Oil & Vinegar

by Mairsile Leabhair

  “What does that mean?” I asked.

  “Have you noticed an escalation in attempts to kill you? Not her, you.” she answered by asking a question.

  “If, and I mean if they had, what do you know about it?” I rebutted.

  “I know that the game has changed. Initially, they wanted to keep the girl alive, but now, they want you both dead.”

  I shook my head. “Why?”

  “Because they know you have the evidence.”

  The guy at the cemetery must have gotten word to them before I shot him. How long had he been there, waiting, watching?

  “By the way, we’ll take that off your hands,” she said.

  “If I did have the evidence, I would follow my chain of command. I wouldn’t risk my life by giving it to you. The FBI does not have jurisdiction over the Marshals. Get a court order and then we’ll talk.”

  “Deja de ser un idiota y lo haré,” she repeated.

  Ignoring her snarkiness, I asked, “So, if it were true that I had the evidence, how would they know it?”

  “We’ve had the cemetery staked out since the funeral, waiting for the girl to make an appearance.”

  My face flushed an angry red. “Son of a bitch. You used her as bait?”

  “Now how could we have done that when we didn’t know for sure where she was, or when she’d even visit the cemetery?” FiFi challenged. “We weren’t even sure that the perp would show.”

  “Well, the perp did show and almost killed her. Where was your fucking man then, huh?”

  “He was in a building across from the cemetery, recording everything with a parabolic shotgun microphone and a night vision video camera.”

  “Then he damn sure would have had plenty of time to get his ass over there.” I was fuming. I didn’t like being spied on and liked being ignored even less. “Where was he?”

  “He, um, was in the bathroom, thanks to the tacos he had for dinner, and—”

  I jumped up and glared down at her. “Are you fucking kidding me?” Like a probie, I let my temper dictate my actions and drew unwanted attention from patrons sitting nearby. Might as well have put a target on my back.

  “Sit down, damn it,” she barked, looking around, embarrassed. “I have more to tell you.”

  “Fine, but if it’s some other lame ass mistake you made, I don’t want to know about it.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t know I was speaking with Jesús, who never made a mistake.”

  If I wasn’t so pissed off, I would have appreciated her push back. As it was, I couldn’t let it go.

  “Just so you know, I walk on water, too. So, start talking before I walk out of here.”

  “Okay, here’s what we think. The memory card you found has evidence that leads to a high profile suspect.”

  “You’re talking about Senator Peterson, right?” I asked.

  “I’m sorry. I can’t corroborate that information.”

  She didn’t sound sorry to me and it pissed me off. “Fuck it, then.”

  She shrugged and slipped her hand into her jacket. She pulled out an SD card and placed it on the table, sliding it across to me.

  I’m starting to have quite a library of memory cards. I picked up the card and examined it. Nothing was written on the label but the card had a 4GB capacity so the file on it must be pretty large.

  “In all our ineptness, we did manage to record his phone conversation. Apparently, when you showed up, he called someone and you can hear him saying he would take care of it. Then all hell broke loose.”

  I looked at the card with new respect. “And you have video of our encounter with the perp on here?”

  “Yes, and if I might add, that was something, you taking the bullet for the girl and still managing to get a shot off at the guy.”

  Ignoring her compliment, I asked, “Did you recover the body?”

  “What body? We didn’t find a body,” she said, causing my jaw to drop.

  “I felt for a pulse myself. He was dead.”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you. When our man got down there, the guy was gone.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Amanda Sanders (Connie Yarbrough-Morrison)

  I could hear the thunder in the distance. A low rumbling across the sky. I didn’t see any lightening yet, so the storm must still be pretty far off. I wasn’t a big fan of thunderstorms. Especially after a tornado blew through last year, terrorizing the hell out of my mother and me. Dad sat in his recliner in the living room watching the weather on the TV while Mom and I cowered in the guest bathroom, because it didn’t have windows. I heard sirens, but thankfully, we only had a blustery lightning storm that I swear was directly over the house.

  Bubbles was sleeping on my pillow, and I walked over and picked her up. Arranging the pillows, I sat down on the bed, leaning against the headboard. Bubbles settled on my chest and went back to sleep. Thunderstorms scared her, too, so I knew that when she darted under the bed, the storm was close.

  “I hope Hettie gets back before the storm hits.”

  I was lonely for her. Surprisingly, that didn’t surprise me. When Hettie walked into a room, it came alive with energy. She wasn’t aware of it, that sensual positive energy she projected with just a cock of her upper lip. The hairs on my arm stood up and took notice every time, as if magnetically drawn to her. I had to look away, hoping Hettie wouldn’t see my excitement.

  Hettie was meeting with the FBI on my behalf, but all I could think about was that she was with her ex-girlfriend. An ex who clearly had changed her mind about them. She wanted Hettie back. The way she nestled into her even as she was being snarky with her. Was that the type of women Hettie liked? A woman who ran hot and cold? Remembering the kiss that had my body begging for more only to be rejected, I’d have to say yes. Except… Hettie didn’t show any interest in getting back together with Angie. Or was that my wishful thinking? They could be out there now, canoodling, as my mother used to say. No, I was being irrational.

  “Oh, Mom. I wish you were here so I could talk with you,” I said out loud.

  The burner phone Hettie had given me in Florida rang, and I quickly grabbed it off the bedside table and answered it, hoping it was Hettie.

  “Amanda, it’s Candace.”

  I shot up in bed, knocking the cat off. Feeling like a child about to be scolded, I groveled, “Candace, yes. I’m so sorry I—”

  “Amanda, I need Hettie. Her father has had a heart attack.”

  “Oh, no! Hettie’s not here. Did you try her phone?”

  “She’s not answering it,” Candace explained, her annoyance obvious. “Is she there? Can I talk with her?”

  “She’s at a meeting across town. I’m sure as soon as she’s finished, she’ll check her messages.”

  “He’s in serious condition. I need her… please, let her know as soon as possible.”

  I could hear the panic in her voice. “I will, Candace. And I’ll keep Henry in my prayers.”

  “Thank you,” Candace said, then ended the call.

  I jumped out of bed and began pacing as I called Hettie. No answer. Why wasn’t Hettie answering her phone? “Oh, no. What if she’s hurt?” What could I do? I didn’t have Angie’s number, and I didn’t know where they were. “Damn it!” I was so rattled by the call that I wasn’t thinking straight. I hadn’t tried texting Hettie. I quickly sent a text, only asking her to call me. I didn’t want to frighten her by being too blunt, and I didn’t want her to think that I was in trouble.

  My phone rang a moment later, and I almost dropped it trying to pick it up. “Hettie? Is that you?”

  “You were expecting someone else?” Hettie asked jokingly.

  “Are you still at the meeting?” I asked, my hands trembling and my heart racing.

  “Yes. Is everything all right?” she asked.

  I hesitated, not sure how to tell her. Now is the time to be blunt. “Hettie, your mother called. Henry’s had a heart attack. She wants you to come home.”
/>   “Oh, God. I gotta… oh, shit. Let me call you back.”

  I paced the condo waiting for her to call me back. I wanted so badly to be with her, to comfort her, but all I could do was walk aimlessly through each room, peeking out the windows, petting Bubbles, looking in the refrigerator for nothing in particular. I paced for an hour. Then I realized Hettie would need to fly to Florida to be with her dad. “I can’t go back with her. It’s too dangerous for her family,” I said. Bubbles tilted her head and began purring. “But I need to be there for her like she’s been for me. I have to be there.” But what if she goes straight to the airport and leaves me with Angie? The thought was too traumatic for me to voice. Angie? God, not Angie. She was rude, brash, insensitive, and just plain obnoxious.

  My pacing came to a halt in the bathroom, where I had an idea that would solve my problem and keep the Quinns safe. I opened every drawer until I found a pair of scissors. Without hesitation, I began cutting chunks of my hair off until it was short in the back, like a man’s haircut, with a full set of bangs that purposely hung in my eyes. Using the mousse I found in the cabinet, I added enough to make the bangs fuller and scruffier. I went to my suitcase in the guest bedroom and retrieved my makeup kit. Leaning close to the mirror over the dresser, I used the mascara to darken my eyebrows and smudged a tiny bit of it under my eyes to give me that tired look. Then I powdered it down so it would look more natural. Using a sponge, I rolled the mascara brush over it and stippled my chin and jawline. Powdering that down with a light powder, then a darker powder, I had a five-o’clock shadow. As long as no one looked at me close up, the ruse would work.

  As I cleaned up the mess in the bathroom, I thought about what clothes I could wear. Hettie wore jeans mostly, and that’s what I had on now, but they were girl jeans. I needed boys’ clothes if I were going to pull it off. I felt funny about going through Angie’s closet without her permission, but I didn’t think that Hettie would mind my going through her duffel bag. I walked over to the couch and picked up her bag, placing it on the couch. I leaned over and unzipped it.

  “Make one move, you bastard, and I’ll put a bullet in your brain,” Hettie said gruffly.

  Her voice sounded strange, deep, angry, and deadly serious. Then I felt something hard and cold against my head. Oh, God. She thinks I’m a man. I stood frozen in a hunched position about to wet my pants. She lifted my arms up in the air and ran her hand down my back, then across my waist. She stopped as she cupped my right breast.

  “What the hell?” she growled.

  “Hettie, please don’t shoot me,” I said timidly. “It’s me.”

  “Connie?”

  Her hand was still holding my breast and if it weren’t for the gun to my head, and the fear in my heart, it would have been pleasurable.

  “Damn it. I thought you were a man. What did you do to yourself?” she asked as she removed her hand from my breast and holstered her gun.

  I put my hands down and slowly stood up, facing her.

  “Who the hell is that?” Angela barked as she walked in from the hallway.

  “It’s me, Angie. I was, um…” I looked down at the floor, feeling suddenly stupid.

  “You cut your hair,” Hettie stated. “Why on earth would you do that?”

  “I, um, thought, I mean…” Just spit it out, for heaven’s sake. I inhaled and looked Hettie in the eyes. “I know you’ll want to go be with your dad, and I thought maybe if I changed my looks, I could go with you without endangering your family.”

  “Of course, you’re going with me. But what’s that about endangering my family? Why would you think that you were endangering them?” Hettie asked.

  “Besides the obvious? I overheard your mom tell your brother not to bring the kids over, it was too dangerous,” I confessed.

  “Yeah. There had been a rash of burglaries in the neighborhood and Mom didn’t want the kids coming over because of it.”

  “Oh…” That must have been the part of Candace’s conversation that I couldn’t hear. “How is your dad? Did you call your mom?”

  “Yes, and Dad is having surgery in the morning, just as soon as they get him stable enough. It will take an hour to drive to Nashville and then I’ve got a flight out of there that will get me to Miami in a couple of hours. I plan to be there before he goes into surgery.”

  “And you got me a ticket, also?” I asked hopefully. I know she said I was going with her, but I just wanted to clarify that I heard it right.

  “Absolutely.” She looked at my hair again, a curious smile on her lips. “Oh, baby, you did all this just to… protect me? Protect my family?”

  “Well, yeah. I was looking for something to wear when you walked in, and—”

  She wrapped her arms around me and pulled me to her. Her hug was almost desperate, yet warm and inviting. I sank into her arms and held her as tight as she was holding me. She began to tremble and I pulled back and looked up at her. Tears were pooling in her eyes, her face was pale and her lips were shivering.

  “It’s going to be all right, Hettie,” I said, cupping her cheek. “He won’t let a heart attack stop him.”

  “She’s right, Hettie,” Angie said. “He’s faced a lot worse as a cop.”

  I had forgotten all about Angie, but when Hettie pulled away to look at her, I kind of hated her a little bit.

  “Angie, thank you,” Hettie said, holding out her hand. “I really appreciated knowing you had my back out there.”

  “You’re not getting off with just a handshake,” Angie rebuffed. She grabbed Hettie by the shoulders and pulled her into an embrace.

  Yeah, I really hate her. She rubbed her hands down Hettie’s back but had the decency to stop before reaching her hips. Hettie patted her back and then pulled back.

  Hettie cleared her throat and looked at her duffel bag. “Okay. Hate to hug and run, but we’ve got a plane to catch.”

  “I wish I could go with you,” Angie said, taking Hettie’s hand. Yes! She’s not going with us! “But give your dad my prayers for a speedy recovery.”

  “I will, thank you again,” Hettie said, wobbling Angie’s hand before turning to me. “Would you be very offended if I asked you to take a shower before we leave?” She smiled and winked at me. “I wouldn’t want my mom getting the wrong ideas.”

  Laughing, I nodded, scratching my chin as if there really were stubble on it. “Let me go shave and I’ll be right out.” I welcomed the opportunity to scrub my face and trim my bangs back. They were already beginning to irritate me. But deep down, I would rather that Hettie saw me as a woman the next time she hugged me. And I was sure there would be a next time. Many, many next times.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  U.S. Marshal Hettie Quinn

  We were fifteen minutes out of Bowling Green on the way to Nashville and neither of us had said much since we left. I would sneak a glance at Connie every time I checked the rearview mirror, which was a lot. We weren’t being followed, thank God.

  I stole another glance at Connie. Her red hair was starting to grow on me. When she came out of the shower, her hair was styled in a cute pixie cut, her bangs shorter and combed to the side. She was so adorably beautiful that my mouth went dry. She also looked ten years younger.

  I couldn’t get over the fact that Connie cut her hair just to be with me. No woman had ever made that kind of sacrifice for me, and damn it, I loved her for it. I loved her, period. I was in love with her. Silly, serious, heart-pounding love. I’d never been this in love before. It was kind of scary. Who was I kidding? It was terrifying. I couldn’t be in love. I was too old. Well, maybe not too old, but I was her protector. I glanced over at her, wishing I could tangle my fingers in her adorable hair and muss it up again. Yes, love was very silly.

  “What?” she asked, looking at me curiously.

  “What? What?”

  “I don’t know. You keep looking at me like you want to say something,” she said. “Was it about you talking with the FBI? How did that go?”


  “Oh, yeah. About like I expected. She did give me a memory card with video of the attack at the cemetery.”

  Connie inhaled sharply. “They were there? Watching him shoot you?”

  “Yeah, there was an agent there and supposedly he had a tummy ache. At least he left the camera running.”

  “You don’t intend on watching it, do you?”

  “Sure I do. It might give me some insight into the guy so I’ll be better prepared the next time we meet.”

  She gasped and put her small hand on my arm. “No, Hettie. You can’t watch yourself being shot. It’s…”

  “Creepy, weird, sicko?” I teased. “I’m not looking forward to watching it, but it’s something I have to do.”

  She moved her hand to her lips in contemplation. “Wait, you said something about gaining insight into the guy who shot you. Why would you need that when… he’s dead? Right?”

  “No, turns out he might not be. At least, the Feds didn’t find his body when they finally got there.”

  “Does that mean what I think it means?”

  “It doesn’t have to mean anything. He might have walked off on his own or someone came by and dragged him off. Listen, he may not be dead, but he’s badly wounded and not coming after us anytime soon.”

  “He’d better not. I can’t swallow anymore cards right now.”

  I laughed and grimaced at the same time. “Let’s hope there won’t be any more cards. I’ve got a pocket full of them already.”

  “What are you going to do with them?” she asked.

  “As soon as my dad is better, I’m going to take them to CD Krauss and report what I know. From what I’ve seen on the cards, it’s the bank CEO who’s embezzling funds. Nothing I saw points to a senator, but then I don’t know who the embezzled funds were going to. Krauss will work with the FBI and if there’s more to be found, they will find it.”

  She shook her head. “So, why didn’t you just give them to the agent?”

  “Because it’s evidence the Marshals found in the pursuit of a case. If I hand it over to the FBI without making a backup copy first, then instead of working with the Feds, we’d be working for them.”