by Robena Grant
He’d make them sit on the side of the tub with their hands on their heads, and he’d offer them their lives in exchange for the prints. If they resisted he’d shoot them. But that would be his last choice. If they handed over the negatives, then he’d close the bolt on the door again, and walk away. He’d have to move fast. Better that they stand in the tub facing the wall, with their hands on their heads. That would put them at a slight disadvantage. Still, he’d have to be fast.
He’d tell his cousin they’d have to leave today. Well, at least tonight, under cover of darkness. His cousin would arrange everything, like before. Exhausted, his eyelids drifted closed for a couple of minutes. The sound of a car’s engine jolted him. He’d dozed off. He rubbed at his face, careful to avoid the throbbing wound, and then raised the binoculars.
“What the hell?”
The honkie drove in his vehicle, his window down a gun in his hand. The granddaughter was in her car close behind him. She also had the window down and Pedro saw a flash that could be from a gun. Hell, they’d both been armed. He felt a quiver of fear run up his spine. They could easily have overpowered him. They were almost at the turnoff to the highway. He wouldn’t fire. They were two against one.
Could that guy be the DEA agent?
Pedro narrowed his eyes. He didn’t fit the description they’d been given, but he sure had an interest in what had been going on in these parts. He took another look. Too short, and his hair was too light. But informants didn’t know everything. And that snoop he’d seen the morning he captured the old man had been tall. He froze. Tall like the dude who had jimmied the back window of the cabin.
Damn. He realized there’d be no need to go to the cabin now. They’d have taken the negatives. He’d have to get rid of all three of them. He’d notify his cousin; he had the men for the job: five hombres with assault rifles and a fast car.
Pedro laughed and jumped to the sand below, forgetting for the moment his head injury, and his world went temporarily black. He shuddered from the jolts of pain that shot up his spine. He leaned forward, his hands on his knees, and stayed still for a few moments. After a few long slow breaths, he lifted his head and blinked back the moisture that filmed his eyes.
“Pussy.” He spat onto the sand, and suppressed another shudder.
With no time for weakness or self-pity, he loped toward the date palms, where he’d hidden the car. The sound of a siren stopped him. He slid behind a tree trunk and watched as a black and white pulled into the driveway to the cabin, its lights flashing. He got into his car and took off. He couldn’t risk leaving it there; but where to hide it now?
Who the hell are these people?
And how did they have the cops in their back pocket? Nobody around here rated an immediate response. For the most part, the citizens in this area ruled themselves. A tiny fear that he’d gotten himself into hot water tried to take over his thoughts. He banished it. He made the sign of the cross, and vowed he’d see that DEA agent dead.
****
“I’m going to pull over and leave the police vehicle in the JC Airport,” Michael said to Rachel by cell phone. “Be prepared to switch.”
“Okay.”
She pulled up beside him and he slid into the passenger seat, reached for his gun, and rested it on his thigh. Before he’d finished buckling up, Rachel was already back on the highway. He scanned the area behind them, and checked out every car that approached. After five minutes or so, he turned toward her.
“Tell me everything you know about Manuel, the guy who works for you.”
She looked over at him for a second, a frown puckering her forehead. “What do you mean?”
“What references? Or recommendations.”
“He’s a good man, I think,” Rachel whispered, and she pressed her lips tight.
“Everything,” he said. “Someone knows our every move.”
“Ralph really likes him.”
Michael frowned. What the hell does that have to do with anything?
She cleared her throat. “He’s from Mexico. He’d done bar work and restaurant work there. I hired him for a one week trial. He um…he um…he didn’t have references, but he’s legal. He has a green card.”
It could be a fake.
She knew that, too. He sensed it in her quick glance, and in the way she’d fumbled her words. She liked Manuel. Michael did another quick check of the highway. So, Manuel had been good to her, or so she’d said earlier. He’d have to navigate that subject with care. Anyway, there was other information he wanted from her as well.
“Okay,” Michael said. “Let’s not arouse Manuel’s suspicions.” He thought things through for a minute. “We’ll play him. Reel him in. Tomorrow will be soon enough for me to interview him officially. I’m still inclined to work this case undercover.”
He sat back and observed her for a minute. She could be very helpful to him. And, by keeping her close to him, he could observe whatever occurred as it unfolded. And protect her. And kiss her again. He smiled at that thought. By the way she’d handled the gun earlier he sensed she could give him back up. Her grandfather had obviously taught her how to protect herself. His focus was his case. He worked best alone. There had never been a woman to come between him and his career.
So why couldn’t he take his eyes off her, or his mind away from what he wanted to do to her? And why consider working with her?
He needed to know exactly when his contact arrived at the bar tonight. The guy could be skittish. If kept waiting too long, he’d disappear. And once he’d dispensed with his information he always liked to get the hell away from the location of the exchange as fast as possible. Not that Michael could blame him. Being a snitch was risky business.
Should he involve Rachel?
Never linger was one of his own mottos, and it always kept him safe. He was fleet of foot. Just like his snitch. Having someone else on board could slow him down. His other mottos: Always work alone, and trust no one, flashed through his thoughts. They drove in silence for a few miles. He weighed and balanced.
“What time do your dance lessons finish?”
Rachel shot him a quick glance. “There are two instructors, me and Janie. We split the lessons, one doing from seven to eight, the other one from nine to ten. I can call her and request I take the first slot.”
“Do you go back afterward, to close up at Cliffs?”
“I don’t have to. Manuel can do that.”
He blew out a huge puff of air, and then straightened his shoulders.
“Good. Tonight, if you will consider it, I have to go to Desert Scapes undercover, I’d like you to come along. I’m singing in a dive down there.”
“You are?” Rachel looked at him with unconcealed doubt. Then she turned her head back to concentrate on the road ahead.
Michael laughed. He felt more relaxed now. Now that the decision had been made and voiced. “Yep, and I’m a rich kid who likes to spend Daddy’s money and goof off instead of taking classes at SDSU.”
She shot him another look, but this time it showed interest.
“I drive up to the desert at night, pretend to do some dope, sing a few songs, and generally get wasted. It’s a good life.”
“And I’ll be?”
“My girlfriend.”
She laughed. “I’m a bit old to be hanging around with a college kid.”
“I’m an old college kid,” he said, aware that it had been so easy to say girlfriend in reference to Rachel. “I’m working on my Doctorate.”
He watched her profile as she drove. She was different than anyone he’d ever dated. Not that he was dating her, but he would if he could. He liked her easy going nature and her self-sufficiency. And he liked her complexity: Bar owner, dance instructor, photographer.
If she just wasn’t so damn spontaneous...or was that reckless?
“Think of me as a perpetual student,” he said. “You don’t look a day over twenty-five.”
“Well, in that case, Detective Michael Baxter
Delaney, why don’t we go back to the cabin after your gig?”
She turned, wriggled her eyebrows and laughed, and then concentrated on the road ahead for a couple of minutes. A minute or two passed and chemistry and heat sparked every which way in the small car. She eyed him carefully, her hands gripping the steering wheel, and gave him one of her slow grins. Something fizzed up his spine.
His cell phone rang, jarring him out of his near stupor.
“Delaney. Yeah, yeah, uh huh. Okay, thanks guys. Appreciate it.”
Rachel shot him a questioning glance.
“Keep your eyes on the road,” he said, and shoved his cell back in his pocket. “Two officers went to the cabin. They found nothing amiss. But they did hear a vehicle in the vicinity as it took off. They gave chase but it was long gone. They found fresh tire tracks deep into the next door neighbor’s date farm.”
“There’s nobody there now. Poor old guy is in a rehab center after a stroke.”
She kept her eyes on the road. “I’m thinking the cabin will be safe now. I’ll bet when that guy finds us missing, he’ll be long gone. Especially after the cops showed up.”
Michael nodded. Damn, he’d been thinking the same thing. He swallowed hard, and turned his attention back to the occasional car that passed them. What had she meant by going back to the cabin? He could only hope her thoughts had gone in the same direction as his own. But, if the dude hung around, if he went back to the cabin, that could help him to find their hide-out. He wanted that as much as he wanted Rachel. But could he risk that? Could he put Rachel in any more danger?
“I can get in some groceries for tomorrow,” she said. “Then whenever you’re ready we can drive down to Desert Scapes, for the gig tonight.”
Michael nodded again, not trusting himself to speak.
“Or, we can go to the cabin first. It all depends on what time you have to play.”
Exactly what he’d hoped she’d suggest. Staying with Rachel all day, and then all night, had been high on his fantasy list. Now tomorrow sounded promising.
“Hey, what about your finger? How can you play?”
“It’s nothing,” he said, raising his hand to inspect it. “It’ll be fine by later tonight. You’re not afraid to stay in the cabin, are you?”
“No. Not with you there,” Rachel said.
“Good.”
“If you repair the darkroom, I’ll even print up the photos.”
“What if our guy comes back?” he asked.
“We’ll deal with him.”
That sounded like something he’d say. He liked that about Rachel. She was matter of fact. “Damn, I forgot. My guitar is in the Hummer.”
“No big deal. You’ll need the Hummer anyway. We can drive by the house. We can pick up some food in Almagro. How long do you want me to stay at Cliffs this afternoon?”
“As briefly as possible.” He turned to face her. “But don’t set off alarms. I’ll go in to the department there’s some research I need to do. Do you usually work on the night you do the dance instruction?”
“It varies. But most of the time I’d be out of Cliffs when happy hour ends.”
Michael nodded. “Good. That will work.”
She eyed him for a moment. “You could get someone to drop you off at the Rabbit Ranch, and then come with me in my car.”
“Yeah. And I’ll buy some new locks. Install them tonight.”
“You can get some good quality ones at the hardware store. And we can pick up tools from my garage. I mean, if you really think it’s necessary to change the locks.”
“I do. And I’m going to put plywood over the windows.”
“Why?” she asked, and frowned. “How long are we staying?”
“I’m not sure.” Michael watched her for a few seconds. “If it’s all right with you, I might use the place for a day or two.”
“You know, I can take tomorrow off. Ralph will alert us if anyone comes back around. And you’ve got that big gun.”
He liked that she intended to stick close by him. And she had tomorrow free. His thoughts kept returning there, to that promise of things to come. But he couldn’t let her get any more involved than she would be tonight. Could he?
So far she’d proven to be a damn good side-kick. And he probably couldn’t keep her away from the Salton Sea. He tapped his fingers against the dashboard, drumming out a song and switching up the lyrics.
Make a little love, go sing tonight. Go sing tonight.
Chapter Seven
Rachel walked through the market with Michael. They each held a red plastic shopping basket. She’d told him to choose the things he liked, so far he’d picked up nothing. Good heavens this was a bit too domesticated for her, going marketing with a guy. When was the last time she’d done that? Not counting going to the megastore with Grandpa of course.
Shopping with a young guy felt, well, so different. He picked up everything and examined it like he’d never bought anything for himself, ever.
“Eggs?” he asked and surveyed the choices, or the prices. He gingerly opened a container.
“Sure.”
He looked into the container as if he expected evil to leap out from within, and should pull out his gun. He tapped each egg before placing the container in his basket. Morse code for the unborn chickens, maybe. At this rate they’d be in here for the whole afternoon.
“Listen, I’ll concentrate on picking up the staples,” Rachel said, moving away.
“Oh, sure. Yes, ah…what do you want me to get?”
“You can buy whatever cereal, cookies, crackers, and frozen stuff you like. Don’t get too much, we probably won’t be there for long. Grandpa’s freezer is small…well, think little old guy who lives alone.”
She shrugged and headed for the spice aisle knowing Grandpa probably wouldn’t have what she wanted. Most guys weren’t too handy in the kitchen. Grandpa was, but he didn’t use a lot of spice. With most guys, if their food didn’t come in a large box in the frozen section or it couldn’t be tossed onto a grill, they had little idea of what it took to put together a decent meal.
When she came back ten minutes later, Michael stood almost frozen in front of the cereal aisle and didn’t even notice her. All he’d put in the basket so far were eggs and a small package of Oreos. Those reminded her of milk and she headed off in that direction. When she came back again, Michael had moved to the fresh produce section, a small box of Cheerios sticking up out of the basket. She grinned, realizing that he was into the O’s. Not that she minded. She liked his choices.
“Salad?” he asked and raised an eyebrow.
“Not unless you’re desperate for one. It’s so cold down there at Desert Scapes. I figured we’d need heartier food. I’m thinking hot.”
Michael’s eyebrows shot upward. He cleared his throat. “Well, so long as you’re willing to cook it. I’m good with the clean-up.” He laughed and accidentally knocked an avocado off the hill of avocados. She thought she saw an appraisal, and that light had returned to his eyes. The under ripe fruit went rolling along the linoleum tiled aisle. She picked up one off the stack. It had a darker tint to the skin.
“God Lord. It’s rock hard,” she said, and suppressed a grin.
Michael leaned forward to snatch up the wayward fruit and his pants stretched across the most amazing ass she’d seen in a long time. She clutched the avocado to her chest.
Be still my heart.
“What?” he asked, and straightened but not before she saw him glance down to check out the front of his pants.
Had her thoughts given her away? Rachel could barely contain herself. There was something erotic about being in this aisle with the serious, go-by-the-book detective. Who’d have thought? If Michael had been this much fun to tease in a grocery market, she could only imagine what he’d be like in bed.
“Put it back,” she said, nodding to the avocado. “They aren’t ripe.”
“No. I’ll have to buy this one,” he said, and pulled a plastic bag off the
roll.
Rachel frowned at his serious expression. “Why?”
“I bruised it. I can’t leave it there for someone else. It wouldn’t be right.” He put the bag with the fruit in his basket. “Anything else we need here?”
“I’ll get a few vegetables for soup, and then we’re all done.” She walked down the aisle picking up what she needed while Michael happily followed, humming some tune she vaguely knew, and examining every fruit and vegetable that happened to cross his path.
What a straight arrow. He wouldn’t even put a runaway avocado back onto the heap. She shook her head and smiled softly. The guy was honest to a fault. She had the sneaking suspicion that she would never meet the rigid expectations of someone like Detective Michael. Then her mind played with the word rigid until a laugh burst forth.
“What’s up?” Michael asked.
She shook her head. Then she stood on tiptoe, and gently touched his lips with hers.
“What was that for?” he asked, brushing at his mouth as if something had tickled him. But his eyes showed his pleasure, and so did the soft smile that played around his mouth.
“I don’t know. It struck me as funny that we’ve known each other for two days and we’ve been through so much together. I mean here we are, even marketing together.”
“Yeah.” His eyes glimmered. “We’re like an old married couple.” He turned to her and narrowed his gaze for a second. “Ever been married?”
Rachel shook her head. “Nope.”
“Long term relationships?”
“Not too many. How about you?”
“Nah.” He frowned. “No time. Here let me get that, it looks heavy.” And with that he hefted up her basket and headed to the checkout.
****
Later that afternoon, Rachel moved easily up and down the bar. She was in her element at Cliffs, proud of her bar establishment, and even prouder of the next door restaurant. She chatted with customers, made drinks, filled beer mugs, and replenished the little containers with mixed nuts.
Taking a five minute break from chit-chat, she popped a couple of cashews in her mouth. While stacking the empty glasses in the dishwasher in the back, she chewed hard, loving the flavor and the salt. They were an appropriate snack for her bar and she never went the cheap route with peanuts only. Mixed nuts, sometimes, because she liked to joke that the bar clientele were a tin of nuts. Owning a bar was a huge comfort. She could practice her psychology skills. Having owned the place for fifteen years, she knew and understood people, and she prided herself on that.
