Cage looked up from the reams of printouts he’d downloaded from the computer and set down the highlighter he’d been using. He’d confined his search, for the present, to homicides that had occurred in the last ten years, and to victims who fit the physical description of Janice Reilly. And even as he started to read through the material that hadn’t been eliminated, he wondered if he was wasting his time.
If so, it wouldn’t be the first fruitless task he’d engaged in over the past few days. The search for Donny Ray Rutherford had yielded them nothing, despite the manpower he’d assigned to it. Stacy’s prediction had proved true. Donny Ray had taken to the woods, and so far had managed to elude the manhunt. The tracking dogs had been useless because the recent heavy rain had washed away any traces of scent he might have left. In any case, Donny Ray was wily enough to have used the river to end his trail.
Although Cage still had men combing the area, the search was going to be tedious and time-consuming. He was banking on the fact that Donny Ray wouldn’t leave the area. In his warped mind, his violence toward his wife wouldn’t seem serious enough for him to run very far.
Or maybe Cage wasn’t giving the man enough credit. Maybe Donny Ray realized that the longer he stayed at large, the shakier Stacy would be about pressing charges.
If so, he’d be right. Each day that passed without her husband in custody, Stacy withdrew a bit more, got a little less certain about her actions. Cage had assured her over and over again that Donny Ray would be brought in, and he’d been sincere. But he harbored an equally sincere realization that timing in this instance was critical.
He turned his attention back to the printouts. Already, it looked as if the particular hunch he’d followed had led him straight up a blind alley. After narrowing the search, he’d combed the information for rape/murders with similar MOs, but no particular pattern was jumping out at him. In his experience, repeat offenders didn’t change their style or their weapon of choice. Each had an individual preference—the impersonal power of a gun, the ruthlessness of a blade, the all-powerful feeling of strangulation. And once they’d established an MO, they might improve upon it, polish it, but they didn’t alter it to a significant degree.
Which led him right back to nowhere.
He pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes. Black dots still danced behind his eyelids—a sure sign he’d been poring over these printouts for too long.
The door behind him opened, and Fisher’s voice sounded. “I’ve got some good news, Sheriff.”
Cage lifted his head and turned around. “I could use some, Delbert. What do you have?”
“Finally got a lead on the source of ether for the meth operation.”
His attention sharpened, Cage asked, “You found where it came from?”
Fisher shook his head. “Not yet, but I’ve got a start. A clerk at one of the last automotive stores we checked, positively ID’d one of the pictures we showed them.”
“And?”
“Said a man who looked like the photo I showed him of Donny Ray came in last winter and wanted to order a large quantity of ether. Gave the guy a song and dance about moving up north, and wanting to stock it up for the next winter so he could start his car. The clerk was wise enough to recognize the story for what it was and told him he had to report such orders to his manager. And then he said Donny Ray offered him a wad of cash to keep the transaction between the two of them.”
“Like I always said, Donny Ray’s not the brightest bulb in the pack. Good work, Delbert. Guess we have a few more questions to put to ol’ Donny Ray when we catch up with him. Keep Sutton and Baker on it, though. The Rutherfords ended up getting those chemicals from somewhere. Let one track the anhydrous leads and the other focus on the ether.”
“Yessir.”
Cage rubbed at a knotted muscle in his neck. “Have you come up with anything more on Jeremy Klatt?”
A little of the jubilance went out of Fisher’s expression. “Not yet, sir, sorry. Checked with his employer, co-workers… Even his ex-girlfriends don’t have anything too damaging to say about him. Unless being tight with money has become a crime.”
Blowing out a breath of frustration, Cage shook his head. “If it was, we’d have our cells full pretty regular. Damn. Can’t help thinking we’re chasing our tails looking in his direction.”
“I don’t know.” Fisher reached up a hand, ran it through his thinning dark hair. “Most times it turns out to be someone closest to the victim. I can’t help thinking whoever did it is right under our noses.”
“Yeah, well, Klatt would make a helluva good suspect if we weren’t coming up empty-handed on any evidence linking him to the crime. No, I think we need to re-examine our attentions in the case. I want you to reinterview the victim’s co-workers, her friends, even her beautician. Ask them again about somebody new in her life.”
Fisher shifted uncomfortably. “Sheriff, we went over those questions with them before—”
“So, do it again.” There wasn’t a snap in Cage’s voice, not quite, but there was enough steel to have the other man subsiding. “Janice Reilly dressed to go out that night to see someone. We haven’t learned who it was yet. Concentrate on that.”
Fisher’s face was as expressionless as his tone. “Yessir.” He’d turned to leave, when Cage’s voice stopped him again.
“And Delbert?”
The man looked quizzically at him.
“Good job with the lead on the ether.”
A slight smile curled the other man’s mouth, reminding Cage how long it had been since he’d seen one there. “Thank you, sir.”
The door closed quietly behind the deputy and Cage shifted his gaze back to the printouts. His concentration slower to adjust. He’d gotten used to trusting his instincts when he was a detective with the NOPD. They’d saved his skin on more than one occasion. Was it possible to lose that intuition once the constant edge of danger was removed? He dropped his head to his hands, considered the question. Law enforcement in Charity had been, up until recently, a walk in the park. They’d handled the drunks, the reckless drivers, an occasional break and enter. There’d been that stolen-car ring in the southern part of the parish last year, but compared to his caseload as a detective, the work had been fairly routine. Until now.
He raised his head, stared blindly into space. He was going to have to hope like hell that a man couldn’t lose instincts that had played such a large part in his life—because his sixth sense was still prodding him. His focus shifted to the sheaf of papers on the table.
And it was telling him that he’d find answers buried somewhere in that pile of information.
Zoey barely let up on the accelerator when she entered Charity’s town limits. She’d been so lost in her work, the hours had gotten away from her. When she’d finally glanced at the clock, she’d only had ten minutes before she was supposed to meet Cage at the Stew ’N Brew for lunch.
There had been no time to change her clothes, as she’d planned. She’d had to be satisfied with grabbing her purse and running a quick brush through her hair as she’d backed the car out of the drive. Oxy had whined piteously when he’d realized she was leaving without him, and she knew she’d pay for the slight when she got home. The pooch was ingenious at getting himself into mischief when she wasn’t around.
The diner was ahead, and she was mentally congratulating herself for arriving on time when a siren sounded behind her. For an instant she was certain it was Cage, making a spectacle for which she’d make him pay dearly. But a glance in the rearview mirror showed an official city car, not a parish one. Damn. Surely at some time in her life she had to have done at least one good deed for which an opportunity such as this would have been allowed to pass.
She pulled over to the side of the road and looked straight ahead rather than at the Potter sisters, who were peering out of Neesom’s store window. There was no divine intervention in sight. Apparently God was having a busy Thursday.
She rolled down her window, ignoring the intense wave of heat. Arranging her face into a polite smile, she greeted the stern-looking policeman approaching her.
“Is something wrong, officer?” Experience had taught her that ignorance worked as well as any other ploy.
“I’ll need to see your driver’s license, ma’am. You were doing forty in a twenty-five-mile-an-hour zone.”
Zoey handed him her driver’s license and an apology. “I’m sorry, I just wasn’t thinking. I noticed I was late for an appointment and I…”
The man already had his ticket book out, and was writing carefully. “Discipline is the key, ma’am. Time is a gift. We all have to use it wisely.”
The rest of her explanation slid down her throat. For the first time she noticed that despite the stifling heat, the man’s crisply pressed uniform didn’t show a hint of moisture. She rolled her eyes. It was just her luck to have to tangle with a superhuman law-enforcement robot.
From the corner of her eye she saw someone approaching and turned her head. Mentally she groaned. Cage had pulled his car up in front of the diner, and was sauntering across the street toward them, hands in his pockets. She’d always thought she had a sense of the ridiculous, but this was overkill.
“Looks like you’ve caught yourself a dangerous criminal, Boyd.” Cage bent to look in the driver’s-side window, a broad grin on his face.
The ticket was ripped off the pad, and the officer handed Zoey a copy. “I’ve got the situation under control, Sheriff.”
“I don’t know.” Cage straightened, and faced the man. “Maybe I’ll just hang around in case she needs to be frisked. Did you run her plates? She may be wanted for something.”
Zoey aimed a particularly lethal glance at him. His grin only widened.
“As I said, Sheriff,” the officer went on imperturbably, replacing the pen in his shirt pocket, “just a routine traffic stop. Nothing for you to concern yourself with.”
“Routine traffic stop?” Cage rubbed his chin and headed to the back of her car. “You probably caught the fact that the bulb is out in her taillight, then.”
Zoey halted in the act of folding up the ticket, her jaw dropping. She poked her head out the window. “What do you think you’re doing, Gauthier?”
“You know, you’re right.” The officer took out his book again. Before her disbelieving gaze, the man wrote out another ticket and approached her with it. Cage, the low-down weasel, was bent over in a suspect fit of coughing.
“Now this one’s just a warning, ma’am.” Zoey fairly snatched the piece of paper out of his hand and jammed it into her purse. “You’ve got yourself a week to see about fixing that taillight. Safety should be a driver’s utmost concern.”
Only the fact that it was sure to result in another ticket kept her from backing over the man grinning at her through her rear window. Clenching her teeth, she slowly and carefully pulled away from the curb and parked in a free space in front of the diner.
Cage strolled across the street to meet her, and she got out of the car, her fingers curled. The police car pulled into the spot beside her. She whirled on the officer getting out of the car. “Now what?”
His eyebrows rose. “Ma’am?”
“I’m too close to the curb…too far away…my car hasn’t been washed recently…what?”
“Uh…Zoey.” Cage’s voice sounded in her ear. She switched the focus of her glare to him.
“What?”
The policeman went by them, headed up the steps.
“I believe he’s going in to eat lunch. That is—” his voice was full of laughter “—If he still has an appetite.”
“Damn you, Gauthier.” Her elbow jabbed his ribs with satisfying force. “Sometimes you’re just too cute for words.”
He rubbed at the spot where she’d caught him, his smile not dimming. Taking her elbow in his hand was as much an effort to protect himself as a gesture of politeness.
“Now, honey—” he fought to keep his tone sober as they walked up the steps to the diner “—Where’s your sense of humor?”
“It’ll be restored as soon as you fix my taillight.”
It was, he figured as they entered the diner and found a booth, a lighter sentence than he deserved.
“I’ll have the special today, Becky.”
“Chicken-fried steak swimming in mashed potatoes and gravy?” Zoey sent him a reproving look. “I can almost hear your left ventricle slamming shut in protest.”
“I’ve gotcha down, Sheriff. And how about you, Miss Prescott?” The waitress turned to Zoey, pen poised. “Gumbo again?”
Prepared to agree, Zoey looked from the expectant expression on Becky’s face to Cage’s knowing smile. A moment passed before resolve solidified. “Yes. Gumbo.” The waitress wrote it down and turned away.
“Gumbo’s always good,” Cage said blandly.
Zoey narrowed her gaze at him. “I know what you’re getting at, Gauthier. You’re saying I’m predictable.”
“Me?” His brows arched in exaggerated innocence. “I thought we were talking about Ethel’s gumbo.”
“There’s nothing wrong with a little structure in life,” she said primly. Not that there had been much structure in her life since Cage had entered it, but it was, in general, a philosophy she held dear. It wasn’t inflexible to insist on control, she thought, lifting her chin. Surely it wasn’t asking too much to keep things orderly, practical, with a slight protective distance between her and most of the world.
Her gaze dropped away from that laughing light in Cage’s eyes. Distance, she’d found, spiraled away a little faster and more furiously each time she was with him. She smothered the chill the realization sent through her by changing the subject.
“Who was that drone to duty who stopped me, anyway?”
He chuckled at her words. “That was Charity’s chief of police, Boyd Runnels.”
She glanced up, interested, and turned her head to where the officer was sitting alone. “So that’s your main opposition in the parish sharpshooting contest.” She faced Cage again. “I’m not surprised you beat him. He’s the kind of man to have technique down pat, but his kind lacks imagination.”
His brows climbed. “You think imagination is important when shooting at targets?”
She sat back as Becky slid her soup and a steaming “special” plate on the table before them. “I figure someone who knows how to think outside the lines might have an edge.”
Tucking her spoon into her bowl, she began to eat. He was slower to follow suit. She might like to keep herself held apart from the rest of the world, but as an observer she’d be perfectly suited for police work. She was a fair judge of character. He supposed that came in handy for a writer.
“Sheriff!”
He was no more than a third of the way through with his dinner when Ethel came to the booth to confront him, arms folded across her thin chest.
“I sure am enjoying your special plate today, Ethel.”
The flattery had no visible effect on her. “You need to see to that Billy McIntire again. Folks are saying he’s having one of his spells.”
Giving an inward sigh, he set down his silverware. “Saw him just last week, Ethel. He seemed fine at the time.”
She glared at him, as if he’d just called her a liar. “My grandsons were messing in the woods near his place, and he almost scared them to death! They come up on him and he was acting right strange, moaning and crying out at nothing. Someone needs to make sure he’s all right.”
There was no doubt from her tone who she thought that someone should be. “I’ll do that, Ethel. But you tell those grandsons of yours to stay out of the woods until Donny Ray is apprehended. I don’t know that he’d harm them, but it wouldn’t be wise to test it.”
A startled expression came over her face. “I’ll be sure to mention that to their mother. That girl can’t be thinking straight, letting them kids run wild.” She turned half away, then back again, as if a thought had struck her. “You might have a talk with the LaCostes, too. Their dog’s been loose again, upsetting my chickens something fierce.”
To his credit, Cage’s smile never faltered. “I’ll check into it, Ethel.”
“See that you do.” She stomped back in the direction of the kitchen.
His attention shifted to Zoey. “You’ve just witnessed one of the more glamorous aspects of law enforcement.”
She smiled with a sympathy she wouldn’t put into words. “Sounds like you’re going to have your hands full. Who’s this McIntire person Ethel was referring to?”
He went back to eating. “Just a poor lonely fella who never got over Vietnam. You must have seen him. He mowed your lawn.”
Zoey’s spoon froze halfway to her mouth. Aware that he was watching her curiously, she brought it to her lips, swallowed, then set the spoon back in the bowl. “I can see how he might scare a couple of kids. I was a bit taken aback by him, myself.”
“He did something to frighten you?”
There was no need, she figured, to go into details that would just be embarrassing—to her. She shook her head. “Not really. I didn’t realize he was there, and I looked up, saw him standing before the kitchen window. I was startled for a moment.”
“Billy wouldn’t hurt anyone, but folks around here get spooked by him sometimes. Ethel’s right. I’ll mosey out later and see how he’s doing.” A ghost of a smile lurked on his lips. “I owe him one, anyhow, since he gave me Oxy.” He reached across the table, picked up her hand. “Now that lunch is out of the way, I have something important I’ve been meaning to ask you.”
Her mouth went dry, as much from the thumb he sent skimming over her knuckles as from the intent light in his eyes. “What is it?”
“What are you doing for dinner?”
The breath that had been stopped up in her lungs slowly released. “I’m letting you take me out. If you can fit me into your schedule after dealing with the LaCostes’ dog, that is.”
His smile was slow and wide and devastating. “The trick to being sheriff, sugar, is knowing when to delegate.”
The McIntire place looked deserted. Cage walked up the new porch steps and peered in the screen door. He rapped against the doorjamb with his knuckle. “Billy?”
When there was no answer to his second knock, he opened the door and stepped inside. “Anybody home?” There wasn’t a sound in the gloomy cabin. As he prepared to leave, his gaze landed on an object lying upon the table.
Curious, he picked it up, turned it over in his hands—a woman’s barrette, delicately fashioned from wood and beads. Although it looked old, it had been cared for. Its surface was gleaming.
A footstep sounded outside and Cage looked up. Billy stared at him through the screen. “Whatcha need, Sheriff?”
Cage set the barrette down and joined the other man on the porch. “I was just looking for you, Billy.” He nodded toward Lucy, the hunting dog, and the two remaining pups he’d kept. “Been in the woods?”
“Checked my traps.” He whistled, and the dogs galloped over, nuzzled the hand he held out.
“Actually, I came out to see how you were doing.” Cage squatted down and reached over to ruffle one pup’s fur. “Heard you might be having a bad spell.” His gaze lifted, fastened on Billy’s face.
The other man hunched his shoulders, wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Nothing new. Some trouble sleeping, is all.”
Cage rose, nodded. “I know what you mean. Things can work on a man’s mind in the middle of the night, can’t they?” Silent for a moment, both men looked into the distance, considering specters that picked the midnight hours to haunt.
“Well, I’ll be getting back to town.” His tone sober, he added, “I guess you know to get hold of me if you need anything.”
The big man’s hands clenched, then relaxed. “I guess I do.”
Cage headed toward the steps, then paused. Turning back he said, “When I was looking for you, I couldn’t help but notice that piece on the table in there. The barrette. Did you find it in the woods?”
Billy swung his head from side to side. “That was my mama’s. She sure did set store by it. I try to keep it looking nice, like. The way it was when she was alive.”
“You didn’t happen to find a locket when you were mowing Miss Prescott’s lawn, did you? A real pretty thing, all gold and fancy?” He waited for the man to shake his head, then continued down the steps. “Just thought I’d ask. You be sure and let me know if you need anything, you hear?”
Billy squinted into the sun as he watched the sheriff turn his car around in the narrow lane. He wished he’d had the courage to confess to the man; wished he could clear his conscience of at least one of the ghosts that lingered. A pup jumped up, begging for attention, and Billy reached down to lift it into his arms.
No one would believe him if he tried to explain—not even Gauthier. More likely than not, he’d be packed off to one of those hospitals again. His hands tightened around the pup convulsively. He was never going back to those small dark rooms, never going back to those doctors that poked and prodded at a man’s mind until he couldn’t tell the waking nightmares from the ones in his sleep.
He wasn’t going to chance that again. Not ever.
Cage barricaded himself in his office and attempted to concentrate. It seemed as if there were always a million little details to catch up on anytime he stepped out of the office for a bit. And before he left the room again, he was determined to find whatever it was in that pile of computer printouts that still niggled at him with all the worry of a splinter under the skin.
Leaning back in his desk chair, he carefully began going through the information again. An hour later, his frustration was mounting.
Pushing away from the desk, he paced the room. He was spinning his wheels. He knew that, just as surely as he knew there was something—some thing—in those printouts that he wasn’t catching. He rubbed his hands over his face. The small amount of sleep he’d been getting lately probably wasn’t really conducive to conducting top-notch police work. All that had been happening recently—Stacy in the hospital and the hunt for Donny Ray—on top of their other ongoing investigations should be enough to exhaust him. But it wasn’t exhaustion he thought of at the end of the day. It wasn’t sleep he craved as twilight fell. No, that distinction belonged to Zoey Prescott.
She was just as much an addiction as his favored cigars that he limited so ruthlessly, just as much a need in the system, a fever in the blood. But unlike the tobacco, there didn’t seem to be any way to restrict his craving for her. He no longer had the desire to try.
And she was going to be in his life for the long term. A rush of fierce satisfaction coursed through him at the certainty. He just needed to be patient, let her come to the realization in her own time, in her own way; helped along—subtly, of course—by him.
Just thinking of her brought a smile to his lips, one that quickly faded. Because he remembered something she’d said in the diner; something about thinking outside the lines. He looked at the sheaf of papers reflectively. Maybe that was his problem here. Maybe he’d get further if he stopped analyzing the crimes, and started focusing on the big picture.
Filled with a rush of renewed interest, he headed back to his chair to start all over again. He’d been concentrating on the MOs, and no particular pattern had emerged. It was time to readjust his thinking; to look for something, no matter how insignificant, that was reminiscent of Janice Reilly’s murder.
He found it a half hour later—a detail slight enough to make him question its importance. Kathryn Barker, murdered six years earlier, had been shot, execution-style, in the back of the head. Her body had been found in her motel room with no other wounds except her lacerated knees and legs. The bits of glass embedded in her skin had matched the shards found on the floor of the bathroom, and were determined to have come from the bottles of the same wine she’d shared with her killer.
They hadn’t found glass in Janice Reilly’s knees and shins, he remembered grimly, but slivers from redwood chips. Quickly he skimmed through the rest of the reports, but could find no others that made a reference to similar injuries. He made a list of the investigating officers in each of the cases before him and reached for the phone.
As he began dialing it occurred to him, with a sense of irony, that one of the most puzzling details about Janice Reilly’s murder just might lead to its solution.
The knock on the door rattled the glass in it, before the knob turned and it was pushed open. Cage looked up from the notes he was taking and continued listening to the Shreveport detective he had on the phone.
“Thanks a lot. I’m not sure where I’m going yet with this information, but I have a feeling it’s gonna help. Yeah, I’ll be sure to do that.” He replaced the receiver and looked at his visitor quizzically. “Shouldn’t you be off duty, DuPrey?”
“Yes, sir, but I thought you should be brought up-to-date first.”
Releasing a breath, Cage twirled his chair around to face the younger man. It was already after six. The rest of the phone calls would have to wait until tomorrow. “You made the trip out to the LaCostes’?”
“Yessir.” The younger man’s face bore a sheen of perspiration, silent testimony to the fact that he’d been out in the heat, which had returned to brutal after the recent rain. “They promised to tie up their dog, but I can’t see that it’ll do much good, seein’ as how he’ll just chew through the rope again. I advised them to get themselves a stout length of chain, and they agreed to think about that.”
“Well, I appreciate the update.” Dismissively, Cage returned his attention to his files. Moments passed, and the deputy remained where he was.
With resignation in his voice, Cage inquired, “Was there anything else, Roland?”
“Fact is, sir, I think there might be.”
Silence stretched. “Well?”
DuPrey’s throat worked, and he wiped his palms along the sides of his uniform pants. He was the picture of a man screwing up his courage.
The chair squeaked as Cage settled back in it once again. Experience had taught him that this wouldn’t be a quick process, and prompting would only slow the man further.
“Do you recall my suspicions about those strangers who appeared in town last summer?”
The memory wasn’t a particularly pleasant one. “The ones you were convinced were here to case the bank? I seem to recollect it. Why?”
“It turned out they were only carnival workers, staying here while they worked the parish fair.” The dull flush of color on the man’s cheeks could have been caused by remembered embarrassment. It certainly should have been. It had only been quick thinking and fast talking that had saved them from a false arrest charge. That, and a case of Cage’s finest Scotch.
Perhaps realizing that dwelling on the memory wasn’t in his best interests, Roland hurried on. “Well, I learned my lesson that time, Sheriff. I surely did. That’s why I came to tell you first, this time.”
There was a dull throb starting in the center of his forehead. Rubbing at it, Cage asked, “Tell me what, exactly?”
“About the newcomers to town, sir. Two men, staying at the motel out on Route 20. Fairly tough-looking individuals, I’ve heard tell, and I got to thinking, the parish fair ain’t for another month yet. You don’t suppose they’d send workers this early to set up, do you?”
It was surely a phenomenon peculiar to small towns that every person passing through was subjected to the most avid interest, if not downright suspicion. Not for the first time, Cage reflected on just what Zoey had gone through when she’d first come to Charity.
Choosing his words carefully, he said, “Well, I surely do appreciate the way you stay so observant, Roland.” Because the stress of the day seemed to call for it, Cage took out the lone cigar he’d tucked into his pocket that morning and thought about lighting it.
The man grinned, shifted his feet a little. “Thanks, Sheriff, but I heard about them from Josie over at the Gas and Go. You know Josie. If there’s a new man within ten miles, she spots him, and to come up against two of them traveling together—she must have thought she’d died and gone to heaven.”
Cage was harboring the distinct possibility that he’d suffered the same fate, only to have ended up at the exact opposite destination. “Josie’s interest aside, we’re just going to let these guys pass through the parish without a hassle, understand?” He pointed the cigar at the younger man for emphasis. “You just let them be.”
Disappointment colored DuPrey’s words. “If you say so, Sheriff. I just thought I’d tell you.”
“And you have.”
The deputy turned to go. “Guess I thought you’d be interested, what with all that’s been going on in the parish recently. Especially seein’ as how these fellas were asking after you.”
He’d finally managed to snag more than Cage’s irritation. “After me? Why?”
DuPrey turned back to him, shrugged. “All I know is, Josie said they were just as interested in pumping her for information as they were in pumping gas. She got all moony eyed over how mysterious and dangerous looking they were. I got the feeling that she was put out some when she couldn’t get them engaged in a subject other than you.” Color suffused his face again and he shuffled his feet. “No offense, Sheriff.”
“None taken. What kinds of questions were they asking?”
Roland scratched his jaw. “First I guess they asked, did she know you, and of course, Josie said as how she did. Told them the whole story about her grandma and your granddaddy being cousins and all. She sure does seem to set store by that relationship.”
Cage had the sensation of sinking to the bottom of a very deep pond. There was no way to speed up the excruciating pace of the man’s story. He’d just start over at the beginning.
“Then she said as how they asked what you did and where you lived, did you have family around here.” He lifted a shoulder. “Fact is, Sheriff, I didn’t wait for her to tell me everything. Josie sure does take her sweet time in the telling.”
“I know the type.” Cage tucked the cigar back in his pocket and headed toward the door. “Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to talk to these strangers and find out what’s behind their curiosity.”
DuPrey followed him so closely he was in danger of entangling their feet. “I think it’d be best if I came with you, Sheriff.”
Cage couldn’t prevent a sigh. “I was afraid you would.”
For once, DuPrey had gotten it right, Cage thought. The stranger who opened the motel-room door they’d knocked on was every bit as dangerous looking as he’d related. His dark blond hair was tied back in a short ponytail and there was an assessing look in his cool gray eyes. A faded white scar traced across his throat above the open neck of his shirt, attesting to the fact that he’d survived at least one perilous encounter.
“Evening,” Cage greeted the silent man.
The man’s gaze flicked to his badge. “Sheriff.”
Cage aimed an affable smile meant to disarm. “Don’t know how familiar you are with the workings of small towns, but I figure Charity’s grapevine is as reliable as most. I heard you were asking about me. Thought I’d stop by and see what I can do for you.”
A connecting door inside the room opened, and a second man entered, bare-chested, drying his dark hair with a towel. “Dammit, aren’t you ready yet? I’m about to go back and try that steakhouse we passed without…” His words tapered off when he saw Cage at the door. He dropped the towel, and finger-combed his hair back carelessly.
“Sheriff heard we were asking questions about him.” A long look passed between the two men.
The dark-haired man lifted a shoulder. “Better let him in, then.”
Stepping back, the first man allowed Cage to enter. His gaze flicked to DuPrey, who was dogging Cage’s footsteps. “Felt the need to bring along protection, did you?” There was no attempt made to mask the derision in his words.
Though his jaw tightened, Cage kept his tone placid. “Deputy DuPrey? Shoot, he just came along for the ride. Didn’t you, Roland?”
The deputy looked at the two men before them, and then at Cage. “Uh, sure… I mean, I guess so.”
“See?” Cage made an innocent gesture with his hands. “I bring him along for his brilliant conversational skills. He really keeps my wits sharpened.” A casual smile tilted his lips. “Probably for much the same reason as you travel with him.” He inclined his head toward the dark-haired man.
Curiously, the blond man’s expression lightened a fraction. “Yeah, something like that.”
Slipping something in his pocket, Cage said, “You fellas seem to have me at a disadvantage. You know who I am but I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of an introduction.”
“Sure talks fancy, doesn’t he, Jed?”
The dark-haired man threw a warning look at his companion. “Jed Sullivan’s my name. This is—” his hesitation was infinitesimal “—my brother, Sully.”
Cage cocked his head. “Sully Sullivan? Guess your mama had a sense of humor.”
The man named Sully bared his teeth in what couldn’t be mistaken for a smile. “You don’t know the half of it.”
“You’re right about one thing. We came to town looking for you.” Jed looked meaningfully at DuPrey. “But what we have to say is private. I’m not sure you’d want to discuss this in front of your deputy.”
“I don’t like the sound of this, Sheriff,” DuPrey said in an undertone that was easily heard by all occupants of the room.
Scratching his chin, Cage said, “Private, huh? I’ll admit to being a bit puzzled. Can’t think what I’d have to discuss with two fellas I’ve never met before. Unless…” His eyes widened, then he shook his head. “Nope. I don’t figure you guys are part of that prize patrol that goes around awarding the sweepstakes money, are ya?”
DuPrey gave each of the strangers a thorough once-over, as if to make certain.
Sully looked at Jed. “I’m not so sure we ought to go through with this.”
“It’s too late to back out now.” Turning, Jed went toward the small desk tucked in the corner of the room and yanked open a drawer. It was absolutely the worst thing he could have done.
“Take cover, Sheriff!” DuPrey yelled. He launched himself at Jed’s back in a full-body tackle that brought them both to the floor.
“What the hell?” Sully started toward the two of them, but was brought up short by Cage’s arm against his chest.
“I’ll handle this.”
Sully sent him a black look and threw off his arm. “The hell you will.”
They glared at each other for a split instant, before Cage’s attention was diverted. “DuPrey, put that damn gun away.” The deputy had drawn his weapon and was fumbling to release the catch on the set of handcuffs he carried on his belt.
“Good God,” the man on the floor said, his voice muffled. “We’ve stumbled into Mayberry R.F.D.”
“I got a clear view of the firearm he was reaching for as soon as he opened the drawer, Sheriff.” DuPrey had managed to unlatch the handcuffs, but due to Jed’s lack of cooperation, was having a devil of a time using them. “I think I’m gonna need some help with this one.”
“For Chrissake,” Sully muttered. Exaggeratedly, he held his arms up in a gesture of surrender and headed for the drawer. “Just let me show you—”
“I guess I’ll just look for myself.” Cage stepped ahead of the man, aimed an easy smile. “If you don’t mind, that is. Or if you do.”
With obvious disgust, Sully turned away.
“Does somebody want to get this overeager cartoon character off of me?” There was no disguising the thread of danger in Jed’s cool voice.
Cage stepped over the two on the floor and pulled the desk drawer the rest of the way out. Sure enough, there was a holstered gun lying on top of a large envelope. He picked up the gun and examined it. “Glock. Someone believes in firepower. Who’s the shooter?”
“It’s mine,” said Sully flatly. “Along with the shield.”
Curious, Cage probed under the envelope and found a flat black leather case. Flipping it open, he studied the official ID. Although it wasn’t a particularly flattering picture, there was no mistaking the likeness of the man standing across the room. “No offense, son, but they didn’t exactly capture your best side. What’s DEA want in St. Augustine parish?”
“‘DEA’?”
Taking advantage of the deputy’s momentary lack of attention, Jed reared up and knocked him off-balance, then rolled and plowed a fist into his belly. DuPrey doubled over, the breath squeezing out of him. Picking himself up, Jed sent a dark look at Sully. “Thanks. A lot.”
Although there was no smile on his face, it sounded in Sully’s voice. “No problem.”
Cage ambled over and guided DuPrey to the edge of the bed. “You’ll get your breath back in a minute or so. You’re not dying, Roland. It just feels like it.” His gaze lifted to encompass the other two men. His voice steely, he said, “I’d like an explanation. Fast.”
When it was apparent that Sully wasn’t going to speak, Jed jerked his head in the direction of the desk. “You’ll find your damn explanation in that envelope in there.”
While the two brothers conversed in low tones in the corner of the room, and DuPrey slowly recovered, Cage opened the envelope and withdrew some documents, fanning through them quickly. Then he stopped and went through them with more care.
Propping his weight against the desk had less to do with comfort than support—because suddenly he needed it. His mouth went dry and an iron vice squeezed his chest. He felt as if he’d been on the receiving end of the sucker punch DuPrey was still bent over from. Air clogged in his lungs, and for a moment his mind went absolutely blank. Then in a dizzying rush it began to function again; questions crowded in, demanding, insistent.
“Well?”
Cage didn’t know how much time had passed before that word, fraught with impatience, sounded. A minute…an hour…a week. Time had simply ceased to exist, as if they were suspended in the moment indefinitely.
Sully’s voice was exaggeratedly patient. “Did you find your answers?”
“Sheriff?” DuPrey had recovered his powers of speech and was looking at him quizzically. “Are these fellas both agents?”
“No,” Jed stated evenly, his gaze trained on Cage’s still expression. “We’re his brothers.”