problem with at the DMV. I grew up in this community, and I’ve lived a very quiet life. Most of the time if I’m not on the job, I’m working on my home. It’s a fixer-upper.”
“What about old boyfriends?” Paul said.
“I date on occasion, but not regularly. It’s been at least six months since I went out on a date,” she said. “That’s why I keep saying that it has to be Bud Harrington. His body type and clothing fit, too.”
“That’s not conclusive evidence, Ms. Baker,” Chavez said.
“But the absence of any other possibility—” she said.
“Is still not evidence,” Chavez said, finishing her thought. “We spoke to the suspect after your first complaint and you know how that came out. He claimed he was the injured party.”
Lori took a sip of the hot, bitter coffee, then stood and began to pace. “I’m not sure what else I can do. This isn’t going to just go away.”
“You need to seriously consider taking my advice. Get out of town for a while,” Chavez said. “Whoever’s after you is getting bolder, and that’s not a good sign.”
Just then a clerk came into the room and placed the typed statements before Sergeant Chavez.
Chavez handed them their statements. “Read them over carefully and then sign.”
When they were done, Chavez took the forms. “I’ll follow up on this and take it as far as I can,” he told Lori. “Just don’t expect miracles. You’ve given me very little evidence to go on.”
“There’s the question of how the license plate that belongs on Harrington’s pickup got on that van,” Paul said. “Is there any way you can stake out Harrington’s home?”
Chavez shook his head. “We don’t have the manpower right now. No one’s life is in immediate danger, so it’s not going to be given a high priority,” Chavez said. “I wish things were different, but they are what they are.”
As Paul, Gene and Lori left the building and walked out into the parking lot, Paul spoke. “I have to get on a flight to D.C. tonight and meet with my former boss. The Marshals Service has requested that I review some new evidence that’s turned up on my last case.”
“Do they have a lead on who ordered the hit on the federal judge?” Gene asked.
“I’m not sure. I wasn’t given any details on the phone. I’ll know more when I meet with my district marshal,” he said. “I’ll probably be gone for a day, maybe two, so try to stay out of trouble.”
“We’ll do our best to manage without you,” Gene said in a labored voice, then flashed Paul a teasing grin.
“Do me a favor. Just don’t do anything stupid,” Paul growled.
After Paul left, Gene and Lori walked out to Gene’s pickup. “Do you want me to drive you back to your car, or straight to work?” Gene asked.
“I asked for the afternoon off,” she said. “What I’d really like to do now is drive by Bud’s place.”
“Sure. I was going to take another pass by there again anyway. Maybe Harrington’s home now.”
“If he’s there, we can both talk to him.”
“No way,” Gene said.
“I can’t keep running from him forever, Gene. Better that I should face him when I’ve got someone beside me than run into him when I’m alone.”
For several long moments Gene considered what she’d said, then finally spoke after they’d climbed into his pickup. “Here’s my deal. I’ll take you there and stand by you if you decide you want to confront him—but if there’s trouble, I want you to run back to the truck, lock yourself in and call the cops.”
“I can’t just leave if you—”
“My way or no way,” he interrupted. “Your choice.” He placed the key in the ignition but didn’t start the engine.
She wanted to argue, but knew from the set of his jaw that his mind was made up. “Okay. I agree to your terms.”
He got under way shortly thereafter. “What did you tell them at work?”
“The truth, though I was a little worried about doing that. I didn’t want them to think I posed a danger to the others, and frighten everyone for no reason.”
“How do you like working there?”
“It’s a good job and I get a decent salary, but it’s not what I plan to do the rest of my life.”
“What kind of work would you do if you had complete freedom of choice?”
“I’m not sure. That’s why I’m still looking around, exploring. All I’m one hundred percent sure about is that once I find the right place for myself, I’ll know it.”
“What is it that you’d like to find in a job—excitement, maybe?”
“It wouldn’t exclude excitement, but it goes beyond that. What I’m really looking for is work that’ll allow me to contribute something worthwhile, maybe the kind of job where I can make a difference in my own way. I’d like to know I’m doing more with my life than just using up oxygen and getting by.”
“You want to know that you’re working toward something, not just working. That’s exactly the way I feel about my ranch,” he said with a nod. “You’ll find what’s right for you, too, if you keep looking and refuse to give up.”
As their eyes met, she felt a delicious prickle of awareness. More than anything, she wanted to get to know him better, to see the man beyond the yummy package.
Yet, although it was tempting to lower her guard, in the past, that kind of trust had led her straight to heartbreak and disappointment. Those memories were powerful enough to urge her to pull back.
Fifteen minutes later, they drove slowly past Bud Harrington’s house. The newspapers and mail Gene had seen before were still on the porch. In the daylight, Gene could see that a layer of dust covered the pickup, windows included.
“Someone screwed the license plate back on the truck,” he said, calling her attention to it.
“Maybe it’s not the same plate,” she said. “After all, Paul only saw the letters and wasn’t totally sure about the numbers.”
Gene stopped just behind the tailgate of the pickup. “There’s no dust on the plate, unlike the truck. How else could that happen except by taking off the plate, then putting it back on?”
“But why on earth would Bud go through all that trouble? Does he think he can somehow weasel out of this by using his own plates on the wrong vehicle? Or is someone messing with his mind?”
“And yours,” Gene said. “All good questions, and if he’s back, why not pick up the mail and those newspapers, too? It could very well be that someone else is responsible. Keep in mind that, as near as we can tell, Harrington doesn’t own a van, and the maroon one we saw didn’t look like a rental. Rental vans are usually white—or black.”
“So where does that leave us?” she asked.
“Right where we started. Nowhere.”
She sighed. “I’m sorry I dragged you into this mess, Gene, but I’m glad you’re here.”
He gave her a slow smile. “I’ve got no regrets. I happen to like you.”
She bit her bottom lip and smiled. “I don’t care if that’s just a line. You make it sound good.”
He laughed. “It’s no line, sweetheart. You’re unpredictable and a bundle of trouble, but you’ve also got more than your share of courage and determination. You don’t