“You deserve it. You cost me my job.” She knew that wasn’t strictly true. News of her and Rod had only been the proverbial “last straw,” but it felt better to blame someone. Maybe it would shore up some of her crumbling defenses where he was concerned.
He tweaked her nipple. “No, the fact that you couldn’t resist me cost you your job.”
“What are you talking about? I can resist you.” She feared it was a lie, but it was a lie she wished he’d believe.
“If I remember correctly, you made the first move.”
“After you strategically placed yourself in my bed!”
“Strategically?” He feigned shock. “I was injured.”
She rolled her eyes. “Tell the truth. You weren’t that injured. You were hoping to get laid.”
“True, but I had no idea that plan would work so well,” he said with a chuckle. “Anyway, don’t worry. I’m going to help you get your job back.”
“How, exactly, do you plan to do that?”
“We’ll solve the case within the next thirty days. Then, even if they boot you out, you can feel good about what we accomplished. What do you say?”
She nudged his hand away from her breast. He drove her crazy, but he made her happy, too—odd, since she should be in the depths of despair after losing her job. And yet when she was with Rod, all she could think about was the way he made her feel and how much she enjoyed his company. “I say you’re dreaming.”
“Not necessarily.”
“Not necessarily? What have we got so far? Disgruntled ranchers who are irate over the loss of one of their own, as well as having their property damaged. Border patrol agents who are tired of rounding up UDAs only to see them attempt another crossing the very next night. Racists who’d sooner shoot a Mexican than look at one. Political enemies who’d love nothing more than to run me out of town.” She considered her list. “We haven’t even begun to narrow it down. Which group should we focus on first?”
He bit her earlobe before his tongue traced the sensitive rim. “I know which one you’d choose.”
Suppressing a shiver, she batted him away. “Leonard should already be in jail,” she grumbled. “Instead, he’s dusting off his résumé in hopes of taking my job.”
“He doesn’t have your job yet. So stay focused. We know that whoever’s killing illegal immigrants is free to move around at night. He probably lives in town or close to it. He might smoke. He hates Mexicans. And he uses a .45 with a silencer.”
“That could be half the town. And we don’t know if the perpetrator is a ‘he,’” she said, but Rod’s reference to the silencer reminded Sophia that Starkey had a lead on a man who was selling silencers out of his garage. She mentioned it and added, “He’s supposed to meet with him tonight.”
“Will he call us afterward?”
“I think so.”
“Starkey seems like a pretty loyal friend.”
She wasn’t sure if he was trying to get her to explain her relationship with Starkey, or if he was merely making an observation. “He’s not a bad guy—for a Hells Angel.”
Rod moved onto his back. “Van Dormer left me a message. Probably left you one, too, but since you turned off your phone you might not have gotten it.”
“Not yet.”
“The autopsies are scheduled for tomorrow.”
Now that Rod was no longer touching her, she felt as if he’d taken away the warmth and relief she’d been feeling. God, she was in trouble where he was concerned. She was in trouble all the way around. “The Sanchezes or…”
“Stuart, too. You’re not the only one feeling the pressure. Vonnegut’s catching grief, too, for not getting to them sooner.”
“It doesn’t help that he’s been sick. On top of that, he’s about to retire. All he cares about is golf.” The air conditioner came on so she used it as an excuse to curl up against him. “Stuart was the last one killed, but I bet he’s first when it comes to the autopsies.”
Rod put his arm around her, making it more comfortable for her to lie on him. “Of course. My father’s a friend of Mayor Schilling.”
“You mean the Wizard of Oz?”
“The what?”
“Nothing.” She used her foot to drag the throw blanket down from the couch. “What do you think they’ll find?”
“That Stuart’s heart shriveled up and turned black long ago.”
“Seriously,” she said, sharing her blanket.
“That he drank too much. That he should’ve done more to stay in shape. And that he was killed by a gunshot wound to the head.”
Sophia bit her lip as she considered the possibilities. “His stomach contents might help establish the time of death.”
“It might even tell us who he was with.”
She raised her head. “How so?”
“If it’s…say…a teriyaki burger with pineapple on it, he probably bought it at Big Ed’s Burgers. Big Ed’s is famous for that, right?”
“Oh, right. So if we know he ate there before he died, we can interview the employees on duty and find out roughly when he was there and whether or not he was with someone.”
“Careful,” Rod warned. “You’re starting to sound hopeful again.”
“Cautiously hopeful,” she said. “I don’t see how the UDA killer can be responsible for Stuart’s death, too. Stuart doesn’t fit the profile of the other victims. And the way he was killed doesn’t feel like a reprisal. Maybe I could believe that if it was one of the ranchers who’d been shot, but what I saw makes me think he was lured out there.”
“And yet the killings are somehow related,” he said. “The timing would be too much of a coincidence otherwise.”
Sophia agreed. But how were they related? And what about that distracting business with her stepfather’s telephone number on the refrigerator of the safe house? “What we know is too sketchy and random. It won’t come together.”
“Be patient. There’s an answer. There’s always an answer.”
“But will we find it before I lose my paycheck and head to Montana?”
“You won’t like Montana.”
She’d already realized she couldn’t leave Bordertown, not until Rafe was older. But it was alluring to think she could break away if she really wanted to. “You don’t know that.”