Cat

by Carolina Mac

  “Think there will be anything on the tapes?” asked Calhoun.

  “I’m hoping for something—we don’t have one tiny idea who these people are. The only clue we had so far was the fuckin limo.”

  “But that being a rental business, anybody could have used the limo and we couldn’t tie them to the murders.”

  Blaine nodded and took a sip of his coffee. “Leighton would never go for something that loose.”

  “You said Misty told you where Mrs. Bromwell was?”

  “She did, although I got her away from the scene before the Dallas PD showed. No use having her try to explain something that can’t be explained.”

  The Chief nodded. “I don’t understand it, but how many times has she pinpointed something when we had nothing?”

  “This time, she seemed drained and tired afterward. I’m having Lil take her for a checkup today.”

  “Hope she’s not sick,” said the Chief.

  “Me too,” said Blaine.

  Trauma Center. Phoenix. Arizona.

  DOUGIE opened his eyes, saw Annie’s face and thought he was dead. He closed his eyes and went back to sleep.

  Capitol Building. Austin.

  CAT WASN’T in her office when Blaine arrived to give her the update on the Bromwell fiasco. Mrs. Warburton wore a look on her face that Blaine didn’t recognize. He closed the door that led into the corridor that was always buzzing with people and stood close to her desk.

  “What’s the matter. You look worried.”

  “Catherine came in this morning and she was… a mess,” Mrs. Warburton whispered. “I think she was drunk.”

  “She came to the Capitol that way?”

  “I didn’t want anyone to see her like that, so I discreetly asked Special Agent Wyman to drive her back home.

  “Good call,” said Blaine. “I’ll go over there now and see what’s up.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Blackmore. You’re a good friend to her.”

  Trauma Center. Phoenix. Arizona.

  ANNIE hovered over the Dog in the surgical recovery area, and Farrell stayed close by. “He should wake up soon,” she whispered.

  “When will he be able to fly?”

  “The doctor didn’t say yet. I hope it’s later today, or tomorrow at the latest. We need to get home.”

  “Yeah, we do. I don’t like being away from Blacky.” Farrell grinned, “But on the other hand, I like nothing better than spending alone time with the one I love most in the whole world.”

  “I love you, baby,” Annie whispered.

  DOUGIE moaned, opened his eyes, closed them, then opened them again and focused on Annie. “Where am I?”

  “Hospital in Phoenix.” Annie picked up his hand and held it. “You had surgery on your leg where the cartel shot you and your ribs are cracked from the bullet they tried to put in your heart.”

  “Fuck.” He turned his head and went back to sleep.

  Governor’s Mansion. Austin.

  BLAINE arrived at the Governor’s home unannounced. Emily, his favorite housekeeper out of the plethora of staff employed by the state, let him in and greeted him with a smile.

  “The Governor isn’t feeling well today, Mr. Blackmore, I think she may be resting.”

  “Is it all right if I go up? If she’s asleep, I won’t wake her.”

  “She’s always pleased to see you. I’m sure it won’t hurt.”

  “Thank you.” Blaine clanked upstairs to the Governor’s private quarters and tapped on the door. No response. He opened the door, tiptoed in and looked around for her. Emily was right, Cat was lying on her bed, but she wasn’t asleep.

  Blaine sat down in a chair next to the bed and grinned at her. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  She reached out for his hand. “Feeling sorry for myself. I feel so goddam guilty about Reg and his poor wife being dead because of me. I think I drank too much wine last night.”

  “So, says Mrs. Warburton. The wise woman got rid of you quickly and discreetly and doesn’t think anybody noticed.”

  “Oh, God, I hope not.” She sat on the side of the bed and pushed the mop of red hair out of the way. “I’m such an idiot.”

  Blaine held up a finger. “Maybe a little bit but everybody makes mistakes. That’s one. No more mistakes. You’ve got less than four years to go.”

  “You are so fucking funny.” She said and followed with a giggle. “I’ll never make it, and we both know it.”

  “Get dressed. I’ll take you out to lunch and we’ll let everybody see us.”

  “Really? You’d do that for me?”

  Medical Clinic. Smithville.

  “I’M AFRAID, LILY,” said Misty. I haven’t been feeling well and I didn’t tell Blaine. I don’t want to find out if there’s something wrong with me in case its horrible.”

  “The ‘head in the sand’ thing isn’t always the best way to go,” said Lily, “although I am guilty of it too. If you do find out something is wrong, and get the proper treatment, you might feel tons better in no time.”

  “Think so?”

  “I do.” Lily put an arm around Misty and walked her into the clinic.

  Bank of America. Dallas.

  TRAVIS arrived in Dallas with Fletcher and Hammer. Blaine had called ahead and made an appointment with the manager of the branch of Bank of America that Barb Bromwell patronized.

  “Mr. Caswell, please,” said Travis. “Travis Bristol from the Blackmore Agency to see him.”

  “One moment, please.” The receptionist called her boss and then nodded her head. “Go down that corridor to your left and Mr. Caswell will meet you. He’ll show you into his office.”

  Caswell came up to Travis’ shoulder, but they probably weighed about the same. “Ranger Blackmore called and told me you’d be bringing a subpoena for yesterday’s footage and the day before.”

  “I have it right here,” said Travis. He gave Caswell the envelope. “Here you go. Do you have the tapes ready for me?”

  The manager read the subpoena carefully then nodded his bald head. “It looks to be in order.” He reached into his desk drawer and pulled out the dates in question.

  “Do you have a computer where we could view them?” asked Travis. “It would save us a trip downtown to the police station.”

  “I’m sure one of the girls wouldn’t mind if you interrupted her for a few minutes.”

  Travis stood in front of one of the loan officers who was drinking coffee and playing a game on her phone. “Would you mind if I used your computer for five minutes, Miss?”

  “Did Mr. Caswell say you could?”

  “Yes, he did. It won’t take long.”

  “Sure, I’ll go get a refill on my coffee.”

  Travis watched her walk away and he was sure he’d never seen an ass that wide in Yoga pants. Maybe he was wrong, but he didn’t think so. He put the first disc in and cued it up. Hammer and Fletcher huddled in behind him. They’d been lurking in a lounge area near the windows waiting for Trav’s chat to the manager to conclude.

  They watched the surveillance all the way through from opening until the bank closed for the day and saw nothing out of the ordinary. Travis changed discs and the time stamp said it was early in the day, just after the bank opened. There he was. He strode in quickly, walked right up to a teller and left with the money after the amount was verified by another woman, probably a supervisor or assistant manager. It wasn’t Caswell.

  “Hey, isn’t that the tall guy from the rental place?” asked Fletcher.

  “Sure, as hell is,” said Travis. “Let’s go bring him in.”

  They drove to North Dallas and returned to the limo rental storefront, taking a chance that the owner might be there.

  “No, I’m sorry, Mr. Izzard isn’t here.”

  “Could I have his home address, please?” asked Travis. He plopped his cred pack in front of her and held out his hand waiting for her to write it down.

  “You guys are Rangers,” she said, and hurriedly sc
ribbled Ron Izzard’s address on a Post-it. “Here you go. Hope I don’t get in trouble for giving that out.”

  “You won’t, Miss,” said Travis with a grin, “Your boss won’t say a single word to you.”

  Ron Izzard’s Residence. North Dallas.

  RON IZZARD lived in an affluent area of North Dallas in a brick and stone two storey with a circular drive and stellar landscaping. The limo rentals must be going well for him.

  Travis parked behind a silver Beemer and turned off the engine. “Hammer and Fletch take the back and shoot the fucker in the knee if he runs for it.”

  “Don’t like leaving you alone at the front,” said Fletcher.

  “I’ll be fine,” said Travis. “I’ll shoot the fucker dead if he draws out on me.”

  Travis waited until Hammer and Fletch had time to get around back of the house and get into position before he rang the bell. A tall blonde lady wearing skin tight jeans and a pink blouse opened the door. “Yes, can I help you?”

  Travis held up his creds. “I’d like to speak with Ron Izzard, please. Is he home?”

  “Just a second.” She hollered over her shoulder, “Ronnie, the cops want to talk to you.”

  Maybe it was pre-arranged, or maybe the wife hollering that the cops were there, the result was the same, Izzard ran for it. Travis heard shots and ran down the side of the house and through the gate. Fletcher was lying on the patio and Hammer was gone chasing down Izzard.

  Another shot cut through the air as Travis whipped off his jacket and folded the sleeve into a pad. He dropped to his knees beside Fletch and tried to stop the bleeding in his shoulder. Two minutes later Hammer was back. “Got him, boss. Dead as a day-old fart on the pool deck next door.”

  Mrs. Izzard, standing in the doorway began screaming when she overheard Hammer. She closed the door and locked it.

  “Fuck, I wanted to question him,” said Travis to Hammer.

  “Couldn’t be helped,” said Hammer. “He was aiming at my fuckin head.” The Hammer was worked up real good.

  “All good, Hammer. All good,” said Travis.

  Fletch groaned as Travis pressed hard on his shoulder. “Waiting on the ambulance for Fletch. Go around the front and fetch them, would you?”

  “Sure thing.”

  “Then go inside and keep an eye on Mrs. Izzard. We need to question her.”

  Trauma Center. Phoenix. Arizona.

  ANNIE spoke to the Dog’s doctor, Dr. Schell, at the nurses’ station and inquired about Dougie’s release.

  “Tomorrow morning at the earliest, I’d estimate, if there are no complications from the surgery.”

  “Thank you, Doctor. I’ll be here at nine with Deputy Donovan.”

  “Why is Mr. Robertson under arrest, or is it none of my business?”

  “It’s a classified issue,” said Annie.

  “Good one.” The doctor grinned and Annie shook her head.

  They think it’s a joke every time I say that.

  Annie joined Farrell in the Dog’s room. Farrell stood up and stretched when she came in. “I’ll go get us some coffee after I step outside for a smoke. I need one bad.”

  “We can leave in the morning,” said Annie. “I’ll get us on a noon flight home.”

  “I’m so keen to get home,” said Farrell. “Tired of this gig.”

  Annie sat in the visitor’s chair and stroked the back of Dougie’s hand. It was blue from the intravenous needle and looked sore.

  He opened his brown eyes and stared at her. “Why did you bother saving me?”

  “I need you alive.”

  “I thought you wanted me dead,” he wasn’t projecting much sound.

  “That’s what I wanted you to think.”

  “Why?”

  “We’ll talk about it when you’re well.”

  “I won’t get well, baby. Cartel guys are dead because of me. They frown on that. They also frown on deals in the toilet. Once those fuckers are pissed off, they stay pissed off. Like forever. Their hitters will come for me and they won’t give up. I’ll be lucky to live five minutes on the street.”

  Annie smiled. “You won’t be on the street. And you have a secret weapon. You have me.”

  “That’s worth everything to me, and I mean that,” he whispered, “I love you, girl.”

  Capitol Building. Austin.

  BLAINE brought Cat back to the Capitol and dropped her off after their lunch date. He’d taken her to a popular downtown spot frequented by law makers, legal beagles and government personnel and encouraged her to be social.

  She spoke to many she knew in her former capacity as a judge, smiled and chatted, and established herself as having a normal day.

  “I feel a thousand times better, sweetie, thanks to you.”

  “Hey, you have a job to do, and it’s hard. Work a little late tonight and you can catch up.”

  She gave him a hug and he hurried back to his truck. Lil had left a message on his phone.

  “Going for blood tests then we’ll be home.”

  Blaine’s heart pounded when he read the message.

  Blood tests. What does that mean?

  “What time did she send the message?” He checked it. “Two thirteen. They’ll be home by now.”

  The Blackmore Agency. Austin.

  IN AFTERNOON TRAFFIC it took Blaine forty minutes to get to the East Cesar Chavez area of Austin and home. Lil’s car wasn’t in the driveway. He rushed inside thinking something was terribly wrong with Misty.

  “Did Lil call?” he asked Carm.

  She shook her head.

  “I need a beer.” He grabbed a Corona out of the Sub-Zero and his cell rang. “Travis. Tell me.”

  “Izzard. He was on the tape at the bank. We went to his house. He rabbited, shot Fletcher and Hammer popped him.”

  “He’s fuckin dead?” Blaine hollered into the phone.

  “Not my idea of a good time. I wanted to pound some information out of the bastard.”

  “Fuck. Now we’ve got Fletch shot and a fuckin dead end.”

  “I secured Mrs. Izzard and sent her to police headquarters with Hammer.”

  “She might not know anything,” said Blaine.

  “Hammer said Izzard was aiming at his head. He was in the next yard over and I didn’t witness it. Claimed he had no choice.”

  “Okay, okay.” Blaine paced back and forth across the kitchen. “Where’s Fletcher?”

  “We’re at Dallas Emergency Room. As soon as they’re done with his shoulder, we’ll pick up Hammer and come back. Hammer’s giving his statement to Dallas PD and I told those guys we wanted Izzard. They said as long as they got a copy of the autopsy report they’d ship him to our morgue in Waco.”

  “Damn right we want the big prick. Good call.”

  Blaine took the top off his second Corona as the front door opened. Lexi barked, booked it out of the kitchen and ran to see who it was. Relief surged through Blaine as he charged into the foyer behind the dog and almost crashed into Lily. He hugged Misty. “How did it go? Did you like Doctor Quantrall?”

  Misty nodded. “Not as bad as I thought it would be, but I’m not a fan of needles.”

  “She did fine,” said Lil. “I’ve got some work to clean up before I leave.” She headed down the hall to her office.

  “I’ll get you a glass of wine, sweetheart.” Blaine crossed the kitchen to the wine cooler, selected a bottle and held it up to Carm for approval. She nodded. “Sit down over here and tell me all about your checkup.”

  Misty giggled. “It wasn’t anything to talk about. Doctor Quantrall asked me about a thousand questions, then wrote out requisitions for the lab and I moved on. I have to go back next week and discuss the results when they come in.”

  “Fuck, I wanted to know you were right as rain today, not a week from today.”

  Misty laughed again. “I am right as rain.” She sipped her wine and winked at him.

  “I’ll go with you to hear the results, and as soon as that’s out of the
way, I’m planning our trip to New Orleans.”

  “Ooh,” Misty squealed, “I can’t believe we’re going.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Thursday, February 5th.

  Ranger Headquarters. Austin.

  BLAINE, TRAVIS and Hammer started the day in Chief Calhoun’s office with strong coffee from Starbucks and a container of pecan tarts that Carm had baked.

  The Chief needed to hear about the Izzard shooting right from the horse’s mouth. Hammer gave his version, almost word for word what he’d written up in his report, then Travis told pretty much the same story. Fletch was MIA, but he’d given a statement that matched the other two team members. Neither Travis nor Fletch had seen Izzard aiming for Hammer’s head, but they took the Hammer’s word. He was on the team and they trusted him.

  “What about Mrs. Izzard?” asked the Chief. “Anything from her?”

  “All she did was scream about cops killing her husband and how she’d sue the ass off the city of Dallas.”

  The Chief chuckled. “The city cops didn’t shoot him.”

  “She refused to answer anything,” said Hammer. “Asked for her lawyer.”

  “The mob has good attorneys,” said the Chief. “They pay them well.”

  “Waco morgue is backed up bad,” said Travis. “We won’t have anything on Izzard for a few days.”

  “He’s not going to tell us who his down and dirty friends are anyway,” said the Chief. “This case has reeked of connections from the get-go.”

  “The techs might get something from Izzard’s residence,” said Blaine. “I guess I’m just hoping they will.”

  “Those guys are pros,” said the Chief. “They know how to be careful.”

  “If LVPD turns up anything on Harry Bromwell it will be a gift to us,” said Blaine. “Otherwise, we’ve got nowhere to go from here.”

  “Fuck that,” said the Chief and helped himself to a tart.

  Trauma Center. Phoenix. Arizona.

  DOUGIE was snarly and as vicious as a junkyard dog as Annie struggled getting him dressed for the flight to Texas. His lip curled in a sneer, a day’s growth bristled on his face and his dark eyes narrowed to slits as he fumed, cursed, and protested. Annie kept her cool. She stroked his tangled hair and smiled at him.