the steps with Gary to a little blonde girl sitting on a Longhorn bull with a pink cowboy hat falling over her eyes. The child wore a wide tight smile for her parents’ camera. The National Western Stock Show was in town. For two weeks in January, over seven hundred and fifty thousand visitors would come through the grounds where the Livestock Exchange Building stood.
‘Shit,’ said Ren. ‘We’re going to miss the rodeo tomorrow.’ The Safe Streets office had seats for the matinee.
Gary looked at her. ‘You were seen at the calf-roping earlier, so I don’t feel all that bad for you.’
‘I hate that – “you were seen”. It’s creepy. People who pass on information like that are creepy.’
‘OK – I saw you. Does that make you feel any better?’
‘Why didn’t you just say that?’
He kept walking.
‘And our seats were right by the bucking chutes,’ said Ren.
‘Yeah. I know.’
The cold air was spiked with barbecued pork. Ren glanced at Gary, but his head was down and his car keys were already swinging from his hand. A woman walked by with a deep-fried Twinkie on a stick.
‘I’m starving,’ said Ren.
‘You’re always starving,’ said Gary without slowing. ‘I’ve got an apple in the car.’
‘An apple. I hate apples.’
He rolled his eyes.
‘I’m not sure I can last until Breck,’ said Ren.
‘Yeah, yeah, you lose concentration if you don’t eat,’ said Gary.
‘I do, though. You’ve seen me.’
‘I’ve seen you trying to bullshit me about that.’
‘It’s true, though.’
‘Jesus. Grab something from there.’ He pointed at the closest stand – the last one on the way out of the grounds. ‘Oh,’ he said, ‘that’s just jars of caramel.’
Ren walked over with five dollars in her hand.
‘You have cutlery, right?’ she said, catching up with Gary.
‘Christ, Ren.’
He opened the door of his Jeep and threw her a plastic fork. She turned it upside down. He put the keys in the ignition and drove up to the gate in the chain-link fence. He looked at Ren with her caramel fork, rolled his eyes and got out to be gate man.
As they drove west on I-70 for the eighty-mile trip to Breckenridge, he finally spoke. ‘Do you want to tell me why I got a call from Paul Louderback asking me to make sure you head up this investigation?’ Paul Louderback was Chief of the Violent Crime Section at Headquarters in DC.
‘That’s what happened?’ said Ren. ‘Are you for real?’
But Gary was almost always for real and he shot her a look to remind her. ‘You sleeping with the guy?’ he said.
‘Jesus – straight to missiles. No,’ said Ren and, more annoyed, ‘No.’
Gary turned and hit her with his lie-detector stare. Ren hit back with open and honest eyes.
‘Hey, the road,’ she said, pointing him ahead.
‘I got it,’ he said. ‘Look, I don’t know if I can spare you.’
‘I don’t know if I want to be spared. But if Paul wants me to, I guess …’
Gary overtook the car in front of him, a small rush of anger in his driving. ‘What’s your connection with Louderback again?’
Ren had loved Paul Louderback from the moment she met him.
‘He was my PT instructor at Quantico,’ she said. ‘And after that, my supervisor.’ And married with two kids. And ten years older than me. And handsome, kind and intelligent. And off limits. On her second day in physical training, Paul Louderback praised her for not giving in easily to a man almost twice her weight. She had almost suffocated for the compliment.
‘Ah. Responsible for your glowing reports?’ said Gary.
‘One of them, yes. And you left out the “much-deserved” part.’
She turned her attention to the passenger window and the cars speeding past. She wanted to count the white ones. Or the green or red ones. Any ones. Her heart was beating a little too fast. She was sure that a personal connection would not affect Paul Louderback’s decision. He was a professional. But even she wasn’t quite sure why he wanted her to head up the investigation.
Her phone beeped – text message. She read it, then put the phone back in her bag.
‘Are we staying in Breck tonight?’ she said.
‘I was going to stay at the condo in Frisco. You’re more than welcome.’
‘Do you mind if I don’t? I’d like to stay in Breck. At the, um … Firelight Inn.’
‘Any particular reason?’
I just got a text from Paul Louderback recommending it. ‘I’d like to be right in Breck. I’ll have no car and if you get called away somewhere, at least that way I can walk to the sheriff’s office if I have to.’
He glanced at her. ‘I’m sure they can arrange a car.’
‘And … I heard the Firelight Inn is a great place to stay.’
Ren didn’t have a type; she had not-my-types – Truax’s category. She also didn’t do search and rescue for what she wanted in a guy. He either had it or he didn’t. She always thought if a man senses what you’re looking for, he will try to find it where it can’t be found. And when he comes up empty, he’ll fake it. Paul Louderback had no need to fake anything. He just had it. Yes, he was married, but once she realized that they could never take it further, she could relax into what they had; no real flirting, just a quiet, comfortable connection.
The exit for Golden flashed past. She thought about Vincent and their little house. She counted silver cars: America’s most popular car color.
Sheriff Bob Gage’s office was a neat, polished space. He had one notebook and one folder on his desk. His computer was on a table beside him. Behind him was a bank of file cabinets with family photos lined up across the top. Four smiling, dancing, sporting girls and boys.
His assistant led Ren and Gary in.
Bob stood up. ‘Hey, Ren,’ he said, giving her a light hug. ‘Gary.’ He shook his hand.
‘You’re back
