She shook her head. 'I work in the county tax assessor's office downtown. I attend classes here three nights a week.'
'What kind of classes?'
'Real estate. I'm studying to get my license. We take a break at seven o'clock. That's why I asked Officer Gonzales if he could get a message to you to meet me here. He said he would try.'
'Why didn't you call me directly?'
'I didn't know how to reach you. Officer Gonzales had given me his number the other night when...'
Her voice trailed off; Dodge picked up her sentence. 'The other night when Gonzales responded to another domestic disturbance at your house.'
'Nothing happened. My neighbor overreacted. It was a shouting match. That's all.'
'This time.'
His right hand was resting on his right thigh. She looked down at it, at the incriminating swollen knuckles, the bruises. Then her gaze moved across his body to his left hand, where scratch marks were still visible. Before Campton had collapsed, he'd made futile attempts to dislodge Dodge's arm from around his neck. His scratches had broken the skin on Dodge's forearm and the back of his hand. He made no attempt to hide this evidence from her. He wanted her to know how vicious the fight had been.
'You shouldn't have done it,' she admonished softly. 'You don't even know him. Or me. You're a police officer.' She raised her head, her eyes now searching his. 'Why did you?'
He said nothing for several moments, then turned the tables and asked a question of his own. 'Why do you assume it was me?'
'I don't assume, I know. From the moment I heard about the attack, I knew it was you.'
'Why would it even occur to you that it was me?'
He asked because he knew she would find the answer to her question in the answer to his. She'd known immediately that he was the culprit because she'd seen the way he'd looked at her. Bad taste in fiances notwithstanding, she wasn't stupid. Or blind. Or deaf.
The night of the first incident, when they were alone together in her kitchen, she'd probably sensed that his care and concern went beyond those of a police officer. Any lingering doubts about the nature of his interest would have been dispelled the morning he showed up at her house again to check on her.
And right now she probably knew that he was aching to touch her hair, kiss her mouth, enfold her tiny body in his arms and hold her so close against him that he could feel her heartbeat. He willed her to comprehend the intensity of his feelings, but he must have gone too far, because she stood up quickly.
'You've overstepped your bounds, Mr. Hanley. You have nothing to do with my life. Your responsibility toward me ended when you performed your duties as a police officer that one night. I'm going to marry Roger.'
Dodge stood up with her. 'You'll regret it.'
'If you insinuate yourself into our lives again, I'll have to report you. As for this violent attack, promise me that you'll never do anything like it again.'
Dodge said nothing. He for sure as hell didn't make her a promise that would contradict the one he'd already made to Campton to kill him if he harmed her.
'All right. You've been warned.' She gave him one last fulminating look, then turned away and started walking toward the building. But after covering only a short distance, she stopped and came back around. 'Officer Gonzales told me you had been appointed to a special task force.'
'That's right.'
'Is it dangerous?'
'Not as dangerous as what you're getting yourself into.'
She seemed on the verge of taking issue with that but must have thought better of it. 'Take care of yourself.'
Then she walked away from him.
When he got back to his car, he checked his pager, drove to the nearest pay phone, and placed a call to the task force hotline. It was answered brusquely. 'This is Hanley. Somebody there page me?'
'Where the hell have you been? Captain's about to stroke out. He's paged you at least ten times.'
'I've got a stomach bug. Came on this afternoon. Been in the crapper ever since I knocked off at the tire plant.'
'Too bad. Get here. I'm talking sprout wings and fly.'
'What's up?'
'Our guy waltzed into a bank just before closing, hit it for about thirty grand, and took out a guard.'
'Took out as in a hostage?'
'No. Took out as in killed.'
CHAPTER 8
MS. BUCKLAND?'
'Yes?'
The voice was so faint Ski could barely hear her on his cell phone. He plugged his other ear with his index finger. 'Sally Buckland?'
'Yes. This is ... I'm Sally Buckland.'
'My name's Ski Nyland. I'm a deputy sheriff in Merritt County.' When she said nothing to that, he plowed on. 'We had an incident here last night, Ms. Buckland, and some people you know were involved.'
'Oren and Berry. I heard about it on the news.'
Ski wasn't surprised that the Houston media had picked up the story of the shooting. Probably dozens of similar incidents had occurred last night, but Caroline King had been a large player in the Houston area real estate market before moving to Merritt. Her name was newsworthy. He was glad of it. Because of the news coverage, millions of people would be on the lookout for Oren Starks.
He confirmed with Ms. Buckland that Starks and Berry Malone had been her co- workers at Delray Marketing and that she was also acquainted with the shooting victim, Ben Lofland.
'They said Ben is in serious condition.'
'That's been upgraded,' Ski told her. 'He's going to be fine.'
Two deputies came into the squad room carrying Whataburger sacks. Others fell on the fast food like a pack of coyotes. Ski placed his hand over his phone and yelled at them to pipe down. His stomach rumbled, reminding him he hadn't had a proper meal today.
Back into the phone, he said, 'I was wondering if you could answer some questions for me, Ms. Buckland.'
'No.'
Her abruptness took him aback. 'I promise not to take up much of your time.'
'Why did you call me?'
'Because I'm conducting an investigation, and you know the three principals involved. Oren Starks issued some serious threats, and he's still at large. Anything you can tell me would be greatly appreciated.' She was silent for so long that Ski had to prod her. 'Ms. Buckland?'
