Drawing Dead

by Carolina Mac

  “Uh huh,” said Calhoun. “The guy Travis snagged on the roof of the hotel?”

  “That’s the one,” said Blaine. “Too bad I blew the other one away, but I fuckin hated to let him shoot Farrell.”

  The Chief smiled.

  “That roof guy went mute,” said Farrell. “He ain’t said a single word, but if he finds out Parr is in custody, maybe he’ll want to roll and cut a deal.”

  “Where’s Travis?” asked the Chief.

  Blaine let out a breath. “A bit of a hitch there, Chief. He got slightly overly attached to Doctor Rodriguez and he refused to leave her without added protection. He stayed with her on the tour.”

  “What?” The Chief screwed up his face in disbelief. “She’s eons older than him, isn’t she?”

  “Don’t know what the fuck an eon is, but eight years older,” said Farrell, “but she don’t look it. She’s one of those older women who’s still a ten.”

  “What’s his status with you, Blacky?”

  “I was pissed at first and wanted to fire his ass, but he’s too good to lose. I’m giving him a couple of days to think it through—he’s been pretty messed up lately—then I’ll call and give him an ultimatum. Get his ass back here or find employment elsewhere.”

  “He might realize he’s thinking with his dick,” said the Chief. “Is she that hot? He can’t blow his career off like that.”

  “Pretty hot, Chief,” said Farrell wearing a wide grin. “Maybe his new career is in the Governor’s mansion. The Governor’s stud.”

  “Shit,” said the Chief, “I fuckin hope not. He’s too good a cop for us to lose him.”

  Blaine checked his watch. “Okay, while I’m at the hospital, Farrell can take a squad and a deputy and bring Parr in. Make him comfortable in an interrogation room until I get back. And… let’s have our closest office get on up to Texarkana and toss the shooter’s address. See what they get. And… have Laredo transport our roof guy to us along with anything they have on the dead guy, the rappelling dude I capped.”

  The Chief nodded as he made a few notes. “Yep, we’ll bring all the pieces together and we’ll get enough to make it stick.”

  BLAINE LEFT THE hospital with a freshly bandaged leg and a new load of pain meds—stronger ones—and a warning to take it easy on the leg. Healing wasn’t as far along as it should have been, and the doctor was concerned. He wanted Blaine off the leg for a week and extracted a promise of less activity.

  He swore his present case was almost wrapped and then he’d take two weeks off to rest and to move back home and try to get his head together.

  Jack parked at the front of DPS to let him out. “Hate having you drive me all over, Jack. Waste of your time.”

  “Hey, I get paid no matter what I’m doing, and I love driving this big monster.”

  Blaine pulled out his cell. “Have to make one call before I go in.” He pressed Mary’s contact number. “Can you meet me in the lobby at headquarters in an hour?”

  Russell Parr was in holding room three. The ‘occupied’ sign showed in the corridor. Before confronting Parr, Blaine stuck his head in the Chief’s office and let him know he was back.

  “How was the leg?”

  “I need to take some time off to get it healed.”

  “Anybody would,” said the Chief. “You’re not fuckin Superman.”

  Blaine grinned, closed the Chief’s door and limped with the help of his crutches to room three. He opened the door, caught one of the crutches on the threshold and cursed. Parr didn’t even look up.

  “Why am I here?” he mumbled at his hands.

  The candidate in the number two polling spot was tall, broad-shouldered and heavyset. His fleshy face showed signs of age, but not many laugh lines. His hair was thinning and receding, dark brown mixed with gray. The dark blue suit, summer weight, was expensive and custom tailored to fit a body past it’s prime. The second-place candidate looked like hell.

  “Mr. Parr, I’m Blaine Blackmore.”

  Parr raised an eyebrow when he finally looked up. “I thought you’d be bigger.”

  Fuck off.

  Blaine sat down and opened his briefcase. “I need to ask you a few questions.”

  “My wife is sending an attorney from her firm, so we’ll have to wait for him to show up before we start.”

  “No problem.” Blaine stood, “Can I get you a drink?”

  “Coffee. Regular.”

  On the way to the lunch room, Blaine tapped twice and opened the Chief’s door. “His wife is sending an attorney.”

  “I’ll join y’all when all parties are ready to go.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll let you know.”

  A half hour passed before Russell Parr’s wife arrived with her colleague, a trial lawyer named James Walsh-Somers. Heavy hitter in the court system with a high win average. Big reputation, but not a big man. Five feet eight, slim build with blond hair a little longer than the norm. Average looking with gold rimmed glasses perched on a prominent nose. The largest thing about him was his huge briefcase.

  He introduced himself politely and asked for a minute alone with his client before the questioning began.

  Blaine complied and went to fetch Chief Calhoun. “Ready to go, Chief.”

  “This should be interesting.” The Chief followed Blaine back to the room and asked one of his deputies to bring two extra chairs.

  When they were all settled, Blaine set up the recorder with the case information and began. “Do you know why you’re here, Mr. Parr?”

  “I haven’t the slightest idea.”

  “But you felt you needed an attorney, nonetheless?”

  “Having an attorney with you at the police station is never a bad idea,” he said with a bit of a smirk.

  Blaine nodded. “True enough.” He stared directly at Parr and Parr looked away. “While you were on the campaign circuit up in Abilene, did you hear that Doctor Rodriguez was the victim of a botched attempt on her life in her hotel in Laredo?”

  “How could I not hear about it? It was on every TV station in Texas.”

  “I guess you also heard that one of the men you hired was killed in the attempt?”

  Attorney Walsh-Somers held up a cautioning hand. “My client won’t answer that question Mr. Blackmore.”

  Blaine smiled. “Didn’t think he would.”

  “Would anyone like coffee?” asked the Chief.

  Head shakes all around. No takers for the horrible brew at DPS.

  “Let’s move on to the next stop in Doctor Rodriguez’ campaign,” said Blaine. “Sonora.”

  “Did something happen in Sonora?” asked Parr. “The poor woman is cursed with bad luck, but that has nothing to do with me.”

  Parr’s attorney asked, “Before we continue, could we have a reason why my client has been brought to Ranger Headquarters, please? A legitimate reason.”

  “Sure,” said Blaine. “A sniper was sent to Sonora to eliminate Doctor Rodriguez. Luckily, the sniper was himself eliminated before he could complete the job I’m sure he was paid handily for. A cell phone was found in his pocket and the only number in the phone belongs to Mr. Parr.”

  Parr sat silently and stared at his hands.

  “There could be any number of explanations for Mr. Parr’s number being in the man’s phone,” said the attorney.

  “Give me one,” said Blaine. “One reason Mr. Parr is communicating with a professional killer.”

  “It must be a mistake,” said Parr, his voice a bit shaky.

  “Nope. No mistake,” said Blaine. “Verified by the lab.”

  “You’ll never get to trial if that’s all you have, gentlemen. The DA will laugh at you. My client is leaving.”

  The Chief got to his feet. “I think we’ll give Mr. Parr overnight accommodation. Book him, Ranger Blackmore.”

  “What are you charging him with?” asked Walsh-Somers.

  “Attempted murder, two counts,” said the Chief.

  The lawyer turned to Parr. “Don’
t worry, I’ll have you out of here tomorrow morning.”

  Parr’s face was ashen as Blaine handcuffed him and led him to booking.

  FARRELL SAT WITH MARY in the lobby waiting for Blaine.

  “Did you fill her in, bro?” Blaine balanced on his crutches in front of the two of them.

  Mary nodded. “Blaine, you better tell me exactly what you want in the paper. I don’t want to get it wrong.”

  ANNIE BUSIED HERSELF with her horses, trying not to think about the mess she had made of her life because of Race Ogilvie. Jesse had divorced her and despite her begging him to take her back, he was sticking with his decision. She couldn’t blame him. The stress of their relationship had almost killed him. Brian was right. She had to stay away from Jesse.

  She was mucking out her third stall of the morning when her cell rang in her pocket. She took her work gloves off, pulled out her phone and checked the screen.

  Him again.

  “Hey, Linc.”

  “You remembered my name. That’s a start.”

  “Nope. No start. I’m not in the market to start anything.”

  “Can we talk on the phone? Friendly conversation?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Question. Who was that kid that knew you in Sonora?”

  “My son.”

  “He was too old to be your son.”

  “I adopted him when he was sixteen.”

  “Is he your only kid?”

  “Why do you want to know?”

  “Friendly conversation. That’s all.”

  “Race and I have a son.”

  “No shit?”

  “None.”

  “I want to know about Race.”

  “Why?”

  “He built the club and was the greatest leader The Rule ever had. I want to know the man and how he thought. I’ll be president soon, and I need to know.”

  “Too soon for me to talk about Race.”

  “I get it. I lost someone close to me too.”

  Your brother.

  “My brother, Sam. He played the banjo, and everybody called him that. Just Banjo.”

  “Sorry for your loss.”

  “Thanks for talking to me. I feel better somehow.”

  I don’t.

  Annie shoved her phone into her pocket and went back to shoveling shit.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  BLAINE GLANCED AROUND the richly appointed study he used for an office at the estate, thinking it might be the last time he worked in this room. He sank into the leather chair behind the desk and turned on his laptop.

  Chief Calhoun had called earlier and the Rangers who searched the sniper’s apartment in Texarkana had seized his computer, copied the files and sent them to Blaine. All he had to do to nail candidate Russell Parr, was connect the dots.

  He was an hour into it when Carm brought a mug of fresh coffee.

  “Are you almost ready?” he asked her in Spanish. He had left her and Jack packing up her favorite pans in the kitchen.

  “Si, I’m packing my clothes. Almost done. Do you want me to pack yours?”

  He nodded, and she left smiling. Happier than she’d been for a long while.

  As soon as we get home, I’ll have a landscaper come and fix her flower beds.

  He sipped his coffee and continued his search. The sniper had several bank accounts, each well stocked with thousands of dollars. One off-shore account had a recent transfer of funds. Seven hundred and fifty thousand. All Blaine had to do was connect the payment to Parr. Almost impossible. He’d have to use some skills he hadn’t called on in a long time.

  TYLER PARKED Jesse’s Range Rover close to the porch steps so his brother wouldn’t have far to walk.

  “Thanks, for picking me up, Ty. So happy to get home.”

  “I’m happy you’re home too. Save me two trips a day to La Grange and back.”

  Molly greeted Jesse as he passed the kitchen door. “Glad you’re home, Jesse. Charity is in her crib, but I think she’s awake.”

  “Thanks, Molly.” Jesse took his time on the stairs, feeling the weakness in his legs. He rested at the top for a couple of minutes before he stepped into the nursery. Charity was standing up holding onto the side of the crib.

  “You’re standing up, baby. You’re so smart and Daddy loves you so much.”

  “Da,” she gurgled and stretched out her little arm.

  Uncontrollable tears flowed from Jesse’s eyes. He’d do anything he had to do to be with his daughter as long as possible.

  He lifted her out of the crib, something he was warned against doing for a while, and settled in the rocker with Charity on his knee.

  The baby fell asleep and Jesse didn’t want to disturb her. He felt so at peace, he wanted to convey that to Annie in some way. He pulled his cell out of his shirt pocket and pressed her number.

  BLAINE HACKED AWAY, peeling back layers of Parr’s corporations and consortiums and finally connected the transfer from one of Parr’s well-hidden accounts to the sniper. He called Chief Calhoun. “Got him Chief. I’m sending you the evidence and copying Perry Leighton. We should get an indictment, no problem.”

  “Fantastic, son. You made my day. Make the most of your time off.”

  “Thanks, Chief. I intend to.”

  BY LATE AFTERNOON, Blaine was parked in his own driveway, with Farrell at the wheel and Carm and Lexi in the back seat.

  “I don’t want to stay at the estate with the junkers by myself,” said Farrell. “I guess I’ll go back home to the ranch.”

  “You can do that and I’m sure Mom would be happy if you did, or you can take one of the rooms upstairs and move in with me.”

  Farrell beamed a smile. “Good offer, bro. Think I’ll take it.”

  “You have to work for it,” said Blaine. “You have to haul all Carm’s stuff from the back of the truck to the kitchen, so she can make you food.”

  “Enchiladas,” hollered Farrell and Carm giggled.

  BLAINE LIMPED NEXT DOOR with one crutch under his arm to invite Misty to dinner to celebrate being back home.

  “Hey, you knocked and didn’t use your key.” She hugged him at the door and Hoodoo barked.

  “I’ll have to give that key to the new people,” said Blaine. “It’s almost time.”

  “I’ve scouted out a couple of places,” said Misty, “but I haven’t rented one yet.”

  She wants me to ask her to move in.

  “Carm is making dinner, why don’t you come over? We can talk later.”

  “This has been hanging in the air between us for weeks now. You’ve changed your mind about me moving in, haven’t you?”

  I have. I’m only twenty-three and you’re thirty. I’ve got a lot to learn before I take it to the next level.

  “You refused the first couple of times I mentioned it and I think you were right. I don’t think I’m ready for the commitment it would require. Work takes up almost all my time.”

  Misty nodded, and Blaine thought she was close to tears. She closed the door in his face.

  Thank you for reading.

  I sincerely hope you enjoyed Drawing Dead, book four in the Blackmore Agency Series. If you would like to continue to book five in the series, Under the Gun, I’ve included some pages for you.

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  Author Notes from Carolina:

  We’re well into the series with book four and I’m forging ahead with a few new ideas. I’ve added new characters and I need a bit of time to round them out. Bear with me and I’m sure you’ll let me know the ones you hate. You always do and I count on your input.

  A special thank you to the fans who take the time to reach out
and share their ideas, support, and opinions. You know who you are, Holly, Lynn, June, Dorothy, Shelley, Diane, Wendy, Shirley and Freda, Jerry, Dawn, Alice, Billy and Melinda, Jim and Gayle, Ava, Terry, Renee, Dolly, Tammy, Pat and Celestia to name a few. If I missed you here, message me and I’ll add you to the list.

  Mistakes in any of my books are mine and mine alone.

  To access my author page on Amazon and see all my books published so far, click here.

  Carolina Mac is the author of forty books in four different series. The Regulators biker series, The Quantrall PI series, The Paradise Park series and The Blackmore Agency series. Carolina lives with her family in Ontario, Canada.

  CHAPTER ONE

  July 3rd.

  HIS NAKED reflection stared back at him from the mirror over the vanity and he wasn’t pleased with what he saw. His weight was down, and if he didn’t get back to the gym for regular workouts, any ten-year-old kid who wanted his wallet could take him out. Damn good thing he didn’t have to pass a physical.

  Blaine stepped closer to the mirror, pulled back his long, damp ebony hair and turned his head slightly to examine the vertical scar close to his left ear. He ran his index finger over the puckered skin like he’d done a thousand times before and to what end?

  Why can’t I remember where this came from? Must have bled like a motherfucker when it happened. The way it’s healed tells me I didn’t have stitches. Why not?

  He dressed, left Farrell asleep in the next room, and headed to the kitchen for coffee. Each time he entered the newly renovated kitchen a contented feeling surrounded him—almost the warm and fuzzy family feeling he sought and yearned for. Almost.

  He and Carm had picked everything out together—the tiles, faucets, appliances, colors, all of it, and still it was taking a long time for this house to feel like home. Too long. Maybe it never would.

  Maybe my home will always be with Annie.

  A full pot of Panamanian blend sat on the warmer waiting for him. Carm was usually up earlier than him, just her nature. She’d always worked hard—migrant work, factory work—little bits of information about her past he’d gleaned here and there. She spoke so rapidly in Spanish he rarely caught it all, but it didn’t matter what her life was like before, she had become precious to him and he had vowed to make her life better.