by Dale Mayer
*
He knew almost instantly. The smell of death didn’t change. Always recognizable, it didn’t matter what corner of the world he was in. But what he didn’t know was if the man was alone or not. Careful to not touch anything, he walked through the apartment to the bedroom. There he found the driver, Chester, deceased, a nice circular bullet hole in the middle of his forehead. There were no signs of a struggle, as if maybe he had been in bed, sleeping, when the shooter arrived. Jackson walked back out into the hallway, closed the front door behind him, took his T-shirt hem and wiped the areas he had touched and said, “He’s dead.”
“Seriously?” She gaped at him.
He nodded. He pulled out his phone and called Mason. “Hey, the driver I switched out for? I came to ask him a few questions. I knew he shot himself in the foot, so should be home, but he didn’t answer when I knocked. I picked the lock and entered the apartment to find a nice round bullet hole in his forehead.”
He heard Mason’s breath suck into the back of his throat. “Seriously?”
“Yeah. Now I need to get Billings and Brown in here because we have a murder to tie all this together.”
“Doesn’t sound like it ties anything together,” Deli said from beside him. “More to the point, it’s blowing things further apart.”
“I’ll make the phone call,” Mason said. “You disappear first.”
“Okay, we’ll be off the property in less than five minutes.”
Jackson pocketed his phone, grabbed Deli’s arm, hooked it with his, and they walked down the stairs, back out of the building to the Jeep. As soon as they were inside his vehicle, he reversed it and pulled in the closest coffee shop parking lot. Deli followed him inside, where he ordered two coffees and sat down at one of the tables near a window, overseeing the street traffic.
She leaned forward and whispered, “Why are we here?”
“Well, no way we weren’t noticed at the apartment,” he said, “so we might as well have a nice public place for Billings and his buddy to come question us.”
“How the hell would they know we were there? Wasn’t that the whole point of calling Mason?”
“It was, but, of course, cameras were in the stairwell,” he said. “As soon as I saw that, I realized we couldn’t hide our presence. I should have just called it in myself.”
The length of time it took before the MPs arrived surprised him. It was close to an hour before Billings walked into the coffee shop and sat down across from him.
Jackson lifted the coffee cup to his lips and took another sip. They were on their third refill. “I expected you a lot earlier than this,” he said.
“You could have called us yourself.”
“We saw how well you do teamwork,” Jackson said, nodding to Deli.
Billings snorted. “Look. Okay, so we didn’t treat you the best this morning. I’m sorry about that,” he said sarcastically. “We really don’t like people who have nothing to do with our team nosing in on our investigations. We already have NCIS involved. Don’t need you too.”
“Yeah, well, if you were doing your investigation, then you should have found this driver a hell of a lot earlier than I did.”
“And you should have reported it yourself, not set Mason on us.”
“I forewarned you that I’d have the brass on you. You obviously aren’t talking to me anyway,” Jackson said.
Just then Billings’s buddy walked in and sat down with them. He glared at the two of them. “Are you done with your funny little tricks? Because you just compromised our investigation,” he snapped.
“Bullshit,” Jackson said. “That guy has been dead at least a day. It’d be interesting to see what the coroner says.”
“Why? Cause of death is obvious.”
“No struggle, no fight, lying on his back with his arms spread like that. Either he was asleep or maybe drugged.”
“Why drugged?”
“Maybe painkillers? He did shoot himself in the foot. That did give him a valid reason for not driving that rig.” The men digested that and then nodded.
“We’ll track his whereabouts and movements that morning,” Brown said.
Jackson nodded. “You do that. I imagine, once he got home, he went straight to bed and didn’t get back up again. Made him a pretty easy target.”
“Sure, but that still doesn’t help us with the whys.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Jackson said. “But, seeing as how you were not very open about your case, we won’t be very open about other issues that might be related.”
The men straightened and glared at him.
He shrugged and motioned at Deli. “You want to tell them what’s going on in your world?”
She sighed, sat back and relayed all the information that she had so far not volunteered.
The men stared at her. “So this might be about you?”
She shrugged. “I have no clue. For all I know, this has nothing to do with me. I’ve got a phone stalker, and I had an intruder.”
“I think the shooter is coming back after all of us involved with the sabotaged military rig,” Jackson said. “The expected driver was just the first one killed. Earlier last night someone came to the hospital after Max, who chased down the shooter and ended up in a ravine. And later last night somebody came after Deli at her home.”
“Has somebody tried to come after you yet?” Brown asked Jackson.
He shook his head. “Not that I know of. But I haven’t been home. I stayed watch at her place to make sure the intruder didn’t come back. For all I know, my place was broken into.”
“Well, that would be first-things-first then,” Billings said. “Go home, and check it out. And stay there.” His voice was hard as he said that last bit.
Jackson gave him a bland smile. “I’ll do what I planned on doing right from the beginning. Getting to the bottom of this—with or without your help.”
Chapter 7
After the two MPs left, Deli looked at Jackson. “I need to head home and get some food.” She lifted a hand and frowned at the slight tremor in her fingers.
He reached out, grabbed her hand and held it tight. “Blood sugar or nerves?” he asked.
“Blood sugar,” she said with a rueful smile. “I didn’t eat lunch today.”
His brows drew together in a thunderous frown.
She rushed to say, “I had it with me, but I was busy. Then, when lunchtime came, I didn’t feel like eating.”
He glanced at the coffee shop’s menu board.
She shook her head. “No, I’m not eating here. Everything will be full of sugar.”
“Well, sugar is good at this point,” he said, a twinkle in his eyes.
“It is,” she said, “if you’re two years old.”
He chuckled. “Okay, so it’s great for a pick-me-up when your blood sugar is dropping, but you’re right. A solid meal would be better.”
“Which is why I need to go home and make some dinner,” she said. “It’s already late, and I want to have leftovers to take for lunch to work tomorrow.”
“So what are you making when you get home?”
She wasn’t sure if he was asking for an invite to dinner or curious for his own sake. “I’m not exactly sure yet, but I think I have a steak in the fridge.”
“A single steak?” he asked in mock horror.
She nodded. “I wasn’t expecting company for dinner,” she retorted. “And I’m still not.”
His crestfallen face turned her outrage into giggles.
“Or we could hit the grocery store on the way home,” he said, “and we could pick up a second steak.”
She thrummed her fingers on the table as she stared at him. “Whatever we do, we need to do it fast because I’m starting to crash. I won’t have much time to get some food into me after we get home.”
“Barbecued, broiled, or fried?”
“If you’re cooking, then barbecued.” She glanced at her watch. “There might be two steaks in my fridge, but they’ll be
small,” she warned.
“Got any rice or potatoes to go with it?”
She nodded and stood. “Come on. Let’s go. Otherwise I’ll have to get a cookie here to tide me over, and that’ll just pick me up and drop me even further.”
He was up and ahead of her, leading her to the Jeep within seconds. Flying toward her place, he said, “Do we need to go to the grocery store at all?”
She shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. As long as you’re not a fussy eater.”
“Nope,” he said. “But I do like to cook.”
“Good,” she said. “You’re on. I’m so tired of cooking for one. It’s taken a lot of the joy out of it for me.”
“That’s why it’s always fun to go to Mason’s for a barbecue with a bunch of the guys. It’s much more of a social event, kind of a potluck meal, and I enjoy that more than just cooking for one myself,” he admitted. “But I make a mean spaghetti sauce and chili. The trouble is, I can’t make a little bit. I end up with a huge pot of it, and then I have to freeze it.”
“There are worse things.”
At her place she went to unlock her apartment door and froze.
He reached around, tucked her off to the side against the wall and whispered, “Stay here.”
She watched as he disappeared into the apartment, the door already ajar. He came back a few minutes later as silently as he had entered. He shook his head. “It’s empty.”
She stepped behind him, a cry of outrage as she saw her couch and coffee table upended and drawers pulled open in the kitchen. She wandered into her bedroom to see the bedding also tossed. She stretched out her hands. “Why?”
“Good question. I was going to ask you that. Is there any chance you’re hiding something that somebody wants?”
Bewildered, she turned to look at him. “No, I don’t have anything. None of this makes any sense.”
“Maybe planting incriminating evidence?” He grabbed her by the shoulders, and her trembling got worse.
Before he asked, she said, “This is mostly nerves now, not to mention anger.”
He nodded and led her into the kitchen. “I’ll light that babysized barbecue of yours and pull out the steaks. Let’s get the food going, and, while everything’s cooking, we’ll get the bulk of this cleaned up.”
And that was what they did. She clenched her jaw and pushed through her anger. She handed him the plate of seasoned and hastily marinated steaks, already had rice in the rice cooker and the beginnings of a salad on the counter when she realized he was taking pictures of everything.
“I never even thought to do that,” she said ruefully.
“Doesn’t matter. I did,” he said. “If dinner is under control, those steaks won’t need but four minutes on a side. So let’s get started on cleaning this up.”
He got the couch and cushions back together and the living room shaped up quickly. The kitchen had drawers open but not much tossed. It didn’t take five minutes to put it all back together again.
She stood, surveying the place. “If it didn’t take much time to put it back together, why bother in the first place?”
“Maybe to make it look like a robbery,” he said.
“My flat-screen TV is still here,” she said in exasperation.
He glanced at it and nodded. “It’s a little hard to carry for one person and to make it look unobtrusive as to what he was doing.”
She thought about that and shrugged. “Whatever.”
She checked on the rice, finished making the salad, brought out the plates and cutlery as he walked out to throw the steaks on the grill. While he barbecued, she headed into the bedroom and straightened up her bed again. Things were askew and tossed but no real damage done. If they’d been looking for something specific, they hadn’t been very thorough. Most of her dresser drawers hadn’t been touched at all.
When he let her know the steaks were done, her room was mostly cleaned up. She wandered back into the kitchen, set the table, brought over the rice and salad as he took the steaks off the barbecue and set the plate down in front of her.
She sniffed the air appreciatively. “Steak is always better barbecued,” she murmured.
“I’m delighted you have one,” he said. “So often women don’t.”
She shrugged. “I do barbecue sometimes but not often. I can’t be bothered to turn it on for just me.”
“I get that.” He sat down opposite her. “All we’re missing is a bottle of wine.”
“I don’t have any,” she said. “There might be a beer in the fridge though.”
He cocked his head to the side, his eyes alight with interest.
She laughed. “You go look. I’m starting on this steak.” She stabbed the steak closest to her, moved it onto her plate, served herself a little rice and a hefty portion of salad, and dug in. The first bite was absolutely delicious. It was medium-rare; exactly the way she liked it.
He came back with the beer, holding it out to her. “Shall we share?”
She shook her head. “Back to that blood sugar thing. I need food more than I need alcohol.”
He poured his beer in a glass and then sat down to tackle his steak.
When she was halfway through, she looked up at him. “Why was he here?”
He studied her thoughtfully as he chewed his steak and then said, “Right now I’m thinking, if it was your stalker, maybe he’s looking for something to take away, a souvenir of you. If it was related to the other scenario and the murder of Chester, then I’m afraid it might be more of a warning or a distraction—a diversion, so to speak.”
“So the intruder came in looking for something to steal and took off when he didn’t find anything?”
“It tracks properly,” he argued. “You had an intruder. You scared him away before he had a chance to check out your place. He takes advantage of your absence to come back and to make sure there really wasn’t anything here, so he could move on and forget about you. Or maybe he took something small, so small you don’t know it is missing yet.”
She considered that. “I guess it’s better than some options,” she said.
“Exactly.”
An odd thought popped up. “Is it possible that, instead of looking to steal something, he left something behind?” she said abruptly.
Across the table Jackson froze. “Like what?” Jackson’s voice turned hard, cold.
“You mentioned how the shooter could be planting evidence.” She winced. “I have nothing in mind in particular. It’s just, if he didn’t take anything …”
He slowly lowered his hands, placing his knife and fork on either side of his plate and stared at her. “What made you think of that?”
She knew he was thinking the same thing she was. He was just waiting for her to voice it. She glared at him then lowered her voice. “What if he planted a bug?”
“And why would he?”
Keeping her voice low, she leaned in closer to Jackson as she explained her thinking. “To get details on the investigation. If it’s somebody on base, they could have possibly heard how you put yourself on the investigation. Or had seen us involved one way or another in it. Or had heard you were at the hospital.” She waved her hand about. “And may have seen that you stayed the night here.”
He cut another piece of steak, slowly popped it into his mouth and chewed it as he contemplated the idea.
“The thing is, I don’t have any way to find out if he did or not,” she confessed. “I might live and work on base, but I’m not privy to that level of spy gear.” She raised her gaze and studied him. In a lower voice she whispered, “But you are.”
He gave a clipped nod, held a finger to his lips, picked up his phone and sent a text.
She didn’t know who he sent it to but figured it was Mason.
Jackson pointed his knife at her steak and said in a normal speaking voice, “The salad and rice are delicious, by the way.”
She figured that meant she should resume all normal conversation and nothing else. “
It wasn’t hard to create. It’s a pretty easy meal.” And she didn’t say another word.
When their meal was finished, she cleaned up the table, while he washed dishes, when she heard his phone go off. He checked it, held his finger to his lips again and walked to the front hallway and very quietly opened the door. She peered around the corner to see who he let in. A tall male with dark hair walked in. Ironically it was the hard look in his gaze that reassured her. He knew Jackson and had come with a purpose.
Jackson walked over with his finger against his lips once more and whispered against her ear, “This is Kanen, one of my unit. He’ll check out your place.”
Her eyes wide, she watched as he walked around the apartment with a small handheld device. It made a funny flashing signal in the living room.
Jackson crushed her against his chest and whispered, “You were right.”
She reared back and stared up at him, gasping.
He placed a finger over her mouth and whispered, “Remember, shhh.”
They followed Kanen through her small apartment and found another one in the bedroom, but that was it.
“Interesting,” Jackson said quietly.
Kanen disabled both of the bugs and held them up. “They’re our own, standard military-issued bugs. That both narrows and widens the field tremendously.”
“What do you mean, they’re our own?” she asked suspiciously.
“They were probably taken from the base,” Jackson said quietly, “by somebody who knows us.”
*
Jackson wasn’t sure what to make of that finding and the fact that they had found two bugs. He studied them, locating their serial numbers.
Kanen held out his hand for one.
Jackson placed it in his palm and asked, “Can we track them?”
“I doubt it,” Kanen said in a low voice. “The serial numbers have been scratched off. They could have been stolen. They could have been damaged models and taken from the garbage, then repaired. No way to know.”
“And who supplies them for the military?” Jackson asked.
“That’s a good point too. Just because they are the same we use doesn’t necessarily mean it came from the base.”
