Nowhere to Hide (6 page)

The chili at the Celebrity Deli was good—not as good as his, of course—but it filled Graham’s empty belly. As he worked his way through his meal, he changed his mind at least a dozen times about dropping in on Colleen. Both his gut and head told him she couldn’t be involved with Jeffrey Walters.

His earlier database searches on Pine Hills had given him hits on golf courses, nature preserves, even hotels. Maybe some day they’d get computers like the ones on
Star Trek
, but until then, he’d need a little more to go on. Whatever Colleen was running from, he couldn’t believe it had anything to do with this case or anything else outside the law. An assumption, he knew, but one he was going to stick with until he had a good reason to change it.

Once he admitted he was looking for an excuse to see her again, Graham picked up the check, tossed some bills on the table and drained the last of his coffee. Eight-thirty wouldn’t be too late. Revitalized, he headed to Doris Walters’ house.

When he reached the address, the main house was dark, but he caught a glimpse of Colleen trudging toward her apartment. Her shoulders were slumped and her feet barely cleared the pavement.

He sat behind the wheel, trying to understand what about Colleen intrigued him. A scent of smoke in the air tickled his nostrils. “What the hell?” He got out of the car, and reached Colleen’s door almost as soon as it closed. His heart pounded against his vest, and he strained to remember one of the dozen professional scenarios he’d fabricated to explain his visit. When the door opened, his pulse raced even faster, and all the rehearsed lines vanished. Dark shadows under Colleen’s red-rimmed eyes were accentuated by black smudges on her cheeks.

Alarm added to the pounding in his chest. “Are you all right? What happened?” He hesitated, then pointed toward her face. “Your face. It’s—”

“
What’s wrong with my face?” Her fingers rubbed her cheeks and she pulled them away, studying them.

“
Nothing.” Nothing at all. Even smudged and dirty, it was a wonderful face. “I mean, you’ve got—” He handed her his handkerchief, gesturing to his own face.

She grabbed the cloth and scrubbed at her cheeks. “It’s soot. I thought you’d heard. There was a fire at Doris’ a little while ago.”

“
Fire? What happened? Are you sure you’re okay?” He took a closer look. She appeared all right and he relaxed.

“
I’m fine. I told everything to the paramedics and then to the detective.”

Detective? Had Schaeffer been toying with him and assigned the case to someone in CID? “What detective? When?”

“
About half an hour ago. Plainclothes. White. Six feet, brown hair, cut short. Big belly. Said he was following up.” A look of disgust crossed her face. “Damn, I never asked his name.. He flashed the badge, and all I wanted was for him to go away.”

Had to be Clarke. But why? Was Schaeffer setting them up so he could watch both of them try to be detectives? That didn’t sound like Schaeffer. As far as Graham knew, this wasn’t a legitimate missing persons case, not yet.

“
I almost forgot,” Colleen said. “Doris said Jeffrey’s in Alabama, not Alaska. That I must have misheard her.” She gave him half a grin. “I didn’t mention that to the detective.”

“
Thanks for telling me, then.” Score one point for him.

“
I’m tired, Harrigan. Why are you here?”

“
I guess I hoped you’d be ready to tell me a little more about who Colleen McDonald is.”

Head lowered, she scrubbed her fingers over her red curls. “Like what? Didn’t you dig out my sordid past on your magic computers?” When she finally lifted her face, her green eyes, tired as they were, met his with defiance.

“
No,” he said. “I decided you would tell me when you were ready.”

Some of the tension left her face. “Well, Deputy Harrigan, I thank you for that vote of confidence. And as for who I am—I told you before. I’m someone who wanted a change.” Another one of her half-smiles. “And I think this town is giving me one.”

“
What about a trade, then? Let me in for a minute. We can talk.”

She hesitated, but motioned him inside and sank to the couch. “More of your one Celt to another stuff?”

“
Sure. Here’s mine—I’m one of five kids. Shawn’s the oldest, then Mary Margaret. I’m in the middle, followed by Jenny and Jeremy—they’re twins.”

He was rewarded with a full-fledged smile this time, one that revealed a hint of a dimple and some light in her eyes.

“
Your parents have mine beat. I’m the youngest of four. The only girl.” Following her gaze to the entertainment center, he glimpsed a family photograph. He crossed the room, picking up the picture and comparing the carefree youngster with the troubled young woman sitting behind him.

“
There’s a lot of love here,” he said.

“
Yeah, we’re close.” Her voice was guarded.

He replaced the picture and noticed a half-empty Scotch bottle. “Aberlour. Not bad, but I prefer Irish myself.” He turned to her and smiled. “Looks like you’ve had a rough day. Do you want some?”

After a beat, that defiance crept back into her tone. “No, thanks. And if you don’t mind, if this isn’t an official visit, I don’t think I can help you much.” She stood, but straighter than she had when he’d seen her walking down the path.

“
Of course. It’s late.” He walked toward the door, aware she was right behind him. He turned. She smelled of smoke, of pine cleanser, and he wanted to kiss her.

Until he remembered Schaeffer asking if Colleen was pretty.

“
Good night, Ms. McDonald.”

He heard her soft exhale as he opened the door and let himself out. Then cursed when he caught a glimpse of a cruiser in his rearview mirror as he left the subdivision.

Damn. Had to be Clarke.

*****

Colleen watched Harrigan walk away. Her knees shook, and she couldn’t begin to understand the way her insides had wobbled there, just for a second. She must be exhausted. For a moment, she’d thought he wanted to kiss her. Why on earth would he do that? It didn’t matter. What mattered was if he had, she’d have let him. Hell, she’d have kissed him back.

She closed the door, double-checked the deadbolt and hurried to the bathroom for the hottest shower she could stand, as if the needle-sharp spray could wash away her confusion. If anything, the shower made her feel even more tingly and unsettled. She toweled off, pulled on her sleep shirt and crawled into bed, trying to relax. She took some deep, slow breaths. Dark-rimmed blue eyes swam in her thoughts. Gentle eyes. She drifted into sleep.

All too soon, she was in the big Bradford house again, with its vast expanses of marble, trying to calm the couple. Husband. Blue silk shirt, unbuttoned halfway. A baseball bat. Wife, very blonde, black eye starting to form, with a kitchen knife.

Gunshots. Blood. Pain. Screaming. The screaming woke her and she realized it was her own. Panting, drenched in sweat, she sat up in bed and turned on the light. She felt tears on her cheeks and willed them away. McDonalds didn’t cry. Her brothers had drilled that into her well enough.

Knowing sleep was out of the question, she stumbled out to the kitchen and heated some water for herbal tea. She sat on the couch wrapped in the blanket from her bed, feet tucked under her. Harrigan’s white handkerchief, now streaked with soot, sat on the coffee table. Without thinking, she picked it up and ran it though her fingers. That strange tingling started again.

Forget about Harrigan. Detectives. Cops in general. Think about the mysterious Jeffrey. Find him and get them all out of your life.

Where was Jeffrey? Odds were, right where he was supposed to be. But the cop in her wouldn’t accept it on blind faith. She thought of the times in Pine Hills when Randy had let her partner on his detective investigations.

Get as many facts as you can, kid. Then figure out which ones are useful.

Start at the beginning. Megan, her college roommate, had steered her to this apartment. Megan’s grandmother knew Doris. Maybe the grandmother knew Jeffrey too. Colleen sent Megan an e-mail. At the very least, Megan could contact her grandmother.

Colleen thought Randy had used her as a sounding board more than anything else, but sometimes saying it out loud turned on those overhead light bulbs. She felt like an idiot talking to herself at four in the morning, so she opened a new spreadsheet. She headed columns with names. One for Jeffrey, one for Doris, one for the stepdaughter, whatever her name was. On a whim, she added Megan’s grandmother. Then she typed in what little she knew.

When she finished, she had bits and pieces of disjointed information that still made no sense. She laughed out loud and started highlighting. It still didn’t say much, but it was a lot prettier. And as an added bonus, she was drowsy. With luck, she might get a couple hours of sleep before the roller coasters woke her. Not bothering with the bedroom, she curled up on the living room couch and sank into sleep, this time undisturbed.

Either she’d slept through the coasters or the wind had shifted, because even with the windows open, it was nine-fifteen before she woke. She felt rested, more than she had in weeks.

She stretched and the stiffness through her shoulders and thighs reminded her of yesterday’s workout. Healed or not, her left leg hadn’t regained full strength yet. A short run ought to loosen things up. She readied the coffee maker, pulled on running shorts, sports bra and a light tee. The morning air was cool, but nothing like November mornings in Oregon. She secured her hair in a ponytail, grabbed her keys and headed out.

She reached the intersection at Wallace Road in under fifteen minutes. The crossing guard for the elementary school was pulling off her neon orange gloves and walking toward a small motor scooter. Colleen dipped her head to the guard and jogged in place as she waited for the light to change. Across the street, through the Y’s glass walls, people worked out on the cardio machines, and she wondered why anyone would want to run on a treadmill when the weather was so glorious outside. The light turned green and she pressed forward. She’d go as far as the shopping center and turn around.

When a black BMW across the road caught her eye, she realized she’d totally forgotten about Doris’ visitor from yesterday. Colleen twisted her head to get a better look at the driver, but the car was already moving, and the window tinting prevented a clear view.

Relax. This was a major street, this neighborhood must be overrun with Beemers, and black was a common enough color. Nevertheless, she crossed to the other side of the street and jogged for home.

Graham yawned as he walked down the corridor to Schaeffer’s office. He’d spent a restless night, alternating between thinking about a troubled redhead and trying to decide why Clarke—if it was Clarke—had shown up at Doris Walters’. He found Schaeffer at his desk.

“
Morning,” Graham said.

Schaeffer grunted. “You have anything?”

Somewhere around two a.m., Graham had decided to keep his mouth shut about Clarke. Maybe Schaeffer was setting him up, seeing how he dealt with things on his own, or if he’d come crying to Daddy when things didn’t go his way. It had made sense then. Now he kept watching Schaeffer, trying to read him. If the case had gone to CID, Schaeffer would have told him. Wouldn’t he?

Graham stifled another yawn. “Nothing positive at the hospitals or morgue. The aunt swears she said the guy’s in Alabama, not Alaska. But there was a fire at the Walters’ house last night. According to the reports, it was an accident. The woman had some friends playing cards that afternoon, someone dumped an ashtray in the wastebasket, and eventually it caught fire.”

“
Any reason to think otherwise?”

Graham shook his head. “I’d say the woman is running at about eighty-five percent. The tenant agrees. Says she’s lucid most of the time, but makes occasional detours into la-la land.”

“
You still think this is a case? Or are you looking for excuses to see that tenant?” Schaeffer’s grin said he was teasing, but Graham still bristled.

“
I do think it’s a case. I can’t explain it, but something’s not right. If the man was in touch with the old lady—and she insists he was—I don’t see why he wouldn’t have called his kid. Pain in the neck or not, it doesn’t feel right that he wouldn’t try to make personal contact.”

“
Not if she’s always asking for money.” Schaeffer leaned back in his chair and chewed on his pen. “By the way. We’ve had a couple of personnel changes. If you’re interested, I can start you in the cross training program now. Ninety days. Unless you’d rather wait until January.” Schaeffer lifted his eyebrows.

Graham tried to keep his heart inside his ribcage. He struggled to remain professional. Had Schaeffer made the same offer to Clarke? “I’d be grateful for the chance. Thank you, sir.”

Schaeffer gave a quiet laugh. “Let’s see if you’re still thanking me after you spend days doing boring legwork with me breathing down your neck and checking all your paperwork. You might want to stick with Patrol duties. Grab your laptop. For now you’ll have to work at one of the communal desks. I’ll see about finding an empty cubicle.”

In the workroom, two detectives were engrossed in their own laptop screens. Graham offered a good morning, got a nod from one, a raised eyebrow from the other, but neither objected to his presence as he plugged in his laptop.

He’d do this one right, by the book. Ninety days to prove himself. He might have made some mistakes in his career, but nobody was perfect. He’d do a good job and he’d get the transfer. So what if Schaeffer thought this was a non-case and was throwing him a bone? At least he was willing to give him a chance. So what if it meant competing with Clarke? So what if Clarke smelled like a rose and Graham carried the stink of Proctor, his lousy training partner? Clarke was more like Proctor than Proctor had been, and eventually someone would notice. For now this was Graham’s chance to show what he could do.