Explosive Secrets (Texas K-9 Unit)

by Valerie Hansen

  Or worse.

  The way Jackson assessed their present situation, there was no way to tell how much of his sense of commitment was due to his job, and how much might be above and beyond the call of duty. He suspected that he was falling for this victim in spite of his training to the contrary—or his determination to keep their relationship strictly professional.

  It wasn’t rational.

  It wasn’t right.

  It was simply true.

  THIRTEEN

  Nicki ended up fixing lunch for nine people besides herself. The ATF crew had arrived to disarm the bomb, and local police were there to secure the area as well as take statements from the three of them.

  Listening to conversations in the background as she cooked and served burgers, home fries and sweet tea, she learned quite a bit. First, her cousin had definitely been part of a complicated cabal that was still operating in and around Sagebrush.

  Why so many lower-level crooks had been marked for death was an unanswered question, although in Arianna’s case, she had died while resisting arrest and trying to kill Valerie Salgado. Apparently her cousin believed the female officer had spotted her leaving the scene of a previous murder—although she actually hadn’t.

  One homicide after another seemed to be occurring, and they all led back to...to what? Nicki wondered. How far back did the influence go? And how in the world was Jackson or anybody on the force going to untangle the repeatedly lethal web of deception?

  She was about to ask about the body they’d found in the cemetery when Jackson’s boss, Slade McNeal, broached the subject for her.

  “I may ask the new medical examiner to review the original Daniel Jones autopsy report, just in case, but I don’t anticipate a problem.”

  Jackson nodded, and wiped his mouth with a paper napkin before asking, “What can he expect to find? I understood that case was pretty cut-and-dried.”

  “It was,” Slade replied. “Still is. We just want to be sure nothing was done to the body after it was disinterred.”

  “Do you think there might have been tampering?”

  The whole conversation was giving Nicki the willies, and she stifled a shiver. At least she thought she had. When her gaze met Jackson’s, she realized that he had been watching her and knew she was distressed.

  She managed a forced smile for his benefit. “Go on. I’m interested, actually. I’d never seen a corpse before. It was a shock to fall over him but surprising how well he was preserved for having died so long ago. You said it’s been five years, right?”

  “Give or take,” Slade answered. “I still remember the Jones case as if it happened yesterday. One moment I’m about to read the kid his rights, the next thing I know he’s lying dead at my feet from a sniper’s bullet.” His voice dropped until it was little more than a mumble. “Losing the mother so soon after that was the worst part.”

  Nicki knew it wasn’t her place to contradict a professional, yet her heart ached for the captain. “The papers said that woman—Sierra Jones?—took her own life. It’s not your fault. There’s no way anybody could have predicted she’d react that way.”

  “We should have made sure someone stayed with her. I can see that now.” A shadow crossed Slade’s face. “Back then, we weren’t careful enough with survivors. Not the way we are these days.”

  He was alluding to her situation, Nicki concluded. Was that why everyone seemed so solicitous? Why she’d been offered this job in the first place? That notion did not sit well with her.

  Then again, she reasoned, she had desperately needed both a new job and a place to stay. How could she fault the result without questioning God’s wisdom in taking care of her needs?

  Speaking of which, Jackson had gone over firearms safety with her, and had promised they would do some target shooting as soon as the furor at the ranch died down. Nicki could hardly wait. She wasn’t the bloodthirsty type. Not at all. But she was now vulnerable in ways she had never before considered. Learning to protect herself and her unborn child made perfect sense. Whether she could bring herself to shoot another human being, however, was a total unknown.

  Picturing herself as the underdog, she recalled the Bible story about a shepherd boy, David, slaying the Philistine giant with a slingshot and a rock. She was certainly up against that kind of uneven contest. Given the greater weaponry available these days, she was glad she’d have more than a pebble in a sling with which to defend herself.

  Could she? Would she? Nicki wasn’t sure.

  One thing was clear, however. As long as she was prepared for self-defense, she’d have a fighting chance. Jackson and his uncle could not be expected to shadow her every move 24/7. She wouldn’t want them to even try. There was no telling how long she would remain in danger. What if it was years?

  That disturbing thought led her to make a new mental connection. Eyes wide, breathing growing shallow, she nervously scanned the men and women seated around the dining room table.

  As if a signal had been given, conversation ceased and everyone stared back at her.

  Jackson got to his feet, went quickly to her side and took her hand. “What is it, Nicki? Are you sick?”

  “No. No, I...I was just listening to you all talking about murders and I had the strangest notion.”

  “Well, let’s hear it. We haven’t exactly been at the top of our game lately. Maybe your viewpoint will help.”

  “It’s about the body. Is there a chance Daniel Jones’s murder was the first?”

  Jackson scowled. “What do you mean, the first?”

  “First of the bunch of killings you’re trying to solve right now.”

  “What makes you say that? Years have passed between that incident and these latest murders.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe it’s silly. It just seemed to me that there was no reason to bother digging up his grave unless there was a connection to all the weird stuff that’s been going on in Sagebrush.” She shrugged. “Never mind. It’s a crazy idea.”

  “Not necessarily. There were drugs involved in all the cases, one way or another. But if the Jones kid was part of the crime syndicate, why send a sniper to kill him?”

  “Because the captain was about to arrest him? Like you said, he was young. Foolish. And undoubtedly more likely to cave under police interrogation. Suppose he was shot to silence him?”

  “Suppose they all were?” Captain McNeal added. “That code the Munson woman mentioned could still be the key. If somebody thought each of them had it and was refusing to play along, that person could have eliminated the others in the process of his or her search.”

  “Oh, that makes me feel much better,” Nicki retorted, the color draining from her face. “What if none of the victims knew any more about a so-called secret code than I do? Where does that leave me?”

  “Up the creek without a paddle,” Harold offered. “Don’t worry. We’ll look after you.”

  Nicki knew her voice was rising but she couldn’t help it. “Who’s going to look after you, then? It wasn’t my car they stuck that new bomb under.”

  One of the younger ATF officers jumped into the conversation. “I wouldn’t worry too much about that, ma’am. This device was designed to send a message without loss of life, just like the one from your apartment. If the guy who made it had wanted to kill anybody, he would have used a lot more explosive force.”

  “What do you mean?” Nicki asked.

  “The truck bomb wasn’t meant to cause a fatality. If it had gone off, all it would have done was damage the steering and probably cause a minor wreck. If they want to be serious, they’ll set up a device like the one that almost killed that Sagebrush cop a few years back.”

  Nicki could tell from the way Jackson tensed beside her that the young ATF officer had erred. He apparently wasn’t familiar enough with the town to realize what he’d done, but the suddenly charged atmosphere in the room was so disconcerting he looked around in bewilderment.

  Jackson spoke up. “The case you’re referring t
o involved our captain’s wife.”

  Red-faced, the crew-cut rookie muttered to himself for a moment before looking at Slade and offering an apology. “Hey, man, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound harsh or dredge up...” Running out of words, he gritted his teeth.

  McNeal sighed before saying, “It’s all right,” although Nicki could see that he had to fight to continue to appear unaffected. They all did. The story of the captain’s wife’s death was a local legend. No one had ever been charged with her murder and, according to newspaper reports, the police had no leads.

  Tugging on Jackson’s sleeve, Nicki urged him to accompany her back to the kitchen.

  He was scowling as he complied. “What is it?”

  “I had another idea,” she said slowly, purposefully. “Everybody knows McNeal shot the Jones kid, right?”

  “Yes, but we also know that wasn’t the bullet that killed him.”

  “Right. According to the official record, it wasn’t. But suppose whoever set the bomb in the McNeal car didn’t believe it? Suppose they were after your captain and got his wife by accident just like Harold suggested?”

  Jackson slowly shook his head. “I can’t see how. It’s my understanding that they checked all those possibilities. If the bombing had been related to the Jones boy’s death, I’m sure they’d have found the connection.”

  “I wonder... Picture what it must have been like. The whole department is torn up because tragedy has struck one of their own. The captain is already in bad shape over rumors that he purposely killed a teenager, and then later his own wife gets murdered. How clear is anyone’s thinking going to be under those circumstances?”

  “You may have a point,” Jackson conceded. “I’ll have a look at the old case files ASAP.” His gaze drifted over her shoulder and zeroed in on a plate of cookies. “In the meantime, how about serving dessert so I can invite our guests to pack up their gear and leave? It’s high time you got some target practice.”

  Nicki nodded as she picked up the plate and started for the dining room. “Okay. Bring the fullest coffeepot, if you don’t mind, and let’s get this show on the road.”

  It occurred to her that she should be the one doing all the serving, yet she and Jackson already seemed so in tune that she hadn’t hesitated to ask for his assistance.

  Not only was that odd in this instance, it was something she didn’t recall ever doing before. Nicki’s core values required her to serve others, not be served by them. She was capable. Practiced. Self-reliant to a fault. She didn’t need to be coddled or waited on like some frail female who was unable to stand on her own two feet.

  Except that’s turning out to be exactly who I am, she countered, disgusted with herself for admitting weakness.

  Unreasonable self-reliance had been the trait that had kept her from becoming a true Christian for years, and it had almost stopped her this time, too. Being at the end of her rope with Bobby Lee and the baby was the only reason she had seen the light, so to speak.

  Astonished, she faltered. Her hands began trembling so badly she nearly dropped the platter of cookies before she managed to place it on the table and retreat.

  When Jackson followed her out onto the porch, clearly concerned, she averted her gaze rather than allow him to see how unsettled she was feeling.

  He came closer, and lightly touched her arm. “What is it. What’s wrong?”

  Nicki shook her head, still trying to find the words to explain her epiphany to herself, let alone express it so that someone else could understand.

  She leaned into him and felt his arm slip around her shoulders, pulling her closer, supporting her physically and emotionally. “It’s about my life,” she whispered. “I just realized that the things I did that I thought were so wrong were the very things God used to draw me to Him. It wasn’t just about salvation and forgiveness, it was about providing a second chance. If I’d been able to see the future, I imagine I’d have tried to fix everything, and might have missed ever becoming a believer.” She leaned her head back to look up at him. “Does that make any sense at all?”

  “If it does to you, that’s good enough for me,” he said softly. “I gave up trying to second-guess God years ago when I saw my buddies die in combat while I escaped. I don’t think it’s wise to try to overthink divine guidance. It’ll make your head spin. Just relax and accept it.”

  Nicki slipped her arms around Jackson’s waist and laid her cheek on his chest, listening to his heart hammering in cadence with her own. A few weeks ago, she would never have dreamed she’d be standing on the porch of a rambling ranch house in the arms of its owner, let alone embracing him this way. Yet there was a rightness about it. A sense that what they were doing was not only appropriate, it was mutually necessary.

  The words, thank you, Jesus, echoed through her mind, her heart, and she repeated them purposefully. She finally saw that she didn’t have to understand exactly what was going on before she gave thanks for it. Nor was she through being deeply grateful for her new friends and new job.

  In spite of everything that kept happening to her and around her, she was determined to look on the bright side. That vow made her start to smile. If she could manage to see blessings in the act of tripping over a corpse in a dark, deserted cemetery, keep her head when they were being chased and shot at—her grin widened—and be brave enough to actually touch the feathers of a live chicken, there wasn’t anything that could keep her from finding hidden blessings in everything, every day.

  Like right now, Nicki told herself, knowing she should step away from her protector, yet reluctant to do so.

  Then she heard the approaching clomp of cowboy boots and felt Jackson tense. He thrust her away and held her at arm’s length. “You okay now?”

  Nicki blinked to try to clear her vision, and managed to mutter, “Uh-huh,” although she wasn’t too sure.

  “Good.” He turned to Harold, literally passed her off to the older man, and went to rejoin the officers left in the dining room.

  The retired deputy didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. Nicki could see empathy in his expression and sense that he was on her side. The trouble was, she didn’t know which side she wanted to be on. Did she wish Jackson was interested in her as a person? Was that what his tenderness had meant? Or should she try to keep her distance for everyone’s sake because he was merely doing his job?

  Believing she was masking her melancholy, she forced a smile.

  “He means well,” the older man said. “Give him time.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Nicki insisted.

  He rolled his eyes and waggled his bushy gray brows. “Oh, brother. Now I’ve got two of you playing games.”

  Nicki knew exactly what he meant. She was also determined to keep from admitting it. “There are no games going on, Mr. Worth. All I want to do is stay alive long enough for the police to catch whoever is after me.”

  And what about future happiness? she asked herself. At present, the concept of falling for the handsome cowboy cop was the most attractive option she could think of. It was also one of the most foolish. Despite the risks, she knew that her heart was teetering on the brink. It didn’t matter whether or not Jackson shared those tender sentiments. One false move, one unguarded moment, and she was going to be hopelessly, helplessly, in love with him.

  * * *

  As soon as Jackson had made his escape from the porch, from Nicki, he felt more in control. The regular police officers in his dining room were getting to their feet and preparing to leave. He almost hated to see them go because that would mean it would be even harder to keep his distance from his lovely new cook. Not that he actually wanted to. Truth to tell, he wished he was still standing on the porch, just the two of them, sharing a mutual embrace. His problem was a conviction that neither of them was behaving appropriately. He certainly wasn’t.

  Besides, I’m never getting married, he insisted to himself. That thought came to rest as a knot in his gut. Married? He h
ardly knew the Johnson woman. What business did he have thinking such personal thoughts about her?

  Perhaps because she was a family in the making, Jackson reasoned. She was tough and resilient and more than capable of taking care of herself, yet she was also vulnerable in ways that would soon be evident as the baby grew. How was she going to make ends meet when she had another mouth to feed, let alone work while the newborn was tiny?

  He supposed she could stay on at the ranch indefinitely. That would probably be best for her. The question was, since he was already struggling to keep his distance, how was he going to cope with having her underfoot all the time?

  The captain was speaking, drawing Jackson back from his reveries. “I want you to stick close to home for the time being,” Slade said. “If we have any more bomb calls, I’ll dispatch you. Otherwise, your assignment is witness protection.”

  “Yes, sir.” He cleared his throat as he shook his boss’s hand. “One thing more.”

  Pausing, the captain waited.

  “It’s something Nicki said. Remember when she asked if there was any chance that the Jones killing and disinterment might be connected to the current crime wave in Sagebrush? Could she be onto something?”

  “That’s pretty far-fetched.” Slade shrugged as if dismissing the notion out of hand.

  “I wasn’t here back then. Mind if I look into it?”

  “Not really, as long as you do your job and don’t let it distract you. Start by talking to one of our cold case detectives, Melody Zachary. That might save you some time.”

  “I know her from around the coffee machine, mostly,” Jackson said, thoughtful. “Shoulder-length dark hair, kinda quiet?”

  “That’s her. We’ve talked about her background before. When she’s not at the station, you’ll find her at the center for at-risk teens where she’s the director.”