by Cox, Suzanne
The men waved while Frances called out, “Good luck with your fishin’.”
By the time he got to the county building his mind was spinning with possibilities, most of which involved illegal gun trade. On the way to his office, he spotted Pete and waved for him to follow.
“What’s up, Jackson?”
“What if I told you something, I’m not sure what, is going down at the bait shop tomorrow evening? And no, I can’t believe I just said that.” He shook his head. “I wonder what I’ve walked into when I have to worry with crimes at the local bait shop.”
Pete laughed. “It only sounds weird to you because you don’t know the history. The guy who runs the bait shop is one of the top dogs in the militia. There’s no telling what’s going on over there, guns or possibly drugs. Though most of the drug trade is done by boat on the river. Did you turn up anything tracing the guns that had serial numbers?”
Jackson frowned. After going through the guns in the bag, they’d located several that did have serial numbers, while a few, like the assault rifles, had no number at all. He’d used the computer database to trace the guns with serial numbers to their maker then to the dealer who’d sold them. Unfortunately they’d been purchased legally and reported stolen a few weeks or months later. Which in itself was suspect, but as yet they hadn’t been able to prove anything illegal on the part of the seller or buyer. “That’s been a dead end so far, but maybe whatever this is at the bait shop will be the break we need. Of course that’s if it has anything to do with the guns at all. I need you to find Matt for me so I can let him know what’s happening.”
“Okay. Did you get a tip on this?”
“Yep,” Jackson answered, continuing to study the papers he was thumbing through. “At breakfast this morning.” He could still hear laughter as Pete disappeared down the hall.
“WHEN WERE YOU PLANNING on telling me that Jackson Cooper was crashing our dive trip?”
Lana shoved a piece of apple pie toward her then poured coffee in her cup. “Em, I just found out myself this morning. It’s not like people planned this for weeks. I told you the other day a guy had dropped out. Lance only invited Jackson this week. What’s wrong with you? You guys seemed to get along just fine in New Orleans, after lunch that is.”
They had gotten along well, too well. Of course the minute she’d let her guard down, Jackson had decided he wasn’t so interested in her. Poking at the pie with her fork, she rested one elbow on Lana’s kitchen table. The cheery yellow walls and navy checkered curtains couldn’t even make her feel better. This day had been a total bust from the very beginning. Even Kent had canceled on her, just when she’d thought they were making progress.
He had raced into the counselor’s office. “I have to go work for my dad today, sorry.”
“But doesn’t he know you have tutoring on Wednesday?”
“He doesn’t care about tutoring. He just wants me at the store because he has stuff to go do.”
After that, her mood had soured considerably, so she had come to take it out on her best friend. That’s what they were for, right?
“I said, have you two been at it again?”
She realized Lana had been talking to her. “Uh, no, not really. It’s just one minute he seems like a nice guy and the next he’s Darth Vader.”
“Darth Vader? What kind of stupid comparison is that?”
Emalea swallowed a forkful of pie. “It’s not stupid. They’re both big and have some really funky secrets.”
Lana frowned, obviously still championing Jackson. “His wife and child were killed in a car accident. That’s no secret.”
“I think there’s more to it than that.”
“Like what?” Lana dropped her fork to the table and leaned forward as if Emalea might have a stunning revelation.
“I don’t know what. And besides, you know how I’ve misjudged men in the past. The minute I get attracted I can’t see the most obvious flaws.”
Lana’s cup followed her fork to the tabletop with a clink. “There you go again, trying to make him a bad guy.”
The saucer in front of Emalea held a few crumbs mixed with sticky apple filling. She studied the mixture, wondering why she continued to hang on to the last few crumbs of her past.
“I am not trying to make him a bad guy.” She cleared her throat after the words had slipped out in a gravelly whisper.
“You know what I mean. You’re doing your damnedest to make him Jean Pierre, but he’s not.”
Emalea stood so quickly, the chair teetered briefly on its back legs, and she had to catch it with her hand. Once she settled it on all fours, she carried her cup to the counter and refilled it with coffee, then stood in front of the sink staring out the window, her back to Lana. “Jean Pierre has nothing to do with this. I don’t know why people keep bringing him up. First Uncle John, now you.”
“Em, it’s because he’s hanging around your stupid neck, everywhere you go. He was a bad guy. He was mean and nasty and he nearly killed you, but he didn’t. You survived and got away. You should be proud of that. But you’ve got to quit thinking every guy you meet will be just like him.”
“It’s not every guy I meet. It’s just the ones I really like.”
“You’re impossible.” Lana leaned back in her chair, holding her coffee cup with both hands. “You make one bad decision that puts you in an awful marriage, with a near psychopath, and you think you’re jinxed for life. Give yourself a break. You’re one of the best decision makers I know, trust your stupid gut, for once.”
“What if I did trust my gut and it didn’t work out?” Wasn’t that what she had done when she’d let her guard down and gotten closer to Jackson?
“Then trust it again. You can’t possibly expect everything to be like a fairy tale, not with the mess you two have in your past.”
Emalea returned to her chair and frowned at Lana. “Well, thank you, Fairy Godmother.”
“If I could wave a magic wand and get you to relax and just let things take their natural course, I would.”
Emalea shoved her saucer across the table. “I promise to relax, if you’ll give me another piece of pie.”
Lana picked up the server then glanced at her. “Maybe you should have two more, if it will relax you.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
TEN UNTIL FIVE. Those old guys must have an inside scoop. Jackson rubbed his hand across his chest, his palm bumping against the bulk of the bulletproof vest beneath his shirt. In front of him, an ice truck lumbered into the dirt parking lot.
He and the rest of the department had spent yesterday and this morning trying to dredge up clues. They’d discovered a gun sale would take place at this store today. The owner, a longtime militia member, had left town yesterday at noon. The man had distanced himself from what would happen today and Jackson figured they’d find nothing to tie him to what was about to take place. The employee stood ready to make the sale and take the fall if things went bad. The boy would likely rot in prison before he’d rat out his boss.
Last night, through an anonymous tip, Jackson had stumbled on a girl who’d brought the story together for them. He’d gone into Haney’s for a minute, leaving the window down on his cruiser. When he’d returned, a slip of paper had lain on the seat with the girl’s name and phone number. The message “You need to call her” was scribbled beneath.
The girl had spent a couple of nights with a guy who worked part-time at the bait shop. She’d heard him on the phone arguing over when the ice should be delivered, only she was certain they were discussing more than a few bags of frozen water. Jackson met with the girl and her face explained her willingness to pass on the information. The guy had banged her around quite a bit before he’d left.
The ice truck rattled to a stop, and a young man in camouflage pants, a worn T-shirt and sporting a very scruffy beard stepped through the front door of the store. He couldn’t have been more than twenty-one, and Jackson decided the beard was intended to give the illusion of a much ol
der man.
Snapping the clip to his Glock in place, Jackson glanced over the edge of the bluff where he and three other officers were hidden. Below them, the river swirled in a muddy mess. Fifteen yards away, the driver of the truck stepped to the ground. Jackson’s brain started working, and he felt a memory tugging at him. The guy looked familiar. Jackson turned his attention to Pete, who was beside him on the bluff.
“Do you think they’ll unload the guns right here in the open, Cooper?”
Jackson glanced back toward the truck. “It’s possible. We’re way off the beaten path and… Yep, there you are, he’s getting a gun from the bag right now.”
The young guy had taken a large canvas bag from the back of the truck and unzipped it. He was now brandishing a shiny rifle.
“I’d say you could radio the sheriff to come in now, Pete.”
He heard Pete key the radio, then motioned for the others to follow him. He leaped to the top of the embankment, weapon drawn and ready. “Put the gun down!”
Jackson hadn’t expected the speed at which the young man would drop to the ground and start firing. Of course he hadn’t expected the weapons in the bag to be loaded. He and the deputies scrambled below the embankment, returning fire while trying to remain concealed.
Next to him, Pete cried out, holding his arm.
“Tell me you’re not hit,” Jackson groaned.
“Sorry, buddy, but I am. I think it’s just grazed.”
The two men by the ice truck stopped firing as four sheriff’s cars fishtailed to a stop in the gravel.
Jackson climbed to level ground. Behind him, Pete protested as another deputy radioed for an ambulance and Jackson stomped to Matt’s car where the arriving officers had cuffed the two men. A few cars came around the curve in front of the bait shop, slowing to see what could be causing so much commotion. He was glad they hadn’t come through earlier.
Jackson nodded at the deputy standing with the two men. “Looks like we have another bag of guns, same as we found before. At least this time we have a breathing suspect we can question.”
“I ain’t tellin’ you nothin’,” the boy from the bait shop shouted. Jackson stepped in front of him, his fist knotted and his breathing controlled by sheer determination. The idiot had managed to shoot Pete, and he really wanted to choke this kid.
He turned his attention to the man he’d recognized earlier. Another one of DePaulo’s circle of so-called friends who had made the move south with him.
The corner of the man’s lip curled upward, and as he leaned forward, a chill began to settle near the base of Jackson’s spine.
“Thought you’d learned your lesson already, back at 434 Oakhaven.”
The iciness swept to the top of Jackson’s head. “What about 434 Oakhaven?” He could barely get his mouth around the address. It had been his address in Chicago.
“Come on, we both know what I’m talking about. The way I hear it, you got your wife and kid killed diggin’ around in other people’s business.”
BESIDE EMALEA, KENT SAT in the passenger seat staring out the window. She’d picked him up at the edge of town walking to his father’s store. As she rounded a curve, Emalea’s throat constricted at the sight of sheriff’s cars and flashing lights ahead at the bait shop.
“Kent, wait!”
The boy was through the truck door the instant she’d pulled onto the shoulder of the road across from the store, but whether from her voice or fear of what he might find, he stopped short. Jackson towered in front of two men who were standing handcuffed by a patrol car. Sliding across the seat, she got out of the truck and stood behind Kent.
“That’s the big guy who was with Sheriff Wright the other day,” Kent whispered. “He’s… Oh my gosh.”
“GOT YOUR WIFE AND KID killed.” Like a clanging alarm bell the words echoed in Jackson’s head, destroying his resolve, his control. A sheet of frosty rage settled onto him and Jackson slammed the man against the car just before he let his fists fly again and again. A red film blurred his vision. On the edge of his brain, the pain in his knuckles nudged his conscious. The pain felt good, dampening the rage that blinded him. He didn’t even notice the spray of blood as the man’s nose broke beneath the onslaught.
TO EMALEA, THE SCENE SLOWED until it was like footage from a very bad movie. Only this was happening right in front of her.
Was this the same Jackson she knew delivering such a beating to a man in handcuffs? A man who couldn’t fight back or even defend himself. Jackson’s fists pounded into flesh again and again while she looked on, unable to turn away but desperately wanting to. Blood splattered across his face and shirt as he repeatedly pounded the man.
Kent broke away from her. “Dad,” he said in a low voice then raced across the road. For an instant she thought he meant the man underneath Jackson’s blows. Then she noticed the old truck coming to a stop at the edge of the rutted parking area. She took a step, but couldn’t seem to go farther. Two men were on each side of Jackson trying to stop him but he shook them off like pesky flies. It took four deputies to wrestle the raging man to the ground.
Matt shoved the two prisoners into his car, shouting angrily at the deputies before speeding away. When Matt’s car had disappeared, the men dragged Jackson to his feet. His head hung low and even from across the road she could see him still shaking with rage. The four men pushed him toward one of the cruisers. Force wasn’t necessary. He went with them, docile and apparently dazed. At the car, he lifted his head and Emalea froze as her eyes met his. His mouth moved as if he wanted to speak to her, but she stepped backward until the door handle of her truck pressed against her shoulder. A deputy put a hand to the top of Jackson’s head and he ducked low to get in the back seat.
The car had been gone for several minutes before Emalea could move. One of the young deputies she didn’t know very well came to the edge of the parking lot. “You need help, ma’am?”
She shook her head, stumbling to the driver’s side of her truck. The prisoner could have done nothing to warrant Jackson’s actions. He’d wanted her to see the real Jackson Cooper and she feared she just had. She was sure this was a side of him he’d rather keep hidden, at least for a while longer. She hadn’t been wrong in her assessment of him. She’d seen that as plainly as she ever would.
“I’M CANCELING MY TRIP in the morning. We’re right in the middle of this investigation. I can’t afford to leave for five days.” Jackson sat in a wooden chair while Matt waited silently behind his desk.
“I’ll call the guys and let them know,” he continued when Matt didn’t respond.
Finally, the sheriff of Cypress Landing shifted in his chair. He took a framed photo from atop his desk, staring at it for what seemed to Jackson like an eternity.
“You’ll go on that trip.”
“Matt, I’m the lead investigator. I can’t leave right when things are starting to come together.”
The sheriff’s crystal-blue eyes pinned him to the chair while the room began to feel considerably smaller, as if the walls were crushing in on them.
“Jackson, you are neck deep in a pile of trouble. You’re going to get the hell away from here for a few days. What do you think you’re going to do? Question the suspect? You’ve beaten the man to pieces. We’ll be lucky if we don’t get sued into next week.”
“You don’t understand, Matt. What he said to me, he knew something about Christa and Connor.”
Matt sighed, putting his elbows on his desk and resting his forehead in his hands. He sat quietly for several seconds before looking at Jackson again.
“One of the deputies told me what he said. Believe me, I might have done the same thing in your place, but that wouldn’t make it right.”
“Does that mean you’re placing me on leave and taking me off this case?” Jackson tried not to hold his breath as he waited for Matt to answer.
“No, not unless some suit comes in here and twists my arm. But I think if you aren’t hanging around here for the next f
ew days things will go a lot smoother. When you get back, you can work on the case again, just not with this particular suspect. So pack your stuff and go to Mexico. This whole mess will still be here when you get home.”
Jackson hung his head. It could have been much worse. Matt could have told him to pack his things and get out.
EMALEA HURRIED ALONG the hallway of the New Orleans airport. Ahead, at the terminal gate, she could see her friends waiting. Lana stood near the edge of the seating area while others milled around.
She tried to smile at her friend but the action fell short of its mark. “I guess we’re going to have one less person on the trip after all.”
Lana tilted her head. “What do you mean?”
“After what happened yesterday, Jackson won’t be going, so we’ll be one short.”
“Don’t be silly, of course Jackson is still going on the trip. He’s waiting with everyone else.”
Glancing over Lana’s head, she could see Jackson in a chair his long legs stretched in front of him.
“I can’t believe it. He practically beat a man to death. I saw him.”
Lana grabbed her arm. “I haven’t heard a thing. But please tell me you aren’t going to treat him like some kind of predator for the entire trip. You’ll make everyone uncomfortable.”
She glared at her friend. “What about me? What if I’m uncomfortable? He’s no different than Jean Pierre or my own damn father.”
Lana let go of Emalea and put her hands on her hips. “I don’t believe you’re saying this. If you’d quit racing back to home plate every other minute you might actually get somewhere.”
“I am somewhere.” Emalea gritted her teeth and tried to remember exactly when her best friend had turned against her. Her life had been fine before Jackson had come to town.
“Well, we both know it’s not going to make you happy.”
Did Lana think she would actually overlook what Jackson had done and go chasing after him? “It will make me happy if I can just stay as far away from Jackson Cooper as possible for the next few days.”
