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He shrugged. “I think we have to consider the possibility. As soon as we identify him, we can look into his background. I’d really like to know where he’s from.”
There was a knock on the door, then it opened, and Bentley stuck his head in. “Got a name for you, Chief.”
“Great. Come in.”
Bentley walked to the desk and handed Tristan some pages stapled together. “Made a copy for you, Sheriff.” He gave her a set. “The man’s name is Homer Drake, street name’s Dagger. Name fits him since he likes knives, and he’s not a man you want to mess with. As you can see, he’s got a six-page rap sheet.”
Skye skimmed through Drake’s arrest record. “I’d say he likes knives.” He’d put several people in the hospital using a knife, one almost dying. He’d been in and out of prison, should still be locked up, but like too many violent offenders, he’d served less time than his crimes warranted. She flipped back to the front, looking for his last known address, and when she saw it, she lifted her gaze to Tristan, who was watching her.
“Crap,” she said.
He nodded. “Still think it’s a coincidence?”
Bentley glanced between them. “What am I missing here?”
She’d been hurt by Danny, disappointed in him, and angry with him, but until now she hadn’t hated him. He was messing with her life again, and along with being embarrassed that her past was following her to a job she loved and a town she adored, she was furious.
Tristan hadn’t answered Bentley, and in his eyes she saw sympathy and a question. He was the only one here who knew what had happened, and he was silently asking if she wanted to be the one to explain it to his detective.
It was her mess to explain, and she appreciated that he was giving her the choice. She told Bentley what had gone down with Danny, including the rumors that she’d pocketed drugs and money during a joint sheriff’s office and police department drug bust. When she finished, she tapped the sheets. “Homer Drake’s last known address is Orlando. Your chief doesn’t think it’s a coincidence that he and my ex were here the same night at the same place.”
“I’m afraid I have to agree.” Bentley glanced at Tristan. “This lets Mason off the hook?”
Tristan shook head. “Not necessarily. We’ll continue to keep an eye on him, but I want you to dig deep into Drake.”
“What about the sheriff’s ex?”
“Leave him to me and the sheriff.”
Was Danny going to ruin this job for her, too? Maybe instead of calling a Realtor, she should start job hunting.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Take Skye out for dinner or stay in for a private meal? That was the question Tristan debated as he peeked in the oven to see what Andrew had left them. Okay, that made the decision even harder. He’d been leaning toward going out because he wanted Skye to get used to people seeing them together.
However, Andrew’s assorted enchiladas dinner was one of Tristan’s favorites. In that platter, there would be cheese ones for Everly, chicken for Parker, and steak for him. There were more enchiladas than usual, which meant Andrew had added some for Skye. Since he loved this dish, and because Andrew had thought of Skye, they’d eat here tonight. He made a mental note to tell Andrew that it would only be Parker and Everly for dinner tomorrow night.
Skye walked in, and he liked how his heart did a funny bounce at seeing her. He smiled as he headed for her, intending to give her a welcome home kiss. Affection from him was something he wanted her to get used to. He was halfway to her when he realized something was wrong. Her eyes were troubled, and she wasn’t smiling back at him.
“What is it? Did something happen?”
She handed him a clear evidence bag. “This was under my windshield wiper.”
He read the handwritten note printed in block letters. “What money?” He read it again.
WE KNOW YOU TOOK THE MONEY. IF YOU WANT TO LIVE YOU WILL RETURN IT. YOU HAVE TWO DAYS. BE READY.
“Do you know what whoever wrote this is talking about?”
“Maybe it’s related to the rumor Danny started that I took drugs and money in that bust. If not that, I don’t know.”
“The note makes it sound like you should know what they’re talking about.” He wished he’d said that differently when she flinched as if he was accusing her of taking money. It never crossed his mind that she would steal anything.
Fuzz wandered in, lifted his nose toward Skye, and then went straight to her. He leaned against her leg as if giving her his support. Tristan wanted to punch himself in the face. Here he was grilling her, and it had taken his dog mere seconds to see what she needed. Since he was a fast learner—even if the lesson was from his dog—he took two more steps, until he was next to her.
“Here, let’s sit.” He slipped his arm around her waist and moved them to the bar stools at the kitchen island.
She swatted at his hand. “You don’t need to treat me like a baby. I’m fine.”
