by Nina Pierce
The unhurried click of shoes echoed in the hall. The twin bookends guarding the door jumped to attention.
“Gentlemen, sorry to keep you waiting.” Shawn Jameson breezed into the sunroom. He wore a high-end suit and expensive leather loafers. One notch above the dress pants and sports jacket Ayden was wearing. Ayden hoped that would be the case. Never outclass the potential boss.
“Thank you for being so patient. I had some other business to finish.”
More likely he’d been watching them on closed-circuit television.
They settled themselves around the coffee table, Jameson and Rob in the leather chairs, Ayden and his men across from them on the couch. Jameson threw the manila folder he’d been carrying on the glass tabletop.
The man had already checked him out.
Ayden met Jameson’s gaze with a level stare. He knew his alias checked out, but it took everything in him not to swallow the heart that had leapt into his throat. Body language communicated more than words in a meeting like this.
Leaning back, Ayden settled his foot on his leg and wrapped his hands around his knee. He would not be the first to break the silence. He forced his mouth into a smile, pleased when it didn’t waver.
“So, let’s not play games here, Shaeffer.” Jameson sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “We’re both businessmen.”
Ayden waved at him to continue.
“I’ve had my people do thorough research on you. Very impressive.” He leaned back and clasped his hands behind his head. “Seems you have the market share of Portland and Boston. Why have you come to me?”
“We’ve been working those cities for years. I’m looking to expand my holdings in Philly, perhaps further out, maybe not.” Lifting his shoulder, Ayden worked to keep his tone noncommittal. “As you know from your research, one of my suppliers has gone under.” What he meant was the DEA had pulled down a big cartel in the Boston area six months ago. It had been quite a sting, but Ayden hadn’t been part of that operation.
He was here and playing the game. No one ever mentioned specific drugs during the negotiations.
“I’m interested in expanding not only my customer base in those cities, but my product line as well.”
“I see. And you think I can help you in both those areas?”
“As you said, we’re both businessmen, Jameson. I’ve done my research as well. Rob assured me we had the right guy to fit our needs.”
Rob shrunk in his chair at Jameson’s withering stare.
“But if our information is wrong. Well, then, we won’t take any more of your time.” Ayden called his bluff and started to stand.
Jameson laughed. “Touché, Shaeffer. Nice volley.”
The knot in Ayden’s stomach released its grip. He’d cleared the first hurdle.
* * * *
Deirdre had sent Rachel to work on the gardens with the students.
“Hand me the three-quarter-inch ratchet.” She held her hand out to Mark. Like a precision surgical team, they were working on the motor of the wood chipper that had given out.
She’d tinkered with the motor in the driveway until she realized it would take more than a swift kick at the drive train to get it started again. Deirdre had finally relented and backed the rusty old piece of crap into Jameson’s huge garage. Of course, she had to move out of the way for the two vehicles squealing their way off the property. Stupid, rich idiots always thought they had the right of way.
She’d stared at the Jag still parked in the dooryard, attempting not to think about Austin or why he was here. But truthfully, thoughts of him were the only thing churning her brain and roiling her stomach. He was making it hard for her to concentrate on the task at hand.
“Deirdre, I thought I saw you come in here.”
The sound of Shawn’s voice echoing through the stillness startled her. She jumped, coming up hard on the flange of the chipper.
“Shit.” She had the grace to blush as she looked up at the two men working unsuccessfully to stifle their amusement. “Shawn. Hope you don’t mind. You said we could store our equipment in the garage. We have a small maintenance issue with the wood chipper, and I needed to park it in here to fix it.” The words fell out of Deirdre’s mouth in a staccato burst of noise.
Both men’s gaze glided down the length of her, blazing a hot trail. Their eyes settled momentarily on her heaving chest before lifting back to her face. She felt very exposed. How stupid of her not to throw her T-shirt back on over the damp tank top.
“Not a problem. You all right?” Stepping forward, Shawn’s fingers replaced hers, rubbing through her hair. “Oh, you already have a lump. Let me get you some ice.”
She moved away from him. He’d actually found the spot where she’d hit her head on Saturday. “No, I’m fine. Happens all the time.” Her gaze skittered to Austin, then back at Shawn.
“Oh, forgive me. Austin Shaeffer, my business associate, meet Deirdre Tilling, landscaper extraordinaire and…” He stretched his hand out to Mark.
“Mark Pearson.”
How foolish of her. She’d forgotten Mark was even there. “Mark Pearson is the coordinator for kids at risk at the Delmont High School. The three young men you’ve seen working with us are in his program.”
She had never known Mark to be intimidated by anyone, but he stepped forward with an awkward hesitancy and a tremulous smile as they all shook hands.
“I just walked Austin down the length of the driveway. The trees are really shaping up. I didn’t realize how badly they needed work until I saw what an artist you are with that chain saw. I’ve been watching you climbing all morning,” Shawn said as he flashed a killer smile. “It’s amazing the way you move. I have to admit, my heart was in my throat as you jumped through the limbs with all that heavy equipment. You’re not afraid?”
“Not much scares this one.” Mark wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her possessively against his side. “She’s been through a lot and come out stronger for it. One of my few success stories.” He bumped his fist on her chin.
There was way too much testosterone filling the air. What was it about a woman’s presence that switched men into a competitive mode? She was getting attention from everyone but the one man who mattered most to her, Austin.
“If Mark can handle this on his own, perhaps, Deirdre, you could show us your plans for the property?” Shawn asked.
“Actually, Jameson, I think we’ve concluded our business for today.” Austin checked his watch. “And as much as I’d like to see the rest of your beautiful estate, I have another meeting.”
He kept his eyes on Shawn, never looking at her.
Ignoring the pang in her chest, Deirdre forced a smile. “I’d love to show you around, Shawn.”
* * * *
Ayden downshifted the Saab, taking the curve of the coastal road with the tires squealing. He really wished he had the Jag, but he hadn’t wanted to be followed to the command post. He’d left the DEA rental at the condo, snuck out the backdoor and hightailed it through three yards before reaching the Saab parked at the twenty-four-hour 7-Eleven. He checked the rearview. He hadn’t seen another car in several miles.
He’d worked up a good head of steam. He wasn’t sure what was pissing him off more, the fact that he’d gotten what he wanted or the fact that he didn’t.
Deirdre had been everything he’d hoped for on Saturday night; an easy mark and a good fuck. No, make that a sexy woman with fire in her belly. Seeing her today had thrown him. It surprised him so much, he’d treated her like crap.
He pounded his fist on the steering wheel. Damn. When he’d taken her to the condo, all he’d wanted was loosen her tongue with alcohol, ply her for information on Jameson and screw her brains out.
Instead, she’d stunned him with the personal revelation about her father, and later after he’d … what had he done? Loved her? No, nothing that intimate—fucked her? No, not that crass … well, after they’d done whatever it was that had completely tilted his wor
ld on its axis, she’d lain in his arms telling him about her broken relationship. That night he’d wanted nothing more than to choke the living shit out of the guy who put all that hurt in those soulful brown eyes.
Those eyes that glazed over just before Deirdre … frig, he couldn’t go there.
Why was he so pissed off she’d run away into the night? Wasn’t it exactly what he’d wanted? He wasn’t sure why he wanted to prove to her not all men were lecherous, cheating cads. Or why it seemed to be bothering him now—that in reality, he wasn’t any better than the guy who walked out on Deirdre two months ago.
He was pretty sure it was relief that coursed through him when he woke to the sound of the Jeep’s engine revving its way out of the parking lot in the early morning hours on Sunday. He convinced himself the single night of unencumbered sex was exactly what he’d hoped for.
Everything had been fine, right up until he found that damn lacey thong tangled in the bedsheets yesterday morning. What a sap. He couldn’t even bring himself to wash it because it smelled of her. The gardenia perfume mixed with the musky scent of her sex. He’d carried it in his pocket like some lovesick teenager.
Even as he’d sat drinking beers with Ryan and Dave, planning out how they’d handle their meeting today and blindly watching the Sunday football games on the tube, all he could think about was sliding the lacey piece of material over Deirdre’s cute derriere and down those long, muscular legs. It didn’t take much to conjure up her body, soft and warm, twisting under his. He’d walked around with a hard-on most of yesterday.
Then she’d materialized in the garage, his fantasy in the flesh. She’d looked sexy as hell in that damp tank top and work boots. Her cinnamon hair was pulled back in a ponytail that bounced with every turn of her head. She’d flirted like a pro with Jameson. And what was up with the fatherly guy groping her like he owned her?
It didn’t really matter, did it? Sometimes he was such a pansy-assed wuss. The heel of his hand vibrated the steering wheel once again.
“Get a grip, Ayden. You’re just pissed because she hurt your masculine pride walking out on you and acting like she didn’t know you today. It doesn’t really matter, anyway. She’s only the landscaper, not some bimbo with information on Jameson’s drug cartel. You’re such a dumb-assed fuck. You can’t even hit the right mark. You should’ve found the blonde wench from the backyard. Well, Ayden, ol’ boy, get the right head back in the game. You’ve got a job to do.”
He was driving the Saab at a reckless speed, using the time to cull the cobwebs from his brain. His team had a lot of work ahead of them. He needed to focus all his manpower on Jameson. At least he had that information correct.
He shifted gears again, feeling the power of the vehicle as it chewed up the miles. He wasn’t looking forward to going back to his little Toyota when this gig was over. Maybe he’d buy himself a Jag some day. Yeah, and maybe copper-haired fairies would reappear to screw him senseless again. He pushed out a derisive laugh.
* * * *
Ayden placed another thumbtack into the map of Cutler and its surrounding towns. His team had left, and he’d just finished the conference call with his superiors in Boston. Harriman and Jones were the only two left in the little office over the convenience store. They were at the computers, listening in on the phone and wire taps at Jameson’s estate. Everything there was still working. It made him a little uneasy.
Plowing his fingers through his hair, Ayden looked at the surveillance photos again. He knew all the players. He had all the facts. They’d have teams in place to take down Jameson on Sunday night when the shipment came in. Jameson had given him that much information when they’d talked over details on their little walk. Ayden just needed to work Jameson throughout the coming week to nail down the specifics.
There was a small airstrip in Wesley, just outside Cutler, but he didn’t think they were going to fly the drugs in, not with the mansion sitting pretty right next to the ocean. More likely, they’d route the heroin shipment from South America, through Canada and bring it into Maine by boat. He was banking on that.
Ayden had no idea how big a haul they were talking, Jameson hadn’t been willing to discuss how many kilos he’d sell him. They were still parrying, like two fencers with swords, dodging and striking, neither willing to give up too much information.
Ayden’s gut told him they had the right guy, and he was putting all his eggs in that basket. Reluctantly, the guys in Boston agreed to the plan as he’d laid it out.
“Hey, Scott,” Harriman yelled from the bank of computers. “We’ve got a situation in Cutler.”
* * * *
Nausea rolled through her stomach and clogged her throat. Deirdre was in some kind of nightmare.
They’d brought her coffee, but her trembling hands weren’t able to pick up the cup without spilling the contents all over the marred table. So she sat in the metal chair, worrying her fingers, staring at the handcuffs on her wrists. How the hell had this happened?
They hadn’t officially charged her yet, but she figured it was only a matter of time. Unfortunately, she had no idea what crime they thought she committed.
And to top it all off, no one knew she was here.
Mark had taken Rachel with him in the van back to the high school in Delmont. The Cutler police weren’t letting her use the phone. Wasn’t she allowed one phone call? Or did that only happen in the movies?
Deirdre had no idea how long she’d been in the little room. She’d lost all sense of time since the three police cruisers had come at her with lights flashing and sirens wailing. They’d appeared from nowhere, nearly running the one-ton off the road.
The officers had charged the truck cab with guns drawn, yelling incoherent sentences at her. One of them hauled her from the truck, throwing her to the ground. Absently she rubbed at the bruise on her cheek where it had slammed into the road.
The other two officers swarmed the truck like ants at a picnic. She was too frightened to protest even as the arresting officer groped her body a little too intimately. She had no idea what they were looking for until one of them produced something from under the driver’s seat. They waved the packets in her face accusing her of selling drugs. Pot didn’t come in crinkly cellophane packages. She still didn’t know what the bundles were. Whatever it was had been enough to slap cuffs roughly on her wrists, shove her into a cruiser and bring her to the police station.
She should be pissed. She’d done nothing wrong.
Instead, she was scared shitless.
* * * *
Glenn Lafflin, the Cutler chief of police, ushered Ayden in the backdoor of the small precinct and straight to his office. It was imperative none of the other officers see Ayden here. There was a high probability at least one of them on the small force was on Jameson’s payroll. The guys in Boston had done a thorough background check on Lafflin before they decided to bring him in, so only he was aware the DEA was in town. Sometimes it was good to have the cooperation of the local police. Ayden hoped he didn’t end up regretting the decision.
In hindsight, he probably should have sent over one of the other guys so there was no chance of blowing his cover. But after Harriman heard the Cutler officers touting the arrest over the scanner, he needed to find out for himself who else was in the game. Ayden would be pissed if this arrest turned up nothing more than a teenage punk getting ready for the weekend.
“I don’t know, Scott. The suspect looks pretty shaken up. Either there’s been a setup, or it’s one hell of an act.”
“Tell me again how you found the heroin.”
“We got a call into the switchboard at…” The chief consulted his notes. “—approximately three-thirty. An unidentified caller told us a street dealer was headed out of Cutler with drugs. Gave a detailed description of the vehicle and the time frame it would be on that particular road.”
“Unidentified?”
“The only thing that showed up on the switchboard was some disposable cell phone number. Can
’t be traced back to the owner. Probably ditched the thing after reporting to us.”
“How much was confiscated?”
“Only five bundles.”
“Five hundred dollars worth of heroin, maybe a little more if the guy sold it on the streets in Bangor, less, if he planned on using some of it himself,” Ayden said. With the fish he was hoping to land, this small amount was hardly worth making a fuss over. But the Cutler police were no doubt slapping themselves on the back. It was probably the most action they’d seen in years.
“You think we got some turf war going on? Some dealer stepping on another’s toes?” the chief asked.
“Not sure.” Ayden hoped that wasn’t the case. He didn’t want anything to blow the deal with Jameson. “You talked to the guy yet?”
“It’s a woman. And no, we waited for you.”
* * * *
“So, Miss Tilling, tell us again what happened.”
“Do I need a lawyer?”
“You’re welcome to call one, if you’d like.”
“But I didn’t do anything. The drugs aren’t mine. I don’t know how they got in my truck. I was just headed back to Delmont to dump the refuse. I’m a landscaper, and I have a job here in Cutler. I’ve told you all that.”
Ayden paced the little room, watching Deirdre through the window. He had all he could do not to storm into the interrogation room and pull her into his arms. Over the past half hour, she seemed to be shrinking into herself. She’d told the same story a half dozen times, never once wavering about her innocence.
Did he believe her? Or was his opinion colored by their evening together? He scrubbed his hands over his face. This is why you never got involved with women when you were on a case.
“I demand to see her,” a man’s voice bellowed.
The commotion in the hallway happened only seconds before the door of the interrogation room flew open. Shawn Jameson shook off the officer trying unsuccessfully to detain him.