Dangerous Refuge (19 page)
F
eeling like a rebellious teenager, Shaye followed Tanner out of the room—and nearly tripped over the geek in the neon shirt and shoes.
“I was just coming to tell you that Unc—uh—Mr. Campbell has another appointment real soon.”
“Thanks,” Tanner said. “I saw the models and couldn’t resist.”
“Really?” The kid’s voice said he’d never looked at the models once, much less twice. “I’ll take you to his office.”
“We know where it is.”
“It’s my job.”
Tanner took Shaye’s arm. She was stiff, like someone who was keeping vicious control of each breath. He hoped she wouldn’t explode before he got her back to the truck.
They stood in the office doorway behind the kid. Campbell had his back turned to them, gesturing as he looked out the window that made up the back wall. Tanner couldn’t decide if the posture was defensive or aggressive. It sure wasn’t relaxed. He held a cell phone to his ear, listening, not talking. The gold in his wedding band looked liquid against his weathered hand. The diamonds set in the band gleamed like frost.
Shaye counted nubs in the Berber rug under her feet and forced herself into her party persona. The hated lessons learned at her mother’s nylon-clad knee finally snapped into place like the armor they were.
Tanner kept looking at what he could see of the cell phone in Campbell’s hand, trying to figure out why he cared. Then he realized that there was a landline on the desk, and an expensive cell phone lying right next to it. Plus a BlackBerry on Campbell’s belt.
Why does he need another phone? And a cheap piece of junk at that. I can understand why an elected official like the sheriff has a cheap phone, and why someone running for office might want an anonymous cell phone, but Campbell? Is it some kind of Nevada fetish?
I feel like I’m in south L.A., where drug dealers use throwaway cell phones like other people use toilet paper.
The kid knocked on the open door.
Campbell’s stance tightened. “Later. My guests just arrived.” He ended the call, tossed the phone into the center drawer of his desk, and closed it with an angry motion. But he was smiling when he looked up. “Thanks, Freddy. I’ll take it from here.”
The kid vanished.
“The guy on the phone has been stringing me along for a couple months now, never coming through. You know how it is,” Campbell said to Shaye. “Some deals have to be nursed like babies.” He narrowed his glance on Tanner. “Have we met? Something about you is familiar.”
“Tanner Davis,” he said, holding his hand across the desk with a toothy grin. “Real happy to meet you, Mr. Campbell.”
“Lorne Davis is—was—his uncle,” Shaye said, and watched closely.
“Oh, right, the Conservancy benefit,” Campbell said, smiling and shaking hands. “I only played poker with Lorne a few times, but I liked him.”
“He was a hard son of a bitch,” Tanner said. “But he was family.”
“Family. What’re you gonna do?” Campbell asked, shaking his head. “Got some hardheads in mine. Still, you miss them when they go. Sit down and tell me how I can help you.”
Tanner looked at Shaye, saw she was in control, and nodded slightly. She was already talking, using the polite, social voice that made him want to strip her naked and go down on her until she forgot to be civilized and screamed with pleasure.
“Thank you for making room in your busy schedule,” she said. “I know you’re pressed for time, so we’ll make this as short as possible. We had a few questions about a man you recommended to Mr. Hill’s security detail. Antonio Rua, called either Tonio or Tony.”
Campbell sat back in his leather office chair and let the name roll around in his head. “Sounds vaguely familiar, but I can hardly keep track of every man I’ve hired.”
“Rua was a supervisor, so you might’ve talked with him directly.”
There was a moment of puzzlement before Campbell leaned forward and snapped his fingers. “Got him. Yeah, sure I remember Rua. He kind of drifted in and out of construction, but when he paid attention he was good. He kept the men on the site in line, and not everyone can do that. Cleaned up real nice, too. Was comfortable talking to suits when we took potential investors to sites.”
“So you remember recommending Rua to Mr. Hill’s security manager?”
“Yeah, I guess. I mean, if Harold said so, I must have. Over time I’ve recommended a number of guys to help handle crowds for him. I already require random drug testing and I screen pretty heavily, so if they work for me, they’ll pass Harold’s sniff test without a lot of wasted time.”
“Did Rua?” Shaye asked, her face aching from keeping the social mask in place. The vision of Lorne’s ravaged body and Campbell’s cheerful model of Lorne’s transformed valley kept pinging around in her head.
“If Rua worked for Harold,” Campbell said, “he passed the tests.”
“I checked with Mr. Hill and Rua was indeed hired on,” she said. “I don’t think he has started work yet.”
Silently Tanner gave her points for not mentioning Rua’s death by lead poisoning.
“So is Rua in some kind of trouble with the Conservancy? Building condominiums on sacred land or the like?” The corners of Campbell’s eyes crinkled as he grinned.
Her training held and she smiled her social smile. “We were hoping to talk to him.”
“Cell phones work on construction sites. Did you get his number from Hill?”
“The last number we had for him is disconnected,” she said.
Tanner decided she’d make a very good partner.
Don’t lie, but don’t tell any truths you don’t have to.
“He probably just got a prepaid cell phone on payday and used it as his number until it ran out,” Campbell said, shrugging. “A lot of people in the valley are living real close to the bone.”
“I see that in my line of work, too,” Tanner said gravely.
“Oh?” Campbell asked. “And what would that be?”
“Social work over in L.A. County. Lotta people living pretty tight there. I mean, I do what I can, but I’m only one man, y’know?”
“I surely do.”
Tanner looked around the office, which was three times as big as the conference room. “Just glad to see someone around here is making money and jobs. Surprised you don’t have more building sites close by. They all in Reno?”
The phone on the landline buzzed once.
Campbell ignored it. “So far, all my sites are near Reno. Land enough to do big things with is hard to come by here in the valley. What little the government or the tribes don’t own is locked up in old landholdings.”
And will stay that way,
Shaye thought savagely,
as long as I do my job
.
“But that doesn’t mean you don’t have big dreams for the place, right?” Tanner asked with a knowing smile.
“Who doesn’t want a better life for themselves and their community?”
“We all do,” Shaye said with a smile as empty as a desert sky. “It’s just that everyone doesn’t agree on what that better life is. For some, it’s the family ranch and open land and maybe a touch of the wilderness at the edges.”
Campbell shook his head sadly. “I hear you, but if we’re going to bring jobs back to the valley, something has to change. You’ve been here less than, what, two years?”
She nodded and her cheeks felt numb from smiling.
“Well, there was a time when every business pad on 395 between here and Carson was a beehive of jobs and building. New businesses—family businesses, most of them—starting everywhere you looked. Now, hell,” Campbell said in disgust, “now you could fire a shotgun down those same streets and not hit anything but For Sale signs.”
“There is still a place for family ranches,” she said through gritted teeth.
“Sure, but not every place.” Campbell leaned back and sighed. “Like you, I have a dream for one or two of those ranches. Unlike you, my dreams will bring money into the valley.”
“Like that ski resort in your model room?” Tanner asked. “That would bring in a lot of jobs.”
Campbell grinned. “That’s my baby. I’ve been working on it for five, six years now.”
“What made you think you would ever own the land for it?” Shaye asked, forcing another smile.
The BlackBerry signaled an incoming message. Campbell ignored that one, too.
“I’ve got several long-term projects like that,” he said. “The modeling and all is expensive, but if the land ever comes on the market, I’m ready to go before my competitors have a chance to blink and look around for an architect.”
“Designing a casino, hotel, cottages, recreational area, ski run and chalets, trails and all the trimmings—pretty expensive for an if-come project,” Tanner said.
“I’ve got the backers to compete with Tahoe,” the other man said. “It’ll probably take a decade or more to gather the land, but imagine if it happens—jobs for thousands, a new market for local goods, a new destination for people from all over the world. Why should all that tax base stay in Tahoe? It’s overbuilt and overpriced for what you get. We can do better than that.”
“What if someone didn’t want to sell? Wouldn’t that derail your dream train?” she said neutrally.
“You gotta use your mind as well as your heart,” he said to her. “Remember
Kelso v. New London
? Supreme Court says the state has an overriding interest in the case of private landowners who stand in the way of beneficial local or state developments. Eminent-domain laws would apply. But that shouldn’t be necessary. People here know we are desperate for jobs.”
“What if they didn’t care?” she asked, her voice still polite, interested. Controlled. “As you said, everyone has different dreams.”
From inside the desk came the strident noise of a cheap cell phone.
“That’s why we have laws, cops, politicians, and courts. Sure, it would be a hassle to use
Kelso,
but if the politicians are with you, it’ll get done. Me? I’d rather work with the Conservancy to make sure not just one dream comes true. There’s room in Nevada for everyone to get a piece of the pie. We just need the right people at the political helm to make sure things happen.”
The cell phone rattled again.
“Sorry,” Campbell said. “Gotta take this call. Great talking to you, Shaye, Mr. Davis.”
Apparently Freddy was aware of the incoming calls, too. He appeared in the doorway as Campbell opened his desk drawer.
Tanner knew he wasn’t going to be able to eavesdrop.
So did Shaye.
Without a word, they followed the neon shirt and sneakers out of the building.
She had never been so grateful for an interruption in her life. Her social armor was fraying, her skin too tight, her jaw and shoulders aching. She pulled herself up into the truck and counted the seconds until Tanner pulled out of the parking lot.
“It’s safe now,” he said. “Let it out.”
“I can’t. I’m afraid I’ll never be able to shove it back in again.”
T
he throwaway cell phone vanished into an anonymous Dumpster behind a restaurant and bar.
Enough of this.
Nevada is full of empty spaces and unmarked graves. Nobody will notice another one.
Or two.
Three.
Whatever it takes.
T
anner picked the first motel close to Refuge that advertised more than clean rooms and weekly rates. He knew that Shaye was going to crash sooner rather than later. Dealing with death was like being in a race—at first your adrenal glands run a marathon a minute. More training, more races, and less adrenaline each time, until finally the mind rather than adrenal glands ruled the body.
She was new to the murder business. She needed a safe place to let down. The ranch had too many memories and her condo in Tahoe was too far away.
He parked and turned off the engine.
“What are we doing here?” she asked.
“Taking a time-out where nobody can find us.”
He realized how spent she was when she simply nodded her head.
It took him about five minutes to get a second-floor room—the cop in him knew how dangerous first floors were. He told the clerk their luggage had been lost on a Reno flight and checked in as Mr. and Mrs. T. L. Davis. Those were his initials, verified by his driver’s license and credit card, so the clerk didn’t think there was anything odd about a couple checking in without luggage.
After all, this was Nevada, where prostitution was licensed and taxed.
“Come on, honey,” Tanner said, guiding her up the outside staircase to their room. “You need some downtime.”
She wanted to argue, but didn’t. There was no point. She knew she was on the breaking edge of her control. Too much had happened, too quickly, too horribly, for her to absorb. And then there was Tanner . . . a wild wind sweeping away her certainties, leaving her nowhere stable to stand but in his arms.
And those arms would only be around until Lorne’s estate was settled.
“Maybe my parents were right,” she said as Tanner stripped off the bedspread on one of the queen beds. “Maybe I’m not cut out for rural life.”
“Death goes everywhere. Statistically, you’re safer out in the boonies.”
He began undressing her as efficiently as he had the bed. Shoes, socks, jacket, and outer shirt hit the floor.
Though his touch was caring rather than hungry, she felt a rush of heat melt through the ice in her bones.
“But—” she began as he nudged her backward until the mattress hit her knees and she sat suddenly.
“That’s it, honey. Into bed.” He bent and whisked off her jeans. “I’ll wake you in an hour or so. We can talk then.”
“An hour,” she repeated. “No talking.”
“There you go.”
She lay back under the gentle push of his hands—then hooked her arm around his neck and pulled him off balance, into her arms. For a moment he lay full length on her. Then, reluctantly, he made a grab for common sense.
“I meant you should rest,” he said, bracing himself on one arm above her.
“You’re hard.”
“Honey, around you, that’s like saying my heart is beating.”
“I’m sorry I’ve been so—”
“You’ve been incredible,” he said, putting his fingers over her mouth, stilling her words. “You saw the model, wanted to take out Campbell’s throat with your teeth, but you hung tough, questioned him like a pro, and never so much as hinted at Rua’s death. You can be my partner anytime.”
Her dark brown eyes examined him intently, then accepted that he was telling her the truth.
“I almost lost it,” she admitted against his fingers. “That damn model was the cherry on top of the crap pile of the last few days. You, on the other hand, are the cake.” She lifted just enough to kiss him. “But I just discovered that I’m greedy. I want the whipped cream, too.”
He didn’t know whether to laugh or groan.
Then her tongue slipped hotly between his fingers. Twice. Three times.
“Shaye . . .” It was all he could force out his suddenly tight throat.
“Take off your jeans.”
He removed his fingers from her mouth and kissed her until she was writhing and rubbing against him, wanting more. Demanding it. He stripped off her underwear so that he could do what he’d wanted to do before the deputy’s call had interrupted them this morning.
Tanner’s teeth raked gently, hungrily, down her throat. He kissed her collarbone, the hollow of her neck, the pulse in her throat, trying to tell her how beautiful she was to him.
Her fingers pulled out his shirt and tested every texture of his back, biting into his resilient heat, both impatient and appreciative.
“More,” she said.
Her husky demand went through him like lightning. He laughed deep in his chest and bit her carefully. Her back arched, reminding him that he hadn’t touched her breasts. Her nipples were already hard. He sucked one into his mouth for a long, thorough loving.
“Jeans,” she groaned. “Now.” Her hands tugged at his waistband, then pulled his fly open.
His breath hissed in. “You should sleep.”
“I will. After. I need you so much I’m aching. Help me, Tanner.”
He kicked off his shoes and socks and helped her peel off his clothes. Moments later they were a hot, moving tangle of mouths and searching hands. She kneaded down his back with her hands, short fingernails digging in. Then she slid into the crease until she found his balls drawn hard and tight. She loved the feel of him, the hunger and the heat.
“One day I’m going to make it slow,” he groaned, arching at another lightning strike of need.
“Not today. Not now.”
“Not now,” he agreed.
He sucked her lower lip between his teeth and bit down just enough to get her attention. Then he released her with a slow promise that had her hips lifting urgently against him. His hands moved down her back and over her butt until his fingers slid down the seam between her cheeks to the hidden flesh below. The feel of her seething and wet and eager against his fingers made him light-headed.
“Damn, you’re a miracle,” he said, easing her over until she covered him. “Never felt a woman half as hot.”
“I don’t want to hear about your other women.”
“What women? Bring me home, Shaye.”
She shifted until she could take him hard and solid and so deep they felt like one being. With urgent, hungry motions they rode each other until they were both breathing too hard, too fast, and the only possible end was a sensory explosion that left them spent and at peace.
T
he sound of Shaye’s phone dragged her out of sleep.
“Ignore it,” Tanner said.
The rumble of his chest beneath her cheek made her smile. She rubbed against the sensuous texture of hair and flesh while she fished blindly around for her jacket, which had landed within reach of the bed. Her fingers found the phone.
“It’s Ace,” she said.
Tanner made a snoring sound.
Snickering, she took the call. “Hi, Mr. Desmond.”
“Ace,” he corrected. “I found something that may help you. Or rather, Tanner. McCurdy’s 8 lets women in because it has to, but no one will talk to them.”
“What’s McCurdy’s 8?”
“A Reno gym where Rua signed up recently.”
“Hang on. I’m putting you on the speaker.”
Muffling a yawn, Shaye put the phone on speaker and said, “Can you hear okay?”
“Just fine,” Ace said. “I’ve been really bugged by Rua and those gold coins. Have you gotten any further on that?”
“No,” Tanner said. “My source hasn’t sent any more leads.”
“Hell,” Ace muttered. “I told Personnel to go through Rua’s file and give me any contact numbers he had. He only listed two. One was his cell phone, which I assume was found at the scene . . . ?”
“I haven’t heard one way or the other,” Tanner said. “The death of some mook in Meyers isn’t exactly a fire burning under the El Dorado County sheriff’s ass.”
Ace said something muffled to somebody on his end. Then, “Sorry. I’ve told Security to go through the tapes we saved and see if Rua appears on any of them. We might pick up a friend of his with him or something. I’ll tell my people to forward anything they find to Shaye’s number.”
“Thank you,” she said.
“You mentioned two numbers for Rua?” Tanner asked.
“The second one is a mixed-martial-arts training gym I was telling Shaye about,” Ace said.
“McCurdy’s 8?” she asked. “A gym that will let women in but then ignores them?”
“That’s the one. I put it through the cross-match site online and came up with a place north of Reno.” A paper rustled as Ace read off the address. “I’d go there myself, but I’d planned a fishing overnight in the mountains, and if I don’t get away today, I won’t get away at all.”
Shaye stifled another yawn—or tried to. “Sorry.”
“You sound as tired as I am,” Ace said. “Want to go fishing?”
Tanner glared at the phone. “She’s going to take a nap while I check out McCurdy’s 8. Thanks for the tip, and I hope you catch a mess of fish.”
He hung up before she could stop him.
“That was rude,” she said.
“It’s a gift,” he agreed as he slid out of bed and started pulling on clothes.
Her head hit the pillow with a muffled thump as she buried a yawn in it. “How do you keep going?”
“Practice. I don’t blow through all my adrenaline at once. Close your eyes, beautiful, or I’ll be tempted to demonstrate just what you do for my stamina.”
She opened one eye. “Rain check?”
“For you, always.” He bent and gave her a gentle kiss before he pulled the blankets up to her chin. “I’ll put out the Do Not Disturb sign, but don’t turn off your phone. I’ll be calling you.”
“Shouldn’t we call August?” she mumbled against the pillow.
“And tell him Campbell has a model-building habit? I’d be lucky if he didn’t cuss me out as an amateur. Go to sleep while I check out the woman haters.”
“I could—”
“Sleep,” he interrupted. “I’ll call if anything comes up.”
She mumbled something, then gave in to sleep.
He turned and quietly left the room before he could demonstrate just what had come up. Again.
After the gym,
he promised himself.