Body Heat. Brenda Novak

he didn’t say so.

      “If it’s that important to you, I’m sure you can get the time off from Department 6. You’ve got weeks of vacation coming.”

      “That’s what I figured.”

      “So why are you fighting it?”

      “You think I should go.”

      She laughed. “No. You think you should go. Obviously. That’s why you’re so conflicted. I’m just trying to tell you that drinking won’t change that.”

      “My father lives there,” he finally admitted.

      Her steady gaze met his. “You told me you didn’t have a father.”

      “I did?” He couldn’t remember saying that.

      “Yep.”

      “Well, that’s essentially true. He never acknowledged me. He gave my mother money every now and then—as much as he could siphon away without risking the wrath of his wife—but nothing steady and only out of a sense of obligation. He had another family. The one everyone looked up to.”

      She pretended this was a casual conversation, but he could tell she was taking it all in. “Any siblings?”

      “Two white boys. Mean sons of bitches, too.”

      “Older or younger than you?”

      “Older.” And stronger. At least back then. He had no idea what they were like now. He only knew they’d joined forces to beat the crap out of him on several occasions, usually because he’d come across them on their own property and refused to step out of the way. He’d been tired of seeing his father and everyone else treat them like little princes while he couldn’t pick an orange without being accused of stealing.

      “Your father didn’t stop them?”

      “He turned a blind eye. He knew it would get back to his wife if he did and cause an even bigger problem.”

      “Your brothers still live there?”

      “Don’t know. I’ve never asked anyone.” Even Jorge. “But I can’t imagine they’d leave. They’re eventually going to inherit a sizeable farm right outside of Bordertown.”

      “Where’s your mother?”

      “Buried in the town cemetery.”

      The microwave dinged but she made no move to recover the poultry. “What happened to her, Rod?”

      “Lung cancer. Never smoked a day in her life, yet she died of lung cancer.” He chuckled bitterly. “Doesn’t seem fair, does it?”

      “None of it sounds fair. But you’re not the person you were then. You’d be going back as someone else. Someone to be reckoned with.”

      He cocked an eyebrow at her. “What does that mean?”

      “It means you can handle whatever’s waiting for you there—a killer who’s shooting illegal aliens, two mean sons of bitches who might still benefit from a good ass-whopping, a father who must have been a fool not to love you…and the sight of a grave that will probably break your heart.”

      “See? This is why I don’t talk to you,” he said.

      “Why?”

      “You just don’t understand.”

      Knowing he meant the opposite, she smiled. “When are you leaving?”

      “I guess I might as well go tonight. Any chance you’ll take me to the airport?”

      “You think you can get a flight?”

      “I doubt I can get into Tucson, but I should be able to reach Phoenix. I’ll rent a car and drive from there.”

      Sophia’s long hair was dark enough to blend in with that of the Mexicans she’d encounter, but the color of her eyes and her skin tone would give her away. Her light green irises drew attention wherever she went. People always commented on how startling they were. And, although she had a bit of a tan now that it was summer, her skin was most definitely that of a white person. But at least she wouldn’t look any more like a cop than she would a Mexican citizen. She had the tattoo “sleeve” partially covering one arm to thank for that. It might be a remnant of her wild youth, but she still liked the symbols of good and evil portrayed there. They showed humanity at its most realistic—never wholly honorable and never wholly bad. Besides, those tattoos gave her the hard edge she sometimes needed, helped make up for the fact that she was only five feet five inches tall and one hundred and ten pounds.

      She pulled on a tank top to go with her jeans and biker boots. Then she combed her hair into a thick ponytail and lifted her pant leg so she could strap her pistol to her right calf before hopping onto the stripped-down Harley she’d purchased last summer. Other than Rafe and her brother, that bike was her only true love. She’d bought it after a particularly painful breakup, at a time when she preferred being single for the rest of her life to trusting another man. She’d been without sex long enough to rethink that “never again” attitude, but the Harley was still a better companion than the boyfriend she’d had last summer. She ran into Dick Callahan every now and then—him and the teenager he’d knocked up while they were together.

      “Bastard,” she mumbled as she turned out of her drive. That was pretty much her reaction every time she thought of Dick. It didn’t help that she’d trusted him a little more than she would have otherwise because he was the pastor at First Calvary Church. Instead of coming to her right away, he’d strung her along with I love yous until the girl and her parents had shown up on her doorstep and surprised her with news of the baby. They’d also asked her to step aside so Dick would be willing to make a home for their daughter and her child.

      Sophia had thought they were crazy to push for a permanent commitment. He “did the right thing” only to save his position with the church. She doubted the marriage would last. But she’d done what they requested and removed herself from the situation. Dick and seventeen-year-old Zeba had spoken their vows five months ago.

      Since Dick, Sophia hadn’t really dated anybody. Living in a small town didn’t provide her with a lot of options, and being a police officer narrowed the field even further, because she knew too much about everyone. Harvey Hatfield tried to ask her out now and then. But back when he was married and she was just a regular officer, she’d been to his house to settle a domestic dispute. His wife—former wife now—hadn’t pressed charges, but Sophia had seen her face and believed her when she said it was Harvey who’d given her that fat lip. Knowing he could be violent didn’t make Sophia too thrilled about going out for a drink with him.

      Then there was Craig Tenney, a local dentist. He’d seemed nice enough until Alice Greville had come into the station claiming he’d touched her breasts while he had her under nitrous oxide. His other clients had rallied behind him, and Alice had never been able to prove her claim, but Sophia had started going to a dentist in Douglas.

      And last but not least, Stuart Dunlap showed interest. On the surface he seemed like an ideal candidate. Other than a bar fight six years ago, he’d had no brushes with the law. Along with his brother, he stood to inherit the Dunlap ranch—something Sophia’s mother constantly pointed out. Anne had no qualms about marrying for money. When her first husband filed for bankruptcy, she’d acted decisively to protect her standard of living. But Stuart walked around Bordertown acting as if he owned the place. Sophia couldn’t stand his arrogance. She preferred his brother, but Patrick was already married.

      The highway blurred beneath her front tire as she gave the bike more gas. She thought of Detective Lindstrom heading home for an enjoyable supper with her DEA husband and wondered if she’d complained to the sheriff about being left out of the action this morning. Sophia should’ve contacted her when the call came in. She’d guessed immediately that their killer had struck again. But knowing that the detective had ties to Leonard and wouldn’t mind seeing her out of a job made Sophia leery. A few hours ago, Lindstrom had called to see if she’d gotten