Seek and Find Read online

  “Are we making beef stew again?”

  “No. I’m giving up on that for now. I’ve got a freezer full of the stuff back at the condo.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  He handed her an onion and a zucchini. “Chop and dice.”

  With a mumbled comment that he did not hear, but which was probably about the state of his sanity, she set to work, peeling and chopping with precision.

  He worked on the eggs, cracking them neatly. He greased a heavy iron pan before he mixed in her chopped vegetables. The sizzle when he poured the eggs in comforted him, and it pleased him to have another person to cook for. When the frittata was on the heat, he set her to watching it as he sliced potatoes in another pan and heated oil. While the potatoes were sizzling to a golden brown, he turned the problem over and over in his mind.

  He needed someone to talk to, someone whip smart, as interested in the situation as he was, and most importantly, not a cop. No, most importantly, someone he could trust, someone he would trust himself with. But how could that be Madison? A reporter of all things? Yet deep down his gut was telling him to do exactly that. Lord, don’t let me trust the wrong person.

  By the time he’d fed Hawk, slid two plates of frittata and fried potatoes on the table and poured glasses of iced tea for them both, Madison was nearly wriggling out of her seat.

  “Okay,” she said. “Point one, you’re a great cook. This smells incredible.”

  “Thank you. You should come when I’m making gumbo.”

  “Point two, you have much better restraint than I do.”

  “True.”

  “Point three? If you don’t tell me what’s up, I think I’m going to explode.”

  He laughed. “After we pray.” He caught her fingers in his and said a simple prayer for the blessing of food and company. The blessing of Madison Coles sitting in his kitchen, he added silently, because he could never hide anything from God, anyway. Her soft amber gaze made his stomach tighten when he opened his eyes.

  “That was nice,” she said quietly. “I haven’t shared a meal and a prayer with a...friend in a long time.”

  He could not hold back from stroking her hand, the skin satiny soft, the long fingers strong but so much more delicate than his own. It was nice—more than nice. Dangerous territory, he thought as he let go and picked up his fork and took a bite.

  She was right. He was a good cook, he thought immodestly.

  She nibbled on the frittata. “Excellent, but I can’t wait any longer. What’s got you utilizing cooking therapy?”

  The point of no return. He pulled a plastic bag out of his pocket and held it up it so she could see. “It was stuck to Hawk’s ear. I think he picked it up nosing around the bushes by Frances’s driveway.”

  “What is it?” she said, peering close to what was inside. “Looks like red plastic.”

  It was no more than a scrap, a half inch across. If Hawk hadn’t shown such an interest in Frances’s rosebushes, he never would have noticed it. “Yeah. If you look close, you can see a tiny black line from a printed letter, I think.”

  “I know I should be picking something up here, but I’m drawing a blank. What are you thinking?”

  The moment had come. “Madison, this is something I can’t tell a person who is going to use it in any way. I might be totally wrong.”

  Her mouth quirked. “Are you trying to decide whether or not to confide in me?”

  “If I tell you, it can’t be cop to reporter.”

  “What will it be, then?”

  What would it be? His mouth felt dry, his pulse heavy. “Friend,” he said finally. “A friend who will help me think it through.”

  “Friend?” She was a little bit surprised and pleased that the friendship feeling wasn’t just one-sided. “After all the trouble I’ve caused you? And your past relationships with reporters? Why would you consider me a friend?” Again that direct gaze that both disarmed and excited him.

  He let God pick out the words from the million phrases muddling about in his mind. “You love God. You love your family. Same as me. The other stuff isn’t important anymore.”

  “But I’ve made enemies in this town. Your brother counts himself on that list.”

  “I was remembering when we were back in the trailer, with Jennings.”

  Her face twisted.

  “You held his hand. You comforted him, a man you didn’t even know. After what you’d been through just then and in your life, your instinct was to care for a stranger.”

  Her eyes grew misty. “And so was yours.”

  “Like I said, if you take away the badge and the notepad, we’re the same.”

  She gazed at him for a long time. Then a slow smile illuminated her face, erasing all the shadows from the room, it seemed to him, and tracing a path through the air and into someplace deep inside his heart.

  “Okay, then,” she said. “Friend to friend.” With a final squeeze of his hand, she let go. “What’s on your mind?”

  “I may be completely wrong.” He blew out a breath. “I want to be wrong.”

  She was surprisingly patient, waiting for him to say it.

  He fingered the plastic bag, peering at the red bit inside. “This looks an awful lot like the kind of tape we use to secure drugs in our evidence room.”

  Her eyebrows arched, but still she did not speak.

  “It wasn’t stuck on Hawk’s fur until we got to Frances’s place. I’m sure of it. So what if...” he tapped the fork on the table. “What if Falkner took the drugs out of a sealed evidence bag before he planted them in Tony’s backpack?”

  “But how would he...” Her shoulders went stiff and straight. “Are you saying he got it from a cop?”

  “No. Absolutely not.” His tone was harder than he’d meant. “It’s not a cop. It couldn’t be.”

  “And how do you know that for sure?”

  “Because they’re all good men and women doing a job that could get them killed at any minute. It wasn’t a cop. I’m saying the thought occurred to me that someone might have taken it from our evidence room for Falkner to use. We’ve had people working on the fund-raiser, helpers in and out a lot.”

  They both sat stock still for a long moment. “So it might be that Myron Falkner is working for Bruce King, who’s got a mole in the police department. Who could get that kind of access?”

  “Pretty much anyone around the department—volunteers, technicians. Let’s face it—we’re a small-town police department, and protocols aren’t that strict. Even visiting reporters might be able to get in unnoticed if they were good at lock picking.”

  She held up her hands. “Don’t look at me. I can’t even work my bicycle lock without help. Have you smelled any whiff of impropriety? Heard any rumors?”

  “No, but I’m new. I wouldn’t be the one to hear it. I could talk to Ryder and Shane, but...”

  She nodded. “But once you’ve dropped that bomb, it’s hard to undo the damage if you’re wrong.”

  “Exactly. I know and trust my fellow cops, but as far as the others go, I don’t want to impugn anybody’s reputation unless I’m one hundred percent sure. Maybe this isn’t evidence tape after all. Could be I’m just making things up in my mind.”

  She toyed with the rim of her glass. “Hear me out on something without getting defensive, okay?”

  He grinned. “No promises, but I’ll do my best.”

  “Okay. I did some digging when I was trying to convince my editor to let me do a bigger story. A couple of years back, Veronica Earnshaw’s brother, Lee, was arrested for participating in a gas-station robbery. He’s never stopped claiming to anyone who would listen that he was framed by someone working for the police department.”

  He sat back. “His claims don’t hold much weight with me or a
nyone in the DVPD. Criminals lie. Jails are full of innocent characters who were framed. Just ask them.” Had that been defensive? Probably, but it was the truth, and she needed to hear it.

  “So Lee Earnshaw is in prison...”

  “Where he belongs per his conviction,” James said.

  “All right. How do we prove that Bruce King is the big boss and he has a mole in the police department?”

  “One thing at a time. We got a tip that King is moving a shipment tonight through Sunset Gorge, and we’re going to bust him. Best case is that Falkner’s driving the truck. Worst case, it’s some other lackey we can squeeze until he rolls over on King. Once we’ve got Falkner or King, it’s a matter of time until we get the mole.”

  “All right. So where do we go from here?” She checked her watch. “It’s only six thirty.”

  He yawned. “Feels like midnight already. Anyway, I assume you want to ride along tonight?”

  “You assumed correctly, and while we’re waiting, I’ll see if I can find out anything else about Myron Falkner that might lead to a connection to someone in the PD.”

  James was about to interject when she held up a hand. “Don’t worry. I am going to be careful about it.” Her voice went soft.

  He was grateful that she seemed to understand. “When I’m back on duty, I’ll find a reason to poke around the evidence room and see what I can turn up.” He picked up his plate and carried it to the sink. “You know, I could be completely wrong about this tape.”

  “And you could be completely right.”

  In this case, he thought to himself, I hope I’m not.

  * * *

  Madison helped with the dishes, and they took Hawk for his evening walk. Bats scuttled through the sky, chirping and diving for mosquitos. The air was crisp and full of evening scents, which Hawk could not get enough of. She knew James was hurting physically, as his movements were slow and he sucked in a breath when Hawk pulled sharply on the leash. She marveled at his strength. It was not long ago the guy was nearly crushed to death, and he’d been going full tilt since he’d bullied his way out of the hospital. Here he was, hauling a hundred-pound dog around. She knew that it would take more than a trailer collapsing on him to keep James from tending to his four-legged partner. The dog-human bond was something of a marvel.

  They returned to the cabin, and James knelt on the floor and began to brush Hawk, grimacing as the movement pained him.

  She went to him. “Let me give it a try.” He handed over the brush, and she set to work. James sat on the couch, watching.

  “Not bad for an amateur.”

  “I’ve got some experience. My dad let us take care of the neighbor’s dog once when they went on vacation. It was a little schnauzer, and she was convinced the brush was her evil nemesis.” She felt the familiar tension of happiness and grief at the memory. Moments of joy with her sister, viewed through the lens of a later time, when she’d realized her life was a lie. But as she began to stroke the brush along the Hawk’s flanks, she felt the pain of the past dissolve into a strange haze of contentment. Right here, right now, she was in a place of safety with a friend, a man who had trusted her. Strangest of all, she’d decided that she trusted him, too.

  As a friend, she chided herself. Friends.

  “Thank you for making me dinner,” she said, still stroking the brush over Hank’s thick body. “And for letting me in on your thoughts.” Letting me in and trusting me. I won’t betray you.

  Receiving no response, she turned to find him asleep on the couch, breathing softly. She continued to brush Hawk and gaze at James, the planes of his face, strong chin, thick lashes, the scratch that ran across his forehead. In sleep he looked younger. Perhaps in his unconscious state he could let go of the burden of bringing King and Falkner to justice, juggling his suspicions and protecting her. She offered a prayer that he’d sleep deeply and well. When Hawk was sufficiently groomed, she put the brush away and found a blanket. It was old and handmade, squares of different colored fabrics stitched together by some patient hand. She draped it over James, intending to wake him if he was still sleeping when they needed to leave.

  On impulse, she leaned down and pressed her lips to his temple. He sighed in his sleep, and for a fraction of a second, she wondered how it would feel be kissed properly by James Harrison, to accept love and give it to a God-fearing man.

  Friendship, not love, she scolded herself silently before she let herself out, shutting the door behind her.

  Fifteen

  “How’s the story coming along, Mads?” Uncle Ray asked. She heard him breathing hard into the phone, pictured his heavy frame slouched in the worn recliner that he refused to replace. He did not do anything quickly, and he hadn’t returned her call until after ten o’clock.

  “It’s coming. I think things are about to break wide-open here,” she said, gazing out the window into the night. There was no sign of movement from James’s cabin.

  “I looked into that past case you asked about.”

  “You did? Oh, that’s right.” Madison felt a swipe of guilt that she’d commissioned her uncle to pry into James’s family history when she’d first arrived in town, curiosity about the blue-eyed cop needling her. But that was before we were friends, she told herself, and it didn’t hurt to know things. He’d probably researched her life, too, and that had given him plenty to chew on. “What did you find out?”

  “Not much more than you already knew. Paige Berg, good kid, honor student, accuses Sterling Harrison, local bad boy, of raping her. He’s eighteen. He goes to jail to await trial. She waits too long before making the accusation to present any physical evidence, but she produces a witness who said he heard her calling for help the night of the alleged rape. Later we find out it’s a friend who lied for her, and she made the whole thing up in the first place. Sterling is released. Some folks continue to believe that Sterling intimidated her into recanting and are still convinced he’s guilty. The Harrison family spends a bundle on legal fees, and the ranch is sold a couple of months after Sterling is released.”

  She groaned. Innocent until the public decides you’re guilty. “Thanks for looking into it, Uncle Ray. I guess it doesn’t much matter anymore.”

  “Never hurts to know.” It was another of Uncle Ray’s mantras.

  “I’ll be back in Tuckerville soon. We’ll have dinner.”

  He paused. “With Kate?”

  “I hope so.”

  “She sent me a birthday card,” he said.

  Another good sign. “I’m glad.”

  “Me, too. I’ll make one of the lasagnas with extra cheese my doc says I shouldn’t eat.”

  “That sounds great.” She was about to tell him good-night when he interrupted.

  “This Paige girl—did you know she was James’s girlfriend? Wonder how that makes a guy feel? To introduce your brother to the girl who’s going to ruin his life?”

  Madison’s heart squeezed. “Yes, I knew.” How did that make James feel? Guilt-ridden, crippled with agony. It could take him a lifetime to learn to trust a woman again.

  Yet he’d trusted her.

  She thanked her uncle and hung up. Her fingers found the little drawer and she opened it, pulling out the necklace and tracing the words engraved on the metal.

  Behold, I will do a new thing; now it shall spring forth; shall ye not know it?

  God was teaching James how to trust himself again, to let go of the past and walk a new path. Could He...was it possible for Madison to learn such a thing about trust? Clutching the necklace, she fought back the thrill of hope and fear. A light turned on in the window of James’s cabin, and she saw his silhouette as he passed by the glass. She felt drawn to him like a moth seeking out the golden glow in the darkness. I won’t betray you, James.

  What was she doing? What were these strange, una
ccustomed notions that banged around in her heart? She remembered her father watching her feeble school performances, the proud dad smiling from ear to ear. Hadn’t she trusted him completely? Believed with all the rest of the world that he was what he appeared to be? He was her dad, a criminal, the supporter of his girls and the man who murdered their mother. How could he be all those things? How could she ever trust someone with her future again?

  The fear grew too strong and, with shaking fingers, she slowly returned the necklace to the drawer. It was time to focus on other things.

  She pulled on a Windbreaker, then stowed her phone in one pocket and her notebook in the other. Hawk was already prancing around the car, eager to greet Madison.

  “Hey, I’m sorry I fell asleep,” James said. If the lighting had been better, she probably would have seen him blush.

  “You needed the rest.”

  “Yeah, but it’s really bad manners to nod off in front of your company. My mother would be horrified.”

  “I don’t hold it against you. My Uncle Ray can sleep standing up. I’ve actually seen him lean against the wall and doze. It defies the laws of nature.”

  They drove out of camp, and James took a steeply sloped road she hadn’t known was there.

  “Why Sunset Gorge?” she asked. “Seems an out-of-the-way route for King’s truck.”

  “It eventually connects to the freeway, where a truck wouldn’t be noticed. In a small town like Desert Valley, people might pay attention to a big vehicle rumbling through the streets at midnight.”

  “What do you think King is planning?”

  “Tipster said he’s moving a truck full of stolen cigarettes through town on his way to bigger cities, probably, where they can be quietly distributed and sold at a hefty profit.” His fingers drummed on the steering wheel.

  “What’s our role?”

  He shot up an eyebrow. “Ours? Hawk and I are on strict watch-and-report since I’m not officially back on duty. That means you aren’t to get out of this car, okay? Since you’re even less official than I am?”

  “Don’t stray into the woods,” she said in a dramatic sotto voce. “Got it.”