He put his hand in the drawer again, brought out a can of pepper spray.
‘You can have this back as well. Tell me, do all women carry this kind of stuff around in their bag? Or is it just you?’
He pushed it across the desk towards her. They both watched it as it rolled towards her. She imagined grabbing it, taking hold of the back of his greasy head and pulling it backwards. Spraying the searing gas into his wide-open startled eyes. Back and forth, back and forth. Like she was trying to shift a particularly stubborn stain in her oven. It was a nice thought.
She put her hand on it, stopped it rolling off the desk. Maybe he read her mind. He suddenly slapped his hand on top of hers, pulled the can out from under her hand.
‘Actually, I’ll keep this.’
She shrugged, have it your way. She headed for the door, but he called her back. She turned to face him. He was waving the piece of paper with the address she’d written down.
‘Think about your friend, Carly, before you get any silly ideas. Don’t make me send these two after her.’
She looked at Victor and José leaning against the wall and shuddered. The cut under her breast seemed to sting and burn more intensely. She could still feel their eager hands on her as they held her down in Chico’s basement movie theater while he worked the tip of his knife into her flesh.
Chico tapped the can of pepper spray sitting on his desk.
‘Because they’ll be taking something a lot worse than this with them if you do.’
Chapter 13
KATE GUILLORY WAS SITTING up at the bar when Evan got there. He climbed onto the barstool next to her. Despite their light-hearted early morning phone conversation, something was wrong. She looked like the half-empty beer sitting in front of her wasn’t the first one or even the second. Maybe it hadn’t been milk he heard her pour on her breakfast.
‘Hey, speed dial.’
It was her new name for him—as in the Grim Reaper had his number on speed dial. It was her firmly held belief that it was only a matter of time before he got through.
‘How come you’re not at work?’
She stretched her arms out, lacing her fingers together. A sharp hiss of breath squeezed past her lips.
‘I’ve been suspended.’
He felt as if he’d been slapped on the back by a bear. A large one. It took a few moments to get his voice in gear.
‘You’re kidding. What the hell happened?’
She took a coaster off the bar. Picked absently at it, dropping little bits of paper onto the polished wood surface. The bartender glowered at her as he put Evan’s beer in front of him. He didn’t say anything. Evan reckoned that was a good call. Coasters are easier to replace than front teeth. Same reason he hadn’t said anything about the fact she wasn’t wearing any lipstick.
‘I got carried away interviewing a suspect.’
Evan’s mouth flapped uselessly a couple times but no words came out. In addition to being the straightest person he’d ever met, she was also the most laid-back. Nothing got to her. Ever. He should know, he’d put it to the test enough times.
She held up the index finger of her left hand. He noticed he couldn’t see her right hand at all.
‘Sorry, I got that wrong. I should have said interviewing a low-life, cock-sucking piece of shit.’
Her tone of voice made it clear to Evan it was important he understood the distinction.
‘But that’s what you deal with all day, every day.’
She gave a soft, too-late-now shrug. ‘Yeah, well.’
They both sat in silence for a minute. On the jukebox Jeannie C. Riley was singing Harper Valley PTA. Guillory had her eyes closed, nodding her head along to the song.
‘I love this song. Life was a lot simpler back then. Not that you’d remember, seeing as you’re only about twelve. I’m surprised they even serve you.’
It was nonsense. She was only two years older than he was. Although two might have as well have been two hundred as far as his sister, Charlotte, was concerned. She kept a close—and worried—eye on Guillory’s biological clock.
‘Okay grandma. How carried away?’
She stopped nodding along. Her lips curled into a grim smile.
‘Dislocated his jaw, knocked out most of his front teeth carried away.’
She brought her right hand up onto the bar. The first and second knuckles were so swollen they resembled a rubber glove full of air. A ragged V-shaped flap of skin and flesh had already scabbed on her second knuckle. He stared at it. He could tell now wasn’t the right moment to offer to kiss it better. She caught him staring, flexed her hand a few times.
‘Hurts like hell when I do that.’
Well don’t do it, dummy.
‘Lucky I didn’t break my hand.’
Then she grinned, the familiar, almost mocking grin that he knew so well. It made him wonder if she was fooling around, had actually caught it in the door, maybe hit it with a hammer.
‘Are you kidding me?’
She shook her head.
‘I wish I was.’
‘Tell me what happened.’
‘Another time. Long story short, I’m suspended. Which is good news for people who like to get free information they’re not supposed to have.’ She cupped her good hand around the back of his neck, squeezed gently. ‘Now I’ve got all the time in the world to run your errands for you.’
It was a standing joke between them, that she ran around after him—and got no thanks for it. Her partner, Ryder, didn’t find it so funny. Evan and Ryder had never got along. And it was getting worse as time went by—especially as Evan and Guillory’s relationship became more complex.
‘If you can still get the information.’
She pulled her head back, stared at him like he was making up words.
‘I might be suspended, but people still talk to me. The Captain has to suspend me, that’s the rules. But as far as most of the guys in the department are concerned, I’m a hero. They’d like to give me a medal. The dispatcher says she’s going to bake me a cake.’
‘Like in the good old days, eh? None of this political correctness garbage. Prisoner’s rights, all that sort of junk.’
‘You got that right.’
She finished her beer and ordered two more. It didn’t look like she was slowing up any. It was lucky he had something useful for her to do. He fished out a piece of paper with the license plate number of the guys who came to the hotel. She picked it up.
‘I suppose you want me to find out who that’s registered to.’
‘Uh-huh. It’ll give you something to do.’
Her eyes narrowed. Then she smiled at him.
‘Nice try, Buckley. But it’s not exactly going to stop me sitting here getting drunk. Do I want to know why you need this information?’
‘Probably not.’
‘Okay. Hold on.’
‘One more thing,’ he said and got a roll of the eyes back.
‘I thought so.’
He gave her Dixie’s name. Said anything she could find out would be good.
She slipped off her stool to go outside and make the call, the piece of paper in her left hand. Somehow, she forgot how tender the right one was, tried to stuff it in her jeans pocket to get her phone. She hissed in pain, pulled it out again sharply. And her jeans were way too tight for her to reach it across her body.
‘Let me,’ Mr Helpful said.
He slipped his hand into her right-hand pocket. It was very warm in there. They locked eyes while he felt around trying to find the phone. Some of the sparkle had come back into hers.
‘Don’t tickle.’
That was rich. She was deliberately pushing out her stomach to make it harder for him to move his hand around. He jammed it all the way to the bottom. She giggled, raised an eyebrow.
‘It’s not in there,’ he said.
‘What isn’t?’
‘Your phone.’
‘Oh. Is that what you’re doing?’
He
didn’t say anything.
‘Maybe it’s in the other one.’
‘You just tried to put your hand in this one.’
‘I must have made a mistake.’
He pulled his hand out, slipped it into the other pocket. Seems it didn’t cross either of their minds she could have held the paper in her swollen right hand and got the phone out of her left-hand pocket herself.
He felt it straight away, pretended he hadn’t.
‘People are staring, Evan.’
‘They can have their turn when I’m done. Not long now.’
‘Idiot.’
She twisted away to hide the grin on her face. His hand popped out, all hot and sweaty, holding the phone. She snatched it from him, headed for the door. He swallowed as he watched her go. Felt a gentle warmth spread through his limbs that he’d managed to get her out of herself, for a few minutes at least. But he wasn’t sure she heard him when he called after her that he’d never wash his hand again.
***
IT WAS A VERY different story when she came back. Evan saw it on her face from across the room as soon as she came through the door. It was as if someone had let the thunder clouds in. And they were headed his way. He turned back to his beer, got very interested in the label on the bottle.
‘Exactly,’ she said to his back. ‘I’m surprised you’re not hiding in the men’s room.’
At least he could derive some comfort from the fact that he’d given her something to occupy her time going forward—worrying about him. Because he knew her well enough now to know that was what was behind the look she had on her face, the one she tried to mask behind frustration and irritation.
She told him what she’d found out.
‘The car’s registered to some outfit owned by a guy called Francisco Garcia. Everybody calls him Chico. He’s a hot-shot drug dealer. A very nasty piece of work. I won’t bore you with the stories. Think Reservoir Dogs on speed. You know that scene, the one where Mr Blonde slices the cop’s ear off?’
‘Okay, okay, I get the picture,’ he said, still picking at the label on the bottle. ‘That makes me feel much better.’
‘Look at me, Evan.’
He did as he was told. Things always went better that way. She stared directly into his eyes. Suddenly it was if she hadn’t had a drink for a month.
‘What it should do is make you drop whatever it is you’re doing. Right now. Walk away now, while you still can.’
‘So what about this guy Dixie?’
She held up a finger.
‘For the record, Mr Buckley chose to ignore my last statement.’
‘Get on with it.’
‘The car was easy. Finding out about Dixie, not so easy.’
‘But you managed to.’ He clapped a hand on her shoulder, felt the tension vibrating through her whole body. ‘I knew I picked the right man—sorry, woman—for the job.’
She ignored him. As usual.
‘Dixie is or was an undercover cop. Nobody seems quite sure whose side he’s on now. But there’s one thing in all of this that’s clear as day.’
‘What’s that?’
A split second later he realized what she was going to say.
‘I need to drop it.’
‘You need to drop it.’
‘Altogether now . . .’ he sang.
She shook her head in despair. It seemed like a lifetime ago that his hand was jammed down her jeans pocket, their eyes locked, alive with possibilities.
‘Why do I get the feeling I’m wasting my breath here?’
He grinned at her.
‘You know me. A man’s gotta do—’
‘Bullshit.’
Her voice was raised now, a hint of desperation hovering behind it. She took a deep breath to calm herself, put her hand on his arm. He studied the cut and swollen hand and was glad he hadn’t been on the receiving end of it.
‘I’m serious, Evan. You’ve got to drop this. I don’t know what you’re getting out of it, but it’s not worth it.’ She took her hand off his arm, jabbed at her own chest with her thumb. ‘As someone who might well have thrown away her career and everything that goes with it because of a moment’s madness, I can tell you, it’s not worth it.’
He shook his head at her, his mind awash with too many conflicting thoughts. Not so long ago, when they almost went away together, she’d told him, I’m a big girl now, I’ll take my chances. They were discussing his search for Sarah, where it might leave their relationship if he ever found her.
Despite that, his next words almost caught in his throat.
‘But that’s just it, Kate. You don’t know what I’m getting out of it.’
‘So tell me.’
So he told her.
‘Jesus Christ,’ she said when he’d finished. ‘I give up.’
Chapter 14
MET UP WITH A guy called Evan Buckley. I think they’re working together. I lost him. What do you want me to do?
Dixie read the text one last time, hit send. That should do it. Chico was getting suspicious. He needed to buy himself a little time. Muddy the waters. He couldn’t stop thinking about the way Ortega’s man, Miguel, had stared so pointedly at his hand. At the tattoo. He should have had it removed years ago, didn’t need it sitting there to remind him.
He smiled to himself as he hit the send button. It could even work, he only needed a day or two. And if it didn’t, what the hell? He had nothing to lose. It might get a bit rough for Buckley but that’s the way it went sometimes. He’d make it up to the guy if he got the chance.
Time to go. He couldn’t ignore the gnawing unease in his gut any longer, the feeling of impending doom. He scrolled through his recent calls. Found the number of the GPS tracker, the same number he’d called from Ortega’s office. He hit redial. Almost immediately his phone pinged. He opened the text, clicked on the link. A map opened in his phone’s browser, the tracker’s location clearly indicated. It was the exact same location as last time. It hadn’t been moved. Not that it gave him much comfort. He put his phone away. He didn’t need the map. He knew exactly where he was going.
The churning in his stomach intensified as he got closer. His mind went into overdrive. He imagined Ortega’s face as he called Chico to gloat, almost heard him saying you should have asked me Chico, not accused me. He pictured Chico biting his tongue until his mouth was full of blood. Writing down the tracker’s number as Ortega read it to him in a voice normally reserved for talking to small children and puppies. He heard Chico screaming at Victor and José, go and get my money, heard the wheels spinning and smelled tire rubber burning on asphalt, breathed in the sour odor of their sweat as they raced up the stairs of the storage facility two at a time, guns in hand. And more than any of those things he felt Chico’s rage vibrating through his body as he took control of himself, his voice calm now, cutting into him like a cold wind—then wait for the bastard who comes looking for it.
Just liked his brother, Dixie had a vivid imagination.
The parking lot was empty. No cars parked at a crazy angle with doors left hanging open, hot engines pinging as they cooled. No hint of rubber in the air. It didn’t mean they might not turn up at any minute.
He hustled across the lot. Into the facility and up to the second floor. Down the corridor, the ring of keys already in his hand, held in front of him as if they were leading the way. Something was making them shake. Must be the exertion.
Pull yourself together.
Ten feet away and he knew there was a problem. On the way over his mind had been full of thoughts of finding Victor and José waiting for him. He knew now that was just a defense mechanism, his mind’s way of blocking out the deeper worry that had been eating away at him ever since Silas told him the investigator was looking for him.
He didn’t need to look at the numbers on the units. The padlock hanging open on the hasp told him all he needed to know. He could hear it calling to him. If he wasn’t mistaken, it was giving him the finger too. Just like you always kn
ow the three-hundred-pound guy squeezing his way down the aisle of the airplane is headed for the seat next to yours, he knew which unit was his.
He pulled the padlock off, let himself in. With his heart thumping wildly, his mouth dry, he turned on the light. It was only a small space, about five feet square, the smallest you could rent. But it was more than enough room for the solitary bag sitting in the back corner. It looked pathetic, sitting there all alone.
The bad feeling in his gut spiked at the sight of the bag. What can you tell from simply looking at a bag from five feet away? Enough to make his stomach turn over, that was for sure. He took a couple of quick steps across the room, picked it up.
Empty.
Just as he knew it would be.
He didn’t need to open it. The weight told him. There are five hundred notes to a pound in weight. He did the math. Three million dollars in one hundred-dollar bills weighs sixty-six pounds.
The bag in his hand didn’t weigh sixty-six ounces.
He opened it up anyway, peeked inside. Who knows, she might have left him a spiteful little note:
Ha, ha, ha, up yours!
It wasn’t completely empty. There was no note, but she’d left the GPS tracker for him. It was a small plastic box about three inches by two by an inch thick. He dropped it back into the bag. Threw the whole lot into the corner. Might as well leave it there in case Victor and José came looking for it. Spread the disappointment around.
Back downstairs in the parking lot he sat in his car, drumming his fingers on the wheel. Already he was regretting sending Chico the text trying to sic him on Buckley. He was the best shot at finding Carly any of them had. He’d thought he was so clever. Now it looked like he’d been too clever by half. Victor and José might already be on their way, might already be bringing their own special brand of sunshine into Buckley’s life. He dug out the piece of paper with his details.
Suddenly finding Mr Evan Buckley had become a lot more urgent.
Chapter 15
‘TELL ME ABOUT THIS,’ Evan said.
He was sitting in a booth with Carly at the back of a diner not far from his office. She’d called him an hour earlier, sounding desperate. He’d refused point-blank to go back to her hotel. He didn’t believe in third time lucky. So they’d come to a compromise, arranged to meet in a public place. The waitress had brought them coffee and left them alone. The tension between them saw to that. She’d have needed a knife from the kitchen to cut through it.
Hunting Dixie Page 6
