Ramsey Rules Page 20

  As threats went, it was a pretty good one. Sullivan said, “And that’s it. We went to the wedding, had a good time, and we see each other at the store.” All true. As per usual, the devil was in the details, and Sullivan was bent on keeping Old Scratch out of this. He went on the offensive. “You still thinking about asking her out?”

  “Maybe,” Buddy said cagily. “The last call I had out there was because some old lady was collecting shrimp and crab legs in her scooter cart and only paid for a Diet Coke at the self-checkout. Ramsey wasn’t in a real good mood about that. Guess when she checked the recordings and went back a ways, this lady had been running this scam on a fairly regular basis. Thousands of dollars in seafood scooting right out the door and no one stopped her or questioned her because why would you even think she was up to no good?”

  “Takes all kinds, I guess.”

  Buddy nodded. “Yep. All kinds.”

  Sullivan turned around as Buddy got busy with paperwork. He promised himself he’d ask Ramsey about the scooter seafood caper the next time he saw her. He wondered if the senior citizen had tried to outrun Ramsey and whether he could keep a straight face if she had.

  He had a chance a few hours later but missed the opportunity because of exigent circumstances. He was in his patrol car when the call from dispatch came in. “The Ridge reporting that a red Ford F150 just took off from the parking lot headed west toward town on the highway. Ramsey says you can’t miss it. It’s the one with a shopping cart full of tech gear and tools on the truck bed.”

  Sullivan picked up his radio. “Say again about the shopping cart.”

  “The shopping cart is on the truck bed. She says these yahoos were in too much of a hurry to unload their cart. They just put it on the bed. She’s got a plate number.”

  “That’s okay. I’ll verify when I catch up to them.” He pulled onto the highway from a wide shoulder near the underpass. It was a good place to catch speeders, and this time it hid him nicely as the red Ford F150 drove past. He turned on his lights and siren and waited for the pickup to pull over.

  Before Sullivan reached the driver’s side window, another patrol car rolled to a stop behind his. Buddy got out. He was shaking his head. “Do you fuckin’ believe this?”

  “That’s rhetorical, right?”

  Buddy approached the pickup on the passenger side and tapped the window lightly with his baton.

  Sullivan motioned to the driver to lower his window. He was greeted by a big toothy smile surrounded by bushy mustache and beard almost as red as the pickup. “License and registration.”

  “Sure thing, officer. License is in my wallet. Registration’s in the glovebox. I gotta gun in there. Permit to carry. All legal.”

  “Fine. How about you stepping out of the truck? Your passenger too. My partner will get what we need.” Sullivan tapped the roof of the pickup to get Buddy’s attention and related what the driver said.

  The men obliged without argument, although Redbeard did ask why they were pulled over.

  Sullivan pretended it was a legitimate question in spite of the cart of stolen goods in the back. “You were a mite heavy on the gas pedal,” he said. “This section of road eases to forty-five heading into town.” He flipped open the man’s wallet. “But then you’re not from around here, are you? This says you call home Gary, Indiana.”

  “That’s right. Just passing through.”

  “Uh-huh. But slower next time, Dusty.” He paused, regarded the man skeptically. The license indicated Dusty was twenty-six, but he looked a decade older. Maybe it was the beard or maybe it was drugs or maybe being dumb as a box of rocks was aging him prematurely. “Is your name really Dusty Springfield?”

  “Uh-huh. Old timey singer.”

  “Female. You knew that, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah. But I ain’t.”

  “Right.”

  Buddy called over from where he was standing beside another redhead, this one beardless, and maybe eighteen, but only just. “I’ve got Jessie’s Girl over here.”

  Sullivan frowned. “Say again?”

  “Rick Springfield. It’s no good if I have to explain.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Gun’s not loaded and the permit’s in order.”

  Sullivan said, “All right, gentlemen, which one of you wants to explain the shopping cart?”

  Dusty and Rick exchanged blank looks and then turned those vacant eyes on Sullivan. It was Dusty who finally spoke. “Dunno.”

  Sullivan pointed to the cart. “You see that?”

  “Uh-huh,” said Dusty. He stroked his beard. “Darndest thing, that. Never seen it before now.”

  Sullivan sighed and pulled out his cuffs. Buddy did the same. “You boys can sit in the back of our cars. Separately, I think.”

  “You wanna call for the tow?” asked Buddy.

  “Yeah. I’ll do it. You run the plate.”

  The Springfields, second cousins as it happened, sat in the cruisers while calls were made and Sullivan inventoried the cart. Dusty shouted at the tow truck driver not to scratch his Ford and have some respect for his baby as it was hauled away. The men were briefly detained in holding cells awaiting transport to the regional jail. The preliminary inventory of the stolen items totaled over a thousand dollars, putting the theft into felony territory. As Dusty had a record of previous offenses, he was looking at some serious time. Rick, on the other hand, might get probation and community service.

  After his shift was over, Sullivan changed out of his uniform in the locker room and returned the inventory to the Ridge. Paul wasn’t on duty, but the assistant manager took possession of the cart when Sullivan wheeled it in. He nodded to the kid, then wandered around the store to see if he could run into Ramsey.

  He found her circling perilously close to the paint cans in the home improvement section. He came up behind her, bent his head, and whispered close to her ear, “I thought you were persona non grata in this area.”

  Startled, Ramsey elbowed him in the gut before his identity registered.

  “Oof.”

  Ramsey spun around. “Oh, don’t be a baby. You have an iron belly.” She rubbed her elbow for effect. “Anyway, you shouldn’t sneak up on people.”

  “I’m the wounded party here. I’m not going to apologize.”

  Her mouth flattened but her lips twitched, spoiling her feigned disapproval. “I heard you caught the yahoos.”

  “Uh-huh. They’re in lockup, the truck’s impounded, and I just returned the inventory. They had no idea how that shopping cart got onto their truck.” The absurdity of it still struck him sideways and he shook his head to clear it. “How long until you’re off?”

  She checked her phone for the time. “Another thirty minutes.”

  “There’s a movie at nine thirty at the cineplex we could catch. Dinner after.”

  Ramsey wiggled her mouth from side to side as she considered his proposal. “What movie?”

  “Stage Fright.”

  “Scary?”

  “Suspenseful.”

  “All right. But that’s too late for dinner after. How about I pick up two sandwiches from the deli and a couple of sodas and we eat on the way there?”

  “Sounds good. Did you come here in your truck or a cruiser?”

  “Truck. It seems to be holding its own.”

  “Then you can drive.”

  “Because you don’t want to eat in your vehicle.”

  “Exactly.”

  He was tempted to kiss her and knew she wouldn’t thank him for it. “I’ll be in the coffee shop. Come and get me when you’re ready.”

  27

  The movie was good, suspenseful as Sullivan indicated, but not scary. A couple of times Ramsey slunk down in her recliner and watched through narrowly splayed fingers. She ignored Sullivan’s chuckle, preferring to believe it was nervous laughter.

  The parking lot at the Ridge was never empty. When they returned to the store to get her car in the employee section, there were cars on either
side of hers. Sullivan parked close by.

  “Are you going to have nightmares?” he asked.

  “No. Why? You offering to hold my hand?”

  “I was offering to hold a lot more than that.”

  She opened the door a crack. The cab’s interior light came on, illuminating her rueful smile. “Not tonight. Last night was…” She hesitated, searching for the right word.

  “An aberration?”

  “No,” she said quickly. “Well, maybe. Unexpected is what I was trying to say.”

  “All right. To be clear, I didn’t go to your house last night with that end in mind.”

  “You didn’t? Is there something wrong with you?”

  “Ramsey.”

  “Sorry. I know you didn’t. I initiated the trip to my bedroom. That’s on me.”

  “And you regret it?”

  She sighed. “I don’t know what I think. Not regret. Not exactly. How could I? I’m feeling uncertain, I suppose.” She laughed a little jerkily. “Can you tell?”

  “I’m getting that.”

  “It’s hard not be an open book around you.”

  “Really? Because I’m not getting that at all.”

  “Well, it is. Trust me.”

  “I do. It’s the reverse that’s the fly in the ointment.”

  Ramsey nodded heavily. “And we’re back to that.” Keeping an elbow resting against the door to keep it open, she reached under her coat and into the front pocket of her jeans, and pulled out a folded piece of paper. She held it out to him. “Here. Take it. Since we’re fussing about other things, it seems like a good time to fuss about this.”

  Sullivan took the paper but didn’t unfold it. “What is this?”

  “I did some research. It’s the lot numbers for those pallets of Caribbean Coast that Paul brought in.” His reaction was entirely unpredictable. She’d known he wouldn’t be pleased, and he proved it by slowly crumpling the paper in his fist. Still, she was undeterred and added helpfully, “I put a check beside the ones that are no longer in our inventory.”

  For all that he wanted to unleash his dark side, Sullivan’s tone was remarkably even. “Do you recall what I said about this when we discussed it at Valentina’s?”

  “You mean about keeping your theory confidential?”

  “That was part of it.”

  “Then you must be talking about the part where I stay out of it.”

  “That’s it.”

  “Yeah, well, about that…” In the face of his scowl, Ramsey didn’t dare play the innocent. “Look, Sullivan, I knew you wouldn’t like it, but I told you my favorite book of the moment is The Count of Monte Cristo, and I figured this was as good a way as any of needling Paul. I’m not accusing him of dealing opioids out of paint cans, but he did accept delivery of the pallets so it can’t be all good for him. How else were you going to come by the lot numbers? You needed me.”

  He put out the hand that wasn’t fisted around the crumpled paper. “Stop, Ramsey. Just stop.” He watched Ramsey’s mouth snap shut. “How I gather the evidence is my problem. It’s my job. What you did is a breach of my trust. You tell me, where does that leave us?”

  She stared at him, lips pressed tightly together, and said nothing.

  Sullivan was not prepared to let her off the hook by remaining silent. “Well?”

  Her lips parted on a soft exhalation. She searched his face and realized she had never seen his features so implacably set. Except for the muscle that jumped in his jaw, he was still waiting for her as a predator might, watching her closely with slightly narrowed eyes and quiet breaths.

  “Sorry is inadequate,” she said finally.

  “Yes,” he said. “It is.”

  “I’ve disappointed you.”

  “Mm.”

  “That’s the worst. Or maybe it’s that I’ve hurt you. I didn’t think it through to this end. I wish I had. I had it in my mind that what I was doing was motivated by Paul’s behavior yesterday, but I’m realizing that was only part of it—the childish part. I could have found some other manner to get at him or, better yet, not done anything at all. What I did was the worst possible way of retaliating, and what I said about you needing me, that wasn’t true. I know you don’t. I was trying to justify what I did.”

  Sullivan said nothing for a time, letting her sit with the silence while he mulled over her confession. “Look, Ramsey, what I’m going to say will make the hair at the back of your neck stand at attention, but here goes: I’ve been thinking that maybe I do need you.”

  The light in the cab flickered as Ramsey jerked and her elbow slipped out of the opening between the door and the frame. She straightened and reinserted her elbow.

  “Close the door, will you?” he said. “I can turn on the light. Unless you’re feeling the need to make a quick escape.”

  She was, but then again, she wanted to hear what he had to say. She pulled the door shut.

  Sullivan pressed the light panel. “You okay?”

  Ramsey nodded, then added, “But don’t lock the doors.”

  He managed a small smile because he knew she was serious. “Do I need to say it again?”

  “Would you? I think that would be for the best, you know, just in case I didn’t get it.”

  “I’ve been thinking that maybe I do need you.”

  Ramsey’s eyebrows lifted. “I guess I did get it,” she said, her voice hardly more than a whisper.

  “To be clear,” he said, “I’m not talking about my job. That’s for later, if you decide to take the chief up on his suggestion and go to the academy.”

  “I’m clear.”

  “So, this thing about needing you, it’s—”

  She stopped him with a raised finger. “Maybe needing me. You qualified it.”

  “You’re right. I did. I’m trying to sort it out, and what you did with the paint cans threw me, but not so much that I’m ready to chuck this in, whatever this is.”

  “This is good. It was better until I screwed it up, but it’s still good. And I was thinking that maybe I want to be needed.” She added quickly, “Not on the job, though I suppose that could happen someday. I mean needed like this. You and me. It wouldn’t be the worst thing if I were important in your life.” Ramsey bit down on her lower lip, released it. “You are in mine.”

  Sullivan’s cheeks puffed as he blew out a breath. “Took us a while to get there, didn’t it?”

  She nodded shortly and cast her eyes at her folded hands. “I am sorry I disappointed you.”

  “Ramsey. Look at me.”

  She did because she thought he deserved at least that much. “I can’t even promise that I won’t do it again.”

  “Hey. Enough with the self-flagellation. It’s done. I’m almost over it.”

  She smiled a little jerkily. “Wow. You really don’t know how to hold a grudge.”

  Sullivan chuckled. “I bet you could teach me.”

  “Not a chance.”

  Sullivan unfolded his fist and regarded the crumpled paper for a long moment before he stuffed it in his jacket pocket. “I’ll look it over tomorrow at the station. I can’t thank you for it.”

  “I understand.”

  “Do you? What you did, Ramsey, it could have been dangerous. What if someone saw you writing down the information? What if you’re questioned about it?”

  “I was alone in Paul’s office when I was working on it, Sullivan, not nosing around the paint aisle, and there’s nothing at all unusual about being in his office because that’s where the monitors are. Plus, Paul was off today. I got the information I gave you from inventory and, again, there’s nothing unusual about me doing a search. I get reports all the time that I have to go through so I can be looking for trending theft.”

  “Trending theft?”

  “You know, the new hot items worth stealing or boosting. Credit card scams. That sort of thing. There was nothing dangerous about what I did.” She couldn’t miss the look he shot her and added quickly. “That’s not an
excuse. I get your point.”

  Sullivan studied her features, gauging her sincerity in the set of her slightly crooked smile and luminous eyes. He nodded once, slowly. “All right,” he said. “So it was crazy, but not stupid.”

  “Uh-huh. Crazy, not stupid.”

  “You understand that wasn’t a compliment.”

  “I’m pretty clear on that.”

  “All right.” He leaned over with the intention of planting a kiss on her sassy mouth and got jammed up by the seat belt. “Damn.”

  Ramsey unbuckled her belt. “Let me.” She moved in for the follow through, and at the first hard press of her mouth she knew she was exactly where she wanted to be, though perhaps not so exposed. Reaching above her with one hand, she turned off the cab light.

  Sullivan raised his head a fraction, just enough to whisper against her lips. “We’re still a secret, huh?”

  “Mm. Do you mind?”

  He did, but the tip of her tongue was sweeping his upper lip, and he realized he was no longer the master of his thinking brain. She was wearing her hair swept up behind her head. Sullivan found the band that secured it and tugged. She made a tiny sound of protest but didn’t pull away. Her thick hair spilled over his hand. His fingers wound around and between the heavy, curling strands.

  She sucked in his tongue, pushed against it, played and teased. He retaliated. This man had missed his calling, she thought. He was a pirate. He knew how to plunder.

  The kiss went on…and on. She moved in, bumped her knee on the shift, adjusted, and found purchase for her hands in his leather jacket. She gasped softly, sucking in a breath when he came up for air. When their lips touched again, the slant was different, and somehow that made the kiss seem new, fresh. She hummed with pleasure. The vibration tickled her lips, then his. His throaty response tripped a shiver that started at the base of her spine and migrated deliciously to her fingers and toes.

  “You’re cold,” he said, raising his head a fraction.

  “The opposite.”

  “Ah.”

  “Mm-hmm.” She nudged his mouth with hers. “Hot.”

  Sullivan unbelted her coat and slid his hands under her cable knit sweater. She was wearing a tee beneath the sweater, and he lifted it so he could lay his palms against her flesh.