Chapter Five #3
“And because Dianne Foster is dead. If she’s dead because we talked to her, that means that Miller is watching us.”
That Dianne was dead seemed to trouble her. That had to be a good sign that she’d be willing to say more. “I agree.”
“And if he’s watching us, I have to ask why,” she went on.
“Why isn’t he running away? Or if he’s that aggressive, why not kill us?
Sara and me? Why go after a woman who was nothing but kind to him?
Dianne Foster sent him letters and books when he was in prison, for heaven’s sake.
She was no threat to him. I am a threat, though.
Sara is also.” She met his eyes directly.
“So are you. Given that, why kill Mrs. Foster? Why stick around this town? Yes, he grew up here, but so what? There are places to hide where we aren’t looking. So why here? Why hasn’t he moved on?”
“Very good questions. Any others?”
“I have many questions, Detective. But those are the ones related to this case.”
She knew more. Of that he was certain. When he’d spoken with her and Sara Lambert earlier, he’d asked if she’d talked to anyone else about Reece Miller. Lambert had derailed the interview, seconds before Elle had been about to answer.
“Who else should I be guarding, Ms. Randolph?” he asked quietly. “Who else have you asked about Miller that he might target because you talked to them?”
Her eyes briefly widened before she schooled her features. She’d done it so quickly that once again he might have missed her reaction had he not been watching. “No one, Detective.”
He exhaled, disappointed and angry—both in the lack of information and with her. “I thought you cared more about people than that, Ms. Randolph.”
“That’s not fair, Detective Clarke,” she said too quietly.
He’d hit a sore spot. Good. “I’m not here to be fair,” he snapped. “I’m here to put a killer behind bars. I’m here to protect innocent people from you.” He immediately knew he’d gone too far, because her whole body went rigid, her chin going up. “I’m sorry, Elle.”
“Ms. Randolph,” she corrected. “I think you should go, Detective.”
He sighed. “I said that I was sorry.”
“I don’t care.”
But she did. He knew it. He didn’t know how he knew, but he did.
And now he felt a twinge of guilt because he’d hurt her feelings.
Which was just plain stupid. She was a bounty hunter—excuse me, a fugitive recovery agent—who was chasing a killer. A killer who she could assist him in putting away.
That was the important thing here. Catching Reece Miller.
She didn’t get to have hurt feelings. Dianne was dead and would never feel anything again.
“Ms. Randolph, we need to—”
She held up a hand, silencing him. “Every time I think Sara is wrong about cooperating with local law enforcement, I meet a cop like you. Look, I get that you knew the victim, and I am truly sorry for your loss. But I am not the bad guy here, Detective. I’m just doing my job.
Just like you are. So go away and do your goddamn job and let me do mine. ”
He dropped his gaze to his hands, feeling another twinge of guilt.
“I shouldn’t have lost my temper. I’m not sorry for what I said, but I am sorry for how I said it.
I did know the victim and she meant a lot to this community.
If your interviews have or will put any of my other neighbors at risk, I need to know. ”
She was quiet for a long moment and when he looked up, he found her watching him.
“If I think that I’ve put anyone in danger, I’ll tell you,” she finally said. “That’s all you’re going to get from me. At least for tonight.”
He nodded. “Then that’ll have to be enough. At least for tonight.”
Her gaze darted over his shoulder and she grimaced. “Great. Now Sara’s seen you. Thanks for getting me into trouble with my boss.”
“I thought you were friends.”
“We are. But when we’re on a case, she’s my boss. You’d better go.”
He got out, then leaned into the Tahoe to look at her once more. “I am sorry. I should have said that I’m protecting people from the dangerous man you’re chasing, not from you specifically.”
She searched his face before giving him a single nod. “I accept your apology. Have a good evening, Detective.”
“You too, Ms. Randolph.” He shut the door and hunched into his jacket. The wind really was cold tonight.
But not as cold as the expression on Sara Lambert’s face as she charged toward him.
“What the hell?” she demanded, seeming pretty damn imposing for a woman who was only five-two. “What are you doing harassing my fugitive recovery agent?”
“Just making conversation,” he said easily. “Following up on a few questions from earlier.” Then he shrugged. “She didn’t tell me squat.”
He could give Elle that much.
Lambert eased back, eyes narrowed. “Of course she didn’t. But if you pull a stunt like this again, I’ll file a report with your boss.”
“Please do. He’d give me a raise.”
Howard wasn’t going to give any of them a raise, but it was a nice fantasy.
Behind him, the Tahoe’s window whirred as it rolled down. “Sara, leave him alone,” Elle called. “He’s just doing his job. Like we are.”
Lambert glared at her before turning the glare up at him. “Don’t get in our way, Detective, and we won’t get in yours.”
“Somehow I really doubt that,” he said, his mild tone seeming to make her even angrier. Which, petty though it might have been, made him feel better. Even though she’d probably take it out on Elle. “Have a good evening, ma’am.”
He deliberately didn’t move, waiting with his arms crossed over his chest as she stomped past him and climbed into their vehicle and slammed the door.
“That could have gone better,” he murmured.
He wondered what they knew that Sara Lambert didn’t want him to find out.
Fort Bragg, California
Wednesday, January 21, 9:30 p.m.
Elle hit “place order” on her cart and hoped she and Sara would still be in town in three days so she could pick up her new much thinner—and supposedly warmer—winter coat and gloves.
She couldn’t move freely in the thick parka she’d bought from the Walmart.
If she had to run or pull her gun or give chase, she wouldn’t be able to.
That could mean her life. Or Sara’s.
Sara, whose cold shoulder was making Elle nearly as miserable as the cold wind that had been blowing in from the ocean. They’d picked up dinner at the Taco Bell and brought it back to their room at the inn, Sara speaking only in two-word sentences. At most.
In hindsight, telling Sara to leave Detective Clarke alone and that he was just trying to do his job had not been the best thing to say. Her friend could be petulant at times.
This was one of those times.
Elle tossed her laptop beside her on the bed, pulled the blanket up to her chin, and studied Sara, who was on the floor finishing her daily Pilates routine. “Are you going to freeze me out forever?”
Sara rolled up her mat. “No.”
Elle waited for more, then sighed when Sara went into the bathroom. The shower turned on and Elle didn’t think she’d get any more tonight. Maybe Sara would resume communication tomorrow. It wouldn’t be the first time Sara had needed to sleep off her anger.
Part of Elle was resigned to wait, but the other part of her was annoyed. Todd had played the same games, giving her the cold shoulder when he got mad. Sara had always told her not to put up with that from Todd.
I need to tell her that I’m not going to accept it from her, either.
But that could wait until tomorrow. She wasn’t picking a fight with Sara tonight. She needed to sleep so that she could be chipper and ready for anything Reece Miller threw at them.
Or anything that Detective Clarke threw at them.
If he weren’t a cop and she weren’t on a case and he didn’t live three hours away and she was actually considering another relationship, he’d be just her type.
He had a nice laugh and she had a thing for blond men. One didn’t come across a true blond that often. Sandy brown, yes. Dirty blond, yes. Ronan Clarke’s hair was golden with a tiny bit of silver at the temples.
But he was a cop and she was on a case and he did live three hours away.
And she most definitely was not considering another relationship. It was still too soon.
Forever might be too soon.
That last night with Todd lingered on the edges of her mind. It was always there. Always taunting her with a host of if-onlys.
If only she’d refused to drive him that night.
If only she’d divorced him earlier.
If only she hadn’t allowed herself to be abused.
If only she’d never dated him to begin with.
But those were worthless thoughts. Still, they plagued her with regularity.
She wasn’t going to think about Todd. Or Detective Clarke.
Or even Sara.
She knew from experience that her anxiety wouldn’t allow her to simply fall asleep, no matter how tired she was. Telling herself not to think about something specific never worked. She needed something she could obsess over that was harmless.
Like how fucking cold it was.
Elle switched off her bedside lamp and snuggled deeper into the blankets, grateful that she’d thought to buy a pair of thick socks when she’d bought the parka. She was too damn cold even while wearing socks and sweats and clutching a heating pad.
She almost felt sorry for Wendy Miller, forced to sleep outside with Reece. If Elle was this cold in a cozy hotel room, she hated to think how miserable it was camping in a freaking tent.
But she only almost felt sorry for Wendy, because the young woman could have chosen not to accompany her bail-skipping husband.
Like you could have chosen to leave Todd sooner?
Fair point. But Wendy definitely could have chosen not to subject her sick child to freezing night temps. What the hell were they thinking?
Elle guessed that Wendy wasn’t thinking, any more than Reece Miller was. They were panicked and on the run. If they’d been logical, sensible people, Reece never would have skipped bail to begin with.