Tara Quinn - The Sheriff of Shelter Valley

His eyes were grateful when he looked over at her, making Beth feel elated for no reason at all.

“I don’t think so, either,” he murmured.

“So what are the similarities you’re finding? Anything you’re free to discuss?”

“In the first place, we’re dealing with a series of carjackings in both cases. There are other random occurrences, but these fit an identical pattern—several assaults with the same MO over a relatively short period of time. Two guys, late teens-early twenties, just after rush hour—either morning or evening.”

“It’s the same two guys every time?”

“No.” Greg looked more than frustrated when he shook his head. “In fact, they aren’t always even from the same ethnic background.”

“So what else?” There had to be more. Greg wasn’t the type to be this concerned over flimsy evidence.

“They only take place in the summer, for one thing. I have no idea what that means, but it has to mean something. They start midsummer, there’s a rash of them, and then, inexplicably, they stop. No arrests. Not even any real suspects. They just stop.”

“What about the drivers?” Beth asked. “Could they be the tie-in somehow?”

With another shake of his head and a raised brow, Greg said, “I don’t find a single thing to connect them.

Not age. Not where they work or live. Not their religion, where they bought their cars or even their injuries.” A shadow of pain crossed his face.

She winced inside, thankful suddenly for the blessing of amnesia. “They weren’t all hurt?”

His brows drawn together, Greg gave her an apologetic glance. “You don’t have to do this.”

“What?” she asked, a bit afraid of how important it had suddenly become to talk this through with him. To do something to help him. “Talk to a friend?”

“Is that what we are? Friends?” His expression lost none of its seriousness.

“I don’t know.” Beth had to be honest. After a pause, she returned to her earlier question “So, they weren’t all hurt?”

“Of this current group, all but one,” Greg said. His voice was tightly controlled but she could hear the anger.

“Most were killed,” he went on. “But not in the same way. One was shot. Another raped and strangled. One was left unconscious in the desert to either succumb to the heat or die of dehydration, whichever came first.”

Beth swallowed.

“I can stop now.”

“No, go on,” she said. “It’s okay, really. I’m not squeamish. I’m just sorry for these people and their families.”

She wasn’t squeamish. Another characteristic to add to the list she was keeping in her memory notebook. This was a good one. The kind she liked to add. Rated right up there with orderly.

“This summer, a college girl chose to throw herself out of the back seat of her moving car rather than submit to whatever else her abductors had in mind. She was a dancer and knew how to land and roll. She was miraculously unhurt.”

Beth frowned, struck by an uncomfortable thought. Could something like this have happened to her? Had she merely been the victim of a random crime and not the runaway she supposed herself to be?

Of course, that didn’t explain the canvas gym bag, obviously grabbed in a hurry with a couple of diapers and a change of clothes for Ryan stuffed in with various sweats, T-shirts and socks that fit her, or the two-thousand dollars. Not many people traveled with that much cash. And no identification.

Not smart people, anyway.

Beth didn’t know what that bag signified. But she always kept it close. As though it somehow connected her to the self she’d lost.

As for the two-thousand dollars—part of it she’d invested in equipment and supplies to set herself up in business.

“There’s something else,” Greg said slowly. “The front ends of all the stolen cars—ten years ago and now—were smashed in such a way that no matter what make or model, they look remarkably the same.”

“Like they all hit the same thing? Or something similar?”

Greg’s brow cleared as he nodded. “Yeah. Odd, huh?”

“Very. Your deputy didn’t think so?”

“Didn’t seem to. Nor did he seem impressed by the fact that they were all new-model cars. Most carjackers are looking for quick transportation. They aren’t usually so picky.”

“You’re sure this guy knows what he’s doing?” Beth asked, somehow not surprised at the thought that this deputy might not be all that he seemed.

What she found startling was that she was so cynical. She’d just naturally assumed the man was up to no good. People didn’t think that badly of the human race without reason, did they?

Oh God. She was cynical. Two things for the list in one night. This second one was not a characteristic she was particularly eager to have.

These past months of almost no self-revelation at all weren’t looking as bad as they once had…

“I know he does,” Greg said somberly, his words rescuing her from the familiar dark hole she’d been sinking into.

“WERE YOU IN THE MIDDLE OF WORK OR SOMETHING?” Greg asked, pointing to the piles of papers, receipts and ledgers on the scarred desk at one end of the room. Beth had grown silent, and he was kicking himself for bringing up such a personal subject. But then, it was difficult to tell what she considered personal. He’d worked so hard for so long to get in the door, and he hated the idea of losing the little trust she’d given him.

“Just doing my books,” she said, sounding completely relaxed. Maybe for the first time in their acquaintanceship.

He smiled. “Looks like you’ve got enough stuff going on to be running a business the size of the Cactus Jelly plant.”

“I told you I liked numbers. I’m actually keeping a tally of month-to-month percentages on the variance in cleaning supply costs. I check at the local Wal-Mart and at several places in Phoenix. I then keep track of how much cleaning I can do per ounce of solution. I’ll bet you didn’t know, for instance, that Alex Window Cleaner does linoleum more cost-effectively than any of the ammonia-based floor cleaners.”

“No, I didn’t know that.” There was apparently much more to cleaning than he’d ever realized.

But what was of far greater interest to him was the woman who was rattling off dollars and ounces as easily as he did police radio codes.

“I take it your business is doing well,” he said, when she’d given him a rundown on the benefits of bulk purchasing versus storage costs. Not just for cleaning supplies, but for business in general. Beth hadn’t been kidding. She knew her stuff. More than any business student he’d ever known.

“As a matter of fact, this is the first month that Beth’s Basins—and the Allens—are completely in the black! The bills are paid, money’s put aside for emergencies and Ryan’s education, and I even have some to spare. Ry’s been wanting this balsa wood airplane he saw downtown, and even though it’s really for older boys, I’m going to get it for him.”

“He told you he wants an airplane?” Greg couldn’t believe the change in her. She could have been any normal woman.

Certainly she was a beautiful one. Beth’s loose auburn hair falling over shoulders left bare by the tank top she wore was driving him just a little crazy.

“Ryan hasn’t said so, of course,” she was telling him, her bare feet pushing off the floor as she rocked gently. “But his eyes light up every time we pass it. Hopefully I’ll have time to take him tomorrow.”

“You really love that little guy, don’t you,” Greg said. About that, at least, she was completely open.

“More than life itself.”

Somehow one hour became two and Greg was still there, sitting on Beth’s couch while she rocked in her chair. She’d gotten up once to get them both cans of soda and to check on Ryan, but that was all. Greg, who usually had a hard time staying in one place, was surprised by how much he enjoyed just sitting there looking at her.