Blue Jeans and a Badge (7 page)

“You need to quit doing that in uniform,” she sighed when he finally let her up for air. “People are getting the wrong impression.”

“Are they?” he asked, giving her a last quick one for the road. “I don't think so.”

 

Ted's sheriff's cruiser was already parked out front when Philip pulled up to the Shamrock Slipper. He was excited about getting some possible good information on Clyde Tafota. But he was even more excited about showing off Luce to his friends.

Half the town would be at the Slipper, either for happy hour or dinner, and he knew they'd be curious about the pretty stranger staying solo at the Lakeview Motel, it not being tourist season and all. He also knew Betsy would have informed anyone who'd listen that he'd taken the lady out in his Jeep for two days running, on what he
said
was a case. He could just imagine the speculation. Usually he was more circumspect with his affairs, but for some reason he wanted everyone to know Luce was his. Even though they weren't exactly having an affair.

Yet.

Ted was at the bar chatting with Betsy and Rich, the bartender, and a few other locals, when Philip ushered Luce into the restaurant with a hand to the small of her back. Everyone looked up and greeted him, and he took his time exchanging a few words at each table. “This is Luce Montgomery,” he said, “She's helping me on the Soffit and Dickson robbery.”

Most people wouldn't pry into a police investigation, but
he knew they were all curious, especially about the fate of Jim Kendall, who was currently sitting in the county jail despite his protests of innocence. He and his sister, Suzy—Dickson's secretary—were native Piñon Lakers, their late parents having settled there some fifty-odd years ago. So naturally the townspeople mostly believed Jim, despite the circumstantial evidence to the contrary.

Anyway, no one asked why Luce was helping with the investigation, or who exactly she was, for which Philip was grateful. He didn't want word getting around he was working with a bounty hunter. Not until they'd settled this Clyde Tafota thing one way or another.

When they finally made it around to the bar, he introduced Luce to Ted, and Betsy led them to a small square table in the back. The whole time they were taking their seats and Betsy was chatting on about blue-plate specials and fresh trout, Ted sat staring at Luce with a puzzled frown.

“I'll just have my usual, darlin',” Ted told Betsy, and studied Luce as she decided what to order.

Philip was getting more and more annoyed with his friend. Not that he had anything to worry about. Ted was on the downside of his fifties, balding and showing the effects of a decade-long crush on Betsy and hanging out at the Slipper whenever possible.

“I'll have the green chile relleños,” Philip said irritatedly. “And Luce will have the enchiladas.” He grabbed the menus and handed them to Betsy. “Specialty of the house,” he said at Luce's look of surprise at his choosing for her. “Do you prefer shrimp or chicken?”

“Shrimp,” she added after a short hesitation and a huff.

“Bring a pitcher of draft, too, Betsy.”

“Sure thing, Chief O'Donnaugh.” The waitress scurried off.

“All right, what's the deal, Ted?” he asked his friend, before Luce could start in on him. Ted's eyes seemed glued to Luce's face.

Sitting on the side between them, Ted tapped the table with his fingers and ignored Philip's question. “Luce Montgomery, you say?”

Luce nodded. “That's right.”

“Have I met you somewhere before?”

Her lips pursed. “I don't think so. This is my first time in New Mexico.”

“Ever been to California?”

“Santa Cruz. But that was a while back. And once in Santa Clara for about five hours.”

“Strange,” he said. “I swear I've seen you before. Philip?” He looked at him questioningly.

Philip shook his head. “We just met a couple of days ago.”

“Huh. Well, it'll come to me.”

“In the meantime, what have you got on Clyde Tafota?”

“Ah, right.” Ted extracted a couple of papers from his breast pocket and handed them to Philip. “I doubt if it's anything, but his name came up in conjunction with another investigation.”

“
Another
one?” Luce said, mirroring Philip's own disbelief. “What kind of investigation?”

Philip had confided Luce's real occupation to Ted, so there was no need to be circumspect.

“It's kind of strange,” Ted said. “You know the old case I told you about that I reopened recently?”

“The Hidalgo murder investigation? From twenty-eight years ago?”

“Exactly. Well, because I flagged the names involved, I was informed about this other incident. A missing private plane—a two-seater—disappeared last Friday night off a runway. Hidalgo Industries owns it.”

“What does that have to do with Clyde?”

“Seems Clyde Tafota has been Hidalgo's aircraft mechanic since forever. He'd repaired this plane before, last time about two months ago. The report claims the plane experienced engine trouble again on Friday morning and had to
make an emergency landing at a primitive airstrip south of here. Tafota was called in to fix it, after which it was stolen off the runway.”

“Last Friday night?” Luce asked, sitting up.

“Yep.”

Philip digested that. “Does the report mention if he can fly a plane?”

Ted nodded. “Yep. He sure can.”

“He's a
pilot?
” Luce said, sinking down again. “Oh, man. This changes everything.”

“But according to the airport supervisor, Tafota left by car around midafternoon after completing his repairs.”

“Do you think he had anything to do with the plane's disappearance?” Philip asked.

Ted shrugged. “Who knows? Hidalgo Industries specializes in computerized weapons technology for the military. The plane was on a routine delivery of missile guidance chips to the Rocky Mountain Arsenal in Colorado. We assume whoever took the plane was after those chips.”

“That makes sense,” Luce said. “But Clyde?” She looked at Philip.

“Based on his squeaky-clean record it seems doubtful,” he said. “But I have to admit, his name keeps cropping up in the most unlikely places. Too many times to be a coincidence.”

“I reckon that plane will turn up pretty soon,” Ted said. “Tough to hide one of those suckers. Anyway, I thought you'd want to know about the incident.”

Betsy brought their meals, and the conversation turned to other things, during all of which Ted persisted in giving Luce occasional searching looks. Philip eventually relaxed about it, since he assumed it must be a case of mistaken identity, and Ted would figure out sooner or later who she reminded him of.

As usual, the food was delicious.

“This tastes great,” Luce said. “Even if I prefer ordering my own meals….” She gave Philip a pointed look.

“You need to learn to trust me,” he said, and lifted a forkful of his chile relleño. “Here. You've gotta try this.” He extended the fork across the table and offered her the morsel.

At first he didn't think she'd take it. She wavered, looking from it to him.

All at once it was important that she did.

He met her eyes and wordlessly willed her to accept his offering.

And suddenly there was more going on between them than him wanting her to taste his favorite dish. Something a lot more basic and primitive. Something to do with male and female, and power and dominance.

He felt himself stir when, finally, she hesitantly opened her mouth and let him feed her the bite.

Desire, carnal and territorial, swirled to life between his thighs as she chewed, making him shift in his seat. Needing to touch her any way he could, he reached out to rub a drop of salsa from her lip with his thumb. She swallowed.

Philip met Ted's gaze, saw him wink, and managed to return his beer-mug salute without grabbing Luce and kissing her in front of him and everybody else in the place.

To claim what was his.

Because she
wasn't
his.

And she was never going to be his.

He had to force himself to remember that. He might talk her into a night or two of mutual pleasure, but sex didn't mean belonging.

She'd told him over and over she wasn't into settling down. And he wasn't into falling for another woman who'd be there for him one day and gone the next.

The strange thing was, since moving to Piñon Lake, as much as it went against his natural inclination, he'd confined his romantic interludes to times when the tourist seasons swelled the tiny hamlet with women looking for a nice vacation and a quick fling. He'd known going into each affair that it would last only so long, and then the woman would fly back
to her own life in Los Angeles or Denver or New York City. It had never bothered him before. In fact, he'd insisted on it.

So, what was different about Luce Montgomery that had him clenching his jaw at the thought of doing the same with her?

Damn, was he confused.

Suddenly Ted snapped his fingers. “I have it!” he exclaimed and pointed at Luce. “I know who you remind me of.”

“Who?” Her skepticism was apparent.

“Maria Santander. You know,” Ted said excitedly. “The woman they just found! Her remains, I mean. The murderess from my case twenty-eight years ago!”

“What?” Luce said, wide-eyed. “I remind you of a
dead murderess?
”

Ted grinned and waved her off. “No, she's not a murderess. I mean, we
thought
she'd killed her husband, but it turns out
she
was murdered, too. So it's cast doubt on whether she did kill her husband.”

“You mean the woman from the
Hidalgo
case? Maria Hidalgo?” Philip interjected, finally putting it together.

“Exactly. Maria Hidalgo Santander after she was married. You must have seen her picture in the papers. Jeez, Luce is a dead ringer for her. Except for the hair color, of course.”

Philip glanced over at Luce, who was sitting with her jaw down to her knees, looking totally incredulous. He shook his head. “I really can't remember what the woman looked like.”

“Hey, who's got a newspaper?” Ted called as he stood and scanned the restaurant. “Betsy! Where's the recycle bin? I need to find last week's headlines.” He hurried off when the waitress stuck her head out of the kitchen.

Luce turned to Philip. “What the hell is he talking about?”

“An old case of Ted's from when he first started with the sheriff's office. One of the Hidalgo heirs, Maria, disappeared right after her husband, Peter Santander, was murdered. Her remains turned up recently out in the desert. I understand Ted's reopened both cases.”

“And he thinks, what? That I'm some relative, or something?”

Philip laughed. “Nah. I think he just has the case on the brain. You know how it is, you eat, sleep and breathe a case until you solve it. Ted probably sees the Santander woman everywhere these days, like a bad penny.”

“Gee, thanks.”

He made a face. “You know what I mean. But now that you mention it, I think there was some kind of lost kid involved. Maybe he thinks it's you.” He gave her a grin to show he was kidding, but instead of smiling at the joke, her face just went deathly pale.

“A kid?”

All at once a creepy sensation skidded up Philip's spine. “I'm not really sure about the details,” he said, backpedaling, suddenly remembering what she'd said about being adopted.
Whoa. Insert foot, idiot.
“Sorry, I wasn't thinking. There's no connection, I'm sure.”

She smiled weakly and gave her head a shake. “Yeah, it's ridiculous. There's no way…”

But when Ted came back with the paper and silently handed it to her, she stared at the picture and went absolutely still.

“Luce?” Philip asked softly, and put a hand on her arm. “Sweetheart?”

“Oh, my God,” she said. “She does look like me.”

“L
et me see,” Philip asked, but Luce's fingers wouldn't relinquish the newspaper. She was gripping it so tightly she thought it might tear, but for some reason she couldn't let up.

With heart pounding, she studied the grainy picture for an endless moment, searching the stranger's face for a trace of familiarity, other than the echoes of her own features. But there was nothing.

A rush of relief, mixed with a puff of nervous laughter, escaped her. “Wow. That's weird.” She passed the newspaper to Philip, who was watching her anxiously. “There's a certain resemblance. But she has dark hair. Look at me. No way are we related.”

Philip scrutinized the news photo, then looked at her and back at the paper. “Huh,” he grunted noncommittally.

She didn't want to ask, but couldn't help herself. She turned to Ted. “Philip said there was a child involved?”

He nodded. “A little girl, about three years old. We recovered the mother's car shortly after the murder. It had crashed
off an embankment. The kid's car seat was intact and since there was no blood, we assumed they both escaped alive. But the woman's remains were found two weeks ago about a quarter mile from the crash site. She was shot three times. We're still looking for the toddler's remains. Hopefully they weren't carried off by some predator.”

Luce winced, pain gnawing at her insides.

“Sorry,” Ted said.

“The poor little girl.” She tried to paste on a smile, but failed. Some tough bounty hunter, the men must think. But she'd never been able to hear about bad things happening to kids without getting upset. “I can't even think about what she went through.”

Philip silently handed her back the newspaper. Luce was torn between throwing it into the nearest trash can or taking it back to her room to read about the little girl and the woman who looked so eerily like herself. Suddenly, she felt nauseous.

“Want some dessert?” Philip gently asked. “Or another beer?”

“No thanks. I—” She looked down and realized she'd unconsciously twisted the newspaper between her hands into a long roll. Abruptly she stood up. “I'm sorry. I need to go. I'll, um…” She fumbled in her purse for her wallet until Philip stilled her hand with his.

“I've got this. Hang on and I'll drive you.”

“No! I mean, no, thanks. It's just a block. I need some air. You stay and visit with Ted.”

Before he could protest, she said, “Nice to meet you,” to Ted, and rushed out the door, hurrying down the street toward the Lakeview Motel.

She felt like a fool. She didn't know why she was so unnerved over this. After all, the woman couldn't possibly have anything to do with her.

And yet, all she could think of was how desperately she wanted to talk to her mother.

Halting on the boardwalk, with unsteady hands she pulled
her cell phone from her purse and somehow managed to punch in the speed dial for home.

“Hi, Mom,” she said when Daphne Montgomery finally answered on the fourth ring.

“Honey! Are you all right?” were her mother's first words as she instantly picked up on Luce's distress.

With a shudder of relief, Luce knew everything would be okay.

Everything spilled out of her, about Maria Santander, and how for a stricken moment she'd thought she'd found her birth mother only to have her yanked away again, and all the feelings of fear and trauma that had swamped back over her—feelings she hadn't had for years—when she realized it
wasn't
her mother. And even about Philip, and the completely different kind of feelings she was beginning to have for him.

Her mother listened to all of this with murmurs of encouragement and support, with occasional questions and words of wisdom tossed in for good measure. By the time it was all out, Luce had made it back to her motel room and flopped on the bed. Now, staring up at the ceiling as she talked, as usual, her mom's strength and love made everything seem a thousand percent better.

Her parents had always been candid about her adoption, so there was nothing more her mother could add except to agree that it was unlikely Luce's mother would be brunette. Not with her blond hair and light skin. Unfortunately, not much more than that was known about her background.

“Now, tell me about this handsome police chief you've been seeing,” her mother urged.

Luce smiled through the sigh she wasn't able to stop. “I haven't been seeing him, Mom. We've been working together.”

“Sure you have.”

“Well, maybe a little more than work.”

“I knew it. When can I meet him?”

Luce gave a choked little laugh. “Mom!”

“I know you like him, I can hear it in your voice. Does he treat you well?”

“Yes. He does. It's just…”

“He's a terrible kisser?”

“Mom,
really!
” She chortled at her mom's incorrigible attitude to life.

“Because if he's a terrible kisser, you should dump him right now. No sense spending the rest of your life—”

“He's
not
a terrible kisser, Mom. In fact, he's the best—” She broke off abruptly. There were some things even her mother didn't need to know. “Anyway, none of that matters because I'll be coming home anyday now. As soon as I catch this skip. Philip and I will probably never see each other again after that.”

Her mother made a noise of regret. “Seems a shame, if you ask me. Perfect waste of a good kisser. What do you have against settling down, anyway? Your father and I have always been very happy together, especially after you came along. I wish—”

Luce knew exactly what her mother wished. Her parents put up with her ever-moving lifestyle with a philosophical attitude. But they never stopped hoping she'd find a nice young man, get married and give them grandkids.

“I know, Mom.”

“Just promise me you won't push Philip away like you've done all the others. This one sounds really special. Leave a door open, even if you don't think you want to walk through it.”

“I'll think about it, Mom.”

“I wouldn't want you spending your best years searching for something that was right there for the taking.”

“I love you, Mom,” she said, because there was nothing else she could say to that. Her mother meant well. She just didn't understand. It wasn't love Luce was searching for—she had plenty of that. It was something…else.

“I love you, too, honey.”

Luce lay there on the bed for a long time, trying to sort through the chaos. Without much success. Thoughts whirled around in her head and feelings in her body like the dancing dervishes she'd once seen on the National Geographic travel channel. Until they were interrupted by a soft knock on the door.

Instinctively she knew who it was. Philip. Come to check on her.

Great.

She was fine. And she had no desire to see anyone. The circles under her eyes were probably solid black, and her nerves were still raw and jumpy from her emotional upheaval about Maria Hidalgo. In short, she was a mess.

He knocked again. She shouldn't have turned on the lamp. Maybe then he'd have thought she was sleeping and gone away. With a sigh, she dragged herself from the bed and opened the door.

“How you doing?” he tentatively asked, his hands stuck in pockets.

“Okay.” She made an attempt at a smile.

“Want some company? Just to talk,” he added.

“Not tonight. I, um…” She shook her head, unable to come up with anything coherent.

“Okay,” he said, bent down and picked up her briefcase which she hadn't noticed was sitting on the ground next to his boot. “You left this in the Jeep.”

She nodded and took it from him.

He bounced on his toes, then turned and slowly started walking toward the Jeep. “See you tomorrow.”

“Probably not. Think I'll leave Clyde to you and head back to St. Louis in the morning,” she said, shocking even herself.
When had she decided that?

“What?” He whipped around. “Why?”

Good question. It was the restlessness taking over. She felt agitated, impatient, like she needed to be doing something.
Now.
Not just hiking around the desert and kissing cute men.

“We're never going to find Clyde Tafota. He's long gone.”

“And you know this how?”

“He has a plane, a stolen fortune in cash and computer chips, and speaks Spanish. He's in Costa Rica by now on a beach with an umbrella drink in his hand, making deals.”

“That's a lot of assumptions.”

She gripped the briefcase in front of her chest, like a shield. “Good ones.”

“So you're just going to give up? On everything?”

She had a sneaking feeling he wasn't talking about Clyde anymore. She ignored his overture. She couldn't think about that stuff now. “Call it a calculated retreat. If he's not in New Mexico, I can work this just as easily from home. At no cost to me.”

He nodded slowly. “I see.” He put his hands on his hips. “This is about that woman's picture, isn't it?”

She narrowed her eyes. “No. Why would it be about her?”

“It spooked you. Bad. Talk to me. What are you afraid of, Luce?”

“Nothing.” She set her jaw. “And it's really none of your business, anyway.”

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “All right. Whatever. See you around.” With that, he turned on his boot heel and made for the Jeep.

She watched him, a riot of emotions surging through her. Emotions that would do neither of them any good. There was no place in a life like hers for a man. Not even one like Philip.

Especially not one like Philip.

She stepped back through the door and closed it. But she couldn't get her feet to move away. Dropping the briefcase on the floor, she leaned her forehead against the door frame.

Her mother's words came rushing back to her, echoing in her head.
Promise me you won't push Philip away.

Silently, she groaned. Damn her mother's meddling, anyway.

Damn, damn, damn.

Luce yanked the door open again, and called, “Philip, wait!”

He was about to climb in the Jeep, but paused in the motion, looking none too happy.

She meant to walk, but her feet had other ideas. They ran to him as fast as they could. She threw her arms around him, hugging his stiff torso close.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “I'll miss you.”

She felt him loosen up, just a little. “I'll miss you, too.” But she could hear the reluctance in his tone.

“And thanks.” She looked up. “For checking on me.”

She gave him a kiss. She hadn't meant to do that, either, but her mouth was just as disobedient as her feet. And it lasted a lot longer than she intended.

After a moment he deepened the kiss. Catching her up in his arms, he made a sound deep in his throat, a cross between a purr and a growl. It made her insides shiver.

Her head told her to pull away from him. She couldn't.

Wordlessly his mouth showed her everything she wouldn't let him say aloud. That he was there for her, for whatever she needed. That he'd listen. And take care of her.

Which scared her even more than the picture of the woman had done.

“Don't go tomorrow,” he murmured. “Whatever's wrong, I'll fix it.”

“Nothing's wrong,” she insisted, confused as hell. “I'm just…”

“A chicken?” he suggested with the barest hint of a smile.

“And you're a smart-aleck,” she softly retorted, pushing at his chest.

He just held her fast, regarding her hopefully. “Don't go. At least wait until we've chased down this plane angle. We could still find Clyde.”

She closed her eyes, feeling his strong arms hold her, the warmth of his breath caressing her temple. The sen
sual scratch of his beard on her cheek, which she loved most of all.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered, and kissed him one last time. “I can't do this. Any of it. I have to go.”

Before she could change her mind, she slid from his embrace and ran for the door.

“What about your perfect record?” he called after her. “Your professional reputation? What about that P.I. business you wanted so badly?”

She shook her head vehemently, turning for one last look as she went inside. “None of that matters. Goodbye, Philip.”

She slammed the door behind her and leaned her back against it, fighting to keep her composure.

There. That wasn't so hard. Cut all ties. That's what had to be done, and she'd done it. It was all good. Now she was free to continue her life the way she liked it. The way she wanted it. There'd be other skips and other paychecks. No hurry for the P.I. business.

There'd be other men, too. Maybe not as perfect as Philip. Maybe not as handsome or sexy. Or as tuned in to her every need.

She took a deep breath to calm herself, and nearly cried when the sagey, piney smell of New Mexico invaded her senses. That wild, piquant, strange-familiar scent that she'd come to associate so intimately with Philip and his wild, piquant kisses.

The sooner she got out of this state the better. Because she'd never be able to smell its exotic scent without wanting Philip O'Donnaugh.

But giving in to those impossible feelings would do nothing but wreak disaster on her life.

She marched to the bathroom and grabbed the can of lavender-scented air freshener under the sink and sprayed it liberally throughout the motel room. If she couldn't smell sage and pine, maybe she'd forget Philip. And if she forgot him, she might actually have a prayer of driving off tomorrow morning and leaving this place far behind, forever.

And maybe, after about a thousand cans of the stuff, eventually she'd spray away the memory of him completely.

 

Over his dead body.

Exhausted, Philip rolled into bed earlier than usual that night. Alone.