Deadly Bonds (A Detective Jackson Mystery)

by L. J. Sellers

  They didn’t look like coke users, but they were on topic. “I heard Grayson was loaded on coke when he died,” she gossiped.

  “No surprise to me,” chubby boy said. “Athletes aren’t saints, even if we do worship them.”

  “Hey, I’m no saint either.” Evans shrugged. “In fact, I’m hoping to score some C before I crash. Who do I talk to?”

  Skinny boy gestured down the hall. “Go get in line. I’ll be right here when you get back. I hope it makes you horny.”

  Evans made a kissing gesture and trotted into the hallway. At the end, two college-age women stood outside a bedroom door, chatting loudly about the next party they were headed to. After standing behind them for a minute, she learned they were only here to score cocaine, then would head to a frat party where the cute guys were. Evans tried to strike up a conversation but they weren’t interested.

  Waiting her turn made her nervous. She didn’t even know if the dealer behind the door was Marcos. Or if he would be alone. Or what to expect. She’d only worked Vice for a few months before transferring to Violent Crimes, and she wasn’t good at hiding and pretending. Her emotions tended to show up on her face, and it was her biggest weakness in interrogations. She just wasn’t cut out for undercover work.

  After another minute, a couple came out, both sniffing and wiping at their noses. The young women went in. Before the door closed, one of them said, “Hey, Marcos.”

  Yes. She was on target.

  The college girls seemed to take forever. Evans bounced on her toes, adrenaline kicking in. A guy came up behind her and said, “Girl, you don’t need any more. You’re already flying.”

  She willed herself to relax, turn, and smile. “I intend to rock this night, and I’m just getting started.”

  He leaned in and kissed her. Evans fought the urge to punch him. She stepped back and joked, “Hey, you could have pretended to ask my name.”

  “So tell me.”

  The door opened behind her. “Too late.”

  Laughing, the college girls rushed by. Evans stepped into the bedroom and closed the door. Only a lamp by the bed was on, and the small, dark room with piles of clutter added to her stress. Marcos was alone, cross-legged on the floor, and not much bigger than she was. But she was a cop, with a gun, handcuffs, and years of self-defense training.

  “Hey, what’s your pleasure?” Marcos smiled, his blue eyes not matching his dark, Afro-curly hair.

  Evans sat on the floor to be at his level. “I need some C to go. I’m meeting a guy later and I want to surprise him.”

  “My kind of surprise.” He reached for a zippered case on the floor. “How much?”

  “I’ve got sixty bucks on me. Whatever that will buy.” Evans dug out her wallet and cash.

  He laughed softly. “You’re too old to be new at this. But I like you, and I’ll give you a good deal.” He handed her an inch-size plastic bag with a tiny Ziploc seal.

  She slipped it into her pocket and passed him the cash. “Sweet. Where’s this from? Mexico?”

  “Why?” Suspicion in his voice.

  “Because I’m a cop and I want to know.” Evans pulled out her handcuffs. “Don’t make this hard on yourself. I’ve got patrol units right outside.”

  “Oh fuck.” He leaned back against the bed. “Why me? Who pointed the finger?”

  “We’ll talk at the department.” Evans stood.

  “I’ll be out of jail and dealing again before the night is over.”

  The little fucker had a surprise coming. “Get up and turn around.”

  Moments later, he was cuffed and she had his product case tucked into the back of her pants. She read him his rights, then said, “Let’s just get out of here quietly. I’ll be right behind you and no one needs to know you’re busted.”

  They were almost to the front door when a young man burst into the house and yelled, “Cops in the neighborhood! Let’s show ’em who’s in charge!”

  Oh fuck! Evans’ pulse raced and she pushed Marcos toward the door.

  The student crowd behind her broke into a roar and moved in mass. Someone shoved her and she slammed into her detainee. They stumbled through the door and down the steps. The crowd kept pushing, and she and Marcos kept stumbling forward toward the sidewalk. Evans tried to catch herself but couldn’t.

  Another crowd of students surged up the street, yelling and smashing bottles on cars.

  Marcos pulled free and yelled, “Get her! She’s a cop.”

  No! A fist slammed into her back and she went down to her knees. As she landed, someone kicked her in the head. Flares of pain blinded her. Before she could react, more fists began to pummel her upper body. She tried to reach for her weapon, but the fists kept coming, paralyzing her arms. She heard sirens, then another blow smashed into her head and everything faded.

  CHAPTER 29

  Saturday, September 7, 1:05 a.m.

  Jackson woke to the sound of his cell phone. He sat up, and for a moment had no idea where he was. The room came into focus. A hotel. Salt Lake City. What time was it? He glanced at the red digital numbers on the clock. Who was calling in the middle of the night? He grabbed his phone: Schak.

  “What’s going on?” He swung his legs to the floor, looking for pants.

  “It’s Evans. She’s been hurt.”

  No! A sharp pain as he sucked in a breath. “What happened?”

  “She was looking for a drug dealer and got caught up in one of those campus parties that turned into a riot.”

  A drug dealer? Why? The late hour of Schak’s call told him the situation was probably worse than it sounded. “What kind of hurt? She’s not dying, is she?” The words felt thick on his tongue, and he remembered the feel of her body next to his.

  “No, but she’s beat up pretty badly. I shouldn’t have called, but I guess I’m upset. Another officer was hit with a bottle and might lose his eye.”

  “Oh no.” They talked about the injured officer for a minute, but all he could think about was that Katie was safe in his house and not at one of those parties—and that Evans had been hurt. “Is the situation under control?” Jackson put in his earpiece and pulled on clothes as he talked.

  “We ended up with sixty-plus officers out there and had to use tear gas again, but it’s calm now. Two vehicles were torched.”

  “We need a curfew.” Even as he said it, he knew that wasn’t the answer. “Is Evans in the hospital?”

  “Yeah, I just left. They medicated her to make her stay overnight.”

  “That sounds like Evans.” He found his shoes. “I’ll catch an early flight and be in town by eight.” His voice sounded emotional even to himself, but he hoped Schak wouldn’t notice. “Gotta go.”

  A call to the airlines put him on a standby flight in four hours. Jackson started packing.

  His first impulse after leaving the Eugene airport was to drive straight to the hospital and see Evans. He hadn’t stopped thinking about her on the flight—except to occasionally worry about Benjie. If the Wagners were connected to the boy, how long would it take them to get here from Boise in an RV? Ten hours? Or had they lied about where they were?

  If Andra had been a surrogate mother for them, the child might not be biologically related to Andra. She could have stolen him from the Wagners. Which meant they were entitled to get Benjie back—unless Carl had killed Andra in his quest to reclaim his son. And if Susan knew about the crime and hadn’t reported it, then she wasn’t fit to be a parent either. So he drove home instead, just to lay eyes on the boy and give him and Katie a hug.

  They were both at the table eating breakfast when he walked in.

  “Hey, Dad.” Katie sounded casual.

  Just another morning for her—but having his daughter back in his kitchen made his world right again. He ruffled Benjie’s hair and gave Katie a one-armed shoulder hug. “I have to see a
friend in the hospital, so I’m taking off again after I shower. But stick around, I’ll be back soon.”

  Katie rolled her eyes. “Where would we go? It’s seven thirty in the morning.”

  After a shower, coffee, and toast, Jackson called Sergeant Dan Chadwell in Utah. “I need a favor. Can you get the license plate number and a description of the Wagners’ RV? They’re on the road right now, and I’d like to keep track of them for a while.”

  “It’s Saturday, but I’ll see what I can do. Have you thought about tracking their mobile phone?”

  “Yes, but I’m sure I’ll need a subpoena.”

  “I’ll get back to you on the license plate as soon as I can.”

  On the drive to the hospital, Jackson called Schak and asked him to track down the Wagners’ cell phone carrier to see if he could get a location on their phones. His partner made a mocking sound. “Fat chance. It’s the weekend, so even if we had the paperwork, it would still be tough.”

  “We have to try.”

  “You think Wagner is the father?”

  “Andra stayed with them when she was pregnant, and they were in the vicinity when she died.”

  “I think you’ve found our perp.”

  “I’ll work on a subpoena for his DNA this afternoon.” But that was a bigger long shot, with only circumstantial evidence to back it up.

  “We need something solid,” Schak said, echoing his thoughts. “Like a witness who saw him in the area.”

  “Then let’s find Wagner’s photo, and we’ll get out to Pershing again this afternoon.” His earlier sense of success was fading in the reality of building a convictable case.

  Evans was arguing with a nurse when he entered her hospital room. The woman in scrubs turned to him. “Tell her she needs to stay until the doctor releases her.”

  Jackson nodded but wouldn’t waste his breath. The nurse left and Jackson took in Evans’ details. A dark abrasion on her forehead had swelled to a golf ball–size lump and her eyes were bloodshot, but otherwise, her face hadn’t been beaten. A sense of relief washed over him. Yet seeing her in a hospital gown reminded him of how dangerous their job was.

  “Hey, Jackson. You almost missed me. I’m getting out of here as soon as they bring my clothes.”

  He stepped over and held her hand for a moment. “Schak said you’d been badly beaten, and I’ve been worried.”

  “I got lucky they didn’t ruin my face, but you should see my ribs and back. They kicked and stomped me until the tear gas rolled in. That’s why my eyes are bloodshot.”

  “Did they arrest the bastards who did this?”

  She gritted her teeth. “A few. After the tear gas, the crowd scattered pretty fast.” Evans slid her legs over the side of the bed, as if preparing to get up.

  “What can I do for you?”

  “Help me up, then go find my clothes.”

  He knew he should encourage her to rest, but there was no point. She was even more driven than he was. Jackson held out his hands and she grabbed them, then pulled herself to her feet. She looked up and met his eyes. For a moment, they stood inches apart, holding on and understanding each other like no one else ever would. In that instant, Jackson knew they were more than just friends. He leaned over and kissed her injured forehead, aching for more. She pushed up on her toes and kissed his mouth.

  Surprise. Intense pleasure. Guilt.

  Jackson finally pulled back. What did it mean? What should he say? “Don’t ever get hurt again, okay? I need you.” Should he have said love? No. That wouldn’t have been fair because he didn’t know what he wanted. And loving someone wasn’t the same as being in love.

  “Thanks for being here.”

  He had to move. To think. And get back to work. “I’ll have a nurse bring your clothes.” He pulled her IV stand over so she would have something to hang on to, then let go of her hands.

  Jackson took the stairs down, needing to keep moving. His mind raced as fast as his legs pounded. Why were these feelings surfacing now? Why hadn’t he fallen for Evans when they had first worked together—before he met Kera? Because raising Katie had been his priority, and Evans didn’t want that responsibility. She wouldn’t want to be Benjie’s mother either. Evans was a free bird—exciting and impulsive. Was that the real attraction? A relationship with no responsibilities? Did he really love Evans or just the idea of being with her?

  His thoughts turned to Kera, who would gladly take him and all his baggage, because her heart just kept expanding to make room. She was the right woman for him. Damn! He shouldn’t have kissed Evans. Or kissed her back, as he recalled. The act had been reckless and unfair, and he’d probably ruined their working relationship.

  If he didn’t get it together soon, he could lose everybody.

  CHAPTER 30

  Saturday, September 7, 8:35 a.m.

  Katie found Benjie an unopened toothbrush and watched him in the mirror as he scrubbed. Such a sweet kid. She remembered her dad showing her to brush up and down instead of back and forth. He’d taught her almost everything she knew that was important. Her mother had read to her as a kid and had been there after school—often drunk, she came to realize—but her father had taught her how to analyze everything and get along with people. Not that she would ever tell him. He was so damn self-righteous and uptight. Or at least he used to be. Since she’d left home, he’d finally started treating her like a person with free will.

  “Do you live here?” Benjie asked when he was done.

  They’d been through this once already. “I used to. I’m just staying for a while this time.”

  “Jackson is your dad?”

  “Yes.” It was funny to hear the little boy call her father Jackson—even though everyone else did. It made Benjie sound like a grown-up.

  He swung his arms in an excited gesture. “Can Jackson be my dad?”

  Oh sweet. But uncomfortable. “I don’t know. He’s trying to see if anyone is looking for you and misses you.”

  “No. Just me.”

  Well, that was sad. She knew what it was like to lose a mother. Still, she couldn’t let herself get caught up in it. She needed to get dressed, check her Facebook page, and text Trevor. “Let’s go watch cartoons for a minute.”

  “Mom says no cartoons.”

  Oh boy. This kid was stricter than her dad. Benjie had refused to eat cereal for breakfast too. “Just for a minute while I get ready.”

  “I want the park.”

  Again? She didn’t feel that great this morning. “Give me a minute, then we’ll go for a while.”

  He scooted for the living room. “I like Discovery Channel.”

  She tried to imagine her dad raising this kid and laughed out loud. Boy, would they be a pair.

  Half an hour later, with his little hand in hers, they walked down the front path. The day was bright and pretty, but the air was still a little cool. She needed a sweater. “We have to go back for a second.”

  She turned around, but Benjie resisted.

  “I want the park!”

  “We’ll go, sweetie. I just need to get a sweater. And we should probably find something warmer for you too.”

  She started toward the house, but he pulled away from her and ran toward the street. “I go by myself.”

  What a pain. Katie turned and started after him. A dark car on the street next to their driveway caught her eye. The driver’s door opened as she jogged down the footpath.

  A tall man emerged from the car and she instinctively picked up her pace. “Benjie! Come back!”

  The man—wearing a ski mask—charged toward the little boy.

  No! Her heart felt like it would burst as she sprinted across the grass.

  The abductor closed the gap in seconds, reaching Benjie just as she did. Katie scooped him up, but stumbled as she tried to stop. The man jerked her upright with o
ne hand and grabbed Benjie with the other.

  The boy screamed.

  Katie yelled too. “Uncle Derrick! Help! Call 911!”

  The man backhanded her face, stunning her. Tears welled, but she clung to Benjie with all her strength. For a moment, they engaged in a tug-of-war. But the abductor was too powerful. He pulled the boy free and ran toward his car.

  Footsteps pounded and Derrick charged past. As the man neared his open car door, Derrick grabbed him by the back of his jacket. The man spun and swung wildly with his free hand.

  She had to help! Katie rushed forward as the two men traded blows and Benjie struggled to get free.

  Coming in low from the side, she grabbed the boy and pulled so hard she feared she would break his bones. But she had him in her arms! Katie sprinted for the house, her lungs feeling like they would burst.

  She bolted through the open door and kicked it closed with her foot. She locked the door with one hand, then raced through the kitchen for the sliding door. Benjie wailed, but she held on. The back door was already locked. Good. What next?

  Uncle Derrick could be in trouble. Where was her cell phone?

  Arms aching from the weight of the child, she ran to her room. Her phone was on the bed. Katie put Benjie down, grabbed the cell, and dialed 911. She wanted to call her dad first, but she knew what he would say. While she waited for someone to answer, she stepped over to the window and yanked open the curtains.

  The dark car was driving away, and Uncle Derrick was on the ground. No! No! No!

  “What is your emergency?” The dispatcher was irritatingly calm.

  Katie gulped in air and struggled to find her voice. “Someone just tried to kidnap a little boy. And my uncle is hurt. We might need an ambulance.”

  “Take a deep breath and tell me where you are.”

  She did her best to be calm and answer questions, but when the call taker asked for a description of the car, Katie fought back tears. Why hadn’t she paid more attention? Or looked at the license plate? “It was a dark sedan. You know, like older people drive. And maybe some silver on it.”