His mood darker, Noah stalked the several blocks to the public safety building for a meeting with Alec Raynor. As he was ready to go into the building, Cait’s brother happened to be coming out.
McAllister stopped, his eyes narrowed on Noah.
Since the one hostile scene back in March when Noah had admitted he had chosen not to hire McAllister for the head job, they had managed to hold semicivilized conversations; they had to, once McAllister made the decision to stay on as acting police chief and then captain of investigative services. Enmity was never far below the surface, though.
Today, McAllister stepped aside rather than continuing on his way.
Seeing no choice, Noah did likewise. If he were prone to regrets, he’d be sorry about the tension between them. But he did what he thought was best, and he didn’t allow himself second thoughts.
“Before the rumors hit,” McAllister said tersely, “I thought I’d tell you I’m running for county sheriff.”
Noah digested the announcement. The current sheriff was on a par with Mayor Linarelli, as far as Noah was concerned. In other words, lazy and very possibly crooked. “Interesting,” he mused. “Are you asking for my support?”
McAllister snorted. “That did not cross my mind.”
“It should have.” Noah was given to making decisions fast—as he’d done where his police captain’s sister was concerned. “You have it,” he said.
The other man stared at him. “Why?” he finally asked.
“We both know you’re good at your job. I think you have what it takes to clean up the sheriff’s department.”
“Just not Angel Butte P.D.”
“You know why I didn’t want to take a chance.”
McAllister gave a half laugh, shaking his head. “Do you have any idea how badly I want to tell you where to shove your support?”
An involuntary grin twitched at Noah’s mouth. “I can guess.”
“Unfortunately, I’m too ambitious to actually do that.”
Noah thrust his hands in the pockets of his slacks. He waited while a cluster of women came out of the building, their heads turning at the sight of the mayor talking to Captain McAllister. To his credit, the guy had kept his animosity quiet, but there had to be talk anyway.
When they were out of earshot, Noah asked, “You and Raynor getting along okay?”
His expression veiled, McAllister shrugged. “Why wouldn’t we?”
Noah nodded, even though that was no answer. “Let me know when you want a statement from me.” He pushed his way inside and continued up to Alec Raynor’s office.
The new chief’s PA waved him in. “He’s expecting you.”
In fact, the door stood partially open. Talking on his phone, Raynor half sat on his desk, a foot braced on the floor. He glanced at Noah and lifted one finger. Noah nodded and wandered over to study a new painting on the wall.
It was disturbing, he decided, not the usual government-office pretty. Even he had gone for pretty in decorating his own office, figuring his role was to be a booster for the city and area in general. He’d bought local artists and photographers. This—he couldn’t imagine a local had done it.
From a distance he’d seen that it was some kind of street melee. Closer up, components broke into shards and you didn’t see the overall scene. Faces stood out, though they were far from realistic. No matter how simply these faces were constructed, though, anger and despair jumped out.
“The artist is a friend of mine,” Raynor said behind him.
“I was thinking that most of us go for decorative.”
Raynor’s laugh sounded like rusted gears grinding. A little like Noah’s own, he reflected. They had that in common.
Not looks, though. His new police chief was whipcord-lean and not much above average height. Five foot ten, maybe. He had dark hair and eyes as dark a brown as Noah had ever seen. By this time of day, he already needed a shave. During the interview in February, Noah had thought he looked Italian. Now, with the Southern California tan fading, the effect was diminished. Unless the guy took up skiing this coming year, he was going to turn pasty white like the rest of them who didn’t have the time or inclination for winter sports.