Burning Ache

by Adrienne Giordano

  “That works.”

  “Mags? What is it?”

  “I talked to the owner of those license plates. One Joe Brady. The plates were stolen yesterday and placed on a vehicle—also stolen—that was discovered twenty miles from here at two a.m.”

  “In other words, a dead end.”

  “Exactly. Now that you’ve brought me up to speed, though, I got to thinking. I may have information that will help.”

  That was all Roni needed to hear. “I’ll get a hold of Way and be right there.”

  She swung the door open and found Way sitting on the edge of his bed.

  “That was Maggie. Get dressed. We’re going to her office.”

  19

  Upon arriving at Maggie’s office, they found the reception desk empty. Shari, the sheriff’s department’s executive assistant and one-woman miracle organizer, must’ve had the day off.

  “Mags?” Way called.

  “My office!”

  Way held his hand out to Roni, ushering her ahead of him. Anything less than proper manners would mortify his parents.

  He fell into step beside her as her boot heels clicked against the tile and filled his mind with visions of her in high-heels. And only high-heels.

  Yeah, they’d have to experiment with that some. Damn, he couldn’t wait to get his hands on her again.

  He glanced down at her, all freshly showered and carrying her messenger bag over her shoulder. He’d swung her by the bed-and-breakfast so she could, as she put it, avoid smelling like she’d gotten laid all night. Now she wore her leather jacket over skintight jeans, a snug T-shirt, and those high-heeled boots that gave her wicked sexy frame an additional few inches. The .38 tucked into a holster at her waist was the finishing touch.

  Roni made the turn into Maggie’s office, knocking lightly as they entered. His sister sat behind her desk, her sheriff’s uniform pressed sharply enough to slice wood.

  She glanced up from the document she’d been reading. Dark half-moons and puffy skin under her eyes indicated a lack of sleep. All due to Way nearly getting blown off the side of the mountain last night.

  “Hey.” Maggie pointed to the two guest chairs in front of her desk. “Sit.”

  At best, his sister’s office could be described as no-frills efficiency. As a responsible administrator, Maggie didn’t spend county money recklessly. When it came to running her department she could squeeze a nickel so tight, the head would pop off.

  Something Mags took great pride in. She didn’t need an over-the-top office. She needed a good staff.

  Roni took the chair on the left and Way dropped in next to her.

  Maggie leaned in, resting her arms against the desk. “I’m assuming Roni told you about the plates?”

  She sure did. And it kept his mind spinning endless theories about the CIA trying to take him out and who might be responsible for the shootings. Don Harding? Karl Quigley?

  All possibilities Way couldn’t eliminate.

  “She did,” he said.

  “Which,” Maggie said, “makes me believe that it definitely wasn’t some drunk teenager looking to mess with you last night.”

  Roni nodded. “I agree. Someone stole those plates and put them on another vehicle to keep from being discovered.”

  “Given what you told me about your off-the-books investigation, I think you’ve rattled someone.”

  “It has to be the CIA,” Way said. “Someone leaked my design and now they’re trying to cover their asses.”

  Maggie made a humming noise. “Possibly.”

  Over the years, he’d learned to hate that noise. With that noise came disagreement. But after what they’d all been through last night, he wouldn’t launch into his usual full-scale-defensive maneuvers. “What are you thinking?”

  “I’m not discounting the CIA, but one of those bullets being used in the murder of a Street Dragon, a gang my task force had been investigating, intrigues me. It’s another angle is all.”

  “Which is why we talked to Bernadette Ambrose,” Roni said. “She gave us boxes of Jeff’s belongings. I was hoping we’d find something about the Street Dragons, but so far, there’s nothing.”

  Maggie met her gaze. “His mother knows a lot of people, Roni.”

  “I know. Think about the people who attended those annual barbecues at her house. I don’t want to think Jeff is at the root of this.”

  Way held up his hand. “Hang on. Why are we so sure Harding is clean?”

  “Think about it,” Roni said. “He’s in charge of the CIA’s science and development department. No offense, Way, but if he wanted to betray his country, he’d do it with something a whole hell of a lot bigger than bullets.”

  Oh, Way had been thinking about it. Nothing but for the last six damned days. “You think? The bullets are literally small enough to keep off the radar. If I’m him and thinking about cashing in, I’m keeping it low-key with a small project. Less likely to get caught that way.”

  Maggie picked up a pen sitting on her desk and tapped it. “He has a point. I was up half the night thinking that exact thing.”

  Well, look at that. He and Mags agreed on something. “And?”

  She peered over at Roni. “As much as I don’t want to say this, I think we need to focus on Jeff. As the head of the task force, I have access to all his evidence.”

  The skin on Way’s arms puckered. Man, oh, man he’d like to get his mitts on some of that evidence. “Anything you can share?”

  Maggie looked back at him and lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know. But when Jeff died, in an effort to aid in the investigation, I went through everything I had and sorted it. Anything he gave me, I turned over to the ATF and FBI.”

  “Please tell me you made a copy.”

  Maggie hit him with a smugass grin. “Do you think I’d be dumb enough to turn over the only copies I had? Of course I made copies.” She pointed to two file boxes sitting in the corner. “That would be them.”

  Moisture filled Way’s mouth and he sat forward, literally salivating. “Did you find something in there?”

  “Don’t know yet. I haven’t had a chance to look. And before you ask, I can’t allow you to look either. That’s evidence.”

  “Roni was on the task force,” he shot, hoping his straight-arrow sister would see his logic.

  God forbid Mags would bend the fucking rules once in a while.

  She stared at him like his last working brain cell had died.

  “Right,” Way said, putting enough boredom in his tone to put everyone to sleep. “What are we doing here, then?”

  Maggie stood. “I wanted to make sure you were all right. And, well, to see if you might like to help me carry these boxes into the conference room.”

  What the fuck? She wouldn’t let them see what was in there, but now she wanted them to move them?

  He gave his head a hard shake. “Mags, are you wasted or something?”

  Roni snorted. “She’s not wasted. If I know your sister, I think she wants us to carry those boxes into her conference room and, while we’re there, definitely not look through them without her knowledge.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Ha!” Roni smacked both hands on the chair’s armrests. “Maggie, I adore you.”

  “I bet you do.” His sister wagged a finger at the boxes. “You’ve got one hour while I run out to do a well-check. I swear to God, if anything goes missing from those files, I’ll arrest you both.”

  * * *

  One hour to get through two legal-sized banker’s boxes stuffed with notes.

  Sure we can.

  Roni stood in the conference room, gloved hands frantically pulling files and spreading them across the table. The gloves protected everyone, Maggie included. She’d taken a risk allowing them to view these files, and Roni wasn’t about to let her get nailed over something as simple as leaving prints behind.

  Maggie’s generosity only extended so far. How the heck would they get through
all this in one hour?

  She checked the tab on the folder in her hand. “Some of these are dated and some are labeled with names. Let’s start alphabetized piles and see what’s what.”

  Because, God help them, she had no idea what they were looking for.

  “Good idea.” Way set a folder in the middle of the long table. “This is an M folder. Start the As at this end and we’ll work our way down.”

  Quickly, she set the folder she held just above the one Way had placed. “And this is a dated one. June. Put anything earlier in chronological order above the As. That way we’ll have a timeline.”

  It took them seven precious minutes to unload the boxes, but the result was neat stacks of folders, all containing information regarding Jeff Ambrose’s investigations and his death.

  Way ran a hand over his face. “No idea where to start. There’s a ton of stuff to photograph here.”

  Roni had to agree. The information, when faced with such a short time to absorb it, overwhelmed her. “Let’s break it down. We’re looking for a connection between Jeff, your bullet design, and anyone who might want a Street Dragon dead. Right?”

  “You make it sound simple. A ton of people want gangbangers dead.”

  Roni swung around the table, perusing the folders as she went. July. She snatched the folder in front and flipped it open. “Work with me here. You sent the first batch of bullets to the CIA in July. Let’s assume anything relating to the leak of your design starts there. We’ll go through the July folder and, if we don’t find anything, we’ll go to June and then August and September.”

  Nodding, Way grabbed two additional folders. “That works. But we don’t have time to read all this stuff. Spread everything out and we’ll take photos. Make sure you grab a shot of the name on the folder so we know time frames.”

  The two of them worked in silence, side by side, spreading documents along Maggie’s conference room table and snapping photos.

  Twenty minutes into the chaotic process, they’d cleared six folders, three each.

  “Just finished August,” Way said.

  “Good.” Roni took a picture of some handwritten notes and flipped the page.

  Snap, snap. She flipped the page, snap, flipped the page. The methodical rhythm kicked in, getting her through several pages until…hello.

  “Huh.”

  She scanned the photo of what looked like a journal page with more of Jeff’s handwritten notes. Her mind ticked back to the antique leather journal with leather cords binding the pages. She’d always admired it. Jeff had told her it belonged to his father.

  “Don’t read,” Way said. “It wastes time. Take the pictures and we’ll print everything later.”

  She flipped back one page. Another journal page. In the photo, the leather cords that bound the pages were visible.

  “Roni, keep going. Tick tock.”

  She flipped two pages. More journal notes. Another page. Another journal note.

  “When we were going through Jeff’s stuff the other night, did you see a leather notebook? It has a metal C clasp on the front.”

  “No.” Way took pictures of four documents spread in front of him. “Why?” He pointed at the open folder in front of her. “Keep going. We’ve got thirty minutes.”

  “Jeff kept a notebook. It was his father’s. He carried it with him and kept case notes in it. It must have gotten turned over to the ATF after he died.”

  “And what?”

  She held up a page. “See the leather cords holding the pages in place? Those are from the journal.”

  “Okay.” He jerked his phone at the file. “Keep going. Maybe there’s something in there.”

  Right. Snap, new page, snap, new page.

  Whoa. A list of names.

  “Way?”

  He let out a sigh. “Roni, for Chrissake, stop reading. We’ve gotta get through all this stuff.”

  Ignoring him, she focused on the list. Four names down, one caught her eye.

  Roy Jackson.

  Right after Jackson’s murder, she’d been tasked with investigating Way and his bullet design. Using her finger, she moved to the next name on the list.

  Chad Hopkins.

  Next name.

  Petra Cheevers.

  Petra who owned convenience stores that probably sold cigarettes. Hmmm.

  Roni tipped her head back and stared at the ceiling. The other names. The three before Roy Jackson. She’d seen them in Way’s files. What was the order though? “Oh my God.”

  “What?”

  She looked at him. “In your files. There were three cases before Roy Jackson. I can’t remember the order.”

  “Ben Abrams, Jim Hayes, and Roberto Cortez.”

  No. Something was…off. She went back to the notes. “Was that the order, though?”

  “What do you mean the order?”

  “When they were killed. Was that the order?”

  He met her gaze. “No. Hayes was first. Then Abrams and Cortez.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Absolutely. I studied that file. When men are killed with a bullet you created, you remember that shit.”

  She smacked a hand on the page in front of her and held it up. Way grabbed it. “What’s this?”

  “Read the names. Roy Jackson is the fourth name down, followed by Chad Hopkins and Petra Cheevers.”

  “No way.” His gaze shot to the document and the muscle in his jaw flexed and released, flexed and released, as he read.

  Jim Hayes.

  Ben Abrams.

  Roberto Cortez.

  “Jesus.”

  She flicked her finger against the page, sending a fffttt sound into the air. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  He peered back at her, his eyes darkening with some emotion she couldn’t quite identify. Excitement, anger, horror?

  He nodded. “This is a kill list.”

  * * *

  From the hallway, the sound of someone—Maggie—clearing her throat penetrated the conference room door.

  Way glanced up from the list in front of him and met Roni’s eye. “She’s back.”

  “I hear that. We have to tell her about this list. It’s in her files.”

  Tell her?

  No chance. Telling Maggie, without a doubt, meant bringing in the feds. They’d been part of the original task force and Jeff’s superiors would insist on being involved. Never mind whoever was investigating his murder. Of that, Way was sure.

  “I don’t want her involved. It’s a damned miracle she hasn’t found this list in the first place.”

  Roni shrugged. “Back then, the people noted were suspects Jeff had targeted in the cigarette smuggling operation.” She waved at the boxes. “When Maggie turned everything over to the feds, she made her copies and filed them.”

  “The list didn’t mean anything then.”

  “Oh, it meant something. It gave them a suspect list for Jeff’s murder. Once they were cleared, though…” She shrugged.

  Someone knocked on the door. “Hey,” Maggie said. “I’m back.”

  Knowing her, in about ten seconds she’d open the door.

  Continuing the plausible deniability charade for Mags meant getting the crap strewn across the table back in the boxes.

  Roni hustled to the door, cracking it open. “Hi. You’re early. Can you give us a few minutes?”

  “Sixty seconds,” Maggie said.

  Before Roni had even closed the door, Way began reassembling the files and storing them.

  Roni joined him, the two of them leaving the file containing the journal notes—the kill list—on the table between them.

  “I’ll put away these other files,” he said keeping his voice low so Miss Big Ears on the other side of the door wouldn’t hear him. “Make sure you get photos of that entire file.”

  “On it.”

  Quickly she laid the pages out in a long row and went to work snapping shots.

  “Got ’em.” She tucked her phone in her pock
et, then reassembled the file and held it up. “We have to tell her,” Roni whispered. “I know you don’t like it, but it’s for her protection. If anyone knows she has this…”

  “What?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know. But she needs to know. For her own protection. Professionally and personally. I love that you want to protect her, I really do, but your sister prides herself on her professional reputation. Having this information sitting in a box while people are being murdered is, at the very least, negligent. And what if the killer figures out she has this list? Does her name go on it?”

  “Shit.”

  Way hadn’t considered that. His first reaction was to protect Maggie. Keep her out of this mess. Even if it got him his head handed to him. Again.

  He pushed his shoulders back, closed his eyes for a second to organize his thoughts. Murders, his bullets, Maggie.

  Right now, the only thing that mattered was keeping his sister safe.

  He opened his eyes, met Roni’s gaze, and nodded. “Mags! Get in here.”

  Voilà. The door swung open and in stepped Maggie. “Quit screaming. What’s up?”

  “Sorry. I…Never mind.” He waved her in. “We found something you need to see.”

  20

  Maggie’s gaze shot from Way to Roni and back. For a second, a spurt of panic caved in Way’s chest. He considered backpedaling and glanced across the table at Roni.

  Two formidable women. Combined, their law enforcement knowledge trumped whatever experience he brought to this mess.

  Roni reached across the table, handing Maggie the folder. “Remember the leather journal Jeff carried?”

  “Of course. He wrote case notes in there. He always gave me copies. He thought they might be helpful, since it’s my county.”

  Copies. All she’d ever had was copies. For whatever reason, the tension locking up Way’s air, released. “You didn’t have the actual journal?”

  “No. I’d see him with it in meetings, but as far as him actually showing it to me? Never. I’m not even sure he gave me everything.”

  “Why?”

  “Some of it was disjointed. Like there were pages missing. I assumed he gave me what pertained to my jurisdiction.”