Long Time Gone (23 page)

“I found out about Kent,” Al blurted.

Erik waited. He wasn’t exactly sure what to say to that.

Al stared down at his hands, then back again. “I wanted to thank you for giving him a break. He’s a good kid. He’ll keep his nose clean. I’ll make sure of it.”

Erik nodded. “I know. Teenagers. It happens. He’ll be fine.”

“I know you didn’t have to help him. I appreciate it. Let me know if there’s ever anything I can do for you.”

Erik thought of all the breaks people had tried to give him when he was a teenager, and the lousy use he’d made of them. “Thanks. Don’t worry about it.” He clapped Al on the shoulder, then stood. “How did you found out about it? Did Kent tell you?”

Al grimaced. “Nah. Ol’ Margaret angels-are-my-middle-name Hastings. She lives across the street from the school. Saw Kent picking up the cans and bullied him into telling her what was up. Couldn’t wait to call me.”

Erik felt a telltale prickling along the back of his neck. Something about that wasn’t good. “Well, like I say, don’t worry about it. It’s water under the bridge now.”

By the time he got to the table, Lars and Jess had switched into cleanup mode. Jess was swabbing Daisy’s fingers with a wet wipe, while Lars worked on Jack. “What’s new?” Lars grinned up at him. “Other than your heroic capture of the mysterious dumper, that is. At least we won’t have to detour around Biedermeier’s ass at the Dew Drop for a while.”

Erik decided the question of what else was going on in his life at the moment wasn’t one he wanted to tackle right then. “You on your way out?”

Jess nodded. “We’ve got to get these two home before they burn out. Why don’t you come to dinner next week?”

“We’ve got family dinner next Friday,” Lars reminded her. “We can catch up then.”

Jess gave him a grin that showed her dimples, as Lars began unsnapping Jack from his highchair. “I don’t think I ever congratulated you on being chief. Way to go.”

Erik managed to push the corners of his mouth into a passable smile. “Thanks.”

Jess’s grin began to fade as she looked at him. “Troubles?”

“Just tired.”

She studied him a moment longer, then shrugged. “You’re a lousy liar, Erik. We’ll talk about it at the family dinner. I need to catch up on what’s going on in your life.”

By Friday, of course, they’d all know what was going on. Not that he’d be any more excited to talk about it. “Okay. We’ll talk then.”

He watched them stagger out the door, parents with their squirming children. Once he would have bet he’d never be like them. Now…

Now he had other things to worry about.

He headed back to the station and took a quick check through the Wine and Food Festival paperwork. This weekend. He sighed—he might not even be in charge by then. Ham Linklatter walked in a few minutes later, looking like death. Since Ham always looked like death, Erik didn’t think much about it and left him to his night duty.

He pulled into his usual parking spot beside the bookstore, then walked back to the Dew Drop. He doubted Morgan would be there, but it never hurt to check.

And it might be better than calling her this late after not talking to her for a day and half. Even though he was a social halfwit, he knew that was not a good idea, even if he had a good excuse.

The Dew Drop was full of dart players and beer drinkers, but no Cal, no Docia, no Allie, no Wonder.

No Morgan.

Erik sighed. Another fence to mend. No, more than that. Morgan was definitely more than a fence.

He turned back up Main, heading for Spicewood and home. In front of him, the door at Brenner’s opened and Morgan stepped into the street with the sommelier, Ken Crowder.

Erik stopped, his breath catching in his throat. She had her back to him.

“Okay, babe—” Ken chuckled, watching Morgan’s face, “—two cases. We’ll probably sell some glasses on the name alone. Plus it tastes great.”

Morgan hugged him quickly. “Thanks. You’ll love it. I promise.”

Erik cleared his throat. “Morgan?”

She turned to look at him, all Bambi eyes and Harpo hair. Erik’s throat felt even tighter.

“Erik?” A thin line appeared between her brows.

His voice sounded rusty again, the way it always did when he was close to her. “I was looking for you.”

Ken glanced back and forth between them, grinning. “Okay, not that either of you is listening to me, but I’ll want those two cases tomorrow so we have them by the day of the Festival.”

Morgan nodded absently, not moving her gaze from Erik. “Sure, right. I’ll do that.”

Only when he heard the door close behind them did Erik realize Ken was gone. He ran through a quick list of explanations in case she was so pissed she wouldn’t even talk to him. “Come home with me,” he murmured instead.

Morgan blinked at him and smiled. “Okay.”

His body tasted of caramel. The thought drifted through Morgan’s mind as she licked her way down his chest. Her fingers caressed his rib cage, smoothing along his skin. Something inside her loosened, as if a string had been plucked, sending vibrations humming through her core.

“I missed you,” he whispered, his fingers sliding through her hair. “All day I missed you, Morgan.”

I missed you too.
But she didn’t say it. She was too busy running her tongue along the edge of his hip bones, grazing them with her teeth. Judging from the sharp hiss of his breath, he agreed her tongue had much better things to do than talk.

She reached between his legs, cupping him gently, running a quick fingernail across the silken puckering skin.

He gasped again. “Morgan, for god’s sake!”

She opened her mouth over him, sliding her tongue along the shaft then back, taking him in slowly, slowly, like a ripe cherry sliding against her tongue.

The sound of his breathing seemed to fill the room. She skimmed her hands along the smooth, soft skin at the tops of his thighs. Reveling in the feel, the sense of him. His smell, his taste—salt and heat and caramel.

He plunged his hands into her hair, his fingers rubbing her scalp as she worked her tongue around his thickness.

Morgan concentrated on the sensations that swirled over her. She’d resigned herself—well, almost, anyway—to never having him in her bed again. But now here he was. Appearing on the street almost magically. She wasn’t inclined to question her luck.

“Morgan,” Erik gasped, his voice tight with need.

Morgan drew him deeper into her mouth, almost to the back of her throat, her hands sliding beneath his sac, cupping him again.

“Morgan,” he gasped again, “I can’t…”

“Then don’t,” she murmured.

“No.” He pulled gently on her hair. “I want to be inside you, Morg. Now.”

Morgan raised her head to look at him. His eyes seemed glazed, aching with need. She lay back, feeling him slide on top of her, his fingers touching her folds.

“You’re wet for me,” he whispered, the words brushing against her skin like petals falling in the wind.

“Yes.”

He pulled a condom from the drawer beside the bed, sheathing himself in record time.

She arched her back as he slid inside, wrapping herself around him, taking him more deeply into her body. He sighed against her cheek.

“Oh, god, Morgan, it feels so good. You feel so good.”

“Yes.” Her voice broke on the word as he began to move.

Somewhere at the back of her mind a voice still told her to get away while she could. He might be leaving, and he wouldn’t be back. And it would hurt so much when he was gone. And she was so close to loving him.

Close to loving him.
No, not right. She loved him.

Morgan’s eyes prickled with tears, while her body convulsed beneath him. Too much, too much. She fought to get her breath back.

“Morgan,” he murmured against her ear, “okay?”

She gasped air into her lungs. She couldn’t have spoken if her life depended on it. She nodded, gasping.

She could feel him inside her, still hard. She brought her hands up again, stroking the soft skin of his inner thighs, moving to cup him again, to move her fingernails lightly across the puckering skin. His motion became jagged thrusts as he moaned. She touched him again, and he broke, driving himself deep within her until he reached something that set her off again, her body shuddering helplessly.

Erik held her, his face pressed against her hair. “Sweet Jesus, Morgan.”

Don’t say it,
the voice in her head screamed.
Don’t, don’t, don’t. Keep quiet.
Morgan bit her lip to keep from saying anything at all, snuggling deeper into his arms.

They lay wrapped together for what seemed to be a long time. Morgan’s eyes began to drift closed, her control began to slip. “What’s going to happen, Erik?” she murmured. “Do you stay or go?”

The long pause before he answered brought her back to reality.
Oh god, oh god, too close. Too close to saying what I can’t afford to say.

Erik sighed. “I don’t know. Even if I can get through tomorrow night, Pittman’s not going away. And I don’t know how I can change anything with him.”

Morgan let her eyes drift shut again, fighting the tightness in her chest. Each time she gave him up, it hurt more. And she would not—would
not
—say anything about how she felt. She’d save herself from that kind of grief.

“What about you?” Erik pressed his face against her hair. “What about your father? And the winery?”

“I don’t know.” The tightness in her chest clenched harder. “It all depends on Bored Ducks now, on how well it does at the festival. Then he’ll decide whether he’ll let me do any of the things I want to do.”

After a moment, his hands moved to cup her face, tilting her head back so that she was staring up into his molasses dark eyes. “This is it, Morgan,” he whispered. “Don’t think about anything else. Just think about now.”

“Just now.” The words seemed to stick in her throat. She reached up to run her fingers lightly along his cheek as he dipped his mouth down to hers again.

Chapter Twenty-One

Friesenhahn called Erik mid-afternoon. “I guess you know about that meeting tonight, son.”

Erik sighed. “Yes sir, I’m going to be there.”

“You got a strong point in your favor with Biedermeier. If Pittman’s smart he’ll back off.”

Erik’s mouth twisted slightly. “If Pittman was smart, none of this would be happening.”

“True enough. I’d like to offer you a job with the county if Pittman forces you out, but we got a hiring freeze on. Texas ain’t exactly a great place to find a job right now.”

“That’s all right. I’ve got some options.”

Like Davenport
. Erik closed his eyes, feeling his stomach clench. Two thousand miles and a lifetime away from his family. And Morgan Barrett.

He managed to grab a sandwich from the Stop-N-Go for supper. Right now, he rated his chances of staying in his current job at around fifty-fifty. Biedermeier’s arrest could make Pittman’s job slightly harder, but he didn’t doubt the mayor’s ability to rise above it.

Pittman was a politician, used to speaking before crowds and used to making his case, no matter how spurious that case might be. Erik was lousy at public speaking, and he hated explaining himself to anybody. If he had to judge between the two of them himself, he’d probably vote for Pittman. His only hope was that the facts might speak for themselves, because he sure as hell couldn’t speak for them. On the other hand, he had a good idea what those facts would include. And they wouldn’t say anything he wanted to hear again.

He arrived at the council chambers around five minutes early. Helen had told him the meetings tended to end at nine on the dot, which meant they started precisely at seven.

But even though he was early, Hilton Pittman had beat him to it.

Pittman stared at him for a moment, as if he hadn’t expected Erik to actually show up. He cleared his throat and started pushing papers around the table. “Sorry, Chief, it’s an Executive Session tonight. No members of the public allowed.”

“I’m not exactly a member of the public, Mr. Mayor.” Erik gave him his most bone-chilling smile. “Besides, I understood I was on the agenda.”

Pittman swallowed visibly. “You’re on the agenda as an item, not a speaker, Chief.”

“Toleffson has a right to be here, Pittman.” Horace Rankin walked in behind Erik, carrying his usual dog-eared notebook. “The Texas Open Meetings law requires us to begin in open session so that you can announce what part of the session is closed.” Rankin’s glasses reflected the light so that Erik couldn’t see his eyes. “You ought to look it up. Interesting reading. In fact, Toleffson here could request that the meeting be open if he wants to. And according to the council rules, a member of the Council could request that he be present.”

Pittman looked like he was running through a string of obscenities in his mind, while keeping his professional smile in place. “Personnel matters are usually handled in Executive Session, Horace.”

“The mayor doesn’t usually bring personnel items to the city council, either.” Rankin’s lips spread in a grim smile beneath his walrus moustache. “I’m not for shutting anybody out if they want to be here. And I’m definitely not for keeping Toleffson from hearing whatever charges you plan to make against him. Consider this my official request for his presence.”

Dan Albaniz, Portia Grandview and Arthur Craven, the other members of the council, walked through the swinging door behind Pittman. Albaniz glanced at Erik, his brow furrowing slightly. “Chief? Something going on?”

“I may have some input for your discussion tonight—thought I’d drop by.” Erik was getting tired of smiling, particularly since his smile in this case was just a general lip stretch.

Albaniz gave him a blank look. “Well, thanks for your input. We’re always happy to hear from citizens.”

Behind him, Portia Grandview was already seated, checking hurriedly through her agenda. She paused halfway down the page, then glanced up at Pittman. “We’re discussing Chief Toleffson?” She turned toward Erik. “What’s going on?”

“Let’s get started.” Pittman sat abruptly.

Erik pulled out a folding metal chair at the front of the small audience section. Given its butt-numbing qualities, he found himself hoping the meeting actually did end on time.

Behind him the door swung open once more as Doralee entered, steno pad in hand. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to be late, but there’s so much traffic these days.” She smiled brightly at Erik. “Maybe you could look into that, Chief?”

Pittman cleared his throat noisily and Doralee took her seat at the other end of the table.

“I had originally intended this meeting to be in Executive Session.” Pittman sounded more basso than usual, as if he were addressing the Supreme Court. “But Horace informs me that some Open Meetings law precludes that.”

Pittman shot Horace a venomous glance. Horace smiled blandly back.

“At any rate,” Pittman continued, “I suggest we proceed to the item concerning Chief Toleffson so that he won’t have to sit through our routine business.”

Albaniz and Grandview both glanced at Erik and then back at Pittman. Craven, who apparently knew a little more about where the power lay in Konigsburg, looked at Horace.

“Okay by me,” Horace rumbled. “Everybody else all right with it?”

The three council members glanced at each other and nodded.

“My purpose in coming here tonight…” Pittman paused, glancing at his small audience and readjusting his rhetoric. “I’m here tonight to ask the council to remove Chief Toleffson from his position.”

The three council members shifted their gazes from Erik to Pittman and back to Erik again in a kind of silent tennis game. Erik wondered if he was winning.

“Why would you do that?” Albaniz looked thoroughly confused. “I heard he caught Biedermeier. Somebody said the Rangers took him to Austin.”

He turned to Erik for confirmation. Pittman cleared his throat so loudly Erik wondered if he’d burst a blood vessel.

“This has nothing to do with Biedermeier. Biedermeier is beside the point.”

“Now there I’ve got to disagree with you, Pittman.” Horace leaned back in his chair. “The first of many times this evening, I imagine. Arresting somebody like Biedermeier is exactly the point. Toleffson is doing just what he’s supposed to do, and he’s already doing it a hell of a lot better than Brody or Olema ever did.”

Grandview started to nod, then caught herself, glancing quickly at Pittman.

“One arrest doesn’t make up for all the problems in other areas.” Pittman looked like he was gritting his teeth again.

“What other areas?” Albaniz looked even more confused than before. “What problems?”

Pittman took a deep breath and blew it out. Erik had a feeling the meeting wasn’t exactly proceeding according to plan.

“There have been complaints.” Pittman’s voice took on a sepulchral quality. “From our citizens.”

“Which citizens?” Horace was polishing his glasses furiously. “Who complained?”

“I don’t want to violate peoples’ confidentiality…” Pittman began.

“Horseshit,” Horace snapped, then turned briefly to Portia Grandview and Doralee. “’Scuse me, ladies.” He swung back to Pittman again. “You don’t accuse a man and then not even tell him who’s complaining. Hell, that’s unconstitutional!”

“Chief Toleffson already knows who’s complained, at least in one instance.” Pittman turned narrowed eyes toward Erik.

Horace raised an eyebrow. “So who was it, Toleffson?”

“The only complaint I had directly was from Joe Powell.” Erik shrugged. “I thought we’d worked that one out.”

Horace’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “Powell? You want to fire Toleffson because Joe Powell complained?”

Albaniz stared at Pittman, wide-eyed. Craven grimaced and shook his head. Erik thought he saw Doralee smile, fleetingly.

Horace gave a disgusted snort. “Joe Powell called me a murdering quack when one of his goats got into some jimson weed and died. The next day he was on the phone calling me to come out and deliver a couple of kids his prize nanny was dropping.”

Craven nodded. “Joe’s gotten pissed off and resigned from the Merchants Association so many times we’ve stopped paying attention. He always comes back a couple of weeks later and pretends nothing happened.”

“Oh, god, don’t get me started,” Albaniz moaned. “I sold him some drought coverage a year ago.”

Grandview sighed. “Paint. We sold him the paint for his living room. And then he came back three times because he swore it wasn’t the paint he’d wanted.”

Horace narrowed his eyes at Pittman. “Joe Powell gets pissed off at everybody. It never lasts, and he’s never serious. You’re not going to convince me to do anything based on a complaint from Joe Powell.”

“Me neither,” Grandview chimed in. Beside her, Albaniz and Craven nodded silently.

Horace leaned back in his chair. “Okay, Pittman, who else you got?”

Pittman’s face had turned a mottled pink. He inhaled a quick breath. “There was also a complaint from Margaret Hastings. Do you want to try to dismiss her too?”

The council members shifted uneasily. Pittman gave them the ghost of a smile. “According to Ms. Hastings, the chief has allowed underage drinking to take place on the elementary school playground. She suspected he’d been paid not to arrest the drinkers, probably by their parents.”

Erik gritted his teeth.
No good deed goes unpunished.

“Chief?” Horace turned toward him. “What do you have to say about that?”

Erik took a breath. “There was a group of boys on the playground one night when I drove by. They took off, but one of them got caught. He wasn’t drinking when I got there, but there were beer cans on the ground by the fence. I told him to pick them up and keep his nose clean for the rest of the summer.”

He glanced at the council members. Grandview stared down at her legal pad. Albaniz was frowning. Craven leaned forward in his chair. “Why didn’t you take him to the station?”

“I couldn’t have charged him with anything. What evidence there was was strictly circumstantial.”
Assuming you didn’t count Kent’s confession.

“What about a breathalyzer?” Albaniz asked.

“The boy wasn’t drunk, and he was underage. I would have had to call his parents to test him for alcohol. I didn’t want to do that.”

Grandview looked up at him, her brow furrowed. “You didn’t tell them?”

“No ma’am. I told him I’d tell his parents if I ever caught him in a similar situation again or if I heard reports of him causing trouble. As I understand it, Ms. Hastings called the boy’s father and told him what happened.”

Doralee muttered something that sounded like “She would.”

The council members were all frowning now. Probably all parents, trying to decide if that’s what they would have wanted done.

“What about Ms. Hastings’ claim that you were paid off by the parents?” Horace asked.

Erik flexed his hands beneath his seat. “I’ve never taken a dime from anyone, certainly not from the boy’s parents.”
Just chips and salsa.

Horace took off his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose. “All right. Doesn’t seem to be any evidence of misconduct here to me, just a difference of opinion about how a situation should have been handled. What’s next, Mayor?”

“There were all those problems during the biker rally.”

“What problems?” Albaniz shook his head. “I thought it went much better this year than the last one.”

“He arrested five of our guests!” Pittman’s voice rose. “No one ever got arrested at the rally before. How do you explain that, Toleffson?”

Erik looked back toward the council members. “When Brody was chief, a lot of violations never got prosecuted during the rally—public drunkenness, for example. Some fights. Nobody got arrested because Brody didn’t pursue the people who were at fault.”

“Drunk as skunks, most of them,” Craven growled. “Had to hire some people to clean up my parking lot after they left.”

Portia Grandview nodded. She owned a hardware store on the other end of Main. “Took us a day to sweep up all the beer cans and broken glass in the city park.”

Erik turned back to Pittman. “It turned out Brody had an arrangement with the biker organization. He told them if they paid their fines in advance, he wouldn’t pick them up.” He glanced back down the council table. Rankin snorted. Even Arthur Craven, the original hometown booster, looked grim.

“As you might guess, the bikers thought this was a great deal. They kicked in around a hundred bucks per member in ‘pre-paid fines’ and Brody left them alone. This year the arrangement was no longer in force, so there were more arrests.”

Horace turned back to Pittman. “Did you know about all this, Mr. Mayor?”

“Of course I didn’t,” Pittman snarled. “I’m not a crook.”

“Arresting drunks doesn’t sound like a problem to me,” Craven mused. “Most of the merchants would be in favor of it—keeps the other tourists happy.”

Grandview didn’t look entirely convinced. “Still, the mayor has a point here, Arthur. We do want tourists to come back. Arresting them should be a last resort.”

Erik managed a half-smile in her direction. “Yes, ma’am. I’d say that’s our general philosophy.”

Grandview narrowed her eyes slightly, then turned back to Pittman. “So Joe Powell and Margaret Hastings complained and the chief arrested some drunk tourists. Any other problems, Mr. Mayor?”

Pittman stared at her, tight-lipped. Then he reached into the briefcase at his side, pulling out some photocopied sheets. He tossed them on the table in front of the council members. “There, Portia. There’s your problem.” He turned toward Horace. “Try explaining that one away.”

Horace picked up a sheet and scanned it carefully. The others followed suit. After a moment, Horace glanced up at Erik. He reached into the pile and handed him a copy of his own.

Erik didn’t need to look at it—he’d seen it before. It was the page of his personnel record from Davenport that included his suspension.

After he finished reading, Horace looked up at him again. “Well, son, you want to tell us what happened here?”

Erik shrugged. “We were taking a prisoner in and he got loose. He attacked my partner. I subdued him.”