Explosive (The Black Opals)

by St. Claire, Tori

  “Think so.” Jayce opened his door, trying to get a better look inside the passenger window.

  Kane slid out of the pickup and slammed his door. He asked over the roof, “Any idea why?”

  “Guess we’ll find out.”

  As Kane rounded the front of Jayce’s pickup, he fished in his back pocket and withdrew his wallet. “Got your ID?”

  A moment of panic hit Jayce as he reached for his own wallet. His hand froze at his hip. “Shit. No. Someone took it.” And he was still wearing his gun. Damn, this wasn’t going to go over well—without his credentials, he had no license to carry. Not that his Sig was in any way concealed. Hell, it was strapped beneath his shoulder. After last night, he wasn’t taking any chances of being caught off-guard again.

  He took a backward step, intent on returning his pistol to the truck, when Alyssa’s front door opened. An officer stepped onto the porch. His step faltered in surprise, and he quickly appraised both Kane and Jayce. Eyes locked on Jayce, he cocked his head and folded his arms across his chest.

  “Shit,” Jayce muttered. Clarke was going to have his ass if he wound up in jail on a handgun violation.

  “Okay,” Kane murmured beneath his breath, “I’ll do the talking.” Lengthening his stride, he opened his wallet and flashed whatever credentials he claimed now. “Afternoon, sir. Mind closing that door?”

  Brief surprise passed over the officer’s expression. Not turning his back on Jayce and Kane, he glanced inside Alyssa’s house. His right hand crept to the firearm at his hip. “Stockton. Outside.”

  What the hell did Kane have on that id? Jayce gritted his teeth. This could go one of two ways. Easy. Or fucked. From the officer’s stern expression, and the way his fingers deftly unfastened his gun holster, Jayce was banking on fucked.

  A second officer stepped outside and shut the front door. When it was firmly closed, the first jerked his head at Jayce, his hand still glued on his pistol. “Hands in the air. My partner’s going to take that holster off you nice and easy.”

  Choking down an oath, Jayce raised his palms to shoulder level.

  As the younger, blond man approached Jayce, Kane cleared his throat. “That won’t be necessary. Special Agent Honeycutt is here on official business.” He tossed his wallet at the first officer’s feet. “Take a closer look, boys. Homeland Security.”

  Hands still held in the air, Jayce remained motionless, careful to keep his expression from revealing the surprise he felt over Kane’s cover. H-Sec? Clarke had really pulled some stops on that one. Normally they held mundane positions in the CIA, like Jayce’s current cover, and when that wasn’t an option, Clarke assigned them to the FBI. Homeland Security was a new one.

  The second officer bent over, picked up Kane’s wallet, and lobbed it at his partner. He caught it, glanced at Kane’s ID, and the faint hint of a smile touched his mouth. “You check out okay, I’ll give him back his firearm. Until then, take a seat”—he paused to look at Kane’s identification once more—“Agent Richards.”

  Richards? Jayce plugged the name into his memory. If he had to speak, he better make sure he had Kane’s cover right. As Kane eased himself down into a cross-legged position on Alyssa’s front porch, Jayce stood stock-still until the younger officer had tugged his Sig out of its holster and patted him down. When he stepped back with a curt nod, Jayce took a seat as instructed.

  The first officer leaned against Alyssa’s house. “Detectives Marston.”

  Jayce frowned. Marston. The name rang a vague memory. He couldn’t place it, but the hair lifted at the back of his neck.

  Marston inclined his head toward the younger man, who was retreating to their unmarked car, presumably to call in Kane’s identification. “And Howell. Mind telling me your business here?”

  Hell yes, Jayce minded. His clearance knocked these two boys down to crossing-guards. He didn’t have to tell them a damned thing, except to step aside. The greater concern for what brought them to Alyssa’s house, however, kept him silent. He wanted to know what they knew, and playing hardball wasn’t any way to get answers. He wasn’t taking chances that Kane might not share the same concern and didn’t give him opportunity to answer.

  “I have a personal interest in what happens to Alyssa Martin.”

  Kane shot him a warning look, and Jayce allowed the remark to hang.

  “Agent Honeycutt was called in to evaluate a home security system while he’s on personal leave for his sister’s wedding,” Kane explained. “I’m along for the ride.”

  Marston regarded Jayce thoughtfully. “Honeycutt, huh? Aren’t too many Honeycutt’s around. Your sister wouldn’t be Jasmine, would she?”

  Oh, shit. David Marston—Jasmine’s boyfriend her junior year. He’d been such a prick to Jayce and Brice every time he came over that when they discovered his car parked out at Hoffman Hill and David skunk drunk at the bonfire nearby, they’d broken in and trashed his brand new stereo system. They’d topped off the effort by coating the entire car with shaving cream. Inside and out.

  They’d nearly gotten away with it too. But Jasmine had discovered the trash bag of used shaving cream cans in Jayce’s trunk four days later and told David. He’d come after Jayce and started a fight…only to leave with a broken arm and a seriously displaced nose.

  Jayce glanced up, noting the same nose still sat off-center in Marston’s face. He groaned inwardly. Definitely fucked.

  T w e n t y – f o u r

  “Yeah, my sister’s Jasmine.” Jayce looked Marston in the eye, waiting for the inevitable confrontation.

  Marston merely raised an eyebrow. “Homeland Security, huh? Now how come I don’t quite believe that, Jayce?”

  Jayce grumbled. This was precisely why he’d taken to bombs. People were too damned tedious. He remained silent, ignoring Marston’s penetrating stare. Nothing he could say would dig him out of this. It was all up to Kane’s credentials at this point.

  Kane cleared his voice. “Detective, he’s a member of my team, and while we’d like to be cooperative, I’m afraid I’m not going to let him discuss his position.”

  Thank God for small miracles. Jayce huffed out a breath, trying to appear bored. Kane’s quick thinking, however, clearly annoyed Marston. His gaze narrowed, and his mouth firmed into a hard line.

  “Marston,” Howell called from the car. “Better come over here.”

  Marston eyed Jayce and Kane warily. “One move—”

  “Yeah, yeah, we got it.” Kane waved him off. “We’ll be here.”

  When the detective wandered down the short walk and joined his partner at the unmarked car, Jayce squinted at Kane. “Are you trying to piss him off?” he asked in a hushed voice.

  “Relax. I’ve got this covered.” Kane winked, and then an arrogant grin slid over his face.

  Jayce’s frown deepened. “Just who the hell does Clarke have you set up as?”

  That superior grin broadened. “I’ve got a free pass anywhere I want to go, no questions asked. Courtesy of my last assignment.”

  Leave it to the technological geeks to have all the fun. Jayce sighed and turned his attention to the two officers hunched shoulder-to-shoulder at their car. Their voices carried on the passing breeze, but what they were saying remained unclear. Howell gestured over his shoulder at where Jayce and Kane sat. Marston shrugged. Then, both turned around, neither looking thrilled over resuming their conversation.

  Howell passed Kane his wallet, then offered Jayce his gun.

  “I’ll be damned, Honeycutt. I was certain you’d end up behind bars,” Marston grumbled. He gave Kane a deferential nod. “Agent Richards, our apologies.”

  As Jayce tucked his Sig back into its holster, he nodded at Alyssa’s house. “Care to share what you know?”

  All traces of his earlier arrogance now missing, Marston passed a hand through his cropped reddish hair. “Seems she got herself in a pickle working for James Parker. You boys brought him in on charges, and he’s not too fond of leaving his accounting re
cords and tax statements in her hands.”

  “What exactly does that mean?” Jayce asked, worry sliding down his spine. Had something else happened after he left? Had those buffoons from last night come back?

  “C’mon in, I was just heading to the car for a minute when you boys showed up. I’ve still got some questions to ask her.” Marston gestured at the door, indicating Jayce and Kane should enter.

  Jayce could go for questions. Likely, if they were asking, she’d answer too. Lord knew he could ask until he was blue in the face and she’d only shut down. Yet, if Parker was behind this, she needed to start talking. People had a way of disappearing in Parker’s life, and most of them turned up later. In parts.

  He exchanged knowing glances with Kane and headed for the door.

  Behind him, Howell spoke up. “This is the second break-in at their office in two days. This time, they really worked it over.”

  “And you all think it’s Parker?” Kane asked.

  “Everything’s pointing that way.” Marston motioned them into the living room, where Alyssa sat on McTavish’s knee. Her eyes were swollen and red. Tearstains tracked down her cheeks. She dabbed at her nose with a Kleenex, and McTavish ran a soothing hand down her back.

  Alyssa startled as Jayce entered the room. “Jayce!” she exclaimed quietly. She leaned forward as if she might hurry to him. Then, glancing between the two officers, her expression fell once more and her shoulders slumped.

  Jayce fought the urge to drag her out of McTavish’s lap and haul her into his arms. She looked so defeated. So unlike the spirited young woman he’d known ten years ago. He did go to her, but stood at her stood at her side and rested a hand on her shoulder. McTavish tucked his hands at his sides.

  “Miss Martin, walk me through this again, if you don’t mind. You went into your office. You saw everything tossed about, and you immediately left.”

  Sniffling, Alyssa nodded. “Yes.”

  “You didn’t look through your desk? Didn’t notice anyone near the building?”

  She answered with a shake of her head.

  “Detectives, do we really need to do this a third time?” McTavish asked with a touch of annoyance. “She’s upset as you can clearly see. She’s not going to have seen anything this time that she didn’t already tell you about both times before.”

  Jayce found himself frowning again as he surveyed the people gathered around him. He’d learned enough about reading people to recognize the disbelief in the detective’s thoughtful expressions. Their body language was stiff, not relaxed as it should have been if they believed whatever Alyssa had said before. But there was more to it than just doubting her. Concern shadowed their eyes. Far more than should be present over a break-in. Something else was going on here. He’d stake his life on the suspicion.

  He looked down at her teary expression. “Alyssa, what happened to your office?”

  She shook her head, but her eyes didn’t meet his. “It was broken into again. Our files are everywhere. Things are broken.” Trailing away, she shrugged her shoulders.

  Damn it! She was hiding something. Not from the officers, not from McTavish—they all clearly knew. Something else happened with the break-in.

  Howell nudged Marston’s elbow. “Let’s give it a rest for now.” He offered Alyssa a cordial smile. “Miss Martin, if anything stands out to you later, you have both our cards. Just give us a call.”

  “I will, detectives,” she answered in a nearly inaudible voice. “Thank you.”

  Jayce squeezed her shoulder and followed the two detectives outside. If she didn’t intend to tell him, he’d get his answers another way. “What else happened, David?” he asked after shutting the door behind him.

  The lines of worry deepened on Marston’s forehead. “You have those photos, Howell?”

  “In the car,” the younger detective answered.

  Marston beckoned to Jayce. “You should come take a look.”

  Dread balled Jayce’s lungs into knot. With each step closer to the car, he became certain he didn’t want to see whatever evidence they’d found. But damn it, he couldn’t protect Alyssa if he didn’t know the full story. What frightened him more wasn’t the danger she was in, but what he’d do to whoever was behind it, if he ever got his hands on the culprit.

  Howell reached into the passenger side and pulled out a steel clipboard. He opened it up, withdrew two photographs, and passed them to Jayce. “This was on her wall, to the left of her desk.”

  Jayce stared at the pictures, fury lighting in his gut. Slashed across her tan-colored walls, bright red paint read: RATS DIE.

  Through sheer force of will he managed to stop his fingers from contracting around the photos and passed them back to Howell. Parker better be glad he was behind bars; he’d just signed his death warrant. “She knows about this?”

  Marston nodded. “She claims she didn’t see it when she went inside, that she saw only her lamp. When we did our investigation, we found it.” He plucked his keys from his pocket. “If she didn’t go inside her doorway, she wouldn’t have seen it.”

  Why had she kept this from him? Another fist of anger jammed into Jayce. For God’s sake, he’d been there last night when someone was skulking around her house.

  Something he ought to tell these detectives about. But if this was Parker’s doing, his criminal scope and influence surpassed anything Boulder’s finest knew how to handle. He’d run these two detectives in circles, and the rest of the department would be chasing their tails.

  For now, until he could confer with Kane, Jayce decided to keep it to himself. Besides, he wasn’t entirely certain Alyssa didn’t know more than what she’d told anyone. Until Jayce knew without a doubt that he wouldn’t create more headaches for her, he didn’t intend to share the information he’d gleaned.

  “Thanks,” he muttered.

  Marston nodded respectfully. “Have her call us, Jayce, if anything comes to her mind. She’s pretty respected around here—we don’t take too kindly to her being threatened.”

  “Yeah. Will do.” He pushed the door shut, closing Marston in his car and tapped the roof. “Take care.”

  “You too.”

  Not wasting time, Jayce stalked back inside. One way or another, he was getting answers out of Alyssa. And he wasn’t leaving until he had them.

  He ducked into the living room, only to find her absent and Kane and McTavish bent over the coffee table, a blueprint spread out beneath their noses. “Where is she?” Jayce barked.

  “Up—”

  Before McTavish could finish, Jayce was already halfway up the stairs.

  * * *

  Jackson drove the dark grey sedan into an expansive church parking lot and parked beneath the shade of white birch. He eyed the worn leather wallet laying in the passenger seat, a sickening sense of dread crawling up his spine. No matter how he wanted to, he couldn’t put off the call any longer.

  Shifting down in the seat, he picked his cell phone out of the glove compartment and dialed the number he’d been given only for emergencies.

  His boss answered on the first ring. “How’s the weather?”

  Jackson answered with the rehearsed response. “The eagle has its eye on the lion’s mane.”

  A pause drifted through the line, then the boss’s voice lowered. “Just it’s eye?”

  “Yeah.” Jackson sat up, drummed his fingers on the console. “You didn’t tell me she was connected to the feds.”

  “What do you mean?” Genuine surprise filtered through the line.

  Jackson reached across the console and picked up the wallet. He flipped it open and eyed the plastic identification card inside. This changed things. Radically. He huffed a hard breath. “I have a Jayce Honeycutt hanging around. His identification marks him as CIA. He’s making this difficult—he was here both last night and the night before.”

  Another harrowing second of silence spanned through the phone. Jackson shifted uncomfortably in the seat. He couldn’t remember a time whe
n his boss seemed caught off-guard. But the quiet marked the event, and Jackson damn sure wouldn’t forget it. For a man who was supposed to have researched Brice McTavish thoroughly, this wasn’t the kind of shit that fell through cracks.

  Jackson’s boss cleared his throat. “Get the information you’re supposed to obtain.” His voice was flat and emotionless. “Do the job you’ve been paid to do.”

  Do his job…with fucking CIA in the middle of it. Unlike other interlopers, Jackson couldn’t just get rid of this complication. Someone would look for Honeycutt, ask the wrong questions, and arouse suspicions. One wrong move and the whole thing would unravel like homespun yarn.

  Jackson scowled. “How the hell am I supposed to manage that with a federal agent in the way? I can’t even corner Brice McTavish without drawing the agent’s attention.”

  “Bring me that file, Jackson.” More authoritative, the directive gave no room for objections. “Whatever the cost.”

  The line clicked in Jackson’s ear, leaving him holding a silent cell. He slowly lowered his arm, stared at the dark face of his phone. Whatever the cost—son of a bitch. This wasn’t the dogfight he agreed to enter.

  Not that he wasn’t capable of executing his job. He’d have just preferred a simpler solution. Sure as shooting, whoever this Honeycutt was, it wouldn’t be what his identification marked him as. Jackson’s current shit-luck wouldn’t let it be that easy. Not to mention he’d been around the block enough to know that only rarely did CIA credentials state accurate positions.

  Frustrated with the turn of events, Jackson lobbed both his cell and the wallet into the passenger’s seat and opened his glove box again. He withdrew his pistol, checked that the chamber held a round, and set it back inside, before hastily shutting the compartment. If he had to go toe-to-toe with federal agents, he wouldn’t be caught unprepared.

  One more day, he reminded himself as he dropped the sedan into reverse. With a little luck, Honeycutt would stay out of his damned way. If he didn’t…. well, he’d wish he had.

  Easing onto the gas, Jackson left the church parking lot and resumed his discreet place of observation, parked right beneath their noses in a driveway of a house for sale, four down from Alyssa and Brice’s. At least he didn’t have to worry about the police responding to a suspicious vehicle call.