Jasmine

by Bene, Jennifer

  “I can’t do that.” Her voice is strained as she snaps out the words. “Whitmann will have my fucking ass.”

  “No, he won’t. And you know it.”

  “Dammit, Mason I don’t have time for this. My wife is in the emergency room!” She gives me an irked twist of her head, body shifting toward the SUV she already wants to be in heading out of town.

  “Listen, I just want to follow through on this one thing. You go. Take care of your wife. Come back and get me tomorrow, or, if you can’t, I swear I’ll find a way to get back to Amarillo.” I shoot a quick glance towards Braddock, who along with Clint and the other deputy are all standing there watching this play out.

  She shifts on her feet, her whole body leaning towards the truck, and I know I’ve made it.

  “Whitmann is not going to do shit to you. At worse he’ll try and ‘manage’ you and hit you with a personal intervention plan or some bullshit. You can weather that.” I look at her, and she’s taking a deep breath to counter my words, so I press on. “There’s nothing going to happen here. I just want to take care of this one little thing that the LAPD jacked up. That’s it.”

  She’s wavering, because she knows as well as I that nothing I do here is going to be important or resolve anything. Just adding another paragraph to a report that’s already nothing but crap.

  “Go, Carmen,” I press, because her wife is sitting in some hospital room in Amarillo, and that’s where she needs to be. Not here worrying about her supervisor or arguing should-I-stay-or-should-I-go with me. “I’m just going to eat some fine country cuisine, watch paint dry, and then go pay a neighborly visit to Mr. Christiansen tomorrow. Nothing more. I promise.” At those words her gaze shifts to Braddock.

  “If there’s anything we can do to help, ma’am...” His voice is soft, serious, and sincere.

  “Keep him out of trouble.” She jerks her thumb in my direction. “If he tries to get away and do anything stupid, shoot him.”

  Braddock laughs. “Yes ma’am. I’ll make sure to get him back to Amarillo in one piece. Maybe a few extra holes, but one piece.”

  She looks from me to Braddock, and then back to me.

  “I’m going to fucking regret this, aren’t I?” Carmen’s voice is soft but tinged with eagerness. She wants to be away from here, and she knows she’s signed the deal on the dotted line, moments from being free and clear. She points a finger at me. “I swear to God, Mason. If anything comes up, you call me. Immediately.” The finger stabs toward me for emphasis.

  “Nothing is going to happen, Carmen. There’s nothing here to happen.” We stare at each other, and she’s already twenty miles down the road in her head. “Go.”

  At that, she turns, striding down the sidewalk towards the Suburban in steps that eat up the distance measured in heartbeats.

  “You call me! For anything!” Her voice bounces back as she rounds the hood of the truck and jumps inside. There is a roar of the V8 as she fires it up, and then with a squeal of tires she’s gone.

  I hear the truck make the corner at the light without stopping, and then the engine noise fades, leaving us in silence. None of us move for a moment, and I catch all three men staring at me. Braddock is appraising me, no doubt trying to make some sense of what just happened here, and Clint is giving me a stare that is equal parts wary and intrigued.

  “Her wife, huh?” Braddock’s voice slices the silence in two, and for a moment I feel my hackles rise. This is my worst-case scenario for this situation coming to life. Except his voice is not judgmental, condescending, or any of the things that my first gut reaction has sprung on me. It sounds genuine with concern, and when I look over at him it appears to be that and nothing more.

  “Yeah. Her wife.”

  He nods, lips pursing. “She gonna be okay? You think you ought to have gone with her?”

  I ponder that for a moment, then shake my head.

  “No. She was just babysitting me anyways. For her boss. Seeing as I’m from California…” I emphasize the word, making sure it’s clear I understand my foreigner status is not just limited to Whitmann back in Amarillo. “Last thing she needed was to have to figure out what to do with me while she’s trying to take care of her wife too. I figure you gentlemen are more than capable of that.”

  Braddock looks over at his deputies, and the two of them frown a little as if on cue.

  “Besides, I never got the chance to meet ‘The Wall’ that Deputy Nolan and Carmen spent so much time going on about today. Or partake of some of Texas’s finest cuisine. Or watch paint dry.” I give Braddock a bland smile.

  “Hmph.” Braddock rubs a hand across the bottom of his face, then pulls it away and points at me. “I suppose you expect me to just drop whatever I got going on to take over babysitting duties, huh?”

  “To be honest, I don’t expect you to do anything, Sheriff.”

  His eyes narrow, but after a second he gives me a short nod. “Yeah, well that may be the way you do things out there in California,” he mimics the word back to me, and then his finger turns from me until it’s pointing at his chest. “But here in Dallam County we show our guests real Texas hospitality. So I figure we can more than accommodate you in your… needs. Fix you up with some of the best food you’re likely to wrap a lip around. That is, assuming you California folk do eat more than wheat germ and tofu?”

  I push back a grin. Braddock’s baiting me, and I’m okay with that because I know he knows I’m aware. I can play into this as much as he can.

  “I dunno...” I press my lips tight, giving it my best consideration look. “Being as I’m so far from home, my chakra is just all out of whack. It’s been twenty-four hours since I sat in my Prius, and it’s been nothing but pick-up trucks and cowboy hats out here. On top of that, the energy from my crystals is really starting to fade. Who knows what kind of craziness I could get myself into?”

  We all stand in silence on the sidewalk, staring at each other. When he finally speaks, Braddock’s voice is quiet, assessing. “You really don’t buy into much bullshit, do you Agent Jones?”

  “As little as I possibly can, Sheriff Braddock.”

  He gives a short, sharp nod. “Then I imagine for the next twenty-four hours we’re gonna get along just fine.”

  Whatever little challenge Braddock has run me through I seem to have passed, because the tension eases.

  “C’mon inside, and let’s get this sorted out.” Braddock motions with his hand toward the door, and I follow as we all head into the station. Once we’re in the main office we gather around the cluster of desks. The deputy I haven’t met before approaches me.

  “I’m Deputy Talbert.” As he steps up to me, hand extended, I take the man in. He’s young, a bit older than Clint, but maybe only by a few years. Where Clint is fair, and rangy, Deputy Talbert is stocky, dark, and swarthy. There’s indication in everything about him that screams Tex-Mex.

  “Agent Jones, FBI.”

  Deputy Talbert nods, shooting a glance toward Clint. “You’re the Fed from LA that come out to quiz Deputy Dawg here ’bout his girlfriend, right?”

  And there is yet another confirmation of my suspicions.

  “Fuck off, Duane.” Clint’s voice cuts across the room, thick with annoyance. Deputy Talbert doesn’t even glance back but gives me a shit-eating grin.

  Before anyone else can say a word, Braddock sighs. “I swear to God, I thought I was done raising children when I sent my two off to college…” He shakes his head slowly, and Talbert gives a low chuckle. “Duane, do me a favor and give Nikki at The Ranch House a call and set up a room for Agent Jones. Tell her to bill it to the department.”

  I turn my head toward Braddock. “I can take care of the bill.”

  “Like I said, Agent, that’s not the way we do guests ’round here.” He gives me a pointed smile. Deputy Talbert moves to one of the desks, sits, picks up a phone, and begins dialing. Braddock shifts closer to Clint’s desk, and I step in too.

  “Y’all find anything out
there today?”

  Clint looks up at me, and I shake my head, looking at Braddock. “Empty house being used as a crash spot for deals. Any chance of it having even a remote clue as to whether Sloane Finley was ever there… that’s long gone.”

  “Well, you can blame your friends at the LAPD for that.” Braddock’s voice is laced with disgust.

  “I know. Trust me.”

  “Nothing else?” he asks.

  “Nope.”

  Braddock huffs out a sigh. “I take it from your earlier comment you didn’t get out to the Christiansen place?”

  “No.” I shake my head. “It was getting late, and the intention was to head back to Amarillo and come back out in the morning.”

  “Well, ain’t you the lucky one. Seems to me all this saved you a trip there ’n back.”

  “Maybe lucky for me. Not so much for Carmen’s wife.”

  Braddock’s mouth goes tight. “Fair enough.” He glances at his feet before his eyes coming back up to mine. “I hope she’ll be okay.”

  “Me too.”

  For a moment we stand in silence, then Braddock’s voice cuts across the room. “Duane, you got that room squared away?”

  “Yessir, Sheriff. All taken care of,” Talbert calls back.

  “Good man.” Braddock looks over to Clint. “You think you can take care of getting Agent Jones here over to the Ranch? And then take him out for a bite to eat. Hodie’s or Mattie’s, I’m thinking.”

  Clint nods. “Yeah. ’Course I can do that.”

  “I knew I could count on you.” Braddock shoots me an apologetic smile. “Sorry, Agent Jones. I’d come with you, but unfortunately I have a prior engagement with my wife this evening.”

  I smile in return. “Well, I wouldn’t want to interrupt that.”

  Braddock grins. “We’re going to dinner at her parents’ place.” He reaches over and claps me on the shoulder. “I almost wished you would.”

  Nineteen

  Clint

  I finish filling out my paperwork while Sheriff Braddock and Agent Jones talk. I want to go over and smack Duane upside his dumbass head for that ‘girlfriend’ comment, but it ain’t the first time he’s made that crack about me. Him and the Sheriff both think I’m dumb for what I’ve been doing, but everything they taught me in the academy says that part of being a good law enforcement officer is being persistent. I figure that if I keep at it, something will eventually turn up, and that’ll be the break we need to find her.

  Them detectives in LA oughta be fired. Why in the hell they didn’t send us them files on Sloane’s Facebook page just makes me see red. I’ve got copies of them now, and I’ll go through them later on tonight to see just what I’ve missed.

  Like that picture that sent us out to the abandoned ranch today.

  I can understand why Agent Jones is pissed. She was right there, or damn close, but it’s been months since that happened, and so much coulda taken place since then. Who’n the hell knows what mighta been left there by her. Not that it matters now. Whatever it might’ve been is long, long gone. Dammit.

  I close out my time ticket for the day so Katie Lee can enter it tomorrow, and then wait until there’s a break in the sheriff and Agent Jones’ conversation to speak up. “Anytime you’re ready, we can head on over to The Ranch House.”

  Agent Jones gives me a nod. “We can go now.” He looks over to the sheriff. “Is there anything you need from me?”

  “No, sir. I imagine you’ll want to head out to the Christiansen place first thing tomorrow?”

  “As soon as it would be appropriate to show up.”

  Braddock gives him a broad grin. “Daniel’s from a ranch family. If you want to be out there at four AM, I’m betting he’ll have breakfast waiting for you.”

  “I think nine or after will be just fine.”

  The sheriff chuckles. “Suit yourself, but you might have to track him down by then and that’s a big property. Y’all stop by in the morning before you head out, just in case something’s come up.”

  I nod in confirmation, and then the sheriff sticks out his hand to Agent Jones. “Well, you have a good evening, Agent. Enjoy your dinner.”

  “Thank you, Sheriff. You too.”

  We head out of the station, and I direct him to my pick-up rather than the Bronco. We pull out of the parking lot, and I head over to The Ranch House motel where Duane’s set up the room.

  “You know, you don’t have to take me out to dinner tonight, if you had other plans.” Agent Jones darts his eyes toward me, and I catch the corner of his mouth pulling up. “With that girl… Laurie Ann I think her name was?”

  I start to protest, but I know what this is. He’s trying to bust my balls, like Duane was back there at the station. Well, I can be all cool ’n shit when it suits me. I clamp my mouth closed, and then play it like Clint Eastwood would. “I do what I want to on my own terms, Agent Jones. Don’t no woman corral me.”

  He chokes, and I can see his lips pressed tight. Don’t know what’s so damn funny ’bout what I said, but he simply responds, “I see. And it’s Mason, remember?”

  “Sorry. Mason.”

  I pull up in front of The Ranch House, and we head into the little lobby they got there. Nikki is behind the counter, and she’s got everything lined out. She hands Mason a key and directs us to the room she’s assigned him. We move back to my truck, and I suddenly remember something.

  “Did you have a bag? Did we forget it back at the station?”

  Mason stops, and stands there for a moment, his eyes slowly closing.

  “I did forget it.” I start to turn to get back in the truck, but he continues, stopping me. “Except it’s not back at the station. It’s in Carmen’s SUV.”

  Sonuvabitch…

  “Damn. Are you… will you be okay for one night? I can get some things from my place for you? I’d take you over to Bower’s Pharmacy, but he’s done closed up for the day, I’m sure.”

  Mason pinches the bridge of his nose between two fingers, eyes shut tight. “It’ll be fine,” he says after a moment. “I’ll be fine.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes.” He lets go of his nose, looking up at me with a forced smile. “So… I think Sheriff Braddock mentioned something about dinner? Because right now I really need a drink.”

  I end up taking him to Mattie’s. I figure if he’s having a day like this one seems to be turning out to be, might as well give him the best Stockdale’s got to offer. We get settled in at our table, and he’s got the menu flipped over first thing, looking at the drinks.

  “What do you recommend from these?” I look where his finger is pointing, and I can see it’s at the beer list.

  “Well, since you’re in Texas, you at least gotta try a Texas beer.” I point my finger at the Shiner Bock.

  “Shiner Bock?” He pronounces the name slowly as he reads. After a second he looks up. “You aren’t trying to get back at me for ribbing you earlier, right?”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. Guess you’ll have to try it and figure out for yourself.”

  His eyes narrow, and he gives me a shrewd look. “All right.”

  I order us some of the jalapeno quail appetizer, because it’s just too damn good to pass up, even if he don’t appreciate it. He orders the Texas Rib-Eye, and I get The Big Daddy BBQ plate because I figure as long as the department is paying for it, I oughta get what I like most here.

  While we wait for the food to show, he drinks the Shiner, quizzing me. “How long you been in law enforcement?”

  “Since I graduated from high school. I went through the Law Enforcement Academy at Amarillo College, graduated, and came back here. Sheriff Braddock offered me the position that next summer.”

  “So you’ve always known this is where you wanted to be?”

  “More or less. I kinda figured maybe someday I’ll move on to a bigger city, bigger department. After I’ve gotten some experience here.”

  “Get your experience here, Clint. Skip the other part.
”

  “Says the FBI agent from Hollywood…” I mutter.

  He takes a long pull at his beer, and then lowers it. “Hollywood is bullshit, Clint. It isn’t anything like what you’ve got built up in your mind.”

  I take a drink of my own beer, pressing my lips together. “Well, you ain’t been ’round here long, so I don’t suppose you got much experience to compare it to.”

  Mason snorts, tilting his bottle towards me. “I haven’t skinny-dipped in a swimming pool either, but I know if I do I’ll get my dick wet.” He takes another swig, his eyes never leaving mine. “You’re young, and you got ideas and ideals, and while that’s real noble and everything, the longer you can hold onto them the better off you’ll be in the long run.” He swirls his bottle, watching the dark amber liquid inside spin. “You’ll be able to do that a lot longer in a place like Stockdale than somewhere like Dallas or LA.”

  “Sloane Finley was from Indianapolis. And she went to Hollywood.”

  “Sloane Finley was a fucking idiot too.”

  I’ve never wanted to hit a man so bad, but I feel right now like I could climb across the table and cold-cock this sonuvabitch something fierce. All day he’s been talking about her like she’s a dead girl, and now he straight up calls her an idiot.

  She ain’t an idiot. She’s… nice, and she deserves his respect.

  “That’s a pretty damn harsh thing to say ‘bout someone, don’t you think, Mason?”

  “What it is, Clint, is the Goddamned truth.” He tilts his bottle back and downs the remains of his beer. “Let me tell you a little something about Sloane Finley. She was a dumb little girl who came out to Hollywood thinking all she had to do was waltz into fucking town and show off those pretty little eyes and those tits of hers, and every fucking agent in town was going to start dropping scripts at her feet. Well, here’s the thing: anyone with half a goddamn brain in their head and the ability to use the internet knows that’s not the way it works. There are women in LA three times as beautiful as Sloane Finley ever was, and they spend their days flat on their backs in the Valley taking one dick in the ass while sucking on another and think themselves fucking blessed to be doing it at less than scale.” His voice grows harsher as he speaks, and I’m ’bout one inch from getting up and walking the fuck outta here when he continues. “Sloane Finley was young and dumb, and she did a stupid thing that got herself killed. She is not someone to admire or emulate, Clint. She’s someone to pity. And to learn from.”