by D. D. Ayres
Scott grunted. “Birthday? I thought X crawled out of the gutter fully formed.”
“That’s all I got.”
Cole might have done him a favor by not telling him about her attack immediately after the fact, Scott thought grimly. Twice X’s attacks had gone unanswered. Perhaps he was getting cocky, or careless. Both attitudes would work in Scott’s favor.
Still not satisfied about what he’d be walking into, Scott called one of the task force guys who lived in Baltimore to ask about the place.
“It’s a recreational bar. Caters to youngish commuters who like to think they’re still the shit, and college students with IDs that say they’re twenty-one. Then you got your hard-core video gamers and assorted sports fans. The drinks are cheap and the food’s a step up from movie-theater popcorn fare. Got enough of an edge that it sometimes lures the fringe element looking for a weekend experience.”
When he pulled into the parking lot, Scott noticed the patrol car parked at a discreet distance. Message: As long as everyone played nice, the doors would remain open.
At least it wouldn’t take long for law enforcement to respond if things went sideways.
Even so, he walked Izzy around the lot. He counted several motorcycles. Two sported Pagan insignia. Izzy didn’t sign on anything except a couple of joint roaches on the pavement. Satisfied that he had been as thorough as he could without backup, he tucked Izzy back into his truck and headed for the door.
Scott paused just inside the huge open space, cop senses on full alert as his eyes adjusted to the gloom.
The atmosphere was downscale Vegas. Despite air-conditioning, the sultry heat of the August night penetrated as far as the entrance. The place smelled faintly of beer and bodies. Strategic lighting that pierced the darkness was all aimed downward, offering the illusion of intimacy for the hundred-plus customers playing pool, paddle boards, darts, shuffleboard, or arcade games.
The bar area itself was dark—dark walls, black tables and chairs. On the far wall above the bar a bank of big-screen plasma TVs offered a variety of sports broadcasts. Here and there signs spelled out popular beer brands in electric neon lettering.
Closer in, a stage whose spotlighting barely penetrated beyond its immediate arc was occupied by a local band running through a cover of “Home” by Phillip Phillips.
To one side a line had formed under a sign that read KARAOKE COMPETITION for patrons to sign up for when the band took a break.
Scott took it all in quickly. It was a good place for a confrontation. Plenty of witnesses. Yet the half walls that separated the different gaming areas gave a sense of privacy that would make it easier to deliver the warning he’d come to give—if X was here.
A watchful suspicion tightened in his gut as he moved forward. Something else stirred as well, tied to that darker side of him. The lust for life on the edge. The rush of knowing that you were the biggest, baddest SOB screaming down the road. He would never be quite free of it.
Scott swallowed, as if the old life had a flavor he could taste.
But the image didn’t hold. The reality was that he was a cop, first and last. The sheepdog guarding the flock from the real wolves. He had come here to corner a vicious wolf who called himself X.
It turned out not to be a problem to locate him. Three Pagans and their girlfriends lounged in and around the seating along the far back corner where two pool tables formed a ninety-degree angle. They were watching two men play pool. One of those men was X.
The smile that stretched Scott’s features would have sent a civilian ducking for cover. The thrill of the chase lit his eyes. It was on.
He came up behind X and grabbed the back of his pool cue just as he was about to sink the final shot and jerked it out of his hands. X’s body motion carried him forward in an action that nearly had him sprawled on the table before he caught himself.
“Fucking shit!” He spun around, one hand going to his waist where Scott knew he kept his Ka-Bar in a hidden sheath.
Scott brought the pool cue up in a defensive position.
“Hello, birthday boy. I hear you’ve been looking for me.”
The biker’s lean leathery face looked ghoulish in the stark overhead lighting. There were so many seams and ridges that shaving must be a bitch. His gaze narrowed down to slits. “Who the fuck are you?”
“I’m the guy you’d been throwing spitballs at from the back of class. If you wanted me to ask you out all you had to do was say so.”
A smile jittered at the corners of X’s mouth. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. Fuck off. I don’t know you.” He turned his back and reached for another pool cue.
As he did so, Scott stepped up and sank the shot X had been about to make. Scott grinned at X’s astonished expression as X looked around. “Can’t say I didn’t give you a present. Now I’m going to give you a little advice. Stay outta my shit.”
Snickering from his friends arrayed in the booth jerked X’s head around. “Shut the fuck up.”
X turned slowly back to Scott, fingers of his right hand running lightly up and down his new cue. “Like I said, who the fuck are you?”
Scott met the man’s glare. X was a little or maybe a lot drunk, or high, or both. “You wanted to dance. Here I am. Two years ago you would have stepped up like a man. You should have stayed like that. Wrecking houses is junior high crap.”
All the crags in X’s face shifted under the seismic pressure of his temper. “Fuck that. Fuck you.”
“Take him, X. Don’t let no asshole talk to you like that.”
“Yeah, X. Let’s dance.” Scott made a move with his cue as if he was going to stick X in the ribs.
X’s eyes flew wide. “Motherfucker!”
His tone had the heads of nearby customers swiveling his way.
Scott’s voice never rose but the edge to it sharpened. “You might want to watch your language. Contrary to the sign over the door I’m sure there are minors present.” Scott took the cue and laid it gently on the table. “You should get a hobby. Yard work, maybe.”
X’s face cratered into a smile. “I prefer knife work. It’s so much more personal, don’t you think?
Scott held that empty-eyed gaze for a beat. And though it was like looking into his own grave, he did not even blink. “Let’s do this. Outside. Now.”
“I ain’t stupid. There’s a cop outside.”
“So that’s a no?”
The air vibrated with tension, drawing the eyes of the curious but also backing up those nearest them. The tables on either side of them had been vacated. Scott knew the exact moment a bouncer headed their way. X’s gaze shot past his shoulder and then his stance relaxed a fraction as he mumbled something more obscene than usual.
“We got a problem here?”
Scott glanced toward the tall man with sloped shoulders but forearms like hams. “I just came to extend my felicitations to the birthday boy.” He saw X’s squint deepen at the use of the word “boy.” “I’m all done.” He handed his cue to the bouncer.
X took a step toward him. Scott would swear he could heard X’s teeth grinding. “I will break you.”
“You had your chance. Don’t waste my time.”
“How’s your daddy? Hear he’s all laid up. Your mama’s gonna be looking for company.”
Scott smiled. Checkmate. X had just admitted that he knew about his parents, and made a new threat. But he wanted X for more than that. He wanted to take him in carrying the kind of weight that would put him behind bars for a long time.
Scott didn’t turn his back as he moved out of range. In fact, he made it to the front door with the bouncer following without losing his line of sight to X.
He had pushed as hard and fast as was possible, considering their surroundings. He might have just increased the bounty on his head. But he was also pretty sure the next move X made would be aimed at him, and not those he cared about.
Scott was back in the truck with the doors locked before he took a deep br
eath. He really didn’t want to get dead. In fact, he wanted to live so much the ebb of adrenaline was making it hard to put his key in the ignition.
But those were the parameters of the job, protect and serve. Forget that. He’d do just about anything for those he loved. Even if he couldn’t be sure she loved him back.
His cell chimed. It was Cole.
He smiled as he answered, not waiting for her voice.
“On my way, babe. See you in thirty.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“There are two of them.” Becca’s voice was hushed with fear on the telephone.
“Two what?” Cole rubbed her forehead where a tiny Spanish dancer in heels and castanets was pounding out a rhythm in her head.
“Two babies!”
“What?” Cole sat up and immediately regretted that decision as her stomach rolled over and dived steeply.
“You’re moaning. What’s wrong?”
“Something I ate—” A big gassy burp erupted from her, carrying bitter reminders of the nachos and enchiladas she should never have eaten the night before.
Cole sagged back against her pillow. She was not going to be sick again. No. No. No.
“Did you hear what I said?” Becca sounded insulted.
“Two babies?” The room was spinning slowly on an axis attached to the ceiling.
“I’m carrying twins. The doctor said she missed it the first time because they were stacked, one in front of the other. But, Cole, I saw them. Just now on the sonogram. Two tiny people. What am I going to do?”
“Enjoy the bonus?” Cole took a deep slow breath.
“I can’t do it. I can’t handle two babies at the same time.”
Despite her misery, Cole smiled to herself, thinking of her sister with a cherubic angel in each arm. “You were born to be a mother. You’re a vet. You birth babies all the time.”
“I watch. And assist. Animals. Animals have all the instincts humans have lost to civilization and baby experts. Have you read a book on child care recently? So much can go wrong. Oh my God!” The sentence ended on a sob.
Cole tried to rally, to focus her eyes.
“You have to come home. Now. I need you. I can’t handle this alone.”
“You’re not alone. You have Harper.”
“Harper knows nothing about babies. He’s never even held a newborn before. He’s an orthodontist. You should have seen his face when the doctor pointed out baby two on the screen. He went green. Wobbled around like a Weeble. How can he help? He can’t help. He’s useless.” Becca’s voice edged toward panic. “You need to come here now.”
“Hold on.” Cole gazed up at the ceiling, which was going in and out of focus. She must have a fever. Not a good idea to visit a pregnant lady when she had a fever.
“You’re abandoning me!”
“No. No. It’s just that I’m an hour or maybe two hours away and—”
“And you’ve got a hangover.” Becca’s voice was full of accusation. “Do you know how much I could use a margarita right now? Icy cold, lots of lime and salt. But, nooo. I’m pregnant. And there’s two of them!”
Her sister’s wail actually shocked Cole. Baby hormones. Wow.
“Becca, what do I do for nausea?”
“Acupuncture.” Cole turned her head at the sound of Scott’s voice to find him in the doorway of her bedroom.
He came in and reached for her wrist.
“That was Scott’s voice, wasn’t it?” Becca’s tone sharpened. “You’re in bed with your ex while your sister is in crisis and you won’t even come and help. I’ll never forgive you for this. Never!”
Cole flinched even though there was no sound as Becca disconnected.
“What was that about?” Scott had taken a seat on the bed and was pressing his thumb into a point on her wrist directly below her middle and forefinger.
Cole breathed in through her mouth. “Becca’s having twins.”
“Whoa. That’s good news, right?”
Cole would have shook her head but she was certain her stomach was about to catapult itself out of her body. “She thinks I’m sleeping with you and won’t come to her aid.”
“That could be arranged—again.” Scott slanted a glance down at her that singed her eyelashes.
Cole knew she must be pretty sick because, in spite of how her body reacted to that smolder of an invitation, she wasn’t interested at all, at the moment. “Maybe later.”
“I heard you up during the night. But I didn’t know you were sick. You look pretty rough.”
“Just what a girl wants to hear.” She looked down as he released her wrist. “What did you just do?”
“Pressure point therapy. Thirty seconds of pressure. Feel better?”
“Maybe. I can’t tell.”
He rose off the bed and went into her bathroom. He came right back carrying a wet washcloth and a bottle of mouthwash.
“You’re cute, even when you’re sick. But you’re rank, babe.” He wiped her face before folding the cloth and applying it to her forehead. “I’ll just get a pot in case you need to throw up.”
Cole’s phone chimed. It was Becca.
“Oh, sis, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it. I love you.”
“Becca, don’t cry. Please. I know you’re upset and I don’t blame you. I will come. I just need to stop hurling first. Okay?”
“You’re really sick? Of course you are. You need to lie still. Get that bad boy to open a window.” Cole punched speaker as Scott returned. “… fresh air. And ice chips with just a sprinkle of salt, to get fluids back in you. No sports drinks. Crackers. If they stay down then a banana or applesauce—”
Scott snatched the phone from Cole. “Hi, Becca. Scott here. I got it under control. And by the way, congratulations on being preggers.”
“You hurt my sister in any way and I’m coming after you with a dull scalpel.”
“Geez, Becca. You’re about to be a mother. You shouldn’t be thinking ugly thoughts like that. Could upset the baby.”
“Oh. Do you think so?” Becca sounded very concerned.
“I’ll take care of your sister. You take care of your growing family. The rest of it is none of your business. How about that? Cole will call you back when she can think. Bye.” He disconnected.
Scott handed Cole her phone. “You don’t need that kind of upset, whatever that was about.”
“Thing One and Thing Two.”
He nodded. “That explains it then. Twins. Double the hormones. I don’t envy Harper.”
Cole tried to think through what Scott might mean by that statement but the flamenco dancer in her head had gotten a second wind and moved into overdrive. “Ice chips?”
Scott nodded. “Coming up.” He looked down at her a moment longer. “When you’re feeling better we need to talk.”
She waited until he left the room and then sprang from the bed and ran into the bathroom and slammed the door.
* * *
“So that’s where we stand.” Scott watched her sip ginger tea he had gone out and gotten, along with a few other items like crackers, bouillon, and bananas. “X makes the next move or it’s over for now.”
Cole leaned back against a pile of pillows. He had added his bed pillows to her stack. He watched her with troubled eyes. She was too pale but she’d stopped hurling and wouldn’t even entertain the idea of a trip to a doc-in-a-box. “I don’t think it’s over with X, do you, Scott?”
“No. That’s why I’ve been doing some reconnaissance the last few nights.”
“Is that militaryspeak for staking out our apartment from your truck all night?”
He looked grim. “I do what’s necessary.”
“Then you might have warned me away from El Ptomaine.”
“I never ate there before, either.”
“And you didn’t get sick. I hate you.”
Scott smiled at her. It wasn’t an important conversation. It was an ordinary conversation, the kind millions of couples had every day. Hope cl
utched his heart.
He moved a swath of hair back from her brow. “Next time, I’ll be sick. Okay?”
Cole tossed back the sheet. “I have to walk Hugo. And he hasn’t practiced the Weave today.”
“He’s been walked and fed. Guess it’s my turn to try the Weave.”
Cole opened her mouth and then shut it. Hugo and Scott practicing the Weave. This could be fun.
When she had instructed him on how to set the poles up Scott nodded. “I’m leaving Izzy here with you. She’s not Hugo but she’s trained to protect and track, as well as do drug detection. Where’s your weapon?”
When she pointed to the bedside-table drawer, he pulled it out, checked to see if it was loaded. He put it down without comment. “So, you’re good for now?”
She nodded. “I’m good. We’ve sort of worked this out, haven’t we? I mean with the dogs.”
“Yeah. With the dogs.”
He had a hard-on that made it tough to walk when she was around but he wasn’t a complete asshole. She was ill. He wouldn’t take advantage of her weakened state to wring a concession out of her.
“Thanks for nothing,” he muttered to his conscience.
A minute later Cole heard Scott’s command voice. “Hugo! Where’s my shoe? And while you’re at it, find my keys. Keys. Such!”
Cole snuggled down in the pillows with a big fat grin. Yes, her boys were learning to play nice.
* * *
An hour later Cole saw the look on Scott’s face as he came in with Hugo. “What’s wrong?”
“Lattimore called. He read our report. He wants to see us in the morning.”
“Oh.” Cole knew what that meant. Their undercover work could be over.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“I’m not convinced.” Lattimore tapped the report displayed on his computer screen. “Just because you haven’t turned up any evidence at the Collier home doesn’t mean their smuggling business isn’t taking place somewhere else. As you pointed out, Officer Jamieson, Mrs. Collier is very protective of her children. She may not want them exposed.”
