Page 51 of Ace of Spades
“Spoiled rich kids,” the sheriff muttered after Reese and Carter slammed their packages down on the counter and then stomped out. “Come with me.”
Nate held his ground. “I have to buy this.”
The sheriff eyed the jar. “What’s that for?”
“I just need it.” Nate kept his gaze on the floor, wishing it would swallow him up. Sheriff Burton hadn’t been out to the trailer since Nate’s mother had left. He was embarrassed to admit his father was still using his fists and belt.
“Who’d he hurt this time, son?”
“Alex,” Nate muttered, knowing the man wouldn’t relent until he had a name.
Somehow, in the next twenty minutes, Nate had a better brand of salve to smear on Alex’s back and a job. He was to report for an hour after school—the sheriff understanding that was the most Nate could get away with before his father would get suspicious of where he wasspending his time—to the sheriff’s office to do whatever Sheriff Burton directed. Most of his small weekly paycheck went toward groceries, and since his brothers liked the improvement in the food that appeared on the table, they worked harder to compensate for the time Nate spent on his new job.
During Nate’s senior year of high school, Sheriff Burton groomed him for a career in law enforcement without Nate catching on to the devious man’s plan. The first week, Nate swept floors, made coffee for the sheriff and his deputies, learned how to file reports in the gray metal cabinet behind his mentor’s desk, all the while listening in as Sheriff Burton conducted business.
As each day passed, Nate grew more interested in the goings-on of law enforcement. His mother had instilled in him the importance of an education, and the man he grew to love, the man who’d probably kept him from going to prison for killing two high school jerks, had given him hope for a better life. When a group of Miami cops got together and offered a scholarship to a worthy recipient for a degree in criminal justice, without telling him, the sheriff had sent them Nate’s name.
His mentor had never shared what he’d written on the application, but against all odds, Nate was selected to win the scholarship. As soon as he learned of it, he’d made a promise to himself. He would never let Sheriff Burton down. The best way he could do that was to control the rages he still had when someone made him angry. He’d learned how to walk away from assholes like Reese and Carter.
What scared the hell out of him were women and children. What if he had it in him to hurt them, to be like his father? The only solution was to never marry or have children.
His next piece of good luck was when an FBI recruiter came to Florida State during Nate’s junior year. After talking to the man, Nate made up his mind. He would become a special agent for the FBI. The recruiter made him a list of the best classes to take, but mostimportantly, he gave Nate his card, telling him to call after he graduated with a degree in criminal justice.
Because a sheriff had believed in him, and with the financial backing from a group of cops, along with his own stubborn determination, he’d achieved something he wouldn’t have dared to dream before that day in the drugstore. What really made him proud, though, was that his brothers had followed in his footsteps. He’d been satisfied with the life he’d mapped out.
Then along came Taylor. Lately he’d been feeling like a cartoon character that had jumped off a cliff without knowing how far he’d fall. If there was one thing he disliked more than any other it was not being in control, and he’d lost that the moment he’d first kissed her.
He trailed his finger over the aquarium’s glass again, but Henry Too didn’t seem impressed. “You match Taylor’s beautiful blue eyes, but you’re not as smart as your predecessor.”
After putting on jeans and her favorite baseball jersey, Taylor stood in the hallway, watching Nate. He seemed to be in deep thought, and she wondered what was going through his mind. It touched her deeply that he’d shown up with a replacement fish. The man might not like admitting it, even to himself, but he had a soft heart. She smiled, listening to him talk to the fish, especially liking his comment about her eyes.
“You’ll just have to train him to follow your finger,” she said, walking into the living room, stopping a few feet away. Why was he here? She’d thought just to bring her Henry Too, but the beer and glass of wine on the coffee table indicated he planned to stay a while.
Facing her, his gaze skimmed over her. “You changed.”
He sounded disappointed. “Very observant, Mr.Gentry.” Wearing only a pair of boxer shorts and a cut-off T-shirt when she didn’t know where she stood with him had made her feel vulnerable. He had something on his mind, and if it was another lecture as to why they couldn’t be together, she’d rather hear it fully clothed.
“I sense sarcasm there, Ms.Collins.”
His expression was stern, but his eyes twinkled with amusement. “Is there a reason for your visit, Mr.Gentry, other than to deliver a fish?” she said, continuing the game. “Which was really sweet of you, by the way.”
“I’m not sweet.” The humor faded from his eyes. “We need to talk.”
“Ruh-roh.” She glanced at the glass on the coffee table. “Apparently, I need wine for this conversation?” Now she was sad, knowing what was coming. He’d no doubt come up with a long list of reasons they couldn’t have a repeat. That was too bad, but his loss. She just had to figure out how to stop loving him.
“Well, let’s get this party started.” She sat at the end of the sofa, curling her legs under her. He picked up his beer, then settled inhisleather chair. “So, let’s hear it.”
“Court’s turned up some similar murders, fifteen to be exact, going back forty years.”
Okay, this wasn’t about them. She relaxed, comfortable with talking business. “What was his criteria?”
“Strangled prostitutes with blue eyes and blonde hair. There was only one, though, prior to our three, who had on a white dress and a gold band.”
“How long ago?”
“Six years. So, odds are our man killed her. Of the other fourteen, until we look closer, there’s no way of knowing which of those could belong to him, but they don’t fit his M.O.”
“And considering some small-town police departments might not have entered their cases into the data bank, there could be others Court hasn’t turned up.”
