Divine Evil

knew there wasn't a guy in town who could get past first base with you.” When she brushed his hand away from her buckle, he only smiled. “I figured I was thinking about you because Blair and I had started hanging out.”
    “When he was going through his hoodlum stage.”
    “Right.” He wasn't sure how she managed to make her throaty voice prim, but he liked it. “So did you ever break out, Slim?”
    “I've had my moments.” Irritated, she chomped down on her sandwich. “You know, people don't think about me as the skinny, well-behaved nerd from Dogpatch.”
    He hadn't realized it would give him such a kick to see her riled. “How do people think about you, Slim?”
    “As a successful artist with talent and vision. At my last show, the critics-” She caught herself and scowled at him. “Damn you, Rafferty, you're making me talk like a nerd.”
    “That's okay. You're among friends.” He brushed some crumbs from her chin. “Is that how you think of yourself first, as an artist?”
    “Don't you think of yourself as a cop first?”
    “Yeah,” he said after a moment. “I guess I do.”
    “So, is there much action in Emmitsboro these days?”
    “Something crops up now and again.” Because the cemetery incident was still on his mind, he told her about it.
    “That's sick.” She rubbed her arms against a sudden chill. “And it doesn't sound like something that would happen around here. Do you figure kids?”
    “We haven't been able to prove otherwise, but no, I don't. It was too neat, too purposeful.”
    She looked around, taking in the quiet trees, hearing the musical water. “Too grisly.”
    He was sorry he'd brought it up and changed the subject to a do-you-remember-when mode.
    He didn't think about his hurts and bruises. It was easy, maybe too easy, for his body to be distracted. He liked looking at her, the way her mussed cap of hair caught the sunlight. It was a wonder he hadn't noticed a decade before that her skin was so smooth, translucent, soft. It was her eyes he remembered most, the golden, almost witchlike glow of them.
    Now he enjoyed listening to her voice, the rise and fall of it. Her laugh that rolled like fog. They talked the afternoon away, arguing over points of view, forging a friendship that had been tentative at best during childhood.
    Though the stream played music, and sun and shade danced overhead, he sensed the timing was wrong for anything but friendship. When they climbed on the bike again, they were easy with each other.
    The only mistake Cam figured he made that day was cutting through town on the way back. That gave Bud Hewitt the opportunity to flag him down as they rode past the sheriff's office.
    “Hey, Sheriff.” Though dressed in civvies, Bud put on his official face as he nodded at Clare. “Nice to have you back.”
    “Bud?” With a laugh, Clare hopped off the bike to give him a smacking kiss. “I spent last night eating pizza and getting sloppy drunk with Alice. She tells me you're the town deputy.”
    “One of ′em.” He flushed with the pleasure of knowing his name had been mentioned. “You look real nice, Clare.” In fact, his Adam's apple was bobbing a bit while he looked at her. Her cheeks were flushed from the wind,her eyes deep and gold. “Guess you two've been out riding.”
    “That's right.” Cam wasn't as amused as he thought he should be by the puppy dog admiration in Bud's eyes. “Is there a problem?”
    “Well, I figured you'd want to know-and since you weren't home when I called and I saw you passing through, I stopped you.”
    Cam flicked a wrist and had the engine gunning impatiently. “I got that much, Bud.”
    “It's about that runaway. The kid from Harrisburg?”
    “Has she been located?”
    “No, but we got a call this morning from the State boys. Somebody spotted a kid with her description a few miles out of town on Route Fifteen, the same afternoon she took off. Heading towards Emmitsboro. Thought you'd want to know,” he repeated.
    “Did you get a name?”
    “Got the name and phone number. Wrote them down inside.”
    “I'll take Clare home first.”
    “Can I wait?” She was already strapping her helmet to the back. “I haven't been in the sheriff's office since Parker used to sit behind the desk and belch.”
    “It's not as colorful as it used to be,” Cam said, ushering her inside.
    She recognized the man behind the desk as Mick Morgan. He'd been a fresh-faced deputy under Parker, and the years hadn't dealt