You Can't Escape (17 page)

They talked for a while more, veering off the subject of missing Bernadette Fread and her apparently Bible-thumping, authoritative father. Jordanna left about an hour later and drove back to the old homestead under a dark sky, watching as raindrops, driven by a strong wind, raced across her windshield in squiggly lines. When she entered the living room once more, she saw that Dance was out of bed and stretched out asleep on the couch, and that the woodstove needed to be fed. The room was toasty, though, so she only added one more chunk of fir, listening to it spit and crackle as she turned away from its heat to look down at him.

Dance’s eyes shot open. “You’re back.”

“Yep.”

Catching his sudden wince of pain, she asked, “How’s the pain? You need another pill?”

He swore, then said belligerently, “I’m not taking any more pills.”

“Okay.” She didn’t think it was a good idea, but she didn’t appreciate him acting like it was her fault somehow.

Hearing himself, he muttered, “Thanks for getting them, but I need a clear head.”

“Let me just say, you’re supposed to keep ahead of the pain.”

“I’m doing just fine,” he said shortly, looking up at her.

“Yeah, well . . .” She moved over to the hard wooden bench on the opposite side of the room, the only other piece of furniture she could sit on. “You don’t have to be a hero. You just have to heal.”

He snorted. “How’d it go with your friends?” he asked shortly, deliberately changing the course of the conversation.

Jordanna said, “I don’t have any friends in this town.”

“So, you sat alone?”

“There were a few people from high school that I talked to,” she allowed. “You know that homeless man I learned was found just east of here? In the foothills? Rumor is that he was branded.”

Dance’s interest sharpened. “Branded . . . before or after death?”

“A question I don’t know the answer to, yet. Let me get you another pill.”

“Don’t,” he said, but she was already on her feet and heading into the kitchen.

She returned with a bottle of plain water and one of the prescription painkillers, which she pressed into his palm. “I really don’t care if you take it, or if you’d rather bite on a bullet or scream into a pillow, or just go into frozen shock. Do what you gotta do. But know this, I’m not taking you to the clinic in town unless you’re at death’s door, and even then, I’ll think about it. My father runs the clinic, and I am not going there. So, take the drugs, don’t take the drugs, whatever. Just don’t count on me.”

She sat back down on the bench as she spoke but only looked at him when she finished her speech. She’d scared a smile out of him, she saw, and that made her look away from the attractiveness of the man. It was easy to deal with cold, angry, or clinical Jay Danziger, but with the warm, attractive, sexy Dance, it was not.

“I’m going to do some research on the branded man,” she told him. “The chief kept that tidbit out of the papers, but it’s an open secret around here. There’s a story there.”

He nodded, thinking that over. “You giving up on the Saldanos?”

“Nope. Just gonna follow your lead on that one. When you’re ready, I’m ready.”

“I need a few more days,” he said. “I need to walk better, but even if that takes a while, I’ll go back next week sometime.”

“You going to confront them?”

“I’m going to talk to Max, and see where that takes me.”

“You should have the police with you,” she said, feeling a renewed wave of fear, the same sensation that had driven her to pluck him from the hospital.

“That won’t really work if I want answers.”

“Let me go with you, then. You shouldn’t go alone.”

“You’re going to protect me?” he asked, his mouth curved ever so faintly.

He had her number. At least he knew that she wanted a story, and maybe he’d even guessed she’d suffered feelings of adoration, which was downright embarrassing. “I want the truth to come out about them, and I want to be a part of bringing that truth to light. So, when you’re ready, I’m in.”

He met her gaze silently, and she suspected he was weighing her worth. She stared right back, but in the end she was the first one to break. “In the meantime, I might as well look into what’s going on in Rock Springs.”

“I’d like to help,” he said.

Surprised, Jordanna realized he was serious. Apparently he’d found her worthy. Or, maybe this was his way of killing time while he worked through the Saldano case and let his body heal. “Okay,” she told him happily. “I’ll do some legwork and let you know what I come up with.”

Chapter Ten

Randall from Pacific Power came by the next morning at eight and explained that the electrical wires from the property to the road had been unhooked, either by vandalism or by someone’s choice, but that he would have everything put together again in a couple of hours. He was as good as his word and at ten he came to the front door and Jordanna stepped out onto the porch to meet him. “Coulda been Mother Nature,” he said, forestalling Jordanna’s first question before she could even utter it. “If someone purposely undid those wires, they took a big risk.” He shook his balding head. “You Mrs. Winters, then?” he asked her.

“Oh. Um . . . no.”

“Is Mr. Winters here to sign the paperwork?”

“Can I sign it?”

“He’s the one who called.”

“I’m here,” Dance said from the interior of the house. He thumped his way over and took the pen and clipboard from the lineman’s hands, signing in an unrecognizable scrawl.

When Randall was inside his truck, firing the engine, Jordanna followed Dance back inside. “Thank you,” she said.

“Not a problem. I’ve pretended to be a lot of people along the way.”

“Guess I’m on that path, too,” she said. “Let’s turn on the heat and hope the furnace works.”

She hurried to do so, flipping on a light on the way. The sudden, bright illumination was almost a surprise; she’d half expected there to be some problem. Heading to the wall just outside the kitchen that held the dial thermostat, she said, “My God, I can make breakfast.” She could have cheered, but added immediately when she saw Dance working his way toward her, “Which is a fried egg and some toast under the broiler, so don’t get crazy with excitement.”

“I’ll try to hold myself back.” He stopped and leaned on his crutches as Jordanna turned up the temperature. After a hiccuping sound, she heard the rumble of the furnace, and she turned with a brilliant smile toward Dance, damn near wanting to embrace him.

“You hear that?” she asked.

“I do.”

They were standing close to one another. The way he was leaning on his crutches dropped his height so he was nearly eye to eye with her. She could see the striations of darker color within his blue eyes and she felt a jolt of awareness that spread through her in a charge of heat. She immediately moved away, muttering that she was going to charge up her phone and iPad, which although the truth, wasn’t the real reason that she needed some space.

Oh, brother
, she thought, both tantalized by and afraid of how easily he inflamed her senses. What the hell. It felt like she was reliving a schoolgirl crush.

On her way to the kitchen, she called over her shoulder, “I’m almost afraid to ask, but I guess I will. Do you need a pain pill?”

She heard him thump his way into the kitchen behind her, but she kept her attention on the older-model refrigerator, attempting to plug it in. She hoped to hell the damn thing didn’t blow up or something. It looked as if it was on its last legs.

“I took one in the middle of the night,” he admitted. “But I’m gonna get off ’em.”

There was no sound from the refrigerator even though it was plugged into the socket. “Uh-oh,” she said, opening the refrigerator door and looking inside its dark interior. She wanted to believe the bulb was out, but there was no humming, no sound at all. “I suppose it was too much to ask to expect it to actually work. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to get more ice.” She looked over at him. “The pain pills are on the counter.”

“I know where they are.”

“Okay.”

He seemed more relaxed, she realized, so maybe he was right about the pills. Maybe making the decision to confront his old pal and brother-in-law had eased his mind, too. Hiding out like a scared rabbit wasn’t his style and didn’t sit well with him, even if it was the best course of action.

“You never told me about the branded man,” he reminded her now.

They’d gone to their respective beds soon after she’d returned, so they hadn’t discussed it further. She’d tried to help him to bed, but he’d made it clear he was through with being an invalid, so she’d gone upstairs and changed, then returned to the living room couch to sleep. Surprisingly, she’d slept pretty well and it was only when she’d heard Dance stirring around in his room about six that she’d risen from the couch. She’d heated up water on the woodstove, and they’d had instant coffee and orange slices, cheese, and crackers for breakfast before Randy had arrived.

“I really didn’t learn much, except that he was found somewhere on government property almost straight east of here. If you keep on Wilhoit Road, the way we came in, it just heads south. A lot of this property is still original homesteads. But a couple farms down, Summit Ridge Road branches east into the foothills and winds up past Fool’s Falls into the lower hills and Cascades.”

“How do they know he was homeless if they don’t know who he is?” he asked.

“Good question. He was found several years ago and no one ever claimed the body, so maybe that’s why.”

“You said the chief didn’t want the branding of the body made public?”

“That’s the way I heard it.”

“Because he wanted to withhold that information, hoping it would aid in making an arrest?” Dance looked dubious.

“Chief Markum does things his own way, and he’ll give you a lot of reasons for what he does that are supposed to make sense.”

“You know him well?”

She’d told him she hadn’t been back in Rock Springs in years, so his skepticism was warranted.

“I know him. He was the chief when I shot my father.”

“Ahh.”

“Yesterday I learned that there’s someone else at the station I might be able to talk to other than the chief—Peter Drummond. Not that he’ll want to help—my friend Rusty calls him Mr. Shitface—but he was a classmate of my older sister, Emily. I don’t know in what capacity he works for the chief, but it sounds like he has loose lips. I can also check back issues of the
Pioneer
and see when exactly that body was found.”

“Wouldn’t your father know something about it? This is his property.”

“He’d be the last person I’d ask,” she stated firmly as she plugged her iPad into a kitchen outlet. Yes, her father ought to know, not only because the body had been found somewhere behind his property, but also because he and Chief Markum were such good friends.

“Father- and son-in-law, too,” she muttered.

“What?” Dance asked. He’d turned toward the living room, and she hadn’t expected him to hear her.

“Nothing. You ready for those eggs and toast? Kind of a brunch?”

“Sure.”

With a glance at the iPad to make sure it was beginning to charge, she next plugged in her cell phone, then pulled out the small skillet she’d brought from her apartment, placed it on the electric burner and added in a pat of margarine. Within seconds, the margarine was sizzling along the bottom of the pan as it spread and melted, and Jordanna settled in to make one of the half dozen meals she’d mastered in the kitchen.

September set her jaw determinedly as she breezed into the station and past Guy Urlacher’s desk. Before he could speak, she ordered, “Open the damn door, Guy.”

“You haven’t signed—”

“And I’m not going to . . . Guy.” She wanted to say asshole. Really wanted to. “I’m not going to sign in like a visitor.”

“I’m just following protocol.”

“Really? That’s what it says in the handbook?”

Guy pinched his lips together. “Every officer is required to sign in.”

“Does the lieutenant sign in? Does Gretchen? Does
my brother
? Don’t answer. I don’t care. I’m not going to sign in, and if you don’t open the damn door, I’m going to phone every officer in this building and tell them what’s going on right here, right now. Believe me, we’ll get some action then, and you can explain protocol until you turn blue. Nobody wants to hear it.” She yanked out her cell phone and placed a call through to Wes, who would be only too happy to help her if he was on the premises.

Bzzzz.

September pushed through the door before Guy changed his mind, hearing it close with a loud click behind her. She smiled grimly, knowing it was a temporary victory. Guy would seethe for a while, then he would go back to acting like nothing had changed. It was the dumbest war on record, but there it was. Guy and his own need for power. She suspected she could get him fired over his pettiness, but he was just the kind of guy to file a lawsuit for harassment or something, and well, there was the “official handbook,” which probably backed him up in some way. She just needed to get stronger and intimidate the hell out of him in a silent stare-down. Then he wouldn’t be able to repeat anything she might say that she would regret. It was harder to complain to the powers that be that a woman had intimidated him or bullied him or harassed him just by staring at him.

Three hours later, as she was coming from the break room with her messenger bag, ready to head to an early lunch, her desk phone buzzed and she saw it was from the front desk. Guy. Bracing herself, she picked up the receiver and said coolly, “Detective Rafferty.”

“Someone here to see you,” he responded tonelessly.

“Do you have a name?”

“Yes.”

Counting to five, September said, “I’m on my way out, so you may need to send them to someone else.”

“They asked for you specifically.”

“All right, then I’ll meet them outside.” She slammed down the receiver, causing George, the only other person currently in the squad room, to lift his brows.

“The fiancé?” he asked innocently.