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Chapter 8
She kept watch while Nicholas worked, sliding a thin metal rod between the door and the frame. Chewing on her lip, expecting to see the police swoop down on her, expecting to see him with them. Grinning at her in satisfaction.
She tightened her hands into fists, feeling her nails bite into the palm of her hand. She almost hoped that they were waiting to arrest them, that he was with them.
She still owed him for Niall. For what he had done to Niall.
Nicholas pulled on the rod, opening the door with a sharp click. He looked around at her, smiling to see her reaction. His smile faded quickly. "Its open." Suddenly eager to be gone, he pulled himself into the drivers seat and gunned the engine.
Arms folded across herself, she stalked around to the passenger seat Taking one last look around Nixon's main street, quiet now, dark, empty, broken only by passing headlights and the occasional noise drifting from nearby bars.
It was quiet now, in the cool desert night. Nixon came alive early though. Came alive as soon as the sun cleared the horizon, before it got too unbearably hot.
She would have killed for some rain. Just cool the town down. Just to wash the blood away.
She took one last look around the main street, making a few final adjustments to her plan, before she got into the car. "Lets get out of here, before some drunken redneck comes looking for his car." The first words she had spoken in hours. Nicholas pressed his foot to the accelerator and the car sped away from the curb. She watched the street drift past her, imagining it filled with people, families.
Imagining what she was going to do to it.
Paige awakened slowly.
The house was still, silent around her.
She stretched out a hand, reaching for Ben. Sick of the wall, of the distance that she had allowed to grown between them. Her hand fell on the sheets, cold to the touch. Paige rolled over, now fully awake. His side of the bed was still made, no sign of him in the room.
Where was he?
Paige lay still and silent. Listening to the house settling around her. She could hear Rose, gurgling contentedly on the baby monitor. She held her breath, wondering if there was anybody downstairs.
Nothing. No sound, no movement from downstairs. Maybe he had fallen asleep in the den again. She allowed herself a smile. Every time he did that, he woke up with an aching neck. Maybe she'd give him a massage.
Wrapping herself in a robe, lifting the baby monitor, Paige walked from the bedroom. She stopped briefly to check on Rose, before heading down the stairs.
"Ben?" Paige checked the den, his favourite armchair. He wasn't there.
Where was he? Was he with her?
She saw a scrap of paper on the coffee table, covered with his fine precise handwriting. She snatched it up, read it quickly, squinting in the dim light.
Then she threw the note down. "Called out!" She glanced at the phone and shook her head. "If he's been called out, he wont want me to call. I'll just sit up and wait on him." She lay down on the couch, covering herself with the throw.
She was so tired.
The press of his lips against hers shocked her.
She felt him move, his arms coming around her waist and shoulders. Trying to pull her closer to him. She jerked away from him, breaking the embrace. Standing up, needing to get away from him as quickly as she could. She kicked the wine bottle over as she stood, the contents spilling unnoticed onto the carpet.
Ben Franklin ran his tongue across his lips. "I'm sorry, Michelle. I shouldn't have done that." He could taste her on his lips.
"Damn right you shouldn't." She was shaking, she realised. "You're married for Christ's sake." She pushed her hair behind her ears. "I have a boyfriend." What had she done to make him think she wanted him? "I have a boyfriend."
She battered down the guilt, the jealousy she had felt growing since she arrived in Nixon. She didn't want him. She envied him, envied him his family and happiness. She wanted Tony.
"I know. I'm sorry." Ben stayed seated on the floor, not trusting himself to stand. "I don't know....just working so closely with you and the wine..." Staring at his wedding ring, trying to block out everything that had just happened.
Her temper snapped. "Bullshit." Michelle walked to her door, opened it, trying to ignore how much her hands were shaking. "I think you should go." She couldn't even bring herself to look at him. Tony. What was she going to tell Tony? How was she going to tell Tony?
How could she have let herself hurt him so soon?
"Michelle...."
"Ben. Get out. Now."
He lifted his hat, holding it in front of his chest like a shield. He stopped in the doorway, trying to meet her eyes, to make one last attempt to explain what had just happened.
She looked away, refusing to meet his eyes.
He sighed, put his hat on and walked out of the room. He heard her shut her door, lock it after him.
He made it to his car in a daze. Sitting in the drivers seat with his head aching, his mouth dry. He slapped the steering wheel, feeling the unforgiving plastic bite into his hand, feeling his wedding ring grip against his ring finger. What had he been thinking of?
"Sheriff? Sheriff are you there?"
The noise of his radio was a pleasant diversion from the accusations in his head.
"Sheriff?"
"Yeah, I'm here, Control. Go ahead."
"Sheriff, John Mendolaza is here. He's demanding to speak to you."
"Did he say what it was about Control?"
"Negative, Sheriff. He just says he wants to talk to you."
Ben Franklin ran his hand across his face. "I'll be there in a few minutes Control."
Michelle locked the door after he left. Leaning against the door, covering her mouth, scared that she was going to be sick. Thinking back through her conversations with Ben, wondering....
She lifted her bag, threw it on the bed. Opening drawers, starting to lift clothes out. She could be packed and gone in an hour, gone from Nixon, and she could wipe this, wipe everything from her memory.
She stopped, looking at her reflection in the mirror. Remembering the bodies, lying twisted in the street. She couldn't go. Michael Hunte still needed her help to catch their killer, to catch his sons killer. In any case, she had been able to work with Carrie Turner. After her, Ben Franklin should be easy.
She sat on the bed, dragging the phone over with her. She dialled his number, listening anxiously as it ran longer than it would normally have.
"Almeida." His voice sounded weak, tired.
"Did I wake you? Sorry. I just...I just thought I'd give you a call back."
"Did you get rid of whoever was at the door?"
'So much for being able to forget about it.' She could still feel his arms around her, his lips against her. "Yeah it was nothing important. It doesn't matter."
"So I have you all to myself?"
She heard rustling, movement, his voice slipping as he sat up in bed, and smiled to herself. "Yeah you do." She lowered her voice, needing to tell him this, needing him to believe it. "No matter how good a time I've had, it would have been better with you here."
She couldn't tell him now. Not like this. Not over the phone. It didn't matter. Franklin had kissed her and she had thrown him out. There was nothing to tell.
She lay back on the bed, kicking the bag away. Talking to Tony, listening to him speak. Using the sound of his voice to drive away thoughts of Ben Franklin.
Another cup of scalding black coffee. Grimacing as it stung the back of his throat. He set it on his desk and pushed it away from him. At least when the coffee was that hot, it would hide the smell of booze on his breath.
"Where did you park the car John?"
John Mendolaza was an older man, a long time resident of Nixon. He didn't have much time for 'blow ins', preferring to spend his time with the locals, with people he had known all his life.
If it hadn't been for recent events in Nixon, Ben doubted that Mendolaza would be talking to him now. But then, recent events had stirred everything in Nixon up.
Ben flinched as an image of Michelle Dessler seared through his brain.
"I parked it outside the Arrow." Mendolaza paused, shifting a wad of chewing tobacco to the other side of his mouth. "Same as I always do. When I came out, she was gone."
"How long where you in the Arrow for?"
John shrugged. "Three or four hours. Not that long, nothing much happenin'. Whole towns got a bug up its ass after what happened to McGarrity." He spat the tobacco into the bin, one long stream of foul smelling liquid. "You ask me, the bastard had it coming."
"You been drinking John?"
"I had a few, yeah Sheriff. Doesn't change the fact that some bastards ran away with my truck!"
"Okay." Ben opened his notebook and handed it and a pen to Mendolaza. "Write it down."
"What?"
"Write down what type of car you drive."
"You don't know what type of car I drive?" John shook his head, bending over the note book. "Fuckin blowin."
"Just write it down." Ben rubbed his eyes, still able to smell her perfume from his shirt.
"There." John pushed the notebook back to him. "Cant believe you didn't know what I drove." He hacked off another slice of tobacco, working it into a comfortable wad inside his mouth. "When will I get my money?"
"Couple of days. We have to fax the details through, then we have to wait and follow the insurance company's procedures."
"Couple of days then?"
Ben nodded. "Couple of days, no more."
"Thanks Sheriff."
Ben watched John Mendolaza stumble from his office. The man had had more than a few. More likely than not, he'd just forgotten where he'd parked. Ben looked at the scribbled note- a big powerful jeep, John Mendolaza pride and joy.
How likely was it, really, that he'd just forgotten where he'd parked it?
He lifted the radio. "All units, this is Sheriff Franklin. Be advised to keep alert for black jeep, registration mark NEV478, reported stolen from outside The Red Arrow bar. If found do NOT approach, repeat do NOT approach."
Ben clicked the radio off, hanging the microphone up, massaging his aching head. He could still feel the wine coursing through his veins. He sighed again, lifting his cup and walking to the coffee pot. The strong sweet smell made his stomach rumble. How long had it been since he'd eaten or slept? Maybe if he just closed his eyes....
The ringing phone destroyed any chance of that. He glanced at it, wondering if....
He snatched the phone up. "Nixon Sheriff's Department."
"Ben? It's me."
"Hey sweetheart, what's wrong?"
"Nothing. I got your note and I tried to stay awake for you, but I fell asleep. I just woke up to check on Rose and you weren't home yet. Is anything wrong?"
He could hear the suspicion, the unspoken accusation in her voice. "No. John Mendolaza had his truck stolen and he wanted to speak to me, that's all."
"How many do we use?"
"Two on each. Like I showed you before." She knelt behind the vehicle, starting to unscrew the plate. "When you've attached those, starting taking the plates from the other car."
"Why?"
"Keeps the police guessing. If someone's reported their car stolen, police look for it based on the registration. If the ref don't match the report, then they ignore it."
"Where are we putting them?"
"Main street. One at each end, with the smaller charges."
"And the other one."
"Outside the Sheriffs Office."