A Forever Christmas(59)
As the detective, who was a good four inches taller than Gabe, began to make his way around the counter in order to carry out his intent, Gabe grabbed hold of his shoulder and pulled him back for a third time, this time more roughly than before.
“No,” Gabe said firmly.
“No?” the detective echoed incredulously. Any pretense at common courtesy totally evaporated. “Who the hell do you think you are, telling me no?” he demanded.
“Someone who’s not going to let you just take Angel until she’s ready to go.” Gabe all but growled the words out.
Wynters gave him a once-over, a smug look entering his eyes. “What, she’s your girlfriend now?” he taunted. “Her name’s Dorothy,” he insisted. “Not ‘Angel.’ And I’d be careful if I were you,” he warned malevolently. “She’ll play you with those big blue eyes of hers, then, when you’re not looking, she’ll make off with everything you’ve got except for the fillings in your teeth—unless she’s gotten handy with a pair of pliers since she took off.”
He’d had about enough. “Like I said, I think you’d better leave, Detective,” Gabe ordered.
The gloves were off. The expression on the detective’s handsome face turned ugly. “The hell I will!”
The sound of a shotgun loudly being cocked caught everyone’s attention.
The detective and Gabe both turned to look behind them. Eduardo had come out of the kitchen, the shotgun that Miss Joan kept in the back held poised in his hands. It was aimed directly at the stranger.
“You heard the deputy.” Eduardo looked as if he’d welcome an excuse to fire. “Now go!”
“Put the shotgun down, Eduardo,” Gabe ordered gruffly. He wasn’t about to let the older man get into trouble because he’d been pushed too far by the taunting detective.
“I will, Deputy—as soon as this devil leaves Miss Joan’s place,” Eduardo answered. He was still aiming both barrels at Wynters, ready to discharge them at his target.
“He’s leaving now.”
The steely order came from the sheriff. Summoned by one of the customers on their cell phone, he’d come immediately. As he walked into the diner, there was an amiable look on his face, but one that meant business.
“Aren’t you, Detective?” He added the title after glancing at the badge that Wynters was still holding in his hand. The man treated it like a magic talisman that would allow him to have access to everything.
“But I know this woman,” Wynters insisted. “Isn’t that why you sent out that poster with her picture on it? To have someone come and identify her? Well, I’m identifying her!” he concluded angrily, behaving as if he’d expected accolades, not road blocks.
“And we appreciate you coming all the way down to our little town, Detective,” Rick said with barely veiled sarcasm. “But you can also appreciate the fact that I can’t just send her off with someone she clearly doesn’t remember.” As if to back up his statement, Rick looked at the young woman in the center of this tug-of-war. “You don’t remember him, do you?” he asked her, just to be sure.
“No.” To assure herself, she shifted her eyes and glanced defiantly at the detective. “No, I don’t,” she told Rick honestly.
Wynters looked from her to the sheriff, stunned. “So that’s it?” he demanded in disbelief. “You just take her at her word and I’m supposed to leave?”
“Not necessarily,” Rick allowed. “We give Angel time to adjust,” he said, no doubt deliberately using the name they’d given her, not the one that Wynters had used. “We give her time to remember. Until then, she stays here, in Forever.”
Angry now, the detective was obviously trying to curb his temper. Rather than uttering the words that first raced to his lips, he bit them back and instead said, “I’ll get my lawyer.”
“Fine. And we’ll get ours,” Rick replied mildly. “By the way, my wife’s a lawyer. She was formerly with the Norvil and Tyler law firm. You might have heard of them,” Rick said, not above dropping the name of one of the most powerful and prestigious law firms in the western half of the country.
Judging by the look on the detective’s face, he was familiar with the firm.
“Now, unless you have other business here…” he continued, his meaning very clear.
“He doesn’t,” Miss Joan informed the sheriff, making sure that the detective knew he was not about to be served in her establishment no matter what he might try to offer as payment.