by D. A. Bale
The name? Since the night he’d slunk into my garage and spent the following weeks slinking around my apartment as if he expected danger around every corner, I thought Slinky an appropriate name. Besides, you should see how high he springs in the air when he gets all riled up – er, when I get him all riled up.
Hey, a girl’s gotta have some form of entertainment. Well besides the adult variety.
Zeke called out from the bedroom. “All clear, Vic, but you’d better get in here.”
Nausea churned in my gut and I thought I was going to be sick until I rounded the corner to my bedroom, saw Zeke standing with the door open to my walk-in closet, and heard the sweetest sound any mother could hear.
“Meo-o-o-w!”
“My baby!” I squealed and scooped Slinky into my arms.
When it comes to my cat, I’m a complete sucker. Or idiot. Really just an emotional basket case. It wasn’t until both our hearts stopped hammering and my kitty started purring that the scattered and tattered state of my bedroom came into focus.
Zeke broke the stunned silence as he flipped out his phone. “I guess it’s time to retire this mattress.”
***
Chaos descended on my apartment building for the second time in as many weeks. The Dallas PD rifled through every nook and cranny, every drawer and dish, and left a fine layer of black fingerprint dust in their wake. By the time they finished, you may as well have opened every door and window and just taken a hose to it all. Between the intruder and law enforcement, little remained salvageable.
Drool towel in tow, Jimmy-the-Super showed up to inspect the place, spoke briefly with the police, then made himself scarce without addressing me other than with a squinty-eyed stare. I was surprised he even showed up around the police at all, considering his probable gang and drug background. As soon as I cleaned up this disaster, I planned to send a scathing letter to the landlord to find out how pond scum qualified for a job that allowed access to honest citizens’ homes.
When everything quieted down again, I took in the mess that was once my life. Nothing discernable remained of my furniture. The TV and related electronics looked like victims of a drive-by shooting. My cast iron metal bedframe was intact, but without a mattress it was worthless for sleeping anytime in the near future. The wanton destruction left me in a quandary as midnight approached.
Going to Mom and Dad’s was off the list. No way would I skulk to that place with my tail between my legs and witness firsthand the smug grin on the sperm donor’s face. Janine would let me hang out with her, but she still lived under the De’Laruse roof. News would travel from Mrs. De’Laruse’s mouth to my parents’ ears faster than the wind blows through West Texas. Nick was out of town on some modeling gig last I knew. Grady would probably let me stay with him, but that was just a bad idea all the way around.
A girl could handle only so much temptation – especially when vacillating between the aching need for comfort and the overwhelming desire to shoot someone’s eyes out.
Or balls off.
If it weren’t for the heat and the possibility of the cat having an accident, Slinky and I could spend the night in the garage curled up in my Vette – curled up being the optimum word. God love our military personnel, but I ain’t one to fall asleep in a combat zone. Even though I was tired enough to fall out of my boots at that moment, I’m still too much of a pampered princess to sleep in those environs.
Zeke must’ve caught the sigh as I stared at the remains of my apartment. “If you can find anything in this mess, pack a bag. You’ll sleep at my place tonight.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Is that all you think about? We’re standing among the wreckage of my life, and you’re still trying to hook up with me?”
Zeke held up his hands in surrender. “Just sleep. Trust me, the urge has passed.”
Should I be relieved or insulted? “Really?”
“Getting involved with you again was a momentary lapse of my better judgment.”
Definite insult. But seeing how no other offers were present, I suppose I should be grateful for a place to rest my head for the night. Sorta. Maybe.
I shoved the kitty carrier at Zeke and slogged through the bedroom debris to locate any clean clothes for the morrow. Then after picking my way across the glass-covered kitchen floor, I grabbed the litterbox and a couple tins of cat food and headed for our cars.
On the drive across town, a litany of questions tore through my beleaguered mind. Why me? Was this a random break-in? If so, it didn’t appear they’d taken anything, not that I had much of value. Simply vandals searching for a good time? Were the perps looking for something in particular? If so, what? Money? Car keys? The thought of someone destroying my Vette made me see blood. What if they’d hurt Slinky? That thought sent a shiver down my spine, and I patted the carrier for reassurance. What if I’d been home? Yeah, that’s where years of target practice would come in handy. My gun called to me.
My gun!
Most people raised in Texas learned how to shoot by the age of three and acquired their first weapon in their own name just as soon as they turned eighteen. My Sig P938 was good for smaller hands. Plus it was a great way to pick up guys at the shooting range.
But I digress.
The moment I pulled into Zeke’s apartment complex and parked beside his truck, I leapt out. “My gun.”
Zeke locked his truck and turned around to the passenger door of my car. “Relax. The police found it. It’s in my waistband.”
“Why’d they give it to you?”
“Good question. Why do you think?”
“It’s registered. I’ve a carry permit.”
Gathering up everything from the car and handing me Slinky’s carrier, Zeke responded. “You were in no state to handle a weapon earlier.”
“I want my gun,” I demanded, following him into the building.
“You’re in no state to handle a weapon now either.”
“Give me my gun.”
“You might accidentally shoot that fur ball you’re carrying.” The elevator opened. “Do you really want that on your conscience right now?”
“Damnit, Zeke.” I followed him in, the memory of the earlier elevator ride springing to mind. “Just give me back my gun.”
“Tomorrow.”
“Now.”
The sudden movement startled me as Zeke pressed in close, his breath warm and inviting. “Make me.”
I set the carrier on the floor, pressed my body to his, then laid one on him that would scare a nun. He jolted in surprise, dropped my bags and fisted my hair. As his tongue danced with mine, I wrapped my arms around him and trailed along his spine until I found what I wanted.
With a jerk and a shove, Zeke stumbled backward as I raised my arm in triumph, the Sig gleaming in my hand.
“Goes to show ya,” I drawled. “Never come between a woman and her weapon.”
Chapter Sixteen
The kitchen clatter woke me first. The moment Slinky noticed daylight hitting my retinas he let out a yowl to wake the dead.
Pretty much how I felt too.
Before falling asleep Slinky had spooned me. This morning he perched high atop my hip like he was king of Mount Everest. Thank God he hadn’t settled on my chest or he’d have thought he was king of the Himalayas.
You know, twin peaks? Aw forget it.
“Do you have to make so much noise?” I called.
Zeke strolled over, wearing nothing but his royal blue boxers, and settled a mug on the coffee table. “Rise and shine, princess.”
I closed my eyes and groaned. “Need sleep. Not coffee.”
“I offered my bed,” Zeke said.
“With you in it.”
“Can’t blame a guy for trying after that stunt you pulled last night.”
My hand snaked out from the blanket and made contact with the mug. Coffee spread warmth through my innards as I gulped some down before opening my eyes a
little wider this time.
“Don’t you have a robe or something you can wear?” I asked.
Zeke shook his head. “Not like you haven’t seen boxers before. Matter-of-fact, I think you bought these for me.”
I squinted to focus. “Oh yeah.” The wall clock grabbed my attention. If it wasn’t for the fact I needed the cup of life-giving nectar, I’d have thrown the lot at him. “It’s not even nine yet. Why’d you wake me so early on a Saturday?”
“I’m gonna run over to the office and get a little paperwork done.”
“You country boys need to learn to sleep like us city girls once in awhile,” I moaned, tugging the blanket over my face.
“Come on. I made a breakfast that might cheer you up.”
Ham and eggs with hash browns sizzled as Zeke plopped the skillet on the table, the scent sending waves of encouragement that drove me from the sofa. Ah, the typical cowboy’s campfire breakfast, all stirred together as if we were on a cattle drive. Sometimes with crumbling bacon. Other times with sausage. The familiar food was what he’d made for me countless times while we’d dated. Little ever changed where Zeke Taylor was concerned – and there was comfort in that.
“Thanks again for letting me stay last night,” I said around the mouthful of scrambled eggs.
“Welcome.”
A man of action but few words – sometimes.
He got up to refill his coffee. “Have you considered the nature of the break-in?”
“I’m trying not to,” I mumbled between bites.
“Was there anything valuable someone might want?”
“What could they want? They trashed the electronics. Most of the furniture was acquired from thrift stores. The only nice thing I had was the dining set. Mom bought it for me.”
“I remember.” Eyes sharpened. Lips thinned. Face blanked with no expression. Human Zeke disappeared into Ranger mode. “No other valuables then?”
“Besides my wardrobe and shoe collection?”
“There’s the gun,” Zeke muttered.
“Which they didn’t take,” I reminded him.
His upper lip twitched ever so slight as if remembering my antics from last night. “The timing is interesting, you being out of town with me all day.”
“Yeah. Normally I’d have been sleeping off the night before then cleaning around the apartment.”
“Cleaning?”
I flashed him a dirty look as he took off for his bedroom, but he had me pegged. Saturdays it was more like nursing a hangover. Maybe watching a little TV before trying to plan my outfit for the night. Hey, I’m a girl. It takes a bit of time to look this good – well, ‘cept for today. Felt like I’d been dragged behind a monster truck all the way from Austin.
“Anyway,” I started, “as much as I want to categorize this as a random event, something about it feels off.”
Zeke called out from his room. “The wanton destruction makes it personal.”
That sent a chill down my spine. “I was afraid of that.”
“So someone breaks into your apartment on a day you just so happen to alter your routine and leave town. They don’t take anything but toss your apartment.”
“Thanks for the recap to my pain.”
Zeke strolled in all gussied up in dark jeans and buttoning a maroon shirt with his shoulder holster swinging from his arm and his Stetson firmly in place. He walked over the chair back and returned to sit at the table. I used to think it was so hot when he did that – until it got old. I think he did it just to show off his manly stature and long legs. You know, because he could.
“Who all knew you were going to Austin with me?” Zeke asked.
While feeding a crumb of ham to Slinky, I contemplated the possibilities. “Well there’s Grady, of course. Oh and Radioman.”
“Radioman?”
“The guy sitting at the bar the other night when you came in.”
“The one in the middle of asking you for a date?”
“Which you so rudely interrupted.” Slinky accepted a nibble of hash browns then licked the butter from my fingers.
“You might thank me for that one day,” Zeke said.
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Anyone else?”
I thought for a second. “Well maybe whoever Grady called in to work my shift, which now that I have to replace most of my furniture I really could’ve used.”
“That’s what insurance is for. No rush.”
“Says the man in the black hat.”
“What about the super?” he asked while adjusting the holster straps.
“Jimmy?”
The interaction we’d shared a few days ago reasserted in my addled brain. The winking skull tattoo. Jimmy staring down his nose when I’d questioned him about the unlocked rooftop access door. Yelling at me for his burnt steak. Telling me all about my comings and goings – and with who.
Can you say suspect numero uno?
***
After the fuss I’d created the other morning, this visit was risky. Dumber than my dad on a Saturday night. Denser than Janine when it came down to what to do with a guy trapped between the sheets. Ditzier than – well, me when I’d had one too many. But if I was going to get Bobby’s carcass out of jail and do everything to prove his innocence, it was time to wave the white flag.
“Don’t handle break-ins.”
Detective Duncan’s voice carried across the precinct when I walked into the room and made a beeline for his desk. Chatter and chuckles followed me, along with a few wolf whistles, which, given the state of my get-up and the bags under my eyes hanging down to my chin, made me wonder just how hard up some of the local yokels were – particularly the ones with glinting wedding bands.
So you’ve heard the one about how marriage kills the sex drive? I’m pretty sure my parents fit that particular state as well, though in their case it may have more to do with my dad’s roaming sex drive than lack thereof. Given his penchant for panty piñata, is it any wonder why I’m a bit jaded about the idea of marital bliss?
I plunked down on the corner of Duncan’s desk.
He didn’t even lift his waxy cue ball from the computer screen. “Here to turn yourself in this time?”
“For what?”
“How about detonating a nuclear bomb within the Dallas city limits?”
“You’ve heard about my apartment, huh?” I asked.
“Talk of the precinct this morning, sweetheart.”
Don’t you hate it when someone takes what is supposed to be a term of endearment and turns it into something derisive? Me too. Kinda reminds me of eating snails – slimy and a bit tough to swallow.
“Wondered if I could talk to you about it, since Zeke introduced us and all.”
That earned me an irreverent snort. “Most people wouldn’t call that an introduction.”
“Seeing as you used my one phone call to contact him instead of throwing me in jail, I’d say it could be construed as such.”
Duncan shook his head and continued abusing the keyboard, pecking the keys like a woodpecker after a worm. “This is homicide, sweetheart. You need to go one floor down for breaking and entering.”
“More like assault and battery,” I mumbled.
The pecking stopped while wide eyes gave me the once over. “I thought you weren’t home.”
“I wasn’t,” I reassured. “But the wanton destruction makes this personal. Like an assault on my person.”
An eye roll was all I got for my efforts. “Like I said, one floor down.”
“So why were you threatening me with breaking and entering the other night if all you do is homicide?”
“Because you were breaking and entering on my homicide case,” Duncan retorted, “which I could still charge you with, by the way.”
Okay, new tactic. “Zeke thinks what happened last night with my apartment, your case, and something he’s working on might be connected.”
; “And Ranger Taylor couldn’t be bothered to come downtown himself? He had to send his little lusty liaison who thinks she’s the next Nancy Drew?”
“I am not,” I squealed.
“Tell me something I don’t already know.”
What was it with all the Nancy Drew references? First Zeke and now Detective Duncan – and I thought only girls read those books while boys gravitated toward the Hardy Boys.
My high pitch garnered a few head turns. I lowered my voice. “Okay, fine. But you saw the certain Mexican official’s name tied to Amy Vernet, yes?”
“I did.”
“Well on my jaunt with Zeke to the capitol, I discovered said official is officially, yet unofficially, Amy’s father.”
Now I had the detective’s attention. “Juarez really is her father?”
I nodded.
Duncan’s brow furrowed deeper than a prairie dog’s hole. “But what do you mean by officially yet unofficially?”
I smiled. Asking me questions? Now he was intrigued – which meant I had the detective right where I wanted him. “The original record, which according to Madam Bitchy in vital statistics is no longer the original somehow, was changed to remove his name for reasons unknown. Now the amended is classified as the original, though I still don’t get how the original is no longer considered the original.”
“Odd.”
Did he mean the original conundrum of Juarez as Amy’s father, or could that possibly be some sort of slam against me?
Don’t answer that.
Duncan continued, “Removing a name from a birth record would require a court order.”
“Which someone obviously got.”
With a flourish befitting a matador, I pulled out of my purse yesterday’s acquired envelope – from what turned out to be a very expensive day – and plopped it onto Duncan’s desk. He stared up at me with an element of, dare I say, almost respect.
Almost.
“Does Zeke keep you around for all his legwork?” Duncan asked with a smirk.