The Evan Buckley Thrillers: Books 1 - 4 (Evan Buckley Thrillers Boxsets)

by James, Harper

  ‘He’s been using that word a lot. I’m thinking of adopting it. It’s got a certain ring to it.’

  Evan looked off down the street and his heart sank. Talk of the devil. Ryder was on his way back, a sandwich in his hand. Guillory felt the change in him and looked as well.

  ‘Why don’t you ask him?’

  They both watched him approach. He didn’t slow, just nodded to Guillory. He mumbled a few words for Evan’s benefit.

  ‘Jesus, how long’s it take to say sorry, asshole?’

  He didn’t wait for an answer.

  ‘See what I mean,’ Evan said when he was out of earshot. ‘Anyone would think it was him—’

  ‘You deceived? Lied to?’

  There wasn’t anything he could say, so he didn’t bother trying.

  ‘Maybe it’s because he knows something you don’t,’ Guillory said.

  There was something in her tone of voice that made him sit up.

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Me.’

  She was right, more right than she knew. He didn’t really know a thing about her. She was the most tight-lipped person he’d ever known when it came to sharing personal information. She knew everything about him, knew about things before he even thought of doing them.

  ‘You’re not the only one with ...’

  He waited, didn’t want to destroy the moment. It seemed that was as much as he was going to get.

  ‘With what?’

  She pushed herself off the fender.

  ‘Doesn’t matter.’

  He wasn’t going to let her get off that easily, seeing as they were having this discussion as a result of him not telling her something.

  ‘What is this? I didn’t tell you something, so now you’re not going to tell me something?’

  She gave him a tight little smile.

  ‘No, we’re talking about me here, not you.’

  ‘Or not talking about you.’

  ‘Fuck me, Buckley, you’re impossible.’

  She said it on a long weary exhale, her words barely above a whisper. He was aware of his next words as they came out of his mouth but it was as if somebody else was directing them. He sure as hell didn’t have any control over them.

  ‘I didn’t catch the part before you’re impossible.’

  Her forehead creased into a frown, her mind subconsciously repeating the words.

  Fuck me, Buckley.

  ‘What?’

  He shrugged, grinned stupidly at her. She suddenly grinned back. It was like a weight was lifted. He hadn’t thought she’d ever smile again.

  ‘It’s an expression, not an invitation.’

  Where might things have led if they’d had this conversation in the restaurant with a bottle of wine thrown into the mix? A subtle change in her eyes—a softening would be taking it too far—told him the same thought had just gone through her mind.

  ‘Besides, what about your little friend Gina? I don’t want to step on any toes. Her friend ... what’s her name?’

  ‘Destiny.’

  ‘Destiny might shoot me.’

  This wasn’t the direction he wanted the conversation to go. It struck him he shouldn’t be surprised he knew nothing about her, she always turned the conversation back onto him. He could write a book, call it living life on the back foot. He cleared his throat.

  ‘You were about to tell me something—’

  ‘No, I wasn’t.’

  The tone didn’t leave much room for argument

  ‘I thought in this new dawn of entente cordiale—’

  She sniggered at that.

  ‘Entente cordiale? You swallow the dictionary?’

  ‘So, what was it?’

  She tried the car door handle.

  ‘It’s locked,’ he said.

  ‘So unlock it.’

  He did as he was told and they got in.

  ‘What you’re missing here’—he got the impression a mini-lecture was on its way and kept the thought to himself—‘is there’s a world of difference between not telling somebody anything at all, and telling them something but leaving all the important parts out.’

  ‘I’ll settle for that.’

  She drew in a deep breath, held it, let it out slowly. He felt more relaxed just watching her. She closed her eyes.

  ‘You really want to know?’

  How many damn times do I have to ask?

  He started the car, nodded.

  ‘I’ll ask Ryder if you don’t tell me.’

  She opened her mouth, then clamped it shut. She’d been about to use the exact same expression as before.

  ‘You’re impossible,’ she said instead, missing the first part off. ‘Did I mention that?’

  ‘Uh-huh. That, and something about an invitation ...’

  Finally, he got the smack around the back of his head. He felt like giving a quick fist pump.

  ‘Idiot.’

  Yes. His absolution was complete.

  ‘C’mon then, you can buy me lunch. If you behave, I’ll give you a few carefully filtered facts while we eat.’

  Chapter 29

  ‘THERE WAS A GUY, worked for the DEA.’

  She was only a few words into her story and already her eyes had lost their focus. Evan leaned back in his seat and finished his coffee. Their plates were pushed off to the side. She’d refused to say anything until they’d eaten. So he didn’t get indigestion he supposed.

  ‘He worked undercover, trying to get inside one of the smaller cartels. He was making a lot of progress, but ...’

  She looked at him, raised an eyebrow. This was where he was supposed to see parallels with himself. He nodded as if he might get it after a few more repetitions.

  ‘He took stupid risks. The people who ran this particular outfit liked to send a very specific message. I reckon they’d been watching too many movies.’

  She looked around the diner. Evan looked as well, no idea what she was looking for. Then she got up and fetched a newspaper somebody had left behind on another table. On the front page there was a close-up photograph of the President, his mouth open as he addressed a rally. She folded the paper so that the photo was face up, laid it on the table between them.

  ‘Got a pen?’

  ‘The crossword’s on the back page isn’t it?’

  She gave him a long-suffering look as he dug around in his pocket, found a plastic ballpoint. The end was chewed. She looked at it like she didn’t want to touch it, took it anyway.

  ‘This gang would take a photograph of whoever it was they were interested in. Getting out of their car or sitting in a restaurant, whatever, just so the guy would know they were watching him. Then they’d do this.’

  She pulled the newspaper towards her and drew an ‘X’ on both the President’s eyes.

  ‘Then they’d mail the photo to the person.’

  ‘That sort of thing would make you choke on your cheerios.’

  She smiled.

  ‘I can think of better ways to start your day.’

  He saw where this was going. The guy she was talking about received a photo of himself with his eyes scored out. She’d been there the morning it arrived, hence the reference to better ways to start your day. It must have been her partner or husband.

  ‘The guy you’re talking about got a photo in the mail.’

  She nodded.

  ‘I can see why you said there are better ways to start your day.’

  She shook her head and Evan saw where this was really going, saw the link to their own situation. She didn’t say anything, let him figure it out for himself, giving him that enigmatic smile the whole time. Enjoying watching him come to appreciate the full implications of his actions.

  ‘You weren’t there.’

  ‘No. Keep going.’

  ‘And he didn’t tell you about it?’

  ‘No. What else?’

  He bit down on his tongue as his face suddenly tried to break into a nervous grin.

  ‘He didn’t tell anybody about i
t.’

  ‘Exactly. You might even say he deliberately hid it from everyone.’

  Her eyes drilled into him making him squirm. It was as if his skin was two sizes too small. He held up his hands, palms towards her.

  ‘I know. Like me.’

  ‘Except this is different.’

  It didn’t take a genius to know different only came in one flavor—worse.

  ‘You see, Evan, you’ve still got a shot at a happy ending.’

  ‘Unlike the other guy. What did he do?’

  ‘I told you. He took stupid risks. He ignored it, thought he could bullshit his way out of any situation.’

  ‘He had a good line in bullshit?’

  She couldn’t stop the little cough of a laugh escaping. There wasn’t a lot of warmth in it.

  ‘Oh yes.’ She lifted her hand, rocked it side to side. ‘Maybe not so good as yours, but the same stupid I’m invincible thinking behind it.’

  ‘It didn’t work.’

  Suddenly there was no more humor, her eyes losing focus again.

  ‘No. They killed him. Eventually. They—’

  He put his hand over hers, felt her move to pull it away, then change her mind.

  ‘You don’t need to go into details.’

  ‘Yes, I do. Because I don’t think the message will get into your thick skull, not until I draw you a picture. Maybe we’ll go back to the station and I’ll show you the crime scene photos.’

  She stared at his hand covering hers. When she spoke again, it was as if she’d swallowed her tongue several times.

  ‘That’s not all. Because this isn’t about you, it’s about me. I can see you thinking why is she getting so bent out of shape because I didn’t tell her?’

  He shrugged.

  ‘It crossed my mind.’

  ‘It’s like this. The guy—’

  ‘What was his name?’

  ‘Everybody called him Teardrop.’

  ‘Okay.’

  It wasn’t the time to ask why. As he was finding out today, she’d let him know if she wanted to and not before.

  ‘He didn’t tell me because he knew damn well’—the misty-eyed melancholy was suddenly a thing of the past, replaced by barely-suppressed anger—‘he knew damn well if he told me, I’d—’

  ‘Give him a lecture?’

  She shook her head in admiration, her eyes shining. It took everything he had to keep his hand where it was on top of hers, stop himself from lifting it and touching her cheek.

  ‘Sometimes you really surprise me. Here I am thinking you’re an idiot—’

  ‘I could tell you didn’t like my choice of words.’

  ‘He used to say it all the time, accuse me of lecturing him. He knew if he told me about the photo he’d received, I’d have talked sense into him, talked to his boss at the DEA, whatever. I’d have done something, whatever it took.’

  ‘And he’d still be here.’

  She nodded, her eyes down. He didn’t know if it was to stop him seeing the moistness in them, gave her a minute.

  ‘What I don’t understand ...’

  He waited for her to look at him, saw he’d been right, her eyes still faintly red-rimmed.

  ‘Is why you’re so bothered about it this time.’

  She threw her head back at that, stared at the ceiling.

  ‘What are you, fishing for a compliment? This isn’t about you. It’s about me and what happens when some idiot withholds information from me because they think they know better. Because they don’t!’

  The don’t came out as a shout. A few other diners looked at them, suddenly found something very interesting to look at on their plates. All except one guy, sitting by himself. He carried on staring openly at them, didn’t avert his eyes.

  Evan felt her hand tense under his. The guy was behind him, looking at her over his shoulder. For a second he thought she was about to say something, tell the guy to mind his own business. The moment passed, her shoulders relaxed. She looked drained. He felt worn out himself, just listening to the outburst.

  ‘It takes me straight back, like it was yesterday.’

  He knew exactly what that was like. She knew he knew, it was why she’d said it. It felt strange this way around. It was usually her having to listen to him pour his heart out.

  ‘It’s not a nice thing to carry around, knowing somebody made a stupid decision like that, because of the way you are.’ She jabbed her thumb at her chest. ‘If I wasn’t the sort of person who lectured people, maybe he’d have told me.’

  He squeezed her hand, because that’s what you do, even if he knew it made no difference.

  ‘I’m sick of spending my life feeling guilty because I didn’t do something to prevent something happening that I didn’t even know about.’

  ‘That doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘Tell me about it. And you should know. Nothing you say ever makes sense.’

  ‘You must have been spending too much time with me.’

  She looked at him, a flicker of life creeping back into her eyes.

  ‘Put on another fifty pounds and I’d think I was having lunch with Ryder.’

  He sat up straight, stretched.

  ‘Well I feel a whole lot better for all that, I don’t know about you.’

  ‘Me too. You can’t help being you. I suppose I should’ve warned you.’

  ‘What? That there’s a big softie underneath the tough cop exterior. I’d never have believed you.’ He cocked his head. ‘Come to think of it—’

  ‘Don’t worry, you won’t see it again.’

  There was one more thing he was itching to ask her. The trouble was, he didn’t want to send her into a terminal tailspin. He needn’t have worried, she knew him too well. She smiled as he started to speak.

  ‘This guy—’

  ‘I wasn’t in a relationship with him, if that’s what you were going to ask.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘No. He was my little brother.’

  Chapter 30

  ‘GIVE ME YOUR PHONE,’ Guillory said.

  ‘What?’

  He was still reeling from her words, the depth and layers of the implications, wasn’t really paying attention.

  ‘Your phone. Quickly.’

  She shifted sideways in her seat, dropped her shoulders. He handed her his phone.

  ‘What—’

  ‘It’s him,’ she whispered. ‘Hendricks’ army buddy. I’m sure of it.’

  Without thinking he went to turn around. She clamped her hand on his shoulder, kept him facing towards her. He mouthed sorry to her.

  ‘The guy who was staring at us. I thought he was looking at us like all the others because I shouted. He’s been watching us the whole time. I knew there was something about him.’

  She scrolled through his photos, found the picture he’d taken of Floyd Gray’s mug shot. She leaned slightly to the side to see past him, her eyes flicking from the phone in her hand to the guy behind Evan and back again.

  ‘Don’t you ever wipe the lens on this thing? It looks like you’ve taken a photo of a fingerprint, not a mug shot.’

  ‘Is it him?’

  She scrunched her face up, stole another quick glance over his shoulder.

  ‘Hard to say. This’—she tapped the phone—‘must be at least ten years out of date. Add all the greasy fingerprints ... I don’t know. He’s got less hair, looks like a million other guys you wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley.’

  ‘Has he got the dog with him?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Not unless it’s hidden under the table.’

  He was itching to turn around, take a look for himself, even though he wouldn’t recognize him any more than Guillory. It had been far too dark in his sister’s garage to get a look at him.

  ‘I’m going to ask him straight out. I’m sick of all this.’

  Guillory put her hand on his shoulder again, pushed him back down as he tried to get up. Their eyes met and he dropped back into his seat.r />
  ‘Weren’t you listening when I was talking about doing stupid things?’

  He hoped she wasn’t going to bring this up every time he wanted to do something she disagreed with, play the guilt card.

  ‘What do you suggest?’

  ‘I can’t arrest him just for sitting there, staring at us, if that’s what you mean.’

  ‘What about if he stabs me in the back with a fork while we’re thinking about it? Will that do?’

  He was joking. It still made the hairs on the back of his neck bristle as he said it.

  She opened her mouth to say something then stopped as the door opened. It was driving him crazy that he had to sit still with his neck stiff staring at the wall behind her while she watched everything that was going on. Whoever just entered had her full attention. The self-doubting Kate Guillory of a few minutes ago was a thing of the past. The Guillory he knew and ... whatever it was he felt, was back in the driving seat.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Three guys just came in.’

  ‘So?’

  She didn’t answer him. He watched her eyes widen as the three men made their way into the room.

  ‘They’re sitting down with Hendricks’ buddy.’

  Her face suddenly split in a satisfied grin.

  ‘He’s not very happy about it. He tried to get out. They’ve boxed him in.’

  ‘What—’

  ‘Shush. I’m trying to hear what they’re saying.’

  He couldn’t hear a thing with all the noise, didn’t know how she expected to. She was transfixed, unable to take her eyes off of them. Then he noticed her lips moving soundlessly—she was trying to lip read. He watched the irritation climb up her face, then she gave up and sat back.

  ‘They’re not speaking English. At least, the three guys aren’t. I don’t know about the other one. He’s not saying much at all. Looks like he’s thinking of making a run for it.’

  ‘What language are they speaking?’

  ‘Definitely not Spanish. Not Italian. I’d say something Eastern European.’

  She held up a finger to quieten him as he tried to speak.

  ‘The little guy—’

  ‘I can’t see them Kate.’

  She waved it off.

  ‘The little guy’s smiling all over his face. Except it’s not really a smile. Our guy’s not doing any smiling—’

  She looked down at the table sharply, her lips a tight line.