Slater's Revenge

by Claudia Shelton

  Cummings refocused to her. “Since when does the Riverfalls Police Department report every occurrence on D Street to you?”

  “My sources told me the police received a phone call after the last woman was beaten up. One that said if I didn’t make a showing on D Street, the next one wouldn’t be so lucky.”

  “That why you ignored the police order today? Why you came on down here tonight? Why you dressed in that damn vice outfit?” Cummings gave her a once-over. “You act like it’s something special about you, that these women are winding up hurt.”

  “Sure looks like it.” Macki swiped the back of her hand across the corner of her eye. “This woman was killed right before I arrived.”

  Josh’s eyebrows pinched together.

  “So?” Cummings’s tone held only sarcasm, edged with the disgust she knew he felt for women in this area. “You’re not the trigger on these cases.”

  “The pervert texted a change in timeframe just as I left the penthouse.” She cleared her throat. “I was late.”

  Cummings’s brow furrowed also. “This isn’t something we need to discuss in front of your”—he nodded in Josh’s direction—“friend.”

  “I want to speak to whoever was in charge that night.”

  “That would be me.” He made the statement without an ounce of regret.

  Josh glanced away, blew out a sigh, rolled his shoulders. She knew he was listening. Trying to pick up on any clues, but this wasn’t his problem.

  “Why didn’t anyone call me? Or maybe you didn’t let Lieutenant Grey know.”

  Cummings’s jaw edged again. “He was informed. Said not to bother you.”

  “Don’t you think I should have been allowed to make that choice? Look what happened because I didn’t come down here sooner.” Her stomach twisted with a taste of nausea. “Don’t think I didn’t notice the bright pink scarf tied around her wrist. How am I supposed to live with this on my conscience?”

  The detective swallowed big, then cleared his throat. “You damn well suck it up. Get out of bed each morning. Do your job. Go home to a beer and television every night. One fucking day at a time.” He glanced toward Josh. “If your friend can spare you a moment, I’d like to talk to you, Macki.” He motioned to the crime scene then walked back across the street.

  She turned to Josh, already sensing his stance meant fuck you, Cummings. “Can you give me time to see what happened to the woman they took to the morgue?”

  “Five minutes.” Josh continued to stare at Cummings’s retreating back. “If anything strikes me as off, I’ll come for you sooner.”

  Chapter Four

  Mackenzie waited impatiently outside the crime scene tape. Josh had given her five minutes. And she didn’t doubt he was a man who meant what he said when protection was on the line. Still, she couldn’t go past the tape. She knew her place. She wasn’t a cop anymore. But it didn’t keep her from scanning the scene, at a distance, for clues.

  Detective Cummings walked up, nodding across the street toward Josh. “Who is that guy?”

  “Some jerk I used to know in high school.” She wasn’t about to flip on Josh no matter what. If her uncle wanted her to have a bodyguard, she’d have one.

  “Looked like more than that.” The detective stepped in front of her. “Looked like you were cozying up to the guy.”

  “That’s none of your business. I have a life of my own, or did you forget?” She turned to leave. All she needed was another go-round with the overprotective detective.

  He blocked her path. “You may have forgotten Blake, but I haven’t. What do you think he’d say about you throwing yourself at some guy on a street corner?”

  Mackenzie sucked in air. “Seeing as how it’s been three years since Blake died, I’m sure he’d be the first to say, ‘Enjoy life before it’s too late.’”

  The detective leaned closer. “Blake told me how much he cared about you. Said he’d do anything in the world for you. Anything.”

  “Would he? Maybe you didn’t know him as well as you thought.”

  She knew Cummings blamed himself for Blake’s death. But, just because the two men had been partners in the same unit for years, didn’t mean he got to be her judge and jury forever.

  He chewed the corner of his mouth as his shoulders relaxed. “You know I’d never do anything to hurt you. But when I saw you with that guy, all I could think of was you and Blake.”

  “Looks like a serious conversation.” Always late to the scene, Lieutenant Grey walked in to their conversation. “What’s going on?”

  She inched nearer to the lieutenant. Anything to get away from the vibe of ownership Cummings was giving off. Grey had been almost as much of a dad to her as Drake for the past ten years. At least she felt safe around him. “Beats me. The detective asked to talk to me. Evidently, he thinks I can help with this case.”

  Lt. Grey wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “Well, I’m sure we’d all appreciate your assistance. Be careful wandering around this neighborhood.”

  One of the reasons she’d quit the force a few years back had been too many people trying to protect her. Trying to tell her what to do. Who to know. What to wear. In the end, none of them had truly protected her.

  “I’ll be fine, Lieutenant.” She figured he acted like a father figure because, like her, he missed his daughter Peggy, who’d been her best friend throughout high school. In college she’d overdosed, leaving only memories. “Besides, I worked vice in this neighborhood, or did you forget?”

  “I remember.” Grey glanced across the street. “I remember a lot of things.”

  “Cummings said you made the decision not to call me after the last woman’s assault. The one who had a message for me. Why?”

  “I don’t have time to discuss that right now.” Grey cleared his throat as if dismissing her question.

  Mackenzie noticed Josh head in her direction. Guess her five-minute curfew had expired.

  Glancing down, Lieutenant Grey brushed the front of his shirt as if crumbs had blemished his look. Then he excused himself and walked toward a gaggle of reporters with news cameras. He always had liked the spotlight. Trouble was, his jowls and late-fifties age belied the tall, lanky runner’s frame he carried from jogging three miles a day.

  Quietly, the last couple of police cruisers drove away, probably headed to the next crime. Pretty soon the street would return to its loud, salacious entertainment. Gambling, girls, and—if a guy had a fifty and knew the right contact—drugs. When she first started working vice, twenty would buy a bag. Inflation had hit everything.

  “If we’re done here, I need to get going,” she said to Cummings.

  A hand lightly brushed across her back as Josh’s still-the-same male and musk scent enveloped her. There was a time she’d have leaned into his touch. Tonight, she stiffened her stance.

  “Time to go.” Josh tugged her close.

  She wiggled free. What the hell did he think he was doing?

  He held out his hand toward the detective. “We didn’t have a chance to officially meet. I’m Josh Slater. And you are?”

  “Detective Cummings.” The men shook hands like a couple of lions circling their territory.

  “I didn’t get the first name, Cummings.”

  “I didn’t give it…Slater.” The detective glared, then walked away.

  She bit her lip to keep from laughing. Her evening had just perked up. The two men she liked least in the world had slammed each other. Damn, this bodyguard arrangement might turn out okay after all if it meant these two were in each other’s faces all the time. Might keep them out of her way.

  Taking a step back, Josh nonchalantly skimmed the surroundings. “And?”

  “Oh, the cops said she stepped in front of a car. Died on impact.”

  “Your expression says you don’t agree.”

  “I don’t know… First there was the text and then…” She sighed. “Maybe this whole protector thing with you and my uncle has got me on edge. And the creepy
texter hasn’t showed his face yet.”

  He reached for her hand, lacing his fingers with hers. “His loss. We need to get off this street. Now.”

  She didn’t like being put on a schedule or being told what to do. Especially when she’d had her eyes on him from the moment he exited his truck. She’d seen him scanning the location. Chatting with Roxy. Taking a phone call. “You weren’t in a hurry earlier.”

  “I was scoping the street. Trying to get a handle on the locals and the cops in town.” His tone was all business. “What do you know about the woman with red hair? The one all the girls are grouped around.”

  “That’s Roxy. Mama Roxy, as everyone around here calls her.” Mackenzie smiled. “Talk on the street says she’s been around since she was twenty.”

  “I’d say she’s a far side of forty-five now. Anything unusual about her?”

  “She watches out for the other women.”

  “And?”

  “When I worked vice, she read me a few letters she received from her daughter.” She knew the police game. Get info. Pass it on. Evaluate. React. He seemed well versed in the routine.

  “Daughter?”

  “She had her within a few years of being on the street. Gave her up for adoption, but the girl tracked her down once she got older.” Macki tugged to go toward the group of women. “I know we need to go, but give me a minute to tell them I’m sorry about their loss.”

  …

  Josh shook his head as a chill crept across the sweat on the back of his neck. As it was, he and Macki had been out in the open too long. Steering Macki toward his truck, he let the pressure of his fingers guide her. The sooner they were out of this neighborhood, the better he’d feel. Only half a block and they’d reach his truck with the bulletproof glass the FBI had loaned to OPAQUE.

  “Look at them, Josh.” She pointed to the prostitutes gathered on the sidewalk. “They’re scared.”

  “I know.” He’d felt the vibe.

  Fear always came with a walk, a murmur, even a smell. The dead woman’s so-called accident had seemed a little too coincidental. Whether it was aimed at Macki by some local-yokel jerk or came from Coercion Ten, he’d bet money the woman hadn’t stepped in front of the car on purpose. Or by accident.

  His instincts said somewhere on this street or in a storefront or in one of the upstairs apartments, one, if not more, assailants stood watching the excitement play out.

  He glanced back over his shoulder for one final look. Yep. Roxy had been around a long time. She was showing her age.

  Chapter Five

  Josh casually pulled his shirt from his jeans, being sure not to dislodge the gun tucked in the back of his waistband. A haze from skyrocketing humidity hung in the glow of the streetlights. Or was that a cloud from anything and everything being smoked? Anyone with a lick of sense had headed out at least an hour ago. Now, business churned with one-a.m. boozers, dealers, and clients.

  Police had cleared out, for the most part. The one remaining patrolman had eased his cruiser to the curb. His orders were probably not to interfere unless a riot broke out or there were gunshots.

  As he and Macki neared his truck, Josh clicked the key fob to unlock the doors. “Get in.”

  “I have my own transportation.”

  “I’m not going to argue about this. Get in.”

  “No.” Her hazel-green eyes flashed with annoyance. The three-inch-heel boots, heart-shaped, pouty lips, and long lashes made it impossible to take her seriously in her pink hooker getup. Her stance said otherwise.

  “Who are you, Joshua? Drake called you a protector agent. What exactly does that mean?”

  Now? She wanted to get into that now? “You want my job description?”

  “No, I just need a little more information. Such as what does OPAQUE stand for?”

  “Operation Protector Agent Quantum Elite.”

  “And?”

  Talking to the intelligent adult Macki while the mini-skirted version pushed the spiked hair behind her hooped earrings was a little disconcerting. Also, kind of sexy.

  “Anything else you want to know can wait till we call Drake in the morning.” Josh needed to set up the secure OPAQUE communication system prior to that conversation.

  “Why not tonight? I need answers, and you need his approval on what we do next.”

  “Approval?” Josh tamped back his temper from the edge of boiling. “Let’s get one thing straight. I don’t need Drake’s step-by-step feedback. Besides, it’s late. Let your uncle get some rest.”

  He glanced at what little he could see of the real Macki beneath the damn wig. Her eyes were puffy, shoulders slumped, and, from the way she rolled first one foot then the other, the boots were working her last nerve.

  “From the looks of it, you could use some sleep, too,” he said.

  “You don’t seem to have much respect for my uncle.” Disappointment laced her expression.

  His insides cringed with the idea that someone might think he disrespected Drake Lawrence. Drake had taken him in, set him on a good path, and never once hinted Josh was anything but one hell of a man with nothing to be ashamed about. Josh was the one who couldn’t let go of his family’s past.

  Macki hadn’t taken her eyes off him. “Well, do you?”

  “There’s a difference between respect and needing him to tell me how to do my job.” Josh damn well knew his duties. Actions required to keep a target safe weren’t always pretty, but extreme measures were his forte. Also his load to carry in the light of day. “No one tells me what I can and can’t do once I’m on a job. No one.”

  “If my uncle heard you say that, he’d smash you like a bug.” A mischievous smile etched her lips.

  He leaned into her space. “He already tried and lost.” He leaned closer. “You see, there are very few things in this world I won’t do. But the main one? I don’t stay down.”

  Brushing the tickle of her fake hair from his nose, he gently pulled the wig from her head. Her own hair tumbled free. Silky and soft and inviting. Another dose of jasmine and vanilla filled his senses as her auburn hair rushed to frame her face.

  “Damnit. You just blew my cover!”

  “Cover? Stop acting like you’re a cop working vice.”

  “The texter expects to see me. The working girl me.”

  “Right now, you’re a Coercion Ten target. My job is to keep you alive.” Josh raked his fingers through his hair. “I don’t have time to worry about your texter.”

  The space between them grew muggy. Heated. A racy bass beat from the strip club down the street vibrated the air as he struggled to keep his mind focused. His breath under control. From the look of the rise and fall of Macki’s top, the rounding of her breasts, her own emotions were compromised, too. Would be so easy to reach out and touch her arm. Her cheek. Her lips.

  “Oh, Macki…” He groaned, swallowing the words another whisper away. She was more beautiful than he’d dreamed. More enticing than he’d steeled himself to ignore.

  He took a step back. Then another.

  “Mackenzie.” Slow and deliberate, she took the spiked-hair wig from his grasp then clutched it to her stomach. “You. Call me Mackenzie.”

  Backfire from a car down the street, along with the squeal of tires, broke the tension. His hand whipped to the gun in the back of his jeans waistband. Her hand rammed into the bottom of her purse. The car sped past with too-young-to-drink kids, their shouts filling the air.

  “Guess we’re both a little edgy.” She blew out a long sigh, pulling her cell phone out of her purse.

  “What are you doing?” He reached for the door handle. “My truck’s right here. I’d rather have you behind bulletproof glass driving through town.”

  “Thank you, but I have my own taxi with bulletproof glass. Drake had it installed a couple years ago.” She pressed a number on her phone then huffed when it evidently went to voicemail. She hung up and rang again. “Darn.”

  He’d heard about the fleet of cars she owned,
including the authentic-looking taxi complete with lights, ticker, and always-needing-a-wash look. “Problem?”

  A tiny beep on her phone caught her attention. After reading the text message, she smiled. “Nope. My driver’s on the way. I’ll see you at my place.”

  “Meaning I’m not welcome in your taxi?”

  “That’s right. Of course, I’m sure you know where I live.” Smooth and nonchalant, she eased the oversize hoops from her ears and deposited them in her bag. She let her eyes do a quick once-over of his jeans before she looked back in his eyes.

  What the hell? She’d checked him out. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

  Not wanting her out of his sight, he spread his arms in front of him, palms up, in a pleading gesture. “Ah, give a guy a break. We’re both headed to the same location.”

  She shook her head and smiled. “What about your truck? You wouldn’t want to leave it in this neighborhood overnight. Besides, I don’t give breaks to people who try to con me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “From what you’ve said, I think you’re more than a guy who installs burglar alarms for my uncle. And I did a quick internet check after Drake accidently said OPAQUE. Then again, maybe it wasn’t an accident.” She paused. “You’ve got a lot of explaining to do before I trust you again.”

  Were they talking about now or a lifetime ago? Either way, she had a point.

  Josh dropped his arms. “Fair enough.”

  “Tomorrow morning, you, me, and Drake are going to have a nice long talk.” Her brow pinched. “Agreed?”

  He grinned. She’d turned out to be a strong-willed woman used to getting her way. This time, she deserved to get her answers. She wouldn’t like them, but she’d learn to live with them. “That’s fair, too.”

  She waved at a taxi as it angled to the curb twenty feet away, right under the streetlight. Good. Tinted windows all the way around were telltale signs this wasn’t a true taxi. Number 256 emblazoned on the trunk was the number he’d gotten from her OPAQUE file. Everything looked right. According to Drake, the driver was A-1 security certified. He’d been her chauffeur for years.