"Yeah?" That was Johnnie's voice. I totally didn't feel a shiver run up my spine at the sound either. Nope. Not me.
"Paine. Buzz me up." With that, the door unlocked and we went into a room with a staircase and made our way up into a hall with two doors, one to the left and one to the right. We went to the one at the right and Paine just reached for the handle and opened it, leading us in.
Paine was right; I shouldn't have judged the place from the outside. Johnnie had, indeed, spent a mint fixing up the inside. Firstly, it was huge, as in massive. A U-shaped kitchen full of expensive-looking stainless steel appliances and what looked like real marble red and sand swirl counter tops opened up into the L-shaped living space with a dark wood dining set set apart from a giant sectional that looked like if you sank into it, it might swallow you whole. The sectional was facing a television the likes of I had only seen on those television shows about celebrity houses. The walls were painted a deep blue, all the trim (including the thick crown molding) was a crisp white. The floors were wide-planked and stained dark. There was a hall to the right of the door we came in that had three doors off of it. Nice. The whole place was very, very nice.
I took all of this in, however, in about two-point-three seconds because after that, my eyes landed on Johnnie who was standing shirtless in his kitchen, basketball shorts slung low on his hips, giving me a delicious view of his body which made everything else around him fade into background noise.
"Look what showed up on my doorstep," Paine said from behind my shoulder.
Johnnie's eyes were on me, looking a mix of surprised and something else that I didn't know him well enough to decipher, but it was making goosebumps rise up on my skin. It was a full minute at least before he shook his head slightly as if to clear it and he finally spoke. "Angel, the fuck are you doing here?"
"You got a cat?" Paine asked, either oblivious to the tension in the room or completely ignoring it. My money was on the latter.
Johnnie wasn't listening though as he pushed off the counter and moved slowly toward us. "Baby, what are you doing here? And why is that look on your face?"
"What look?" I asked, knowing he saw right through me, but feeling uncomfortable talking in front of Paine.
"Hey man, take a hike," he said to his friend.
"No 'thank you for delivering the shaking-she's-so-scared girl off at my apartment like she asked'?"
"I'm not shaking!" I objected immediately.
"Honey, you are," Johnnie corrected, his voice low and soft.
Paine's hand landed soft on my hip again and I twisted my neck to look at him. "You alright with me leavin'?"
Oh, good lord. Not only were they all hot and charming, but they had that protective thing going for them too. "I'll be fine," I said, nodding. "Thanks for bringing me here."
He gave me a small wink, then cast some look that communicated something I couldn't interpret at Johnnie, then turned and left.
A few seconds passed before Johnnie moved. And I mean he moved, closing the distance between us and wrapping me up in his arms. If I was sure I wasn't shaking before, well, I was positive I was shaking the second his arms went around me. It felt like the past day of stress plowed into me at once, overwhelming my already shot nerves. "Shh, baby, it's alright," he murmured into my hair, his hands moving to stroke up and down my spine, the pace slow and comforting as my arms hesitantly moved to wrap around him, my hands resting on the warm skin of his back. We stayed that way for a long moment, him stroking me, me holding on and trying to deep breathe. "What happened, sweetheart?" he asked finally, moving his hands to my shoulders and trying to push me back so he could look at me. But suddenly, my arms were vice grips around him.
"Who is Luis?" I asked against his chest.
Against me, his body tightened. "You're this freaked 'cause you're worried about your boyfriend's murky past?"
At the words and the tone in which he said them, which were so unlike the Johnnie I thought I had started to understand, that I straightened and pulled away. "He's not my boyfriend," I snapped, wrenching away from him. "And I couldn't have cared less about his past. Except I have half a million dollars worth of heroin stashed in my wall and I'm pretty sure he's the one who put it there!" I was almost yelling as I paced around his living room.
Then suddenly my shoulders were tagged by two strong hands and my head snapped up to find Johnnie's eyes on mine, a wild fire behind them but his voice was almost freakishly calm when he spoke. "Amelia, I'm going to need to hear that from the start, okay?" When I didn't immediately move to speak, his hands moved from my shoulders and cradled my face. "Right now, sweetheart."
I swallowed hard and gave it to him. "The day after you left, Luis showed up at my apartment with wine, didn't seem to want to take no for an answer so I let him in for a drink. We were in my living room and he made a comment about me redecorating because there were scuff marks under my TV cabinet. I shrugged it off but I was already starting to freak out because I never moved that cabinet. Never. It's like... really heavy and I didn't want to get scuff marks on the floor so I knew that I wouldn't..."
"Focus, honey."
"Right," I said, shaking my head, finding his strange calmness really comforting and my frazzled thoughts were getting clearer. "He left and I went over and moved the cabinet and found a cut-out in my drywall so I pulled it open and..." I shook my head, letting out a breath. "There's eight kilos of heroin in my wall, Johnnie."
"Mother fucker. Mother fucker," he growled, moving away from me and raking a hand through his hair. "That shifty fucking son of a bitch..."
"Johnnie... how do you know Luis?"
He exhaled a breath and didn't even pause in informing me, "I did a contract for him a couple years back."
"A contract?"
"I shot someone for him, Amelia," he said, no shame or discomfort in his voice which, in turn, lessened mine slightly.
"Who?"
He shrugged a shoulder and I totally didn't watch the way his tattoos danced or anything. "H dealer in Miami."
An H dealer in Miami. Another piece clicked into place. Luis had mentioned being in Miami for "business". So he had Johnnie kill the guy and, what, stole his supply? Good god.
"Baby, look at me." I did what I was told. "What did you do when you found the drugs? Did you touch them? Move them?"
"I'm not stupid," I said, running a hand through my hair. "I didn't touch anything but the piece of the wall I pulled out and I even wiped that after I realized what was in there. And then I put the cabinet back in place and cleaned the floor of the scuff marks and then..."
"And then?" he prompted.
"And then I came right to you," I said honestly. "I grabbed like two days' worth of clothes and I just... hit the road. I didn't know what else to do. Who else I could go to."
"You were right to come to me," he said, reaching out and tucking my hair behind my ear. "That sheriff in town... he would have let you take the fall for it if you turned it in. He always was a stupid, ambitious fuck."
"What am I supposed to do, Johnnie?" I asked, hearing my voice hitch slightly and taking a deep breath to try to keep myself from crying... again.
"First, you're going to calm down. You're safe with me. He won't think to look for you here. So take a deep breath," he paused long enough for me to realize that wasn't a suggestion, but an order and I sucked in a deep breath. "Good. Now when was the last time you slept?"
"I slept at a rest stop in Virginia."
"You slept at a rest stop in Virginia," he repeated, his face settling into hard lines, like he wasn't happy with that information.
"The road was starting to get blurry."
"The road gets blurry, honey, get a room somewhere. Rest stops aren't exactly the safest places on Earth."
"I survived," I pointed out, getting a little annoyed. I wasn't a child. I could take care of myself.
"'Course you did. Come on," he said, tugging a little at the hem of m
y shirt as he moved toward the hallway beside the front door.
"Come where?" I asked, following behind, but cautiously.
"To my bed, angel," he supplied, opening the first door in the hall.
"Your bed?"
"To sleep," he said, ducking his head a little to slant a serious look at my face before he started to smile a little boyishly. "Not that I wouldn't love to ravish you, honey, but you need some rest. I'll keep my hands to myself."
A part of me was kinda whispering (okay, screaming) that it would be totally okay if he put his hands on me, but I ignored that voice and stepped into the doorway of his bedroom. It was another large room. The walls were painted a deep hunter green and the space was dominated by the huge California king bed covered in crisp white sheets. Crisp like they were just laundered. Like maybe they had even been... ironed. Who ironed their sheets? I chanced a look at Johnnie. No way did a guy like him press their bedclothes. Did he have a housekeeper?
God, why did I even care?
"Kick out of your shoes, sweetheart," he urged when I just kept standing there dumbly. I kicked out of my shoes and made my way over toward his bed feeling self-conscious because I could feel his eyes on me. I pulled back the sheets and climbed in.
I had just settled on my side facing away from the door when I felt the bed depress behind me and Johnnie scoot in. And I mean in, until his entire body was wrapped around mine from behind, legs cocked under my bent knees, his arm heavy around my belly, like he had held me when I cried after his father's funeral. "What are you doing?"
"Amy, you just lost the closest person to you. On top of that, you think I'm a dick and that hurt your feelings. Now you find half a mil worth of drugs in your wall and you drive up to me, sleeping in a fucking rest stop, and you get here shaking. Just let me hold you for a couple of minutes, okay?"
"Okay," I said, my eyes already getting heavy. I didn't know what kind of mattress he had, but whatever it was, I needed one.
"She's my best friend's girl," he murmured when sleep was just about to claim me.
"What? Who?" I asked groggily.
"The girl who was at my Pops' apartment. She's my best friend's girl. She and he came down to make sure I was alright. I didn't fuck her. I'd never fuck her. I should have explained that before I left."
I felt his lips press into the skin behind my ear and, well, that was what did it. I turned in his arms and buried my face in his neck, stealing his warmth in the air conditioned room, and breathing in his scent which was something I couldn't put into words, something masculine and spicy, like male musk mixed with the traces of body wash from an earlier shower. "Thanks for telling me," I said quietly, maybe nuzzling in. But just a little bit, I swear.
His arms tightened around me. "Sleep angel," he commanded.
Then I did.
Twelve
Shooter
There was eight kilos of heroin in her wall. There was eight kilos of heroin in her wall and her first instinct was to run to me. I liked that. I liked that a little too much for either of our good. But she was here; she was wrapped up in my arms, making almost inaudible mewling noises in her sleep.
Fucking Luis.
I figured he was harmless. I figured he had me hit the H dealer because he wanted out, he wanted to not be under the man's thumb anymore. Hell, I wasn't paid to think about the job at all. I was paid top dollar to mind my own goddamn business and get the job done. But as much as I put up that front, I did my research. I didn't like the idea of killing some poor sap because someone was holding a stupid grudge, or cause someone's wife cheated on him. That wasn't my kind of work. I tried as much as possible to only shoot scumbags. And seeing as it was usually criminals who hired people to carry out hits, that was almost always what I took care of. I figured Luis was just a guy caught up in the drug trade or that he'd fucked over his boss and wanted him dead before he found out. His boss was a piece of shit with a blood trail as long as the Nile. No one cried when I put a plug between his eyes, least of all me.
And I didn't even care that Luis wanted his old boss dead so he could take over the trade. What I did care about was the fact that the mother fucker was such a pussy that he had to hide his product in the walls of unsuspecting people. Especially someone with no one to protect her like Amelia. No wonder Luis spent so much time trying to woo Amelia. He wanted to keep an eye to see if she ever found out about what he was up to.
A while later, Amelia's breathing heavy, her body limp in sleep, a thought came to me, a thought I wasn't exactly happy to have. She had told me that my father was good to her, that he always told her to lock up when she came home from work. That wasn't like him. All the years I lived at home, he never once locked his door. He never lectured my grandmother to lock her door either. That was the kind of thing that no one ever really paid much mind to there. It was always safe. No one needed to lock their doors. So why was my Pops telling Amy to? Did he know something was going on? Was he trying to protect her? Or, worse yet, was he involved? It wasn't much of a jump for me to assume he had his hand in it. It was harder for me to accept that he was clean and sober for years than it was to accept that maybe he was keeping illicit drugs in the drug counselor next door's wall.
What the hell was I supposed to do with this information? I meant it when I told her it was good she came to me, that she was safe with me. She was. But that didn't mean I had any clue how to go about fixing her situation. I mean, the simple answer was to haul my ass back down to Alabama, get my hands on a decent gun, and take out the fuck. But I had no idea what kind of operation he was running there. Were there a bunch of people involved? Christ, did he have townspeople in on it? If he was gone, would the ring keep working as if he was never a part of it? Would she be in even more danger without Luis and his interest in her around to protect her?
I needed to be smart, put some feelers out, figure out what the fuck was really going on. And that shit, well, it wasn't going to happen overnight. Or even in a couple days. That meant that Amelia needed to keep her ass planted in my apartment, in my bed, for at least a week. Couldn't say I was exactly unhappy with that idea. In fact, I was downright tickled with it. Because it meant something that she sought me out, that she would come to me. It meant that, despite her thinking that I was a slut who wanted to use her like a washrag and toss her aside, she still felt something with me; a connection. Her little situation, as fucked as it was, gave us some time to explore things.
Hours later, I slowly untangled myself from her and got out of bed, closing the door and grabbing my cell. "Someone doesn't have you by the balls, my ass," Lo's voice said at me, sounding amused. "Cash came in a while ago and told me all about the brunette with the bedroom eyes who came to see you."
"Yeah, sugar, that's why I'm calling..."
"Need to talk to Cash?" she asked, picking up on something in my tone and losing the humor, sounding all business.
"No, Lo. I need to talk to you. How far across the country does Hailstorm keep tabs on the criminal empires?"
"We try to keep an eye on any of the big names and maybe some of the smaller ones if they are especially violent or seem like they are waiting to make a play to become bigger. Why, what's up?"
"Amelia's got a problem."
"So now you got a problem," she finished for me.
"Something like that."
"What's she got herself into? Please don't tell me it's any more skin traders or rapists."
"She found eight kilos of heroin stashed in her wall by someone named Luis Carlos."
"That doesn't ring a bell."
"I carried out a hit for him years back in Miami. He was working for the Diaz crew. He had me take out Diaz."
"That was you?" she asked, sounding impressed. "That was good work, Shoot. They had nothing. I mean not that the cops were crying over the loss of a violent drug dealer, but still... we followed that one, knowing it looked professional."
"Yeah well... dunno why... but Luis must h
ave run off with the connections Diaz had created and for some fuck reason, moved his operation to Ala-fucking-bama. He built an apartment building and hid half a mil of H in Amelia's wall. And my guess... it isn't just her wall that drugs are stashed in. I think he finds the people he thinks he can play, or people he thinks of as weak and he puts his stash in their places. There wasn't any in my father's apartment."
"Your father?" she asked, sounding surprised. Not many people knew about my past, and no one knew every gory detail.
"Yeah that's why I was in Alabama, for the funeral. Don't," I said, before she could, "tell me you're sorry. It was no loss for me. But I was there, sorting out the affairs, staying in his apartment because..."
"Because of the pretty girl with the bedroom eyes next door."
"Yeah something like that," I said, smile stretching across my face.
"Is it possible your dad was in on it and that's why there was no evidence in his place?"
"Definitely possible. He's got a history of boozing but he was supposedly clean. Don't mean he didn't have his hands dirty though."
"So you want me to send out some feelers, see what I can find out about Luis Carlos?"
"I know Hailstorm has its hands full with its own cases but..."
"Shoot, we owe you. I owe you for what you did for me."
"Don't owe me, darlin'. I did that shit because that fucker deserved to die."
"Still. I'm happy to have Janie snoop around online. You should have Alex get in on that too. Between the two of them, they're bound to find something out. If they don't come up with enough, I'll send some men down there."
"You're the best, Lo."
"I'll keep in touch."
"Right, thanks sugar."
"Hey Shoot?"
"Yeah?"
"Admit it."
I didn't have to ask what she meant. A couple of years back when she found herself in a bad way and she needed someone taken out, Cash had called me in to do the job. Like I had told her, I had done it happily. In the process, I had poked fun at her and Cash's budding romance and she had told me that she couldn't wait to watch a woman get me by the balls one day.
Killer Page 12
