She had killed a lot of people in her lifetime; their faces never forgotten, and she had killed again today. Well, yesterday now, according to the clock, which told her it was after midnight, the technical dawning of a new day.
She lifted the bottle back for another swig and wiped her mouth. An onslaught of images struck with a vengeance. The bullet meeting its target. Darrell Reid falling to the ground. Pedestrians running and screaming, seeking cover.
Darrell wouldn’t have had time to question what hit him—unless he inquired from God in heaven after death. That was assuming one existed and if humankind met their maker. She found it hard to believe in the existence of a greater being. If one existed, why didn’t they step in and stop war, end terrorism…and the list went on.
“Fuck you!” she cried out, and tears fell down her cheeks. Faith, acceptance—these were for the weak.
Her eyes fell heavy and closed. The vision behind her eyelids waving and vibrating, pulsing. She was drifting off into a land where she was truly untouchable, when something banged against the wall behind her.
She sprang to her feet, then nearly swooning, she recovered, her head light from the whiskey and the room spinning around her.
The banging continued, followed by loud grunting. Another writhing pig. Likely with a hooker or some skank.
“Fuck this!” She grabbed her gloves and went for her bag with the handgun and grabbed the weapon. She tucked it into the waistband of her pants and let it sit under her shirt and set off for the neighboring room.
She pounded on the door.
A woman’s scream came from inside, the sound of faked ecstasy. Definitely a hooker giving her john what he paid for—a stroke to his ego and his dick.
She smacked the door again, and it swung open.
“What the hell do you want?” The man would top the scales at well over three hundred pounds. He barely squeezed into his white briefs, his tub belly obscuring the waistband, and he had the face of a gnarled dog. His fingers were stubby and fat like the rest of him, but the sniper’s eyes shot to the gold band.
“Shut the fuck up and back up!” she barked.
“Why the hell should I—”
She drew the handgun. Not another word was needed. The man walked backward into the room, the sniper moving with him. Once inside, she closed the door with her foot.
The woman screamed again—sounding more genuine than before—but this time, it was out of pure fear. The sniper had no real interest in her, but she couldn’t just let her go, either. Not now.
“Both of you, get on the bed, lace your fingers behind your head.”
Tears were pouring down the woman’s cheeks, and she seemed oblivious to the fact she sat there completely naked.
“You’re married,” the sniper spat in the direction of the man.
“What’s it to you?”
The man sure was cocky for facing the business end of a gun. Perhaps the afterglow of sex had him feeling invincible. His ugly face was glaring at her, his mouth set in a challenging grimace.
The sniper glared right back and pulled the trigger.
The woman started to scream, and the sniper fired again.
Finally…silence.
-
Twenty-Six
Paige and I took a commercial flight to Albuquerque and were crammed in economy seats that weren’t wide enough to accommodate my shoulders. And don’t get me started on the lack of legroom. We should have booked the exit row.
Paige took the window seat, and I sat in the one next to the aisle. Our elbows were pressed together on the armrest. I understood that airlines had to make money, too, but touching her was driving me a little mad, and the smell of her perfume was intoxicating. I had to squeeze it all out. Think of Becky. Think of your job.
Paige looked over at me and smiled awkwardly. She was just as uncomfortable as I was, and I found that comforting. The saying “misery loves company” came to mind.
“This is strange, isn’t it?” I said, thinking maybe it was best to put a floodlight on the elephant in the room.
“Us working together? Ah, yeah.”
My mother would likely say something to the effect that one’s character grew during challenging circumstances, not easygoing times. Maybe personal growth was overrated. “I’m certainly no Zach.”
“Nope.” She grinned and glanced out the window, not that there was anything to see. We’d left the ground in Washington, DC, around two in the morning and were only an hour into our four-and-a-half-hour flight to Albuquerque, New Mexico.
“Well, you’re no Jack, either.”
She faced me again. “Ha-ha.”
“Take that as a compliment,” I said with a smile.
“Uh-huh. I’m probably easier on you.”
Yes and no…Depends on how you look at it.
She stared into my eyes. “How are you and Becky, by the way?”
“Ah, good. No complaints.” The image of Becky flashed in my mind, and I shoved aside the feelings of guilt that came with it. After all, I hadn’t done anything to wrong her. I just didn’t want to move in together and had asked her to remove her spare toothbrush from my place. “We’re taking things a bit slower than we had been.”
“Oh.” Summed up in one little utterance, not much more than a guttural response: she pegged our relationship as doomed.
“It’s a good thing,” I assured her, but wasn’t sure whether I was trying to convince her or myself.
“If you say so. Slow can just be stagnant.”
“Slow can just be slow, too,” I snapped.
Paige just kept looking into my eyes. “You guys are good together. Don’t mess it up because you fear commitment.”
“You’re one to talk!” I lashed back. Being accused of the exact thing I was guilty of stung beyond measure, like alcohol poured on an open wound. “You probably slept with me in the first place because I was married and there’d be no pressure for you to commit to our relationship.” The words were out in a torrent, and the pain that washed over her face slammed me in the chest. “I’m sor—”
Her eyes glistened in the dim light of the cabin. “I don’t want to hear it. Not at all. Let’s just keep things professional. We have a job to do; we do it. All this personal stuff—and the history between us—I’m so over it.”
I was wise enough not to point out that she’d been the one to bring up “this personal stuff” when she’d asked about Becky. “Works for me,” I said coolly and leaned my head against the back of my chair and closed my eyes.
I didn’t open them again until Paige was nudging my elbow.
“Wake up.”
I peeked through slits and groaned. “What—”
Paige pointed to the aisle, and I followed the direction of her finger.
A flight attendant was staring back at me. “If you could straighten your chair, sir.”
It took a few seconds for her words to penetrate; my mind was so groggy, and I didn’t remember reclining the seat. I fumbled for the button on the chair and leaned forward to return the back to an upright position. I felt across my waist, and my belt was still on. I wouldn’t have taken it off the entire flight.
“Thank you, sir.” The attendant smiled, and I wondered how many more times she’d say sir before we landed. She left, and I turned to Paige.
“I didn’t even hear the announcement that we were descending.” My words probably came across as a mumble.
“You probably couldn’t hear it over your snoring.”
I felt my cheeks heat—and that was a hard feat to accomplish. “Whatcha gonna do.” Play it cool.
She smirked. I recalled our argument before I’d nodded off, and my stomach soured.
“You get any sleep?” I asked.
“Not really.” Her eyes burrowed into mine.
“Oh, my snor
ing?”
“Maybe, but it’s okay. If it wasn’t that, it was—” She gave a furtive glance between our seats and pointed a finger behind us. Between the crack, a young boy was smiling at me, mischievousness smeared all over his face.
“And you wonder why I don’t want kids,” I whispered.
“Never have, but it’s not the kids who are the problem so much as the parents.”
I couldn’t disagree with her there. For some reason, parents these days let their kids get away with so much more than those from my generation. Lazy parenting? Hard to know precisely, given that I had no personal experience in that regard.
The plane started swerving from side to side like it was sliding on ice.
I gripped the arms of my chair and ended up putting my hand right on top of Paige’s and squeezing. She pulled back like she’d been scalded by hot water.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s fine.”
A mumbled voice came over the speakers, and all I could make out was, “Ladies and gentlemen…turbulence…nothing to worry about.”
I took a steady breath. A plane crash or facing Paige on the ground—I wasn’t sure which would be worse. At least with the former, it would be over quickly.
-
Twenty-Seven
Spencer’s Sport Bar lived up to its name. LED signs advertised beers and spirits, and pennants were tagged up everywhere. The bar was positioned in the middle of the room with televisions mounted to shelving that housed bottles of alcohol and glasses.
Kelly hung back a bit, letting Jack lead the way. She was feeling more than a little angry with him. It seemed like every time she opened her mouth, he was ready to criticize. But from her experience, part of what solved cases was tossing out hypotheticals and seeing what stuck. It would seem that wasn’t welcome on Jack’s team—at least not by her.
The bar was bustling for being close to one o’clock Saturday morning, though Kelly remembered in her twenties she and her friends never left home for the clubs until midnight. Not that Kelly was a major fan of clubbing.
Jack squeezed between a few guys at the bar and flagged down the server behind the counter. Kelly was behind Jack, but she could discern that he was holding up his badge. If nothing else, aggravation on the bartender’s face gave that away.
The server waved for Jack to follow him, and Kelly stuck close on his heels. They were taken into the kitchen before the server turned around, crossed his arms.
“What can I do for you, Officer?” The twentysomething guy leveled the question as a challenge on Jack, but briefly slid his gaze to Kelly.
“FBI,” Jack corrected. “Agents Harper and Marsh. We need to speak to the bartender who was working last night at eleven.”
“You’re looking at him.” He clasped his hands in front of himself and shifted his weight to his heels, like he was posing for a gangster portrait.
“And your name?” Jack prompted.
“Cody Banks.”
“Well, Cody, did you see this man in here last night?” Jack pulled out his phone and brought up an image of Darrell Reid, held his screen for the server to see.
“I know him, if that’s what you’re asking. Name’s Darrell Reid, some fancy prosecutor, from what I understand. What about him?”
“You know him, okay, but what I had asked was whether you saw him last night. Did you?”
“I might have.”
“A yes or no answer will suffice.”
“Yes.” The word came out resembling a hiss.
“Was he here by himself?” Kelly cut herself into the conversation. Cody looked at her.
“He was with a woman. Good-looking thing, too.” Cody’s predatory gaze took in her entire body, and she felt the need for a shower.
Kelly swallowed her instant dislike for this guy. Thing was never a way to describe a woman. “Do you know her name?”
“Never got it. Nope.” Cody peered into Kelly’s eyes, licked his lips.
Unbelievable! Kelly squared her shoulders, peacocked her stance. “What did she look like?”
“Brown hair, long, past her shoulders, and she had almond-shaped eyes, rosebud lips.”
Rosebud lips? “Okay, body shape,” Kelly said. “Tall? Short?”
“Trim and fine.” Cody smiled and flashed a bit of his teeth with the expression. He looked like a carnivore about to snack on his prey. Kelly detested that she was being eyed as the quarry.
“Did she come in with Mr. Reid?” Jack asked.
“No. She met him here, and I think they left together. Now, whether they went somewhere after that, I don’t know.”
If this woman was also their sniper, Kelly almost respected that she could be so deceitful and put herself so close to her target. “Has she been in here before?”
“She has, and it’s always with Mr. Reid. The guy’s—what?—in his fifties, and she’s maybe thirtysomething. He either knows what he’s doing, or he pays for her time.”
“She strike you as a hooker?” Jack inquired.
“Nah, not really. Maybe a high-end escort, but definitely not a street hooker. She dressed too nice.”
Kelly nodded, only half interested. Cody had said, “It’s always with Mr. Reid.” She asked, “How long have the two of them been coming here together?”
“Say about six months, maybe more.”
Six months ago, their sniper had been in New Mexico, so if anything, Cody had just described Reid’s mistress—not his would-be killer—but they still needed to speak with her. “She didn’t by chance pay her own tab? Maybe by credit card?”
“Nah, that lawyer picked up the check. Don’t blame him. Women as fine as that don’t have to pay for anything.”
Kelly clenched her hands, her fingernails digging into her palms.
“You said they left together,” Jack said. “What time was that?”
“Say around eleven.”
Jack produced a card from his pocket and handed it to Cody. “You suddenly remember her name, call me. Got it?”
Cody tucked the card into a back pocket. “Sure.”
Jack was the first to turn his back on this doofus, but Kelly happily followed his lead.
Outside, she inhaled the fresh night—early morning—air. Who cared that it was riddled with car exhaust and other pollutants? It still worked to clear her mind of Cody and his objectification of women. It was sad to think men like that were still around in the twenty-first century, though she’d dated one a year ago. He was Mr. Charmer until his veneer wore off, which didn’t take too long. He was probably why she had a sensitivity to sleazeballs.
Jack stepped up next to her and nudged his head toward the bar. “It was a long shot coming here.”
Is he trying to make me feel better or worse?
“Sometimes long shots pay off.” The words spilled from her lips, and she pinched her eyes shut. “I’m sorry, Jack. I didn’t mean to—”
“Hey, nothing to be sorry for.” He started toward the SUV, and she followed. “It only made sense for us to come here.”
His comment rendered her silent for a few seconds. “I didn’t mean to be disrespectful.” Of course, the minute she said the words, she regretted them. Why did she continue to apologize? If anything, he owed her an apology. He’d been disrespectful to her from the start of this case. She felt her temper ripple through her, and she tried to tamp it down with logic. Jack was the boss and, as such, could treat her however he was inclined. He was still a grand improvement over her sergeant in the Miami PD. If she didn’t get her emotions under control and watch her mouth, she’d be sent packing and back to him, tail between her legs, and that’s the last thing she wanted.
Once in the SUV, she did up her seat belt. “We really do need to find Reid’s mistress,” she said, keeping all emotion out of her statement. “She’s not our sni
per, given what Cody said about them coming here for six months together, but the mistress might have seen someone who stood out to her.”
“Don’t disagree, and we’ll find her, but it’s likely not to be tonight.”
She glanced at the clock on the vehicle’s dash. 1:40 AM. “That’s a good bet.”
“Pretty much. Let’s catch some sleep, reconvene at the station about eight.”
“Sounds good,” she said—and it did—but she wasn’t sure the Sandman would visit her. She’d left everything behind for this job, and she was sure as hell going to make it work. If only the investigation would cooperate with her efforts.
-
Twenty-Eight
Albuquerque, New Mexico
Friday, October 25th, 10:30 AM Mountain Standard Time
When Paige’s eyes fluttered open that morning, her first thought was that she was in New Mexico. The second hit much harder: the memory of Brandon’s hand squeezing hers and the damn chemistry that crackled when they’d touched. It was hard for her to imagine as she’d never let herself fall so hard before Brandon, so why now, and why did it have to be him?
“Paige!” Brandon shouted from the passenger seat, jolting her, and causing her to torque the wheel. An oncoming car blared its horn. She swerved back into their lane.
“Are you trying to kill us?”
“Uh, sorry.”
“Yeah, I’d say. You want me to drive, just say the word.”
“No, I’ll be fine.”
“Says you. Your mind’s run off somewhere.”
“I’m fine,” she articulated clearly through clenched teeth. To hell with opening up to him about her feelings. She’d tried to make nice on the plane ride, and that had backfired. Yes, professional was how she’d keep things between her and Brandon going forward. She really had to let go of the notion that happily-ever-after existed. What a schmuck!
Past Deeds Page 15
