Czytaj książkę: «The Mysteries of Angel Butte»

CHAPTER ONE

LIEUTENANT JANE VAHALIK’S skin prickled from her awareness that she was being watched. She didn’t have to look around to know who had his eyes on her.

It seemed an excellent time to fade away into the early-evening darkness, circling behind her big black SUV to change clothes in preparation for tonight’s assault. Others had been taking turns to do the same; earlier, two designated officers had returned to town to collect the additional weaponry the group would need, as well as body armor and black clothing. Much as Jane had hated the idea of a fellow law enforcement officer—male, of course—letting himself into her apartment and pawing through her drawers, there hadn’t seemed to be a good alternative. Her GMC Yukon was one of the more conspicuous vehicles collected out here, and going and returning unnoticed was essential. Besides, any of the guys might have hated having her in his home as much as she did the other way around. And did she want to know that a detective under her command had an impressive porn collection or decorated his living room with a beer-can pyramid or had a kitchen or bathroom so filthy it would turn her stomach? Really, really, no. At least her place was clean.

The Yukon was currently backed into a dirt turnaround, shielded from the main road by a thicket of scrubby trees and blackberries. Rusting barbed wire, only a few feet away, marked the beginning of a pasture holding a couple of horses, one obviously elderly and swaybacked, and, of all things, a donkey. Now she heard a few far-off rustles, followed by a whuffle from the darkness. Animals. They would be supremely uninterested in seeing her seminaked.

Knowing how brief her privacy might be and listening for human footsteps, Jane hastily shed the clothes she had been wearing for two days now, since she’d learned that police chief Raynor’s nephew was being held hostage. Her nose wrinkled in distaste as she bundled them up. She’d managed a shower this morning at Raynor’s house, but had had to put the same clothes back on. Even if she’d been comfortable asking, she couldn’t have borrowed from Julia Raynor, the police chief’s sister-in-law and the boy’s mother; Julia had a slender dancer’s body, while Jane...did not.

She had stepped into the black trousers first and was tugging down the hem of a long-sleeved black T-shirt when she heard the crunch of a footstep.

“Jane.”

She closed her eyes for a moment in resignation. “Sergeant.”

There was a brief second of silence. She had no doubt Clay Renner’s jaw was clenching in annoyance. An attempt to distance herself, her formality was bound to irritate him, and he surely wouldn’t like any reminder that she outranked him, even if they were from different law enforcement agencies.

He stepped around the fender of the Yukon. The night wasn’t quite ink dark yet, but getting there. The moon, only a sliver in the sky, was their friend. Given virtually no cover during the approach, getting half a dozen people in place around the barn where they believed the thirteen-year-old boy was being held hostage would have been a heck of a lot more challenging under the bright silver light of a full moon.

Jane could make Clay out, barely. He was really just a darker bulk against the indistinct background, but she didn’t need to see him to picture him. She’d dated Clay Renner half a dozen times almost a year ago. He was big, athletic and surprisingly light and agile on his feet given his impressive muscles, with a roughcast, angular face that was very male without being handsome. Blue eyes that were too observant. His light brown, sun-streaked hair always looked as if it was in need of a haircut, but felt like the heaviest of silk slipping through her fingers. At thirty-six, he was two years older than she. Idiot that she was, she still remembered his birth date.

“Are you trying to prove something?” he asked, voice low and intense. “That you can do anything the rest of us can do?”

This was why she’d quit seeing Clay.

“I can do anything the rest of you can do,” she said levelly. “And damn well, too.”

He made an exasperated sound in his throat. “You know what I mean.”

Unfortunately, she did. “No, I don’t,” she said perversely, reaching for the vest.

The weight settled on her shoulders. Of course, the blasted thing didn’t fit the way it was supposed to. Tactical vests and body armor that actually fit women’s bodies were being manufactured. Unfortunately, the Angel Butte Police Department had yet to purchase any. Of course, a vest that accommodated her inconveniently large breasts was otherwise way too large and too long. She consoled herself that her abdomen was covered.

“You’re going to get stuck going through that goddamn window,” Clay snapped. “That’s what I mean.”

“I’m smaller than the rest of you.”

“Except for your, uh, chest.”

The mealymouthed description surprised her. “Don’t you mean tits?” she said, the heat of anger searing her cheeks. “Or— No, it’s a rack, isn’t it?”

She was pretty sure she heard his molars grinding this time.

“I told you it was nothing but stupid male posturing and I was sorry.”

Like she could forget the way she’d overheard him talking about her to some of his buddies, all fellow cops.

The anger disappeared as fast as it had risen, leaving her feeling...hollow. She shook her head, even though he probably couldn’t see her. “The fact that you’re given to stupid male posturing is enough in itself, Clay. Let’s drop it. I’m a cop. I have breasts. Get over it.”

“You don’t give anyone a second chance, do you, Jane?” His voice was rough.

“You know what I heard was just the icing on the cake. The fact is, you’d never be comfortable having a relationship with a woman cop. I don’t suppose you raised a champagne glass to me when you heard I’d been promoted, did you?”

Silence.

“Didn’t think so.” She tossed her discarded clothing into the back of the SUV, holstered her .38 Ruger and closed the rear door as quietly as possible. “You’d better get changed, too. Your white shirt kind of stands out.”

That wasn’t a lie, even if mostly she was trying to get rid of him. Earlier she’d seen he had on well-worn jeans and a snug-fitting white T-shirt that revealed powerful biceps and pecs. The better to advertise, she’d thought cynically.

“Listen to sense, will you? You being there will distract the rest of us. We’ll all be worried about keeping you safe.”

Was she supposed to be touched? she wondered wearily. “No, Clay, you won’t all be distracted. Astonishingly enough, Captain McAllister and Chief Raynor, at least, respect my abilities. And you know what? I’d really like it if you wouldn’t worry about me.”

He made an inarticulate sound of frustration, snapped, “On your head be it,” and stomped away.

Jane didn’t move to follow him immediately. Instead she gazed toward the dark pasture and struggled to center herself. Pictured the small window she had studied earlier through binoculars. Began to walk herself step-by-step through what she had to do. Shatter the glass. Toss in a flash bang. Sweep the shards off the frame. Hoist herself—

“Is Sergeant Renner going to be a problem?” asked Captain Colin McAllister from only a few feet away.

She gasped and swung to face him. “Damn. I didn’t hear you coming.”

“I can see why,” he said drily.

It was Colin who last year had promoted her to lieutenant, heading the investigative division directly beneath him. Colin, a man who bore some physical resemblance to Clay Renner, enough to, on occasion, push her buttons.

Well, he’d never looked twice at her, not that way. The upside was he treated her with unwavering respect for her abilities. Downside? She was thirty-four years old and had yet to meet a man who treated her with respect and wanted her as a woman. She’d begun to suspect it wasn’t happening.

And was that so bad? She loved her job, and the relationships she’d tried to have had left her pretty sour on men anyway.

“Did you hear all that?” she asked.

“Afraid so. I didn’t want to interrupt. Sorry. When you recommended Sergeant Renner for this team, I didn’t realize you had a history.”

“Not much of one.” She shrugged to suggest how little she cared. “Impulse on both our parts. As you may have gathered, he’s a sexist pig.”

Colin chuckled. “Or intensely protective of you.”

She felt like a cap had been pulled out of a bottle of champagne—or a bottle rocket. “So protective,” she said fiercely, “I walked into the squad room to hear him describing my, er, attributes and telling everyone in earshot what he intended to do to me.”

She could make out his grimace. “Yeah, that would do it.”

Feeling sick, Jane said, “Now, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you that.”

“I assumed you took some guff, being a woman in a field that’s still primarily male and testosterone driven. Let’s say I’m not surprised. Disappointed in Sergeant Renner, though.” He shook his head. “He’s been strictly professional here.”

“I wouldn’t have suggested we call him if I hadn’t been confident he would be.”

Colin pushed a button on his watch and it briefly lit up. “Less than an hour. You okay with your role?”

“You mean, going in the window? Sure.”

“Good enough.” He nodded and melted away, leaving her with a whole lot of regrets involving both men. Why couldn’t there be one man who both wanted and respected her?

* * *

CLAY WISHED HE’D been feeding Jane a load of crap, but the truth was, he didn’t think he was going to be able to turn off his awareness that she was one of the first members of the assault team in. Maybe the first member.

Jane Vahalik, no more than five foot four. Jane, with a sweet face and an incredibly lush body. A centerfold body, not a tough-as-nails cop body.

And, goddamn it, he knew she was good. She’d spent time on the multijurisdictional drug enforcement team, so this sure as hell wasn’t the first raid she’d participated in. From what he’d heard, she had played a solid part in the ugly stuff that had gone down last year in Angel Butte that had resulted in the police chief resigning in disgrace and a succession of reputedly crooked officers getting the ax. There was no way she’d earned the promotion to lieutenant by sleeping with her boss, as he’d heard suggested. If nothing else, Colin McAllister had the reputation as a straight arrow. Plus, he’d been living with another woman, one whom he had since married.

Knowing all of that didn’t help. Clay had been raised to believe in traditional gender roles. His father was a domineering man, his mother gentle and clearly subservient. Clay supported equal rights and never had any trouble working with women. But he’d tended to date women who didn’t challenge him in any meaningful way, and in his hazy view of the future, he saw a wife who’d stay at home with the kids, making her life about him.

He still didn’t know why he found Jane, a woman who’d excelled in a macho profession, so compelling. But, damn it, she’d gotten to him from the first time he’d met her. He’d liked her. He’d been living for the chance to get her into his bed. The really shitty part was, he’d deserved to be dumped. He still winced at the memory of having let himself be goaded into talking about her as if she was nothing but another piece of ass while bragging about his own sexual prowess. That moment—when he’d turned and seen her face—was one of the worst of his life.

That was it. She turned and walked out. He’d left groveling messages on her voice mail. She hadn’t returned them. Pride and his own awareness that the wrongdoing was his kept him from leaning on her doorbell. Also, as a cop, he was especially sensitive to any behavior that would smack of stalking.

He’d spotted her from a distance a few times, but when she’d seen him, she’d turned in the other direction. The closest had been one day in the corridor at the courthouse. The way her expression had gone blank when their eyes met had hit him hard.

And yes, he knew he should have kept his mouth shut tonight. He had kept his mouth shut while he, Raynor, McAllister and Jane, as the ranking officers, had planned the assault. He wouldn’t embarrass her like that.

But if he had to see her go down—

Clay swore softly under his breath as he ripped off his white T-shirt and pulled on a black one followed by the vest, which he topped with a black windbreaker that said POLICE across the back.

It might kill him if he saw her reeling back, blood blossoming. If he had to watch as the light went out of her hazel eyes.

He swore again, more savagely this time. He might really die if he couldn’t keep his head in the game.

And he didn’t know if he could do it.

Clay never liked waiting. This time was worse than usual. Jane was at the top of his list of reasons he hated everything about this operation, but she wasn’t the only thing. He had worn, with pride, the Butte County Sheriff’s Department uniform every day for years. He might not wear a uniform to work anymore, but he still clipped the badge to his belt nearly every morning. Finding out at least two of the kidnappers were Butte County deputies eroded everything he’d believed about the men with whom he worked. The one that really got him was Bart Witten, a detective in the major crimes unit, a man Clay had worked closely with in the past. Not a friend, but Clay had trusted him. And now it was looking as though the son of a bitch had been willing to participate in the kidnapping of a kid to put pressure on a witness in the trial of a drug lord.

It sucked to know he might have to shoot either of the men who wore the same uniform he did, but he couldn’t afford to hesitate. He knew that.

This operation was high risk for a lot of other reasons, too. They weren’t sure how many men were inside the barn. They’d seen four, but there might be more. Getting close without being spotted would be tricky. Three different entry points for his team meant a real possibility they’d shoot each other by accident.

The fact that Jane was lead on one of those entry points made his head swell with fury and frustration and fear.

To make it all perfect, the creeps inside were holding a kid. A vulnerable boy who could get hit by cross fire even if someone didn’t try to take him out on purpose.

And, oh, yeah, Chief Alec Raynor, in charge of this whole freaking operation, loved that kid, his nephew.

“Just the way I want to make a living,” Clay muttered, to nobody, but another shape near him turned.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he growled, identifying Abe Cherney, who was with ABPD rather than the sheriff’s department. Cherney was a big guy who, with Carson Tucker, a sheriff’s deputy, would be using the battering ram to break down the double doors into the barn. “You ready to go?” he asked, and Cherney gave him a thumbs-up.

* * *

EVERY SENSE HEIGHTENED, Clay stood in the darkness, intensely disliking his role. Hovering in back, command central, he would make the final decision. Although they had a warrant based on a tentative witness identification of Tim Hansen as the deputy who’d picked up thirteen-year-old Matt Raynor at his house, everyone here would be happier if they had confirmation the kid really was being held inside the barn before they went in with guns blazing. Some skinny ABPD officer who looked about sixteen—Ryan Dunlap—and Jane were the two who were taking a huge risk to try for that confirmation.

And goddamn—Clay wanted to be one of the first in the door, not the last. But there was no way he could get his shoulders through either of the windows, and Raynor and McAllister had claimed prime entry positions.

It was Dunlap’s voice Clay heard first through the radio, next thing to soundless.

“Can’t see much. Back of someone’s head sitting at a table, a corner of an interior wall. Sorry.”

Then Jane’s whisper, chilling him. “Two—no, three guys at a table. Playing cards. There’s a door— Wait.”

Oh, shit. Oh, hell. All one of them had to do was turn his head and he’d see her face in the window. Clay’s jaw hurt and the tendons strained in his neck.

She’d told him not to worry about her. She couldn’t have made it any clearer that there was no do-over for him.

Didn’t matter. The need to keep her safe raged in him.

Head in the game, he reminded himself, trying to take slow, deep breaths. He wouldn’t do her or Raynor’s kid in there any good if he didn’t get in the zone that would let him shutter the emotion and do what had to be done.

“It’s opening,” Jane continued. “Man coming out. That makes four—” She stopped abruptly. “Kid on a cot.” Soft as her voice was, he heard the triumph. “Looks like tape over his mouth.”

Clay closed his eyes. But he thumbed his radio and said it. “Go.”

* * *

GLASS SHATTERED. FLASH BANGS. Oh, Jesus, gunshots. Jane. The motion-activated light above the barn doors came on as Cherney and Tucker charged forward and smashed the battering ram into the doors. McAllister and Raynor were poised to enter.

Wait, Jane. Goddamn it, wait until there’s some confusion. Don’t play heroine.

At the next rush, the doors cracked and fell open. Already running, Clay was only steps behind McAllister.

Inside the barn was chaos. Trapped in stalls, horses kicked and screamed. Men were shouting. A couple of voices yelled, “This is the police! Hands in the air.” The light was unnaturally bright. Clay made himself slow down in his head, see that the broad aisle opened into a space probably designed for a veterinarian or farrier to work. He saw only one room separate from the stalls—a tack room? Smells were sharp in his nostrils: hay, manure, beer and burgers, gunpowder, fear. As reported, a group had been sitting around a card table, already kicked over. Clay saw Raynor vault it. Metal folding chairs were flying, tangling underfoot.

Nearly in front of him, Carson Tucker went down, clutching his belly and screaming something. No time to stop.

There was Jane—alive, yes!—but someone swung a chair at her. As she ducked away, it connected with her shoulder and knocked her to her knees. Even as Clay fired, he saw her gun bark, too, and the guy collapsed, sprawling hideously over the chair. She didn’t even look at Clay, only swung in a circle with her weapon held ready.

A burst of gunfire from the small room brought Clay’s head around and an expletive escaped him. That was where she’d seen the kid.

Don’t be stupid. Make sure it’s secured in here first.

They all had assignments. Raynor had gone after the boy.

Like Jane, Clay was turning carefully, looking for targets. All four were being cuffed or lay still on the floor. Clay checked to be sure the guy he’d shot no longer held a weapon, then crouched by him. His eyes were open and sightless. Dead. And no wonder—his body was riddled with bullet holes.

Clay was the closest to the open door that led into the tack room. He spun in, weapon extended, and found two more bad guys down, one dead, the other bleeding and cuffed. The kid was alive but bloody. Chief Raynor was trying to yank the boy’s T-shirt off, hampered by the duct tape binding his hands and ankles. Clay had forgotten the poor kid wore a cast on one arm already.

“Where are you hurt?” Raynor was saying in a voice Clay hadn’t heard from him before.

“I’m okay.” The boy’s voice was thin and high. “I’m okay.” And, damn, the skin where the duct tape had been ripped off his face was painfully red.

Clay saw the moment relief hit Raynor. “I need a knife,” he said hoarsely.

“I’ve got one,” Clay said. He’d worn a backup .38 on one ankle and a knife sheathed on the other. He pushed up his pant leg, took out the knife and sliced the duct tape, freeing the boy’s ankles and then his hands.

Matt Raynor leaped into his uncle’s arms, clutching on with his one good arm while the chief grabbed tight and bowed his head over the boy’s.

Clay backed away, feeling an unfamiliar sting behind his eyelids.

It was all over but the mop-up.

* * *

WITH THE TAILGATE of her Yukon open again, Jane peeled off the vest. She felt...weird.

She was in the here and now, but every blink brought a miniflashback. The effect was like a strobe light.

Dark, slow shapes moving in the pasture—horses.

Diving in the window, shards of glass ripping at her vest and clothing. Fear.

Blue, white and red lights swirling atop aide cars.

Knowing she couldn’t totally evade the chair swung at her. Dodging, feeling it connect.

She gingerly fingered her shoulder and upper arm and knew there’d be a bruise. A whopper.

The weapon jumping in her hand. Blood. Astonishment on the man’s face as he stumbled and began to fall.

Men’s voices on the other side of her SUV, a rumble that might be comprehensible if she could bring herself out of this fugue state.

The slackness of death. Death she had caused.

Jane heard herself make a sound. Either she had killed a man tonight—or Clay Renner had. Or both of them.

“You okay?”

Of course it was his voice. Of course she hadn’t heard him coming.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” she said sharply.

“You ever shot anybody before?”

The angle at which she thrust her jaw forward made her neck hurt. Pride was a powerful force. Even so, she hesitated. “No,” she admitted, grudgingly.

He swung the back door of the Yukon wider open and half sat on the back, one booted foot braced on the ground. “I have,” he said, tone flat, reminding her of his military service. “This is the first time as a cop I’ve killed a man.”

“You sure you did? I thought I killed a man.” The words were no sooner out than she cringed at the hostility in her voice. What? Was she turning this into a competition?

And what did that make her?

Clay didn’t say anything for a minute, only watched her. Uneasily, she wondered how much he could see.

Finally he stirred. “The M.E. will let us know eventually. My guess is, we killed him a couple of times over.”

She squeezed her eyes shut and saw it all over again.

Astonishment on the man’s face as he stumbled and began to fall. She swallowed and opened her eyes.

“We all hope we’ll never have to do that,” Clay said, in a tone so gentle she didn’t recognize it coming from him.

Jane was suddenly horrified at how terribly she was behaving. If he could be decent, she could, too.

“No,” she said. “Or yes. I never wanted—” At the taste of bile, she had to swallow again. She turned her back on Clay.

The faint sound of the Yukon sighing made her realize he’d risen to his feet and stood behind her.

“Jane.”

“Don’t say anything,” she whispered.

A pause. “Why?” His voice, too, was so soft he wouldn’t have been heard by anyone more than a foot or two away.

“Because—I can’t talk to you.”

“You don’t trust me.” Now he sounded harsh.

“No.” She steadied. “I can’t.”

“You can, but you’ll never believe it, will you?”

She held herself together by pure force of will. “No.”

It was as if they were in a bubble of silence. Everything around them seemed far away. Jane didn’t move, wasn’t sure she breathed.

Then the bubble popped and she heard him walking away. One of the aide cars was pulling out, accelerating. She realized she should have been out there while the wounded were loaded, not hiding here in the darkness.

Following Clay, she reached a second aide car and saw that Ryan Dunlap had been hoisted aboard on a gurney. He was swearing, an impressive litany that made her smile despite everything. Thank God he’d regained consciousness. Apparently the bullet had only grazed his skull.

She leaned into the back of the ambulance. “Headache?”