Patricia Devlin, Trish to her friends, felt edgy, edgy
enough to come to the sheriff's office. A pretty woman of
about thirty, with auburn hair and moss-green eyes, she drew
a lot of male attention and spurned all of it. She had and
kept her secrets. Only children and fools did otherwise.
Gage Dalton welcomed her warmly in his back office at the
Conard County Sheriff's Department. With his burn-scarred
face and tortured past, he'd once earned the nickname in the
county of "Hell's Own Archangel." Nobody thought of
him that way anymore. Today he was the "new
sheriff," a moniker that would probably take years to
erase after he'd replaced the town's longtime and
well-beloved sheriff, who'd retired a few years ago. But it
was "Hell's Own Archangel" Trish was here to see.
The man Gage had once been, maybe, would understand.
"Hey, Trish," he said when he saw her at his office
door. He smiled and waved her in. "What can we do for
you this morning?"
Trish, dressed in the local uniform of jeans, cowboy boots
and a light jacket over her shirt, returned his smile and
slid into the creaky old wood chair. She wasn't at all sure
she was doing the right thing. "Well, I'm not sure you
can do anything, Gage. I'm probably just being
paranoid."
He leaned forward a bit to rest his arms on the desk. "I
never ignore paranoia." His tone was encouraging.
"Yeah, but I don't like to give in to it."
"Apparently, something is bothering you enough to come
here, so just tell me. We'll figure out how to handle it."
She hesitated, biting her lower lip. "I don't want to
get anyone into trouble."
"I doubt you'll get anyone into trouble who doesn't
deserve it. What's going on?"
His logic made her smile again, uncomfortable as she was.
Once more she hesitated, reconsidering, but then reminded
herself this was the whole reason she'd come here: to get
information so she could put this matter out of her mind.
She had enough on her plate already without worrying about
some stranger who was acting a little…odd.
"Well, there's this guy who comes and sits in the park
across from my house every night at one in the morning. At
first I just thought he was resting there, but… "
Again a moment of hesitation. It sounded so stupid when she
said it out loud, but she forced the words out, anyway.
"He sits in the same bench every night, Gage, and it's
like he's staring straight at my house. He just sits there
and stares. Not at my windows or anything specific that I
can tell. Just at the house. Then about twenty minutes
later, he gets up and walks away."
Gage frowned slightly.
"I know, I know," Trish said quickly. "Public
park and all that. And he limps so badly, he's probably just
resting. And if he was any threat, why tip his hand by doing
it every night?"
Gage held up a hand. "Hold on. Every night?"
"Since I first noticed him. I mean, honestly, I thought
it was nothing, but when it kept happening night after
night… well, finally I started checking to see if
he's there. He is, every night." She sighed and looked
down at her hands, feeling even more awkward now that she'd
framed her concern out loud. "It's probably nothing. I'm
making too much of it."
Gage shook his head. "You're not. You have every reason
to feel uneasy. And you're not the only one who has noticed
this guy, although I hadn't heard before that he's going to
the park."
Trish's curiosity rose. "What does he do?"
"He's staying at the motel. Walks into town every night
at the same time, gets a drink at Mahoney's and leaves. It's
enough to get a few people speculating, but not enough to
get anyone wound up. But this park thing… You're sure
he's looking at your house?"
"It could be coincidence. The bench is right across the
street. But it's like…" She spread her hands,
trying to find the right words. "He never looks around.
Never looks away. Just right at my house. Now maybe I'm
overreacting from all the stress at work lately. I haven't
been sleeping very well, which is why I'm looking out my
window at that hour. But if he'd just turn to look in
another direction I wouldn't even be worrying about it."
Which might not be exactly true, but she'd be worrying a
whole lot less.
Gage nodded."Okay, I'm going to check him out. We' ll
run a wants and warrants on him, a background check, find
out what's going on. Trust me, if there's anything
squir-rely, we'll uncover it. Should I call you at work?"
"Try my cell." She reached into her pocket and
pulled out a small wallet, withdrawing a business card. She
passed it to him. "I'm taking a few days of vacation
time to try to relax."
Gage smiled. "I could use a few of those myself. Emma
wants to take a cruise, but I have trouble imagining being
confined to a boat for a week."
Trish laughed. "I hear they come into a port every other
day. You'd survive."
He winked. "What Emma wants, Emma gets."
She knew full well Emma would get her cruise, because Gage
would lay the world at her feet if he could, and not because
she'd give him a hard time. She laughed, anyway, knowing
that's what he wanted to see.
After she left the office, she stood on the sundrenched
street, feeling the kiss of autumn, that amazingly wonderful
sensation of crisp air and warm sun that always made her
glad to be alive.
Even if she was worried to death about work.
With a supreme effort of will, she forced her job from her
mind. She'd taken these few days to get away from that, and
she refused to spend her vacation time worrying about her
work problems.
The problem, however, was that in taking her vacation on
impulse like this, she'd made no plans about how to spend
her time, hadn't made arrangements with her friends to take
off at the same time so they could go backpacking or drive
into a bigger town for some shows and shopping.
A planner by nature, she laughed at herself now for not
having thought this through, then decided she'd practice
winging it. Her friends often teased that she wasn't happy
unless her life was laid out two weeks ahead in her
datebook. The criticism might be a little on the extreme
side, but there was more than a kernel of truth to it.
So, here she stood, and decided there was no time like now
to try making up her day as she went, first with a trip to
the bookstore down the street. It would be a perfect day,
she decided, to curl up with a novel in her backyard. A
little chilly, but that's what she had the clay fireplace
out back for. She could light it, drink hot chocolate and
coffee, and enjoy the luxury of uninterrupted reading until
the sun sank too low.
Feeling her spirits lift, she hurried down the street to the
bookstore, a tiny, musty and wonderful place full of new and
used books that covered the entire spectrum. A fictional
world was just what she needed right now. Vampires, maybe,
or ghosts and ghoulies. Something so far away from everyday
that she could truly escape.
Bea's Books seemed to be open all the time, but maybe that
was because Bea lived above her store and loved books more
than anything in the world. She could sit in a cozy corner
of her shop with a mug of coffee and delve into new arrivals
by the hour, distracted only when she had a customer. On
weekends the place was usually full, but on weekdays it was
a place where you could sit and read, and Bea never pressed
you to buy the book first.
But today Trish was on a mission, and the weather was too
beautiful to want to spend it inside. She chatted for a few
minutes with Bea, who directed her to a stack of recent
acquisitions that hadn't yet been shelved. In ten minutes
Trish found three books that appealed to her and paid for them.
Outside she inhaled a deep breath of the fresh air and began
her walk home, books tucked under her arm. It was such a
perfect day, she thought. Exactly the kind of day she had
returned to Conard County for, that and being able to walk
almost everywhere she needed to go. Not until she'd moved
away to go to college and then to take a job with a big
accounting firm had she realized how much growing up here
had taught her to yearn for the outdoors and open space.
People she passed on the street, even those she didn't know
except by sight, all nodded and smiled. Many said hello. The
breeze ruffled the leaves, making them whisper of
approaching winter even as they brightened with autumn
color. Not colors like she had seen in the northeastern part
of the country, but still colors.
The breeze seemed to push gently at her back, hurrying her
along the sidewalk toward her house. Gradually a spring came
into her step, and she started smiling about nothing at all.
It just felt good to be alive.
That mood lasted until she neared her house and saw the park
bench where the stranger sat every night. Immediately the
nervous feeling returned, much as she had tried to minimize
it, both in her own mind and when she had spoken to the
sheriff. Deep inside somewhere, she didn't really believe
the stranger's presence was an accident.
Even though he wasn't there now and probably wouldn't be
back until late that night, her sense of pleasure in the day
evaporated. Maybe she shouldn't sit outside, just in case.
Maybe she should stay inside until Gage told her there was
no threat at all.
Maybe she was nuts, but she ought to take just a few
reasonable precautions. After all, she'd been growing
increasingly uneasy even before the stranger's appearance.
And sometimes, she had learned, it paid to listen to your
intuition.
In the end, she decided not to sit out back in her own yard,
but rather to wait inside for news. Opening a window in the
living room to allow fresh air to enter was the only
compromise she would make.
***
Gage paid her a personal call that evening just after dusk.
"Sorry it took so long to get back to you, but we had to
do an intensive search."
She invited him in and offered him coffee. "What do you
mean?"
"I'd love coffee. Then we'll talk."
Nodding, she went to get that mug of coffee for him and
refreshed her own mug. When he'd stepped through the door,
she'd felt the cold clinging to him, a reminder that days
were growing short, and as they shortened the winter chill
approached, especially at night.
She joined Gage on the couch and wrapped her hands around
her mug, looking at him. "So it's nothing?"
"I can't say for sure at this point. I couldn't find out
anything at all about him. No criminal record, period. No
outstanding traffic warrants. No driver's license record at
all, in fact. No real estate holdings here in Wyoming, and
he wasn't born here. He pays cash in advance at the
La-Z-Rest. Came to town about a month ago and didn't use a
credit card. Now before you get nervous, none of that means
anything bad. Lots of ordinary citizens come up blank on a
background check."
Relief started to creep through her, then she had a thought.
"Nothing? You couldn't find anything? I mean, you're
cops. You should have been able to search in ways I
couldn't."
"You'd think." He hesitated, sipped his coffee, then
set the mug on a coaster on the end table. "But there
are limits on where and how I can search without a warrant
or a subpoena, and I don't have probable cause for either.
I'm sure he has bank records, but I wouldn't know where to
look for them. There's a half dozen people with similar
names in the credit agencies, but none of them near his
age."
"So he's using a phony name?"
He shook his head. "Look, there are people who
live off the grid, as they say. People who don't own
anything and haven't done anything that would pop up on a
background check. Some just don't like using credit. Some
want to be anonymous."
"I can't imagine a good reason for that."
"That's the thing. Like I said, not everyone who chooses
to live that way is necessarily a bad guy. You see the
problem?"
She hesitated, aware that her nerves had begun to coil
again. "I don't like this."
He sighed, rubbed his hands together as if to warm them,
then reached for his mug again. "How nervous are you,
Trish? How far do you want me to go with this? Because there
are limits to what I can legally do."
She couldn't find a reasoned answer, which surprised her.
Generally speaking, she was a reasonable person.
"What's got you so nervous? Apart from the fact that
this guy sits in the park every night for a little while?"
She lifted her brows. "What do you mean?"
"I've known you long enough to know that you don't shake
easily. Yeah, the guy sitting out there every night might
get your attention, and you'd watch him, but you wouldn't
worry about him."
"Maybe I wouldn't." She hesitated, then finally
said, "I've got a little thing going on at work. I think
I found that some product is missing, but I'm not a hundred
percent sure. So I notified the CFO about it, but I haven't
gotten an answer yet. And I'm wondering if I messed up."
"Messed up how?"
"Well," she admitted with a wry smile, "I'm the
chief accountant. If it turns out I did my numbers wrong,
I'm likely to be the ex-chief accountant."
"Ahh." He took a deep drink of his coffee, then
shook his head. "Relax, Trish. Nobody gets fired for one
mistake."
"Yeah, maybe." And he was probably right. She should
just stop worrying, check her office e-mail before she
turned in for the night in case the CFO replied, and then
put it out of her mind.
But part of what made her such a good accountant was her
accuracy, and sitting around wondering if she'd made a
mistake, no matter how many times she had re-checked her
numbers, made her feel utterly unsettled.
And that, she decided, was the only reason she'd even gotten
paranoid about the guy sitting in the park. She was just in
a paranoid mood to begin with. "Sorry I put you to so
much trouble, Gage."
He shook his head. "No trouble at all, Trish. Tell you
what I can do."
"Yes?"
"I can do a stop and identify. Ask for his ID. Maybe we
can get a little more info on the guy. But that's all I can
do unless he does something he shouldn't."