One Last Breath

by Griffin, Laura

  Feenie perked up immediately. With her kitchen inoperable, last night’s dinner had consisted of a granola bar and a soft drink. She fetched a pastry and then stopped by Drew’s desk, where he had discreetly left a manila envelope for her. She returned to her cube feeling as if her day was off to a good start.

  “Malone! Get your butt in here!”

  She froze, cream cheese kolache halfway to her mouth. She recognized the tone in her editor’s voice but had absolutely no idea what she’d done to deserve it.

  “What’s he want?” Feenie hissed at Grimes’s assistant, who sat just outside his office in the cubicle next to Feenie’s.

  “Beats me,” Darla said, shrugging.

  Besides answering phones and handling payroll, Darla’s job included getting the early lowdown on absolutely everything that happened at the Gazette. For her to have no idea why Grimes wanted Feenie in his office was not a good sign.

  Feenie shoved her breakfast and the envelope into the desk she shared with another part-time staffer. Squaring her shoulders, she stepped into the lion’s den.

  “Yes, Mr. Grimes?”

  He stood behind his desk with his arms crossed. He wore his usual Men’s Wearhouse tie, and his salt-and-pepper hair needed combing. An avid runner, Grimes had a perennial tan and had avoided the usual pooch most men had acquired by the age of fifty. He was attractive, actually, if you got past the presentation.

  “Close the door,” he snarled.

  Feenie obliged and calmly took a seat in the chair across from his desk. With his demanding nature and occasional temper tantrums, Grimes reminded Feenie of her father. The best way to deal with him was to match his anger with tranquility.

  “Is something wrong, sir?”

  “Goddamn right something’s wrong!” He reached for his breast pocket and pulled out what should have been a pack of Winstons. When he found himself holding a box of Nicorette gum, he scowled and tossed it onto the desk. “I just got off the phone with McAllister.”

  What did that have to do with her? Unless…maybe McAllister’s police contacts had told him about her little research project. Her editor hadn’t authorized it. She hadn’t worked on it on company time, but she’d used her press pass to make people think she was gathering information for the paper. Her stomach tightened, and she prayed she wasn’t about to get fired.

  “McAllister’s down in Cozumel with some new girlfriend. He decided to extend his diving vacation another week.” Grimes reached for the Nicorette gum and fumbled with the package. “I’d fire his ass if I could, but he has better connections than anyone else on this rag, and unfortunately, he’s a damn good reporter.”

  Grimes popped a piece of gum into his mouth, and his temper seemed to subside.

  “Congratulations, Malone. You’ve just been promoted to the police beat.”

  Feenie’s jaw dropped. “You want me to cover police?”

  “That’s what I said, didn’t I? It’s only temporary, but if you make it work, I think we’ll find something full-time for you when McAllister gets back. Meanwhile, I need you to double your hours so that we have something to put in the news section.”

  She couldn’t believe her luck. Her pay was about to go up, and she’d have a legitimate reason to nose around the police station. “Thank you!” she gushed. “You won’t be sorry!”

  “I hope not.” Grimes sank into his chair. “Your writing’s come a long way since you started here, but you’re still green when it comes to dealing with sources. Just check the log every day, write up a few crime briefs. If something big comes up, let me know ASAP so I can give it to someone else.”

  Ouch. “Okay, no problem.”

  “Just hold down the fort, all right? When McAllister gets back, we’ll switch you to features or something.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Feenie said, getting to her feet. She was already calculating what her next paycheck would look like if she doubled her hours. And a full-time salary…the mere prospect had her grinning.

  “And Malone?” he asked as she stepped toward the door. “Lose the pink suits, okay? The cops won’t give you the time of day if you show up dressed like that.”

  Feenie looked down at her peach silk blazer and matching slacks. She still had bruises to conceal, or she never would have worn it. But not even receiving fashion advice from Grimes could dampen her mood at the moment.

  She beamed a smile at him. “Thanks for the tip.”

  Feenie was seated on her living-room floor surrounded by bills and overdue notices when Cecelia strode into the house without knocking.

  “Hey, what’s up?” Feenie asked, noting the six-pack of Corona and the brown paper bag in her arms.

  “What’s up?” Cecelia asked. “You skip our lunch for the first time since…ever, and you’re asking me what’s up?” She plopped the beer onto the coffee table and handed Feenie the bag. “What’s up with you?”

  “I’m sorry about lunch, but there was nothing I could do about it. Grimes gave me an assignment, and I was so busy all day, I hardly had time to breathe.”

  Cecelia surveyed the room. “What’s all this?”

  “Just doing some bean counting. I’ve got bills stacked up.”

  Feenie plucked a beer from the cardboard holder, and Cecelia reached over and popped the top off with the bottle opener attached to her keychain.

  “Thanks.” Feenie took a long gulp and held the icy bottle to her neck. She’d changed into a tank top and cutoffs after work, but still she felt overheated. She was trying to cut back on electricity by laying off the AC.

  Cecelia stared down at all the papers and looked worried. “What’s going on, Feenie? You in some kind of financial trouble? If you need some money—”

  “I don’t.” Feenie would die before she’d ever ask her best friend for a loan. Cecelia and Robert were having trouble in the fertility department, and they were saving money in case they ended up needing expensive treatments to get pregnant.

  “I thought you were doing better ever since you got a tenant,” Cecelia said.

  “I am.”

  Cecelia pursed her lips, obviously not convinced. “How much rent does she pay?”

  Feenie mumbled a number, and Cecelia’s eyes bugged out.

  “Feenie! That’s practically nothing! You may as well let her live here for free! Please tell me you make her pay utilities.”

  Feenie rolled her eyes. “Give me a break, Celie. She’s on a fixed income. And she’s elderly. She’s got all these expensive prescriptions…”

  The look on Cecelia’s face told her she thought Feenie was a total pushover.

  “Just drop it, okay? I’m not having money problems.”

  Cecelia folded her arms over her chest. “Okay, then what gives? You’ve been avoiding me since the boathouse thing, you’re obsessing over Josh, and, if I’m not mistaken, you’ve got an oak tree on top of your kitchen.”

  “It’s a pecan.”

  “Would you please tell me what the heck’s going on?”

  Feenie moved some papers off the sofa and stacked them on her portable file box so there would be room to sit down. Then she opened the brown paper bag and smiled. “You brought me tamales?”

  “Yes!” Cecelia exclaimed, sinking onto the couch. “Now, spill.”

  “There’s really not much to spill. I’ve learned some interesting dirt about Josh, a tree fell through my roof, and my editor just gave me a promotion.” Feenie pulled a foil-wrapped tamale from the bag. “Thanks for dinner, by the way. Don’t you and Robert usually go out on Fridays?”

  Cecelia accepted the tamale Feenie handed her. “Tax time. He’s swamped with work. Could we back up a minute? What’d you find out about Josh?”

  Feenie gave her an abbreviated version of the Rico Martinez story. Cecelia quirked an eyebrow when she got to the drug-dealing part but didn’t appear that shocked.

  “You don’t look surprised,” Feenie said.

  Cecelia shrugged. “I guess I’m not, really. Nothing Josh does su
rprises me. He lied to you and cheated on you and robbed you blind. Why should I be surprised that he’s associating with drug dealers?”

  Feenie huffed out a breath. “Well, I was surprised, and I thought I knew him better than anybody.”

  Cecelia popped open her Corona. “No offense, Feen, but you’ve always had blinders on where Josh is concerned. You could’ve avoided your whole sorry marriage if you’d just paid more attention to his extracurricular love life while y’all were dating.”

  The truth stung, but Feenie forgave her for it. She and Cecelia had grown up together, and they’d always been brutally honest with each other—more like sisters than friends. Cecelia had played that role in Feenie’s life ever since sixth grade, when Feenie’s older sister, Rachel, been killed in a car accident. Her mother had died that day, too, on that horrible summer afternoon when Feenie’s childhood had come crashing to a halt.

  Cecelia, just a gawky twelve-year-old at the time, had helped Feenie muddle through the worst year of her life, and Feenie in turn felt a gut-deep loyalty toward her. Their friendship had been cemented long ago, and it would take a lot more than a few harsh words to put a crack in it now.

  Plus, Cecelia was right. Josh had practically no scruples, a fact Cecelia had been pointing out for years. She’d always shown an amazing immunity to Josh’s charms.

  Feenie wished she could say the same about herself.

  “Anyway,” Feenie said now, “I’m still looking into it. My new job at the paper should help.”

  “Yeah, you said something about a promotion. Did they finally give you the features job?”

  Feenie smiled. “Even better. I’m on the police beat. And while I’m covering that, I should be able to nose around some more about this drug thing.”

  Cecelia put her beer down on the coffee table, making a wet ring on top of Feenie’s overdue phone bill. “Don’t you think you should let this go?”

  “Actually…no. I think Josh is up to his neck in something, and I want to know what it is.”

  “Let the police handle it, for heaven’s sake!”

  Feenie swallowed her last bite of tamale and wiped her hands on a napkin. “What if they have no idea what he’s doing?”

  Cecelia shook her head. “Feenie, drop it, okay? You’re obsessed. That guy has never brought you anything but misery, and this won’t be any different. Plus, it’s not your problem, for once. Someday Josh’s luck will run out, and he’ll get what’s coming to him.”

  “Well, what if I want to help him get it? Besides, if one of Mayfield’s most prominent lawyers is smuggling drugs, that’s news. And I’m a reporter, remember?”

  “Any shot you have of being a real reporter is going to disappear if you botch this up,” Cecelia said. “Besides, you can’t write an objective news article about your ex-husband. That’s about the most blatant conflict of interest I’ve ever heard.”

  Feenie had thought long and hard about that very issue. “I can’t write the story, but someone else can. If this story’s as big as I think it is, just bringing it to the editors’ attention could secure a permanent position for me on the news staff. That’s something I can’t ignore, Celie. I need this job.”

  “I still think this is a bad idea,” Cecelia said. “How are you ever going to move on with your life if you spend every waking moment obsessing about your ex? Aren’t you even the slightest bit interested in getting back out there and seeing what other fish are in the sea?”

  The doorbell rang, and Feenie jumped up to answer it. She welcomed any excuse to cut short the Fish-in-the-Sea Speech, which she’d been hearing for nearly two years.

  The excuse stood in her doorway wearing a black T-shirt, sunglasses, and jeans—no rips this time. He still hadn’t shaved.

  Feenie crossed her arms over her chest. “What are you doing here?”

  Juarez removed the glasses. “You always this friendly?”

  She didn’t really know why she felt so annoyed with him. “I thought I asked you to call me.”

  “You did,” he said. “Your phone’s not working.”

  Great. Her phone service had been cut off. “How’d you know where I live?”

  He leaned against the doorjamb and gave her a baleful look. Even slouching, he still looked formidable. It wasn’t his height, exactly, because he wasn’t particularly tall. But he had really broad shoulders and a certain…presence.

  “I’ve been here before, remember?”

  Her cheeks warmed. Why did he keep reminding her about that? He must get some twisted pleasure from making her squirm.

  “Well, well,” Cecelia said from behind her. “I didn’t know you were expecting company, Feenie.”

  “I wasn’t.”

  Cecelia thrust her hand out at Juarez. “Cecelia Strickland. I’m an old friend of Feenie’s.”

  Juarez flashed the same smile that had turned the Waitress to mush yesterday. “Marco Juarez. I’m a new friend of Feenie’s.”

  “I’m sorry, but have we met somewhere?” Cecelia tipped her head to the side. “You look really familiar.”

  “You must be remembering Feenie’s domestic disturbance a couple years back. I was one of the cops who handled the call.”

  Cecelia’s eyebrows snapped up. “Really?”

  “Really.”

  She turned to Feenie. “Well, isn’t it a small world?”

  Feenie glared at Cecelia. She could tell her friend was about to make an exit.

  “So nice to see you again, Marco,” she said on cue. “Sorry I can’t stay, Feenie, but Robert and I are going out.”

  “But—”

  Cecelia winked at her. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  Feenie gave up trying to keep Cecelia around. She’d obviously tagged Juarez as an eligible fish. Feenie watched with irritation as her best friend reversed out of the driveway. She was so busy giving Feenie a thumbs-up sign, she nearly backed into a tan SUV parked diagonally across the street. Feenie rolled her eyes.

  When she turned her attention back to Juarez, he was smiling at her.

  “You planning to invite me in?”

  “You realize I don’t even know you. For all I know, you’re some serial killer posing as an undercover cop. What makes you think I’m going to let you in my house?”

  “Because I have information you want,” he said simply. “And because you can trust me.”

  His eyes turned serious at the last part, and for some reason, her reservations faded. Maybe she was being stupid, but she did trust Officer Juarez. And she was very curious to know what he meant by “information.”

  She pulled the door back and nodded for him to come in. Not wanting him to see the mess in her living room, she led him into the dining area, where he had to duck his head to avoid the chandelier that dangled over the center of the empty space.

  His gaze darted around, pausing briefly on her cleavage before meeting her eyes. “Not finished redecorating yet?”

  “I’m a minimalist. What’d you find out?”

  He smiled slightly. “Straight to the point. I like that.”

  Feenie folded her arms and tried not to look uncomfortable. It was almost dusk, and she was alone in a nearly dark room with a muscle-bound stranger. She definitely felt uncomfortable.

  “Your hunch about Martinez was right on.” His voice was all business now. “He’s had a hard time keeping his nose clean since his trial. He was detained at the border recently, just missed getting arrested.”

  “What happened?”

  “Some drug dogs homed in on his vehicle. It was a cargo van, apparently, full of plastic kid toys. A couple of agents turned the thing inside out, but they never found any contraband. Tried to sweat out Martinez and the truck driver, but they never got anywhere. Finally, they had to let them skate.”

  “So if he wasn’t arrested, how’d you hear about this?”

  Juarez shrugged. “I’ve got contacts. Certain people are keeping an eye on Martinez. They think he might be part of something big.”
<
br />   Whoa. Her instincts had been right, or at least not totally off the mark.

  Juarez peered over her shoulder at the living room. “Do I smell tamales?”

  She suppressed a sigh. She didn’t really want to invite him to stay for a snack, but he’d just come through with some helpful information. There might be more where that came from if she could keep him talking.

  “Cecelia brought me dinner,” she said. “The tamales are gone, but I can offer you a beer.”

  “Sounds great.”

  Juarez followed her into the living room, where she picked up a longneck and handed it to him. The place was a wreck, and she felt embarrassed that her only furniture was a sofa and a table, both covered in papers. In addition to the cash assets, Josh had gotten nearly every stick of furniture in the divorce, although Lord knew why he’d wanted it, since he’d gone straight to live at his parents’ guesthouse. He’d probably just taken it out of spite.

  But the lack of furniture—and even air conditioning—didn’t seem to faze Juarez. He took a seat on the arm of her couch. “Hey, you wouldn’t happen to have a lime for this, would you?”

  A lime? He didn’t strike her as the high-maintenance-beer type of a guy, but she barely knew him.

  “I could probably find one. Just a sec.”

  She headed into the kitchen, where she was confronted by a splintered tree limb. After picking her way around the broken branches, she fished a bottle opener out of a drawer and located a lime in the refrigerator. She cut a wedge and returned to Juarez, who was still sitting on the sofa arm.

  “Here you go.” She frowned down at his beer, which he’d already opened somehow.

  “I found something else you might be interested in.” He squeezed juice into his bottle and stuffed the lime in behind it. “Martinez got shot a while back. Something gang-related over in Corpus. Drive-by. Rico sustained a flesh wound, but a friend of his died in the shooting.”

  “I read something about that.”

  “Yeah, well, you may not have read the next part. It never became public. Police had some pretty good leads on who pulled the trigger. But before they could pick up the suspect, he turned up dead in an alley. Pistol-whipped and shot. Four times, point-blank range.”