by Samson Weld
That cheered her up. They had plans to dive into the local culture. There was a country dance club two miles away. Bellucci was eager to learn country line dancing. It looked like so much fun. Rocco actually enjoyed country music, so for once they were in agreement.
Hurrying inside, she heard Rocco in the shower. He tended to take very long, hot showers. That meant no hot water for her. Oh well, she planned to work up a sweat dancing anyway. She instead made for the bedroom.
Quickly stripping out of her work clothes, she pulled on her “good butt” jeans. She had a brand new pair of cowboy boots just for the occasion. They were brown, but with flowers embroidered on the shaft, and even down on the vamp. They were meant to be worn over her jeans. She even had a matching belt.
Bellucci pulled on a white tank and then a western shirt over that. She stuffed the shirttails in, but left it unbuttoned down to her belly button. After all, she worked hard to stay fit and sometimes liked to show off her body.
“Damnation, woman,” Rocco drawled in his best Texas accent. “You’re one fine looking filly.”
He stood before her buck ass naked, as they said in these parts. As of yet, she hadn’t heard anyone say anything like “Damnation, woman,” but it could happen. Besides, his Texan accent sounded more like Georgian, but who was she to rain on his parade? Rocco’s good moods were a rare thing since moving to Dallas.
“Thanks, cowboy, you aren’t so bad yourself,” she purred, holding his gaze.
For once they could relax and enjoy themselves. Bellucci felt the day’s frustrations melting away already. And then Rocco’s phone rang.
The phone lay screen down on the dresser, just two feet from her. Bellucci reached for it.
“Don’t touch my phone,” he snapped, rushing over to snatch it away.
“Why? Is it her?” she asked and instantly regretted her words.
Why were they still speaking? Coming with her to Dallas should’ve proven his commitment to her.
“There is no her,” he growled, shooting daggers. “All I ask is a little privacy, okay?”
“It’s not okay if you’re mooning over some lost love like a schoolboy.”
“Screw you,” he spat. “Why should I suffer just because you messed up and ratted out your superior, and was practically run out of New York?”
“I’m a cop, not a mobster, Rocco. My job is to fight crime, even within the department,” she said very cautiously, keeping her temper under control. That was a painful subject for her. “No one chased me out of anywhere. I wanted to start over in a friendlier environment.”
And she wanted to get Rocco away from that woman.
“Screw you,” he snapped again.
“I wish! You haven’t touched me since we moved to Dallas,” she replied with more heat than intended. “Is she that beautiful? Am I that ugly?”
Bellucci saw all of their carefully laid plans unraveling. No night of dancing for her. Rocco stood there flushed and trembling. Anger or humiliation at getting caught? He was a terrible liar. Worse, her face heated up, too.
Humiliation washed over her every time she thought about how he cheated on her. And worse, she let him get away with it. Hell, she never really even challenged him. She’d gotten the job offer from Dallas PD just before it came to a head. She’d thought that moving away from the other woman would seal the deal.
Now I’m the bitch who dragged him away from his family, friends, and the city he loved, she thought. And maybe away from the woman he loved.
She wondered for the thousandth time if he would’ve come with her if he’d had a job. To her shame, Bellucci didn’t think so. Where had it gone wrong?
“Go. Go dancing,” he barked. “I’m not in the mood for fun, or your bullshit.”
He quickly pulled on his boxers followed by a pair of khakis. Then he headed back into the closet.
“You’re never in the mood for anything but arguing or talking to your side slut.”
“Wrong. I’m in the mood for a change of scenery,” he replied, before stepping back out with his suitcase in hand.
She gawked at the suitcase. He smirked. Rocco’s attitude killed the words of apology forming on her lips. Did she want him to stay? Was she ready to give up on them? Was she ready to accept she’d wasted seven years of her life with him?
Her phone rang. Dallas PD came up on the screen.
“Dammit. It’s Sunday night, for Christ’s sake.”
“Go ahead, answer it,” Rocco said, voice full of anger. “I’ve said all I’m going to say to you. Except… Good-bye.”
Bellucci felt numb as she picked up the phone and answered. “Bellucci.”
“Detective Bellucci, this is Detective Kilgore. I thought you’d like to know that patrol officers spotted the gray Dodge Ram you are interested in, and with a passenger. I think it’s Mr. Ashley Wexler. My partner and I are more than willing to go check him out, but I thought you might want the pleasure instead.”
“I would. Have you called Cagle yet?”
“He didn’t answer his phone.”
“Figures. Thanks, I got it. Text me the address.” She ended the call and turned to Rocco. “Please don’t leave or do anything until I get back. I have to go talk to a suspect, but I’ll try to return as quickly as possible so we can talk this out and decide what our best…”
“I’ve already decided what’s best for me, Anna. I’m sorry, but I can’t do Dallas,” he said. “I’m going home. Tonight.”
Rocco looked determined. He had always been a stubborn ass, too. And she just didn’t have any more fight left in her. So she shook her head, grabbed her badge and weapon, and headed out.
“Fine. Good luck,” she said. “Leave your keys on the dresser.”
Bellucci slipped into her leather jacket on the way out. She was shaking like a leaf when she sat behind the wheel, and it had nothing to do with the temperature. Thankfully, she didn’t need to insert a key. Pushing the start button turned the engine over.
“Damn. Damn. Damn.”
After checking her messages, just to clear her head, she used the phone’s GPS guidance app to drive west of downtown. It seemed like a nice neighborhood in the dark, but she’d learned enough about Dallas that that didn’t mean squat.
She spotted the gray Dodge in the Starbucks lot as promised. Bellucci parked in a spot five over from him.
A white male sat in the pickup, staring at the club across the street. She covertly ensured she had a round chambered and took a deep breath.
It was never a good idea to approach a killer without backup.
Chapter 23
A red Chevy Tahoe approached, blinker flashing to indicate a turn into the club parking lot. It had the illegally dark tinted windows, all of the added chrome, and the flashy spinning wheels and fancy tires Rojas put on his personal Tahoe.
“Bingo,” Ash muttered. He bent over, hand seeking the Scorpion submachine gun.
Rojas came in behind a white Ford 500, which was signaling to turn as well, but into Ash’s parking lot. The two vehicles were too close together for him to open fire, what with the two parking lot entrances opposite each other. The Ford had to turn before the Cadillac could enter the club parking lot.
Ash pulled his hand back. He wasn’t going to get a safe shot with the hard cinder block walls of the club behind Rojas. The last thing Ash wanted was to hurt innocent bystanders. So he would have to cross over to the other parking lot, timing it just right to catch Rojas walking alone toward the entrance. Fortunately, there wasn’t a valet service.
The Ford turned into the Starbucks parking lot. Instead of heading for the drive-thru, it turned and parked five spaces down from him. Irritating, but he only had eyes for Rojas. Ash watched intently, needing to know exactly where he parked.
Timing was everything. In fact, the further from the entrance the better, so he reached for the key. The driver of the Ford distracted him.
It was a woman, the blonde’s sweet feminine curves on display in tight jeans stuffed into cowbo
y boots and a cute leather jacket. He hadn’t expected to see a white woman going to the Tejano club, but then she was parking across the street.
To his surprise, she didn’t go into the Starbucks or even cross the street. Her eyes locked on him and she approached slowly, as if she wanted him to notice her.
As she grew closer, Ash saw that she was older than he originally thought, probably early to mid-thirties, though still attractive. He kind of liked her ponytail.
He turned back to the club parking lot. Rojas had parked toward the middle of the lot. It would only take him a moment or two before he entered the club. Ash’s window of opportunity was lost. Now the question was whether or not to sit out there for hours and hope he caught Rojas leaving.
A tap on the passenger window drew Ash’s eyes. The blonde looked at him expectantly. All he could do was stare at her.
Shit. This couldn’t be happening.
Chapter 24
Bellucci’s heart raced as she approached the gray Dodge pickup.
She could see the suspect behind the wheel. Was that Wexler? If it wasn’t, then she wasn’t sure what to do. But she’d spent hours researching Ashley Wexler, so thought she had a good measure of the man. Or at least who he used to be before that fateful day five years back.
He glanced at her, but seemed more concerned with the parking lot across the street. Who was he looking for? Club Tejano Desperados wasn’t on the list of Osorio’s hangouts, though it was known the drug lord loved Tejano music.
Approaching slowly, she reached the passenger side door without being shot. That was a good start. He wasn’t looking at her, which she found strange. Was he waiting for Osorio to arrive, or could it be another one of Osorio’s henchmen? Or was he just doing some surveillance for a planned hit?
Either way, she didn’t really have enough to arrest him at the moment. Oh, she could probably get away with arresting him, but they didn’t have enough to hold him, much less book him for murder.
She tapped on the window.
Wexler’s head whipped around. He looked surprised and unsure. She smiled. He scowled, with another quick glance across the street. Finally, Wexler leaned over and yanked the door handle, popping the door open for her.
“Ashley Wexler?” she asked, leaning into the truck.
She quickly looked him over, head to foot. He was attractive in a rugged sort of way. Not what she’d expected to find since he was supposed to be a mild-mannered, forty year old office type. Wexler had short, dark hair, a three-day growth of stubble, and a hard edge to his eyes. He wore jeans and hunting boots, but a zipped up brown leather bomber jacket hid his upper body.
“Ash,” he replied, eyes narrowing. “Never Ashley. Do I know you?”
“Fair enough, Ash. Can we call a truce and talk over a cup of coffee? I’m sure you’re as cold as I am.” Bellucci pulled her jacket aside to show him her badge. He could see her pistol as well. “Detective Bellucci. Homicide.”
He glanced back at the Starbucks and nodded. The man didn’t look happy, but at least he agreed to talk without any trouble. Maybe he hadn’t gone crazy with vengeance yet. Her hope of bringing the case to an easy and peaceful end blossomed.
“Lock the door,” he said.
Bellucci pushed the lock down before closing it. She headed for the entrance. Wexler got out, slamming the door. He didn’t even try to catch up, and when she glanced back he was staring at her butt.
Men!
She opened the door for him and he went straight to the counter. It gave her an opportunity to look him over more carefully. Above average height, medium build, but his legs at least looked muscular.
The bulky bomber jacket was the problem. Was he carrying? Was that a bulge under his left arm? She was confident she could draw faster, since he kept the jacket zipped up.
Wexler ordered straight up coffee while she got a latte. Bellucci waved him off when he reached for his wallet.
“I got it.”
He led the way to a table in the corner. She followed, it being her turn to watch his butt. He looked good in those jeans, reminding her of Rocco. Reminding her at how lousy she was at choosing men. Was Rocco already on his way to the airport? Did he already have a ticket purchased?
The detective shook those thoughts away when Wexler sat, back to the wall. Bellucci took off her jacket and hung it on the back of the chair, hoping he’d follow suit. But no, he stayed zipped up. She took the seat opposite and leaned her elbows on the table.
Wexler did not have any kind of facial injury, as Collins claimed. Of course, the ER hadn’t treated any facial cuts, either. Either she had the wrong guy, and it was just a coincidence that he’d gone to the ER for a cut arm, or Collins was sadly mistaken about the damage he’d done to his attacker. Still, it would be nice to confirm the cut on his left forearm for herself.
“I know all about you, Wexler,” she started.
“Damn, those cop shows are right,” he replied. “You talk just like they do on Law and Order, Bellucci. Everyone calls me Ash.”
She shrugged. “I served twelve years in NYPD, Ash, including as a homicide detective. As for Law and Order, I can’t watch cop shows. They drive me crazy. But everyone does address me as Bellucci, except my mother. She calls me Anna.”
He actually chuckled. He had a nice smile.
“What brought you to Dallas?” He leaned over to look at her cowboy boots. “You’ve certainly taken to the local culture. Even native Dallasites don’t dress like that.”
Was he mocking her? His face showed some interest. No scorn.
“That’s not important,” she said. “What brought you Dallas? Mateo Osorio?”
He shrugged. “Maybe I’m just looking for love in all the wrong places.”
Was he flirting?
“Don’t we all?” she replied. “I suppose you have friends in low places, too?”
“Don’t we all?” he said in the same tone of voice as hers, taking a sip of his coffee. “Sorry, I’m all out of Garth Brooks quotes. What do you really want to talk about? My love of country music? You look like a country girl.”
“I love all kinds of music,” she said. Pulling a stern face, “What I don’t love is private citizens taking the law into their own hands. There is no justice in vigilantism.”
“I disagree. Vigilante justice is as American as apple pie and internet porn,” he said. “And when the justice system protects criminals, sometimes people need to fight the bad guys on their own terms. Kind of fight fire with fire.”
“Are you a firefighter, Ash?”
“I’m a survivor,” he said. A look of profound loss spread across his face. “My wife and two sons didn’t survive. They were gleefully gunned down in the street.”
Her breath caught. She fought the urge to reach out and touch his hand in support. That wasn’t her job. The detective understood very well what he said. American justice all too often erred on the side of restraint. A suspect’s rights were paramount, so every now and then they escaped justice.
Victims’ rights were rarely considered.
“I used to spout the glory of truth, justice, and the American Way,” Ash continued. “Then I was proven wrong. I identified the men who gunned us down, killed my family, but the police couldn’t, or wouldn’t, do anything. Not enough evidence, they said. Osorio and his gang produced witnesses saying they were at a party. Does that sound like justice, Detective?”
She grimaced. She always tried to keep her face and body language neutral, but she’d seen it too often. Ash wasn’t the first, or the last, to suffer that fate under this justice system.
“What would you do if your husband and small children were gunned down like that?”
Her mind reeled. For once, she was grateful she’d neither married nor had children. She yearned for domestic bliss, but she also saw the ugliest side of humanity on a daily basis.
“I would follow the law, of course,” she replied, but heard the doubt in her own voice. “But the question of the day is,
what are you doing about it, Mr. Wexler?”
He didn’t answer right away. Ash studied her face a moment and then looked toward Club Tejano Desperados. He shrugged.
“I’m living my best life, Bellucci,” he said very softly. “The American dream.”
He didn’t seem to be a violent man, or even a dangerous man. But she was sure he was the vigilante they were looking for. She just couldn’t prove it beyond a doubt. Yet. So instead, she considered how best to convince him to stop before an innocent bystander was hurt.
“I understand injustice, Ash,” she said. “I’ve not gone unscathed myself.” She frowned, feeling uncertain. Should she open up? “I moved to Dallas to escape my past. As you obviously can see, I have an idealistic view of justice, law, and order. One of my superiors in NYPD didn’t share my values and I turned him in. It got ugly. I was forced to flee the city I loved. I pretty much lost everything.”
Thoughts of Rocco filled her head a moment.
“But I still sincerely believe the American justice system is the best way to resolve criminal issues. Everyone deserves a fair trial,” she continued. “Naming yourself judge, jury, and executioner is not our way. It is wrong on so many levels.” She reached out and touched his hand. “You have to stop.”
Ash sat back, regarding her with an odd look. Was she getting to him? And then he stood up.
She thought he wanted to say something, but he just walked out of the Starbucks and got into his truck. She watched him drive away, wondering if she’d done the right thing.
Chapter 25
“Whoa,” Ash croaked out, sitting up. “Oh, it was a dream.”
He sat in his bed. The sun wasn’t up yet. The clock showed he’d only gotten five hours sleep, yet he felt nice and rested. The dream, though, lingered.
It started out with him enjoying a picnic with the ER nurse, Deanna. She looked amazing, dark hair pulled back in a ponytail and blissful face. But then Osorio arrived to have a picnic of his own with Rojas and Consuelo. They taunted him, saying they were bulletproof. He couldn’t touch them. Meanwhile, Deanna begged him to give up that violent life and go away with her.