”

  “Magda and Phil Montgomery.”

  “What about Calgary?”

  “What do you mean?” Jenny asked cautiously.

  “Have you seen him? Is he protecting you?”

  “It sounded like you were upset a moment ago when you thought I was involved with him.”

  “He’s a burnout, Jenny. A good officer, I understand, and a decent bodyguard, but he’s got a screw loose over his sister’s death.”

  “His sister died a violent death?”

  “Yes!” Allen declared vehemently. “And we know who to blame, don’t we?”

  “Well, for Pete’s sake. You’re not blaming Hunter, are you?” She was more exasperated than angry.

  Allen made a frustrated sound. “No, I’m blaming Troy Russell,” he said through his teeth. “In that Calgary and I totally agree. Evidence, or no evidence, he pushed her off the roof. Look, I know he’s been obsessed about it. That’s why I wanted him to protect you. I figured he was the best man for the job, and we both wanted the same thing. I didn’t count on you falling for him,” he added in disgust. “I don’t want Troy near you and Rawley, but I don’t want you jumping into another marriage in the future, either! All right. I’m at your gate. Buzz me through.”

  Jenny hung up like an automaton, depressing the button that activated the gate. She sat down on a chair in the living room and sat in the dark. Stars were thick in the sky outside and a silvery moon cast elongated blocks of light across the carpet.

  Troy had killed Hunter’s sister?

  She was still sitting in silence when Allen knocked on the door. Rawley, curious, came from his room to see who had arrived. He gave Jenny a strange look as he opened the door for his grandfather.

  “You sure need to learn some manners on the phone,” Allen scolded him. “Remember who’s funding your account,” he added with an attempt at humor that fell utterly flat.

  “Mom?” Rawley asked.

  Allen frowned at her as she rose to her feet.

  Troy had killed Michelle Calgary ? How come Hunter had never told her?

  “Mom?” Rawley repeated tensely.

  She managed a watery smile, wondering how in God’s name she was going to get through the rest of the evening.

  The tale Hunter heard left him feeling sure Ortega had sent him out on this mission just so he could snicker. The woman in question, Bambi de la Croix—her professional name, although she didn’t really want to admit that stripping was her profession—was as tired and worn as the flannel shirt he wore to do work around the ranch. She swore “on a stack of Bibles it was God’s honest truth” that she had not known it was her husband who’d been sneaking in the window. When asked why she shot him so many times, she said he just kept on coming, so she kept on shooting.

  “He should’ve come through the front door,” she said, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. “He knew I had that pistol and that I was scared.”

  “But you’d locked the front door,” Hunter reminded her.

  “Well, he was supposed to have his key,” she declared in consternation, as if she’d nagged him about this detail forever. “And I was scared about that guy from the club that kept following me. You know what it’s like to have someone stalking you, detective? No. Of course you don’t. Well, it’s real, real scary, let me tell you. And he was a real sicko. I don’t give out favors, if you know what I mean, but he kept trying to touch me.”

  Bambi’s face was a study in anger. Hunter thought about stalkers and obsession.

  “I didn’t dial 911 because I don’t have a phone,” she added, anticipating the question. “I told the police this already an
d my lawyer. I’m not changing my story ‘cause it’s the truth.”

  Troy Russell couldn’t be accused of stalking—yet. And the money Allen Holloway had turned over wasn’t blackmail. The burglary hadn’t been traced to him, although neither he nor Jenny believed for a minute that he’d happened to show up at the time of the breakin for a visit and had been worried for Jenny’s safety. Maybe I could book him on robbery, Hunter mused. Troy had taken Rawley’s passport.

  “It was an accident, detective,” Bambi said, bringing Hunter back to the present. “I loved my husband. Everybody knows that.”

  Hunter nodded. There were reports by the neighbors of amorous foreplay in the front yard a time or two.

  “I miss him,” she added. “It’s not the same, is it? When the person you love is gone. You got anyone special, detective?”

  Jenny was special. But she wasn’t his. “Has the man who was bothering you tried to reach you again?”

  She shook her head. “Guess he figured out I’m a little too handy with a gun. I still keep one loaded, you know. Just in case.” Her lips quivered a bit and she reached for a pack of cigarettes, holding it out for Hunter. He shook his head and she lit up. “But now my Bobby’s gone,” she said sorrowfully, exhaling a stream of blue smoke and looking as miserable as she purported to feel. “What’s left?”

  Hunter left feeling unsettled. Either she was telling the truth or she was a hell of an actress. Having met her, he was leaning toward the former.

  His thoughts turned to Troy Russell—a man on the way to being a stalker as well.

  What are you thinking, Russell? What do you want? I’m going to bring you down if it’s the last thing I do. Stay away from Jenny, you bastard.

  As he pulled into town the rain worsened, turning into an out-and-out downpour. He made the mistake of calling in from a pay phone, just as if he really worked for the police department. Asking for Ortega compounded his mistake. Before he could say one word about Bambi, Ortega practically broke his eardrum when he shouted, “Get this stinking drunk outta here. There are no dry cells in my jail!”

  Obie, apparently, had arrived in Santa Fe.

  He could have told Ortega it was not his job. He could have said a lot of things. Instead, he decided Obie probably needed a lift, and a water-repellent tarp, and a decent meal. “Gotta make a stop first,” he said, realizing he was going to miss Jenny’s dinner after all.

  Hurrying through the rain, he took the steps to Jenny’s front porch two at a time. He rang the bell and waited, hunched into his leather jacket. It was Rawley who answered the door. “Hi,” Hunter said.

  Rawley’s face was a study in conflicting emotions. He held open the door without a word. Benny woofed lightly at Hunter and wagged his tail, and Hunter gave the dog a hard pat on the side which delighted the mutt.

  Then he saw Jenny, looking very serious and standing in the center of the living room. Her hands were tucked into the opposite arms of a long-sleeved pink sweater. She glanced to one side and Hunter saw a man’s sharply creased trouser leg.

  He pushed into the condo so fast he nearly tripped Benny. Whatever expression showed on his face took Allen Holloway aback. The older man seemed to shrink himself into his chair.

  “Sorry,” Hunter snapped. He’d thought it was Troy. An adrenaline rush ran through his veins and made his heart race.

  “I don’t appreciate you seeing my daughter,” Holloway grumbled, smoothing his pants leg in an effort to regain his composure. He gave Rawley a meaningful look. “Son, I’ve got to talk to Mr. Calgary man-to-man. You understand.”

  “Allen,” Jenny lay a hand against her cheek. Her skin was unnaturally pale.

  “So, I should go to my room, right?” Rawley tossed out insolently.

  “Are you all right?” Hunter asked Jenny, worried.

  She swallowed in lieu of an answer, and Allen declared, “She’s not your concern any longer!”

  “Would you like—a drink?” she managed.

  “I can’t stay,” Hunter said, wondering what Allen had said to her. Clearly something had gone on before he arrived. “I’ve got to go to the station and run an errand.”

  “Back with the police?” Allen asked.

  “Not completely.” He gave Jenny a lingering glance. Her gaze seemed unfocused, as if she were looking at something far away.

  “What kind of errand?” Rawley asked, giving his grandfather a resentful look that Allen didn’t quite see.

  “Relocation project.” Rawley was gazing down at his toes, refusing to move. After a moment Hunter invited, “Want to help me?”

  “Can I?” Rawley glanced at his mom.

  Jenny momentarily surfaced. She pressed her lips together, then said, “Sure,” in an unnatural voice.

  “You’re certain you’re all right?” Hunter asked with real concern. What the hell was going on?

  “So, you don’t want the brandy?” she countered.

  He shook his head slowly. Something had transpired between Allen and Jenny, something that involved Troy, he was sure of it. He wanted to demand that they tell him what was up, but Rawley was waiting expectantly by his side. “We’ll be back in a couple of hours,” Hunter said tautly. “Sorry about dinner.”

  Jenny nodded.

  “Take the dog,” Allen suggested in a tone that made it an order.

  Benny hadn’t exactly been waiting for Allen’s permission. He wriggled between Rawley and Hunter at the door and splashed out into the dark, wet night.

  The nightclub was off Cerrillos Road on the southwest side of Santa Fe. It wasn’t the fanciest spot, but at least it wasn’t a topless, jiggle-it-all, wave your near-naked ass in a guy’s face kind of place. Troy had never liked those miserable dives. He wanted something a little more upscale, but he didn’t want to go to any of those trendy places around the plaza. Too crowded. Too tight.

  He’d checked into La Fonda for the night, which was all southwestern tile and adobe right on the edge of the plaza and boasted being “the end of the Santa Fe trail.” The hotel was renown and it had a price tag to match, but he liked being there. La Fonda was famous. Celebrities stayed there.

  Troy had expected to find plenty of action but tonight’s crowd had been too touristy, the bars filled with families and couples in khaki slacks and sweaters. What he wanted was a woman wrapped in a tight dress. He didn’t even care if she had two cents to rub together because Jenny was waiting.

  He left La Fonda and headed to another area of town.

  The club on Cerrillos Road was called Marty’s. Marty was a woman, apparently, for the logo was a set of female eyes with long, long lashes done in blue neon. Troy slid onto a stool at the bar. His night with Dana was a lifetime ago and he was hungry for sex. In fact, it was all he could think about tonight, which came as a bit of a surprise. His sex drive was healthy, and women were as available as dirt, so why was he so edgy? His anxiety and eagerness were new and mildly disturbing. What he really wanted to do was just bite the soft, white curve of a woman’s neck.

  Maybe he shouldn’t wait for Jenny. Maybe he should drive over to her place and just take her. Rawley had given him all the directions he would ever need, although the blasted area was surrounded by a perimeter fence and gate. That pissed him off. Was she afraid of him?

  He’d show her. He’d show her and that fat cat father of hers.

  And that other guy. The one Rawley had admitted was sniffing around. Troy had wanted to wring the answers from the kid’s scrawny neck. Rawley, after mentioning some guy, had maddeningly refused to give any further information. He was protecting the son-of-abitch and it pissed Troy off no end. Nobody was going to mess with Jenny. Jenny was his and always had been.

  “Give me a scotch on the rocks,” Troy said.

  The bartender poured him a drink and slid the glass across the bar. There were no women around except for a few shanks with no tits. He’d misjudged the place. No action here.

  He drank the scotch and tossed some money down. For a moment he’d w
ondered if he could skip on the bill but the bartender had a fish eye on him. As he was walking out the door something worth looking at finally came in. She was with her girl friend but she was pert and bouncy with white teeth and a “Hello, there!” on her lips when she saw him.

  Charm. That’s all it took, charm.

  “Ladies, may I buy you a drink?”

  They both grinned at him. Two was too many, unfortunately. He was going to have to divide and conquer.

  * * *

  Obie lay in a huddle outside the station front door. A battered hat leaked rain onto a soggy poncho, its bright Navajo design obscured by a layer of filth and grime. One look at Obie and Rawley went dead quiet.

  “Why aren’t you inside?” Hunter asked.

  “The sergeant threw me out,” Obie complained. He squinted a look at Rawley, then grinned. About every other tooth was a black gap. Rawley gazed on in fascination. “You kin call me Obie,” he said, producing an equally grimy hand from beneath the poncho.

  Rawley shook it without hesitation.

  “I’m going to have to take you home, Obie,” Hunter said. “Thought we might make a stop first for some new supplies.”

  He cocked his head, birdlike. “Could sleep inside,” he suggested. “Save you some trouble.”

  “Don’t think His Majesty would go for that.”

  Obie chuckled. “What kind of supplies?”

  “The dry kind.”

  “Well, that suits me just fine, then.” He struggled to his feet and Hunter offered him a hand. The rain had liquefied the layers of body oils and plain old dirt into a noxious goo. Hunter could scarcely contain a cough as he helped Obie up.

  Rawley scrambled into the back of the Jeep to graciously allow Obie the front passenger seat. Benny, who’d been left inside, started whining. Hunter gazed at him for a moment and wondered if it could be possible that Benny, a dog who would roll in anything, was affected by Obie’s rank smell.

  “Gotta talk to the boss for a moment,” he said. “Do you mind waiting?” This was for Rawley’s benefit since he was the one forced into confinement with Obie.

  “Nope.” But he rolled down his window just the same.