Everywhere She Goes. Janice Johnson Kay
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dipped his head, a frown making his features harsher. Whether he looked after her as she exited, Cait had no idea. She didn’t dare glance back.
* * *
NOAH TRIED LIKE hell to stay away from his new director of community development for the rest of her first week of work. That didn’t mean he didn’t hear constant reports about her and have to field a couple dozen phone calls asking about her. It also didn’t mean he didn’t catch glimpses of her entirely too often. There was one day he swore he couldn’t step out of his office without seeing her hurrying down the hall or engaged in conversation in a doorway or walking out to her car.
Earl wasn’t real happy that a woman had been hired instead of a man, a hidebound attitude that didn’t surprise Noah at all. Noah listed her qualifications for possibly his most contentious city council member, who grumbled but went away. Beverly Buhl, chair of the Arts, Beautification and Culture Committee, called to burble her delight about how “forward-thinking” Ms. McAllister was.
“And charming,” she enthused, to which he growled agreement; something about his voice momentarily silenced her.
Taking Ms. Cait McAllister out to lunch had been his mistake, he concluded. He’d done fine up until then. Lunch might have been fine, too, if they’d stuck to business. Instead, they’d sounded each other out about their pasts, their likes and dislikes as if they were on a first date.
Damn it, she’d made him laugh!
He wanted to be grumpy because she didn’t dress professionally enough, but the truth was, she did. She went so far as to wear a suit the second day. Unfortunately, she never seemed to wear the kind of colors that would have allowed her to blend in. The suit was lemon-yellow, the skirt reached only midthigh and the jacket was short and fit snugly over very nice breasts and a slender torso. She even wore high heels in a matching shade of yellow. When he spotted her down the hall in that one, he was blitzed by the thought that she looked like a sexy ray of sunshine. Furious at himself, he blundered into the men’s room, stared at himself in the mirror with incredulity and took a piss when he’d rather have whacked his head against the wall.
Day three of her tenure, he almost walked into her as he was heading out midafternoon. Today she wore linen slacks and a thin sweater set the color of the ocean off Belize. He nodded; she offered a single, distracted smile and returned to conversation with her assistant director.
His mood darker, Noah stalked the several blocks to the public safety building for a meeting with Alec Raynor. As he was ready to go into the building, Cait’s brother happened to be coming out.
McAllister stopped, his eyes narrowed on Noah.
Since the one hostile scene back in March when Noah had admitted he had chosen not to hire McAllister for the head job, they had managed to hold semicivilized conversations; they had to, once McAllister made the decision to stay on as acting police chief and then captain of investigative services. Enmity was never far below the surface, though.
Today, McAllister stepped aside rather than continuing on his way.
Seeing no choice, Noah did likewise. If he were prone to regrets, he’d be sorry about the tension between them. But he did what he thought was best, and he didn’t allow himself second thoughts.
“Before the rumors hit,” McAllister said tersely, “I thought I’d tell you I’m running for county sheriff.”
Noah digested the announcement. The current sheriff was on a par with Mayor Linarelli, as far as Noah was concerned. In other words, lazy and very possibly crooked. “Interesting,” he mused. “Are you asking for my support?”
McAllister snorted. “That did not cross my mind.”
“It should have.” Noah was given to making decisions fast—as he’d done where his police captain’s sister was concerned. “You have it,” he said.
The other man stared at him. “Why?” he finally asked.
“We both know you’re good at your job. I think you have what it takes to clean up the sheriff’s department.”
“Just not Angel Butte P.D.”
“You know why I didn’t want to take a chance.”
McAllister gave a half laugh, shaking his head. “Do you have any idea how badly I want to tell you where to shove your support?”
An involuntary grin twitched at Noah’s mouth. “I can guess.”
“Unfortunately, I’m too ambitious to actually do that.”
Noah thrust his hands in the pockets of his slacks. He waited while a cluster of women came out of the building, their heads turning at the sight of the mayor talking to Captain McAllister. To his credit, the guy had kept his animosity quiet, but there had to be talk anyway.
When they were out of earshot, Noah asked, “You and Raynor getting along okay?”
His expression veiled, McAllister shrugged. “Why wouldn’t we?”
Noah nodded, even though that was no answer. “Let me know when you want a statement from me.” He pushed his way inside and continued up to Alec Raynor’s office.
The new chief’s PA waved him in. “He’s expecting you.”
In fact, the door stood partially open. Talking on his phone, Raynor half sat on his desk, a foot braced on the floor. He glanced at Noah and lifted one finger. Noah nodded and wandered over to study a new painting on the wall.
It was disturbing, he decided, not the usual government-office pretty. Even he had gone for pretty in decorating his own office, figuring his role was to be a booster for the city and area in general. He’d bought local artists and photographers. This—he couldn’t imagine a local had done it.
From a distance he’d seen that it was some kind of street melee. Closer up, components broke into shards and you didn’t see the overall scene. Faces stood out, though they were far from realistic. No matter how simply these faces were constructed, though, anger and despair jumped out.
“The artist is a friend of mine,” Raynor said behind him.
“I was thinking that most of us go for decorative.”
Raynor’s laugh sounded like rusted gears grinding. A little like Noah’s own, he reflected. They had that in common.
Not looks, though. His new police chief was whipcord-lean and not much above average height. Five foot ten, maybe. He had dark hair and eyes as dark a brown as Noah had ever seen. By this time of day, he already needed a shave. During the interview in February, Noah had thought he looked Italian. Now, with the Southern California tan fading, the effect was diminished. Unless the guy took up skiing this coming year, he was going to turn pasty white like the rest of them who didn’t have the time or inclination for winter sports.
Raynor circled his desk and sank down in the big black leather chair. He looked weary. “I fired two officers today,” he said bluntly. “A sergeant on the patrol side and a detective who was one of our representatives to CODE.” CODE was the coalition of police agencies, including the DEA and FBI, that fought drug trafficking.
“Damn.” Noah lowered himself into a chair facing the desk. He’d known this was coming but hated to have his assumptions confirmed anyway. “Tip-offs to drug dealers?”
“That’s what it looks like. No question they took bribes. Maybe even offered guard service. Hard to be sure. We’re still working on who the money came from.” His eyes met Noah’s. “We’ve traced one payment for sure to the same source that paid off Bystrom.”
Gary Bystrom was the former police chief whose corruption had been uncovered almost by accident in McAllister’s investigation of a murder that had taken place in the city park the same night his now-wife, Maddie Dubeau, had been abducted when she was a teenager. Found along with the boy’s bones was a backpack that contained, among other things, a snapshot of the police chief shaking hands with