Under The Western Sky. Laurie Paige

see.”

      Regaining her equilibrium, she decided his work sounded like an easy job to her, nothing that called for springing handcuffs on innocent people without warning.

      Gazing at his nose, which was noticeably swollen, she forgot her indignation over the arrest and advised, “You should ice your bruises for forty-eight hours, then switch to four minutes of heat followed by one minute of ice three or four times a day after that for two or three days.”

      “I kept an ice pack on it most of the afternoon.”

      “Good.” After observing him for a moment when he made no move to leave, she asked quietly, seriously, “What are you really doing here? I think you came because you want something from me.”

      Before answering, he drank the last of the coffee. He crushed the paper cup and tossed it in a waste-basket near the door, then studied her for several seconds. “I want you to take me to the guy you said gave you the pottery.”

      “Tonight?” she asked incredulously as disappointment hit her. She realized the cake, the kindness and the easy laughter had been a method of softening her up before he made the request.

      “No, but soon. I don’t want him to get word that something funny went on at the store.”

      Leaning against the wall behind the cot, she took a drink of coffee and noticed he was dressed in dark slacks, a white shirt informally open at the neck and well-shined loafers. She’d already noticed his aftershave, the fragrance familiar to her from their earlier encounter.

      So, he’d cleaned up before coming to the jail. Was that part of the ploy to win her confidence and encourage a sense of camaraderie between them?

      Tired and discouraged, she regretted letting herself drift into familiarity, especially the sharing of her past. It was something she rarely talked about, but he’d seemed truly concerned, as if he already knew that she’d been injured by events of long ago.

      “How far is his place from town?” he continued.

      “Over fifty miles, off Standing Rock Road.”

      “I’ll be here around eight in the morning to pick you up.”

      “Will they let me out of jail?”

      “You’ll be released into my custody.” His tone implied it would be no problem.

      “If we find Josiah and he confirms my story, will I then be free?”

      He hesitated, then said, “I’ll talk to the district attorney on your behalf. He’s the one who’ll decide whether to charge you with a crime or let you off if you cooperate.”

      “I’ll cooperate,” she assured him coldly. “I want to clear my name as soon as possible and put this experience behind me.”

      And you, she added silently. She wanted him out of her life. He was a threat, although she couldn’t say how.

      When he rose, she, too, stood. He rattled the doorknob, the buzzer sounded and he walked out, leaving her standing behind the metal bars of the tiny cell. She immediately experienced the sense of abandonment again, as if he was her only savior in a world she no longer knew.

      She rubbed her wrists, but there were no purple marks from fingers digging too harshly into her flesh. She remembered how careful he’d been when examining the priceless pottery and the way he’d stared into her eyes as if looking directly into her soul. She’d never felt that before. For the briefest moment, she wondered what it would be like to have him wrap her in his arms again, to feel his lips on hers…

      She blinked, appalled at the strange path her mind had taken. Pressing her hands against her eyes, she felt dismay, anger, exasperation and other feelings too tangled to comprehend.

      Glancing around the cell, she made up her mind to fight fire with fire. She had to smile. She knew just who she needed to get in touch with. Special Investigator Aquilon might be a force to be reckoned with, but she wasn’t without resources of her own.

      “Sergeant,” she yelled. “Sergeant, I need to talk to you.”