Page 52 of Tough as Steele

He opened his mouth to ask her to stay in the car. Clamped it closed before he said anything. It wasn’t the right thing to do. He knew that. Man, he knew it. Too bad if it twisted his stomach into knots. He had to let her soar in her job and life, not become an obstacle in her life. Forget she was a woman. See her as a capable associate.

He strode to the trunk instead and got out a handgun, checked the clip, and handed it to her.

“Thanks,” she said, shoving the gun into her pocket. “I was feeling kind of naked without a backup.”

Now why did she have to mention being naked when he was trying to forget she was a woman?

He gestured at the street and pointed his focus where it should be. On keeping her safe.

They headed toward the faded white trailer with rusted seams on the sides, both keeping their heads on a swivel and searching the surrounding area where a shooter could hide. Jessica’s blinds were closed, and there wasn’t any light seeping between the slats.

“No lights,” he said. “Could be she’s not home or she’s sleeping.”

“If she had something to do with taking Mimi and she’s sleeping, then she’s even colder than she seems.”

“No kidding.” He ran his gaze over the trailer again, noting the torn awnings over the windows that showed hints of the vibrant blue fabric, which was now faded into gray on all but the siding seams. “Doublewides this age are legally required to have two exits. I should go—”

“She ain’t home.” A female voice came from next door.

Nate spun, his hand going for his weapon. He held off drawing when he caught sight of a woman he put in her late sixties wearing a flowery housecoat as she dropped onto a ratty lawn chair on her front porch. She’d wrapped her hair in pink foam curlers, and a lacy blue cap contained all but the front one that threatened to fall out.

Nate let out a breath and relaxed his hand. “Beg your pardon?”

“Wendy. She ain’t home. Saw her loading up her things in her car and hightailing it out of here before sunrise. Likely skating on her rent.”

Nate lifted his hand from his gun and strode to the end of the porch, facing the woman’s place. “Do you know Wendy?”

“Not really.” She set down a milky-white coffee mug. “Was introduced when she moved in. She mostly lives at some highfalutin woman’s place where she works. Comes home some weekends and parties with her boyfriend until she drops.”

Londyn moved beside Nate. “Do you know the boyfriend’s name?”

Thick gray eyebrows rose over sagging eyelids. “You two cops or something?”

“Yes,” Nate said. “Detectives Nate Ryder and Londyn Steele.” Nate flashed his credentials.

She sat forward in the vintage metal chair painted bright aqua with a sled base that didn’t cover years of rust. “I’m Dolly. Dolly Swanson. Did Wendy do something wrong?”

“We just need to talk to her about an investigation,” Nate replied.

“This boyfriend,” Londyn said, bringing them back. “Do you know his name?”

“She called him all kinds of names you wouldn’t want to hear in mixed company.” Dolly rolled her eyes. “But when they weren’t fighting, she never said his real name loud enough to hear.”

“They didn’t get along?” Londyn asked.

“They’re one of those couples who fight all the time then make up.”

Nate knew couples like that existed, but he’d never understood why they stayed together. “Did you ever hear this guy use the name Jessica when he talked to her?”

“Yeah. Figured it was her middle name.” Dolly eyed him. “If you’re asking about it, Wendy might not be her real name, huh?”

Nate wouldn’t share that information. He got his phone out and showed her Wigg’s driver’s license photo. “Is this the boyfriend?”

Dolly shook her head, her front curler wobbling, and she reached up with bony fingers to take it out. “No. Her guy was blond. A real beefcake. Tall with muscles on muscles. Had to be her looks that drew him. Surely not her money. And we both know if she was living here, she didn’t have any.” Dolly laughed, a loud caustic sound that traveled around the trailer park and grated on Nate’s ears.

“What about the car she was driving?” Londyn thankfully moved them on. “Can you describe it?”

“I can do one better than that. I can give you the license plate.”

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