Against the Wall

by Debra Webb

  “Trailing in the wake of the new senator, documenting her every move. Oh no.” She stopped and swore quietly, looking around the reception area. “Rose left, too. I hope she’s okay.”

  Dylan noticed the personal pictures were missing from the desk. “Camille is making plenty of enemies already.”

  Without a reply, Jana hurried to the elevators. When they reached her meeting on the first level of the underground extension, Dylan noticed the room number corresponded with a women’s restroom. “Funny,” he deadpanned.

  “You’d be surprised what gets done in the ladies room.”

  He kept his opinion to himself as she disappeared inside to meet her friend.

  Dylan used the time to check in with Claudia about the new senator, but nothing helpful was popping up. With so little foot traffic, he left the hand truck outside the restroom and paced toward the rotunda. Reading the directory near the main elevator, he noticed Gregory Atkins’s name. Keeping the hand truck and the restroom door in view, he strolled in that direction. Might be interesting to hear Gregory’s opinion on the failure of his hired help or even Dylan’s scraped knuckles.

  Dylan stopped at the sound of raised voices near Atkins’s office. He peered around the corner, surprised to see Maguire facing off with Atkins. Dylan backed up, taking a seat on one of the benches lining the hall, and pulled out his phone. He wanted to look distracted in case the men came this way or thought to check the security feed later.

  He sent another text to Claudia. Atkins and Maguire had been at Camille’s swearing in, but no one had told Jana. The reason had to be right under Dylan’s nose. He peered around the corner once more, discovering another man had joined Atkins and Maguire. None of them looked happy, but it seemed like Gregory was in the role of whipping boy. Why? Not that Dylan minded.

  Jana hadn’t reappeared. Dylan sent her a question mark text and she responded almost immediately with a smiley face. Needing to capitalize on the opportunity, he went for the hand truck. He would walk right by and, if they noticed him at all, he had the perfect excuse to be in this part of the building. Pulling up the camera on his phone, he turned the corner and raised the phone to his ear, faking a conversation. As he passed the office, he held down the button, taking a rapid succession of pictures of the angry trio.

  A few spare phrases drifted his way raising the hair on the back of his neck. “Let go? That makes her sympathetic.” Whiny Gregory.

  Maguire’s response wasn’t audible, but the third man’s deep voice was, “What does she know?”

  “Nothing,” Gregory said. “I told you...”

  Dylan couldn’t resist, he parked the hand truck just out of view and crept back, straining to catch anything helpful.

  “Forget her,” Maguire was saying. “Bullet dodged. We have other details to manage.”

  “She wasn’t supposed to be hurt,” Gregory said.

  “She hasn’t been,” the third man said. “I’ve done what I can, but Clayton had others in his pocket, we need to flush them out.”

  “What about the university guy?”

  “He’s no librarian,” Maguire agreed. “I’ll look for any connection to J.D.”

  “We need to take action,” the third man said. “Delays will ruin our chances in the next session.”

  “Relax.” Maguire again. “We can take care of this and it will all be over before anyone else interferes. I have too much depending on this to allow anything to screw it up.”

  Atkins snorted. “You mean like Camille finding out you’ve already wagered a big chunk of her money.”

  “Shut up,” Maguire snarled.

  It was a rare thing for Dylan to feel naïve. He knew politicians negotiated, but this sounded far more specific and terribly personal. Dylan’s phone vibrated. The text message informed him Jana was done with her meeting. Grabbing the hand truck he replied for her to meet him on the east side of the building.

  Just outside the east exit, he left Jana with the hand truck and jogged to his truck. She would never be out of his sight and she stood right next to the security desk. He wasn’t certain how to interpret what he’d heard, but it was obvious two of the people Clayton had considered friends—Maguire and Gregory—had become his enemies. No surprise there. An image popped into his head of Jana taking the oath of office, trusting those who’d helped her get there, and getting cut down in her prime.

  While he was back to believing the murder was politically motivated, he wasn’t at all sure that was progress.

  Either way, he had three of the players now. If the third guy in the debate with Maguire and Atkins knew Jana, chances were she knew him.

  Maybe the investigation was finally falling into place.

  Chapter Ten

  Jana waited near the hand truck, grateful for the brisk November breeze. Her head was still reeling from the things Tammy told her. Her first instinct was to get somewhere private and tell Dylan, but she’d stepped out of the restroom and he hadn’t been there. It had been an immense relief when his text message told her where to meet him. Given the way he’d raced off to get his truck, she wanted to know what was going on. Maybe he had news of his own.

  Would Dylan understand the significance of Tammy’s information? Camille had already made inroads, clearing a path to pre-file legislation her dad had been opposing for years. Jana knew one vote rarely made all the difference, but people would expect Camille to represent her late husband’s positions, especially early on. Her dad led by example. When he spoke people listened. Camille could wreck all of that—and hurt Texans in the process—assuming Tammy’s information was correct.

  A small voice, one that sounded remarkably like a child even in her head, wanted to scream that Camille wouldn’t do anything against her dad’s wishes. Yet, Jana stood here, proof to the contrary. All of her work effectively seized by an interim senator riding a power high, and Jana’s political aspirations temporarily derailed.

  What were she and Dylan going to do? If she went to the press, she’d quickly be labeled as the bitter and ungrateful stepdaughter—particularly in light of the fact that she hadn’t even shown up for the swearing in. Jana realized then and there exactly why she hadn’t been invited. She shook her head.

  While this new side of Camille made her suspicious, Jana still couldn’t see a clear motive for her stepmother to commit murder. As Senator Clayton’s wife, she had status and power. In certain circles, she wielded more influence than her husband. They’d been one of the top Texas power couples. Jana simply didn’t view the ridiculous rumors of depression and marital trouble as sufficient motive. And why move forward with legislation her father would oppose? What did Camille stand to gain that was worth killing for?

  Spotting Dylan’s truck, Jana started that way, thinking maybe her dad wasn’t the only victim here. He’d warned her things might get ugly. What if Camille was a pawn in a bigger game? What if today’s odd behavior was her attempt to keep Jana out of the line of fire?

  “Yeah, right.” She wasn’t gullible enough to believe anything that nice about her stepmother anymore.

  Dylan’s tires squealed as he rocked to a sudden stop. He jumped out of the truck, shouting, but Jana couldn’t make out his words.

  The next thing she knew something hard plowed into her back. The sidewalk rushed up to meet her as she fell forward. Her briefcase was wrenched from her hand. She glimpsed a blur of dark jeans, sneakers, and hoodie.

  Dylan ran toward her and she waved him off. “Stop him! I’m fine!”

  She watched, a little awed as Dylan’s long legs churned in pursuit of the mugger. Her arm stung, her knees were skinned, and her hip would have another bruise to add to the first.

  Jerry, her friend in security, rushed to help her back to her feet. “Are you hurt, Ms. Clayton?”

  “Only my pride.” Her heeled boots were scraped worse than her knees, one heel was broken. They’d been her favorite pair. Her temper lit like match. “Damn,” she muttered. “It took me an entire season to break t
hese in.”

  Jerry chuckled. “Was there anything sensitive in the briefcase? Do we need to file a report?”

  “No. Just some of my personal things from the office.”

  “I’m really sorry you’re struggling, Ms. Clayton. I hope someday, when you’re feeling better, you’ll be back to work with us.”

  Though she wasn’t at all sure what he meant by struggling, she appreciated his kind words. “I’ll certainly try.”

  “Why don’t I load these things for you?” Jerry offered.

  Jana nodded. “I would appreciate the help.” She glanced in the direction Dylan had disappeared, and then at the growing crowd watching her. She wished she had disappeared with him.

  “Jana, my word.” Gregory pushed his way through the crowd and started fussing over her. “What happened?”

  “I was mugged.” She had no patience for the way he pawed at her, insisting on helping her walk. More annoying, he was leading her away from Dylan’s truck. She stopped short, taking off her boots and going in the direction of her choice.

  “You should file a report.”

  “And say what?” Her frayed patience snapped. “A guy in a hoodie stole a high-end leather briefcase. The pictures inside are probably long gone. He’ll hawk the briefcase or give it to a girlfriend.”

  Gregory’s mouth fell open. “That’s cynical.”

  “That’s fact. I didn’t see anything but dark clothing. It happened too fast.” Purse on her shoulder, ruined boots in her hand, she boosted herself into the passenger seat of Dylan’s truck. She looked past Gregory to smile at Jerry. “Can I just wait here?”

  “Of course,” Jerry assured her.

  “Thank you.” She knew they all expected her to dissolve into a weeping puddle of incompetence. While it would lend credence to Camille’s decision to let her go, she couldn’t quite manage it. Oh, she was overwhelmed, upset to the point where tequila might be more effective than wine, but she refused to have her breakdown in public. Not without Dylan.

  She would analyze that small epiphany later. Or maybe she already had. After all, she’d already basically announced to Dylan that she hoped to get involved with him. Evidently, her brain had been on some sort of high after that one kiss. He hadn’t mentioned her rash statement or the kiss. If she was lucky, he’d forgotten already. A man like Dylan Parker probably had multitudes of female conquests to his credit. Having an awe-struck client fall for him likely wasn’t unusual.

  To Jana’s consternation, Gregory hovered while Jerry attempted to urge the remaining bystanders away. Dylan loped back into view and Gregory abruptly drifted over to join Jerry’s efforts. Jana didn’t really care as long as he left her alone. He really was whiny.

  Dylan’s shirt was damp with sweat, but that was the only sign of his effort to retrieve the briefcase he clutched firmly in one hand. She wanted to cheer. She wanted to hug him... no, she wanted to kiss him again. His sunglasses blocked his eyes, but the smirk on his face gave her the impression he wasn’t much more than irritated with the situation—until he saw her.

  His mouth thinned into a grim line. “You’re hurt.” He moved into the vee the open door made and pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head.

  She felt that piercing blue gaze cruise over her body and managed to shake her head. “Not really. You found the briefcase.”

  “I recovered it,” he corrected, handing it to her. “The kid got away.”

  “Doesn’t matter.” She opened the flap, double-checking that everything was still there. “Thank you,” she said, gratitude making the words soft.

  His hand trapped hers, the friction from his rough palm making her shiver. “What do you need?”

  She didn’t understand it, but he steadied her in a way no one else ever had. “A cold beer and a change of clothes,” she said, pleased when he smiled. “Then we should probably have a memorial for my boots.”

  “They were nice.” He eased back and closed her door.

  She watched him exchange a few tense words with Gregory before he got into the driver’s seat. “What was that all about?”

  “Communication,” he said, his voice gruff.

  “Gregory’s harmless.” They’d been over this last night.

  He shifted in his seat, checking the mirrors as they waited for a traffic light to turn green. “How did your meeting go?”

  “Not well.” She watched as he checked the mirrors a second time in as many seconds. “You think we’re about to be ambushed again.” A muscle jumped in his jaw. He wouldn’t look at her. “Dylan?”

  The light changed and he moved forward carefully. “Can you blame me?”

  “You’re angry.” Since the moment he’d walked into the coffee house, he’d been calm, almost too casual about her situation. Oh, he’d been irritated, with her mostly, and suspicious of everyone, but she’d never seen him like this.

  “Not at you.”

  “That makes two of us, I guess. I’m somewhere between angry and shocked.”

  He glanced her way, and then resumed his assessment of their surroundings. “The meeting?”

  “I’m told Camille plans to support legislation that Dad’s been fighting for years.”

  “Was that legislation at a critical stage when your dad was killed?”

  “Not that I’m aware of. Maybe there was something in a committee.” It frustrated her that she couldn’t be sure.

  “He was keeping you out of whatever this is.”

  “True,” she allowed. “At any rate, Dad refused to lighten the regulations on the oil industry in Texas. The Clayton family has oil running through its veins, but he insisted the environment was far too important to risk. He spent thirty years vigilantly safeguarding those strict regulations. His example prompted others to stand united on the issue. She’s going to undo all that in one fell swoop. Without him to stay strong, there will be plenty of others who cave.”

  “Who knew about your meeting this afternoon?”

  “You and the friend I met with.” She resisted the urge to look out the back window at whatever held Dylan’s attention. “Unless we missed a bug or they tapped my phone.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  He spent more time with his eyes on the rearview mirror than looking through the windshield. It was making her nervous. “Are we being followed?”

  “Probably,” he said. “But I have a plan. First, what aren’t you saying?”

  Jana hesitated, pretty sure Dylan wouldn’t approve of her alternate theory. “There might be another explanation for Camille’s bizarre behavior.”

  “I’m listening,” he prodded.

  She braced for a negative reaction. “Everything today was so out of character for her. What if she’s trying to protect me?” Even as the words echoed around them, she understood the scenario wasn’t plausible.

  He didn’t look at her, but she could practically hear him grinding his molars to dust. He made the turn into her neighborhood and drove right up to her house in utter silence. When he’d parked the car and cut the engine he shifted in the seat, tossing his sunglasses onto the dash. “You really can’t think badly of anyone can you? It just isn’t in you.”

  “That’s not true,” she protested. But she lost her voice as he traced the small scrape on first one knee and then the other with his finger.

  “The mugger?” Dylan asked. “Was he just some misunderstood kid doing his holiday shopping the hard way?”

  “You’re not funny.”

  “Good.” He pulled the key out of the ignition. “Because I’m not joking. You’re in real danger, Jana, and I don’t think it stops when you leave the capitol.”

  Dylan waited for her to respond. It was clear his warning was sinking in. “You know the people around you better than I do. But that makes the reverse just as true.”

  She bit her lip and he worried tears were inevitable, yet when she faced him her green eyes were clear. “You’re saying whoever is behind this knows how to play me.”

  “They do. Un
til you change it up.”

  “I did change it up. I did the unexpected when I hired you.”

  “That did throw a wrench into the works.” Five minutes on the Internet would prove he wasn’t with the university library. “Which is probably why they bugged your house and office.”

  “And the shootings and the mugging were direct attacks?”

  “I believe so.” Another roar of anger sizzled through him as he remembered her sprawled across the pavement. “All were well-timed, too.”

  “I’m trying Dylan.” She sucked in a breath. “I’m trying to see people differently but...”

  “Relax.” He felt her body trembling through the seat. “Breathe. You’re doing fine.” He took a deep breath, setting the example. “I’ll get you through this.”

  “Okay.”

  He didn’t hear much confidence. “Let’s forget it all for tonight.” There was plenty more he needed to talk to her about, like the conversation he’d overhead in the corridor while she had her ladies room meeting and the thugs her ex-boyfriend had hired. Dylan couldn’t do that to her tonight. She’d been through too much today already. She needed a break. Tomorrow was soon enough to dump that news into her lap.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Banging our heads against this isn’t working,” he said, relieved when she nodded an agreement. “The best cure is a night on the town.”

  Her hands went to her hair. “You can’t be serious.”

  “It’s what normal people do, Jana. They go out, have a few beers, and trash-talk the boss who did them wrong.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Trust me,” he said. “I’ll unload your things while you get cleaned up, and then you can show me the best pool hall in Austin.”

  “Pool?”

  “It’s a rebel’s game,” he teased. “Your future constituents will love you for it. Unless you have a better suggestion?”

  She studied him for what felt like half a lifetime. “Maybe I do.” On that cryptic comment, she hopped out of his truck, gathered her boots, purse, and briefcase and headed for the house.

  He performed the usual walk through before letting her loose inside. Then he grabbed two boxes and followed her. She aimed toward her bedroom and he tried not to think about what she was doing as he deposited the boxes into her formal dining room.