Seeing Red(80)

“Slim, right?”

“Very. Not enough to hang a conspiracy theory on. Did he advance this hypothesis to the ATF?”

“They dismissed it. He bucked them. It cost him his career and his fiancée but did nothing to sway his conviction. What happened to Kerra and me was the clincher. He’s always been headstrong and rash, but now—”

“You’re afraid he might actually be crazy.”

The Major met his friend’s gaze. “No, Glenn,” he said softly. “I’m afraid he might actually be right.”



On the other side of the car’s console, Kerra sat hugging herself. Trapper asked, “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.”

“Body language screams otherwise.”

“I’m cold, that’s all.”

After two days of sunshine and milder temperatures, this morning’s sky was overcast. The wind was from the south, but it was brisk and made it feel colder than the actual temperature. The real chill, however, was between him and Kerra.

She hadn’t slept well, and he knew that because he hadn’t, either. It was difficult to fall asleep with a woody the length and density of a baseball bat. They’d eventually gotten up and taken their turns in the bathroom. They had avoided eye contact and gave each other wide berth as they moved about in the confined space. Except for giving curt answers to direct questions, she’d been uncommunicative.

Now, as he sped through a yellow light, he said, “Would you rather I’d’ve gone against your express no-no and had my wicked way with you?”

She turned her head toward him. If looks could kill.

“Well, sorry,” he said. “I’m confused. Yesterday morning, when on the brink of getting off, you called a sudden halt. You were mad at me then. Now you’re mad because last night I called a halt before getting you off.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“I just wish you’d make up your mind.”

“I have,” she said with angry emphasis. “When we finish at the sheriff’s office, I’m meeting with a locksmith to make me a key for my car. I’m going home. You go your way, I’ll go mine. You do your thing, I’ll do mine, which is to report the news, not be at the center of it, outrunning the police, and forwarding my calls to untraceable phones, and … such. I’m returning to my life.”

He didn’t say anything.

In a vexed tone, she asked, “Did you hear me?”

“Loud and clear.”

He wheeled into a parking slot reserved for the Deputy of the Month, cut the engine, and got out before she said anything more. He came around, but she rebuffed his attempt to lend her a hand as she alighted. She went ahead of him as they approached the main entrance to the sheriff’s headquarters, which was an annex of the courthouse.

He was glad to see the county hadn’t yet sprung for a metal detector. He’d have hated having to relinquish his pistol. The only screening required was for one to stop at a window and announce his business.

But before Trapper even introduced himself, the female deputy behind the glass said, “Good morning, Ms. Bailey, Mr. Trapper. I’ll call up and let Sheriff Addison know you’re here. Second floor.”

Trapper used Kerra’s unfamiliarity with the building as an opportunity to cup her elbow and guide her around a corner to the elevators. They boarded, and as soon as the doors closed, he said to her, “Stop flinching every time I touch you. First of all, it’s pissing me off. Secondly, it doesn’t lend credibility to our arrangement.”

“What arrangement?”

Ignoring her question, he leaned down and spoke directly into her face. “To avoid future confusion over the other matter, if we ever get that hot again, we finish.” Leaning down even closer, he whispered, “With me inside you.”

The doors slid open and the sheriff was standing there to greet them, looking relieved but also cranky.

Trapper said, “What’s the matter, Glenn? Not getting enough fiber?”

“I was afraid you wouldn’t show.”

“Well, here she is. Delivered as promised.” It pleased him to see that Kerra looked a bit dazed by what he’d said. He had to nudge her before she stepped out of the elevator.

“I didn’t expect you this soon,” Glenn said. “The FBI agents haven’t come in yet.”

“I told you bright and early.”

“When have you ever done anything you were supposed to?” The sheriff turned to Kerra. “Excuse me. I apologize for my grumpy mood. It’s been that kind of morning.”

“I know the feeling.” She cast Trapper a sour look.

Glenn drew her attention back to him. “Trapper fill you in on the suspect?”

“The name Leslie Duncan means nothing to me,” she said.

“He’s used aliases. Give this a look.” Glenn had Duncan’s rap sheet with him and showed it to Kerra. “It’s a current photo, taken just last night when he was booked.”

She gave the attached mug shot the consideration it warranted, then shook her head. “I don’t recognize him. I couldn’t identify him as being one of the men at The Major’s house. I never saw them. I’ve told you that.”

“Maybe when you see Duncan in person—”