“I seriously doubt that.”
“He’s just protecting his territory.”
The animal could become king of the ranch as far as she was concerned.
When they were about fifteen feet away from the creature, it lowered its head and settled back down into its sunny spot, but it kept looking in their direction. Evie had the feeling it had no intention of going anywhere. It wasn’t like they’d scared it out of their path, but he’d definitely scared her out of his.
“You okay?” he asked, turning and placing both hands on her shoulders. His expression and tone were concerned.
“Yeah, I think so. But I’ve seen enough. Ready to go? I could really use a corn dog. Or pizza. You want some pizza?”
He stared at her, a tiny smile on his lips. “You really are scared of snakes?”
“Um…”
“I didn’t think you were afraid of anything, Evie Fleming.” He shook his head. “You go up against a serial killer, you fight with a mugger, but a three-foot-long animal who hisses at you sends you running?”
Glaring, she replied, “Everybody has one weakness, okay? My stupid brother dragged me to see Snakes on a Plane when we were in high school. I never recovered.”
“You have a brother?”
She nodded. “Two actually, one older and one younger.”
“Wow, so do I. One seventeen minutes older, one six years younger.”
Smirking, she said, “Yeah, I’ve heard.”
“To think I didn’t know that about you.”
“There are plenty of things you don’t know about me. But that’s okay, I don’t know a whole lot about you either.”
“Except what the entire world has seen in every tabloid on the planet since I was six years old.”
“But then almost nothing since you left Hollywood when you were, what, twelve? Thirteen?”
He nodded.
She had always assumed the death of his only sister was what had driven the boys out of Hollywood. Although he had only mentioned Rachel once or twice, she suspected the bond had been very tight and that none of the brothers had ever truly gotten over the loss. Her brothers were a pain in her ass sometimes, but she didn’t even want to think about losing them.
“I don’t think cops rate tabloid covers.”
“Not unless they’ve done something really awful,” she said.
“Thankfully I’ve avoided that.”
“But there are a lot of things I don’t know about you after you left acting.” Licking her lips, she went on. “Maybe we’ll start letting each other in on some of those things.”
He met her eyes and she knew he heard her unasked question. She wasn’t flat-out saying he should just tell her whatever it was he didn’t want to get out about Harry Baker. But she’d like to think there might be a chance for them to someday be more open with each other.
Frankly, it was about time she was open with him about her side project. And she would be. Tomorrow.
“We’ll see, Evie,” he finally replied. “Now, you ready to go, great snake chicken?”
“Oh shut up. Everybody’s got an Achilles’ heel. You watch for the snakes. If we see a tarantula along the way back, I’ll take care of it.”
He visibly shuddered before he could stop himself.
She laughed out loud. “You’re scared of bugs?”
“Tarantulas aren’t bugs. Haven’t you heard? They’re mutant creatures from another planet.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And once they’re all here, a sun flare is going to blow them all up to the size of swing sets. There’ll be intergalactic wars and we’re gonna need Will Smith and Jeff Goldblum, and we better just hope water burns their skin.”
Her laughter turned into a peal of giggles. He managed to maintain a serious tone despite his ridiculous words.
“Swing sets?” she asked, that one image having popped foremost in her mind. “Why the size of swing sets? Why not cars or something?”
“Because Reece once threw a spider down my shirt when we were on the swings. And that’s when I learned their whole plot.”
Her giggles continued.
“I’ve been watching for swing sets outside of playgrounds everywhere I go.”
“You said they’d be the size of swing sets, not that they’d disguise themselves as them.”
“It is a perfect disguise, you have to admit. All those legs.”
“I think if every spider blew up into the size of a swing set, they wouldn’t be too worried about being disguised. The secret would pretty well be out.” She smiled brightly at him, knowing he’d intentionally teased her out of the snake mood, not to mention the darkness of what they’d come here to do. And it had worked. Damn, the man was likable. “So we have a deal. You watch for snakes, and I’ll watch for spiders.”
He stuck out a hand. She shook it. And they grinned at each other.
“Just remember,” he said once they let go. “Spiders come in all sizes, and you agreed to take care of them. I threw up in the theater when that crazy-ass one rolled Frodo up in that web, so if we see him, just so you know, I’m running my ass off.”
“And if I see a snake as big as the one in Anaconda, I’ll be standing on top of your head to get away from it.”
“Okay, ’cause I know you have had enough of these motherfuckin’ snakes on this motherfuckin’ trail.”
“Ack! Don’t ever quote that movie to me again.”
They started walking, and she soon heard him mumble, “Snakes. Why did it have to be snakes?”
“Would you please shut up? If not, I am going to have to feed you to the giant spider from the woods near Hogwarts. I think she’s even bigger than the one Frodo got webbed by.”
On that note, with the darkness of the project fading away, and a new kind of warmth between them, they began heading back toward the road. Their strides matched, their arms swung together, their hands almost brushing. He was actually whistling, and she knew that beneath those dark sunglasses, his warm eyes were undoubtedly twinkling to rival the stars in a kid’s lullaby. It was the most relaxed and comfortable they’d been with each other. The attraction that always lurked beneath the surface was still there, but now it wasn’t concealed beneath tension, fear, or anger. It was light and playful, and she liked it very much.
And then his phone rang.
Rowan pulled it out, glanced at the name, and mumbled, “My brother.”
His steps slowed, but between one and the next, he moved farther to the left side of the path. Farther away from her. The smile was gone, the mouth was tight, and a veil of tension dropped between them like a blanket had fallen from the sky to drape him.
Evie suddenly found herself glad for Rowan’s sunglasses.
Because she had no doubt that twinkle was gone.
Chapter 6
This is your lucky day, Franklin. I guess one of your scumbag druggie pals came up with the money to post your bail.”
Frankie P. Lee, known on the streets as Firecracker, smiled and nodded as a fat, swaggering pig let him out of the cell he’d been locked in for four nights. He’d been waiting for this ever since the motherfucking judge had set his bail at two hundred and fifty grand.
He’d known somebody would bail him out. And he knew who had done it. Mighta taken the dude all week, but he’d obviously gotten the money here first thing this morning, because it was barely sunup and Frankie was soon gonna be a free man.
An hour later, after he’d walked out of jail and a couple of blocks away from the federal courthouse, he got a burner phone and confirmed his suspicion with a text. It’s me. Took you long enough, boss man.
The answer came fast. UR lky I got you out. U scrwd up bad.
Screwed up? Shit, man, he didn’t screw up. How was he supposed to know an off-duty cop would show up? Toldja we shouldn’ta done it so close to LAPD.
Took only a second or two for the reply. Dude musta been waitin’ by the phone for him to reach out.
Had to look rndm.
>
Yeah, yeah, so the guy who’d hired him had said.
They dnt cnnect me?
Nah. Didn’t have nothin on me for them to trace. Dumped cell before. Cash stashed.
U dnt talk?
He thought about how to answer. Then thought, Screw it, and typed, Not yet.
This time the text back didn’t come so fast. He started walking up the street, wondering if he’d made a mistake. Maybe he shouldn’ta pushed the guy. But damn, the fucker wouldn’t listen when Frankie told ’im they needed to find someplace else to take the bitch.
A place that wasn’t a couple o’ blocks from the downtown home of the cops woulda been easy. The plan was good. Drag the bitch into the alley. Do what he wanted. Finish her off. Make it look like a street crime. Collect some serious money.
Fuckin’ cop showed up and ruined everything.
Firecracker rubbed the back of his hand where the woman had scratched him. If she hadn’ta put up a fight, he’d probly’a gotten her behind that gate before the cop saw anything.
Bad luck. Super bad.
Maybe it was his own fault, not ’cause he did anything wrong, but for trusting a dude he knew better than to trust.
Well, that wasn’t gonna happen no more. He typed out another text. I ain’t goin’ down for dis and ain’t takin’ you down neither. But you gotta get me outta town. I need cash.
I kno. Got ur bus ticket. Cash. New ID.
Firecracker breathed a sigh of relief, knowing he shouldn’ta worried. The dude was a pro. He had everything handled, just like he said he would when he hired Frankie to do this job.
Fan-fuckin’-tastic.
Dude responded with a warning. Nvr com back.
Got it. Where it at? He suspected he knew, but waited for the answer.
Same place. Bus at 8 tonit. 7th St.
Just like he figured. Where’m I goin?
Who cares? Jst go.
Where?
The guy who’d hired him, bailed him out, and was how gettin’ him outta town with money and a new identity finally answered. Florida.
Awesome. Far away, still sunny. He could dig that. Bitches prob’ly be wearin’ bikinis and shit on them Florida beaches. Already too cold here.
Cool.
We good?
Whistling as he walked down the street, he typed one more message. Yeah, we good.
Hopping on a city bus, Firecracker headed for Boyle Heights, knowing right where he was going. They hadn’t done any of this in person. Firecracker had gotten a burner phone and all the plans were made over text. They’d arranged a drop spot for a first payment in an old abandoned house in the Heights, one of a shit-ton of flophouses in the area. Rich people were buying them places up and doin’ that gentrification shit, but it was slow goin’. Meantime, there were lots o’ old, abandoned buildings you could crash in, or use for drop spots for drugs, money, whores, just about anything you wanted.
Getting off the bus, he walked the couple of blocks to the house where he’d picked up the first wad of money—a deposit—a week ago. Boss man had picked the place, and a thousand bucks cash had been waiting right under an old bathroom sink, as promised.
His new ID and even more money than that just better be in the same place today.
Reaching the street and turning the corner, Firecracker frowned to see a ragged old woman pushing a shopping cart up the cracked, weedy driveway of his place.
“Where you think you’re goin’, old whore?” he called.
The woman looked at him and hurried up into the house.
Motherfuckin’ cow better not even go near that bathroom or Frankie Lee was gonna be leavin’ behind a pile of rags and old bitch bones in that house when he left.
He picked up his pace, jogging and then running to the house. Hunks of glass broke beneath his booted feet as he stomped through the knee-high weeds in the yard. Reaching the front door, he kicked it open and bellowed, “Old woman, this is my place.”
“No,” the bag lady whispered. “No, please.”
“Get the fuck out of here.”
“Don’t want no trouble,” she said.
He followed the sound of her voice and stepped into a hallway leading to the back of the house. To the bathroom. To his shit.
She was standin’ right there, shakin’ in her taped-together sneakers, her raggedy dress almost fallin’ off her.
“Get away from that bathroom and get out this house, old woman, or I’ma put you out.”
His fists bunching at his sides, he walked toward her, each long step slamming hard onto the cracked and rotting wood floor. The old woman didn’t race toward the back door, as he figured she would. She looked around all scared and shit, like a rabbit with no place to go.
Then she did the one thing he’d told her not to. She jumped into the bathroom.
Firecracker charged forward, but he didn’t get two steps before a massive explosion rocked the entire house.
Heat roared outta the bathroom and hit him in the face. He couldn’t hear a fuckin’ thing and felt shit hittin’ him, stabbin’ into his skin. He saw nothin’ but smoke and flames and bits and pieces of old woman splattered on the walls.
“A trap, a trap, you motherfucker, a trap,” he muttered as he staggered back toward the front door. He fell onto the ground out front, coughing and choking.
People came outta a couple of houses; the explosion had made the street shake like an earthquake. Still on his back, he shimmied away from the building, feeling bits of burning ash on his front, on his face, in his hair. He smacked at it, killing the sparks. But he also kept backing up, not knowing if that piece of shit had planted more traps.
Boss man wanted him dead. Dead so he couldn’t testify about who’d paid him to do the hit on the writer. And he’d set a trap to take him out. A fuckin’ bomb.
If the old woman hadn’t gone into that bathroom, Frankie woulda set it off and it’d be his guts and brains splashed all over the burning walls of that place.
Fury and fear raced through him. He wanted the double-crossing prick’s throat between his hands, wanted to rip him apart. He just wished he knew where to find him.
What if he’s here, watchin’?
He might be. Might be hidin’ around the corner to make sure his trap worked.
Don’t got no knife, no gun.
He usually carried a blade, but the cops hadn’t given that back this morning.
He was hurt, unarmed, lying out here in broad daylight.
And somebody wanted him dead. Somebody who didn’t have any problem with a woman getting beaten up and killed right in downtown LA. Somebody who knew how to set bombs.
Firecracker rolled onto his stomach to put out the tiny bits of spark and flame. He got to his knees and then to his feet. A woman in a bathrobe yelled something from across the street. He couldn’t hear her; his ears were fucked up.
He didn’t call for help or even try to answer, much less wait for the ambulance or the fire department. He just started to stagger away from the house that was now really in flames, burning up the walls, the floors, the old woman, and any evidence that Frankie had picked up cash here from his client last week.
Gotta go, gotta get outta here.
Dude who did this shit was crazy. Had to be. You don’t go blowin’ up houses in an LA neighborhood. Guy planted a bomb to keep Frankie’s mouth shut. He found out Frankie survived, he’d be tryin’ again.
His legs was shakin’, he hurt all over, he could barely hear.
But he could run. And he wasn’t gonna stop runnin’ until he was far away from that psycho who’d hired him to kill that writer.
* * *
Rowan was supposed to pick Evie up at 8:00 a.m. Friday for a meeting she’d arranged with a retired detective—he didn’t know the reason for the meeting, assuming she’d fill him in on the way. But knowing traffic would be a bitch, he’d left Reece’s place super early and had shown up on her street at 7:30. He’d thought about just waiting in the car but didn’t want to freak out
her neighbors, who had already bitched to her about the reporters and strange cars lining the block the other night.
Parking in front of her small house, he reminded himself to be cool today, totally professional. He could do it, just like he had yesterday during the hours they’d spent at Spahn Ranch, at least up until the snake incident.
Before that, though, they’d hiked, they’d explored, they’d stopped for her to take notes and pictures and compare places to old pics from the 1960s when a “family” named Manson had called the place home. She’d given him a history lesson on the case that he hadn’t particularly wanted to hear.
He’d been Mr. Police Escort. Mr. Representative of the LAPD. Mr. Lapdog.
Not Mr. Interested, Attracted, and Horny.
It had taken every molecule of willpower he had, but he’d done it.
He’d been polite, sure. He hadn’t once grabbed her and kissed the taste out of her mouth like he wanted to. The few times they’d touched, when he took her arm to steady her on a climb or something, he’d let go as soon as possible.
Yay for him, gold star and a merit badge for the Boy Scout who’d ignored his hard dick and his watering mouth and had been totally cop and not at all seducer.
Not, he suspected, that she needed to be seduced. He saw the way she looked at him. The attraction was mutual. He was the only one making sure they didn’t do anything about it.
Damn it, why did she have to be so single-minded about that book and the cases in it? Was it too much to leave out one story of one murder in a city with a long and storied history of them? When the tension had eased and they’d actually talked, joked, and laughed together, when they talked about their families, he’d almost asked her. Almost let it come up.
And then Reece had called. When Rowan saw his brother’s name on the screen of his cell phone, he’d felt a stab of guilt, as if Reece had been watching, wondering why the hell Rowan was letting down his guard with “the enemy.”
Not that Evie could ever be his enemy. Oh God, no.
But if she went ahead with the focus on Baker, he wasn’t sure he could call her friend, either. And definitely not lover.
Somehow, he’d managed to maintain a balance between the aloof escort and the casual acquaintance that evening when they stopped at a Mexican restaurant for dinner. She’d had a margarita; he’d had water. She’d talked a lot; he’d mumbled as few answers as he could. Her soft laughter was all he could hear in the crowded place, while he’d probably looked like a humorless jerk as he tried to maintain distance. He wouldn’t allow himself to let down his guard and just enjoy being with the woman. He kept coming close to that before he was yanked back to reality with a reminder, like the calls from both his brothers earlier in the day, at different times, that had been veritable slaps upside the head when he started lowering his guard.
Wanting You Page 12
