Helen Myers - Final Stand

“Smart girl. Mechanics always rip you off for that kind of work, and once a transmission is shot, you might as well ditch the vehicle. So where are you from?”

Anna knew she had to give him something. “Louisiana.”

“You don’t say? Huh. Still don’t hear an accent.”

“I’ve been out West for several years.”

He studied her profile, all of it, as they walked. “You an actress?”

She focused on the building they were approaching and the single patrol car parked before it. “A failed one.”

“I bet you’re just being modest.”

The compliment would have been easier to stomach with less oil soaking it. “No, embarrassingly honest.”

She could feel his curiosity intensifying, and tried to tolerate that by getting a better feel for her surroundings, what little there was. Not only was the town small, it was deserted. She’d missed the sign for the health-food store across the street next to the supermarket. Not surprisingly, there was a For Rent sign in the window. Next to that was a non-franchise hardware store.

“Married? Involved?”

“Not interested.”

He grinned, exposing strong, square teeth. “Doesn’t hurt to ask.”

No doubt he asked often, Anna thought gloomily, and with enough success to think women liked his brand of flirtation.

“Did you shoot down Slaughter, too?”

They stopped before the glass door of the station where all that was written was the white lettering for an evening number in case of emergencies. What she didn’t see beyond the door bothered her as much as his question, making her slow to answer. “Pardon?”

“Are you going to pretend that I didn’t sense a little chemistry going on between you and the doc when I came in?”

Here we go again, she thought. Never mind that she’d hidden her hair under a baseball cap most of the day and it had to be a mess, or that she felt windblown and dust-caked from driving with the window down because the van was a rip-off and the air conditioner was trying to die on her.

“Whatever you think you sensed,” she said, frowning into the dark building, “you’re wrong.”

He didn’t reply, merely reached over and opened the front door. But his arm came so close to brushing against her breasts, it was as good as a spoken taunt.

In that instant, Anna knew two things: she wasn’t going to get out of here tonight without a confrontation with Frank Elias…and he was low enough to use his badge as leverage.

Pissed didn’t begin to describe Gray’s mood as he carried the drugged dog to a cage in the otherwise empty kennel area. He eased her into one of the larger units, setting her on top of a thick towel he’d placed there a moment ago. His movements were mechanical, like a teacher delivering rote lessons for the umpteenth time, but for a change he appreciated that. He didn’t want to think about the pitiful animal, didn’t want to concern himself with what she’d been through to end up in this fix, or consider the fate likely awaiting her. As he’d tried to make clear to Anna Diaz, he’d seen too many animals like this, and too much rejection in his life. He was coming to the conclusion that the only thing people neglected worse than the pets they claimed to love was each other.

God, he was tired. And thanks to the woman and this mangy mutt, even if he returned to the house right now, he would need another shower before crawling into bed, and it was already closing in on midnight. But that wasn’t going to happen because he had to wait for her to finish next door. Waiting also gave him too much time to think…about how much of what she’d told him was a lie, and how, despite those doubts, for the first time in over a year he’d learned he wasn’t dead from the waist down. Most of all, he had time to think of the expression on her face as Frank had led her away.

Was she worth the strong impulse he was getting to go after them? No way did he believe she was simple Anna Diaz merely passing through town. The woman had secrets. Big ones. But did that make her Frank’s firebug? He couldn’t buy it. On the other hand, he knew Frank.

There had to be answers in her van.

Making up his mind, Gray rechecked the examination-operating room and shut off all but the night-light he kept plugged in the hallway for these kind of occurrences. Then he locked up the building.

The van remained where she’d parked it. A glance over at the police station indicated that he still had time; they were over there all right. He could tell by the beam of light spilling out from the front door and window, further illuminating the street. That the beam looked pretty weak compared to what it should be if all the lights were turned on left a bad taste in his mouth. Then again, Frank knew to keep costs down, to not strain the town’s ever-tightening budget.

The bite of gravel at his bare feet irritated as much as curiosity and conscience plagued Gray’s mind, encouraging him to be quick. Upon opening the passenger door, he saw that the van was designed for commercial purposes. There was only the shell of the truck and little else. A suitcase, sleeping bag and pillow were stacked neatly behind the driver’s seat. Anna Diaz was traveling light and the sleeping bag explained why she didn’t want that flea-and-tick-infested dog traveling with her.

Meaning what—that she’d been truthful about only happening upon the dog? The idea sat better with him than believing she’d let the poor beast degenerate into such a pitiful condition. But something still didn’t feel right.

Leaning over the passenger seat, he spotted a black leather purse on the floorboard. Without the slightest twinge of guilt, he lifted out her wallet. Like the purse, it was made of quality hide. Flipping open the buttery-soft flap, he eyed the Louisiana license for Anna Diaz and discovered that her thirtieth birthday was only a few months away. Then he tilted the thing back and forth to get a better look at her photo. No, it wasn’t glare on the plastic that made it so unclear, he realized. The photo was scratched.

His unease growing, he checked the rest of the wallet. All of the credit card slots were empty, and there were no other photos; however, what had him exhaling in a low whistle was the amount of cash she was carrying. The lady wasn’t going to starve this month, or for a while if she didn’t indulge in too many four-star establishments.

He found yet another stash of bills in a different compartment in the bag. Maybe, he thought with growing bitterness, he would also find the reason for her to have such resources. Simple logic was beginning to offer a few conclusions.

Gray shoved the purse back in place…possibly a bit too roughly because it tipped over. As he reached to straighten it, his fingertips brushed against something in the seat pocket.

Frowning, he eased his hand inside and closed his fingers around smooth steel. He drew out a Smith & Wesson .9mm automatic—not the kind of thing a simple working girl relocating toted around with her…unless her work was dangerous.

Determined to find out what else he could, Gray unlocked the side door, slid it open and climbed into the back of the van. There he unzipped the navy blue weekender-style bag and sifted through the neatly folded, but minimal assortment of clothes. All of it was casual—jeans, a few T-shirts and denim shirts, like what she was wearing. The underwear was no less understated—white cotton. But considering the body on the woman, not even that blandness would disappoint. What pulled his mind away from the unwelcome fantasy of seeing her in it was that most of the stuff either still had tags or remained in their wrappers. The suitcase looked new, too.

Otherwise there was little else…a few toiletry items—soap, toothpaste, toothbrush, mouthwash and a bundle of pocket-size tissue packets. What was missing was makeup. Okay, he allowed, with her exotic features and dramatic coloring, she didn’t need much. But where were the dozen bottles and tubes of hair-care products, the variety of perfumes and body creams, the nail polish if not for her fingernails, then her toes? What planet had this luscious Barbie doll descended from that she packed with the restraint of a special ops commando?