CLINT'S WILD RIDE

by Linda Winstead Jones

  Oliver spread his arms wide. "If you want to compete tonight or tomorrow afternoon or any time, you just let me know. You've still got what it takes. And the bit with Mary was great. The crowd went nuts when she jumped over the fence." His smile came back. "A little more advice from an old man who probably gives advice more than he should—if you find a woman who'll run in front of an angry bull for you, you might want to keep her."

  Brisco walked away before Clint could respond.

  When he disappeared around the chute, Mary walked to Clint, twisting a balloon animal as she walked, very casually, toward him. "What did he want?"

  Clint removed the check from his breast pocket and waved it at her. "I won last night."

  She looked surprised. "You did?"

  "It wasn't that bad a ride," he protested.

  "Oh, I know, it's just that…" She wrinkled her red nose. "If you start to win, you might decide maybe you should get back into bull riding, and I just couldn't take it. I swear, Clint, if you take up riding again it will make an old woman of me in a matter of weeks."

  "If you weren't already made up, I'd kiss you," he said.

  "Turned on by greasepaint?"

  "Apparently so."

  "You're just trying to change the subject. Why aren't you dressed?" She took in his jeans, perfectly ordinary shirt, cowboy boots. "You're not planning on riding again tonight, are you?"

  "No. I'll go back to the trailer and change once Dean and Boone arrive." He tugged at a red pigtail. "If I could've found a way to get them in early without people asking questions I would have, but this will do."

  "So you're not riding a bull tonight."

  He shook his head. "You manage to supply me with plenty of adrenaline, darlin'. For the rest of my days, you'll be the only wild ride I'll need or want."

  She looked unsure, but then Mary Paris had always been very suspicious. Of him. Of everything.

  Amber interrupted, dressed in her blue tights and obviously excited. She grabbed Clint's arm. "Oh, my God! This is awful. It's terrible! They found a body in the park across the street. The cops are all over the place! Somebody said…"

  Clint and Mary both ran for the exit, before Amber could say more.

  "It's another one," Mary said as they jogged side by side. "I should have gotten him in Birmingham." She shook her head. "Dammit."

  "We don't even know whether or not it's a victim of the man you're looking for," he said calmly.

  "It is," Mary insisted. "I feel it." She cursed beneath her breath as they ran across the street. Dean and Boone stood with the small crowd that had gathered around the crime-scene tape that cordoned off a section of the park, watching two officers scan the area for clues and make notes. The body had been covered by a sheet.

  On the opposite side of the protected area, a man in a dark suit walked under the yellow tape and flashed his badge at the officer who was keeping the crowd back.

  "Is that who I think it is?" Dean asked.

  "Yep," Boone said. "Let's go." Without looking back, he lifted the crime-scene tape and stepped under. Dean did the same, and so did Clint. Mary stood back for a moment.

  Did she not want to see the body? Or was she afraid that someone would see her talking to the police and suspect that she was more than a pretty clown?

  Dean flashed his badge when a uniformed officer tried to stop him. Long before they reached the body, Detective Luther Malone turned around to face them. He did not look pleased to see them as he studied them each in turn.

  Luther Malone and the Sinclair brothers had not met under the best circumstances. Shea had been missing at the time, kidnapped at gunpoint by an escaped convicted murderer. The man she was now married to. Ever since Malone had worked with the Sinclairs to prove Shea's kidnapper's innocence, he'd been more interested in not seeing the trouble-prone family again.

  "Great," Malone said in a low voice. "You three."

  "Nice to see you, too," Boone responded.

  "I wish I could say the same, but I get the feeling the three of you together always means trouble." He gestured to the body behind him. "I have a murder investigation going on here and you three are trampling my crime scene. What do you want?"

  "Can you tell us anything about the victim?" Clint asked.

  "Not yet," Malone said. "I just arrived."

  Behind him, Clint heard the officer shout, "Get back here!"

  Mary was too quick for him. She sidled up beside Clint. Dean looked back at the uniformed officer and said, "She's with us."

  Malone looked Mary up and down, taking in the baggy pants, the striped suspenders, the face paint. "Why am I not surprised?"

  "Special Agent Mary Paris." Mary offered her hand. "FBI."

  Malone stared at her hand a moment before shaking it and then quickly stepping back. "I see the bureau has relaxed its dress code."

  "I'm undercover," Mary said softly.

  Clint wanted to keep Malone fully informed and tell him that Mary was unofficially undercover, but he didn't.

  "If the victim is blond, between the ages of twenty-six and thirty-four and has been raped and either stabbed or strangled, then I can help you."

  Malone's expression changed subtly. "Have I caught a serial killer case?"

  "I think so," Mary said in a lowered voice.

  The detective nodded, then looked Mary in the eye. "Eleven o'clock tonight, Cleo's. We can swap info then."

  * * *

  Cleo's was an out-of-the-way club, but it was busy enough for a Saturday night. The place was packed. Mary glanced around the dimly lit club and finally found the homicide detective sitting in the back of the room, his back to the wall like a gunslinger.

  The four of them, all three Sinclair brothers and Mary, weaved their way through packed tables to reach Malone. They sat, a waitress appeared quickly and a few minutes later four beers and a cup of coffee for Mary were sitting on the large round table. When Clint tried to pay, the waitress waved him off with a laugh and a quiet "On the house, sugar."

  Mary didn't quite bristle.

  She sat between Clint and Malone, and as soon as the waitress was gone, the detective leaned in close. "I don't know if this is your guy or not. The victim matches the profile, but not all the details are consistent. There was semen, so DNA won't be a problem. There was also skin and a little bit of blood under her fingernails. She fought the guy, and she made him bleed."

  Mary's heart kicked. Was this another killer's work? Or had her guy made a mistake at last? "Have you ID'd the victim?"

  "Not yet. I have the lab working on it now, and they promised to call me the minute they have anything."

  Mary nodded. Was this another woman who would not be missed for a while? How long would it take to get an ID?

  "Can we be sure this is the same guy?" Clint asked.

  "A blonde killed a few feet from the rodeo," Boone said. "What are the odds?"

  "I have to agree," Dean said. "There are too many similarities to dismiss this one. You might have lucked out, Mary. Looks like you'll have something substantial to work with this time."

  Clint knew how important this was to her. Maybe that's why he took her hand, under the table where no one else could see, and squeezed it. She didn't let go, but instead threaded her fingers through his and continued to hold on.

  It was so hard for her to admit that she needed anyone or anything, but she needed Clint. She needed to know he was beside her, that he would be here for her, always … and she wanted to be here for him. She'd always been so insistent that she didn't need a man to protect her. It had never occurred to her that in a perfect relationship the partners would protect each other, no matter what.

  "Detective Malone," Mary began, but he silenced her with a raised hand. "Not now." His eyes went to the stage. Well, they went to the woman who was presently climbing onto the stage. Slinky black dress, cleavage that would make any woman jealous and any man sit up and take notice, and a come-hither smile that was definitely turned this way.

 
; Mary glanced at Malone's hand and noted the wedding ring. She barely contained a disgusted snort. He seemed like a nice guy, but really. She couldn't help herself. As the woman took a mike and a stool she leaned toward the detective. "What does your wife think about you hanging out in clubs for business meetings late on Saturday night and making eyes at half-dressed floozies."

  Malone glanced at her and winked. "That half-dressed floozy is my wife."

  "Oh." She sat back in her chair. Boone, who had heard the entire exchange, grinned wickedly. After a moment, he winked at her, too.

  Malone's wife sang a few numbers. She was good. Openly sexy, talented, glowing with apparent happiness. Because of Malone? Or because she loved to sing?

  When the set was over, she left the stage to hearty applause and walked to their table. Everyone scooted over and Malone pulled up a sixth chair. Beside him, of course. Quick introductions were made, though Cleo Malone obviously knew Boone. Before she sat down, she gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.

  "I hear you got married," she said to Boone as she sat between him and her husband.

  Clint laughed. "Everybody heard when Boone got married. That's what happens when you marry a senator's daughter."

  Boone didn't say anything, but his smile said it all. "You're still singing in the club, I see."

  "Every now and then. Maybe twice a month I get my friend Syd to sit with the baby and I come in and do a set or two." She shrugged, then leaned against her husband ever so slightly and smiled. Their shoulders touched. "Gets us out of the house."

  They seemed perfectly suited, horribly content, and Mary felt a moment of jealousy. Just a moment.

  They didn't discuss the case, not with Cleo sitting there. They talked about babies—the Malones' son Lucas and Boone's daughter on the way. There was talk about sleepless nights and teething, diapers and doctor's checkups.

  Malone's cell phone rang, and he checked the number on the caller ID before answering. The conversation was brief and to the point, and as he disconnected the call he looked at Mary. Again, he was all business.

  "We have an ID. The victim was arrested a couple of years ago for DUI, so her prints were on file."

  Mary waited. All eyes were turned to Malone.

  "Her name was Kristin Brisco."

  * * *

  Chapter 17

  « ^ »

  Messy. Messy, messy, messy. He placed his head in his hands and tried to disappear. He had always been so careful, and until now he'd been clean. Precise. There had been no mistakes, no clues for the police to study.

  Kristin had made him lose control, with a word, with a tilt of her head, and his usual caution had gone out the window. In the end he'd killed her in a blind rage. He hadn't even realized what he was doing until it was too late. He'd been forced to dump her body in the park and cover it with bushes and a fallen limb while he prepared another place for her. He was lucky her body had remained there for a few hours before it had been discovered.

  They would search here now. He had cleaned for hours, but if the police looked long and hard enough they would find the evidence of violence in the trailer. It wouldn't take them long to find the scratches on his chest and his neck, and then they would know.

  His first instinct had been to pack a bag and disappear. He could do it. He had money, and even though Kristin had goaded him into foolishness, he was still smarter than the police. He could pull it off. No one would ever find him.

  But if he disappeared now, they would know without a doubt. Maybe they wouldn't look at him for the murder. He needed to wait. A few days, at least. Maybe a few weeks. Then he could disappear quietly.

  He held Kristin's earrings in his hand, clutching them tight. They were all he had left.

  * * *

  It seemed like a travesty, to hold the rodeo on Sunday afternoon when Kristin Brisco's body was barely cold. Her ex-husband didn't seem to mind. He didn't even try to hide the fact that he didn't care.

  There was still the matter of the daughter. Tony, who knew the family well, said that Annie was staying with Kristin's mother. Would the girl continue to live with her grandmother, or would the father she barely knew become an important part of her life?

  Clint saw beyond Brisco's cool indifference. Oliver did care, he just didn't want anyone to know.

  Brett was more openly upset. Once Clint was almost sure the man had been crying. Made sense, he supposed. She had been family at one time, and she'd died a violent death. Anyone might be shaken.

  Tony seemed distant, distracted. There was no wide smile today. No smarmy flirtation.

  Eugene was in a foul mood himself. There hadn't been a single dirty joke told all day, and the usually jovial man scowled more than he smiled. Everyone who had once known Kristin Brisco was affected in some way by her sudden death.

  The police were all over the place, in the hours before the civic center would open to the public. Uniforms and detectives in suits, they asked questions of everyone.

  Oliver Brisco had been asked for a DNA sample, and he'd given it without hesitation. What else could he do? To refuse the request would only make him look guilty.

  Forty minutes before the doors were set to open, two new men arrived. They were dressed in nondescript dark suits, but something about them both screamed cop. The men walked straight for Mary.

  Clint headed in that direction. Mary didn't need anyone giving her grief. Why were they questioning her anyway?

  He knew, moments before he joined them, why they were here.

  "Nice look, Special Agent Paris," one of them said. The man tried very hard to hold his smile back, but he wasn't completely successful.

  Mary responded with a succinct "Bite me, Lewis." When Clint arrived on the scene, she made introductions. Her boss. Her partner. Clint's heart sank as he shook hands with the men. They were a part of Mary's job, her life. Something he was not now and would never be a part of. And she was so damned good at it.

  He couldn't ask her to give it up.

  * * *

  Now they believed her. The place was crawling not only with local cops, but with FBI agents. Mary felt that old familiar and very comfortable rush she always experienced when a job was about to come to a head.

  The rodeo proceeded smoothly. Sunday afternoon was a time for families. There were more kids in attendance than usual, and she stayed busy the entire time. At least Clint didn't do anything incredibly stupid today, like kiss a bull. Or ride one.

  When the afternoon's events were over, the place emptied quickly.

  This was it, she imagined as she walked back to the trailer. There wasn't any reason for her to remain here. They had hard evidence now. DNA. Blood and skin samples. He'd finally made a mistake.

  She no longer felt the need to be the one to arrest the man who'd killed Elaine. As long as he was caught and punished, that was enough. She couldn't bring her friend or any of those other women back.

  She couldn't bring Rick back either, no matter how long she punished herself for living after he was gone.

  "Mary."

  She turned and found Brett Brisco staring at her. Were those tears in his eyes?

  "Are you okay?"

  He shook his head but said nothing.

  She was supposed to meet Clint here by the trailer. Where was he? He didn't like having her out of his sight for more than a few minutes, though since they had a victim this weekend it wasn't likely there would be another. If they could catch the guy, there wouldn't be any more victims for him, ever.

  "I saw you talking to those policemen," Brett said in a soft voice. "Do you know them?"

  Why lie now? She had performed at her last rodeo, most likely. "Yeah," she said simply. "I do."

  "I thought so, when I saw you talking to them and laughing…" He shook his head. "They arrested Oliver," he said softly, as if to say the words aloud were offensive. "He had … sex with her, Friday before the rodeo. They found … evidence. I shouldn't be surprised. Kristin crooks her little finger, and Oliver comes
running, no matter what he says about hating her. It was always that way."

  "They arrested Brisco?"

  Brett nodded.

  Mary pursed her lips. Well, they could have waited until after the rodeo and let her in on the arrest! After all, it was her case, her baby, her pet project. So much for not caring who made the arrest.

  "You seem annoyed," Brett said softly.

  "I am, a little."

  "Did you like Oliver in a special way, is that why you're upset?"

  Since Oliver had been arrested, it didn't matter what Brett knew. Mary pulled off her wig and ruffled the strands of her hair. "I'm with the FBI," she explained. "I've been here undercover. I really wanted to be there when they arrested him!"

  He paled. "You're … a cop?"

  Mary smiled. "Yeah." Through and through, in her heart and soul, she was a cop.

  Brett turned away, dipped his head, and she saw it. An ugly red scratch ran down the side of his neck. She couldn't see the scratch when his head was held high, but when he bent his head the tail end of the scratch peeked out slightly from under his collar. He began to walk away.

  "Brett, wait up," she called, chasing after him. "I can see you're upset about Oliver's arrest. Will you run the rodeo while he's in jail? I mean, you are family."

  "What difference does it make?"

  "Just curious. I've really come to care about the people here."

  He stopped and turned slowly, pinned his eyes on her face. "Curious," he said in a lowered voice. "A curious cop."

  Mary's right hand traveled casually toward the large pocket in her costume, but before she could reach inside Brett's hand snapped out and manacled hers. He snatched the wig from her left hand and tossed it aside.

  "What gave me away?" he whispered.

  * * *

  Clint glanced back. "I told Mary I'd meet her five minutes ago. I don't like to leave her alone."

  Mary's boss, Josh Hayes, shook his head. "We have the guy, Sinclair. He's in custody. We have a DNA match to the semen. Oliver Brisco's the guy, Mary was right all along. And even if he wasn't, she's an FBI agent and can take care of herself. I promise you that. Now, I just have a few more questions for my report."