How to Leash a Thief

by Cat Clayton

  “I can’t help it. Daniel’s one wild driver,” Jackson said.

  “Careful. I could read more into that comment than you intended,” Daniel said, pounding the steering wheel as if he’d just told the funniest joke.

  I wanted to pound on his head.

  Jackson snorted.

  I couldn’t take anymore. I snapped my head in his direction, ready to give him a piece of my... oh. Those eyes. Look away. Don’t let them suck you in. “Let me ask you something. Did you plan on us driving b... by and rescuing your sorry butt? Huh? I bet there’s nothing even wrong with your car.” I was a flustered, stuttering fool.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Jackson said, his lips struggling not to smile.

  “Well, I wouldn’t put it past you.” With a huff, I turned my attention back to the road. Stay strong, Steely. Out of the corner of my eye, he gave up the battle, his cheeks stretched into a wide grin. I’d bet a million dollars his “dead” car was fine.

  “Hey, Daniel, you can drop me by the station. My bike is parked there,” Jackson said.

  “You got it, Officer!” Daniel said with so much giddiness, he practically sang it.

  The cheerful atmosphere inside the car irritated me. I’d had the crappiest of all nights and these two were toying with me, and frankly, their jolly attitudes made a mockery out of the entire situation. This was a serious matter. My life was in shambles!

  Jackson leaned into me one last time when Daniel swerved into the parking lot of the police department. “Right over there.” His arm stretched in front of me, as he pointed to his bike leaning on its kickstand.

  I thought about biting his arm, but then he’d probably misconstrue my action as some weird come-on.

  “Wanna ride home?” Jackson asked me.

  “Me? On that thing? No way,” I said.

  “Are you afraid?” he asked.

  “No. I don’t like motorcycles.” Or really hot, arrogant guys who irritate me.

  Daniel fumbled with the radio. He was sitting there with a smug look on his face. Why didn’t he speak up and say something in my defense?

  “Ever been on one?” Jackson asked, challenging me.

  This wasn’t good. My vulnerable state of mind mixed with his bad-boy charm would not end well in my favor. Maybe I could treat him like a drug and just say no.

  “No.” I turned my head to stare out the front windshield.

  Jackson reached over, leaning into me and unhooked the seat belt; my skin sizzled at his touch. “Come on. Let’s go.” His warm breath, scented with cinnamon, swirled around my face.

  My lungs seized and my head dizzied. It took everything I had not to melt right there on the seat of Daniel’s car.

  “I don’t want to,” I said.

  “Yes, you do,” he countered.

  Ugh! I hated that he was right.

  Jackson opened the door and climbed out, extending his hand to me. He looked in at Daniel. “Thanks for the ride, dude. I promise I will return her home safely.”

  I quickly looked at Daniel for some help. He shrugged, grinning.

  “Fine. Maybe then you’ll leave me alone.” I accepted his hand as he heaved me out of the car. I bent down and peered inside at Daniel. “Thanks a lot, friend.”

  “Thank me tomorrow!” Daniel said, so jubilant I bet he could whistle “Zippity-do-da” out of his rear end.

  I slammed his car door, and he zoomed out of the parking lot. I glared over at Jackson as he fiddled with his motorcycle. I must be insane. There’s no other explanation.

  “Motorcycles are stupid and dangerous and people shouldn’t ride them,” I told him.

  Ignoring me, he removed an extra helmet and a leather jacket from the back and handed them to me.

  “Put these on and give me your purse,” he said.

  He opened a small storage compartment on the back of the bike. I handed him my purse, and he tossed it in, locking it inside. He turned, raising an eyebrow.

  His jacket swallowed me whole. Struggling with the chinstrap of the helmet, I’d somehow tied the darn thing into a knot.

  “Here, let me help,” he said, moving in front of me. Too close, but something inside me hoped, wished, he didn’t move away.

  I chewed my lower lip.

  Jackson untied the knot, fastened the strap, and gently tugged it tight under my chin. His dark eyes found mine. “Nervous?”

  I mustered what little sarcasm I had left and tossed it at him. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

  “Well, you have said little since Daniel left. And you’re biting your lip. I’m a highly trained professional, you know,” he said.

  “Uh, huh. So, how many girls have you given rides to, since you have an extra helmet.” I shrugged as if merely curious, but I wanted to know.

  “You’re the first,” he said, winking.

  Jesus, take the wheel. “Why should I believe you?” I crossed my arms over my chest.

  “Have I given you a reason not to trust me?” he asked in a sincere voice.

  Speechless, I shook my head in reply.

  “Good.” He tweaked my chin and snapped my face shield closed. He climbed on the bike. “Hop on and scoot up close to me. I promise not to bite. Wrap your arms and legs around me and hold on.”

  I scrambled onto the bike, sitting close behind, but I refused to “wrap” any part of myself around him. Mama would say, so not lady-like. In rebellion, I slapped my hands on my thighs. “Ready.”

  He turned the key, and the engine roared to life. He pushed the kickstand up and revved the engine. The bike jerked forward, my body lurching backwards. I quickly threw my arms around him and squeezed him with my thighs. Mr. Slick had me right where he wanted me. Sorry, Mama.

  The streets of Buckleville were deserted. As if charmed by his magical spell, the traffic lights all greened as we approached them. Zooming down Main St., I nudged Jackson’s shoulder as we passed by the used car lot.

  “Pull over!” I hollered.

  Sliding the bike up next to the curb, he killed the engine and turned his head. We clanked helmets.

  “What’s up?” he asked.

  I scrambled off the bike, struggling with the chinstrap of the damn fishbowl on my head. “Hold up a sec!” I said from behind the plastic face shield.

  He cocked his head like I’d spoken Greek. “What?”

  I ripped off the helmet and tossed it to Officer Jackson. “I said, wait. I need to check something out.” I clambered over the low pipe fence and slinked through the darkened lot, hunting for the black Buick.

  “Lamarr, you get your ass back here!” Jackson yelled.

  Ignoring his demand, I spotted my target and approached with caution. My fingers trailed alongside the hood, following the silver swirls. Not so dangerous now, are you? Peering into the passenger side window, I tried the door handle. Locked. And then an idea slapped me upside the head. The slim Jim! Whirling around, I collided with a 190-lb. brick wall of flesh.

  “Ugh!” I tilted my head upwards and met his eyes. I grinned.

  “You realize you’re trespassing,” he said, peering down at me. Frustration flickered in his eyes.

  “And now, so are you,” I said. My voice cracked and my heart skipped a beat.

  “Yeah, but I’m a cop.”

  “Yeah, but you’re off duty.” His warm scent was wearing down my Steely shield. Pushing past him, I focused on my mission and went around to check the driver’s side door. Damn the bad luck. I peeked over the hood at him and put on my sweetest smile. A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. “Could I borrow your slim Jim thing? Please?” I batted my eyelashes.

  He dashed around the car, grabbing my elbow. I noticed how gentle his grip was, not at all what I expected. “Not no, but hell no.” His low, smoky voice sent shivers up and down my spine. “Let’s go.”

  I pulled free from his grip. “I really need to get into this car.”

  He pointed. “No. What you need to do is get your butt back on my bike before we both end u
p in jail for trespassing.”

  I planted my feet firmly on the pavement. “I’m not leaving until I get in there.”

  He let out a weighted breath. “Really? You’re gonna act like that? Come on.” He tugged on my arm. “There’s no need to search the car.”

  “But—”

  “I’ve already searched it. The most piece of evidence was a gum wrapper on the floorboard. Now, let’s get out of here before someone catches us,” he said.

  “Gum?” I asked. “What kind?”

  “Juicy Fruit. Does it really matter?”

  “Actually, it does. That’s the same gum package I found on the stairs on the night of Samson’s murder.”

  “Fine. But all that tells us is the driver of this car and the person who committed the first murder chew the same gum. Now, we assume the driver and the murderer are the same person, and believe we can connect both murders. But until we find the person, this case is ongoing and you’re meddling. Again. Now, can we go?”

  He was right. We were no closer to catching this guy than we were before. “Good point.” Without another word, I hoofed it back to the bike. I strapped on the stupid fishbowl, climbed on, and watched Jackson step over the pipe fence. He approached me and reached over and unfastened my chin-strap, gently lifting the helmet from my head.

  “For your own safety, I need you to stay out of this.” His dark eyes studied mine.

  “You need to question Ziggy, the owner of this lot,” I said and pointed toward the sales office. “Whoever sold this car to him is the person following me, threatening me, and most likely the one who robbed the bank, has stolen two dogs, and murdered two people!” I said.

  I expected him to continue to argue with me, but he didn’t. He stood there, listening. Something Nick would’ve never done. Then he opened his mouth and blew me away with two simple words.

  “I understand,” he said.

  Confused and dumbfounded, I stood there blinking up at him. Somehow, his ability and willingness to understand calmed my anger and eased my fears and tension.

  “You do?” I asked him.

  He slowly rearranged the collar of his leather jacket I had on. His fingers grazed my neck and sent my skin ablaze. “Yes, I do. I know the person followed you. I know the previous owner of this car is most likely our guy. I’m trying like hell to figure this whole mess out, but I can’t do my job and keep you out of harm’s way at the same time. I can’t do my job effectively if I’m constantly having to watch over you.”

  He made a valid point, but it irritated me. “Nobody asked you to ride in on your white horse and rescue me, you know?” The second the words were out of my mouth, I regretted them.

  He scoffed, his dark eyes affecting me in crazy ways. “Will you stop being so stubborn and let me help you? Damn it, woman!”

  I studied him for a moment, trying to decide whether to trust him. There was so much about him I didn’t know, and until two days ago he’d been a stranger. Pop would say, tread carefully. Mama would’ve said, trust your instincts. Gertie would say, gamble, baby girl. I took the Gertie route.

  “Fine. I accept your help,” I said. “But, about the sales office over there, I have a slight confession.”

  Chapter 17

  Jackson groaned. He definitely had the typical cop stance mastered. Upright shoulders, fists on his hips, legs spread. “Why do I feel you’re about to drop a bomb on me?”

  Probably because I am, I thought. “So, I dragged my grandmother here earlier and we sort of acquired something from the sales office. Gertie’s good at—”

  “Shit. What do you mean sort of acquired?” he asked, shaking his head. “Please tell me you didn’t break in.”

  “If you’d let me finish,” I said. “No, we didn’t break in. But while I was talking to the sales guy, Gertie snatched the Bill of Sale from the Buick’s file.”

  “Wait, a minute. Ziggy told me there was no Bill of Sale the other day. That some guy left the car with no paperwork,” he said.

  “Well, he lied then.”

  “Son of a bitch,” he said.

  “Anyway, it has a name on it. William Clemons. But the name Seth Welton is scrawled on the back, too,” I said.

  Relief washed over Jackson’s face. “Welton, huh?”

  “Yeah. He’s some new guy in town. Daniel thought he might be involved with all of this, because Daniel is, well, Daniel, and any stranger is a potential suspect in his eyes. And this Welton character walked into the shop on the same day someone robbed the bank. But I disagree with Daniel. The guy seems awfully nice, and he’s seeing the girl who runs the yoga studio in town and signed up for her class. I figure anyone who does yoga can’t be a murdering thief.” There was still a slight slur in my words, but mostly the effects of the alcohol had worn off and my head was clearer.

  Jackson raised an eyebrow. “Welton’s definitely not involved.”

  “How can you be so sure?” I studied his face. There was something he wasn’t telling me.

  “Let’s just say, I know, and leave it at that. Come on, let’s get out of here,” he said.

  I got the feeling he wasn’t budging on any information he had on Welton. As a police officer, he had the resources to investigate whoever he wanted, unlike me.

  “Wait, that’s not all,” I said.

  Jackson tossed his hands in the air. “Oh, ferfucksake, what now?”

  I figured I’d better spill it before I chickened out. “The other night, after I found Flora Schirmack murdered, well, I followed that car.” I pointed to the Buick. “And the driver sort of caught me.”

  Jackson turned away and began pacing up and down the sidewalk. His arms were stiff as steel posts, hands fisted tightly at his sides. After a minute or two of muttering to himself, he strode back over and examined me. His intense eyes caused my toes to tingle.

  “What do you mean he ‘caught’ you?” He made little quotey things with his fingers and the muscles in his lower jaw tensed.

  “Well,” I said with a shrug. “Somehow the driver discovered I’d tailed him and he left a threatening note in our mailbox at home.”

  He glanced up at the stars as if they’d somehow be able to give him answers, or maybe he was wishing he’d never landed in this town or met me. I could almost hear him counting to ten inside his head. He let out a huge exhale.

  “Look, this is bigger and much more dangerous than you realize. Stop digging around and putting yourself in harm’s way. Do you understand?” His voice was clear and concise, yet kind.

  I nodded.

  “I’ll do what I can to catch this guy. But in the meantime, I need you to be careful and watch your back,” he said, his dark eyes glinting under the moonlight.

  Again, I nodded. Be careful and watch my back. I can do that.

  He handed me my helmet. “C’mon. Let’s get you home.”

  THE NEXT MORNING, I discovered that Pop had cajoled someone into driving with him to the Pieper’s house and they’d retrieved my car. Whoever had driven the Bug, filled the gas tank, and ran it through a car wash.

  It was Sunday, and the shop was closed. Pop and Gertie had driven into Houston to do some shopping for her wardrobe. I tried telling him it wouldn’t do a bit of good since she preferred mine, but he said it wouldn’t hurt to try.

  Cuff and I lounged around all day watching the old black and white movies on TV. I made sure all we locked the doors before we settled in with a big bowl of popcorn.

  Pop called and said they’d stopped for supper, and they’d be back later.

  We were already in bed when they arrived home.

  ON MONDAY MORNING, Pop wasn’t around when we left for the shop, so I never got the chance to ask him who’d helped him get my car from the Pieper’s. It piqued my curiosity, for sure.

  I let Cuff in the back door of the shop and headed toward my office.

  “Helloooo!” I hollered for Daniel.

  No answer.

  Chiquita. His muzzle tilted upwards and he sniffed the a
ir. I smell something.

  At the same time Cuff was working his sniffer, I noticed the door to my office was wide open; the overhead light spilled out and illuminated the hallway.

  “Daniel, you left my office light on. What’ve I told you about wasting energy?” I spouted to Daniel, wherever he was, and waltzed into my office.

  Seth Welton and an older gorilla of a man were waiting.

  “Your assistant let us in. Hope you don’t mind,” Seth said and offered me a smile.

  Why are they here, in my office, alone... where is Daniel? “Uh, can I help y’all with something?” I said, dismayed.

  The unfamiliar, burly guy stuck out a massive hand. “Special Agent Metzger, FBI. Agent Welton here tells me you’re Ms. Lamarr?” He held out the identification badge hanging around his neck.

  Agent Welton? I glanced over at Seth and wondered why he’d pretended to be a customer the other day, when he could’ve identified himself as an FBI agent.

  That's what the big guy said.

  Well, I’ll be... This must’ve been what Officer Jackson meant when he said, he knew Welton wasn’t the driver of the Buick. I erased Welton from my suspect list. This also must’ve been why Welton’s name ended up on the back of the paperwork at Ziggy’s. Agent Welton had been in there to question him about the black car.

  It all was making sense.

  I peered at his ID hanging from the lanyard around his neck. It seemed legit.

  “Yes, that’s right. I’m Steely Lamarr.” I shook the big agent’s hand. I glanced down at the folding chalkboard. They had erased all the names and information Daniel and me had collected.

  Cuff planted himself next to Seth Welton’s boots, growling. Careful, Chiquita. I don’t like liars.

  Well, that liar is a federal agent, so relax, little pup. He’s one of the good guys.

  Stationed near the door with his arms crossed over his chest, stood Seth Welton, and except for the thin line his lips formed, his face was expressionless, his dark eyes zeroed in on the other agent.

  Agent Metzger strutted around my office as if he owned the place. He scrutinized Daniel’s and my groomer’s certificates on the wall and the stacks of papers on my desk. He whirled around and faced me and cleared his throat.