by Dana Marton
Bree relaxed a little. It worried her when Katie skipped meals. She was such a skinny little thing already.
“We got someone new,” her sister informed her. “He’s just like me. Except he doesn’t talk to anyone. His name is Scott.”
“Do you like him?”
“He’s quiet.”
Which meant she liked him. She gave a full report on the way home, then went through her coming-home routine, putting her things away, washing her hands, setting the table, while Bree made some hamburgers for dinner.
“Can we do a puzzle later?”
“Sure.” Bree pulled the French fries from the oven—baked to save some calories—and thought how much she liked their evenings together. Katie was sweet and gentle, and part of her life irrevocably.
She didn’t care if the few boyfriends she’d had over the years couldn’t deal with that. They’d wanted her, but they hadn’t wanted her “baggage,” as the last one had put it. Thing was, she would rather have her sister than a jerk in her life, anyway. She had said that. With a Southern-belle smile on her face.
Still, the good things in her life far outweighed the bad.
She thought of the pictures in the manila envelope, the first time she’d allowed herself to think of them since she’d gotten them away from Jamie Cassidy.
Trouble was coming again.
Just thinking about that made her tired.
Why now?
She would end it for good this time, she promised herself. She wasn’t going to let this touch Katie, put her in danger.
As she turned to put the food on the table, movement outside caught her eye.
Did someone just step behind her garage?
She set the fries on the table. “I’m going to put the garbage out, then we can eat.”
“Okay,” Katie called back, cheerful and oblivious to danger, which was the way Bree meant to keep things.
She bagged up the garbage. Then she slipped her service revolver into her waistband before she walked outside through the back to confront her past that was rising up once again to claim her.
Chapter Five
Her mother’s oversize garden sculptures populated the backyard, same as the front, their shapes too familiar to look eerie, even in the twilight. Bree opened the door without a sound and ducked to the right, into the warm evening air and the cover of the bushes. And then recognized the man standing by the shed—Jamie Cassidy.
You have got to be kidding me. She ground her teeth together.
She nearly sprung up to yell at him. But maybe teaching him a lesson would be a more productive way to prevent him from spying on her again. So she kept down, skulked around the rock garden and snuck up behind him, using the statues as cover.
She didn’t have much in the backyard as far as tall plants went, just a few butterfly bushes, with more color added by generous clumps of black-eyed Susans and asters that were putting on quite a show of yellow and purple this fall.
She moved as silently as a copperhead, raising her gun when she was but a step behind him, anticipating the jolt he’d give when she pressed the cold metal against the back of his skull. That ought to take the cocky bastard down a peg.
Except when she was an inch away, he said, “Hey, Deputy,” and reached back at the same time, clamped his fingers over her wrist and shoved her against the side of the shed, holding her hand above her head, their faces inches from each other.
His cheekbone had turned purple since she’d last seen him. He still wore her butterfly bandages. And he still looked too handsome by half. Deal with it. She normally wasn’t a shallow person.
“What are you doing at my house?” She shoved against him with her free hand but he wouldn’t budge. “I could have shot you.”
“I didn’t think you were the type to shoot a fellow law enforcement drone.”
“How did you know I recognized you?”
“You never took the safety off your weapon.”
Dismay and aggravation tightened her jaw. He’d probably seen her and tracked her movements from the moment she’d come outside.
She didn’t often get caught off guard. That Jamie Cassidy had had her back against the wall twice now in the space of a week aggravated the living daylights out of her. “What are you doing here?” She repeated the question he still hadn’t answered.
“Trying to catch whoever took those pictures. I think this might be connected to your visit to Ryder. Someone doesn’t want you to share your local expertise with my team. Whoever is trying to mess with you might be just the guy we’re looking for.”
“You’re just trying to scare me off so I don’t stick my nose into your team’s business.”
“One can dream,” he said lightly.
“Maybe you sent the pictures to intimidate me,” she said, although she knew that wasn’t the case.
He leaned another inch closer. His sharp gaze raked her face. “When I want to scare someone, I’m a lot more direct about it. I don’t leave them guessing.”
His powerful body completely blocked any escape, his fingers holding her right hand above her head as effectively as handcuffs. He wasn’t trying to look threatening, she didn’t think. The words had been said straight-faced, yet alarm tingled down her spine nonetheless.
Okay, and a little bit of lust, too. She didn’t think he was going to harm her. He could have done so already, countless times if that was his intention. The twinge of attraction she felt was a pure evolutionary response of a female to a display of power from the alpha male.
So unfair.
She tried to resist the magnetic field that drew her to him.
The faint scent of his soap tickled her nose, mixed with some barely there, understated aftershave. She could almost swear she could smell the testosterone coming off him, he was so ridiculously male.
He had a warrior’s body, a warrior’s stance, a warrior’s eyes. And definitely a warrior’s strength. She tried to pull away and failed once again.
“You’re trespassing,” she pointed out, a little testiness mixing with the twinges of lust she didn’t appreciate.
He opened his mouth to respond, but Katie appearing at the back door stopped him short. He let Bree’s hand go immediately and she moved out of the shadows while he disappeared into them. She appreciated that tremendously. She didn’t want him upsetting Katie.
“We’re having dinner,” Katie said. “It’s dinnertime.”
“Yes, it is, sweetie. I’m coming.” She hurried toward her sister. Having her schedule interrupted could send Katie off-kilter for the rest of the evening. Better to keep everything running smoothly.
She glanced back from the doorway one last time, but Jamie Cassidy had disappeared completely.
She wasn’t enough of an optimist to think permanently.
* * *
JAMIE WENT AROUND the back of Bree Tridle’s modest two-story home. He’d gone off and grabbed something to eat, then came back. This time her upstairs lights were all out; there was just one light on downstairs, in her kitchen. He knocked quietly on the back door before trying the doorknob. Unlocked.
“Bree?” He didn’t want to get shot.
“In here.”
He moved down the dark hallway and came out into the kitchen, bathed in light. The space was plain and spotless, Mexican tile floor, simple pine cabinets. A handful of small, crystal unicorns hung in the window.
She sat at the kitchen table, a bottle of beer and a bottle of strawberry wine cooler in front of her. Looked like she’d been expecting him.
“How did you know I’d come back?” he asked as he sat, taking the beer.
“You don’t look like the type who walks away without getting what he came for.”
He leaned back in his chair. “I like smart women. I’m glad we understand each other.”
“Let’s not get carried away.” She drank straight from the bottle.
Good. He didn’t have the patience for prissy women. She was trying his patience in so many ways al
ready, the last thing he needed was for her to start putting on airs.
“So why are you here, exactly?” she asked.
“I need that envelope.” He should have taken it when he’d been in her office. He’d been distracted. By her. That wasn’t going to happen again. He was here on a mission.
“Why would you think I brought it home? Things like that are entered into evidence.”
He watched her for a long second. “You strike me as the kind of woman who would handle her personal business herself.”
“I’m glad you understand that it is personal. I’ll take care of it.”
She said that with a little too much confidence. He watched her for a moment. “So you know who your stalker is?”
She shifted in her seat, reaching for her bottle again, saying nothing.
Okay, she did know. “Has this happened before?”
She gave a reluctant nod. “Back when I was competing.”
Beauty pageants, she meant. She looked different now from the super made-up, big-hair pictures he’d found on the internet. She was still beautiful without a doubt, but in a hometown-girl kind of way.
She wore her hair in a simple ponytail, the blond her natural color, he was pretty sure, little makeup, dressed plain and comfortable. The kind of woman who could dazzle the hell out of a guy yet somehow make him comfortable when sitting with her. And could probably beat the stuffing out of him if he got fresh with her.
“Want to tell me about it?” he asked.
“If it gets you out of my hair.”
He promised nothing. Not about keeping out of her hair, or her pants, for that matter. There was a part of him, getting louder and louder, that wanted to keep his options open.
“When I was doing the pageants,” she said after a minute, her expression turning sober, “I had a young fan, Lilly Tanner, who wanted to be just like me. She wrote me several times, and I wrote back. We even met. Her room was apparently covered with my posters. She wore T-shirts with my picture on them.”
She paused to draw a slow breath. “She was bullied in school and ridiculed. They called her ugly, and worse. A lot worse. Just really mean and nasty stuff.” She folded her hands on her lap. “She ended up committing suicide.”
“And one of her friends blamed you for it.”
“Her twin brother, Jason. He’s not—” she paused “—he doesn’t always understand what he’s doing. He was born with some mental disability and the added depression pushed him off balance after Lilly’s death.”
Not a comforting thought. “You need to make him stop before this escalates.”
“I know.” She took a drink. “I called his parents while I was waiting for you to show. They don’t know where he is. He moved away from home six months ago and only keeps in touch sporadically. I’ll find him.”
She didn’t seem scared or upset as much as sad.
“You feel some responsibility for the sister,” he guessed. “The parents lost their daughter and you don’t want to be the one to put their son in prison.”
“Maybe.” She glanced toward the stairs. “I met him before. He wasn’t some evil kid. He just didn’t know how to relate to the world around him.”
“I don’t think you’re taking this seriously enough.”
“We’ll just have to agree to disagree.”
That little crease in her bottom lip kept drawing his gaze. He looked up into her eyes. “I don’t do that when I’m right.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Are you ever wrong?”
“Not that I can remember.”
He got the quick laugh from her that he’d been aiming for. He hadn’t liked the darkness on her face, the idea that she would carry the guilt over the girl’s death. She had nothing to do with that. Her happy, peppy personality might have annoyed him before, but it looked good on her. She needed to go back to that.
If anyone had a past to feel guilty about, it was him. An entire family had been killed because of him: husband, wife, four kids. He pushed away the memories, rubbed the ache in his knees, even if there was nothing there but metal.
“I like modesty in a man,” she observed, irony in her tone.
He almost asked what else she liked in a man, but decided he’d better not. He needed to focus on the business at hand. “I’m going to need that envelope.”
Her forehead pulled into an annoyed frown. “I know who sent it. I said I’ll take care of it.”
“I still need our lab to confirm whether any prints on the envelope really belong to your old stalker. Once I know this has nothing to do with my job, I’ll cross it off my to-do list and you can handle it any way you want to.”
“I don’t need your permission to do that.” But she got up and walked to the kitchen counter and pulled out an evidence bag with the manila envelope inside it. She grabbed a plastic bag from the counter, carefully transferred the photos into that and kept them. She gave him the envelope only.
He didn’t feel like arguing with her for the rest. He took the bag and walked to the door. “I’ll be in touch.”
“Phone is good,” she said.
He lifted an eyebrow as he looked back at her. “Why, it’s almost as if you didn’t like me, Deputy Sheriff,” he said as he left her standing in her kitchen.
He walked across her small front yard, where she had almost as many garden statues as she did in the back, mostly unicorns and angels. He wondered what the story behind those was, but he couldn’t wonder for long. His phone interrupted.
Rico Marquez.
“Made up your mind?” Jamie asked as he got into his car.
“Yeah, man. I got something.”
“I’m on my way. Same place as before?”
“At the chop shop across the road. Come in through the back.”
He hung up, then sent a text to Ryder to let him know where he’d gone. At this time of the evening there wouldn’t be much traffic on the roads, but it’d still be well past midnight before he made it to San Antonio and back.
He had plenty of time to think on his way into the city. Mostly he thought about whether the meeting was a trap. But no matter which way he turned it in his head, he didn’t see what reason Rico would have for taking him out. Unless his whole plea was bogus and he wanted a high-score kill to get a promotion within his gang. A possibility.
Yet the chance that he did have something on the Coyote and he was willing to share it was worth the risk. So Jamie made sure his weapons were checked and ready and that he was wearing his bulletproof vest before he pulled into the dark alley behind the chop shop and got out, sending his exact location to his team first, as insurance.
He got out of the car slowly. When he didn’t immediately get hit from one of the windows, he counted that as a good sign.
The rusty steel door opened before he could knock, and Rico gestured for him to hurry inside. The lights were off in the main bay, and the smell of motor oil hung in the air. Rico led him to the office in the back but only turned on the small desk lamp there. It barely illuminated the room. The cavernous shop stretched in darkness on the other side of the glass partition.
Rico scratched his tattoo-covered neck. Pretty much every part of him that was visible was inked, including the backs of his hands. “Anyone follow you here?”
Jamie shook his head.
“You wired?”
Jamie pulled up his shirt.
Rico’s glance caught on the gun first, tucked into the waistband, before he raised his gaze to scan the rest. That they would both be armed had been understood from the beginning.
Jamie dropped his clothes back into place. “What do you have?”
Rico rubbed his fingers over his mouth. “If this checks out, I get protection? For both of us? ”
“That’s the deal.”
The man shifted from one foot to the other. “You said you’re looking for the Coyote. What for? He’s bad news, man.”
“Let that be my problem.”
Rico measured him up. A couple of seco
nds passed in silence.
“Last year I was in the can,” he said at last, then drew a long breath. “Enrique led the gang then. He wanted to move some of our guys down south, take over. Wanted to control both sides. He wanted to be king.”
“So?” Gangs looking to expand weren’t exactly big news. “Where does the Coyote come in?”
“In prison, the man in the cell next to me worked for the Coyote.”
Jamie leaned forward and listened.
“He wanted revenge. The Coyote killed his brother. He said he’d pass information to Enrique, help Enrique take territory from the Coyote.”
“Did he?”
“He got stabbed the next day.” He banged his fist against his chest several times to demonstrate. “The guards never figured out who stabbed him, but I know. A guy called Jimenez. On the Coyote’s orders.”
“Where is Jimenez now?”
“Nobody knows. He went underground when he got out. Might be he was killed.”
Another dead end. But there was something else here. Orders got delivered through visitors. All he had to do to find the Coyote’s messenger was search the visitor records at the prison, see who’d come to visit Jimenez just before the murder. Then the messenger could lead him to the Coyote himself.
“So when do we get out?” Rico asked. “I don’t want to wait. Maria’s ready. Tonight?”
“Give me a couple of days to finalize everything. I’ll call you to let you know how and when to come in.”
The thought that they would soon have a direct link to the Coyote was enough to keep Jamie awake on the drive home, no coffee needed. Even if they couldn’t dig up enough evidence to charge the man with smuggling, they would have murder one if they could prove that the Coyote had ordered the execution of that man in prison. It didn’t much matter under what charge the bastard was put away, as long as he was taken out of circulation.
And, most important, once they had him, they would do whatever it took to get enough information out of him to catch the terrorists they were hunting.
He thought about that, and about Bree’s stalker. He didn’t like the idea of Bree in danger. She was way too nice. If some bad guy came into her house she’d be more likely to offer him coffee than shoot him between the eyes.
