His Private Pleasure(23)

“They’re keeping him the rest of the night, but he’ll be okay. I talked to his wife and she’s staying with him.”

Dylan had someone over there as well, with instructions to call him if Payne was discharged, and to report and detain any visitors other than family.

“We’ve put up the few guests in other hotels. The day manager is on call if we need her.” Tucker started to pick up the motel booking log, but Dylan slapped his hand on it.

“That’s evidence.”

“Which, as marshal, I’m allowed to see.”

“Only as it pertains to the fire. This goes to possible motive.” And the longer he could keep it out of the local media that the room where the fire started had been reserved in the name of his supposed showgirl lover, the better. Dylan figured he had a few hours, tops, until Fred Payne got out of the emergency room. “You get the reports back on what accelerant was used?”

“Nothing sophisticated. It’s what we thought. Gasoline on the carpet. Toss in a match and poof.” Tucker glanced at him. “No one was trying to make it look like an accident.” When Dylan didn’t bite on that, Tucker picked up the photo showing the point of origin. “No one was checked into the room, though I got it from the day girl, Letta Sparks, that the room had been reserved earlier in the day. Specified an end unit. Interesting, isn’t it?”

Tucker tossed the picture back on the desk and finished off the rest of Dylan’s coffee in one swig. He pitched the cup in the trash across the room, even though there was one right next to him. “Nothing but can,” he said as it sailed in dead center. Then, just as casually, he asked, “So, when are you going to tell me what’s really going on here?”

“With Letta Sparks in your back pocket, or more likely, your front ones, what do you need me for?”

Tucker smiled, but didn’t deny anything. “She said the caller was male, asked for a single room for a Liza Smith. We’re having a real run on that name today, aren’t we? Held the room with a credit card. You traced that yet?”

Dylan slid the pictures into a small manila envelope and tucked the flap in. He tossed them in the rapidly growing case file and flipped the folder shut. “Don’t need to.”

Tucker grinned. “Gee, now there’s a surprise. Match the one in your pocket, does it?”

“No, as a matter of fact, it doesn’t.”

Tucker just shrugged. “So what happened? Your girlfriend come to town trailing trouble behind her?”

Liza didn’t need to bring trouble with her, Dylan thought, biting back the urge to smile. She was trouble enough all by herself. He’d thought about just letting everyone continue to believe Liza was his imaginary showgirl, but now, with the fire and Dugan involved—and there was no doubt that he was—Dylan would have to explain. Which would also set tongues to wagging, but what the hell. It was the least of his worries at the moment. “She’s not connected to this, Tucker.”

“Then if it wasn’t a jealous ex-boyfriend setting a jilted-lover fire, it was either a random act of violence—and we all know the chances of that are slim around here—or a warning. I keep asking myself, a warning for what? The room was in her name, yet you say she isn’t involved in this. Then who is?”

“You know, you should have been the one to head to the big city,” Dylan said. “You’d have made detective young and been in your element. All those showgirls, high rollers, rich women. Think about it, Tucker.” He grinned. “Seriously, I mean.”

Tucker shot him a smile. “I have. More than you might think.” His smile remained, but his eyes blazed with the avid interest that underscored why his skills were wasted on a town the size of Canyon Springs. “If trouble didn’t trail her into town, then that means it’s come to the only person she’s connected to here. You.”

Dylan blew out a breath. Tucker might grate on his nerves from time to time, but he was a damn good investigator. “It’s something I was in before I left the Vegas PD. You heard of a guy named Armand Dugan?”

Tucker shook his head. “No, what’s he run? Girls, numbers, drugs?”

Dylan just nodded and Tucker whistled beneath his breath. “What are you doing dragging that here? You’re not sloppy.”

No, Dylan thought, just horny. His head had been in his pants when he’d been talking to Quin, otherwise he’d have listened to the tickle of neck hairs that had told him not to have that discussion on the cell phone. “One of the guys on my squad called to set up a meeting. I covered it under Liza staying at Mims.”

“Good thing she wasn’t.”

Tucker didn’t need to remind him of that. Dylan was already worried that he should have sent her out of town the instant he heard about the fire. But Dugan wasn’t targeting Liza, he was targeting Quin and Pearl. And, to a lesser extent, Dylan. It had been a warning to walk away from the meet. Dylan knew how Dugan operated. If he’d wanted Liza, or anyone else, hurt, he’d have made it happen. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t up the stakes when Dylan didn’t back off. And he didn’t plan on backing off. It was personal now.

Dylan pushed that from his mind and stood up, rolling his shoulders and raking his hand through his hair. “I’m going to run by the hospital, check on Payne, then I’m calling it a night. I’ll meet with you tomorrow afternoon, say two o’clock.”

“You still going to set up the meet?”

Dylan wasn’t ready to discuss that yet. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

Tucker opened his mouth, then shut it again and nodded. “Fine.” He stopped at the door, looked back. “Keep a close eye on her, Dylan. I know I don’t have a scrap of your experience, but my gut tells me she could get pulled into this pretty easily.”

Dylan could only nod. “Listen.” He paused, sighed, and said, “You should know, she’s not from Vegas, Tuck. The name was a coincidence. She has nothing to do with Dugan. With any of this.”

Tucker just nodded, as if he’d known all along Liza wasn’t what she purported to be. Whether or not he’d really suspected as much didn’t reflect in his eyes. “Yeah, but Dugan finds out you’ve got a weak spot, he could have something to do with her.”

“She won’t be staying. Don’t worry.”

Tucker shook his head and laughed. “Yeah, you keep telling yourself that.”

“I won’t have to. She’ll be gone tomorrow.”

“I might not know about the kind of criminal element you used to keep company with in Vegas, but I do have you topped when it comes to keeping company with women.”

Dylan merely raised his eyebrows.

Tucker just grinned. “Fine, fine. But she’s not going anywhere anytime soon. Least not until you two burn each other out of your systems. With the way you’ve had one eye on that phone and the other on your watch half the night, I’m betting that hasn’t happened yet.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Dylan retorted, but he was talking to the back of his office door. “Pain in the ass is what he is,” he grumbled, then grabbed the folder and his gun and headed out in turn.

After his trip to the ER, it would be close to five by the time he got home. Unless he went back to the hotel instead. Tucker’s warnings echoed in his mind, but Liza wasn’t a target now, and she wasn’t going to become one later. Dylan had spoken with the night manager at her hotel anyway, just as a precaution. She’d made one call to a Wyoming number, taken one call. No visitors, no room service.

He climbed in his truck and tossed the file on the passenger seat. He needed to have a talk with Quin, but had been unable to do so with everything else going on. So his plan was to hit the ER, find a place to make contact with his old squad mate, then be back at the hotel by seven to wait for Liza. He’d already written off their breakfast—and anything else that might have come after. As tired as he was, he smiled, hearing her response to that in his head. Come being the key word, Sheriff. He wished.

But it was best to get her on her way and out of the line of fire. He put the truck into gear and tore out of the lot with a bit more rubber than necessary.



TWO HOURS LATER he was one county over and on the phone of the local law. “Come on, Quin, answer the page,” he muttered beneath his breath. He’d put the word out early for the surrounding counties to be on the lookout for the man Dylan was all but certain had set the fire: Tunny Stubbs. Dugan was nothing if not consistent with his personnel. They’d never been able to nail the little bastard and use him against Dugan, and it was likely they wouldn’t have more than circumstantial on him now. But Dylan could slow him down a bit, and it was worth a few more sleepless hours to put what screws he could to Dugan.

He’d gotten a radio call at the hospital that Stubbs had been picked up, so he’d headed south to see to it personally. He knew the police captain here from a class they’d taken on new strategies for busting racketeering networks several years earlier, when they’d both worked for bigger departments. Captain Henry had retired to Las Cruces, then ended up running a department in the county.