by D. A. Bale
“You always know how to sweet talk a girl,” I grumbled and took a swig.
“It’s a good thing I know what you want when you wake. I need you on this side of human for a few hours.”
Under normal circumstances, what I wanted when I awoke next to a good ol’ hunk of man flesh wasn’t fit to speak aloud. Or write in print. But considering the man beside me was my ex-boyfriend and a lying, scum-sucking cheater, I had no trouble restraining myself.
Plus there was the fact we were in his truck cab. And it was daylight. I have some standards after all.
As I added caffeine to my bloodstream, I flipped through the envelope’s contents again. “Okay, tell me again why I’m here.”
“You need a copy of Amy’s birth certificate and any accompanying documentation.”
I slid the authorization from the envelope. “And tell me how you got Bobby’s signature.”
Zeke shrugged. “Went to the jail.”
“Wait,” I exclaimed. “Wait, wait, wait. So you’re telling me Bobby’s parents still haven’t bonded him out?”
“They’re not exactly in a position to front a five hundred thousand dollar bond.”
“But their house…”
“Is mortgaged to the hilt and they’re upside down,” Zeke said.
“But…” I stopped. “Hold on a sec. How do you know that?”
“I know.”
“But how?” I prodded.
“Look, I know we aren’t seeing each other anymore, but can you for once just trust me without having to know every single detail?”
“Fine.”
“Good.”
Zeke parked the truck in the ensuing silence, exited his side, then opened the door for me like a gentleman. The wave of heat off the pavement sucked the air from my lungs. How was it possible a mere two hundred miles could vary the temperature so much?
“I still have a question,” I ventured as Zeke helped me from the truck.
“What is it then?” he asked, running his hand through his hair like he wanted to yank handfuls from the roots.
“You went through the trouble of getting all of this paperwork for a simple copy of a birth certificate. But that still doesn’t explain why you need little ol’ me to traipse in there instead of you. There’s a catch here somewhere, and I’m too tired to figure it out, so spill.”
“This is a Dallas PD matter, not a Ranger one. You saw how Duncan acted yesterday about someone showing up at his crime scene.”
“Like a dog protecting the last morsel on his bone.”
“Exactly. A random murder isn’t under Ranger jurisdictional mandate. However, drug smuggling is.”
“Drug smuggling? But Amy wasn’t doing drugs. Her mother was…” The caffeine hit my brain and jump started it in time for me to put two-and-two together to get four. “You’re investigating a drug ring, aren’t you?”
“Prudence and the confidential nature of the case requires I keep my mouth shut and not say anything.” Instead Zeke offered a curt nod.
“You suspect there’s a tie-in between your case and Amy’s death then?” I asked.
“Hypothetically speaking,” Zeke started, “at minimum a circumstantial link will allow me to join the murder investigation. At best I can pull rank, but that won’t do anything to keep me in Duncan’s good graces.”
“I’m beginning to see some method to your madness. But it still doesn’t explain why you need me to help you.”
Zeke sighed. “As big a pain in my ass as you can be sometimes, you’ve always possessed good observational skills. Been able to read people and see between the lines, even though you have an uncanny ability to misconstrue the obvious.”
“Um, thanks…I think?”
“Start small. Ask to see the birth records. Get copies. Then see where it takes you.” Zeke tapped the envelope in my hands. “If you need more, this will give you access to every record they’ve got.” He leaned over and kissed the top of my head. “I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”
I stood in the middle of the oven-like parking lot getting high on asphalt fumes as Zeke swung up into his truck and drove away. I’m not sure which shocked me more – the kiss on the head or the roundabout compliment.
Blame it on the asphalt fumes.
Chapter Fourteen
Have you ever noticed something about a lot of low-level government employees? Most of them are lacking in even the most basic customer service skills, and they have no hitch in their giddyup. I wonder if it’s something in the water. Maybe recruiters look for a certain attitude in their handy-dandy hiring evaluations. All I know is anytime I’ve ever dealt with one, all I get is little help and plenty of insolence. It isn’t me – is it?
Don’t answer that.
Like an obedient and mindless worker ant, I took a position at the end of the line from hell and shuffled forward a half inch with each passing minute. After an interminable wait, I finally bellied up to the counter and secured a copy of Amy’s birth certificate without fuss. I felt like pressing the easy button until a quick glance revealed no one referenced as father and the word amended in bold caps at the top. Before the next constituent reached the counter, I forced my way back in. The greasy guy bumped into me with his beer gut before conceding the space.
I hoped my shirt had avoided a skid mark. “Um, this copy says the birth certificate was amended.”
The squat lady behind the counter didn’t even look at me. “Means there was a change to the record. I can help the next person.”
“Okay,” I continued, “but I need a copy of the original.”
“That is the original. Next!”
Beer Gut jostled me again and tried to do the bump-n-boogie with my hip. I accidentally stepped on his toe with my boot heel.
“No, this is the amended,” I insisted, holding up the certificate and pointing to the word.
That got me an eye roll followed by the stare of death over the top of her glasses. At least I had her full attention this time.
“Once amended it is classified as the original.”
“Look, I just need a copy of the entire birth record then.”
“Listen, honey.” The glasses dropped from her nose and cradled between sagging breasts at the end of a glittering lanyard only Lady Gaga could appreciate. “Unless you’ve got a court order, what you’re holding in your prissy little fingers is the entire birth record. Next person!”
Oh huh-uh. She did not just dismiss me like a two-timing mistress. With negligible sleep over the past forty-eight hours, a breakfast practically guaranteeing revenge from Montezuma and his ancestors, and the last three hours in the company of my ex-boyfriend, Madam Bitchy was going down against Miz Bitchette.
“You want a court order, honey?” I ripped the remaining papers from the envelope, not even slowed by the sting of a paper cut. The slap of my hand on the counter caused Beer Gut to retreat another step as Madam Bitchy’s eyes widened. “Here’s your damn court order, complete with judge’s signature and the seal of the great State of Texas. Now if it’s not too much of a bother to move your ass and do the job my tax dollars are paying you to do, I need a copy of the entire record.”
That garnered hearty clapping, a couple of hoots, and a that-a-girl followed by a gruff you-show’em scattered throughout the line. Ten minutes later and just over a hundred dollars in the hole – something Zeke conveniently forgot to mention I’d have to pay for – I sat in the downstairs lobby waiting for my ride.
The envelope was stuffed to overflowing with Amy’s records. A cursory search through the mess revealed the certifiable proof we were hoping for in black and white. Julio Benito Juarez was Amy’s father.
***
While Zeke confiscated my envelope and ran in to speak to the deputy assistant director of the Ranger Corp, I got to sit in another uncomfortable chair – only this time it was in the corner of a little café at the Texas Department of Public Safety. I guess he thou
ght another cup of coffee constituted adequate compensation for my time, not to mention the hundred plus dollars I was out obtaining the desired information. Hey, I paid for those papers. If Zeke wasn’t more forthcoming on the drive home, I had three hours to get in a few words and tell him what I really thought of him.
After nursing my second coffee to stave off the afternoon nods and salivating over the pastry counter wishing we hadn’t missed lunch, Zeke finally made a reappearance. All I needed was one glance to tell me his mood wavered closer to kill than stun. The discussion over my unexpectedly abused funds could wait until both of us had some proper nourishment. A sharp jerk of his chin had me on his tail faster than you can say jump.
Under normal circumstances, I’m not one of those women who says how high when a man says jump. I’m more likely to issue a rebuke along the line of kiss my ass or better yet, offer the southern salute – you know, the middle finger. But after knowing Zeke for so many years, I’d never seen such dark clouds gather so fast or feel the lightning bolts crackle under his skin – and I wasn’t about to stand between that cloud-to-ground path. Something big had just exploded with his boss, and Zeke reeked of ozone.
I kept quiet through the silent stalk across the parking lot and even the tire screech as Zeke whipped the truck from the parking lot onto Lamar Boulevard. But when we passed a host of restaurants as we neared the Highway 69 and I-35 interchange at full-throttle, I knew the last thing on the Ranger’s mind was food. Lucky for him he had me in tow.
“If you’ll just pull into that steakhouse over yonder I’ll foot the bill,” I begged.
The mention of food snapped Zeke out of his dark trance, at least enough to get him to notice the dashboard clock inching toward three. A sheepish brow furrow replaced the scowl. My navel nearly leapt for joy when the tick of a turn signal broke the silence, and we passed under the interchange to turn right. I could almost taste the beef when we drove into the restaurant parking lot.
Just what I needed, a big heavy steak to put me into a coma for the drive to Dallas. As we walked inside, the scents hit my olfactory senses and triggered a demanding rumble from my belly before we were even seated.
“Sorry for leaving you hanging, Vic. I lost all track of time today.”
“My stomach thanks you for stopping,” I said, muscling my way into a booth faster than you can say howdy.
“Get what’cha want then. I’m buying,” Zeke offered with a wink.
“I guess chivalry is not dead,” I mused and ordered a sampler appetizer platter with our drinks.
A couple of buffalo wings, half the spinach artichoke dip, and most of the cheddar-bacon potato wedges later, I slowed enough to tip-toe around a few issues. Ah, what the hell. Subtlety has never been my strong suit, so I dove right in instead of wading.
“I take it things didn’t go so great today,” I said between bites.
The dark scowl threatened to return before a long pull emptied the one beer Zeke allowed when driving. A satisfied sigh relaxed the tension lines around his eyes. It reminded me of the before and after when we’d dated.
You know, before and after the tango between the sheets? If he’d had a rough day at work, I could melt that stress away before pizza delivery arrived. Afterward we’d enjoy the glow while we ate. Not sure I liked my ministrations being replaced by a bottle of beer.
“Morning went well,” Zeke offered. “While you were playing Nancy Drew, we got all our ducks aligned for the governor’s visit to Dallas next week.”
“You’ve no idea what Nancy Drew went through to get Amy’s records,” I muttered.
“Tough crowd?”
“Psycho-controlling clerk stingier with information than Ebenezer Scrooge with money.”
Zeke chuckled. “Sorry I missed that bitch-slap fest.”
“I’ll bet. Speaking of money, you owe me a hundred and two dollars and seventy cents.”
Without even batting an eye or asking to see a receipt, Zeke flipped out his wallet and extracted a few twenties. No rebuttal. No sarcasm. No belaboring the issue until steam seeped from my collar. Where was this guy when we’d dated?
My eyes narrowed. “You feeling okay?”
“I’ll have to owe you for the two dollars and seventy cents.”
“You can write me a check when we get back to Dallas,” I said, sliding the twenties toward him.
He shoved it right back to me. “No can do. Can’t have a paper trail between me and this case.”
“But I thought the point of this trip was…”
“There may be a tie-in between Amy’s death and a case I’m working,” Zeke whispered.
“I knew it,” I responded in kind.
Bitterness tinged his voice as the cloud descended once again. “But the higher-ups don’t see it. Frankly, it’s more like they don’t want to see it.”
I nodded. “With an ambassador involved, it gets kinda tricky, huh?”
“And if the State Department, FBI, or DEA get wind of this, they’ll have a field day hampering my investigation, that is if they don’t swipe it out from underneath me and make it disappear first.”
“Well I guess that’s it then.”
“What?” Zeke raised a brow in suspicion.
“I want to help Bobby. You have an investigation that needs solved. Somehow these are tied together, so that means you still need my help.”
“Oh no. I had a hunch and it didn’t play out the way I’d hoped. Thanks for your help today, but when we get back to Dallas it’s the end of the road for you.”
“I wouldn’t count me out just yet.”
“I mean it, Vic. Give it up.”
I popped a chip in my mouth and smiled just as the waitress brought our entrees to the table. The poor guy wouldn’t know what hit him by the time I was through. Give it up? I was just getting warmed up.
***
So much for warmed up. My three beer dinner left me drooling on Zeke’s upholstery before we’d even reached the edge of Austin’s city limits. Then after a gentle nudge, a prod and a sharp poke, followed by the thrum of Zeke’s sexy voice in my ear, awareness returned. I felt like a sloth in need of an extended vacation.
“The neighbors might get suspicious if I have to carry you into your apartment,” Zeke said.
“I’m up,” I mumbled and yawned. The fantasy of awakening in bed beside a certain Ranger stunted as the passenger door interrupted my stretch.
Zeke chuckled. “Yeah right. Come on, princess. Looks like an early night for you.”
Darkness had already descended over downtown Dallas as Zeke tugged my deadweight carcass from the truck cab and steadied me against him. The warm embrace kept the chill breeze at bay as I settled into the familiar nook beneath his arm. Good time memories flooded through my brain as it slogged up from sleep stage to arousal.
“What time is it?” I asked.
“Nearing nine,” Zeke responded, holding the door open to my building. “We were waylaid by an accident on the interstate.”
“Why’s it so dark already? And cold?” I shivered.
“Storm’s moving in.”
I encircled his waist with my arms and snuggled up in the empty elevator to keep warm. The rickety old thing always gave me visions of death waiting to happen, but I suppose Zeke wasn’t too keen on towing me up four flights of stairs. The ancient elevator started with a jerk, throwing us into the corner and giving new meaning to the phrase I’m up. Then I noticed where my hand rested.
Stale beer breath varnished with essence of morning mouth didn’t deter Zeke – or me. Dreams of falling into bed and sleeping the night away vanished when his lips caught mine. At the elevator’s ding, he dragged me up the length of his body without breaking the kiss, and I wrapped my legs around his torso.
“Where’s your keys?” Zeke asked around my lips, propping me against my apartment door.
I whipped my purse around to his spine, fished the jangle from the depths wit
hout opening my eyes, and crushed the keys into one of the hands cupping my butt. I didn’t want to think about what once was – I only wanted right now, which entailed Big Z in my bed doing all sorts of dirty deeds beneath my unmentionables. The thought alone made me groan.
But all thoughts of a night tangled together fled when Zeke dropped me on unsteady legs like a bag of bricks, shoved me behind him, and drew his weapon with an exclamation.
“What the hell?”
Chapter Fifteen
To say a tornado had torn through my apartment would’ve been kind. The truth? It appeared more as if someone had detonated a nuclear bomb.
Stuffing from the sofa and chair cushions blanketed the floor like snow. Dishes lay shattered across the kitchen and canned goods rolled along the tile. My happy hour supplies dripped down the open refrigerator door and into the now unfrozen foods while the rest was sopped up by the loaf of bread. Whoever had laid waste to my apartment even went so far as to rip open my dining chair cushions and slaughter the glass-top table simply for sport.
My mother had given me that dining set.
Anger and outrage infused every pore of my being until fear diffused and drained it like cold water over pasta.
“My cat,” I cried.
Zeke grabbed my arm as I sought to sweep past him. “Stay put until I clear the apartment.”
“But Slinky. All this glass. He could be hurt or…” My wail sputtered to a stop. I wouldn’t even consider the possibility my sweet tabby might be gone.
“Stay here.” The firm set of his jaw and intense stare brooked no opposition.
Weapon drawn, Zeke crept through the apartment, checking behind overturned furniture and the kitchen island, peering into closets and the bathroom before disappearing around the corner into the bedroom. Seeing him in action offered a whole new perspective and gave me an even deeper appreciation for my Ranger. I mean ex-boyfriend. That guy I was about to surrender to. Again.
Oh hell.
All the while, I watched and listened for any sign of my precious kitty. Slinky just had to be okay somewhere in this mess. I couldn’t live without him. After all, he’d rescued and adopted me shortly after the epic breakup a few years ago.
Yep, that’s what I said – he rescued me.
It was a rainy night. Yeah I know, cliché but in this case also very true. I’d come home from the bar, still feeling the sting of betrayal, opened the single-car garage I paid extra for every month, and caught in my headlights what appeared to be a drowned rat slinking into the dry space. As I cautiously exited my Vette, the constant mewling revealed not a rat but a tiny kitten, sopping wet, cold and afraid. Oh, and quite hungry. Feelings of betrayal and anger had melted by the time I finished drying him off in my apartment and gazed into big green eyes staring from fur fluffed out like a dandelion gone to seed.
