Trial By Fire

Tonight, at di

The last time B. had asked her out, Ali had said no. This time she had said yes. Why? Was it because she was hungry? Partly, but to be honest, she had to admit that after meeting Hal Cooper and seeing his devotion to his beloved wife, the fifteen-year age difference between Ali Reynolds and B. Simpson no longer seemed to be such an insurmountable barrier.

“Yes,” she said finally, in answer to his question. “I have been worried about that in the past, but maybe I’m not so worried about it anymore. Would you like to walk me home?”

“Sure,” he said with a grin. “Door-to-door service.”

Once in the hotel elevator, he pressed the button for the third floor without having to ask. “How did you do that?” Ali asked. “How do you know I’m on the third floor? What did you do, bribe the desk clerk? Hack into the hotel’s registration system?”

“Nothing as underhanded as that,” B. said. “I asked your mother.”

“That figures,” Ali said with a laugh. At the door to her suite, Ali pulled out her room key and plugged it into the slot. B. opened the door and held it for her.

“Don’t you want to come in?” she asked. “For a nightcap, maybe?”

They both knew she wasn’t talking about a drink.

“You don’t have to do that,” B. said. “I have my own room.”

“So?” Ali asked. “Nobody says you have to use it.”

With that, she led him inside.

When Ali awakened in bed the next morning, lying next to B. Simpson, she was surprised to realize that she felt happier than she had in a very long time. She slipped out of bed and was showered, dressed, and packed before she ever woke him up.

“Okay, sleepyhead,” she said. “Time to wake up. I need to check out and go to work. And you need to check out, too, or else you need to go to your own room.”

It turned out that it took longer for her to boot him out of her bed than she had expected. Ali also had to dress again and redo her makeup, but by the time she drove away from the Ritz, she was incredibly lighthearted. She didn’t know what would happen in the future. Was this relationship with B. Simpson merely a passing fancy-a bit of mutual attraction by two lonely people-or would it turn into something more serious?

What she did know was that the two of them had been good together. They’d had fun-uncomplicated, glorious fun, more fun than she’d had in years, which explained why Ali felt so alive. Once Dave Holman had retreated into his fatherhood duties, Ali had pretty much put the possibility of romance out of her head.

B. Simpson’s appearance on the scene was forcing her to rethink that position.

That morning, though, instead of heading home for Sedona, Ali drove straight to Prescott to handle some unfinished business. Arriving at the office on Gurley Street, she asked to speak to Sheriff Maxwell, only to discover he was out for the day-down in Phoenix for a major ATF press conference a

It took a while for Ali to track down the information she needed. Once she had it in hand, she left the department and drove to Devon Ryan’s place, several blocks away. She found him in the front yard of a modest bungalow, standing on a ladder, painting the wood trim on the front soffit.

“How’s it going?” she asked, walking up the sidewalk.

Devon turned and looked down at her. “Oh,” he said. “It’s you. Did you stop by hoping to pick up some media relations pointers?”

Arrogant jerk, Ali thought.

“Not exactly,” she said. “I came by to see how things were going with you and Holly.”

He put down his paintbrush and then stepped down from the ladder. “Holly?” he said “Holly who?”

“That would be Holly Mesina,” Ali said. “Sally’s good friend Holly. When she started giving me such a ration, I thought she hated my guts because she and Sally were such pals, but that isn’t it at all, is it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Devon said. “If Holly’s said something about me, she’s probably just making up stories.”

“I doubt that,” Ali said. “Does Sally know that you’ve been screwing around with Holly behind her back, and does your wife know about either of them? If not, I’ll be happy to tell them both.”

The stricken look on Devon ’s face was priceless.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Actually,” Ali said, “I would. I have some experience with cheating spouses. I was married to a man just like you-a cheat and a bully and a coward. If I tell your wife, I know exactly how she’ll feel, because I’ve been there.”

“If you tell her-” he began.

“What?” Ali asked before he could put the threat into words. “What exactly will you do? I already know way too much about you. I also have a theory about who lifted that missing evidence from the evidence room and blamed it on Sally. It was too complicated having two of your girlfriends working in the same office. They might have started comparing notes and figured out what a worthless creep you are.”

“You can’t prove that,” Devon objected. “You can’t prove any of it.”

“I can if I have to.”

“How?”

“Kelly Green. I know all about your cozy little relationship with him. If you don’t go to Sheriff Maxwell with all this, I will, and so will Mr. Green.”

For a moment, Devon said nothing aloud, but his face told the whole story. Ali had him between a rock and a hard place and he knew it.

“What do you want?” he said finally.

“I want Sally Harrison to get her job back,” Ali said. “Her daughter is sick. She needs the insurance coverage.”

“What about me?” Devon whined. “What about my family?”

“Maybe you should have thought about them before you started collecting payoffs from people like Kelly Green for doing your job. Sheriff Maxwell is down in Phoenix today. I’ll give you until tomorrow to turn in your resignation and take responsibility for your actions. If you don’t do it by noon tomorrow, I’m going to him with everything I know. The only question in my mind is whether you’ll take Holly down with you. I have an idea about the kind of guy you are, so it might be a good idea for Holly to start polishing up her résumé.”

When Ali finally made it back home that night, Leland Brooks came out to carry her suitcases in from the car.

“What’s for di

“I didn’t know about tonight, so I have a casserole in the fridge.”

“What about tomorrow night?” she asked. “I’m thinking we’ll be having company.”

“What would you like?”

“How about lamb chops?” she said. “Asparagus, and some of your potatoes au gratin.”

“For how many?” Leland asked.

“Two,” she said. “B. Simpson and me. And for the time being, I’d like that kept quiet, especially from my mother, and from Chris.”

“Of course, madam,” Leland said, nodding. “I understand completely.”

Ali was sure he did.

“One more thing,” Ali said. “I’d like you to drive down to Phoenix this week, go to Best Buy, and pick up one of those fifty-two-inch flat-screen TVs for my dad for Father’s Day. I’m sure Chris will be glad to get some of his friends to help you install it.”

“Absolutely, madam,” Leland said. “With pleasure. But speaking of Chris, he dropped by a little while ago and left a puzzling message that has something to do with Father’s Day as well. He said for me to tell you to please not mention ‘you know what,’ I believed he called it, because he and Athena are pla