by Freya Barker
“What are you doing?” I ask, when I turn around and see him wiping down the waffle iron with my dishrag.
“Cleaning this mess so we have room to sit down and eat.”
I open my mouth to object, when a timely rumble reminds me I haven’t had anything since this morning’s waffles. All I have sloshing around is a whole lot of coffee and a glass and a half of wine.
“Are you sharing?” I ask instead, earning me a grin.
“I’ll go grab the food.” With an overhead lob, he tosses the rag in my sink and heads out to fetch the May Garden bag from his car.
“WHOA, THIS SHIT IS spicy.” I wave one hand in front of my mouth while the other reaches for my water glass.
“Mmmm...best Dandan noodles in town,” Jasper mumbles around a mouthful.
I’m not sure how much Jasper normally eats, but the sheer volume of food he pulled from that crumpled bag was impressive. I still can’t quite believe I’m sitting at my kitchen counter at nine thirty at night, having dinner with Jasper, of all people. He expertly handles the chopsticks that came in the bag, but I opted for a fork. Never quite mastered those things.
“It’s good,” I agree, shoving another bite in my mouth. “I grew up on mostly Mexican and Southwestern cooking. I like a little heat.”
“I’ll say.”
I drop my fork and turn to him, my hackles immediately up.
“What does that mean exactly?”
Jasper shrugs casually, unmoved by my sharp tone, as he slowly turns his eyes on me. “Only that you’re highly flammable. Fiery.” I huff, trying for indignation.
“So I have a short fuse; I’m passionate, it’s my Mexican genes.”
That earns me a snort from Jasper. “I don’t think it has much to do with that. You forget I know your brother.”
“He’s an anomaly in our family.”
“And I met your father, he’s a pretty cool customer.”
“Yes, but the rest of us take after our mother,” I point out.
He bumps his shoulder into mine, chuckling. “Your mom is from Texas, not Mexico.”
“Whatever,” I mutter around the piece of Kung Pao chicken I quickly shove in my mouth, annoyed. I can feel Jasper’s eyes studying me as I chew.
“So what was with the tears earlier?”
I almost choke on a piece of chicken shooting down the wrong hole. Jasper pats my back when I start coughing.
“It’s nothing,” I manage, when I’m able to breathe again.
“Can’t be nothing. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen you cry.”
I roll my eyes, but he seems unimpressed; just keeps scrutinizing me with those baby blues.
“Fine,” I eventually give in. “I lost a patient this morning.”
“I’m sorry.” The simple comforting gesture of putting his hand on my knee is enough to threaten tears again. He’s right, I don’t cry that much, not in front of others anyway. “Want to talk about it?”
“No, I don’t want to talk about it,” I snap, annoyed when I feel a tear slipping free.
Yet, not a minute later, I find myself spilling the entire story, from the moment the call came in, up to and including, the part where her father goes to his knees in the hospital hallway. By this time Jasper is gently stroking my back as I snatch up a napkin and dab at my wet cheeks.
“I don’t normally—” I start to apologize for emoting all over him, when he cuts me off.
“I know, which only goes to show how much you needed to let that out. Tough call,” he adds sympathetically.
“Yeah. And then the shooting. I just saw Belker on a call, not too long ago. He was jittery as a June bug.”
“Belker, is that the cop who got shot?”
“He’s just a baby, fresh from the academy.”
Jasper
I bite my tongue not to let it slip that the guy didn’t make it. After the day she’s had, she’ll have a hard enough time getting to sleep tonight, without me telling her about the message I received from Dylan while I was going through her house.
Bella stifles a yawn, as she gets up and starts clearing away the remnants of dinner. We made a good dent, but there’s still some left.
“Let me put that in your fridge. You’ll have enough dinner for tomorrow,” I offer. I have a feeling I won’t be home much in the days to come anyway. “It’s just gonna spoil in mine,” I quickly add when I see she’s about to protest.
“In that case, thanks.” The weary smile she gives me is sweet nonetheless, but then her expression turns serious as she puts her teeth in that plump bottom lip of hers. “And thanks for listening. That was...kind. I normally do okay processing through work stuff by myself, or sometimes I’ll talk to Kerry, but...”
“She’s on her honeymoon,” I finish for her.
“Right. Besides, I don’t know if I would’ve shared this call with her. Not now that she’s...”
“Pregnant?” I complete her thoughts again. Her eyes shoot to mine, surprised.
“You knew?”
“That’s why they pay me the big bucks, for my superior powers of deduction.” I grin when she rolls her eyes. “Actually, I tried to offer her wine twice at the wedding, which she refused, and then I caught her in the kitchen with her head under the tap when I went looking for you.”
“Clever. I see not much gets by you,” she pokes, smirking, but her eyes are weary when she looks at me. I bet I know what she’s thinking about and it’s time to air that little bit.
“I kissed you,” I blurt out. “I promised myself I wouldn’t—that I’d be buying myself a whole lot of trouble if I did—but I did it anyway.” A pretty blush creeps up her neck and stains her cheeks a deep pink, which I mistake for bashfulness.
“So that’s what you think of me? A whole lot of trouble?” she asks sharply, instantly setting me straight.
“Actually, your brother,” I correct her. “He’s my boss, and given the fact he won’t be happy to find out I’m thinking of you like that, it could seriously impact our working relationship.”
“Thinking of me like what?” She looks at me from under the thick fringe of her eyelashes. I grin and step into her space, putting one hand on her waist. With the other, I slide her thick hair off her shoulder before curving my fingers around her neck, forcing her to look up at me.
“Like I want to have my hands all over your curves, my mouth on your skin, exploring every inch of you,” I confess, as her mouth falls open in a perfect little O.
“You don’t even like me,” she whispers.
“I like you fine, attitude and all. I’ve just tried to steer clear of you, for everyone’s sake.”
She seems to need a minute to think on that and lowers her gaze to the middle of my chest. I use the time to feel the soft skin of her cheek with a light brush of my thumb. I inhale deeply of her scent; something subtly floral, maybe her shampoo, when she raises her eyes back up.
“Yet you kissed me anyway.”
“I did. Thought maybe if I could get it out of my system...” I let my voice trail off when her tongue pokes out for a quick lick along that bottom lip, distracting me momentarily. “It didn’t. Quite the opposite, in fact. I’ve tried to drown myself in work, but clearly that’s not working either, since I’m here, standing in your kitchen.”
“So you are.” I’m fascinated by the way her eyelids lower, her lips slightly part, and her head tilts to the side. Added to her sultry voice, there is no mistaking the invitation.
Fuck me, a saint would be tempted, and I never claimed to be one. Yet before I can lower my mouth to take her up on the invite, she stifles another yawn, and I firmly step back. She’s clearly tired and vulnerable from the events of the day, it wouldn’t be fair to take advantage of that. Granted, tomorrow her attitude will likely be back in full swing, and her silent offer may no longer be on the table, but maybe that’s for the best.
“You need to get some sleep. You’re swaying on your feet.”
“I was just about to kick you
out,” she lies, enhancing her words with an exaggerated yawn. “I’m as worn out as a cucumber in a convent.”
Three hours later, staring at my ceiling, I’m still chuckling.
FOUR HOURS AFTER THAT, my phone wakes me up.
“Yeah?” I groan, not bothering to look who’s calling.
“Morning, sunshine!” Dylan chuckles in my ear, much too chipper.
“What time is it?” I manage, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.
“Almost six thirty. Thought I’d give you a quick update before you head in.”
“Give it to me from the top.”
I swing my legs out of bed, pad over to the bathroom, and hit mute on my end of the call, so Dylan doesn’t have to listen while I relieve myself.
“The cop’s name was Christian Belker; new guy. He pulled over the black Civic with the missing license plate, and checked in with dispatch before exiting the cruiser. Looks like he barely made it out, when he got shot twice. He never even had a chance to unclip his sidearm. One bullet caught him in the shoulder and the second went in just above his ear. They figure he was about to close his door. He was all but gone when the first unit showed up. Autopsy scheduled first thing this morning. CBI was called in to process the scene. No shell casings found.”
The CBI, Colorado Bureau of Investigation, has an office in Durango as well. They’re frequently called in by either the sheriff’s office or police department to assist, often to provide forensic support.
“Sounds more like an ambush. Targeted. Anything on the car or the perp?” I ask, unmuting the phone as I dry my hands.
“Perp is still out there somewhere, but the car matches the description of a vehicle reported stolen two days ago from behind the Walmart, just a couple of miles south of the park on South Camino Del Rio.”
“What about a dash cam? His cruiser outfitted?”
“Apparently. They’re tight-lipped about specifics though. I’ll see what I can find out.”
“You sleep at all?” I ask, Dylan’s enthusiasm for the job often interferes with his self-preservation. Damian’s sent him home more than once.
“Sure,” he says easily, but I can hear the smile in his voice. “Pot calling kettle.”
“Dude, you’ve got a kid. You’ve gotta learn to pace yourself, or you’ll burn out.” Dylan is the single parent of a seven-year old boy, and although I know his mom and stepdad help out quite a bit, I have no idea where he finds the energy. It’s bound to run out one day. I have a feeling he is driven by something more than just his love for the job, but like most of us on the team, we’re not always good at sharing that stuff, and not just because we’re guys. Luna Roosberg, the only female agent on our team, is even more reserved than the rest of us. She’s a kick-ass operative, and I’d trust her to have my back under any and all circumstances, but other than her name and the fact she cleans up fucking nice in a dress, I know virtually nothing about any life she has outside of the agency.
“I know. I really did sleep, I’m just up because I had to get Max up for school anyway,” Dylan assures me.
“Fine, get him off to school and grab some more sleep. I’ll head into the office shortly and don’t want to see you there until noon, at the very earliest.”
“But the autopsy—”
“I know. I was going to check in with Blackfoot anyway. I’m on it.”
CHAPTER 6
JASPER
“What do you want, Greene?”
I stop just inside the door and raise both hands defensively.
Judging from the collection of half-empty coffee cups, food wrappers, the gaunt face, and hair sticking out every which way, I’d say our Detective Blackfoot has been going nonstop. This might explain the snarling attitude, accompanied with warning glare he shoots me.
“Just here to offer help, Blackfoot.” When he looks at me suspiciously, I add, “We closed two cases this week so far, we’ve got some time on our hands. Not looking to step on any toes.”
Keith rubs his face in his hands, before waving me in. “Close the fucking door, will ya?”
“Sorry about the loss of your officer,” I offer, when I sit down across from his desk, the door duly closed. His bloodshot eyes come up and there is no sign of the cocky player I had him pegged as. This is a man suffering under the weight of his responsibilities.
“Fucking kid. Just got off the phone with his father, a farmer in Crete, Nebraska. The man wants answers, and I have none to give him.”
I make a sympathetic noise before asking him, “Run by me what you couldn’t tell him. Fresh eyes, more resources.”
He regards me for a second, then slides a folder across the desk before sitting back in his chair, and folding his arms behind his head. I flip open the folder to find autopsy photos and a detailed report on findings.
“You got this back already?”
“Coroner had him on the slab at six this morning. We needed those slugs.”
“Nine millimeter,” I confirm, scanning the report. “One entering the body at the left shoulder, cut a path through the joint and soft tissue and was found lodged in the clavicle. The other went in right above the ear and ricocheted inside the skull, instead of exiting.” I look up at Keith. “Shooter must’ve been at a fair distance for those bullets not to go straight through.”
“I figure,” he answers. “Trajectory was upward at a moderate angle. I’m guessing the guy never got out of his car.”
“Both distance and angle would indicate a pretty damn good shot.”
“Slugs are with CBI, once they run some ballistics tests, I’m sending someone to check local shooting ranges.”
“I can run the test results through our Federal database when you hear back. Dash cam tell you anything?”
“Fuck all. This wasn’t a traffic stop gone bad,” he suggests, turning to stare out his window. An assessment I’m already in agreement with.
“Doesn’t sound like it. I understand he never unclipped his holster?”
His chair squeaks as he swivels back to face me. “I’d like to know where the fuck you got that information.” I shrug, but stay silent. There’s no point. “Christ,” he finally hisses, exasperated.
After that he seems to brush the chip off his shoulder and takes me through all he has, which isn’t a whole fucking lot. Too many directions to go in and not enough leads. Without any witnesses, we have to make do with what we know; nine-millimeter slugs, and a stolen Honda Civic.
“Are you pegging him for local?” I ask. I figure with the car stolen in the Walmart parking lot, a couple of days prior to the shooting, the perp obviously hung around. So he’s either local, or would’ve had a place to crash.
“Good possibility.”
“Got anyone checking short-term rentals? Lodging?”
“Was about to.”
“Why don’t you let us take that on? Dylan is frothing at the bit to do something, and Luna is good at prying loose information.” I can’t help notice the way Keith’s eyes sharpen at the mention of her name. If I usually don’t see eye to eye with the detective, it’s nothing compared to the animosity between those two. “Anything comes up, I’ll let you know.”
I interpret his sharp nod as agreement and take my leave.
Luna is way ahead of me. When I get back to the office, I find her and Dylan bent over a list of places she’d already compiled. I quickly update them before sending them off and picking up my phone. Three o’clock already. I feel the sudden urge to check up on Bella.
Not sure exactly what time her shift ends, I send her a text instead of calling and am surprised when I get an immediate response.
Me: Day going okay?
Bella: It’s going. You?
Me: So so. You off?
Bella: No. Just at Mercy finishing paperwork on last run. THEN I’m off.
Me: Plans?
Bella: Pint of Ben&Jerry’s Peanut Butter Cup ice cream, episode of Bloodlines, and sleep. In that order
Me: Need help?
Be
lla: Trust me, you don’t want to come near me when I’m holding Ben & Jerry’s.
Chuckling, I’m about to send off a smart response when she sends another message.
Bella: Gotta run.
I quickly erase what I’d written before and instead shoot off a simple Okay. Somehow I get the feeling my, Who says I’m after your ice cream? is probably better left unsaid anyway.
Bella
“Four vehicle pileup just south of Hermosa, Gomez. Multiple casualties. We’re on.”
I quickly shoot off a message to Jasper, tuck my phone in my pocket, and run outside after Ryan, who’s already climbing behind the wheel of our rig.
Five minutes more and I would’ve been off to grab my ice cream from the Walmart down the road. Looks like my evening’s plans are postponed indefinitely.
“What do you know?” I ask Ryan, belting myself in, as he flicks on the siren and tears out of the parking lot.
“Tractor trailer carrying natural stone lost half its load into oncoming traffic. Two vehicles buried under the stone, victims trapped. One other wedged under the back of the truck. It’s a mess.”
“Jesus.”
“Yeah. They already have heavy equipment en route. We’re one of three units dispatched, and a Life Flight helicopter is on standby.”
“Gonna be a long night,” I comment, already regretting passing on the muffin he offered me earlier in the hospital cafeteria. Looks like my stomach will have to do without sustenance, despite its current loud protests.
“Granola bars in the glove box, courtesy of my wife,” Ryan says with a grin. “I swear, even after seventeen years of marriage, she’s still afraid I’ll wither away if she doesn’t feed me.”
“You could have bigger problems,” I suggest, tearing the wrapper off and shoving a good-sized bite in my mouth.
“That I could.”
We’re mostly silent the rest of our drive, listening to radio updates and occasionally updating our ETA to the scene. We know we’re close when all traffic comes to a halt. It takes some hair-raising maneuvering from Ryan to get our sizable rig around the gridlock; at times barely clinging on to the edge of the mountain. I’m not a great fan of heights on my best days, but looking out my window—seeing nothing but air beside me—has me hyperventilating with my eyes squeezed shut.
