“Sorry. Can’t do that. But if you’ll call me when you’re capable of being reasonable, we can talk about it,” he said, then walked inside.
Sophia nearly squeezed the trigger. But as much as her temper egged her on, she couldn’t shoot a man for picking up something she’d missed at a crime scene. And for all she knew, he was bluffing and had a rock in his pocket.
“You turned out to be such a…a jerk!” she yelled after him.
The door remained shut. The curtains didn’t even move. He’d dismissed her and didn’t seem to care what she thought.
Leland Jennings, the hotel manager, stepped out to see what all the fuss was about. “Everything okay, Chief?”
Taking a deep breath, Sophia holstered her Glock and put away her rifle. “It’s fine.”
Her clipped response brought another question. “Anything I can do?”
“No, thanks,” she said, and climbed into her vehicle. As far as she was concerned, Roderick Guerrero had no authority in Bordertown, no right to insert himself into her case, and she wouldn’t let him get away with it. She couldn’t expect her detractors to respect her if she couldn’t maintain control of her own investigation.
She’d wait until nightfall and approach him again. Hopefully by then he’d be willing to cooperate.
And she’d be prepared in case he wasn’t.
Roderick paced in front of the TV until Chief St. Claire left, then headed out again. He wanted to go to the post office so he could send the cigarette butt he’d found at the crime scene to the lab he worked with in San Diego. He wasn’t sure if that butt had belonged to the killer. It’d been buried in the dirt and had only been churned to the surface by his footsteps. It could’ve been tossed there by a neighbor several days ago. But other than the expense, which he was happy to cover, Rod couldn’t see how it would hurt to create a DNA profile. The profile wouldn’t have much significance right now. But if they could come up with a suspect, it might prove invaluable. And if it proved invaluable, Sophia would have him to thank for the link.
Remembering her impotent rage, he grinned. It was probably the first time she’d ever been denied. At least by a man.
He’d just climbed into the Hummer when a truck exactly like his father’s, except that it was red, pulled up behind him and boxed him in. It was one of his half brothers. With the glare of the sun, he couldn’t see the driver’s face well enough to tell which one. But exact identity was irrelevant; he hated them both equally.
Refusing to act as if this affected him one way or the other, he turned on his engine while waiting to catch a glimpse of his visitor in the rearview mirror. He couldn’t imagine either of the Dunlap brothers trying to start trouble without the other’s support, but adrenaline pumped through him all the same, preparing him for a fight. It was a triggered response. Sometimes the Dunlaps had surprised him by striking out at the most unlikely moments.
The truck door opened and the elder of the two brothers stepped out. Rod recognized Patrick easily, even though he’d changed quite a bit in the past fourteen years. His dark blond hair, which used to be long and a little curly, was trimmed above his ears and his clean-shaven face had grown fuller. To most women, he was probably still more handsome than not, but now he carried a spare tire around his middle.
He’d gotten married and gone soft….
Rod left his motor running to show that he didn’t plan on wasting much time on this but got out, too. He didn’t want to be stuck inside the vehicle if it came to a fight. Not that he was terribly worried that this would erupt into blows. He could take Pat, especially this Pat turned pudge-boy. Hell, without Stuart there, Rod wouldn’t even have to break a sweat.
Looking a bit unsure of himself, Pat stopped about five feet away and cleared his throat. He had on a pair of leather work boots, as if he’d been out on the ranch, but his jeans were clean, and his golf shirt was more preppy than Western. “Dad mentioned you were in town.”
That was it? That was his lead-in after everything he’d had to say when they were kids? The statement sounded so innocuous.
Rod made his contempt plain. “So? I’ve got as much right to be here as you do.”
“I’m not saying you don’t.”
“Then what do you want?”
“To tell you that…I’m glad you came.”
Rod barked a laugh. “You’ve got to be kidding, right?”
Pat hooked his thumbs in his leather belt. “Maybe you can stop what’s happening around here before it gets any worse.”
“I’d say it’s already pretty bad for the Mexicans. But you wouldn’t care about that.”
He lowered his voice. “Things change, Rod. People change.”
“Not that much. So what’s the real story?” He glanced around the lot, checking the other cars as if he expected an ambush. “You waiting for your brother?”
Pat kicked a small rock across the pavement. “No.”
“I’ve got a cell phone, if you’d like to give him a call.” Rod held out his phone, but Pat didn’t accept it.
“He already knows you’re in town.”
“And he didn’t come to the party? Two on one—you always liked those odds before.”
Sucking in his stomach, Patrick puffed out his chest, but there was no hiding that extra twenty pounds. “I didn’t come here to start a fight.”
“Too bad,” Rod said, and part of him meant it—the part that was still looking for a way to vent the old anger.
His half brother shoved his hands into his pockets and the gold wedding band on his left hand disappeared from view. “I made some mistakes. If you want to hear me say it, I will.”
“I don’t want to hear you say it. I don’t want anything from you, not even an apology.”
“Of course not. Your pride would never allow you to reveal weakness. I guess you’re the one who hasn’t changed. That’s just what you were like as a kid.”
Here was a little of the old Pat. Feeling more comfortable with the familiar, Rod relaxed. “Is that how you sleep at night?” he asked. “By telling yourself I deserved those beatings?”
Patrick’s voice turned slightly sulky. “No, but it didn’t help that you were always challenging us.”
“By being alive?” he said with another laugh. “I’m the product, buddy, not the cause. Your father’s the one who was taking advantage of the migrants who worked for him.”