She took his hand and replaced her fingers with his on the paper towel. “Hold it there for a few seconds. It’ll stop bleeding. It’s just a little ding on that otherwise perfect face.”
His eyelids flew open. Was that a come-on?
“Ugh, I have sand everywhere from crawling on the ground.” She grabbed the zipper on her hoodie and yanked it down. The hoodie crackled as she peeled it from her body. She hung it over the back of a chair as she smacked some kind of plastic wrapper on the kitchen table.
Sam raised his eyebrows. “What is that?”
“It blew across the ground and got stuck on that cactus. I grabbed it right before the shooting started and stuffed it inside my sweatshirt. I don’t know why. It was just the biggest piece of trash out there.”
“Let me see that.” He tossed the wet paper towel sporting his blood into the trash, and smoothed his hand across the heavy plastic. “There’s a label on this.”
Jolene sidled up next to him and peered over his shoulder. “What’s it say?”
Sam swiped away some of the dirt, careful not to smear the letters, which were neatly typed out like a label printed from a computer. The black lettering jumped out at him, and a spike of adrenaline jacked him up.
Jolene ran a finger beneath the words. “There’s a date, and the words say...Pink Lady. There’s a drink called Pink Lady. What is this, packaging for some booze?”
She flicked the edge of the plastic wrapping and turned away.
“Jolene, this is the type of label the cartels use to wrap and ID their product.”
“What?” She spun around, knocking into a chair.
“Pink Lady is the meth I was telling you about, the meth that’s connected to those dead bodies. Do you know what this means?” He grabbed the plastic and shook it.
She nodded once. “The cartels are using Yaqui land to smuggle drugs.”
Chapter Fourteen
Jolene sank to the chair. “Maybe the Pima County Sheriffs were right all along. Maybe my dad’s murder was related to the cartels, but he did more than stumble across a few mules, didn’t he?”
“This connects a lot of dots.” Sam slammed the packaging back on the table and paced to the corner of the room and back, Chip trotting at his heels. “You know how I was looking at that ridge and the landscape with my binoculars before the gunfire?”
“You mentioned you noticed something about the land out there, but never finished the thought.”
“We got our hands on a map of tunnels the Las Moscas cartel was using to smuggle drugs into this country. The agents in this region have been going out to each tunnel to close it and destroy it. I had the chance to study all of the tunnels, and they shared some common features.”
“A ridge, some brush.”
After watching Sam’s back-and-forth, Jolene pushed back her chair and grabbed Chip’s collar. “Get on your bed, Chip.”
The dog gave Sam one hopeful look before slinking to his bed in the corner, fluffing it up with his paws and plopping into it.
“Good boy.” Jolene gripped the back of a kitchen chair. “Pink Lady? Didn’t you tell me the pure form of meth that accompanied the disappearances in San Diego was pink in color?”
“Yeah, that’s it. On the street, they call it Pinky.”
“Pinky?” Jolene dug her nails into the chair. “That’s what Tucker called Melody.”
“Sad coincidence.” Sam tripped to a stop. “Melody hadn’t added drugs to her other bad habits, had she?”
“Not that I know of, but what do I know?” She picked up the chair and settled it closer to the table. “I had no idea she was drinking again. I was a terrible cousin and friend, and on the very night she died, I was romping it up in bed—with you.”
“Great, now you’re adding guilt to the myriad reasons why you shouldn’t have slept with me.”
Jolene clenched her jaw to keep it from dropping open. Was that what he thought? That she regretted hooking up with him? Didn’t she?
Casting her eyes down, she said, “Doesn’t it feel wrong now?”
“Being with you would never feel wrong to me. Look at it this way.” He folded his arms and wedged a shoulder against the sliding door. “Melody introduced us. She wanted us to get back together. Maybe she was leading us to each other.”
She blinked. Sam had a fanciful side? “One thing I am going to do is try to make sense of her death, and I’m going to start by searching her apartment tomorrow.”
“Then you’d better get to sleep tonight. I’m going to figure out a way to search for a tunnel on that property.”
“Wade would never allow that.” She ran her hand over the plastic packaging. “You think the cartels have a tunnel from Yaqui land on the Mexican side of the border to our land, and they’re smuggling drugs...or were smuggling drugs through this tunnel?”
“I do think that. The group that’s manufacturing this pink meth and putting it on the street requires such anonymity they’re willing to kill off their mules to make sure they keep secrets.”
“That’s what happened in San Diego?”
“All the bodies we found and identified matched up to suspected mules. Someone met them when they made it across the border, and then murdered them to keep them quiet.”
“Why do that? Cartels have used mules for ages. Sometimes they do go rogue, but the cartels have always been able to deal with those people.”
Sam tugged on his earlobe. “This particular group...or person wants to lay low. I wonder if Melody knew El Gringo Viejo was behind Pink Lady. That would explain a lot. He wouldn’t want the cartels to know he was infringing on their business.”
“How would she know that, Sam? Melody didn’t hang out with that crowd.” She put two fingers on her lips.
“What? Did you remember something?”
“That relationship she had, the one Wade broke up. The guy was bad news. I think he may have been involved with the drug trade. Maybe she learned something from him.”
“Do you remember his name?”
“Gabe, Gabe Altamarino. I think he’s in Tucson, now.”
“I think we need to pay him a visit and tell him the sad news about Melody.”
“And the casino? What does this all have to do with the casino?”
“I’m not sure yet. It has to do with the land, doesn’t it? Maybe the cartel is holding something over the investors.” Sam rubbed his eyes. “I’m done. I don’t even want the Chinese food anymore. I just want a soft bed and sleep.”
“About that...” Jolene wrinkled up her nose “...I need more time to think about that, about us. I’m sorry if I led you on last night.”
Sam bent over and scratched Chip behind the ear. “Don’t worry about it. It’s all good, no expectations. Can I have the spare room, or should I leave?”
She’d hurt him, disappointed him. “Of course, you can stay here. I’m not going to kick you out to your truck with no headlights, especially since you saved my life tonight.”
“I couldn’t have gotten that truck out of there without you.” He held up his hands. “And I promise I won’t even use your washer and dryer this time.”
“Have you seen the spare room? I turned it into a combination office and gym. There’s no bed in there anymore.”
He eyed the couch with Chip now curled up on one end. “The sofa’s fine. Not much left of this night, anyway.”
“You don’t have to sleep out here...with Chip.” She walked into the kitchen to hide her warm face. “I mean, you can share my bed, if...you know.”
Inviting a man like Sam Cross into her bed with no promise of sex was like expecting a dog not to scratch his fleas. Bad analogy.
“You are irresistible, Jolene, but I think I can manage to keep my hands...and everything else...to myself in your presence.”
Her cheeks flamed as she spun around.
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
A grin spread across his handsome face. “I’m teasing you. I’d much rather share a bed with you than Chip, so I’m accepting your offer, strings and all, but I’m gonna need a shower first. I have sand in places that, well, you’re never gonna discover tonight.”
“I do, too. I’m like that cartoon character with a permanent cloud of dirt over my head.”
“You first. I have a few things to check on my phone.”
“Deal.” She escaped the uncomfortable conversation and hightailed it to the bedroom.
She stripped off her clothes in the bathroom, leaving a pile of sand on the tile floor. Keeping her hair in a ponytail, she soaped up and rinsed off, showering in record time.
She pulled on a pair of pajamas—tops and bottoms—and slipped between the sheets.
Sam tapped on the door. “Everyone decent?”
“C’mon in.”
He pushed open the door. “Everything’s locked up. I let Chip out once more, and I started the dishwasher.”
“Thanks, Sam. The bathroom’s all yours.” She yawned in an exaggerated manner. “I’m going to fall asleep in about two minutes.”
“I’ll keep it down.” He moved silently across the room to the bathroom and clicked the door closed.
Her ears tuned in to every rustle and scrape from the other room. When the water started, she squeezed her eyes closed, visions of water sluicing over Sam’s hard body making her mouth water.
She didn’t have to worry about Sam controlling himself. She had to watch herself. When had she ever been able to resist that man? Only at the end, when she knew he had to be there for his baby.
The water stopped, and she clenched her muscles, holding herself still. By the time he exited the bathroom on a rush of citrus-scented steam, she was wide-awake.
He flipped back one corner of the covers and crawled into bed behind her, his warm, slightly damp skin giving off some kind of magnetic wave to pull her in.
She held her breath as he settled in, managing to avoid all contact with her body. Then she cursed herself for holding her breath because she had to let it out.
She puckered her lips and blew it out. It sounded like a gale-force wind, but Sam didn’t move a muscle. As she lay there listening to his breathing, it deepened. Sam didn’t snore a lot or loudly, but a few snuffles and snorts indicated that he was off to dreamland. Wish she could say the same.
About an eternity later, Sam shifted and his knee wedged just beneath her bottom. When he didn’t move it, she knew he’d reached nirvana—sound asleep while she still tossed and turned, or at least tossed and turned in her mind because she was in the exact same spot she had been in when Sam joined her in bed.
They should’ve just made love—she’d be asleep by now—asleep and satisfied and no more confused that she was now.
* * *
JOLENE JERKED AWAKE the next morning and scrambled out of bed. Sam had gotten up before her again. He’d obviously gotten more sleep than she had.
His voice, sounding way too cheerful for morning, greeted her from the kitchen. “I found some pancake mix. You want some pancakes?”
She tossed her grungy ponytail over her shoulder. “You’ve turned into a regular Suzy Homemaker. I don’t remember you cooking one thing when...we were together.”
“I told you, Jess changed everything. Full disclosure—” he held up a spatula “—I do have a housekeeper who comes in once a week, and I drop Jess off at day care when I’m working.”
“Is it hard?” She tipped her head. “Is it hard being a single dad? Because that’s what you are. How much time does Jess spend with Aimee?”
“As little as I can possibly get away with.” His lips twisted and he flipped a pancake. “I made coffee, too.”
She lifted her nose and sniffed. “I smell it.”
“Sit down and eat.” He held out a plate stacked with pancakes. “Do you have syrup in the fridge?”
“I think so.” She took the plate with one hand and a coffee mug with the other. “Chip?”
“Fed him.”
Hearing his name, Chip thumped his tail twice, obviously too sated to even get up and greet her.
“You’re spoiling that dog.” Jolene pulled out a chair. “How’d you sleep?”
“Great. I was beat.” He pulled out the chair across from her and sat down with his own plate. “You?”
“I slept really well, too.” She could lie with the best of them. “Do you need to go into the station today? My boss heard about Melody and told me to take another few days off, and I figured we... I could go to Melody’s place this morning.”
“I can join you. I have to bring the truck back and make some excuses for its condition. I also want to pick up that map of Las Moscas tunnels.” Sam squeezed a puddle of syrup onto his pancakes.
“But that map didn’t show a tunnel on Yaqui land, right?”
“I’m sure the tunnel I suspect is on Yaqui land is not one of Las Moscas’—or it would have been on that map. It’s someone else. Someone who wants to maintain a covert presence, someone who doesn’t want to upset the cartels. In short, El Gringo.”
Jolene stirred some milk into her coffee. “The appearance of Pink Lady must’ve upset the cartels if it was that pure. It must’ve demanded a high price, higher than the regular meth coming across.”
“Oh, it did, but it showed up in small quantities. It wasn’t replacing the lower grade stuff by a long shot.”
“Is it still on the street in San Diego?”
“It is.” He cleared his throat before sawing into his pancakes. “They got to the mules after they crossed the border. The product had been taken off them before they were killed.”
“That’s so brutal.” She shivered and took a sip of the hot coffee. “It’s like he wants to wipe out everyone who knows about the origins of Pink Lady, but that can’t be Melody.”
“Maybe Melody didn’t know about the origins of Pink Lady, but she had an idea of how it was connected to the casino and she’d heard about El Gringo Viejo.” Sam stuffed the last of his pancakes in his mouth. “I’m going to head out to the station now and then go back to my motel to shower and change. I’ll pick you up later, and we’ll try to get into Melody’s place.”
As Jolene watched Sam back his truck out of her driveway, it felt like someone had punched her in the gut. No affection from him this morning, no kiss, no double entendre about sharing a bed—no nothing.
Had she just made the biggest mistake of her life?
An hour later, she blew out a sigh of relief when she saw Sam’s rental car pull up in front of her house. Not that she doubted he’d return—he did want to get into Melody’s place—but the last time she’d rejected him, he’d taken her at her word.
She patted Chip’s head and said, “I get him all to myself this time, buddy.”
She stepped out onto the porch and waved before Sam had a chance to leave his car. When she dipped inside the car, she said, “How’d it go with the truck?”
“I didn’t have to answer too many questions—about that.”
She shot him a glance from the corner of her eye. “What then?”
“If I’d found anything yet to justify my presence in Paradiso. I was appropriately vague.” He patted his bag in the back seat. “And I got a copy of the tunnel map, courtesy of Nash Dillon.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Nash invited me to the big bash in Tucson tomorrow night celebrating the casino. I’m sure you were invited. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I wasn’t planning on going, and I wasn’t sure they were still having it. They must be confident those bones I buried there aren’t some long-lost Yaqui.”
“They must be.” He started the car and pulled away from her house. “Anyway, we’re going.”
“We are?”
“It might be an opportunity to
find out more about the investors in the casino.”
Jolene covered her mouth. “I almost forgot Nash’s consortium has an investment in the Desert Sun Casino. Do you think he knows anything about a connection to the cartels?”
“Nash?” Sam snorted. “If Nash thought there was anything fishy about that property, he’d pull out. Truth is, he has more to do with the pecan-processing business than the other investments. He and his family leave that up to the partners.”
“The gala tomorrow is a fancy dress-up thing. You ready for that?” She eyed his broad shoulders. She’d never seen Sam dressed to the nines before—and she’d like to.
“I can rent a tux in Tucson. It might not be a perfect fit, but I’m sure I’ll be presentable.”
He’d be more than presentable. “Then it’s a date.”
“Are you ready for it? You didn’t plan to go.”
“I have a few things that’ll work. I wonder if Wade is still going.”
“I’m not saying Wade’s a cold dude, but I don’t think the death of his sister is going to keep him from this. He’s been waiting too long.”
“I think you’re right.” Jolene sucked in a breath. “The crime scene tape is still up. Is it off-limits?”
“They’re done collecting evidence from her place. There are no cops watching it, and you know where Melody kept a spare key, if it’s still there. I say, we go for it.”
He parked the car at the edge of the parking lot in front of the building, just like he had the previous time. Then they’d been accosted by Tucker. Who knew what would happen this time?
Jolene strode across the parking lot, not looking left or right, putting on a casual, noncommittal face—the type of face you wouldn’t wear when attempting to search your dead cousin’s apartment.
She tripped on the first step, and Sam grabbed her arm. “Hold on. You’re acting like you’re on your way to a demolition. Slow down. Take a few deep breaths. You’re here to find suitable clothing for Melody’s burial—if anyone asks.”
Buried Secrets Page 15