But her attack changed Miranda and Knight’s plans. Max would have to have the bite checked out at a hospital per PAVAD protocol. He wouldn’t be able to process Pauline like they’d originally thought.
Miranda and Knight were going to handle her—right there in Della.
Miranda looked at Knight when he strolled into the small conference room—Della had a bigger sheriff’s station than Masterson by a factor of one-and-a-half—a bag of trail mix in one hand and a soda in the other. He handed them to her without asking; she’d used him to fetch and wasn’t ashamed of it one bit.
PAVAD helped each other out—even if it was just with snacks. He’d have to get used to it. It had been a test. Miranda wouldn’t lie about that. Knight didn’t exactly have team player written all over him. “Has she settled down yet?”
“Didn’t you hear her cursing Jones’s antecedents a few minutes ago? The woman has…problems.” He shot her snack a look of disgust. “You need more to eat than that.”
“Well, it’s just about all we have until we make it back to Masterson.” She deliberately popped the top on the soda can. She was a closet junk food addict, but she usually worked it off. “Didn’t you grab you something?”
“No. Nothing appealed. I prefer a healthier menu than chocolate and nuts.”
“Hey, there’re raisins in here. That’s a fruit. Fiber, too, I think.”
He just blinked at her like she was out of her mind. “Let’s get back to it.”
“Whatever you say, sir.” Miranda deliberately popped a piece of the chocolate in her mouth and let it melt. She closed her eyes to appreciate it. When she opened them and looked back at him, there was a heat in his eyes she most definitely had not expected to see.
Every thought she’d had just a moment before flew right out of her head.
The expression on her face when she had eaten the candy had been what had done it to him. That image would be burned into his mind forever.
Miranda Talley enjoyed life. Sensations. The sensual.
He had no doubt she’d be the same way in bed. One hundred percent. He forced his body to relax—he hadn’t realized he’d tensed—as her eyes opened and met his.
Heat hit her cheeks. She had nothing to say.
For the first time in his presence, he’d disconcerted the enigma in front of him. Knight bit back a smile. He rather liked having the upper hand with Dr. Miranda Talley for the moment. “So how are you going to play this with Pauline-slash-Paula?”
“I’m not sure yet.” She paused for a moment and leaned against the desk she stood next to. She was quiet, picking out the chocolate candies and eating them first. “Her children.”
“What do you mean?”
“Pauline is a mother of seven. According to Luther, our best bet to figuring her out is through them.”
“So what exactly does that mean?”
“Simple. Let’s leave her stewing for a bit and work on finding the rest of the Beise brood. Where’s the list from Luther?”
“Jac Jones has it, I believe.”
She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I knew that. So let’s call Jac. See where she’s at in finding the rest.”
“Don’t you think it’s a bit odd that Luther didn’t know the exact locations of his children?”
“Yes…and no. I’m not so certain Luther is capable of that kind of executive functioning.”
“You think he has a lower IQ?”
“I think so. Jac said she found records of him receiving a traumatic brain injury—” Her gaze slipped toward Knight’s scar before darting away. “In a tree-cutting accident eleven years ago.”
“So it’s likely he doesn’t have the long-term memory capacity? Could he even make a reliable witness? TBI range in severity and after-effects, after all. It’s all a crapshoot.”
“He doesn’t have that kind of short-term capacity, I believe. Something he said, I think. About not remembering recent things so good. Right before he said he’d call Olivia and find out. Which is why it was so difficult for him to give us Pauline’s alias without asking his daughter Honey-Olivia. What do you want to bet she’s on speed dial?”
She’d moved on to the raisins next. She had a sweet tooth, apparently. Knight filed that away in his mental folder dedicated entirely to her.
He’d never forget how she’d looked eating stale chocolate.
“So he doesn’t have to remember her number. It makes sense. If Luther can’t help us find his kids, we’ll use other ways. Like talking to Luther and getting phone numbers?”
“Phone numbers…which will lead to addresses. At least, for Honey-Olivia.”
“It’s a start.” She shot him another grin. “You aren’t half bad at this, Knight. You may have a future with PAVAD yet. With a bit more training up, that is.”
“Gee, thanks. I’ll keep that in mind next time Dennis and I have book club or putt-putt together.”
27
Luther and Pauline Beise had had six children when Miranda had known them. According to what Luther said, they had had two more after relocating. Well, Pauline had had two. Luther had had one. Those two were still children, at thirteen and ten. She carefully wrote out the Beise children’s names on the whiteboard they’d borrowed from Sheriff Karr—who had graciously lent them his office—and turned to the man next to her. They were going to stick around to interview Pauline. “Monica.”
“Any particular reason why?” Knight had taken off his jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves, revealing strong, tanned arms. He had good arms. Miranda had to admit, he was a fine-looking specimen—just like her grandmother had pointed out that morning when she’d asked if they were involved. Uh, no. And her grandmother was not about to start matchmaking with her and Allan Knight. Not by a longshot.
“She never was a good liar. I should be able to use that.”
“It’s been fourteen years since you saw her. She’s probably forgotten all about you—and whatever trust you had between you back then.”
“That’s pretty cynical.”
“It’s honest. In my experience, trust and loyalty only lasts as long as the person is
