Nicki set off in pursuit. If he changed direction, she’d never find him. All she could hope was that his beeline toward his unidentified goal would continue.
She heard his bark fading in the distance as he ran. “Titan!”
Where was Jackson? Where was Harold? Dear God, help me, her heart cried out.
Something caught here eye. Was that the dog’s reflective collar again? Praise the Lord. It was.
Hurrying ahead, she kept her eyes on the place where she’d last seen the bright orange plastic, and threaded a path between upright headstones, showing respect by trying to avoid stepping on the ones that lay flat to the ground.
Rounding a crypt, she stumbled. Felt herself falling.
Self-preservation insisted that she drop her makeshift weapon and use both hands to break her fall.
She landed in the loose dirt on all fours. Something large and hard was pressing against her chest, and the fall had knocked the breath from her lungs. All she could imagine was that she had tripped over the trunk of a fallen tree.
Blinking, she pushed away. Levered herself higher. Saw Titan’s nose and wide, pink tongue mere inches from her face.
Nicki’s relief at having caught up to the naughty dog was short-lived. There was enough pale light from the moon to show her more than she wanted to see.
The tree trunk had facial features! Wispy blond hair. Sunken eyes. Lips that were little more than a gash across the ashen face.
Nicki gasped.
Screamed.
Threw herself backward and gawked in disbelief for a heartbeat, then screamed again. And again.
There, beside her on the ground, lying as still as death, as cold as ice, was a body.
The dog had led her to a dead man.
* * *
Jackson was back at his police vehicle, arguing with Harold about where to start searching for Nicki and Titan, when a high-pitched screech split the darkness. “That’s her. It has to be. Stay here by the radio.”
He drew his gun and started toward the sound at a run, using his flashlight to choose a safe path. If it hadn’t been for a multicar accident on the main highway, they would have had plenty of backup by now. Unfortunately, a hunch about trouble in an old cemetery wasn’t enough to warrant a full-blown response when there were specific needs that must take precedence. Jackson knew that was department policy, but he didn’t have to like it.
“Nicki! Where are you?” he shouted.
“Over here.”
He swung the light beam. Nicki was crouched near the ground with the dog standing over her. All the usable air left Jackson’s lungs. He was about to shout for Harold when she waved and clambered to her feet.
He slowed only slightly. Holding his pistol pointed at the sky, he clicked off the flashlight and spread his arms as she ran into his embrace. At this moment, he didn’t care what protocols they might be violating. He wanted her as close to him as she apparently wanted to be.
“What happened?” His voice was raw with emotion. “Why didn’t you stay put?”
“Titan...Titan wanted to come over here. I guess he sensed something was wrong.”
“And you listened to a dog instead of me?” In spite of chastising her, he held tight with his free arm.
“I was afraid for you,” she said. Her cheek was against his chest and he could feel her trembling. “I didn’t know where you had gone...and I thought maybe Titan was trying to tell me you needed help.” She took a shuddering breath. “I’m sorry.”
Closing his eyes, Jackson sent up a silent prayer of thanks and just held her. She had gone against his orders for his sake. How could he fault her for caring? He probably would have taken a cue from the dog, too, given similar circumstances.
“Just tell me you’re not hurt,” he said tenderly.
“I’m not hurt.” Nicki leaned away slightly and inclined her head toward the place where she’d fallen. “But the guy over there’s not doing so well.”
Jackson turned and used his flashlight to illuminate what he first thought would be a grisly scene.
Instead, he saw the body of a young man, probably a teenager, in quiet repose. The boy’s clothes were starting to deteriorate—particularly at the cuffs and collar—and his shoes were coming apart, but his body was otherwise pristine.
Playing the beam over the emotionless face, Jackson noted unusual puckering and sallow skin tones.
“This isn’t a new murder,” he announced, holstering his sidearm. “He looks embalmed.”
“That explains the open grave.”
“Where?”
She pointed. “Over there. I almost fell into it.”
Before he could change his mind, he placed a conciliatory kiss on the top of her head, then took her hand. “Your new friend isn’t going anywhere. Come on. We’ll go back to the car and call this in.”
“What do you think is going on?”
“I don’t have a clue,” Jackson admitted ruefully. “If I was going to rob a grave, I sure wouldn’t choose a recent one—I’d go for one of the crypts where the rich folks are interred.”
“Who was this man?”
“I’m not positive. I don’t want to go any closer and disturb evidence.” He felt Nicki’s grip tighten, and she lagged back so he paused to ask, “What’s the matter?”
“My handprints will be in the dirt next to him. When I fell I landed right...” She shuddered and swallowed hard. “It was awful.”
“I’ll run you by the emergency room on our way back to the ranch, so you can get checked out if you want. I hope you don’t believe those old wives’ tales about expectant mothers getting scared and hurting their babies.”
“Of course not.”
“Then don’t worry, okay? I’ll explain everything to the crime scene techs when I talk to them.”
“I’m getting pretty tired of being their guinea pig.” She sighed. “I know I’m innocent and just wish they’d believe me.”
He wished he could ease her mind. He really did. The trouble was, as far as the police were concerned, Nicolette Johnson was in this mess all the way up to her pretty neck.
It was a lot like being stuck in quicksand. The more she struggled and protested, the deeper she ended up sinking. And he was right there with her.
ELEVEN
“His name was Daniel Jones,” Slade McNeal told the assembled officers when they’d had a chance to examine the scene at the cemetery. “I went to his funeral about five years ago.”
Jackson had his arm around Nicki’s shoulders, much to her relief, and gave her a squeeze of support before asking, “How did he die?”
She could tell that the captain was strongly affected but didn’t fully understand why, until he explained further.
“Daniel was resisting arrest for dealing drugs. One minute I had the drop on the kid, trying to reason with him, and the next, he was waving a gun at me. I put one bullet into his thigh to stop him. A sniper finished him off before I even had a chance to cuff him.”
“I remember reading about that case,” Nicki said softly. She looked up at Jackson. “It must have happened while you were overseas. The newspapers had a field day with the story. They kept insisting it was police brutality and that the victim was just a poor, defenseless kid.” She shivered, seeing the similarities to her own life when she added, “His mother was raising him by herself.”
“That’s right,” Slade said. “And it gets worse. Daniel’s mom, Sierra, was Detective Melody Zachary’s sister. Sierra killed herself when she got the news her son had died.” He raked his fingers through his short hair. “All in all, it was a horrible mess.”
“The same Melody who’s the director of the Sagebrush Youth Center?” Nicki asked. “I didn’t know that about her. It makes sense, though. I suppose she feels she’s helping other kids, like her nephew, to stay clean.”
“Yeah.” The captain turned and addressed Jackson. “Since your patrol unit is damaged, use your ranch truck to take everybody home. We can handle this. I’ll
come out to your spread tomorrow to question everyone again.”
Slade’s frown deepened. “I’ll have a few more questions for you, too, Worth. You know the drill. Please refrain from discussing this evening’s events with each other or with any outside parties.”
“Yes, sir.”
Nicki waited until Jackson had walked her back to his truck before she asked, “Are you under suspicion, too?”
“It’s just procedure.”
“He looked awfully serious,” she remarked.
“That’s understandable, considering his prior encounters with the Jones kid. Until tonight, I had no idea the captain was so deeply involved.” He paused and glanced back to where floodlights illuminated the crime scene. “I wonder...”
“What?”
“Nothing. We’re not supposed to discuss this case, remember?”
She glanced up at him. “Were you planning to talk about what happened tonight?”
“No.” Jackson was slowly, thoughtfully, shaking his head. “I was just wondering how a teenager with no money ended up in that section of the cemetery.”
“What do you mean? What’s so special about it?”
“It’s probably nothing. I’ll tell you later, after I’ve had a chance to check a few details.”
Harold overheard their conversation. “Tell her what?”
“The choice of grave sites puzzles me, that’s all,” Jackson said.
“You mean why is a poor kid buried in the Frears section? That’s easy. Lots of folks who can’t afford their own place end up in there. I imagine, because Captain McNeal and Dante Frears are old friends and former military buddies, there was an arrangement made.
“I was already retired when the Jones shooting took place, but I heard plenty of gossip about it. McNeal was really torn up after it happened. He blamed himself.”
“Why? He didn’t shoot to kill.”
“No, he didn’t.” Harold was shaking his head. “Just the same, there was some rumor after your captain’s wife, Angie, was killed, that maybe somebody was aiming to get back at Slade for the Jones boy’s death and blew up Mrs. McNeal by mistake. I guess nobody ever proved a connection.”
“Where was Daniel when he was shot?” Jackson asked.
“Come to think of it, right here in these woods. If I was superstitious, I might wonder if there was a jinx on this place.”
Nicki didn’t believe in such things, but that didn’t keep the suggestion of lingering evil from giving her the willies. There was something awfully creepy about running around in the forest after dark, even if she didn’t count tripping over an embalmed corpse.
The mere memory of that encounter made her flesh crawl. She had touched him, actually touched him. And although she knew that the young man’s soul was long gone from that empty shell, she was nevertheless repulsed.
I should pray for him, Nicki told herself before wondering what good that would do. It was the living, the struggling, the ones still breathing, who needed to be held up in prayer—like the youth center lady named Melody, and Captain McNeal, who kept beating himself up for failing to save a teen who was headed down the wrong path.
And I’ll pray for Jackson, she added, feeling her cheeks warm suddenly as she climbed into the truck and scooted to the center to make room for the two men on either side of her, while Titan rode on the narrow seat behind them. She had a good idea what to ask God on the K-9 officer’s behalf, and she was going to add him to her prayer list. After all, everybody could use divine help from time to time.
“Like tonight, when whoever was shooting at us missed,” she muttered to herself. In the midst of the turmoil, she had failed to give thanks for their survival. Now she made up for that oversight.
They could have all died. It was that simple.
* * *
Jackson had assumed his new employee would take a day or two off to acclimate herself, particularly after the harrowing cemetery incident. He was wrong. He awoke to the smell of fresh-brewed coffee and the aroma of sizzling bacon. If Nicki’s cooking tasted half as good as it smelled, he was going to be sure to thank Slade for pushing him to hire her.
Harold was already in the sunny kitchen when Jackson entered with Titan at his heels. “Boy, that smells good.”
“I wasn’t sure what you preferred so I fixed a couple of different things,” Nicki said. “How do you want your eggs?”
“Over hard. Are those waffles?”
Her grin was broad, her eyes sparkling. “Yes. The waffle iron in the cupboard looked so new, I wasn’t sure if you’d ever used it.”
“I don’t know that we have,” Jackson admitted as he helped himself to a mug of steaming coffee. “Harold and I never fuss. Anybody can fry an egg. The fancy stuff we get when we eat in town.”
“Well, I’m taking orders for supper,” Nicki said. “There’s plenty of meat to choose from in the freezer. What sounds good?”
“Surprise us. We’ll love it.”
Titan plopped down at Nicki’s feet and looked up at her as if she were the most wonderful person he’d ever met.
She laughed. “I think your dog likes me.”
“No offense, but he loves anybody who fries bacon. You can give him a little taste if you want, just keep it small. He’s on a strictly managed diet.”
“Yeah, me, too,” Harold chimed in, presenting his empty plate. “And I’m the one who’s in charge. Two eggs over easy, all the bacon you can spare and a waffle, please.”
“Coming right up.” She turned back to the stove. “So, what are we doing today?”
Jackson and Harold both said, “We?” as if they had rehearsed speaking in unison.
“Maybe I should rephrase that.” Nicki was chuckling quietly. “What am I supposed to do while you two go about your business today? I don’t suppose you intend to take me back into town, considering what happened the last couple of times I went.”
“Not if I can help it,” Jackson replied. He sobered and waited until she was looking directly at him before he continued. “I can’t order you to stay here. You’re not under house arrest or anything. But if you’re smart—and I know you are—you’ll lay low for a while. Whoever sent you that bomb and made those other threats could easily have been the same ones who shot at us out by the cemetery.”
“Really? I thought that was probably because they didn’t want us to discover they’d dug up a body.” She gave the frying pan a flip and the eggs landed upside down, perfectly centered.
“I don’t think so,” Jackson said. He accepted the filled plate she passed him. “Thanks.”
Nicki wasn’t satisfied. “Then what’s going on?”
“Know what I think?” Harold piped up. “I think it’s all cut from the same cloth, so to speak. The killings, the drugs, the bomb, everything.”
“Okay,” Jackson said as he started to eat. “How?”
“If I knew that, I’d go to work as a police consultant and make a pile of money,” the older man said. “I can’t put my finger on the reason, but I keep thinking that the crime syndicate has to be at the bottom of everything.”
“That doesn’t explain why anybody would dig up Daniel Jones’s body. He died five years ago and the rash of killings didn’t start until recently.” Jackson hesitated. “You know, technically, we’re not supposed to discuss the Jones case.”
“Horse feathers. If we can’t separate one from the other, tough. Maybe the connection is the narcotics.”
Thoughtful, Nicki leaned back against the kitchen counter and took a sip of coffee. “Suppose Harold is right. Is there a link between those old drug busts and the people you suspect may be responsible for the latest crimes? I mean, why would a successful syndicate all of a sudden start killing it’s own people? That’s crazy.”
“A power struggle, maybe,” Jackson ventured. “I don’t know. Nobody does.”
“What about my cousin, Arianna? What exactly is she supposed to have done?”
Her question made him raise an eyebrow. “For
starters, she not only killed Garry, the Realtor, she was involved in the drug business up to her eyeballs. You must have realized she didn’t make all her money running that little restaurant.”
“How would I know that?”
Nicki’s defensiveness was predictable. Nevertheless, he pressed on. “Because you’d known her all your life? In order to live such a lavish lifestyle, she had to have had another source of income.”
“I never thought about it,” Nicki admitted. “I tried to have as little to do with my cousin as possible. She was—she was...”
“Go on.”
Nicki shook her head and averted her gaze. “No. I’m not going to say it. It’s bad enough that I’m thinking such awful things about her when she’s not here to defend herself. Even when we were kids, Arianna had a mean streak. She was always looking for ways to get me to take the blame for something bad that she’d done.”
“Is that what you think she was doing when she mentioned a secret code?”
“If she hadn’t added cousin, I might have my doubts, but since she did, yes, I do think she was trying to get me into trouble. It wouldn’t be the first time.”
“Fair enough.”
“If it was really fair, everybody would believe me when I say I have no idea what she meant about a code or danger.”
“The danger part seems to be taking care of itself,” Jackson said wryly. “First Murke breaks into your apartment, next somebody sends you a bomb, then we get shot at in the woods. Seems pretty consistent.”
“Just what I wanted to hear.” Nicki pulled a face. “Not only are there murderous thugs after me, they’re reliable, too. How special.”
Jackson had to laugh. He finished his meal, wiped his mouth with a paper napkin and carried his plate to the sink.
“I’ll do the cleanup,” Nicki insisted.
“Sorry. Force of habit. The dishwasher works fine so you shouldn’t have too much work to do. After that, the morning is all yours.” He turned to her. “Harold will show you which horses are safe to ride and where we keep the tack. Just don’t go too far from the house unless one of us is with you.”
Explosive Secrets (Texas K-9 Unit) Page 11
