by Diane Capri
The alarms on the machines hooked up to Jasper’s body would sound shortly. Nurses and doctors would come running. But they’d be too late.
The injection was fatal. Every time.
He nodded once. Mission accomplished.
On his way out, he dropped the syringe into the sharps container on the wall. He was already walking through the door when the alarms began to sound. Jasper would be dead shortly.
Instead of waiting for the turtle-speed elevator, he took the stairs down three flights to the main floor.
He moved steadily forward and left the hospital through the closest exit.
In the employees’ long-term parking garage, he found an SUV with the keys in the ignition and he was on his way.
“Two down, three to go,” he said under his breath.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Thursday, May 12
Carter’s Crossing, Mississippi
1:15 a.m.
When Kim’s heels hit the hard floor just inside the entrance to Brannan’s, the three guys at the bar turned as if they’d been choreographed in one of those late-night musicals her mother loved to watch. She expected them to hop off the stools and dance.
The effect was both comical and faintly menacing.
They were related, surely. Not brothers. Cousins, maybe. Like a kaleidoscope had fractured a single old white dude into quad images. All four were the same but slightly off-kilter, with edges not quite as sharp as if they had remained a single whole.
Faces wrinkled. Eyes scrunched to peer through the dim and hazy room. Gray eyebrows and brown eyes and various swaths of facial hair. One had a skinny mustache. Another a scraggly goatee. The other two looked like they hadn’t shaved in a few days, and gray hairs dusted their faces and necks.
All four had unwashed long hair, mostly gray, gathered into ponytails low on the backs of their heads. They wore faded jeans, muddy work boots, and stained T-shirts that might have been white once. Below the short sleeve hems were thick arms covered with faded bad tattoos they’d done themselves after a night of hard drinking, like teenaged girls who pierced their ears at sleepovers.
The four men groaned in unison. Whatever they’d hoped to see when they turned to look, Kim apparently wasn’t it. They turned back to the television in time to catch the batter swing and miss for the third time.
The game went to a commercial as the teams switched sides. The bartender stood and walked around the opposite end as she approached.
He was the one with the skinny mustache. His T-shirt was slightly cleaner than the others. His tattoos perhaps a bit more faded. From her new vantage point, the bottled spirts on the shelves reflected shadowed light across all four faces.
He seemed friendly enough. “What can I get you?”
“I’ll take a bottle of Labatt. Got that?”
He shook his head. “We got Bud and Bud Light in bottles.”
“Bud is fine,” she said as if she intended to drink it.
He nodded and turned to one of the coolers. He rummaged to locate a brown longneck, picked up a napkin, and screwed off the cap. He pulled a warm glass from the shelf and plopped both down on the bar in front of her.
“Thanks…” She let her voice trail off to encourage him.
He took the hint. “Walt. McKinney. And you?”
“Kim Otto,” she replied, tilting her head toward the others. “Those guys your brothers?”
“Cousins. There’s lots of McKinneys around here. You’ll run into a bunch of us if you stay here long enough.” He seemed open and friendly as if they were likely to meet again.
She took a pull on the beer. It was too stale and too warm, but she swallowed it without gagging. It would have been impolite to spit it out.
The game came back on and the four McKinneys turned their attention toward the television. The crawler along the bottom of the screen said the game was in extra innings. Cardinals and Padres.
The night game was broadcast from San Diego. Which, coupled with the extra innings, explained why it was still on at this late hour.
They watched while the pitcher took the mound and threw a fastball. The sound on the set was turned down, but the umpire’s gestures made it clear he’d called a strike.
“I was out there when the train went through,” Kim said, pointing her thumb toward the tracks. She captured the bartender’s ear but not his full attention. The game magnetized his gaze.
“Uh huh. Happens every night. Midnight. Set your watch by it,” he replied without looking at her. “Sorry. I got a bet on this one. He pitches a no-hitter and I win five hundred from my cousins.”
“Sure. No problem.”
She waited until after the second pitch. Another strike. The pitcher seemed to want a brief break. He spent some time looking around, raising his arms, digging his feet into the dirt around the mound.
“I heard a woman died on the tracks a few nights ago. Hit by the train,” Kim said as if the death was a curiosity and no more.
“Yeah. Real shame. Bonnie Nightingale. Nice girl. Knowed her all my life,” Walt replied, still distracted.
“You or your cousins see it happen?”
“Naw.” He shook his head. “Cardinals was playin’ late that night, too. We didn’t see nothin’ if it wasn’t on TV.”
The pitcher finally threw the third pitch. Another strike. The batter never risked a swing.
The four McKinneys let loose a shout of unbridled joy. Apparently they were all Cardinal fans. And there was nothing besides baseball that they were going to talk to her about tonight.
Which was okay. It was late. She could come back when they were more likely to be sober. The bartender knew Nightingale. She’d start earlier with him tomorrow to find out more.
The pitcher quickly dispatched the next two batters, retiring the side as the McKinneys cheered.
She pulled a ten-dollar bill from her pocket and tossed it on the counter.
McKinney picked up the bill. Between innings, the station broke for a quick commercial and a news update.
The local story was all about the vehicle crash she’d witnessed earlier. Nothing new to report. The national headlines were a rehash of the North Korean diplomat who had died of poisoning while meeting at the United Nations in New York.
Authorities had located a grainy video of the diplomat and a potential witness. He was standing ringside with a sultry woman wearing a blazer that barely covered her assets. The newscaster asked for help identifying the woman and said there were still no suspects in the case.
Kim watched the brief report, which illuminated nothing. Law enforcement officers would be looking for the woman. They’d find her, if she hadn’t left the country already.
Walt McKinney offered her a sheepish apology. “Sorry about the beer. We mostly sell draft or cans. Easier, you know? Was there something else you wanted?”
“I was just wondering about the woman who died on the tracks. Doesn’t make sense, does it? If you’re outside, you know that train’s coming from a couple of miles at least,” Kim said. “Seems like she’d have had plenty of time to get out of the way.”
“I guess you just never know what’s really going on with a person,” he said, shaking his head.
“Why do you say that?”
“Bonnie was in here earlier that night. I talked to her for a while. She seemed okay.”
“Anything special bring her in here?”
“She came in most nights on the weekends. Lotta locals do. We’ve been the neighborhood place for folks around here a lotta years. Even before I bought the place from the Brannan brothers,” he shrugged, keeping one eye on the television screen.
“Did you talk to her that night?”
“Sure. She sat in that seat where you’re sittin’. Waitin’ for Jasper to get off work, she said.”
“Who’s Jasper? Her boyfriend?” Kim asked.
Then the commercial ended, and so did the conversation. The next batter managed to connect with the ball, and the attention of all four McKinneys
stayed glued to the set. She’d get nothing more out of them tonight.
She’d have better luck tomorrow.
When she turned toward the exit, another man emerged from the shadows. This one was younger and smaller than the McKinneys. Fitter, too. About six feet tall. Short brown hair and eyes. From the looks of him, he was connected to Kelham, one way or another.
“Where’re you goin’? You’re a pretty little thing,” he said as softly as a lover might. His speech was slurred, perhaps by the drawl and not the booze. “Hang around. Let me buy you a drink.”
“Thanks for the offer. Maybe another time,” she replied evenly.
He was slightly unsteady on his feet. He’d obviously been drinking more than long enough. Something about the guy gave off a hostile vibe.
She didn’t want any trouble with the locals. Not on her first night in town, anyway. But he was standing between her and the door.
So she paused to give him a chance to move aside.
He didn’t.
Instead, he settled his body, squarely blocking the exit.
“One drink. Then you can go,” he said as if he intended to stop her.
Politely she replied, “No. Thank you.”
He didn’t move out of her way.
Kim assessed the situation quickly.
She was alone.
No backup.
No one knew where she was.
One strong and wiry unarmed enemy ahead.
She was inside the bar that might have been the last place Bonnie Nightingale was seen alive.
Is this what had happened? Maybe this scum bucket tried the same routine that night. Had Nightingale refused him and ended up dead?
Kim heard laughs behind her. Four burly McKinneys back there were watching this guy’s moves for entertainment during the commercial break.
Kim ran through her options.
The easy thing to do was to shoot him, but she wasn’t interested in blowing her cover just yet.
She’d been confronted by drunks before. Usually they were not half as tough as they thought. She wasn’t worried.
She didn’t have to kill him. All she needed was to get him out of her path and leave. The McKinney asshats could have a good laugh at Romeo’s expense. It would blow over and everybody would be sober in the morning. No harm done.
Romeo was bigger and stronger than she was, and maybe just as well trained from the sinewy look of him. Safer to assume that much, anyway.
Assessing Kim, he’d naturally assume she was an untrained lightweight.
Maybe he’d made the same assumption about Nightingale. Maybe he’d been right about her.
Perhaps his success with Nightingale had made him overconfident.
He cajoled, “Come on. You’re lonely. You wouldn’t be in a place like this if you weren’t. Let me buy you a drink.” As if he believed he was the sexiest man alive.
Kim wondered briefly if his technique ever worked on the women around here.
“Get out of my way,” she said again, more steel in her tone this time.
Then she waited for him to make the first move.
He wouldn’t have much patience. Guys like that never did.
This whole thing, whatever it was he planned to get started, would be over in a brief moment or two. He just didn’t know that yet.
After a few uneventful seconds of staring her down like he expected her to change her mind and jump into his arms, his expression clouded. The smarmy smile slid off his face. He strode toward her as if he intended to grab her and force her back to the bar.
Maybe that was exactly what he’d planned because he closed the gap between them with more speed than finesse.
When he was within range, he raised his right arm away from his side, hand open to grip her bicep as he passed.
Kim held her body steady without flinching, waiting for her moment. When he swept his arm toward her, she moved swiftly aside.
The full force of his momentum whiffed his arm through the air, past the empty space her body had occupied a moment before.
Which caused him to stumble forward, briefly off stride and bewildered.
“No means no, jerk.” Using his confusion and momentum against him, she elbowed the soft flesh under his raised right arm, hard. Worst case, he’d have some cracked ribs. At the very least, he’d have a hell of a bruise that would keep him out of commission for a day or two.
He yelled out and flailed his left arm around to grab his injured torso.
While he was still unsteady on his feet, she gave him a hard kick to the back of the knee and a shove in the ass to go with it.
“Ahhhh!” He screamed as he toppled, holding his leg and writhing with pain. “You bitch! I’ll kill you!”
“You can try. If I’m still here when you’re able to walk again,” she said, not even breathing hard.
All four McKinneys were howling with laughter. Not one even shifted his weight on the bar stool or tried to come to the downed man’s rescue.
She’d done a dangerous thing and she knew it.
She’d made a fool of Romeo here in front of his buddies. He’d been bested and damaged by a woman half his size. They’d ride him about it until the end of time.
Which meant he’d be doubly savage and much more cunning when he came after her again.
And then she would have to shoot him.
For now, she simply walked out. It was late and she was tired. The air was heavy and wet and smelled like the bottom of a gym locker. She turned her collar up against the wind.
Outside, a local radio motor patrol vehicle was idling parallel to the curb. Chief Greyson was sitting behind the steering wheel.
He lowered the window. “Hop in. You need a ride.”
“I’d rather walk, thanks,” she replied, stuffing her hands in her pockets.
He said, “And I’d rather not insist. So get in. We need to talk.”
“Maybe tomorrow.” She took a few steps along the sidewalk, past the alley, toward Toussaint’s Hotel.
She stepped carefully because the streetlights were too dirty and spaced too far apart to illuminate much of anything. The last thing she needed was a twisted ankle or a trip and belly flop onto the pavement.
“Get in the vehicle, Otto.” Greyson had put the SUV into gear and moved slowly alongside her. “Buy yourself some time. If the McKinneys think I took you into the station on an assault charge, they won’t come looking for you tonight while you’re sleeping.”
Surely he was bluffing. But the thought of the grimy McKinneys creeping into her room at night caused a long shiver to run up her spine. If she dwelled on it for even a moment, she wouldn’t sleep again until she left Carter’s Crossing.
“When you put it like that…” She stepped into the street, opened the cruiser’s front door, and slid into the passenger seat. They weren’t going far, or fast, so she didn’t bother with the seatbelt.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Thursday, May 12
Carter’s Crossing, Mississippi
1:55 a.m.
Sheriff Greyson rolled the SUV slowly to the end of the block, checking the shops and alleys along the way. He turned toward Main Street where the sidewalks were slightly brighter but just as empty.
They passed one closed storefront after another, moving toward Toussaint’s in the middle of the block. There were a few better-looking bars on this street, too. But mainly the shops were clothing stores of various sorts. A knitting store. Restaurants. At one end of the block was a drugstore and across the street was a grocery.
All were dark and locked up tight at this hour.
“Before you ask, no. I was not following you. I drive around town every night before I turn in. Had nothing to do with you being over here snooping around.” The sheriff paused and flashed that nice grin. “I was surprised when I glanced inside at Brannan’s. I thought you’d returned to the hotel when you left Libby’s Diner.”
“Thanks for looking out for me, Chief. But I can take care of mysel
f.” She didn’t know whether to believe he hadn’t been watching her. But she appreciated the ride, so she was being nice, too.
He said, “I take it you’re not interested in Luke Price’s clumsy passes.”
“Luke Price?” She arched her eyebrows in his direction.
“The dude back there at Brannan’s. Local Lothario. Or so he believes, with some justification,” Greyson said lightly. “He was Bonnie Nightingale’s boyfriend for a while.”
“Seriously?” Kim shuddered. “Hard to believe any woman would come within a mile of that creep. He’s not exactly a smooth talker. And I’m fairly certain he hasn’t bathed in a while, either.”
“His appeal, such as it is, probably has more to do with his money. Rumor is he inherited a bundle from some relative, and he’s willing to spend it to show a girl a good time,” Greyson nodded. “Regardless, watch yourself. You’ve got a new enemy. The McKinney boys will ride him forever because a woman half his size took him out like that. He’ll be looking for payback when he sobers up. And he won’t give up until he gets it.”
“Not sure how you know he made a move on me or that I took him out,” she replied. “Since you said you weren’t following me.”
He gave her a knowing look and spelled it out. “You’re an FBI agent. You’ve got skills. I’m the sheriff and I live in this town. Not much happens here that I don’t know about. You think you’re the first woman Luke Price ever made a move on who fought back?”
“I suspect I might be the first one to leave him on the floor, out cold, with fractured ribs and a helluva stomachache,” she replied, serious as a heart attack.
“Maybe so.” Greyson flashed her the megawatter again, crinkling his baby blues in the process. “Price definitely had it coming. I’m sorry I didn’t see the fight from a better vantage point. Even worse, I didn’t have a bet riding on the outcome.”
“Damn straight,” she nodded curtly, allowing him to smooth her ruffled feathers. Close quarters combat was not her preference. She wasn’t big enough to win against a solid male opponent.
She had the skills to do the job when presented with no viable options.
