by Robena Grant
Inside the bar they eased onto barstools. Trigger sat on a stool on the other side of a respectable looking older gentleman dressed in a suit and tie. Jack called to Janelle, and ordered two beers without even asking Debbie what she wanted to drink. She never drank beer.
“Hey Trigger, how you doing?” Jack asked, and reached down the bar for a dish of peanuts.
She heard his stomach rumble and hers almost replied.
“Cowboy!” Trigger said, and grinned. “You’re back at the watering hole.”
“Yeah, we’re about ready to leave for dinner.”
“You’re on a date?” Trigger asked, and peered around the man seated next to him. He leered at Debbie. “You don’t waste time.”
“Trigger this is Deb, Deb, Trigger,” Jack said, with a flourish of one hand. “Yeah, I’m getting to know the locals.”
Debbie smiled, leaned forward, and looked down the bar. “Nice to meet you.”
“I’ll move if you’d like to sit together,” the man next to Jack said, and slid off his barstool.
“Thanks, very kind of you.” Jack stood, and slid both glasses of beer along the bar.
Debbie moved down to the seat beside Jack and lifted her beer glass, took a tiny sip and tried not to shudder. The guys talked football until Trigger’s cell phone rang. He spoke quickly. The only words she picked up were yes, no, azul, and eight o’clock.
“Sorry about that,” Trigger said, and downed the rest of his beer. “Got to meet someone at Azul.”
“Azul?” Jack asked.
There was an odd inflection in Jack’s voice, and Debbie sensed a change in his posture. He was as alert as Rachel’s dog, Ralph, when he knew he was about to get his rawhide chew. She leaned around Jack, and picked up a handful of peanuts, and kept her gaze on Trigger.
“Do you mean Azul, the restaurant in Palm Springs?” she asked.
“Yeah,” Trigger said. “You know it?”
“How odd is that?” Debbie grinned, and shook her head slowly. “Know it? We have an eight o’clock reservation for dinner.”
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Trigger said, and pushed a hand through his limp brown hair. “What a coincidence. Hey, I’ve never been there before.” He looked down at his casual attire. “Am I dressed okay?”
“Oh, sure,” Debbie said, with a wave of her hand. “It caters to business people and tourists, and some dress up. But the locals love it too.” She shrugged. “Casual desert wear is accepted anywhere down here.”
He laughed. “That’s about all I own. That and jeans and hoodies.”
“Yeah, same for me,” Debbie said. “In the summer I live in shorts and flip-flops.”
She felt Jack’s gaze settle on her thighs, as if he imagined her in short shorts. Her heartbeat kicked up a notch. Maybe she’d done something wrong in suggesting they had a reservation at Azul. She raised wary eyes, and saw complete admiration. He squeezed her knee and moved forward to lean on the bar.
“Janelle,” Jack called out. “Deb and I will have to get going. We’ve got dinner reservations at Azul. I’m not familiar with the roads. How long will it take to get from here to there?”
“This time of night,” Janelle said, looking from one to the other, “if you take Highway One-Eleven all the way, I’d say about thirty-five minutes. Mom knows the way.”
“Excellent. In case we run a bit late, will you be a doll and confirm our reservation for two? I left my cell in the car. Didn’t know I was gonna’ get lucky.”
“No problem,” Janelle said, and hurried away after shooting them both a cheeky grin.
Debbie half expected her to laugh. And she wanted to pinch Jack’s thigh. Get lucky, indeed. But Janelle had picked up immediately on what was needed. Her daughter was so smart. She’d secure a reservation for them.
“Hey, it’s my dime,” Rachel said, from down the far end of the bar. “You know the rules, no phone calls. You think I’m made of money?” She winked at Jack and walked toward them. “It’s a good thing I know your date. I don’t normally allow calls to be made from the bar. You never know, they could be calling Australia.”
Debbie and Jack both laughed. Jack slipped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her tight to his side. This time she didn’t resist. Well, she did have to play the part. They were on a date.
“Your reservation is confirmed,” Janelle called out. “Any other favors you want?”
Trigger laughed, he stood and left a huge tip. “I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon, Janelle. Unless you change your mind.”
“Told you I’m working every day before I go back to school,” Janelle said, walking back to the end of the bar. “If you want my company it’ll have to be here, tomorrow, at happy hour.”
“We could have breakfast,” he said slyly.
Janelle smiled, and shook her head, her blond ponytail swishing. “Don’t get up early enough for that. But, Trigg, you’re welcome to come in here anytime and chat. I mean that.”
Debbie’s heart almost sank into the black leather boots she’d changed into while she’d waited for Rachel to come to the spa. The last thing she wanted was some criminal element hanging around her daughter. But Janelle had handled him well. She’d managed to extricate herself from the tricky date situation, and she’d let him down gently. Yet she’d kept the option for conversation open. Debbie glanced at her. She’d grown into a responsible young woman.
“Come on, sweetheart,” Jack said, murmuring against her hair. “You were amazing by the way.” He stopped a moment, pulled her close to his chest, and planted a kiss smack on her mouth. “Absolutely brilliant.”
“Jack, should I call you know who?” Janelle asked softly.
Debbie pulled in a quick breath. She didn’t dare look at her daughter, or at Rachel. Fortunately, Jack had turned her face away from the bar before the kiss.
“No, not yet,” Jack said. “Rachel, can you saunter out there and get the make of Trigg’s car for me?”
The backs of Debbie’s thighs pressed up against one of the bar stools, and even with that support her knees felt like they’d dissolved. From this angle the girls wouldn’t see the crimson flush to her cheeks, maybe only the red tips of her ears.
Jack reached for his wallet and pulled out the ticket, which he handed to Rachel. “We’ll help Stanton out. I don’t want Trigg to feel like he’s being followed. We’ll be out in a sec. Ask them to pull my car around, too, please.” He handed her a few dollar bills. “Here’s the tip.”
“No problem,” Rachel said. Debbie knew she was happy to be included in this little drama. Jack turned back to Janelle.
“Azul is out of Stanton’s jurisdiction,” Jack said quietly. “It’s the Palm Springs PD.”
Janelle nodded.
Debbie pressed her lips together, revisiting the soft touch of Jack’s lips on hers. While brief, but wet and warm, the kiss had sent tremors up her spine and flooded her belly with heat. With her front still pressed up against him, she was amazed that one smack on the lips could make her legs shake so much. She took a quick glance up at him, her gaze devouring his gorgeous full lower lip. She wanted his mouth on hers—wanted him—and that surprised her. She didn’t do casual.
“Stanton did say to call,” she said, trying to establish some normalcy to her thoughts.
His big hand splayed across the lower curve of her spine, and his fingertips deepened their pressure. She pulled in a shuddery breath. He was so dangerous, and she stood close enough to feel the hard heat of his body’s response, yet he kept his gaze on Janelle. He eased her a tiny bit closer. In that movement she knew Jack knew exactly what she’d been thinking. And it seemed their thoughts had synchronized.
“We’ll handle this. See what we can find out,” Jack said, his voice cool, composed. He picked up his beer then changed his mind. “Can I get a glass of iced water, please?”
Disappointed when he relaxed his grip on her, and downed his glass of water, Debbie stood waiting to leave.
“Sorry about orderin
g the beer earlier, you know, without asking your preference in drinks,” he said, looking down at her with a grin. “I wanted them as props, and to look like we knew each other well.” He turned around. “Hey, on second thought, Janelle, call Stanton and fill him in.”
Janelle nodded. “Exactly what do you want me to say?”
“Tell him I’m following up on Azul. Say Trigger has promised to come in here again tomorrow afternoon to see you. That’s all. Tell him I’ll call him later tonight.”
Rachel hurried back into the bar. “He self-parked. He’s in an old white Ford 150. The truck has a license plate that starts with a two, but I couldn’t get the rest. He took off like—”
“No problem,” Jack said. “I’ll catch up with him.”
“Here are your keys, and the car is parked beneath the canopy.”
“Have fun, you two,” Janelle said, and made a wistful face. “Wish I could tag along—”
“Yeah, me too,” Rachel said.
“Let’s go.” Jack slung a big arm across Debbie’s shoulders, and molded her to his side. “Thanks for your help, ladies.”
Aware of how well they fit together, Debbie had to switch gears and think of other things. For a petite frame she had quite a stride on her and had no trouble keeping pace with him. She looked back and gave the girls a tiny wave.
Once in the car and buckled up, Jack looked over at her with his lop-sided grin and a dimple in his cheek seemed to wink at her. She hadn’t even noticed it before.
“Hang on to your hat,” he said. “I’m going to catch up with Trigger, and get his license plate. Dave can run it, and see what we can learn about him.”
A tremor, part lust, part excitement, coursed through her veins. This had to be about the murder. Jack had to be working a case, and as scared as that made her, she was officially his partner. Well, at least for tonight.
Chapter Six
Jack could hear Debbie’s soft breathing. He wondered if she’d broach the subject of that kiss again. What had possessed him? He’d tried for small talk, even apologized once, as they’d walked to the car. Hell, he wasn’t about to do that again. He’d liked kissing her too much. It was important to keep his mind on his job.
He kept his gaze on the road ahead and wove deftly in and around the traffic. She glanced in his direction every so often, not that he could see the eyes, just the turn of her head. He checked the speedometer, at twelve miles over the speed limit, one flash of his ID would get him a free pass if a cop did pull him over, but he didn’t want to waste time or alert Debbie to the fact that he’d gotten a pass. To her mind he was an ordinary citizen doing a good deed to help out the cops. He slowed to a safe seven above the limit. He cleared his throat with a short cough. “You’re kind of quiet.”
“I usually am,” she said.
He sensed a smile in her voice, and relaxed. Good. Maybe he was off the hook with the kissing thing. “Not much traffic out tonight. It shouldn’t be hard to catch up with Trigger, unless he’s speeding.”
“He’d had a couple of beers, so I doubt he’d risk that,” Debbie said. She turned her body so she faced him. “This part of the highway is always fairly clear of traffic. It bottlenecks as you leave La Quinta, and then again in Palm Desert. Then it flows easily until you hit the downtown area of Palm Springs. You know, I’ve been thinking.”
“Uh, oh.”
She gave him a playful whack on his upper arm. “Seriously,” she said. “What if Trigger is an undercover cop and working for—”
“He’s not.”
“And you know this because?”
“He isn’t.”
Jack stared straight ahead at the almost black stretch of highway. Red taillights blinked in the distance, and he wondered could that be Trigger’s truck? Damn it to hell. Could she be right? He chewed on that thought for a moment. Stanton had said he didn’t know Trigger, so that meant he wasn’t working with the local cops. An FBI agent was in the area. Stanton had called him a stuffed shirt. “Nah, Trigger isn’t an undercover agent. I can assure you of that.”
“Okay,” she said. “It was only a thought.”
He realized he had to get Debbie’s mind off this case. She could endanger herself if she continued to try and solve it, and from what he knew she’d invested time and energy into that endeavor. And she was much smarter than he’d first given her credit for. She processed things in a different way to what he did. There was something very steady about her, and she seemed to know human nature quite well. So, if he was worried about her safety, why had he encouraged her to come along tonight? It had to be for more reason than a cover. Since when had he ever really relied on anyone else for that? Jack gave a quick rub at his jaw.
He’d always worked alone, except for a stint with Juan. There was nobody left to worry or grieve for him if he took a bullet, and he sure as hell didn’t like the idea of being responsible for someone else’s wellbeing. That made him valuable as an agent. As a lone wolf he could go undercover for months at a time, and nobody complained. They all knew he thrived on risk.
He rubbed his jaw again.
Or, at least he used to thrive on it. Some things had shifted a bit since Juan’s murder. Maybe he really was burnt out. He’d take some time off after this. Sort out his feelings. He reached for the row of buttons for the radio and CD changer. “What music do you like?”
“Everything.”
“Ah, they must be a new group. I’ve never heard of them.” He pressed the CD button on the console.
“Very funny.”
“I’m here to entertain,” he said, and grinned into the dark. “How about some Sheryl Crow? Do you like her music?”
Debbie sat up a little straighter and turned toward him. Even in the dark he knew she frowned.
“You like Sheryl Crow?”
“Yep. You got a problem with that?”
She shook her head, and laughed. “No. You don’t seem the type.”
“I love me some Sheryl.” He started to sing along, “All I wanna do is have some fun—”
“Do you miss L.A.?” Debbie asked.
He shot her another quick glance. Damn it, the woman was sharp. He’d have to watch what he said. She zoned in on a word or two, and then quickly came to a conclusion. And she was generally right, or close to being right. “I’m from Montana.”
“Sure you are, Jack, if that’s your real name. You reek of big city, not Montana cowboy. I know the scent. I’ve figured you’re undercover, and you’re here for the Dumpster murder, and somehow Trigger is connected. And so is Azul. And so am I, or at least my business is, or—”
“Yeah? Well, don’t go getting any ideas, young lady.”
“What do you mean?”
“Between Janelle and her writing a mystery novel, and Rachel and her enthusiasm, it seems I’ve acquired a few too many sidekicks.”
“I don’t want to be your sidekick. I’m doing my own investigation,” Debbie said. She stretched out her legs, and folded her arms firmly over her chest.
So, he’d guessed right. She was trying to solve the damn case, but why? What was her connection to it, other than it had taken place near her establishment? Most other women would be hiding behind locked doors, not out looking for a murderer.
“Leave this for the cops. You’ve no idea the danger you’d be putting yourself in.” He looked over at her stubborn profile, ran a hand over his head and scratched at the back of his neck. “I mean, why the hell would you want to get mixed up in this?”
Debbie shrugged. “I’ve got to do what I think is right.”
“Damn. Promise me you won’t interfere? I should never have gone for that ‘on a date’ idea.”
“Hey, don’t get those silk undershorts in a twist. I made the connection to Azul,” Debbie said. “Remember?”
Her voice sounded huffy. And he had to admit she was right. How she knew about his silk briefs though, he had no idea. Maybe there had been a camera in the dolphin room. Then he remembered he’d never taken his
jeans off. He pushed back into the seat. It was a lucky guess.
He wriggled his shoulder muscles to release the building tension. Debbie’s loose cannon attitude worried him. He couldn’t risk her going around town half-cocked, asking questions, getting into trouble. Now how he’d go about giving her credit for her quick thinking back in the bar, but letting her know who was in charge here was beyond him.
“You’d still be on that barstool trying to figure out what the color blue had to do with anything,” she said, and scoffed.
Her voice sounded grumpy. He laughed. She’d read his thoughts, again. “You might be right. Besides, I’m an ordinary citizen, like you, trying to lend a hand.”
Jack hummed along, but before Sheryl could finger him as a liar, he switched to the second track to the early years of Keith Urban. Much better, they were songs about getting drunk, and high, and speeding along the highway. Great guy stuff.
“Hey, I think that might be Trigger up front there,” Jack said, catching a glimpse of a white truck as it passed beneath an overhead light. “I’ll ease up alongside the vehicle. Turn toward me now and stay still, and see if you can get a good look. If it is Trigger say so and I’ll drop back, get license plate numbers, and give Stanton a call.”
“Sure,” Debbie said. She turned toward him and pressed her back up against the passenger side door. “So, look natural Jack. We’re on a date. Tell me the story of your life.”
“You first,” he said.
“Not much to say. I’ve lived in the Coachella Valley my whole life. Had a baby way too young, never married, worked hard, bought my own business, worked harder.”
“Any significant other?”
“Nope…that worked hard all of my life part didn’t allow for such extravagances—”
“Guys are an extravagance?”
“Absolutely,” she said, and then laughed. “Besides, as soon as most guys learned of the package deal they took off. Not many guys want a woman with a child.”
