by Diane Kelly
I narrowed my eyes as I looked at the pristine house. “I bet Natalie’s fridge is full of fresh vegetables and homemade apple pie and milk that’s still within its expiration date.” My fridge contained only a pitcher of peach sangria, a quart of skim milk that smelled iffy, and something green and fuzzy that had once been either a lemon or a kiwi. I’d gone to throw it out earlier but had instead slammed the crisper closed when the thing seemed to move on its own.
I turned to my friend as we drove past the house a third time. “You think that’s what Nick wants? A woman who will take care of him? Cook and clean and all that?” If so, our relationship would be doomed. I could hit a target from a hundred yards and take down a man half again my size, but when it came to domestic skills I was sorely lacking.
“I don’t know,” Alicia said. “He does still live with his mother, so yeah, maybe that’s what he wants.”
I cut angry eyes her way. “Lie to me next time, okay?”
“Absolutely not.” She cut her eyes back at me. “Best friends are always honest with each other. Even when it hurts.”
Natalie’s front door opened and she and Nick walked out onto the porch. Natalie was dressed in ballet flats, a long skirt that flowed loosely around her ankles, and a white sweater set. She looked prim and proper, perhaps even prudish.
Nick had once planned to spend the rest of his life with this woman. Why? If you asked me, she looked straightlaced and boring.
Alicia punched the gas before they could spot us. We turned the corner and waited on the next block with the engine running. A couple minutes later we consulted the GPS map and headed after them, following them to a nearby Tex-Mex restaurant. Apparently Nick had a hankering for chimichangas tonight. I hoped the night wouldn’t end with him slipping Natalie his beef enchilada.
We sat at the end of the lot and watched them walk inside. Nick held the door open for Natalie and put a hand on her lower back as he followed her in. A familiar gesture. Not surprising, I guess. The two had once been very familiar with each other.
I felt a twinge of pain at the thought of Nick being intimate with another woman, that corkscrew in my heart again. It didn’t work out between them before, I reminded myself. Maybe they’re only getting together to talk about old times. Unfortunately, I wasn’t much good at convincing myself this date would go nowhere. Maybe the timing had been wrong earlier, but now it would be right. Maybe whatever had gone wrong had reconciled itself. Maybe things had changed and their relationship would work the second time around. It happened often enough, right? Heck, my own parents had split up for a while before tying the knot.
Was it possible I wasn’t the woman for Nick, after all? Was it possible I was only his Candy Cummings?
What a kick in the pants that would be.
Alicia and I debated tactics, deciding it would be too suspicious if either of us went inside the restaurant. Running into Nick two nights in a row in a city as big as Dallas could never be passed off as mere coincidence. But thanks to modern technology, I could interrupt his date without having to step foot in the place.
Neener-neener, Natalie-ner.
I closed the GPS app and sent Nick a text. Bought a new gun. Want 2 hit the range tomorrow?
How’s that for chalupas interruptus?
A few seconds later Nick’s terse reply arrived. Sure.
I texted back: I’m going to buy ammo. Need any?
This time his response didn’t come for two minutes. No thanx.
The new gun’s a Cobra .38.
I waited three minutes, but Nick didn’t respond. I felt a stirring of panic in my gut. I wished I had an extra-large flyswatter so I could put a quick end to Gnatalie. I put my thumbs to work again. The gun’s red. Really cool.
No response.
Got a good deal at a pawnshop.
Still no response.
A sick feeling oozed through me. Nick was ignoring me. And not just ignoring me, but ignoring me so that he could interact with his former bride-to-be, the wholesome princess of fresh vegetables and unexpired milk and seasonal door wreaths.
My thumbs desperately worked the keys on my phone. Only paid 30 bucks.
Nothing.
Terror wrapped its hand around my throat and squeezed.
“What should I do?” I asked Alicia. “This isn’t working.” I supposed I could lob a Molotov cocktail into the restaurant. After all, I knew how to make them now and could easily improvise one by shoving my day-of-the-week panties into the top of the sangria-filled thermos and igniting it with the car’s cigarette lighter. But I wasn’t sure that trying to extinguish Nick’s old flame warranted a felony arson conviction.
“Maybe I could call in a bomb threat,” I said, thinking out loud. Unfortunately, a bomb threat would also be a felony.
After more thought, I settled for sending Nick a link to a Web site about bedbugs. If he’d had any thoughts about taking Natalie to bed tonight, the thought of those nasty bloodsuckers taking a bite of his bare ass ought to having him thinking twice about getting naked with her. I followed it up with a text that read: Oops! I meant to send that to someone else.
“You’re an evil genius,” Alicia said. “It kind of scares me sometimes.”
“It kind of scares me, too.” If not for my Baptist upbringing, I probably could have turned to the dark side.
We waited and waited, growing bored and turning to YouTube to occupy our time. We watched all of the Simon’s Cat cartoons, viewed some music videos, laughed at some clever movie spoofs. Really, how did people entertain themselves before the Internet and smartphones?
“You know,” I said to Alicia, “Nick, Josh, and Lu have had success with that dating service. If you’re serious about putting yourself back on the market, maybe you should give it a try.”
“You’re probably right.” She sighed. “I’ll think about it.”
Rap! The noise of knuckles on the passenger window made both of us jump.
I looked up to find Nick looking in at me. He didn’t look happy.
Uh-oh.
He stared—glared?—in at me for a moment, then held up the black GPS device between his thumb and index finger.
Busted.
I shrank back against the seat. No need for a cigarette lighter to ignite my cheeks. I could feel them flaming hotter than any Molotov cocktail.
Nick made a motion for me to roll down the window.
I punched the button and the window came down. “Uh … hi, Nick,” I said, forcing a jovial tone and a smile.
He said nothing, just tossed the device into my lap and walked away.
Damn.
“You know that ‘evil genius’ comment I made earlier?” Alicia said.
“Yeah?”
“I take it back.”
chapter fifteen
Lots of Bull
When I arrived at work Friday morning, I scurried into my office and closed the door, hoping to avoid a confrontation with Nick. No such luck. Just seconds after I’d shut my door he opened it without knocking.
“It’s polite to knock,” I said.
He leaned against the door frame and crossed his arms over his broad chest. “You’ve suddenly developed a sense of boundaries?”
Another hot blush raced to my face and ears. Even my scalp felt hot. My hair threatened to melt.
“Eddie got pulled into an urgent case this morning,” Nick said, thankfully dropping the subject of my botched attempt to spy on him. “Lu wants me to go out to Bulls-Eye with you.”
Despite my embarrassment, my girl parts shouted, Yee-ha! Spending the morning with Nick would be an unexpected treat, like an appetizer for the full meal to come once I talked with Brett tonight. My simile assumed, of course, that Nick hadn’t decided to take his meals elsewhere, maybe somewhere with fresh vegetables and milk and homemade apple pie.
Nick and I snagged a sedan from the fleet and headed out.
The day was partly cloudy, the sun peeking out, then retreating, unsure and insecure just like me.
Was I too late? Had Nick rekindled his flame with Natalie?
Since he’d returned the GPS to me last night, I had no way of knowing whether he’d stayed at her house after their date. I couldn’t very well have driven by her house to check. Not after being caught red-handed.
I wondered if he had gone to bed with Natalie when he’d taken her home last night. I’d hardly slept last night thinking about the possibility.
I surreptitiously glanced over at him. The clench in his jaw told me he wasn’t a man who’d experienced a recent physical release. Good. Maybe my bedbug scheme had worked.
Nick didn’t talk on the drive, didn’t ask me why I’d followed him last night. I wasn’t sure whether that was good or bad. Didn’t he wonder? Didn’t he care?
While Eddie and I constantly fought over the radio, Nick and I were totally in tune, both happy to keep the stereo dial set to a country station. Nick sang along with the music as we made our way. While he pulled off a fairly decent imitation of Garth Brooks, his Faith Hill could use some work.
As we drove, I thought about Brett, how my date with him that night could be our last. Then I remembered the evening would also mark Josh’s first date with Kira.
“Think Josh will get lucky tonight?” I asked Nick. I wondered what type of birth control two techies would use. The algorithm method?
Nick grunted. “I think it’ll be a miracle if Josh gets up the nerve to give Kira a kiss. That boy may know computers, but when it comes to women he’s damn near hopeless.”
“Maybe you should teach him some of your tricks.”
Nick tossed me a naughty grin. “That would be like letting a child play with dynamite. Josh doesn’t have my mojo.”
Bulls-Eye Taxidermy and Tax Processing was situated in a log cabin on a rural highway southeast of Dallas. We performed a slow drive-by, checking things out. A red-and-white Bulls-Eye was painted on the door. A Rebel flag hung from a pole mounted between the front windows. A marquee sign on wheels sat at the edge of the highway in front of the cabin. The plastic letters read:
WHETHER ITS DEER SEASO OR TAX S ASON
LET BULL EYE DO YOUR ROCESS NG
PENIS
No doubt kids had rearranged the letters on the sign as a prank. But the message was still clear. No matter what hunting season it was—duck, deer, or javelina—it was always tax season at Bulls-Eye.
Two pickups were parked in front of the building. We knew from the plates that the Ford F-350 belonged to Jimmy John McClure, the owner of Bulls-Eye. The other presumably belonged to a client, but whether the client was at Bulls-Eye for tax or taxidermy services was unknown. Either way, we didn’t want to put an innocent person in a dangerous situation. Our research indicated Jimmy John owned no fewer than a dozen firearms. No doubt he’d have at least one of them on hand. We’d wait until McClure was alone before confronting him.
There wasn’t much else around, other than a taco stand and an XXX-rated book and novelty store. There were two cars at the taco stand, at least a dozen at the sex shop. Barely 11:00 AM and the perverts were already at it.
“Tacos or glory holes,” Nick said. “Your call.”
Ew. No question here. “Tacos. Definitely tacos.”
We drove through the stand and picked up food and soft drinks, parking at the edge of the lot where we could keep watch on the log cabin. We ate in silence, other than the crunch of the taco shells and the squeak of the plastic drinking straws, that is.
While Nick ate he toyed with his phone, sending and receiving texts, smiling and chuckling at something witty he’d received. I assumed they were from Natalie.
Don’t fall for her again! my mind screamed at him. I hoped his subconscious would pick up on my message.
Nick turned his phone so I could see it. “Check this out.”
On his screen was a photo of a butternut squash that looked like Jay Leno.
“Hilarious,” I said, forcing a smile I didn’t feel.
“I don’t know where my mother finds this stuff,” Nick said.
Okay, feeling the smile now.
We finished our lunch and looked up to see the pickup truck drive out of the Bulls-Eye parking lot. Presumably Jimmy John was alone now.
We drove across the road and into the gravel parking lot. Nick chose a spot near the door. We slid into our ballistic vests and raid jackets and made our way inside.
The interior of the cabin was dimly lit and smelled gamy. A stuffed brown bear posed in an attack stance greeted us as we entered. A flock of stuffed pheasants dangled from the ceiling, aimed upward as if in flight. Along the upper walls hung a wide variety of animal heads affixed to wood mounts. A wild boar with tusks. A twelve-point buck. A bobcat with a Dallas Cowboys cap on his head and a party blower in his mouth. How humiliating.
Jimmy John sat on a stool behind the counter, sorting through a coffee can of glass eyeballs, apparently looking for a matched set. He was a beefy man, nearly as wide as he was tall, and was dressed head to toe in camouflage print. He wore his brown hair in a buzz cut. Behind him was a set of metal shelves on which wood head mounts and tools were arranged.
He glanced up as we approached. “Howdy, folks. How can I help ya?”
The HVAC unit rattled as it kicked on overhead. Nick and I stepped up to the counter and showed Jimmy John our badges.
“We’re from IRS Criminal Investigations,” Nick said, taking the lead. “We’ve got evidence you’ve prepared a number of fraudulent returns. We’re here to take you in for arraignment.”
“Say what now?” Jimmy John stood, his close-set, beady eyes flashing with alarm.
“Keep your hands where we can see them,” I said, my hand instinctively reaching toward my hip holster.
“You’re under arrest,” Nick clarified. “Raise your hands and step out from behind that counter.”
Jimmy John held up his palms, but only shoulder high. “Hold on just a cotton-pickin’ minute here. You telling me you’re from the federal government?”
“That’s right,” Nick said. He placed a copy of the arrest warrant on the counter. “We’re authorized to take you in on charges of tax fraud.”
“Gimme a minute to take a look.” Jimmy John went to pick up the warrant with his left hand, but I noticed his right hand slip under the counter.
I drew on him in an instant. Unfortunately, he was nearly as quick. Both of us had our guns aimed at each other at point-blank range.
“Well, hell.” Nick drew his weapon, too. He slanted his eyes at me. “I should’ve known if I teamed up with you there’d be gunplay.”
“It’s not my fault,” I said. It was never my fault. “I have bad luck, that’s all.”
Jimmy John alternated aiming his gun at my face, then Nick’s. Dang. A ballistic vest provided no protection for a head shot. Really, someone should invent a ballistic ski mask or maybe some type of bullet-repelling makeup foundation.
“Put your weapon down,” I ordered, trying hard to keep my voice calm. Not easy when you’re looking down the barrel of a gun.
Jimmy John’s upper lip twitched. “Kiss my ass.”
Next to me, Nick exhaled sharply. “Do what the lady said,” he told McClure. “Set your weapon on the counter, nice and easy.”
“You can kiss my ass, too.” Jimmy John’s nostrils flared. Ick. The guy really needed to trim his nose hair.
Nick and I exchanged glances.
“Look,” I said, attempting to reason with McClure. “You’ve got two guns aimed at you. If you shoot one of us, the other will take you out. There’s no way you’d get out of this alive.”
His left hand shot under the counter and came up gripping another gun. He aimed one weapon at me, the other at Nick. “How do you like me now?”
Damn.
Nick and I exchanged glances again, neither of us sure what to do. We’d be perfectly justified shooting the guy. He’d drawn on us, after all, and with not just one gun, but two. But were his weapons loaded? If we shot the asshole and it turned out his guns w
ere empty, there would be hell to pay. Law enforcement officers were constantly raked over the coals for decisions they’d had to make in the heat of the moment without benefit of complete data. But should we just stand here like sitting ducks? Many a cop had hesitated, given someone the benefit of the doubt, and died as a result. McClure had quick hands and a weapon aimed at each of us. What if he took both Nick and me out? If we survived the shooting, we’d look like idiots. If we didn’t survive, well, we’d look like dead idiots.
There was only thing I knew for sure. And that was that I didn’t want Nick to die without knowing how I felt about him.
“Nick?” I said, watching him in my peripheral vision. “I need to tell you something.”
“What is it?”
“I’m going to break up with Brett for you. I’m planning to tell him tonight. I tried to do it on Monday, but Alicia barged in crying over Daniel and I wasn’t able to do it.”
Jimmy John snorted. “Well, now. Isn’t that special?”
I risked a quick glimpse at Nick. His already-clenched jaw clenched even tighter. He kept his eyes locked on McClure’s hands. “You thought now would be a good time to tell me this?”
“I don’t want you to die not knowing how I feel about you. And I don’t want to die without telling you.”
“You think we might die?”
“Possibly,” I said, gesturing at McClure with my weapon. “Look at this guy. He looks stupid enough to shoot us.”
Nick cocked his head. “He does look stupid. I bet his parents were cousins.”
“They was not!” Jimmy John’s eyes flared with anger. “Well, not first cousins, anyway.”
Urk. I couldn’t imagine having a husband who was also a cousin. What would that make him? A cousband?
A bead of sweat rolled down McClure’s cheek and onto the collar of his camouflage tee. The guy was getting nervous. Not good.
Nervous people did desperate things.
Our best bet for a good outcome was to put some distance between ourselves and McClure. I was a virtual sharpshooter, but McClure’s shots were less likely to hit their target if the target—us—was farther away.
