by R. T. Wolfe
She had to smile at that. "I ought to bust you for impersonating a... an informant." She threw the car into park and sat back. Sneaky Jimbo was calling her on her phone. This she had to hear.
"That's what I aim, ma'am—"
"Stop calling me, 'ma'am', asshole. I'm not that old and you have one more minute before I hang up and get my morning caffeine."
"I aim to help you out... detective, ma'am. To inform, or however you say that. There's word about you going around."
Tapping her thumbs on her steering wheel, she considered. She'd almost agreed to hear him out when she noticed a teenage boy leaving the store with a two liter sticking out of an inside coat pocket. Shit. It's too damned early for this. Simultaneously, she hung up on Jimbo and threw open her car door.
"Don't move!" She pulled out her billystick in one hand and her badge in the other. Her objective was to scare the hell out of the kid more than anything else. Hopefully, he would handle it the right way, keep his mouth shut and out of any more trouble than he was already in.
The boy threw up his arms and started to run backward.
Which was it going to be? Surrender or flee? He needed to make up his mind, because she was getting a caffeine headache.
He must have decided on surrender as he stopped after a few quick shuffles. He seemed like he might wet himself.
Getting a closer look, she decided he could barely be in the teen category. "I suppose you have a receipt for the soda you have stuffed in the pocket of your secret agent man coat?"
The boy shook like a leaf. That was a good sign. He didn't answer.
"Turn around. Hands on the glass." She did a half-frisk that was completely against protocol. "Do you have anything in your pockets that is illegal or could hurt me?"
"W-w-what? No! No, I just—"
Taking out the two liter, she found a handful of candy bars and felt relief at his stupidity. "What's your name, son?" She turned him around and stood inches from his face.
"S-S-Steven."
"Your whole name, Steven."
"Steven Carter, ma'am."
Jeez. Two ma'ams before eight o'clock? Had she aged ten years overnight? "Well, Steven, you have two choices. We can go back in and see if the owner will cut you a break, or you can come to work with me in the back of my unmarked."
He took the first option. She knew the owner. He would be easy on the kid. Steven promised never to step foot in the store again, she got her extra-large glass of Diet Coke and was now late for work.
Looking down at the Bluetooth she'd tossed on her seat, she thought of Jimbo and shrugged. He was the strangest criminal and had earned the name Slippery Jimbo fair and square, much to her dismay. Gladly, she shrugged out of her jacket as she pulled out of the lot, welcoming the unseasonably warm April morning.
The drug bust scheduled for that morning had been postponed. The ringleader moved around more than a damned circus. Now, she would spend the morning rescheduling SWAT, the paddy wagon and officers on loan from the state.
Duncan's flight was due that evening after a five-day trip in L.A. Her heart warmed. She had it bad.
She'd promised to be his date at his upcoming art show thing in the city. A Duncan Reed art show. She felt sick just thinking about it. Would she remember how to dress, how to act at something like that? She wasn't sure if she wanted to. And she definitely didn't have the money to buy a dress. And shoes. And jewelry. Her phone rang.
She picked up her cell to read the caller ID. Speak of the devil.
Literally taking a deep breath, she nearly kicked herself at her reaction. "Savage."
"Good morning, detective."
"It must be 5 a.m. out there. What are you doing up?"
"I need to make sure I finish my work. I have a beautiful blonde to get home to."
Sighing, she chided, "I took your beautiful blonde for a ride in the woods the other night when I went to visit your nephew."
"Two blondes. Every man's dream."
She laughed. "I walked right into that one."
"How is Andy Jr.?"
"He held onto my finger. He misses you."
She almost thought they'd been disconnected at the stretch of silence.
"I bought a plane."
She nearly choked as she switched to her Bluetooth and pulled out of the convenient store parking lot.
"Excuse me?"
"I need to have easier access in and out of the west coast. I'm flying it myself for now, but I'm thinking of hiring a pilot. I haven't worked out the kinks yet."
* * *
Nathan sat in his living room with Brie's legs resting in his lap. The cabinetry magazine he flipped through was gracious enough to feature a kitchen table he'd made. He'd molded wrought iron around the legs of the massive piece. The customer had wanted big, thick and rustic.
He traced his thumb along the back of Brie's calf.
She'd propped her head on the side of their loveseat, reading about black hills, cougars and friends who turned lovers. It had been nearly eight weeks since her surgery, and they had made love exactly six times. The plastic surgery had gone as well as could be expected. He thought she was the most beautiful thing he'd laid eyes on even without the implant.
They said the chemo was necessary but that there was no need for radiation. She was a redhead today and would be just as sexy without the wig, too.
"Duncan said he would stop by tonight, Andy and Rose with the baby, too," she said as she turned the next page.
Her surgery had been a success. MollyAnne was no longer a danger to her. The relief was overwhelming. He was ready to move forward. She was stuck in the present.
Brie set her book face down on her chest. "Do you think Duncan will bring Nickie?"
He shrugged. "Do you think it's that serious?"
"Oh, it's serious all right. I just don't know if he knows it's serious."
"That's a little too out in left field for me."
Tossing his magazine on the mahogany coffee table, he wrapped Brie's legs around his waist and maneuvered over her. "Our empty nest will be filled this evening." He set his lips on hers. So soft, so warm. "We should take advantage of our time before then."
He felt her head dip as she sighed. "It's daylight, Nathan."
Running his lips along her neck, he tucked them under her ear. "Better yet."
"Nathan." She stiffened and pushed herself to a sitting position. "The scars."
Pulling her on his lap, he wrapped his arms around her waist and brought his lips back to her ear. "What scars?" he whispered and felt her soften in his arms.
* * *
Nickie worked late again. Duncan didn't mind. He admired her mind, her drive and her versatility. He waited in her office. It smelled of her. Smart. He'd never craved a woman like this before. It had been five days. A short trip. He'd been away five months at a time in the past. Odd how the five days seemed longer. He found himself making changes but wasn't ready to admit to the bigger picture.
He signed contracts with more clients who were willing to allow off-site work. Hired an employee to handle his real estate exchanges and two for his portfolios. He'd bought a plane. A plane. And rented a hanger at the small airport to the east of Northridge, which meant hiring pilots who could travel coast to coast. And he'd thought about hiring a full-time housemaid with all the time he'd been spending at his home.
It truly was his favorite place to work. Or was it the company? The myriad of thoughts and sounds quieted when she was with him, when she played her songs on her cello or her acoustic.
He turned his chair so he could watch her. Calm and cool, she spoke with a small army of men in Dave's office. As he waited, he finished haggling details of his latest contract on his tablet.
As the group dispersed, Duncan signed off and slipped his tablet into his briefcase. He saw the moment she noticed him. Smoothly, she kept talking, kept gesturing, but he saw it, the short spark, the slight smile. There was so very much going on in that brain.
"Dete
ctive," he said softly as she approached.
Secretively, she reached out to him, linked her first finger around his in as much of a homecoming as would be appropriate in her office.
"There you are." She squeezed his finger. "I'll be just a few more minutes." She turned to step out, then turned back. "You were missed."
Her smile stirred him. He looked at her desk and shook his head at the four large, Styrofoam cups scattered around neatly stacked piles of files and papers. He left the one that still had ice, stacked the rest and headed for the small break room.
Dumping the days-old watery soda, he overheard two beat officers discuss a morning raid scheduled for two days from then. He knew he shouldn't be listening but decided the officers should be more careful as to who was around when they did their discussing.
It was a drug raid on a rented house in the west side of downtown, near a school. The house was rented in the name of a young woman, but it didn't sound like they thought she had anything to do with the operation, although they planned to take her in, too.
When he heard the term SWAT, the oddest feeling of helplessness came over him. Nickie was going to be involved in a SWAT operation? He'd seen her in a raid, but that was different. He'd been there with her. Shaking his head to reality, he decided he would need to sort that out some other time.
"Welcome back." She came in the break room, looked around at their privacy, then kissed him once quickly on the mouth. She looked at the empty soda cups in his hand. "Were you cleaning? I got busy."
"Are we still on for this evening?" he asked.
"To your aunt's? Sure thing."
They walked, nearly touching, back to her office.
"How is she doing?" she questioned him.
"Much better, thank you. I should warn you, we won't know what color hair she'll have until we get there. She's decided on... changing."
Nickie threw back her head in laughter. "She's one tough woman. I admire her."
The comment touched him. "Stay with me tonight. I'll bring you to work in the morning."
Her look was that of determination. She hadn't spent the night with him since the time she attacked him as she woke. He understood.
"I bought you something."
She looked toward his hands, his pockets. "Where is it?"
"It's too big to fit in my pocket. I'll show you at my house."
"So, you tell me and make me wait. That's dirty. I need to move my car to an overnight spot."
* * *
Much to Nathan's dismay, Brie was returning to work the following Monday. Nathan almost hung up the phone, but on the fifth ring, Brie answered.
"Sorry, I'm late," she told him. "I'll be right there. I forgot my plan book." Politely, she had waited until her substitute teacher left for the day. She was preparing for her return.
He knew better than to try and convince her to take off the rest of the school year. She'd pushed her retirement plans back who knew how long already? She still loved her job and wasn't ready to be done. He, on the other hand, was ready to slow down, ready to travel, to help Brie in her gardens, work on furniture for his new grandson. But he respected her needs and left her to them.
"If they get here before you do, I'll cover for you," he said, referring to the group of their nephews, kids and grandchild.
"I'll make it. I'll make it." He could hear her breathing as she walked.
* * *
Duncan's car idled, purring like a cat. It felt good to feel it under his feet, under his hands after his time away. He waited patiently as Nickie methodically felt for her keys, checked the trunk, went through it all seemingly in her head, then turned for his car. He was anxious to see his aunt. Nathan would never sugarcoat her recovery, but Duncan wanted to see her progress for himself.
The art show was coming up, he thought as Nickie smiled at him.
Would she tell him about the raid? No, she was a professional.
He looked down only for a moment, checking his fuel or whether or not he was in neutral. He wasn't sure. He just knew the trembling of the earth shook him into a fear he hadn't felt since the Middle East.
He looked up in time to see a ball of fire the size of a tank explode around her. The force blew Nickie forward like she'd been pushed in the back by a linebacker. Her head jerked as she hit the pavement, hands and knees first.
Chapter 22
"Thank you for covering for me, Nathan. I should beat them there, but if I don't there is a cheese dip in the—"
The sound was deafening. Instinctively, Nathan pulled the phone from his ear before smacking it back against his head. "Brie? Brianna! What happened?" He heard the phone skip along concrete and a blazing fire burn in the receiver. He held his phone like a track relay baton as he sprinted for his garage. What to do? Did he hang up his connection with Brie to call 9-1-1?
"Brianna!" he yelled. Nothing. Tears burned his eyes as he hung up, dialed 9-1-1, then turned over his ignition.
* * *
Duncan made Nickie let the EMT take a look at her. She sat on the bumper, pouting as she watched Detective Eddy Lynx partition off her crime scene. "Ow!" she growled as the EMT used tweezers to pick pieces of gravel from her knees. He'd threatened her with squealing about the way her neck snapped back in the explosion and the times she kept rubbing it with her fingers.
"We've got your art thing next weekend." She heard the whine in her voice but couldn't seem to stop it. "The palms of my hands are skinned, and there'll be red scabs on my knees for your art thing. And my car! Son of a bitch, when I find the bastard who did this... Where is that damned Slippery Jimbo—"
"Who?" Duncan's voice was eerily calm.
"Slippery Jimbo. An informant." She backtracked. "No, not an informant. A slippery son-of-a-bitch wannabe informant who—ow!"
Too gently, he held her hand between two of his and prodded her on. "Informant who...?"
"Who called me this morning. He might be full of shit..."
Nickie knew she was distracted, but there was a small army of officers, two fire engines and the ambulance that ringed her scorched car. She tried to think of what she'd left in it before it blew. Her briefcase had taken a beating when it flew from her hands and slid across the parking garage floor, but at least the contents remained inside.
The overnight bag she always left in the car was another story. It would take her weeks, maybe years to live down the change of panties and toothbrush that flew all the way to parking spot number fifteen. If she would get up the courage to leave some things at his place... she wouldn't let her mind go there now.
"Your aunt," she reminded him about their plans for the evening. "She'll be worried. You should call her."
He rubbed circles along the back of the hand he held in his lap. It helped as she watched Eddy Lynx checking the original spot she had parked in out in the graveled part of the lot.
"I tried. She didn't answer. I'll try again shortly. You'll need to sit still or they're going to take you in to get out the rest of the gravel."
"Like hell."
The EMT dabbed a large cotton ball with liquid.
"If you touch me with that, I swear I'll... ow!"
Duncan's voice was low, smooth and in control. It was definitely creeping her out. "Tell me more about this Jim," he asked.
"Who?" She looked over to CSI who were bagging something she couldn't see. "Hey, you. Don't touch another thing until I'm done here." She turned back to Duncan. "I need to be done here."
"He's nearly finished. Jim?"
"Jimbo."
The EMT got out a gauze bandage the size of Texas and ripped off the outside paper. Good grief.
"He called me this morning, claiming he wanted to help me. He told me word on the street was I had some enemies. I remember thinking, 'Tell me something I didn't already know, ya know?'"
"I think I hung up on him so I could go scare the shit out of a preteen who hocked some candy and pop at my favorite convenient store. Now, I'm thinking there may have been more to th
e phone call." She took the second bandage from the guy, slipped it in through the hole in her slacks and slapped it over her other knee. "Get out of my way; I have a crime scene to get to. I'll catch up with you, o—"
The phone in her pocket buzzed. She listened as she pushed the EMT out of her way. Her eyes grew big, she could feel it, but she couldn't help it as they darted to Duncan. He stared at her patiently, with eyes anyone else might think of as comfortable.
Turning back to face him now, she put her bandaged hands up. "Listen, Duncan. No one is hurt—"
He stood before she could finish.
"She's okay, Duncan. Brie was at her school. She's not hurt. There is a fire engine on the way. And two squad cars."
He got into his car and started the ignition.
"I can't come with you."
"I understand," she heard him say as he sped out of the lot.
* * *
As she briefed Eddy Lynx, Nickie scrolled through her phone calls. She was looking for the one with no caller ID from right around the time she filled up her morning Diet Coke. Eddy would have to serve as her partner since Dave was with Duncan's aunt. She had no intention of making it a permanent arrangement. Not that he wasn't a good detective.
The fire chief was there. Of course he would choose a police parking garage bombing versus one in an after-hours school lot. He'd called out his bomb expert to help with logistics. As she headed over to the bomb guy, she tagged the number she knew would be Jimbo's. Bomb guy looked her up and down, not because he was an attractive man and she was possibly a catching woman. It was because of the obnoxious bandages across her palms and the matching ones on her knees framed by the gaping holes in her slacks.
Thirty-something and heavy on the looks, she recognized the bomb expert as one the chief had used before. He'd also been called out to the casino a few months back after the fire department recognized the signs of a backdraft verses a bomb.
"Time released," he started in. "You're a lucky woman, detective." He flipped over a scorched device in his gloved hands. "It was set to ignite five minutes after the car started. You're not supposed to be alive."
She was relieved Duncan wasn't around to hear that part.
