Unstoppable (The Untouchable Series)

by Skaggs, Cindy

  “You an officer?” Jerry asked Mick.

  “Not even close.” He kept his answer brief. There was no clean, concise way to explain his activities and involvement with Blake and Dez. “When things went south during an undercover operation, I was the closest backup.”

  “You carry a weapon?”

  Mick shook his head no. “Never needed one.”

  “I bet. What about you?”

  Dez nodded. “I have my service piece, a Glock.”

  “After a preliminary examination of the body, the murder weapon appears to be a small caliber gun at close range, but I’ll still need to run your Glock against the bullet lodged in our victim.”

  Fuck me. Things had gone south fast. Why was Jerry so intent on disarming Dez?

  Her voice turned hard. “I still need to protect my witness.”

  “Then the sooner we rule out your weapon, the better.”

  “Fine.” Dez rose and stripped out of her oversize coat. Her holster was strapped around her T-shirt.

  Jerry’s dark eyebrows rose. “You wore a gun to the sledding hill?”

  “The men looking for Nate are not nice individuals. The sooner I get my gun back the better.”

  The sheriff called the deputy on the radio. “Doug, bring in an evidence bag and the log.”

  “And the gunshot residue kit,” Dez added. “I want you to run swabs to test for gunpowder residue.”

  “You telling me how to do my job?”

  “Fastest way to clear us. Your case is interfering with mine.” The shivering had stopped. An angry flush climbed her cheeks.

  “You’d be the natural suspect,” Jerry commented.

  The deputy who had gone to school with Dez walked in with an evidence toolkit just as he had the night of the bar fight. He still wore a mask of adoration when he looked at Dez, which was enough to put Mick on edge. Plus, his aw-shucks demeanor was an outright lie. You didn’t make deputy by being dumb as dirt. Even in a small town. Doug nodded at the sheriff’s comment. “Sorry, Justice, but—you know.” He shrugged, his leather jacket lifting to his chin where a bright red flush crawled up his skin. “Nothing personal.”

  “Sure.” She dropped her Glock into the evidence bag. Watched Doug seal it, tape it, and initial it and do the same for her coat and the gloves he lifted off the floor.

  Vern, the older deputy with the cheesy mustache, snapped on latex gloves before completing a GSR kit on both Dez and Mick without saying a word. Dez kept a vigilant eye while he collected swabs. The sheriff said these men were good, family men, but Mick withheld judgment until he knew what the fuck was going on.

  “Hold on,” Dez said when Vern went to take off his gloves. “Seal it and initial it before you take off your gloves.”

  Vern glared, but the sheriff nodded so Vern complied. His jaw clenched like he wanted to say something, but held off. The initial results for GSR were within the normal range, which meant neither had fired a gun recently. For the first time since walking into the house, Mick relaxed. He hadn’t been fully certain Dez hadn’t done the deed—no matter who the victim was— but she wouldn’t have suggested the GSR kit if she was guilty. Not a doubt in his mind that if she had used her weapon, it would have been justified, but hard to prove to a small county sheriff who was so far out of the loop he didn’t know the loop existed. Or he was complicit with the people running drugs. Either way, dread wound through his system.

  “Pretty convenient I’m such a handy suspect. I wouldn’t be stupid enough—even at sixteen—to kill someone outside my own house. Someone could have used my presence in town to shove the blame my way.”

  The direction of the conversation confused Mick. He’d stepped out for an hour or two, and someone had gotten shot. That much he understood, but why would Dez be the natural suspect? “Who’s the victim?”

  Dez turned at him, fire in her eyes. “Derek.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “I’m going to need to confirm your story with the agent in charge,” Jerry said.

  Dez’s heart thumped. The team had a leak. If the sheriff talked to Agent Stiles, Stiles would inform the team, which could lead Sully straight to Nate. Her mouth opened, but Mick cut in.

  “Agent Logan Stone. He’s on his way up right now with another detective from the task force.” Mick poured himself a cup of coffee. His eyes showed no tension, nor did his solid jaw appear tense. If she were the interviewing officer, she would think he was only mildly interested in the whole process. She’d give a month’s pay to be able to talk to Mick alone for five minutes. Were Logan and Blake really on the way?

  “The road’s still closed,” Jerry said. “The stretch between here and the pass is a bitch this time of year. Drifts and blowing snow mean it’s going to take time.”

  “They’ll be here, even if they have to commandeer a snowplow.”

  “Think so?”

  A hard nod was Mick’s response. “Last I heard from Blake, they were on the other end of the closed road, trying to get transport through.”

  And she’d told Mick to ditch his phone, so they’d lost contact. Shit. Why were Blake and Logan on the way here?

  “Got a number for the agent?” Jerry wrote it down when Mick rattled off the number. He leaned back against the counter and took a drink of coffee like they were sitting around shooting the breeze. Classic good cop. “The thing is, Derek may be a complete tool, but aside from the jilted ex-girlfriend”—he pointed to Dez—“I can’t think of anyone who’d want to kill him.”

  “Hell, he’s the small town bully,” Mick said. “Anyone he’s ever intimidated, beaten, or threatened would want to kill him.”

  “Which brings me to you.” Jerry looked pointedly at Mick. “What was it you told me yesterday? No one messes with me or mine?”

  Whoa, pretty strong words from Mick. What had gone down when Mick and Jerry went to the airfield?

  “I also said I wasn’t planning to break any laws. You can talk to the men at the airfield. I didn’t bother talking to Derek. Decided he wasn’t worth my time. As for motive?” Mick leaned against the doorframe opposite the sheriff, crossed his boots in a casual stance. “How about the drugs running through your airfield?”

  Doug dropped the evidence bag with a loud clatter.

  Idiot.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled, glancing nervously at the sheriff.

  “Come again,” Jerry said. “What are you saying about the airfield?”

  Mick took a sip of coffee. “Doesn’t it strike you as odd that two complete wasteoids—drugged out Derek and another on probation—both have jobs at the airfield?”

  Not to mention Wayne, who was a known dealer, at least to the task force. Actually, Blake had an arrest warrant out for Wayne in conjunction with other dealers they’d dealt with while undercover. The fact that a warrant existed and Jerry hadn’t acted on it rammed a fistful of doubt in her mind. Was the sheriff a part of the problem?

  Dez tapped her feet, trying to warm her toes. She was too freaking cold, and shock wasn’t her typical response to death. A DB stopped being a person once they lost the pulse—but seeing an ex-boyfriend with brain matter dripping from his skull wasn’t part of her job description. Someone had done a number on him. Had gotten up close to do that kind of damage with a small caliber weapon. Her instincts were typically spot-on when it came to crime. Right now, the link between dead Derek, Wayne, and the rest of the motley crew said this quaint little mountain town wasn’t so innocent. And getting away with trafficking for any amount of time meant someone in law enforcement was likely an accomplice.

  “Those two working at the airfield doesn’t seem odd,” Jerry said. “The airfield isn’t high paying work. Colder than a Deepfreeze half the year. Who wants that kind of work? Only men with no other choice.”

  “So it doesn’t pay much money, but the Jeep outside is less than a year old. Four-wheel drive, chrome wheels, a towing wench, and other modifications. Nice ride for a guy not making much money.”

  Now Dez
understood Mick’s point. Derek was spending more than he could possibly earn. “Plus, he’s got money for drugs.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so,” Doug said. He was filing stuff into the evidence toolkit. “He drinks a lot, but I don’t think he’s on drugs or anything.”

  Dez rolled her eyes. Same damn small town and Derek the Douchebag was everyone’s favorite jock. “Derek was higher than a kite the other night. I guarantee it. And when the coroner does a tox screen, I’d bet a week’s salary that you find meth in his system when he died.”

  Doug stood, looked between her and the sheriff. “That a real bet?”

  “No.” The disgust in Jerry’s voice was evident. “Go put that in the evidence locker and come on back. You two will guard the house tonight.”

  “Not necessary.” Mick shook his head. “With all due respect, Sheriff, you don’t want to red-shirt Deputy Doug, here. The people we’re dealing with have no problem slicing his throat. They’ve killed two WITSEC agents and Nate’s parents, and that’s just in the past week.”

  Doug paled, his hand flexing on the handle of the kit.

  “Go on,” Jerry told the deputies. “I’ll pull first watch.” He waited until the deputies closed the door. “Having someone here is for your protection. I don’t believe you killed Derek, Justice. Like you said, you’re smarter than that, but people in town will think you’re a killer. He wasn’t popular, but he had friends and they’re not friendly. I’ll hang out tonight.”

  “Not necessary.” Her heart raced. How could she retrieve her backup weapon if the sheriff was in the house? They needed to call Blake and Logan to find out what was going on. They needed to debrief, because she was behind the power curve with the events of the last few hours. She needed information, and Mick had most of it. “It’s my job. My risk. I know how to defend myself and protect my witness.”

  “Fine by me,” the sheriff said without much effort. “I’ll just do my regular routine, then. Hanging out. Here. With Peg,” he added with a tight smile.

  Well shit. Just what they needed. A freaking babysitter.

  …

  The night was the coldest on record for the month of January. Tensions ran deeper than the wind chill. Jerry and Peg had a routine. Dinner and cards. They taught Nate to play rummy, even roped Mick into playing. Dez watched from the sidelines, too keyed up waiting for the next shoe to drop. News spread at the speed of small-town gossip. Before the last patrol car left, Peg’s phone started ringing. Everyone was her best friend.

  What happened out there anyway?

  Why the rumors are flying and I just want the truth.

  Just calling to make sure you’re okay.

  Yeah, yeah, they wanted dirt so they could spread it like manure through the nosy little town. By the time Nate was tucked into bed, anybody within a fifty-mile radius had to know about Derek’s death. That part was fine. What wasn’t okay was them knowing about the kid. About Dez. People were making up stories now, about how poor Derek—really, poor Derek?—just wanted to see his blood son after she had stolen him away all those years ago. Her stomach ached with the need to purge the wild speculation from her system.

  Mick wrapped an arm on the couch behind her shoulders, but nerves had her shrugging to knock his arm away. She was restless. She wanted her gun. She wanted to know who killed Derek and if it had anything to do with her case. The late news couldn’t happen fast enough. When the news ended, Peg and Jerry went up to bed, leaving Mick and Dez to stare blankly at the television screen.

  After the late night television monologue, things settled upstairs leaving the rest of the house quiet. Mick turned off the table lamp so only the flickering television lit the room. The tension buzzing on her skin immediately eased as the darkness enveloped her, banishing the feeling of exposure. Dez relaxed against Mick’s side. He took advantage and leaned down to nip at the skin behind her ear. “You okay?”

  “Peachy.”

  “What really went down today?”

  Dez turned the television volume up a few notches. “Exactly what I told Jerry.”

  He nibbled his way along her jaw as he questioned her, his voice a rough whisper. “Where’s your backup piece?”

  Pleasure spread from the deep tone of his voice, the nip of his teeth, from the way he knew her, knew she wouldn’t give up her weapon and wouldn’t have a problem lying about it to Jerry. “Downstairs. Dryer vent.”

  “That’s my girl.”

  It was a phrase, like good job, but the way he said it hit her in the solar plexus. Stole her breath. His girl. A yearning swelled in her chest. What would it be like to belong to Mick? Pleasure turned to hunger when he sucked on her lower lip.

  “The task force knows you’re up here,” he whispered.

  “How?”

  “Blake didn’t say, but if the task force knows—”

  “Sully knows,” Dez finished for him. Her pulse raced, from the news and a deeper emotion she didn’t recognize. The closeness to Mick destroyed her ability to think clearly. “Peg and Jerry are in bed.” She moderated her tone, trying not to give emotions a place to take root. “We don’t have to pretend to make out.”

  “We really are making out.” Mick brushed his lips across hers, soft and seeking. “Who do you think killed Derek?”

  “The list of people has to go back a dozen years. What did you find at the airfield?”

  “It wasn’t closed. The strip was plowed clean. So was the road leading to it.”

  She leaned away from his busy lips. “So anyone could get through?”

  “Anyone or anything.”

  Cold wrapped over her skin in an icy sheet. Did Sully know that they had Nate? The odds were good. He had excellent informants. “If Sully knows about Nate, knows we’re here, he could get in but we couldn’t get out.”

  Mick wrapped an arm around her, lending her his warmth. “That about covers it.” No lies between them, even ones that would ease the tension. Something bad was coming. “It won’t come tonight,” Mick said. The room went dark when he snapped a button on the remote, turning the television off. He lifted her off the couch with so little effort it sped her heart for a totally different reason. “They won’t come at us with the sheriff parked out front,” he assured her.

  Mick was solid; a mountain, supportive and strong when she needed both. The muscles in his chest and shoulders shifted and bunched as he carried her up the stairs like she didn’t weigh a thing. No woman could resist the zip of feminine thrill shooting through her system. When he dropped her on the bed, her thoughts scattered in a dozen directions. The desire to get lost in him stole her breath, but they hadn’t had a chance to debrief today. The danger to Nate, and them by extension was great, so as much as she wanted to believe they were safe for the night, she needed more than assurances.

  “What makes you so sure Sully won’t show tonight?”

  “Instinct.”

  They lived and died by intuition in the undercover world. A cop’s hunch held more weight than a psych profile in her book. Not a cop, Mick still had a specific skillset. He’d spent his entire adult life studying, tracking, and destroying drug dealers. He was usually spot on in his assessment. His sixth sense had saved them more than once, so she trusted him.

  “Sully’s too smart to come at us head on in a small town. Too messy, too many nosy neighbors. A stranger stands out around here, so he wouldn’t take on the sheriff in a direct assault. He’ll bide his time for a better opportunity.”

  “Unless the sheriff is in on the trafficking.”

  The idea of her aunt’s lover on a drug dealer’s payroll twisted in her gut, but it had to be considered. If drugs were flying through the airfield, someone in law enforcement would know. Dez took off her shoes and socks and tossed them across the room to land with a thud near the closet. “We don’t have any proof drugs are coming into the airfield.”

  “It’s on the DEA’s radar now. Blake made the call earlier today. If drugs are going in and out, they’ll ferret out the
details.”

  “You want to be the one, though,” she guessed. The need to eradicate drugs ran deep in Mick’s veins.

  “Goes without saying.” The mattress dipped around Mick’s bulk as he sat to pull off his boots and drop them at the foot of the bed. “If Jerry’s dirty, I’ll take him out.”

  Jerry didn’t seem the type to ease the passage of drugs to the street, but no one was exempt from corruption. She’d learned that from her father. If Jerry was dirty, she’d take him down, but— “We need to protect Nate first.”

  “Agreed.” A fire burned in Mick’s tiger eyes when he nailed her with a look. “No one touches the boy.”

  A knot loosened inside her. She’d worried about his commitment to protecting Nate. He’d wanted to use Nate as bait, but the look Mick had given her was proof positive. No way would he let the boy get hurt. “We have to assume Sully knows where Nate is. He’s killed to get his hands on his biological son. We’re in the way.”

  Mick twisted his hips and pulling a knee onto the bed to face her. “He’ll come quieter this time. The same tactics won’t work in a small town where nosy neighbors keep an eye on everyone. Especially after Derek’s murder.”

  “I don’t think the murder is related to Sully.”

  “Doesn’t matter. People are watching this house now.”

  Sully’s expertise was invisibility. He’d never been nailed for his crimes, because no one could ever place him at the scene, so the quiet, indirect approach felt right. Whether Sully was running drugs through here didn’t matter. He’d find a way to get into town, and when he came, he’d do it with more subtlety than the ambush in the city. “He’ll try to separate us from the kid. It’ll be swift, noiseless, and he’ll try to get out of town through the airfield before anyone knows he’s here.”