Drawing Dead

by Carolina Mac

  Tyler smiled down at him. “Sure, let’s go see if she’s up from her nap. Why don’t you guys stay for lunch and eat with me. I’m home alone.”

  Annie smiled. “We can do that. Blaine hasn’t called yet to tell me if he can leave the hospital.”

  BLAINE’S NURSE had him out of bed and dressed right after breakfast, so he could begin practicing on his crutches. “Show your doctor that you’re not going to fall flat on your face, and he’ll probably let you go.”

  He got the crutches into position and gave it a go once around the room. “It’s not so bad when I can use one leg for balance. I’ll be okay.”

  After a longer practice round down the corridor to the nurse’s station and back, he sat in the guest chair and waited for the doctor. His cell rang. Misty.

  “Are you getting out today? I’ll come and pick you up. I want you to stay here while you’re recovering.”

  “Thanks, Mist, but Farrell and Carm are coming to get me. I need to be at home, so I can work. Don’t be upset, okay? It’s not that I don’t want to stay with you.”

  “But when you go to that new mysterious place where you have to live, it’s out of town and I don’t see you.”

  That was your choice.

  “It’s not mysterious, just more secure. Give me a couple of days and I’ll take you to Tulley’s for dinner. A big plate of crab cakes will cheer you up.”

  The doctor came in with his nurse and he ended the call. Misty was sniffling when he pressed end. Damn it. She made him feel so fuckin guilty.

  The doctor examined his leg and the nurse rebandaged it. “Coming along well, young fella. Don’t go back to work too soon. You don’t want an infection.”

  “I’ll be careful, Doctor. Thanks.”

  Blaine called Farrell and told him he could go.

  His foster brother arrived with Carm a half hour later. “Hey, bro, let’s get you out of here.”

  Blaine was more than ready to leave. He picked up the crutches, Carm, smiling non-stop like she was in a toothpaste ad, carried his duffel and Farrell toted the laptop and the briefcase.

  In Spanish, Carm said, “I made enchiladas for you before I left. Jack is watching the oven for me.”

  “Can Jack cook?” asked Farrell.

  Blaine shrugged and leaned on the Silverado while Farrell got everything stowed away. “This is gonna be a high step for you, little bro. Use your good leg.”

  Blaine snorted. “I can’t do it if I’m laughing.”

  With Blaine settled in the shotgun seat, and a super happy Carmelita in the back, Farrell headed south to the estate. They were past Austin City limits when Blaine’s cell rang. “Hey, Mom, I’m out of the hospital and on my way home.”

  “Oh, I’m so happy you’re coming to the ranch. I would have picked you up.”

  “Umm… I’m not coming to the ranch. I’m going home. I have tons of work I have to catch up on and it’s all in my office at the estate. Why don’t you drive over later?”

  “Okay. When you said home, I naturally thought you meant the ranch. That is your home.” She sounded sad and defeated. “See you later.”

  “Shit, Misty is pissed I’m not coming to her place, and now Annie is pissed I’m not coming to the ranch to recuperate.”

  “Figured she would be,” said Farrell. “She was talking about it a lot. She hasn’t been happy since you moved out over the Race fiasco.”

  Blaine nodded. “I hated to hurt her, but I couldn’t deal with Race. Better for me to leave than fight with her day after day. That’s what I was doing, and it was no good for either one of us.”

  AFTER HE ATE one too many enchiladas and could barely move, Blaine limped down the long, carpeted corridor to the study he now called his office. A beautifully appointed room with a lot of natural light—floor to ceiling windows that overlooked the manicured lawns of the estate. The room also featured a library wall and a cozy fireplace. For him, it was the most peaceful room in the massive house.

  He put thoughts of angry women—Misty and Mom—out of his head and made a list of who he needed to contact to begin the investigation into his family.

  Who were the Blackmores?

  If my father was Latino, why was his name Blackmore? That sounds very… Caucasian. Just another question to add to the ever-increasing list.

  If my parents were in witness protection like Arlo imagined they were—and it might be just that—Arlo Maznik’s imagination, the US Marshals Service would have been the agency protecting them. I have to start somewhere.

  He Googled US Marshals Service and a site popped up on his screen. Headquarters in Louisiana. Might as well go for it. He dialed the contact number on the screen and got an automated response.

  This could take the best part of July.

  After three cups of strong coffee and an hour of people hedging around his questions, he knew he’d never pry any information out of those tight-lipped… civil servants.

  Try another tack, and this one might get him into more trouble than it was worth. Did he want to invoke the wrath of Kong? He called the man.

  “Blaine, how is the wounded leg?”

  “Not bad, sir. I’m walking on crutches.”

  “And you’re out of hospital? Good news.”

  “I wondered if you could help me with something?”

  “Is it important? I’m rushed this afternoon.”

  “I’ll tell you quickly.” Blaine told him about Arlo Maznik and asked for a contact in the Marshalls Services.”

  The man listened. “Uh huh. I do know someone who could help you, but we don’t have time for it right now. Put it on the back burner for the moment, but don’t be discouraged. I will help you when the time is right. I promise.”

  “Why isn’t there time right now?”

  “You have to leave on the summer tour with one of the candidates.”

  “What candidates?”

  “Aren’t you watching the race for Governor, son? I thought you’d be keen with you so close to Richardson all those years.”

  “A new Governor doesn’t interest me all that much.”

  Nobody will ever be as good as Prescott Richardson.

  “Take an interest. Your future should interest you. Rent a unit and get your team ready to go. You’ll be in charge of the prime candidate’s security.”

  “What will his security team think of me butting in?”

  “I don’t give a flying fuck what they think. I don’t want my candidate dead before the election.”

  He’s worked up about something.

  “Who’s our man, sir?”

  “Virginia Rodriguez.”

  “LILY, I NEED YOU.” Blaine shifted behind his desk and grappled for the crutches as he hollered into the intercom.

  Lily blasted through the door moments later from her office next door, wearing a worried look. “I thought you fell.”

  “Worse than that, Lil. A helluva lot worse.”

  “What could be worse than falling when you’re already injured, boss?”

  “We have a new fuckin job, and I’m not ready. I’m fuckin not ready. Can’t he see that?”

  “He seems to have eyes and ears everywhere,” said Lily, “He must know you just got out of the hospital today.”

  “Round up the boys and tell Carm to make a lot of something for dinner. We have to have a meeting. We have a shitload to do and no time to do it.”

  “What kind of a shitload, boss?”

  “Get me a couple of Coronas, talk to Carm about dinner and run back with your yellow pad.”

  “Yep.” She was gone in a flash and back a few minutes later.

  “I called Travis and Farrell and they’ll be here in half an hour. Somehow they had the mistaken idea that they had the day off.”

  “Yeah, me too. I mistakenly told Farrell he was done when he dropped me off. Too bad for them. If I have to work, so do they.”

  Lily giggled as she sat in front of the desk with her Sharpie poised above her yellow legal pad ready to w
rite.

  “Okay, go,” said Blaine.

  Lily looked up wondering what she should write.

  “I’m talking to my brain. Okay, this is what we’re looking at. We’re going on tour with the candidates running for Governor—specifically Virginia somebody.”

  Lily’s eyes widened. “That sounds exciting.”

  “It won’t be. Boring as hell with all those fucking speeches and meeting people, crowd control and all that fucking media goddam shit.”

  “You don’t sound enthused, boss.”

  “I am goddam not enthused, Lil. I’m a media hater and I’m fuckin shot. What good am I if some asshole decides to take a pot shot at whoever the hell I’m protecting.”

  “Have there been threats?”

  “Do you think I get to know that? Jesus Christ, no. That would be too much fuckin information wouldn’t it?” Blaine could feel his blood beginning to boil.

  “Have a drink of your beer, boss. We need to relax slightly and see what needs to be done.”

  Blaine threw the crutches and they clattered together onto the carpet. He cursed, hopped twice and collapsed into the chair behind his desk. He picked up one of the Coronas and chugged half before letting out a huge breath. He dropped his head on his chest and began talking. “Okay, number one. Rent a thing we can sleep in.”

  “Like one of those big RV’s?”

  Blaine nodded. “Like the one we had in Vegas for the Race fiasco.”

  Lily wrote on her pad. “Sleeping how many people?”

  “Four of us. You, me, Travis and Farrell. You’ll be a problem because you’ll need your own bed. Scratch that. I think I’ll take Mary with me and you girls can share. Call her boss and fix it. She can report on the tour from the tour.”

  Lily smiled. “She’ll love that. I’ll get one that sleeps six. Usually even numbers.”

  “Is it?”

  “I think so. I’ve never slept in one. How long will we be gone?”

  “As long as it takes to cover the whole fuckin state of Texas. Contact the candidate’s PR person or whoever is in charge of the campaign and get a copy of the scheduled stops and the projected route. That way, whenever we come close to home, we can shower, change our underwear and repack.”

  Lily did more giggling. “Maybe we can shower once or twice on the road too.”

  “Maybe,” said Blaine, “but I’m not feeling it. The media will crush the life out of us.”

  Lily smiled and kept her head down. “When are we leaving?”

  “Tomorrow morning.”

  TRAVIS AND FARRELL arrived a half hour after they were summoned by Lily. Farrell was gung ho for dinner—his next source of food always his number one concern. He hadn’t heard a word about the trip or Blaine’s idea about taking Mary Polito, Farrell’s current girlfriend, as a correspondent for the Austin paper.

  Farrell got beers for everyone out of the invisible fridge and handed them around. “Something must be up if we’re having a dinner meeting on our day off.” He hugged Carm as he passed the stove and she giggled.

  Travis sat down next to Lily at the table and she smiled at him.

  I warned him not to screw up the team. Fuckin chick magnet.

  Haven’t seen him put any moves on her, but I’m not always around when the two of them are together.

  Christ, I hope he doesn’t do a number on Lily like he did on Annie. I might have to fire his ass—again.

  “When are you gonna tell us why we’re here on our day off, boss?” prodded Farrell. “You can’t work yet, so it can’t be for work.”

  Lexi barked and ran to the door and Jack ushered Mary into the kitchen.

  Farrell turned his head and looked stunned to see her. More stunned than usual. “Mary, I didn’t know you were coming to the meeting.”

  “Surprise to me too, Farrell.” She set her briefcase on the sideboard and took the chair next to Farrell. “Can’t wait to hear what the meeting’s about.”

  Carm nodded her head that dinner was ready, and Lil got up to help her. In no time flat, she had whipped up fried chicken, potato salad, coleslaw and corn bread hot out of the oven. The boys dug in and were relatively quiet and content until dinner was over.

  After the girls cleared the dishes, Blaine was ready to start. He’d already clued in Jack and the Junkers and they were to maintain things on the home front with tasks of their own to complete. They weren’t going on the tour unless something cropped up and then they would provide backup wherever.

  “Okay, listen up. We have a new assignment.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CARM SERVED breakfast tacos and hot coffee at seven a.m. Blaine had already had two cups and wasn’t feeling it. The pain from his leg pounded into his brain and told him to obey doctor’s orders and stay home and rest. The man had told him otherwise.

  Farrell and Travis arrived packed and ready to travel, and Farrell was on such a high, he danced Carm all around the kitchen making her squeal. He ate his share of tacos then begged Carm to pack up the leftovers to take on the road.

  A loose plan had come together. In Austin they would pick up Lily and Mary and the rented motor home. Travis would drive Blaine’s truck, equipped with the police radio and strobes, so they would always have a vehicle if something came up. Blaine hated being caught short almost as much as he hated the media. Nothing had ever come close.

  In pain and in a miserable mood, he’d have to content himself with riding shotgun and swallowing Advil. “Ready?” he asked, trying for a hint of enthusiasm and missing the mark by a country mile. “Let’s load up.”

  Carm stood near the sink looking tearful and Blaine beckoned her over closer for a hug. “Take care of Lexi for me, my Corazon. We’ll be back whenever we’re close enough, okay?”

  She nodded but didn’t look happy about staying home.

  FARRELL TOOK the lead at the RV rental lot while Blaine stayed in the truck. He provided the Agency’s credit card for the deposit and Farrell picked up the keys. Mary hopped out of the truck with her suitcase because it had been decided—by Farrell—that Mary would ride in the big coach with him.

  Travis drove through Austin and picked up Lily before they hit the interstate. He stowed her luggage as she hopped in the back seat. “Hey, guys, I’m so excited for this. Can’t believe we’re going on the campaign trail. I always wondered what it was like.”

  “I’m glad you have enthusiasm, Lil,” said Blaine. “I’m not feeling it.”

  “Are you in pain, boss? You’re face says you are.”

  “Yeah, I am. And I’m wondering how in hell I’m going to manage to run a job.”

  “Don’t worry, Blacky,” said Travis. “Shout out the orders like you’re good at, and me and the team will come through for you.”

  “I count on you guys sometimes way too much. I have to pull my own weight, and I guess that’s what I’m stressing about.”

  Travis flicked on his blinker and they took the ramp for I-10. “San Antone, here we come. First stop on the campaign trail.”

  Blaine groaned.

  ANNIE STEPPED out of the shower and her cell was jangling on her nightstand. She checked the screen and inhaled when she saw the number. He always had that effect on her.

  “Morning, sir. What’s up?”

  He explained in not more than a whisper about the new job. “You will remain at home until you’re needed. Go about your day-to-day and don’t worry. I’ll give you notice, sweetheart.”

  “Okay, thanks. I don’t worry. I practice every day and whenever you need me, I’m ready.”

  “You’re my girl.”

  AT ELEVEN, ANNIE entered the cardiac unit to sit with Jesse. He opened his eyes and tried to smile when she touched his hand but didn’t speak.

  Annie told him about Charity and Jackson playing with her toys the day before and how much fun they had together. Jesse tried to smile.

  “Home, Ace.” His voice came out dry and croaky.

  Maybe he won’t smoke when he gets out of he
re.

  “I know you want to go home, sweetheart.” She leaned closer, gently put her arms around him and rested her head on his chest. When she looked up, Tyler was standing at the foot of the bed with tears in his eyes.

  Ty took a step closer, so Jesse could see him. “How you doing today, bro? You look better.”

  Jesse nodded his head slightly at his brother and at that point, Brian hustled across the unit wearing his usual scowl. “Too many visitors. Annie, you have to leave.”

  She sat up and stroked Jesse’s hair. “Okay, I’ll be in the waiting area, Ty.” She leaned down once more and kissed Jesse on the mouth. “I love you, cowboy.”

  After his allotted time with Jesse, Tyler joined Annie in the cardiac waiting area. “Sorry Brian was so rude to you, Annie. He’s being a jerk.”

  “I can see his point. He thinks I’m a constant danger to Jesse and he wants me to stay away.”

  “Maybe, but he could be a bit nicer about it.”

  “Do you think I could stay at Quantrall when Jesse comes home from the hospital?”

  Tyler’s eyes widened. “I’m not sure. Why don’t I talk to Paulie about it?”

  “Paul?”

  “It’s our house—Jesse’s, mine and Paulie’s.”

  “Brian seems to rule the roost,” said Annie, “and it’s not even his house?”

  “That’s about it,” said Tyler, “and Jesse has pointed that out to Brian on several occasions. Daddy left the house to us because we run the ranch. Bobby and Brian have other careers. Guess Daddy thought they would move on, but they never have. Maybe they never will.”

  “Think about it. I want to be there to support him and care for him when he comes home.” She hugged Tyler and left.

  TRAVIS PULLED INTO the vast parking area behind the Gonzalez Convention Center in downtown San Antonio with Farrell following behind in the huge RV unit.

  “We’re here,” said Lily, “Stop one on the tour.”

  “What’s her name again?” asked Blaine. He lowered his window and lit up a smoke.

  Lily read from an information sheet she had printed out. “Doctor Virginia Rodriguez, forty-seven years old. She was married to Samuel Tiffin, a manufacturer in the agricultural sector, but he died two years ago, and she is now a widow. Born in Laredo, she lives in Austin with her two Chocolate Labs.”