“Yeah, maybe. I sort of lost track,” Clay said.
“Well, in other news, I heard from MJ that you drove River to check into the B and B. How’d that go?” Grace fished a wine cooler out of Clay’s cooler this time and slipped off her sandals to join Clay.
“I dropped her off, along with her rolling luggage, and took her car to the shop.”
“And?” Grace tweaked an eyebrow.
“And nothing.”
What? Trip had passed on River, only to have Clay fumble the handoff? She stepped out of her pricey leather flip-flops and settled on the other side of Clay. “Okay, hold on a minute.” She dug her toes into the sand and leaned forward with her elbows on her knees to scowl at Clay. Mary Jane, who Grace often called MJ, was the woman who managed the bed and breakfast for Grace after Grace’s parents dumped it on her to become world travelers. MJ was information central and a reliable source. “You had the hottest woman to land in Pine Cone in the past five years in your truck and you just…dropped her off? No offer to show her around? No invitation for dinner out?”
“No, I—”
“Hottest woman in the past five years?” Grace cut Clay off. “Who’d I miss?”
“Remember the grad student that was working in Judge Freemont’s office? What was her name…” Trip rarely forgot a hot prospect.
“Oh, yeah. She was pretty.” Grace nodded in agreement and air-toasted Trip with her bottle. “Her name was Shannon. She was too young for you, by the way.”
“Hey! That was five years ago. I was a lot younger then.” Trip frowned and flipped sand in Grace’s direction with her foot.
“Watch it,” Clay warned her, shoving Trip’s shoulder when she caught more of the sand than Grace did.
“Sorry for the interruption, Clay, please continue.” Grace relaxed back onto her elbows again and sipped her wine cooler.
“There’s nothing else to tell. I dropped her off, end of story.” Trip and Grace stared at her for an awkwardly long, silent minute. “Why are you giving me that look?”
“What look?” Trip furrowed her brow and pointed at her own face. “This look? The one that says you’re a dumb ass?”
“I can’t deal with getting involved with anyone right now.”
“That’s right, you don’t need any serious involvement.” Trip was incredulous that Clay hadn’t thought this through. “That’s why River is the perfect girl for you. She’s not local. She’s only here for a few days…a week tops…and she’s clearly into you.”
“Into me?”
“Yes, which is why I wouldn’t let Trip hit on her.” Grace playfully reached around Clay and shoved Trip’s shoulder. “And trust me when I say she was swinging away with that doctor routine.”
“Hey, I’m only human. I have a weakness for damsels in distress, especially the pretty ones.” Trip grinned and took a long pull of her beer. She loved this back-and-forth with her two best pals. And for the record, her doctor routine had a ninety-nine percent success rate—River being that one percent that didn’t fall for it.
“Anyway, as we were saying, River was definitely checking you out. In an I’d like to see you again sort of way,” Grace said, with Trip nodding her agreement.
“I just can’t do it.” Clay glared at Trip. “And if you’d ever gotten your heart stomped on like I did, you’d understand. You’re always the one doing the leaving, so you don’t ever have to find out what it feels like to be the one left behind.”
“Ouch.” Trip mimicked getting skewered in the chest with her fist. She’d told them about her college crush on Jamie, and that Jamie had left to join the army. She’d never told them that Jamie had stolen her heart, but hadn’t wanted it. “Listen, I’ve had my disappointments, same as Grace, same as you, but I don’t wallow in them the way you’re doing.” She almost flinched at the edge in her voice. After all these years, she was still angry at herself over the mistake she’d made with Jamie. She needed to get over it, and so did Clay. “You need to get out and start dating again.”
“You act like it’s been years since Veronica and I split up. It’s only been a few months. I deserve to wallow a little.”
Trip looked over at Grace. Clearly, they were going to have to perform an intervention with Clay.
“Oh no, don’t go trying to set me up. I can read your minds, you know.” Clay waved her hands at them in a back-off gesture.
“We wouldn’t dare,” Grace said, then reached behind Clay to clink her wine bottle against Trip’s Fireball bottle.
Trip took a big swig of Fireball, then chased it with cold beer. Yep, setting up Clay would be just the thing to get her mind off herself and out of this funk she’d been in lately.
Chapter Four
Jamie had received a text from a “private number” early that morning, directing her to a local motel and nondescript Chevy pickup—color, year, window sticker of a stylized deer head to explain the hunting rifles in the rack behind the driver, and license plate number. She wasn’t on shift until later that day, so she took her personal vehicle, which was an equally nondescript white Ford truck. After all, the text could be a prank to make her look silly. Maybe Trip had figured out who was writing all those parking tickets and was getting her back. She might have gotten Jamie’s cell number from Grace by telling her that they were old college buddies.
Just as she neared the motel, the truck she sought pulled onto the highway in the same direction she was traveling, and Jamie followed. The two-lane highway was a main route from town to Interstate 95, so she wasn’t worried that her truck following this fellow was anything other than normal traffic. And she wasn’t surprised when he turned into the large truck stop that was a popular place to gas up before getting onto the interstate. The busy restaurant and store was also a good place to make a drug exchange.
She pulled into the truck stop but parked on the other end of the huge parking lot from where the suspect was headed. Cars and pickups darted between lumbering eighteen-wheelers as they sorted themselves to line up for their turn at the gasoline or diesel pumps. Jamie was glad they patrolled this truck stop daily. It’d be easy to pick out anything that wasn’t the normal rhythm of truckers and tourists stopping for fuel, food, or restrooms.
The suspect’s truck wasn’t visible from Jamie’s position, but she still went through the motions that would make her appear as someone just passing through. She got out of her truck and stretched as though she was stiff from driving a long time. Then she lifted Petunia out and clipped a leash on her collar. While the interstate flanked the truck stop on one side, the other side and behind the truck stop was an open field of weeds, so Jamie walked Petunia through the field in a meandering route, much to Petunia’s delight. The field was awash in the tantalizing scents of mice, stray cats and dogs, and even raccoons—that came to feast on the trash and food tossed by the truck stop’s customers.
Once they worked their way behind the building, Jamie spotted her suspect’s vehicle. She took out a cigarette and lit it. She hated the taste and never actually inhaled, but let it dangle from her lips. Petunia gave her a long-suffering look and sneezed.
“Sorry, P. You and the cigarette are good cover for us while we watch our guy.” She started to add that it wasn’t as bad as Petunia’s noxious odors, but she wouldn’t tease her partner about a medical condition. Even if her partner was a dog.
Anyway, Petunia wasn’t listening. She was joyfully rubbing her face in some raccoon scat, and Jamie groaned when Petunia flopped down to roll back and forth on the pile of poop.
“P, no. Now you’ll have to get a bath before we report to work.” She stopped grumbling when motion near the suspect’s truck caught her eye. A black Mustang flipped around to back in the space next to the truck, then idled in the spot for a few minutes before the engine quieted and a woman climbed out. She looked young, maybe in her twenties, and wore ripped jeans and Western boots. Maybe the foreign drug cartels had figured out that attractive women had a better chance of talking their way pa
st mostly male American law enforcement.
The male suspect rolled down his window as the woman sauntered over and smiled. She braced a hand against the truck’s cab and bent toward the man. A casual observer would assume she was flirting with the driver, who opened his door after a few seconds and the two went into the truck stop restaurant.
Jamie tugged on Petunia’s leash. “Let’s get to work, P.”
Hearing “work,” the little dog hopped up from her romp in the poop and shook the fragrant remains from her wiry coat before looking expectantly at Jamie. Deputy Petunia was reporting for duty. Jamie dropped the leash as she pretended to put out her cigarette and light a fresh one. She flicked a hand signal toward the two suspect vehicles and spoke softly. “Go find.”
Petunia shot off like a bullet and Jamie hesitated, then ran after her as though the dog had escaped. She slowed when Petunia reached the vehicles and began sniffing at the tires. The dog quickly dismissed the Mustang, but sniffed only one wheel before diving under the truck with a flurry of barking. Petunia’s usual alert was simply to sit and stare at where the drugs were hidden. She only barked when the find was big. Jamie dropped to her knees and peered under the truck. Petunia twisted onto her back and scratched at a large, shallow metal box clamped to the truck’s underside.
“Good girl, P. Stand down.” Jamie pushed speed dial on her phone while Petunia scrambled out from under the truck.
“Sheriff’s Office.”
“This is Deputy Jamie Grant, Canine. I need immediate backup from any available law enforcement. Ten-twenty is Jack’s Truck Stop, back corner of the parking lot, interstate side. Suspect vehicles are a black Ford Mustang parked next to a white Chevy Silverado that my canine indicates is carrying a significant cache of illegal substances. Occupants are currently inside the restaurant.”
“Copy that, Deputy Grant.”
During the ensuing pause, Jamie led Petunia back into the field and behind the building—still within view of the vehicles, but close to a dumpster that she could use for cover if needed.
“HP and two Pine Cone units responding,” the dispatcher said.
“Please advise that I’m not in uniform, but armed and observing from the dumpster behind the building.” Jamie was rattling off her mobile number for those responding when the female suspect appeared, walked straight to the truck, and climbed inside. “Female suspect is on the move.”
The truck pulled out, disappearing between fueling tractor-trailers. Jamie dropped Petunia’s leash and ran to keep the truck in sight.
“White late model Chevy Silverado, license plate Charlie, Alpha, Whiskey, two, zero, two, seven. Just turned onto the north ramp of I-Ninety-five.”
In the pause that followed, Jamie’s male suspect emerged, walking directly toward the Mustang.
“HP has your suspect in view.”
“Ten-four. Second suspect is flying. Moving to intercept.” Jamie moved her holstered gun from the small of her back to her side for easy access, pulled her badge wallet from her back pocket, and trotted toward the suspect with her phone still pressed to her ear.
“Your backup is pulling into the parking lot,” the dispatcher said.
“Ten-four.” Jamie ended the call, then flipped the wallet open to display her badge and held it out as she shouted at the man. “Police. Stop where you are.”
He stopped and spun to face her with his hands out. His smile was smug. “I don’t understand, Deputy. What have I done wrong?”
“You are suspected of conspiring to transport illegal drugs.”
“I’m innocent.” His smile widened as he held up the Mustang’s key fob. “Search my car, if you like.”
“We will…eventually…and the truck you drove here. Your contact who took it is being pulled over by state troopers right now.”
The man’s smile vanished and he turned to run for the Mustang. Jamie cursed, but she’d barely taken a step when Petunia blurred past her and latched onto the man’s ankle, breaking his stride. Petunia yelped when he dislodged her with a kick to her ribs. The half-second advantage put Jamie close enough to launch herself forward and execute a tackle that would make the NFL proud. Two Pine Cone Police Department cruisers screamed into the parking lot and blocked in the Mustang before their drivers jumped out and approached with weapons drawn. They slowed and holstered their weapons when they saw Jamie was already cuffing the suspect.
Her tackling maneuver had knocked the wind out of him, but she checked Petunia before helping him into a sitting position as he gasped for air. She gently pressed on his upper abdomen. “Relax and take slow, deep breaths. One. Another. That’s right.”
“God damned mother-fucking pig,” he growled as his stomach relaxed under her palm and his breaths grew deeper. Petunia, sitting directly in front of him, growled, and he attempted to kick her again. “That stinking stray bit me.”
“Stand down, P. Guard.” Jamie stood, her hands on her hips. “That stray is a certified drug and explosive detection officer, and you’ll also be charged with assaulting a member of law enforcement if you kick her again. That’s after she ignores your foot and goes for your throat this time.”
“That ain’t no police dog.”
“Sure is, buddy.” Thompson, the deputy Jamie would be relieving later, laughed as he joined them. “And if you don’t shut up, we’ll let Deputy Petunia ride with you on the way back to the station.”
As if on cue, Petunia stood and blasted a long, audible fart as she wagged her tail. She liked Thompson.
“Christ almighty.” The suspect coughed and tried to scoot away.
Anderson, a local boy just hired after getting his law enforcement certification from the community college, waved his hand in front of his face as he approached. “Man, that’s rank.”
Jamie’s cell rang and she answered. “Jamie Grant.”
“This is State Trooper Austin Ivers.” Ivers’s deeply Southern baritone filled her ear. “I’ve detained a young lady driving a white Chevy truck on Interstate Nine-five near exit four-nine. I’m requesting assistance from your drug detection canine to search the vehicle.”
“Copy that,” Jamie said. “The Pine Cone Police Department has custody of your driver’s suspected accomplice. I’ll—”
A loud crunch sounded behind them and Thompson swore. “Damn it to hell, Anderson. How many times have I told you to put the cruiser all the way in park, not neutral. I’m going to let you explain to Grace how this happened a second time.”
Jamie twisted to see the source of Thompson’s consternation. Red and clear glass was scattered on the pavement below where the taillight of Anderson’s cruiser met the headlight of Thompson’s cruiser.
Anderson’s face screwed up in grimace. “Aw, man, I’m going to be on foot patrol in the hottest week of the summer.”
“More like the entire month,” Thompson said.
“Deputy Grant? Everything all right there?” Trooper Ivers asked.
Jamie shook her head but responded in the affirmative. “Sorry. We’re good. My ETA is ten minutes. I’m in my personal vehicle, a white Ford One-fifty.” She ended the call and picked up Petunia’s leash. “Gotta go help out HP, guys. The suspect is all yours, but one of you should stay to keep an eye on the Mustang until it can be towed.”
“I’ll get dispatch to call Cahill for a tow,” Thompson said. “Anderson can babysit and do the accident report while I haul this guy to jail.”
“Ask Cahill to pick up a white Silverado, stopped by HP near exit forty-nine first. That’s the vehicle carrying the drugs. The Mustang’s probably clean, but Anderson should still stay with it to preserve the chain of evidence in case there is something in it.”
“Will do.” Thompson waved her off while Anderson hauled the suspect to his feet.
Jamie led Petunia back to her truck and toweled her off with an old rag. Bits of sand and fine gravel clung to spots of dark oil that soiled her wheat-colored hair where she rolled onto her back under the suspect’s truck. “You’r
e an awesome tracker, but you really need a bath now.”
Petunia was a rare dog who loved a bath and yipped happily as she stood on her hind legs for Jamie to give her a boost into the truck.
* * *
Trip circled a three-block route for the fourth time. Still no open parking spaces. Damn it. She didn’t have time for this with a full afternoon of appointments waiting. She’d just have to double-park to pick up her lunch and hope that ticket-writing rookie wasn’t around. She turned up a side street next to the diner, spotted some open curb and whipped into the spot. Right next to the No Parking Anytime sign. Well, at least she wasn’t double-parked on Main Street, and she wouldn’t be long because she’d called ahead and reserved her favorite booth.
She hopped out of her truck and jogged around the corner. She scanned the street, her eyes stopping on the police car parked across the street from the diner. Just her luck. She relaxed mid-grind of her teeth. There was a long, wide scratch along the back fender. Grace’s cruiser.
“Whoa.” Movement in her peripheral vision barely registered in time for Trip to dodge the glass door of the diner swinging open.
Grace stepped out onto the sidewalk. “Hold up there, hoss. I nearly brained you with the door. Where’s the fire?”
“Sorry. I was looking at your car. I thought it was my stalker until I noticed the scratch on the fender. When are you going to let Clay fix that?”
“I haven’t had time. I had a new deputy I needed to drive around for orientation, then…well, other stuff happened. I’ll probably get it over to the garage later this week. Anyway, what’s this about a stalker?”
Take a Chance Page 5
