Final Stand. Helen R. Myers

all agreeableness. “Tell me what you can about the vehicle.”

      “There’s not much. It stayed behind me all the way back to town. I kept hoping it would pass me—”

      “Why?”

      “For exactly the reasons you mentioned. Also, I didn’t want to be forced to drive in a way that might cause the dog more pain.”

      “This dog that you’ve never seen before tonight?”

      Gray smirked. “You think I’m a hard case,” he told her, “when he’s bored, he plucks the legs off crickets and grasshoppers for entertainment.”

      “Not everybody sees sticking your hand up a cow’s butt as a religious experience,” Elias replied, crossing his arms over his chest. To Anna he added, “You were saying?”

      She shrugged. “It continued on by as I pulled in here. It was a white pickup truck.”

      “A pickup, wouldn’t you know it,” the chief drawled. “The one thing we have more of in Texas, aside from beautiful women and bullshit.”

      Once again she found herself losing ground to the day, to its demands and dangers, only to be provoked by Frank Elias’s snide tone. “I could say it was a Rolls, but that would be some of that bullshit that you insinuated.”

      The laughter vanished from Elias’s blue eyes. “How would you like to walk next door with me and try being cute over there?”

      “Calm down, Frank.” Shooting Anna a cautioning glance, Gray passed between them to get to the waste container. “It’s not her fault that you don’t have any clues, let alone suspects.”

      The chief rubbed his knuckles against his jutting jaw. “Who says I don’t? Maybe my numero uno suspect is staring me right in the face, eh, Ms. Diaz?”

      “I hope that’s your idea of a joke,” Gray said quietly.

      “Hey, I have every right to be suspicious, not to mention a little sore, when someone brings trouble to my town.”

      “You should suggest the chamber of commerce use that on a billboard,” Anna said, recognizing the man for what he was—a full-blown, narrow-minded redneck. “‘The town where the only trouble is the tourists.’”

      Frank straightened and assumed his initial pose. “Yeah, I think you’d better come with me.”

      Anna eyed the hand on the holster. “Are you arresting me?”

      “Did I say that? No, all I’m saying is that a change of environment will help you answer the rest of my questions.”

      “What kind of questions?”

      “For one thing I’ll want to know where you can be reached should we need your testimony in the future.”

      “I don’t have a permanent address yet.”

      “You said you knew where you were heading.”

      God, Anna thought, this was getting worse by the minute. If only she’d kept her mouth shut. “Generally, not specifically. I’m in the process of relocating.”

      “Do you hear that, Slaughter?”

      Gray shrugged. “Most people see moving as a constitutional right.”

      “God bless the U.S.A. So, in that case,” the chief continued to Anna, “we’ll take down your statement, get some cellular-phone number or a relative’s address, whatever you have, and you’ll be back on your way in no time at all. Sound good?”

      Only if you were a fresh-hatched chick. She didn’t believe him and wouldn’t trust him until she had his office, this entire town, in her rearview mirror. But she was reassured by the “we” part. That must mean more staff would be at the station due to the fire. Reassured, she drew a stabilizing breath and, pulling off her gloves, said to Gray, “Doctor, it appears that I have to impose on your kindness a while longer.”

      4

      Moths executed jet-fighter maneuvers in the blinding floodlights outside the back of the clinic, but their erratic movements were nothing compared to what was happening behind Anna’s ribs. She wondered what she was heading into. The temptation to risk making a run for it couldn’t be entirely ignored.

      I’ve told so many lies, how many more should I risk?

      “Whereabouts in Texas do you live?”

      Though spoken matter-of-factly, Anna knew there was nothing casual about the question, just as there was nothing innocent about the way Chief Elias maneuvered around her so that she was on his left. It was the opposite side of his gun.

      “I don’t live in Texas.”

      “That’s what the plates on your van indicate.”

      How close had he gotten to the vehicle? Not close enough to have looked inside, she assured herself, otherwise she would be cuffed by now. But she regretted not having taken the time to lock up the way she usually did. Gray Slaughter hadn’t given her the chance.

      “They’re Texas plates because I started having transmission trouble and traded in my old car before I ended up stranded,” she replied. It wasn’t the truth, but it was a logical explanation.

      “Smart girl. Mechanics always rip you off for that kind of work, and once a transmission is shot, you might as well ditch the vehicle. So where are you from?”

      Anna knew she had to give him something. “Louisiana.”

      “You don’t say? Huh. Still don’t hear an accent.”

      “I’ve been out West for several years.”

      He studied her profile, all of it, as they walked. “You an actress?”

      She focused on the building they were approaching and the single patrol car parked before it. “A failed one.”

      “I bet you’re just being modest.”

      The compliment would have been easier to stomach with less oil soaking it. “No, embarrassingly honest.”

      She could feel his curiosity intensifying, and tried to tolerate that by getting a better feel for her surroundings, what little there was. Not only was the town small, it was deserted. She’d missed the sign for the health-food store across the street next to the supermarket. Not surprisingly, there was a For Rent sign in the window. Next to that was a non-franchise hardware store.

      “Married? Involved?”

      “Not interested.”

      He grinned, exposing strong, square teeth. “Doesn’t hurt to ask.”

      No doubt he asked often, Anna thought gloomily, and with enough success to think women liked his brand of flirtation.

      “Did you shoot down Slaughter, too?”

      They stopped before the glass door of the station where all that was written was the white lettering for an evening number in case of emergencies. What she didn’t see beyond the door bothered her as much as his question, making her slow to answer. “Pardon?”

      “Are you going to pretend that I didn’t sense a little chemistry going on between you and the doc when I came in?”

      Here we go again, she thought. Never mind that she’d hidden her hair under a baseball cap most of the day and it had to be a mess, or that she felt windblown and dust-caked from driving with the window down because the van was a rip-off and the air conditioner was trying to die on her.

      “Whatever you think you sensed,” she said, frowning into the dark building, “you’re wrong.”

      He didn’t reply, merely reached over and opened the front door. But his arm came so close to brushing against her breasts, it was as good as a spoken taunt.

      In