Finding Shayla Page 8

  “I’d love to.”

  They danced three songs and, when the music slowed down, Cayenne took her hand and led her to the bar.

  “May I buy you a drink?” Cayenne said.

  “Please. I’d like a rum and Coke.”

  “Coming right up.”

  Cayenne realized she’d left her whisky at the woman’s table, and, not wanting to take her back there just yet, ordered another one.

  Drinks in hand, Cayenne escorted the woman to one of the few empty tables.

  “My name’s Cayenne.”

  “I’m Maria.”

  “Nice to meet you, Maria.”

  “Likewise.” She didn’t sit down. “Thanks for the dances. And the drink.”

  “You’re more than welcome. Please, have a seat. Let me get to know you.”

  “I don’t know. My friends…”

  Cayenne waved to their table.

  “They see us. They know you’re with me. It’s okay.” Maria sat. “Tell me about yourself, Maria.”

  Maria shrugged.

  “Not much to tell. I live here in Casa Grande. I’m a city councilwoman, so I tend to be cautious. And discreet.”

  “Discreet is my middle name.”

  Maria smiled and Cayenne’s heart leaped. Maria was beautiful. Drop dead gorgeous. Cayenne had to have her.

  “And you, Cayenne? I don’t remember seeing you here before. Are you not from around here?”

  “I come here once in a while. I’m the sheriff in Lazu. When I want to dance, I have to come here. We don’t have any place like it there.”

  “I can’t imagine you do.” Maria laughed. “You probably have one bar in the whole town.”

  Cayenne smiled.

  “Something like that. Our type isn’t very popular out in the sticks.”

  “We’re not popular here, either. Hence my caution with you.”

  “I understand. Believe me, I get it.”

  “I like that we’re both public servants,” Maria said.

  “I think we probably have a lot in common, once we get to know each other.”

  A song from the eighties came on and Maria clapped her hands.

  “Let’s dance some more,” she said.

  They danced through several more songs and when a slow song came on, Cayenne started off the floor. Maria took her hand and pulled her back. She moved into Cayenne’s arms and Cayenne felt pulsing between her legs at the feel of Maria’s tiny body against her.

  After the dance, Maria whispered in Cayenne’s ear.

  “Let’s get out of here.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive.”

  She went back to her table, gathered her purse and met Cayenne at the front door.

  “I’m in a motel right down the street,” Cayenne said.

  “I’d rather go to my place. Come on, I’ll take you there.”

  Cayenne sat in the passenger seat and watched as Casa Grande proper came into view. She was excited. Maria was a looker and Cayenne definitely needed some hormonal release. She hadn’t been with a woman since her night with Shayla. And look how that had turned out.

  Shayla. Where was she? Why did she haunt Cayenne so? Cayenne knew it was more than just the fact she was a murder suspect. Shayla had touched something deep inside Cayenne. Someplace she thought was off limits.

  “Hey Maria?” Cayenne said.

  “Mm?”

  “I can’t do this. I’m sorry. Would you mind dropping me off at my motel?”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yeah. I thought I was ready. But I’m not. Long story.”

  “Sure. I’ll take you wherever you want to go. But I won’t go in with you.”

  “I understand,” Cayenne said. “And that’s okay. I’m sorry I can’t seal the deal tonight. Maybe another time?”

  “Sure. Maybe our paths will cross again.”

  “Good night, Maria.” Cayenne got out of the car and let herself into her room. Alone. Was this how she was destined to spend the rest of her life?

  Chapter Twelve

  Irritated and depressed, Cayenne went to the office and checked out. She was sober and alone. She may as well go home.

  She arrived at her place in the wee hours, but she wasn’t tired. She had no desire to sleep. Plus, she was still keyed up. She needed something, anything, to take her mind off Maria and what might have happened.

  For the first time in a long time, Cayenne turned on the TV to watch something besides the Diamondbacks. She flipped through the channels, but nothing kept her attention. She poured herself a whisky then settled back in front of the television.

  What was that show they’d been talking about at work? Wit’s End? But did she really want to watch a soap opera? Sure, why not? Watching someone else deal with their troubles suddenly seemed very appealing.

  Cayenne found the pilot and checked it out. There were beautiful women in it and handsome men, and they all had secrets. Who didn’t have secrets anymore? Shayla sure had a big one. Where was she? What was she doing? And how could she live a normal life after killing someone?

  Self-defense or not, she’d taken a life. That had to weigh on her, right? Unless that scared, broken woman she’d spent the night with was truly a sociopath. Cayenne knew better. She wasn’t. She’d been beaten and broken. And now she was somewhere trying to put herself back together. But where?

  Needing to escape again, Cayenne watched the next episode of Wit’s End. She found herself being drawn in and actually caring what happened to the characters. When the episode ended, Cayenne dragged her tired bones to bed. Alone.

  Cayenne slept late Saturday morning. She knew she should have gotten up early and gone in to see if there were any developments, but she didn’t. She knew there wouldn’t be any. She needed to find Shayla for a number of reasons. Not the least of which being that she felt like a failure as a law enforcement officer for not having apprehended her yet.

  She poured herself a cup of coffee and turned on Wit’s End again. She watched a few more episodes then showered and headed into town. She parked at the station and walked across the street to her favorite greasy spoon.

  Cayenne drank more coffee and ate her weight in pancakes. Full and feeling more alive, she walked back to her office and went downstairs. Doc wasn’t there. It was the weekend and the case they’d been working on was quickly growing cold.

  She searched through the evidence locker and found the gray fabric. She stared hard at it. She knew it was Shayla’s blood on that couch but how could she prove it? She needed a way to get a sample of Shayla’s DNA. But since she couldn’t find Shayla, getting a sample of her DNA wasn’t likely.

  Back upstairs, one of her deputies approached her.

  “Sheriff? How are you?”

  “Frustrated, irritated, and annoyed. And you?”

  “What’s up?”

  “I just feel like we’re missing something trying to catch Robin Gardner’s wife.”

  “Yeah. Well, take your mind off it. The Diamondbacks are playing this evening. Some of the guys are coming over to my place to watch it. We’d really like it if you joined us.”

  “What’s with all these invitations to hang out?” Cayenne didn’t try to hide her suspiciousness.

  “You’re wound tighter than a drum, Boss. You need to let loose. To forget about this case. It’s making you crazy. We’ve arrested three people in the last two weeks, and you haven’t given a rat’s ass about them. You’re obsessed. There. I said it. Please come over and wind down with us?”

  Cayenne knew he was right. She was obsessed. But there was a dead body in the basement and whoever had killed him was running around scot free. She didn’t make it a habit of fraternizing with the deputies, but she thought what the hell? It was either that or watching more of Wit’s End.

  “Fine. What time should I be there and what can I bring?”

  “Game starts at seven. Be there at five. We’re having burgers and hot dogs. Nothing fancy. Bring whatever you want
to drink.”

  “You got it. I’ll be there.”

  She fiddled around in the office and got caught up on paperwork. Then she went home, changed, and headed to Deputy Farris’ house. There were several cars she recognized there, and she grabbed her six pack of beer and knocked on the door.

  There was no answer and for a moment she wondered if she’d been pranked. Then she saw Farris at the back gate.

  “Sheriff. Come on back.”

  She followed him around back to where the rest of the gang was hanging out by the grill.

  “Where can I put this?” She was beyond uncomfortable. Fraternizing with subordinates was a bad idea. She knew it. What the hell was she doing there?

  “There are ice chests over by the back door. Go ahead and put them in there.”

  Cayenne put five beers in a cooler. The sixth she opened and took a long pull off. It tasted good. Too good. She was glad she’d only brought six. She’d have to pace herself.

  She noticed a couple of middle-aged women talking by the pool. She walked over and introduced herself.

  “Hi. I’m Cayenne. Sheriff of this town and boss of this rowdy bunch. I don’t recognize you. Are you friends of these guys?”

  “We’re Travis’ next door neighbors.” One smiled at her.

  “Travis?”

  “Travis Farris?”

  “Oh. I never think of them by their first names.” She was embarrassed, but curious. “Do you live in the quaint blue house there?”

  “We do. Have for ten years. How is it we’ve never met?”

  “I guess you don’t break the law,” Cayenne said.

  “And you don’t go to women’s functions?”

  “Do we have those in this town?”

  They laughed.

  “No. I’m Karen, by the way. We go to Casa Grande for cookouts and the like.”

  “I had no idea,” Cayenne said. “No idea at all.”

  ***

  Saturday afternoon, Shayla dressed in tan Capris with a pink short-sleeved, scoop necked blouse. She slipped into a comfortable pair of canvas walking shoes and she was ready to spend the day with Jazz.

  The night before had been magical, and she was both tired and excited. She couldn’t get enough of Jazz and was looking forward to playing tourist that afternoon. She had no idea where they were going or what they were doing, and she waited impatiently for the elevator. She was soon downstairs and saw Jazz’s car.

  “You look adorable.” Jazz strolled up to her and took her hand. “We’re going to have more fun today and I’m honored to share the day with you.”

  Shayla smiled so wide she thought her face might crack. It was she who was honored. Honored, thrilled, titillated. You name it. Any wonderful emotion and Shayla was feeling it.

  “So what’s the plan for the day?” she said.

  “You’ll see. Now let’s get in the car.”

  They drove to Wacker Drive and got out in front of a hotel.

  “I’m curious.” Shayla took in the small crowd.

  “We’re going on a walking tour. You’ll learn about haunted places and about my hero, Al Capone.”

  “Al Capone is your hero?”

  “He did a lot of good. Patience. You’ll learn a lot on this tour.”

  The tour through Chicago’s Loop district lasted two hours and Shayla did, in fact, learn a whole lot. Her brain was full, and her feet were tired, but she was happy. Jazz was very knowledgeable and added bits to the tour. It was wonderful.

  After the tour, Jazz’s car picked them up and they had a late lunch at a little hole in the wall that made the best Italian food Shayla had ever had. They drank wine and Jazz waxed on even more about Capone and the history of Chicago.

  At the end of lunch, Shayla was mellow from the wine, yet she didn’t want the day to end.

  “What’s next?” she said excitedly.

  Jazz checked her watch.

  “It’s four o’clock. For now, I want you to take a nap so we can go to the opera tonight.”

  “But…” Shayla didn’t want to be apart from Jazz. Not now.

  “No buts. We can’t have you snoring during the opera.”

  Jazz walked her to her elevator and took her hand.

  “I really like you, Shayla.”

  “I really like you, too.”

  Jazz beamed at her.

  “So I’ll pick you up at eight?”

  “I’ll be ready.”

  Jazz leaned in and Shayla’s heart raced. It was happening. Jazz was going to kiss her. She held her breath and Jazz brushed her lips across Shayla’s cheek. It burned, then felt cold as Jazz stood back again.

  “See you in a few.”

  Shayla got on the elevator vowing she’d never wash that cheek again. She stripped, set her alarm for six o’clock and fell into a hard sleep.

  Sleep wasn’t kind to Shayla. She dreamed that Robin showed up in Chicago and dragged her by her hair out of the opera. He beat her in front of the opera house and left her in a sobbing heap.

  Cayenne showed up then. She looked through the tears and saw her savior. Cayenne would make it all better.

  But Cayenne did not make it all better. She handcuffed Shayla and dragged her to a waiting police car. The car pulled away and Shayla awoke, covered in sweat and feeling sick to her stomach.

  She hurried to the bathroom where she got violently ill. When everything was out of her system, she sat on the floor of the bathroom and sobbed. She knew what she’d done was wrong. But she believed in her heart of hearts it was her only way to break free. Besides, Robin had deserved it.

  Shayla brushed her teeth and took another shower. She was feeling better, but only marginally. She picked up her phone, alarm going off, and sat on her bed. She should text Jazz and tell her she wasn’t feeling well. How could Shayla possibly go to the opera after that dream?

  She took a deep breath. It would be okay. She’d be with Jazz. And Jazz would protect her. Jazz, with her cool confidence and sexy swagger. She wouldn’t let anything happen to her. Besides, Robin was dead.

  The thought hit her again. He’s dead. Because she’d killed him. She’d killed. Something she’d never thought herself capable of. She felt queasy again so took another deep breath. It was time to get dressed and ready for her date with Jazz.

  Her mind drifted back to the days when she and Robin had been dating. He’d been the perfect gentleman. He’d held doors, pulled out her chair, and treated her like a princess. Even when they’d moved in together, he’d been sweet and attentive.

  True, he’d never been a very good lover, but she hadn’t minded. He more than made up for it in other ways. When had it all changed? The day they’d said, “I do.”

  She remembered her wedding night as if it were yesterday. The way he’d ripped her dress off her and raped her. Not just once. He’d raped her over and over, each time more violent than the time before.

  And after each time, he’d said something mean and derogatory.

  “You’re mine now. I’ll take you when I want.”

  “You need to learn your place. You’re not some princess in a tower. You’re a fucking slut and I’m going to treat you like one.”

  It had been a nightmare. She’d curled into a ball on the bed and cried, but that only made him angrier. At first it was an open-handed slap. Then it was a backhand. In the years that followed, he didn’t even try to hold back.

  He’d punched her more times than she could count. She’d tried to defend herself, but he was strong. Much stronger than he looked.

  She needed to stop that train of thought. She had a date with a wonderful woman. A woman who she was sure would never hurt her. But how could she know that for sure?

  Chapter Thirteen

  Jazz was waiting when Shayla walked out of the elevator. She cut a fine figure in yet another tailored tux. She was a sight for sore eyes and Shayla made herself smile and focus on the good time ahead.

  “You okay?” Jazz said.

  “Fine, why?”
>
  “Your eyes. They’re not sparkling. They look like you’re worried or something.”

  “I’m fine,” Shayla said again.

  Jazz grabbed her forearm gently.

  “Please, Shayla, if this is going to work, we need to be completely honest with each other. Always. If something’s bothering you, please let me help.”

  “I’m sorry. I just had a bad dream while I was napping. It was quite disturbing. I’m trying to get past it. I promise,” Shayla said.

  “Oh, babe. I’m sorry you had a nightmare. Would it help to talk about it?”

  “Thank you, but no. I’d rather not.”

  Shayla relaxed again with Jazz in the back of the limo where they sipped champagne.

  “Remember at the party we went to? Where we met?” Jazz said.

  “Of course.”

  “And remember how I said I wanted you to read for a part?”

  Shayla laughed.

  “I just figured that was a pickup line.”

  Jazz laughed, too.

  “Au contraire. I was serious. And you’re scheduled to read Tuesday morning at nine. I’ll text you the info.”

  Shayla’s whole world brightened. She wanted to hug and kiss Jazz. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

  “Oh, my God. Are you serious?”

  “I am indeed,” Jazz grinned at her. “Now, it’s not for a big part. Yet. You get the bit part and show us you can act and who knows? The sky’s the limit.”

  “Jazz… I don’t even know what to say. Thank you doesn’t seem enough.”

  “Thank me by getting the part, sweetheart. That’ll be all the thanks I need.”

  Shayla was used to Jazz calling her babe, but hearing Jazz call her sweetheart sent waves of warmth cascading over her. Maybe Jazz was serious about her. Maybe Shayla could actually rely on another person. Maybe, just maybe, she could learn to trust Jazz.

  The opera was amazing. Shayla didn’t think she’d ever witnessed such talent. It was incredible. And after, Jazz took her to yet another coffee shop.

  “You’re not much on bars, are you?” Shayla said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, you don’t drink much. You seem to prefer to quiet atmosphere of a coffee shop.”

  “Babe,” Jazz said. “If you need to go to bar hopping or clubbing, just say the word. I’ll take you wherever. I just like coffee shops at the end of our nights together because it’s a nice quiet place to talk and continue to get to know each other.”