by R. T. Wolfe
A cool breeze rushed between them as he pulled away. "Lynx is not only waiting for your call, he's sitting by his front door with his keys in one hand and his cell in the other."
Refusing to give him the satisfaction of rolling her eyes, she opened her door. "Lynx is harmless. I can handle him."
If Duncan was nothing else, he was a gentleman and took the door handle, waiting patiently for her to disappear fully in the car. "Dream about me," he said before leaning in to kiss her, then shutting her door.
Duncan's request wasn't random, she realized, as she maneuvered down the long, winding drive. He was concerned for her in more ways than one. He was the first man she'd spent the night with—an entire night—in years. The memories of her past didn't taunt her by day. But she had little control of her dreams.
You never get over something like that. Duncan's words reverberated in her mind as her car climbed onto the highway. Look who's talking, she thought. She'd caught him more than once using swimming as a way to drown out the lifetime of sounds and sights that permeated his mind.
He had a photographic memory, eidetic he taught her was the technical term. It was much of what brought them together in the first place. She was suspicious of him, she remembered, as she cruised along Highway 2. He recalled details like he was reading them from a textbook. She thought he had rehearsed them. Had something to hide. Then, his sight became invaluable. He was able to memorize scenes, see details others missed. He was the one who noticed the telling scars on the first dead girl discovered only twenty miles south of Northridge at the Seneca Casino.
At first, she thought his memories were a gift. But crystal clear memories of learning your parents died in a plane crash at the age of four were not a gift. Neither was remembering witnessing the beloved aunt who raised him like a son as she was blindsided with a baseball bat. The time when he was eight years old and was used as bait in the attempted murder of said aunt. Memories of his time in the desert. An overwhelming sense of sadness encompassed her each time she thought of it.
Her dreams were something altogether different. They were embarrassing and sometimes dangerous. She'd woken to find Duncan holding his chin from one of her mindless uppercuts. Never once had he shown a desire for her to leave his bed. He loved her. Duncan Reed loved her.
Shaking her head, she remembered Eddy. "Damn," she said as she pulled over to call him.
* * *
Duncan tried to put the finishing touches on his Christmas gift for his aunt and uncle. In his mind, they'd earned it. They put up with him for years, never once showing frustration with his exaggeratedly rebellious and dangerous teenage years. He owed them his life. Literally.
His morning of virtual meetings had gone smoothly. The lighting in his studio was ideal at this time of day.
But his head wasn't in his work, and he was reluctant to paint when his head wasn't in it. Where were Nickie and her cello? Nothing worked better to clear his mind. Oh, right. She was with her ex. That was a petty thought, he knew. He trusted her. But Eddy was a different story. She was right, though. She could handle him.
He still wanted to break something.
Instead, he opted to move to his computer. He was anxious for his house to be finished. The place he'd been renting was becoming tiresome. He plopped his shoes on the furnished ancient desk and set his laptop on his thighs.
The price of silver was nearing a year-low. He put in an order to balance his portfolio and sold some bonds. A few of the plots of land he'd been keeping an eye on had dropped in price, but not to the amount he had in mind.
His appointment with the governor's personal assistant wasn't until Tuesday. Nothing much he could do about him until after that date. The man had been present at the press conference announcing Nickie's return home at the age of fifteen. His name was on her transfer papers when she moved to the Northridge Police Department as Captain Nolan's assistant. Coincidence? Not likely. Was Duncan going out of his mind? Was he suspicious of anything that had to do with this woman? Definitely, and he wondered if this was what happened when people were in love.
In the corner of his desktop was a sketch, one he had drawn himself. The man was about forty-five, short black hair, black eyes, round face, Asian descent.
He was the man who said Nickie's name at the operation in Vegas five months ago.
Duncan had a few unconfirmed bites as to the whereabouts of the man, but what he really needed was a name. Was the guy a casino customer who had skipped the evacuation and heard others using her name in the confusion? Or was he one of the johns that got away and heard her name called from the other officers? Or was it what Duncan feared? Did he work for the scum they were searching for?
It was becoming an obsession. He could admit it. He walked to his small, makeshift studio, took out his darkest pencils and chalks and drew him again. He didn't need the physical drawing. He had the picture in his head. It was a photograph in his memory. But it pleased him to hold the concrete drawing in his hand. He would make this one with more shading and crisper lines. He wouldn't include the casino surroundings as he did in his previous sketches. Before he began, he wrote the word SAVAGE in all caps and in quotations before beginning. It was the single word Duncan had read from the man's smiling lips before he disappeared at the end of the hallway in the casino.
Time was nonexistent when he sketched. It didn't erase the lifetime of sounds, smells and images that permeated his senses. Not like Nickie's cello could. She once called his eidetic memory a gift. It was more of curse for him. He used the side of his thumb to blend the shading as he thought of the methods he used to cope with his curse. His post-war therapist would be proud.
As he scanned and printed the new image, he thought of the look on Nickie's face when he told her Andy had found out about her missing year. It was nearly more than he could take. And when she spilled her guts to Andy and Rose. His head shook from side to side just thinking about it.
Hunches. He had hunches about the Asian man. He would get something more concrete, then if something came of it, he would go to her.
In addition to the Vegas system, he'd already hacked the National Crime Information Center database and ran the man's sketch. Nothing.
He changed to his email. His agent left him three messages, all with the subject line: ART SHOW. His agent picked fifteen pieces for his upcoming show and reserved a highly willing museum as the locale. Local Artist Takes the Northeast. He reminded Duncan of the recent, sweeping Canadian interest. It was his agent's thing, not Duncan's, and he trusted him.
He realized Nickie could be called into work and miss it. He hoped not since six of the portraits were of her. He needed her there but accepted the downfalls of dating a cop.
* * *
Slippery Jimbo was easy to spot. He sported his usual light-brown, calf-length trench coat. His receding hairline was covered by bangs he let fall over his forehead. Usually, he hung around the more greasy bars of Northridge, although living where she had lived in her life, the term greasy had a watered-down meaning. Yet, here he was, in the midst of a group of smokers hanging around outside Get Lucky's bar. They stood in a dusting of snow, shoulders hunched, bouncing on the balls of their feet to keep warm.
The bar's windows were void of neon signs or posters. In fact, if she paid close enough attention, they didn't seem to be windows at all. Each was covered with black shades drawn completely down. Cigarette butts littered the walk and the ground in front of the only front door. A single wooden sign read 'Get Lucky's' and hung over the single entrance door.
Nickie knew she should wait for Eddy, but instead pulled her oversized town car to the curb. No one ever spotted her as a cop. She didn't dress like one, didn't act like one and didn't drive a car that screamed 'unmarked.' But, Jimbo knew her car. His eyes spotted her, but he pretended not to notice. At least he didn't run away this time. She couldn't decide if that was a good thing or not.
She definitely knew how to swagger in her boots like she wasn't a cop. Bumpin
g Jimbo's shoulder on the way to the nasty door, she noticed he didn't flinch, convincing her he took the hint. Glancing behind her on the way in, she noticed Eddy as he parked his car. It did scream 'unmarked.' He parked far enough away that she hoped no one noticed.
Diet Coke in hand, she waited at the end of the bar. She wasn't going to wait long and planned to kick Jimbo's ass if he didn't hurry it up. Lucky for him, he beat Eddy in the door.
Eddy followed him down the long, narrow hall leading to the bar area, flanking Jimbo as they neared.
"Hey, what's going on?" Jimbo gestured to the way Eddy crowded him. "I'm an upstanding citizen of the town of Northridge now. Aren't I, Detective? I got me a woman. Wanna see a picture?" He waved down the bartender, ordering a draft as he took out a photo.
She had little patience for a man who she had arrested nearly a half-dozen times only to have his lawyer get him off on technicalities. Holding down the hand with the picture, she dug in the inside pocket of her jacket and pulled out her phone. She brought up the picture of Chris Hendrix, then laid her phone on the bar. "I've got my own picture, Jimbo." Leaning back, she took another drink and waited.
The bartender brought Jimbo's draft and held out his hand. Jimbo looked to Nickie, then leaned over and whispered, "Aren't you gonna pay? I'm on duty here, as an official police informant."
"I'm not paying for your beer," she said. "You tell me the story behind this man, and I might have something for you."
Jimbo paid the bartender and rubbed his hands together as if he was getting ready to open a present. "That's Hendrix, Chris Hendrix. His wife's a babe."
"She's a babe with a hole in her shoulder."
He seemed honestly concerned. His head moved from her to Eddy and back again. "You're shittin' me."
Nickie slid the photo of Chris Hendrix over and revealed the one of his wife. Turning her phone to Jimbo, she plopped a hip on the bar stool and watched his reaction.
Definitely concerned. "Rex Baxter," he said. "Owns a boxing gym in the basement of Hardware By Joe." He turned his head and took a long swig of his beer.
Eddy spoke up from the other side of Jimbo. "I know Rex. He's a mid-level loan shark."
She met eyes with Eddy and jerked her head once in a silent agreement. She handed Jimbo some cash. He scoffed at it. "That's it? I could get my ass kicked for talking to you."
"Consider it an entry payment. Take your woman out for dinner."
She heard him mumble in his beer as they headed for the door. "Where do I take her? To the local gas station?"
At the feel of a hand on the center of her back, she stopped, craned her head at it, then turned her eyes to Eddy.
He didn't take the hint. Or he did. "We're undercover." His smile was from ear to ear.
Nudging him soundly with her elbow did the trick. He pulled his arm from her and tucked it close to him.
"You think Baxter will be in his gym this late?" she asked.
Eddy shrugged as he rubbed his side. "Could be. I'll drive."
They opened the door of the bar to cold air and the smell of cigarettes. She loved this town.
"What do you think about the sorrowful Slippery Jimbo?" he asked as they walked to his standard-issue four door. "I can't believe you're using him as an informant," he added before she could answer.
"Possible informant," she corrected.
"How many times have you tried to lock him up?"
"More times than I can count. I can't stand the sight of him. He's ruined my record."
"No one can ruin your record. You've got the best conviction rate of all of us. By far."
"If we count only Slippery Jimbo, I don't. How do you think he got the nickname Slippery Jimbo and my general and complete loathing?"
"That was you? I'll be damned. I thought it was on his birth certificate."
Nickie stared out the window as they drove the short distance to Hardware By Joe. She didn't even know it existed.
She glanced over. Eddy wasn't so hard to deal with. She just nodded her head and grunted in agreement every once in a while as he rambled on. It appeased him. She hoped he didn't ask her any questions, because she had no idea what he was talking about. She was still thinking about dinner that evening at Andy's home. And about riding Duncan's horse this coming weekend. And about missing sex with him that night. Baxter had better be here.
The store was dark, of course. They walked around to the back in silence. In the absence of streetlights or building lights or even moonlight, she took her gun off safety.
Chapter 6
Nickie felt Eddy's arm pressed against hers but didn't elbow him in the ribs this time. Rarely did she feel fear, but it would be nice to be able to see a damned thing. Resting her hand on her gun, she resisted the urge to pull her coat tightly around her waist.
Supposedly, there was a lower-level entry. "If he's down there, how do people see to get in and out?"
A car turned down the alley with its brights on. "Ah. That could be it." She and Eddy stepped into the closest doorway a few stores down.
The car parked. The occupant turned on his cell phone flashlight and jingled a set of keys.
Eddy leaned close to Nickie. "That's Rex Baxter. I can tell."
She turned and found his face inches from hers. She smelled mint and his musky men's cologne. "How do you know?"
She saw his white teeth in the dark as he answered. "He's a giant. I hope there aren't going to be any more giants in there."
Pushing him away with her arm, she followed the light, careful not to make noise with her boots. Before she stepped fully into the alley, she noticed another person was in the back of the car. The windows were tinted, but the inside light was on. Female, blonde. Sticking her arm out, Nickie stopped Eddy. "Do you see that?"
"I do. This isn't smart. We're going in blind here. Let's wait and come back in the day."
He was probably right, but it didn't take away the disappointment. She was still on her high from her evening and ready for a tussle. "Chicken."
The man who was possibly Rex Baxter didn't stay long. They drove away but not before Nickie had a chance to get their license plate number, make and model of the car.
* * *
Duncan pulled into the parking lot of his office building. He got out of his car and considered the first time he brought Nickie here. She'd had no faith in him. Understandable. She assumed their relationship was a fling and he would soon return to L.A., since it was where he did the majority of his work.
This was the tallest building in downtown Northridge, as tall as the police station and still only four stories high. He popped his trunk, retrieved his briefcase, then beeped the lock. Straightening his tie, he unlocked the back door of the building and headed for the elevator. Other than the janitorial employees, he was generally the first one in the building. As if on cue, the elevator rang and old man Jimmy came around the corner, pushing his cart over the ceramic squares.
"Good morning, Mr. Reed. Fine morning we're having now, isn't it?" Jimmy asked as he shuffled.
"That it is, Jimmy, and please call me Duncan."
"Will do, Mr. Reed."
It was the same conversation they had each morning. Things like this made him sure about his decision to move back here. That and a feisty blonde cop.
The doors opened on the fourth floor. It was here, in front of his office door where he first told Nickie he was in love with her. He unlocked the glass door as he realized this office was as much of a symbol of his commitment to their relationship as an engagement ring might be to others. She'd always been commitment shy, and he suspected it had a deeper meaning than either of them realized.
He had an hour before his assistant arrived and two before his first appointment. It was good to sit at a decent desk with appropriate equipment. He turned on his printer and maneuvered around it as he remembered he left his latest sketch of the Asian man in the one at the rental house.
Shrugging, he booted up his computer and made another copy. He flippe
d through his records books. When had he obtained so much property? The economy was finally turning around. He had spent the last several months buying up land that was too cheap to pass up.
He had a soft spot for sellers who were forced to unload their properties for ridiculous amounts. There were too many predators watching for that precise scenario. In an effort to ease the minds and the pocketbooks of landowners, Duncan ended up with pages and pages of details regarding the land he now owned. He was making a profit and made sure to pay a fair price to the former owners. It was how he obtained the forty acres, where his brother was rebuilding his home. Most people didn't need to rebuild a home after an arsonist burnt it to the ground. Most people weren't dating Nickie Savage.
He browsed the latest price per acre for each plot he'd purchased, decided if it was time to resell and took notes regarding each.
And, as he generally did, he became sidetracked searching images of the assistant to the governor. For a government official, the man spent a lot of time at sports venues and populous events. New York's Madison Square Garden made sense to Duncan, but Mardi Gras, the Daytona 500 and the Kentucky Derby? Ah, to have such a schedule.
* * *
Nickie would have liked to have gotten to Rex Baxter's gym earlier, but she had court. At least Eddy didn't argue when she insisted on driving this time. They parked in the front, ignoring the fact that they knew about the back entrance.
Hardware By Joe didn't look like it sold a lot of hardware. Dust covered the sparsely stocked shelves. Her suspicion lights blinked in her head. "I'm going to talk to the owner. You wanna walk around?"
Eddy shrugged and took the long way around, moseying like a shopper.
An elderly woman with a visible wad of chew in her lip came out from the back. "What do you want?"
The woman might as well have called her a cop. Nickie had on her three-inch heeled brown leather boots, a pair of matching snug slacks and a white button-down blouse. Her hair fell over her shoulders in the large waves she preferred. Her gun and badge were tucked away under her hip-length brown leather jacket. How did the old hag peg her so quickly?
