Mystic Hearts

by Cait Jarrod

  “Celine’s place…Fredericksburg Tourist…left to the lights.”

  “See anything, boss?” Quigley asked, handing Jake a glass of water.

  All eyes stayed on Jake until the glass emptied. He dropped the glass on the table with a thud and refilled it. “I called the shooting in, to the office. I also had an agent call the surrounding businesses so I can check their videos.” He finished the water, breathed a sigh of relief, and dragged his arm over his mouth. “Okay. The shooter drove a 1972 dark green Challenger. License plate… Oh, get this…INPALE4. I’m waiting for a call from Missy with the DMV record.”

  “By now, the office should have feedback,” Steve said tugging his cell off his belt loop. “I also called in the shooting and the suspicious motorcycles to the local authorities and the FBI office.

  “When they arrive, Quigley will you take care of the questions? We’ll give a statement when we’re done.”

  “On it.” Quigley scooted out the door after unlocking it.

  Larry rubbed the spot the bullet hit his vest, feeling the sting from the blow. By tomorrow, a black and blue bruise would form.

  “The hit is better than falling down that well at Greenwood Manor,” Steve said, his voice colored with sarcasm.

  “You fell in a hole? You didn’t tell me.” Charlene eyebrow’s flew into her hairline and disappeared.

  Until now, he hadn’t noticed her disheveled hair or the black smudges under her eyes. Larry caressed her cheek with his knuckles. “Yesterday—”

  Marge barged into the dining room from the kitchen. Pamela and Celine followed. Their presence saved his hide from having to respond, giving him a few minutes of reprieve to think of a way to explain since he hadn’t told her last night. Pamela stood behind Jake, a hand on his shoulder. “Marge insisted on fixing everyone a plate.”

  “You need to eat.” Marge’s gaze lit on Pamela then to the group. “Everyone needs to eat before chasing any bad guys. It’ll be ready shortly,” Marge said and headed toward the kitchen.

  Thanks came from around the table.

  “I want to hear what happened at the well.” Celine dropped into a chair near Steve and rested her elbows on the table, and arched a brow.

  The issue hung in the air for a moment before he decided making light of the situation would bring less tension to him and Charlene. “Funny, really.”

  “Barrel of laughs,” Steve said, staring at his phone. “You ‘bout gave me and Jake a heart attack.”

  “The rattler hyped up the tension,” Jake added, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “High pucker factor.”

  “What?” A storm bowled over Charlene’s pretty, fawn eyes. “A snake in the well? With you?”

  Guilt he hadn’t said something before his former friends had slithered through his gut. “Thanks, Jake,” Larry said, his voice tight. “Could have led into that bit of information slowly.”

  Jake shook his head, chuckling. “Nah, might as well rip off the scab, and get it over with.”

  “Is that what you do?” Larry asked, only half teasing. “Rip off the scab to see how much it hurts?”

  Jake gave a nod.

  “Let’s see if your theory works. Pamela, did your husband tell you about how he was supposed to protect—” Larry paused, waiting for a signal for him to stop.

  Jake shifted and his movements turned squirrelly, yet he remained quiet, arms folded across his chest and his gaze aimed at the table’s surface.

  “—a child of the American Ambassador?”

  “Wait—” Jake raised his hand, “—point taken.”

  Hating when one of them forgot their pact, Larry fixed his best friend with a stare.

  “No, I’d like to hear.” Pamela leaned closer. “Go on.”

  Jake narrowed his eyes on Larry and jutted his chin. The silent agreement made. Neither would say a word.

  Larry knocked his knuckles on the table. “I can’t. It’s classified.”

  “Classified my ass,” Pamela said, sending a sharp glare at Larry, then Jake.

  “Pamela!” Marge shouted from the kitchen.

  Pamela’s sigh was echoed through the dining room. “Jeez, I can’t get away with anything.”

  “Welcome to my world.” Jackson laughed. “Since when do you swear?”

  “Since, I’m pregnant.”

  “You don’t say.” Jackson straddled a chair. “I’m going to be an uncle.”

  Pamela beamed, like a white-lighted Christmas tree. “Looks that way.”

  “Well, I’ll be.” Jackson smiled, but his gaze became detached.

  Larry understood Jackson’s distant expression. Having your close friend go down the path of parenthood put a different twist on life as he knew it.

  Charlene touched his arm. “Back to the well and snake.” Her voice dripped with honey, spear heading straight to his cock. She blinked. When she opened them, her eyes were wide as saucers. “What happened?” She pulled out the entire arsenal to get him to talk.

  He’d rather tell her in the comforts of one of their beds, naked, so he could show her each of the places that hurt. Maybe he could convince her to kiss the bruises away.

  The playful smack on his arm from Charlene alerted him that his thoughts showed on his face. “A bed of fake grass covered a hole. I didn’t see it, fell to the bottom, to a pissed off rattlesnake.”

  Charlene covered her mouth and said around her spread fingers, “What did you do?”

  He lifted his hands in the ‘what could I do’ gesture. “I did the only thing I could. I shot it.”

  By the fire in her eyes, he expected her to hit him. She leaned closer. “Last night,” she whispered beside his ear, “did it—”

  He chuckled. She didn’t want to hit him, didn’t question why he hadn’t told her. “Was wonderful,” he said, his mouth a fraction away from hers. The concern she showed him was unexpected and sweet. He kissed her lips.

  “Hey! Earth to Larry.” Jake snapped his fingers. “We have business.”

  “Either the gunman knew you wore a bulletproof vest or he wanted you dead,” Steve said, a serious look on his face.

  “Whoa!” Pamela raised her hand. “Charlene, Celine, let’s go in the other room. I’ve learned from past experience there are some things I don’t need to know.”

  Charlene hesitated, her gaze darting between Pamela and Larry.

  “It’s your call,” Larry said, when he really hoped she would go with Pamela. At times, Steve’s direct approach was rough for anyone to take.

  “I trust you’ll tell me what I need to know.” She kissed his cheek and followed Pamela and Celine into the kitchen.

  At least, she trusted him. He didn’t know if he trusted himself to discern when to inform her of certain details. When emotions came into play, it strained his rationale.

  “You were the intended target,” Steve said. “Why?”

  Larry shrugged. “Could be one of a number of things.”

  “Start listing them,” Steve said. “Jackson, is there a pad and pen behind the bar?”

  Jackson rose, reached over the counter and retrieved a napkin and pen. “Here you go.”

  “Thanks.” Steve eyed Larry. “Shoot.”

  “Start with what you told me earlier,” Jake said. “Andrew, A.K.A. Mathews.”

  “You’re shitting me.” Steve looked under his brow at Larry. “That yellow belly is involved with Greenwood Manor?”

  “Works on the manor, yes,” Larry supplied. “Connection to the lights, anyone’s guess. Today, I went to Randy Millstone’s residence. He’s a lifelong friend of Andrew Smith. I hope to find a lead on Smith. Millstone ran. I ended up winging him in the shoulder, just a scrape, nothing major, but I got his attention. He told me that Andrew Smith was indeed Allen Mathews. Millstone didn’t know why Smith used an alias. Two agents brought Millstone in for questioning while I talked to Charlene.”

  “Wait, Charlene was at Colonial Beach, too?” Jackson asked.

  “Yes, she went to Millstone for the s
ame reason I did, to locate Smith.” Larry grimaced. “I wish she hadn’t. After he forced his way into her home … and what with him taking a bat to Jake’s car, I don’t trust him. Who knows what he’s capable of? But she’s a strong-minded woman who wants to take care of herself.”

  “Do you think she’ll continue not asking for assistance?” Quigley asked, returning from talking to the local police. “You two seem pretty chummy.”

  Larry gazed at the table. Figuring out what Charlene would do next was anyone’s guess. Her independence was one of the numerous things he loved about her. “I don’t know. While at Colonial Beach, Smith spotted me, Charlene, and Millstone talking from Millstone’s boat. Up to now, Smith has not been apprehended.”

  “Did the agents get any more information out of Millstone?” Steve asked.

  “Nope.” Larry sighed. “Smith has something hanging over Millstone. He won’t crack. I’m shocked he told me Smith’s alias.”

  “So,” Steve lifted the napkin. “We have three scenarios, which could have been responsible for the bullet you took. One, Smith wants you dead because you’re with his woman.”

  Larry hadn’t thought of the situation in those terms, but he supposed seeing his ex-wife with someone else could be a kick in the gut.

  “Two, us visiting Greenwood Manor yesterday, finding the traps and reflective metal we believe is used for signaling potential buyers, pissed someone off. Since you fell in the hole I’m assuming you’ve been marked.”

  “Or three,” Jake broke in and knocked his knuckles against the table. “The two leather jackets on the motorcycles were Black Scorpions and Larry wasn’t the target, but I was.”

  “Hell, Jake, the Scorpions could be after you, Larry, or me.” Steve slumped against the back of his chair. “If they were the Black Scorpions, they would have shot to kill and you would have been on the top of their kill list. Remember the last time they came through here? They opened fire.”

  “Keep your voice down,” Jake whispered harshly. “I don’t want Pamela reliving it.”

  “They used machine guns, sent bullets flying,” Steve said, keeping his voice controlled, yet red hot fire rolled over his tan skin. “Not two single shots.”

  “I remember. All too clear.” Jake’s body vibrated with anger.

  “How could anyone forget?” Anger laced Jackson’s words. “Sent my mom to the Emergency Room and I couldn’t get leave.” Jackson wiped at his eyes. “Damn, move on.”

  A moment of silence passed before Quigley spoke. “Don’t discount the random guy who shoots into businesses for shits and giggles.”

  “I’ll add that to my list.” Steve jotted on the napkin. “Shits and giggles. That’s plausible.”

  Quigley angled his head and glared at him, his jaw ticking.

  “Don’t go Marine on me,” Steve said. “I’m agreeing with you. There’re lots of crazies out there.”

  Simultaneously, Jake’s and Steve’s phones rang.

  Steve listened for a long moment and hung up. “Damn, they got away. No one could confirm the identity of the drivers of the motorcycles. Neither bike had a license plate.”

  “Missy texted,” Jake said. “The Challenger belongs to a Kevin Steele, known connections to the Impalers. His position in the organization is unknown.”

  Larry laced his fingers together and rested them on the back of his head, and leaned his head into them, using his linked fingers as a pillow. “The Impalers are small time, a group of kids who want to make a small dent in the crime world in order to feel important. They don’t want to involve the heavy dogs like the Black Scorpions.”

  “True, as a whole they don’t,” Jackson said. “But one bad apple can screw up their whole operation.”

  “Rona Thomas came by the office today looking for help,” Larry said. “She said, something was going down on Greenwood Manor, but she didn’t have the details. Tomorrow, she and a man named Hulk will be isolated from the others while they check the fences. She believes Hulk knows the information and wants me to arrest both of them on trespassing to question them.”

  “She’s an Impaler?” Jackson asked.

  “Yes.”

  “That’s a start,” Jake said. “I’m in.”

  “I’m waiting for confirmation. I may have to head out in the morning.” Steve scoffed.

  “Before, Pamela gets back in here,” Jackson said. “Jake, what are the chances of the Black Scorpions coming back and retaliating on you and Pamela for killing their leader?”

  “No matter where we go, we will have to look over our shoulders. We assumed staying in the area would be the last place they’d look for us.”

  “Whoever the bad apple is must want something from them,” Quigley said.

  “There’s no proof the Scorpions are in town,” Steve refuted. “We can’t go on just what ifs.”

  “Steve,” Pamela’s voice squeaked. “What are you saying about the Black Scorpions?”

  Steve swallowed and eyed Jake, an ‘oh shit’ look in his eyes. “Sorry, man.”

  “Jake? Sanjar’s men can’t be after you, can they?” Pamela’s voice was low, nervousness laced in it. “I mean, I know he’s dead, but could a follower come after you? After me?”

  Jake tugged Pamela toward him until she stood between his legs. “I don’t think so. A Black Scorpion is not brave enough to challenge Rambo.”

  Larry smiled at Jake using the nickname he labeled on Pamela after the ordeal in the mountains.

  She laughed and hit his chest. “If The Memory Café gets shot up again, I’ll lose my business.”

  “Not hardly,” Jake said. “The food’s delicious and everyone loves you. They won’t stop eating here because of a couple of bullets.”

  Charlene slid into the seat beside Larry. “What are they talking about? Are the Black Scorpions back?”

  He didn’t want to scare her. If the members ever chose to come back and retaliate, Charlene could be in danger, too. Her first-hand dealings with the notorious gang also made her a possible target. Until the FBI could put together enough information and take down the key players of the gang in Louisiana, the risk would remain. Larry scanned the faces of everyone sitting around them. He, Charlene, Pamela, Jake, and Steve all had contact with the gang in one form or another, and would have to continue to look over their shoulders.

  Without eyes on the identifying scorpion insignia on the back of their jackets, he couldn’t say for certain. In his gut, he believed they were here. “No one has ID’ed a member, no.”

  “The motorcycles,” her voice quivered, “the brown jackets. It looked like them.”

  “Yes, but looking like them isn’t verification.”

  “Okay.” She pulled her lips inward and her gaze went distant. “What about Andrew? How does he tie into all of this? And please don’t tell me he’s not involved…You told me Andrew used a fictitious name.”

  Here’s where his job got hard—telling people what they least expected. From what he could tell, Charlene didn’t have any empathy for Andrew Smith. Still didn’t change the fact he was the father of her child. “As I said, I met him on Greenwood Manor the night I ran into you. I didn’t know he was your ex-husband at the time.”

  “

  “Has he done something wrong?” Charlene’s manner was more of a mother concerned over the father of her son than affection.

  “I’m not aware of him doing anything criminal using his alias. As Smith, he’s done plenty to warrant an arrest.”

  Charlene sucked in a gasp.

  They hadn’t talked about Smith to any length for him to know how she wanted to proceed, if she wanted to charge him or not.

  “I don’t.” She pressed two of her fingers and thumbs against her forehead and rubbed. “Henry… I don’t know how his father getting arrested would affect him.”

  Larry nodded toward Jake. “Either you or Jake could press charges for what he did to the Chevelle. It’s Jake’s car, but it was on your property when Andrew vandalized it.”


  “I haven’t decided.” Jake groaned, his jaw tightening, his frustration clear. “I want to take the bat to him the way he did my car.”

  Pamela slid her arm under his and squeezed.

  Jake gazed at his wife and looked between Larry and Charlene. “I won’t. I haven’t made a decision about prosecution. My window of opportunity for obtaining a warrant hasn’t closed. I’ll let you know soon.”

  Larry nudged his knee against Charlene. “What do you want?”

  “Take care of it myself.”

  “I’m not the only Rambo at this table.” Pamela snickered.

  Steve grasped the back of the chair behind Celine and twirled her hair between his fingers. “No, you’re not.”

  Celine smiled and leaned into him.

  Larry shook his head and focused away from the turbulent couple to Charlene. “I understand, but confronting Smith right now is tricky. Not knowing what he’s into, what he might be capable of.”

  “Do you think he shot at you?” Charlene asked, her eyes going wide.

  “Possibly. He could have shot me back as payback for me shooting Millstone.”

  Charlene whispered. “No. He wouldn’t.”

  Larry groaned. “Are you positive that you can speak so confidently on his behalf? The Challenger that drove by here is registered to a Kevin Steele, a known gang member of the Impalers. Without seeing his features, we don’t know for sure if it was Steele or someone else. Smith, acting as Mathews, could have driven it.”

  “I don’t understand,” Charlene said, “he’s never been violent.”

  “Money, greed, brings out the worse in people.”

  Charlene stared at the table and fiddled with her fingers. “He’s a stranger, a complete spook to me and Henry.”

  “Yet he’s Henry’s father,” Pamela said, her voice tender as she touched her stomach.

  “You guys are more family to Henry than Andrew ever was,” Charlene said, her words tight.

  Larry pulled her into him. “We’ll work this out.”

  She nodded and rested her head against his chest. Damn, he hated to admit how it felt to have her lean on him, emotionally and physically.

  He scanned the room. The best investigative minds surrounded him. Each in their own right excelled in one area or another. Paul sat toward the end of the table quiet and listening to every word. He was an anomaly.