Friction (22 page)

“Crawford, did you hear what I said?”

He brought his gaze up to hers. “You weren’t the target, I was. It’s not the breakthrough you thought. I reached that same conclusion myself several hours ago.”

He told her about going from the park to the lake in the woods. “First, I had to cool down. Then I started at the beginning and thought through everything that’s happened since the shooting. And it all related to me, not you. I was about to share my theory with Neal and suggest that we explore it, when he dropped his bombshell.”

“May I sit down?”

“Sorry.”

He indicated the dining table. They took chairs adjacent to each other, and when their knees touched, he kept his against hers. “You look great, by the way.”

“I’m sweaty.”

“I’m aroused. How did you come to the conclusion that the shooting was about me?”

“Much the same as you. I was thinking about all the hard knocks you’ve had since, how the repercussions of it have affected you much more than me. I called you first, but when you didn’t answer, I phoned Neal. I only got out a few words before he hit me with his theory that you’re the villain.”

She repeated Neal’s harebrained conclusions. “Thing is, I think he really believes it,” Crawford said.

“I’m afraid so, too. He ended by asking if you had threatened me.”

“To which you said…?”

“No. At least not in the way he meant.”

He studied her shadowed face, that mouth, those eyes, the locks of hair that had shaken loose from her messy just-got-laid ponytail, and thought,
Damn
. He said, “We’re in a dark, empty house. I’ve got a king-size bed and time to kill.”

“Till what?”

“Till the Houston office calls me back. Or Neal shows up to arrest me. Let’s go in the bedroom and take off all our clothes.”

“Crawford, this is serious.”

“I know.” He sighed. “I’m trying to keep myself from strangling Neal for stupidity. I want to take a sledgehammer to Chuck Otterman for lying. You can save two lives by going to bed with me.”

“Are you positive Otterman is behind it?”

“No. He might have told Neal that he saw me with Rodriguez just to pay me back for getting his name in the news.”

“You leaked that?”

“We needed a spark plug. It worked.”

“But it made an enemy of Otterman.”

“I think he already was. He didn’t dress up in the white outfit, but I’d bet good money he was behind the shooting.”

“Buy why?”

“Hell if I know. I’ve got people researching.” He left his chair. “More water?”

“No thanks.”

He refilled the glass anyway and brought it back to the table. But he remained standing. “I’ve racked my brain. Swear to God, I’d never seen the man till he walked into the CAP unit yesterday. But it was like looking at a cobra. I felt a gut-deep revulsion. Fear. I don’t usually get that.”

“There must be a reason for it.”

“I think so, too. I just have to find it. When you got here, I was talking to my buddy in Houston who—”

“Harry or Sessions?”

“You know their names?”

“I introduced myself.”

“At the press conference?”

“At breakfast.”

“Breakfast?”

“They’d spent the whole night sitting in their cars outside my house. The least I could do was cook breakfast for them.”

Picturing that cozy gathering around her kitchen table, he put his hands on his hips. “Nobody mentioned that.”

“They advised me not to.”

“Did they say why?”

She just looked at him.

With more testiness, “Did they say why?”

“They said you were touchy about your women.”

His jealous reaction was proof enough of that. Then he realized what she could infer from their remark. “Holly, I never told them that we’d—”

“I didn’t think you had. But they seemed to know.”

“I guess they could tell by the way I was acting.”

“How were you acting?”

“Want the gutter term for it?”

She ducked her head and kept it lowered for several moments. When she raised her head, she resumed where they’d left off by asking what the other Rangers had reported to him.

“I asked them to look for any connection between Otterman and me. Or to Beth, the Gilroys, the DPS. So far nothing.”

“Halcon?”

“First thing we checked because it makes the most sense. But during that year-long investigation, Otterman was working up in the Panhandle. He didn’t take a day off for months either side of the shootout. No record of him ever being in Halcon.

“I thought maybe he wanted to avenge one of the bystanders who’d died, but he has no kinship or ties whatsoever to any of the casualties. Sessions is excellent at research, but he didn’t find a thing. I was asking him to dig deeper when you showed up at the back door.”

“What about other cases you’ve worked on?”

“I’ve gone back through years of records. But I trust my memory even better than I trust a computer. If Otterman had ever been a blip on my radar screen, I would remember the name. If not the name, the man. I’m dead sure of that.”

“So maybe it isn’t him,” she said. “Maybe he just told Neal he’d seen you with Rodriguez to spite you. Having it reported that he’d left after the shooting had to have been embarrassing for him.”

He gave a hard shake of his head. “He’s not wired that way. He was pissed, but by no stretch embarrassed.”

They lapsed into a thoughtful silence, then she said quietly, “I don’t even want to suggest this. It’s so egregious that I hesitate to—”

“You’re thinking Joe.”

Her shoulders sagged a bit, letting him know that he’d guessed correctly. “He wouldn’t do this, would he?”

“Come here. I want to show you something.” Taking her hand, he led her through the dark house to the door of Georgia’s bedroom. He used the screen of his phone for illumination. “I think you can see well enough without more light.”

She expelled a breath of disbelief. “What happened?”

“Neal didn’t tell you about this?”

“No. My God, Crawford.”

“It was this way when I got home last night. Everything was new. The makeover was going to be a surprise.”

“Did you file a police report?”

“The whole shebang. They dusted for prints this morning, so it looks even worse than it did. I haven’t had a chance to start the cleanup.”

She went into the room and did a slow pivot, making small sounds of remorse as she assessed the destruction. She picked up the sparkly ballet slippers, the bands of which had been ripped off. “Who would do such a thing?”

“The same person who sent me that video of Georgia on the swing, looking so angelic, innocent, vulnerable. I haven’t quite recovered from that yet.” Every time he thought about it, his blood vessels throbbed with a combination of fury and terror. “Some sick fuck used my little girl to get to me. I want to kill him.”

“How can Neal Lester possibly account for this?”

“He suggested that I did it myself.”

“And texted yourself the park video?”

“I guess.”

She placed the slippers on what was left of the dressing table and rejoined him in the hallway. “I don’t believe your father-in-law would do any of this.”

“He’s told me he’ll do whatever it takes to keep Georgia. Or, more to the point, to prevent me from having her. But, honestly,” he said, gazing back into the room, “this doesn’t fit Joe’s profile.” He clicked off his phone and replaced it on his belt.

“What are you going to do?”

“Wait on Harry and Sessions. See what turns up.”

“What if Neal arrests you in the meantime?”

“His cover-your-ass MO is working in my favor now. He won’t detain me till he has something to go on.”

“So you wait.”

“And do what I’ve wanted to do since you got here.”

He slid his fingers up into her hair until his hands were closed around her head, then he tilted it and brushed his mouth across hers. “A word of caution, judge. Don’t show up at my back door looking like you do unless you want to get manhandled.” After thoroughly kissing her mouth, he moved to her neck, gently sucking her skin, tasting the saltiness of her sweat.

“Crawford…”

The moaned admonishment was so halfhearted, he continued, kissing his way past her collarbone to her breast. He nuzzled the tip through the damp cloth of her t-shirt.

She exhaled a sharp breath. “I woke up this morning dreaming about it.”

He gently cupped her other breast. “Good dream?”

“Sinfully good.”

“Holly Spencer, bad girl.”

“I think you must be right. The dream was exactly as it happened. I was eager, and you were very…decisive.”

The smile he felt in his heart never quite reached his lips because they were lowering to hers. “I had to be inside you. Just had to be.”

He kissed her like she was a bad girl, taking her mouth with heat and hunger. He slid his hand past the small of her back into her jeans and, feeling nothing but smooth skin, palmed her ass and tilted her up against his fly. “All this would feel so much better without clothes on.”

To his disappointment, she pushed against his chest, creating space between them, and turned her head aside. “You don’t want to kiss me like this, Crawford.”

“Hell you talking about? I want to kiss you all over.” Each time she turned aside, his mouth followed hers. “I want to French kiss you all over.” He withdrew his hand from the seat of her jeans and moved it around to her front, sliding it between her thighs and caressing her through the soft denim. “Here.”

She stifled a groan of pleasure but pushed his hand away.

Frustrated and confused, he took a step back. Dammit, he knew she wanted him. “What, Holly? You’re no longer my judge.”

“It’s not that… I…” She took a breath, pushed strands of hair off her face, and pulled herself up to her full height. Bolstering herself. “To keep them from arresting you today, I made a deal.”

“Deal?”

“Your father-in-law insisted on it. I didn’t want you to go to jail,” she said, almost on a sob.

“What deal?”

“I agreed to testify for the plaintiff at the full restraining order hearing. I’ll have to bear witness to you assaulting Joe Gilroy today.”

That hit him like a ton of bricks. He just stood there staring at her.

Looking anguished, she backed away several steps, then turned and hurried down the hallway, only to be brought up short when his cell phone rang.

She stopped, turned, and watched him yank the phone off his belt. Obviously she thought, as he did, that it would be one of the other Rangers with the requested update.

But it was neither of their names that appeared in the LED. He snarled into the mouthpiece. “What the hell are you doing calling this number?”

“Am I speaking to the superstar lawman Crawford Hunt?”

“Cut the crap, Smitty. What have you got?”

“What I’ve got is a sorry-ass drunk out here who’s in hock to me for his afternoon binge.”

“Not my problem.”

“Oh yeah, hotshot? Says he’s your daddy.”

A
s soon as Smitty told Crawford where they were, he disconnected the call. Holly was right behind him as he went down the hallway and into his own bedroom, where he pulled on a windbreaker to cover his holster. Sweeping his keys off the dresser, he stepped around her on his way out of the room. “You know your way home.”

“I’m coming with you.”

“Hell you are.”

“I heard what the man said.”

“Caps off a great day, doesn’t it?”

“I know all about your father, Crawford.”

“He’s not a father, he’s a drunk. I’m sure it’s in my file.” By now they had reached the back door. “Neal’s surveillance is probably out front. If you go back the way you came, you should be okay. Be careful hopping that fence again.”

“I’m coming with you.”

He bent down, putting his face close to hers. “No effing way.”

“Fine. Tickled Pink? I’ll find it.” She pulled open his back door and slipped through.

He would be long gone from the nightclub before she could run home and then drive there, but the thought of her showing up at one of Smitty’s joints alone… “Shit!”

He went after her and caught her mid-stride, taking her by the elbow and redirecting her toward his SUV. “This’ll make for good color commentary when you testify against me at the restraining order hearing.”

He boosted her up into the passenger seat of his SUV, then placed his hand on the top of her head and none too gently pushed her down below the level of the window. “If you don’t want to give Neal’s guy a photo op, keep your head down till I give you the all-clear.”

Part of him had wanted only to provoke her, but the precaution wasn’t wasted. As soon as he left his driveway, he spotted a car at the far end of his street pulling away from the curb. It followed at a discreet distance for several blocks as he navigated through his neighborhood keeping to the speed limit.

Then, “Hold on,” he warned Holly as he rounded a corner and floor-boarded his accelerator. He didn’t let up until he was certain that he’d lost the tail.

“You can sit up now.”

He drove past the high school football stadium that marked the edge of town, then turned off onto a two-lane country road that wound through the woods. The pine trees lining it were as straight and closely spaced as the wall of a stockade. It was a dark night. The slender moon was obscured by a low ceiling of clouds.

Out of the corner of his eye, Crawford could see Holly only by the glow of the lights on his dashboard. She gripped the armrest when he took a steep curve without slowing down. “You could get a speeding ticket.”

“A traffic violation on top of a conspiracy to murder. That would be just awful.”

She whipped her head around and snapped, “You don’t do yourself any favors, Crawford.”

“Look, you don’t like the way I drive? Tough. I didn’t want you along.”

“This isn’t about your driving. I came along to try and prevent you from doing something you’ll later regret.”

“Like today when I knocked Joe on his ass.”

“Exactly like that.”

“I thought he’d sent me that video. Any parent who loves their child would have had the same reaction.”

“I agree. I’ll testify to that.”

He gave a harsh laugh. “Save your breath, Your Honor. No matter what you say from the witness stand, I’m never going to get Georgia back.” He turned his head. “Am I?”

She looked straight out the windshield and spoke so softly he could barely hear her over the truck’s engine. “Ultimately, maybe.”

“But not before more petitions, more hearings, more time spent without her.”

“And most likely not without involving Georgia.”

She glanced at him and their gazes held for several telling seconds. When he turned back, he gripped the steering wheel tightly. The lengths to which he would go to regain custody ended with Georgia being forced to choose between him and her grandparents. He would never put her through that.

He and Holly traveled the remainder of the way in silence, and soon a tacky neon sign signaled that they’d reached their destination. He made a hard left turn into the nightclub’s gravel parking lot and drove through it to the back of the building.

Knowing of the misdeeds committed on parking lots at places like Tickled Pink, inside and out of vehicles, Crawford thought it safer for Holly to come inside with him. He turned off the engine and opened his door. “I can’t leave you out here, but I warn you, this could be a shocking eye-opener.”

As though in defiance of the warning, she opened her own door and hopped down before he could come around and assist her out. They walked up to the metal door. He banged on it.

Smitty himself opened it. “‘Bout fucking time. I—”  He drew up when he saw that Crawford wasn’t alone, and, in obvious recognition of Holly, flashed his rodent grin as he eyed her up and down. “This is a new look for you, isn’t it, sweetheart? You ought to ditch the black robe for good.”

Smitty’s leer had him questioning the decision to bring her inside. “Lay off her.”

“Don’t mind him, honey,” Smitty said as he stepped aside to admit them. Shooting Crawford a dirty look over his shoulder, he added. “He’s a buzzkill.”

He escorted them into his office, which was as disorganized as any of the others in which Crawford had met with him over the years. Oozing charm as oily as his hair, he held a chair out for Holly and offered her something to drink.

Crawford clapped a hand on the man’s shoulder and forcibly turned him around to face him. “Where’s the old man? I thought you’d have him here in your office.”

“Tried to. But he’s an ornery cuss. Short of having my bouncer get rough—and considering your daddy’s age, that wouldn’t look good to other customers—I left him where he’s at. Been there since about three thirty. He’s run up a tab to the tune of sixty-seven dollars and change. Said you’d cover it.”

Crawford ignored the hand Smitty held out, palm up. “Let’s go.” He motioned with his head for Smitty to lead the way. “Lock yourself in,” he said to Holly as he passed through the door, then waited until he heard the click.

He relied on Smitty’s familiarity with the layout as he followed him through a maze of dark corridors until they reached the club proper, where the music’s volume was physically assaulting. On stage, a girl was humping a brass pole. The clientele was rowdily encouraging her with whoops, whistles, and applause.

Smitty shouted above the racket, “Over there.” He pointed to a table in the darkest corner of the room where a bouncer was keeping close watch over a slumped and motionless form.

Conrad’s cheek was mashed against the sticky tabletop. A string of drool clung to his slack lower lip. He was barely conscious, but when Crawford took him by the arm to haul him out of his chair, he came up swinging. The uncoordinated uppercut missed Crawford’s chin by a mile. The momentum behind it would have sent Conrad sprawling if Crawford hadn’t caught him.

He really didn’t give a damn about how bad it looked to other customers for him to grapple with the old man. Within seconds, he had both Conrad’s hands behind his back and was holding his wrists together in an iron grip. With his other hand around the back of Conrad’s neck, he held him upright.

“How’d he get here?” he asked Smitty.

He jangled a set of car keys in front of Crawford’s face. “Bouncer found them in his pants pocket.”

The bouncer was a beefy guy with a shaved and tattooed head. “Bring his car around to the back door,” Crawford told him. “It won’t be hard to find. Bald tires, faded blue paint. And thanks.”

He propelled Conrad across the club toward the corridor through which they’d come. Conrad stumbled and weaved but Crawford somehow got him that far without him falling.

Smitty followed on Crawford’s heels, yapping about the outstanding tab.

“Shut the hell up,” Crawford said. “You’ll get your damn money.”

When they reached the door to the office, he called out to Holly, who unlocked and opened the door. Humiliated, he watched her face as she got her first look at the slobbering, reeking derelict who’d sired him. She didn’t register the repulsion he’d expected, but rather concern for the way Conrad’s head flopped forward when Crawford let go of his neck.

Digging into his pocket, he pulled out a money clip and handed it to her. “Pay him, please.”

She took a fifty and a twenty from the clip.

“And a ten for the bouncer,” Crawford said.

“I’ll give it to him,” Smitty said, reaching for the extra bill.

She snatched it out of his reach. “I’ll see to it, thank you.”

She seemed impervious to, and in no way intimidated by, the lurid pictures papering the walls. Instead, the way she looked at Smitty as she handed him the money to cover the tab, she might have been in court, rendering a life sentence of hard labor.

“Your customer is obviously intoxicated. Yet you’ve admitted to continuing to serve him, over a course of hours, sixty-seven dollars’ worth of alcohol. Had anything untoward happened as a result of his inebriation, you could have been held responsible and criminally charged. The doors of this grimy establishment would have been padlocked. You were very fortunate this time. Mr. Hunt might be willing to overlook your negligent and potentially criminal disregard for his father’s debilitation…in exchange for your discretion.”

Smitty’s brow was furrowed, but he translated the language well enough. He wet his lips nervously and said, “Sure, sure, judge. I wouldn’t let on about this. Crawford’s a friend. We go way back.”

Crawford canceled that sentiment with a snort. “Hold the door so we can get out of here.” After Holly went ahead of him, he hung back long enough to say to Smitty, “I don’t care how far back we go, you breathe a word about her being here, and I’ll rip your balls off.”

Smitty gave him a sickly smile, as though he just might be taking the warning seriously.

Crawford managed to get Conrad to his SUV and into the backseat. The old man slumped sideways, his head coming to rest on the arm of Georgia’s car seat. Crawford resolved to have it sanitized before he put her in it again. If she ever got to ride with him again.

The bouncer had delivered Conrad’s car, and Holly had given him his tip. “Do you mind driving that?” Crawford asked of the roughly idling heap.

“Not at all.” She walked around to the driver’s side and got behind the wheel.

Mortified and angry, Crawford climbed into his SUV. Once on the highway, he maintained his speed so Holly would have no trouble following him. Besides, he was in no rush for her to see the squalid condition of Conrad’s house.

When they arrived, she came over and handed him Conrad’s car keys, plus his own money clip. “Don’t forget this.”

“Thanks. If you touched Smitty, you’ll want to scrub your hands with disinfectant.”

“But he was such a gracious host.” She fluttered a small piece of paper. “He sneaked me this while you weren’t looking.”

“What is it?”

“A coupon for the cover charge on my next visit.”

“That lousy lowlife. I should turn around and—”

He broke off when Conrad opened the door of the backseat and got out. “I don’t recommend Smitty’s places. The dancers are only so-so and the restrooms stink worse than outhouses.”

No longer drooling, reasonably clear-eyed, he was standing perfectly upright. He hadn’t slurred a single word. He smiled. “
Surprise!
”

Conrad extended his hand to Holly. “Judge Spencer, I was hoping I’d have an opportunity to meet you. I’m Conrad Hunt.”

She shook his hand. “Mr. Hunt.”

“Thank you for driving my car home.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I felt it best that I continue the act till we got here. Was I convincing?”

“Very,” she said, laughing lightly.

Beaming her a smile, he said, “Come in, come in.” He placed a guiding hand beneath her elbow and directed her toward the house. “Watch your step. I would have cleared a path, but I didn’t know I’d be having guests tonight.”

Crawford, having recovered from his shock, planted himself in front of them. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Conrad?”

“I’m showing some manners. Which is more than I can say for you.”

“Why the act? What are you trying to pull?”

Conrad fanned the air in front of his face to wave away mosquitoes. “Bloodsuckers. The judge will be eaten alive if we don’t get her inside.”

He nudged Crawford out of his way and continued on, warning Holly again to be careful where she stepped. Bringing up the rear, Crawford muttered that Conrad had had years to clear the path to his door. The yard was still littered with junk, but he was shocked and relieved to find that the interior of the house, at least the rooms immediately visible as he went through the front door, had been tidied since his visit on Tuesday.

At some point during the drive from the nightclub, Conrad had tucked in his shirttail and smoothed down his hair, which had been standing on end when they left. He actually looked halfway presentable.

“I apologize for smelling like a distillery,” he was saying to Holly. “The whiskey I didn’t pour out under the table, I’ve been splashing on like aftershave. Please, have a seat.”

He motioned her toward the sofa, over which an old but clean patchwork quilt had been spread to cover the stringy upholstery. Continuing to play host, he said, “Would you like something to drink?”

“No, she wouldn’t.”

Conrad looked over at Crawford and frowned at his rudeness. “I wasn’t talking to you. And I didn’t mean a drink drink. I was thinking along the lines of coffee or a Dr Pepper.”

Holly spoke for herself. “I appreciate the offer, but no thank you, Mr. Hunt.”

“Call me Conrad, and let me know if you change your mind.” He sat down in his recliner, popped up the footrest, and wiggled his butt around to make himself comfortable, all the while smiling at her.

Then he noticed that Crawford had remained standing barely inside the front door. “Are you just going to stand there like a cigar store Indian? Why don’t you sit down and try to be sociable?”

“I don’t have time for a social call. I need to get Holly home before her guards realize she’s missing.”