by Susan Fox
“Yeah, I get that.” An edge in her voice, she said, “And you were the one who brought her into this. It’s not right, corporal, using an innocent civilian.”
“You try saying no to Brooke Kincaid.”
She gave a quick snort of laughter, then choked it off. “Later, Brannon.”
Brooke was pleased to see Jake’s Lexus in the driveway when she arrived home from work. She opened the front door calling, “I’m home.”
“In here,” he called from the living room.
She hurried in that direction, eager for a kiss, then stopped dead in the doorway when she saw he wasn’t alone. Karen MacLean, in jeans and a white T-shirt, her dark hair pulled back in a neat ponytail, was curled up on the living room couch. Jake, in khakis and a long-sleeved shirt with the neck open and sleeves rolled, was on his feet, coming to greet her.
He did it with a quick hug and kiss. A kiss on her lips. And his smile was Jake’s cocky grin. Over his shoulder, Brooke saw Karen’s eyes widen but the other woman said nothing.
“Uh, Arnold? What’s going on?” Brooke asked.
“It’s okay, MacLean knows who I really am. I’ve told her the whole story.”
“Oh, my gosh,” was all she could think to say.
Jake put his arm around her waist and urged her into her own living room.
“Hello, Karen,” she said warily.
“Cup of tea?” Jake asked her. Then, to Karen, “Want a beer? Cold drink? Tea?”
Brooke said, “Yes, tea,” and Karen chimed in, “That’s good for me too.”
Jake went into the kitchen and Brooke hurried after him. “What’s going on?”
“I hung out at the school this afternoon and tailed some kids to a drug buy. MacLean tailed me. Didn’t have much choice but to tell her who I really was. We checked each other out with headquarters.”
He lowered his voice. “She’s got a good rep, and her story makes sense. On Friday night I told her what Robin said about drugs in the schools. Near the end of her shift today, she decided to hang out near the high school and see if anything was going on. She saw me.” He shrugged. “I talked to Jamal and he says to work with her. You think she can be trusted?”
“I don’t know her well. Normally I steer clear of police—” She broke off, chuckling. “Oh my, and now I’m working with you, not to mention sharing my bed.” She shook her head. “Okay. Karen MacLean. From what I’ve seen she’s a decent person. She’s always treated me with respect. Unlike Sergeant Miller.” The kettle was whistling and she poured water into the teapot and swirled it around. “So what are you and Karen going to do?” She dumped the water back out.
“Haven’t got to that part yet. Figured you might want to sit in. You’re part of the team.”
She caught his arm, pulled him to her, and gave him a kiss. A real kiss.
His arms circled her and he made a growly, purry sound low in his throat.
“When you came in,” she said, “you kissed me in front of her. And it wasn’t cousinly.”
“She knows who I am; she might as well know about us. She’s going to be here for a few hours and I can’t stay away from you for that long.” He pushed her back and held her at a distance. “Would you rather no one knew? I don’t want to ruin your reputation.”
“Karen’s not going to tell anyone. Besides . . .” She moved close again, aligning her body with his. “You’d only do good things for my reputation. Brooke Kincaid can catch herself a hot young guy.”
“Am I hot?”
“You know you are. Especially when you’re being Jake.” She ran a finger down the open neck of his shirt and released another button before she finished making the tea.
Jake took the teapot into the living room.
She followed with mugs and a plate of raisin oatmeal cookies. “Milk, sugar, honey?” she asked Karen, who seemed quite at home, stroking Sunny.
“Nope. Just clear, thanks.”
Brooke poured the tea, then looked around, deciding where to sit. Jake beckoned from the big chair he’d chosen, and she was tempted to settle on his lap but figured that would be pushing things. Besides, it would be awfully difficult to concentrate on work. She chose the opposite end of the couch from Karen.
He gave her a humorous scowl, then turned to Karen. “Tell Brooke about Miller.”
She swallowed a bite of cookie. “Delicious, Brooke. But, Jake, I have to say, I’m strongly opposed to endangering a civilian.”
“Would everyone stop trying to protect me?” Brooke protested. “I involved myself. Jake needed a cover and I could provide the safest one.”
“I understand, but I still disagree,” Karen said severely. “Still, since you’re involved, you’re entitled to information. As long as it helps keep you safe.”
Brooke nodded.
“Okay,” Karen said. “About Miller. As anyone including him will tell you, he’s got a rep for being death on drugs. Very few people get arrested for trafficking or using. We have a few crimes where the kids are stoned and they’re stealing to get money for drugs, but it’s rare. Sergeant Miller personally handles any case that might be drug related and, according to him, many of these cases really aren’t.”
“What do you mean?” Brooke asked.
“He says we—the corporals and constables—see drug problems where they don’t exist. When kids are just drunk or acting out. He says we keep getting ourselves confused with big-city cops. He points out that anytime we bring in the dogs to sniff out drugs we either come up empty or catch some really small-time stuff.”
“Robin said the serious users get a tip-off ahead of time,” Jake said, reaching for his second cookie. “I imagine that would also apply to dealers.”
“If they do,” Karen said, “it has to come from inside our detachment or Williams Lake’s.”
Jake nodded.
Karen went on. “Then there are the sergeant’s little talks at the schools designed to discourage drug use.”
“Why would he do that if he’s dealing drugs?” Brooke asked.
Karen’s fingers scritched under Sunny’s neck and the cat purred, but Karen was frowning. “I know the high school principal. His wife is a friend of mine. Last year he had an off-the-record chat with me, asking if there was some way I could do the talk instead of Miller. He said Miller isn’t effective. Apparently there’s nothing in his words that’s really objectionable; there’s just a tone. He keeps saying Caribou Crossing isn’t the big city, and our kids aren’t like those worldly, sophisticated big-city kids. We’ve got more old-fashioned, traditional values.”
Brooke groaned. “The last thing any teenager wants to be is old-fashioned.”
“Yup,” Jake said, “he’s telling them that if they want to be cool they’ll use drugs.”
“That’s what the principal is worried about. He said he’s tried to talk to Miller about it but Miller says he’s interpreting it all wrong, and underestimating the kids of Caribou Crossing. He says they’ve got good role models and know right from wrong.”
“This is the Sergeant Miller who hangs out in the bar on Friday and Saturday nights,” Brooke said. “Such a great role model.”
Karen said, “For the most part, what the sarge said is right. Most of the kids are good, they do have good parental role models, they’re active in the church, sports, or one of the teen social clubs. They do 4H and ride in Little Britches rodeo. They work on their families’ ranches and farms. They’re mature and responsible. Kids like Robin.”
“But that’s not all the kids,” Jake said.
Karen shook her head. “There’s another group, the borderline ones. Some come from dysfunctional families but some are just restless, exploring boundaries, maybe unhappy. Given the right guidance, most of them will straighten out and do just fine. But they’re vulnerable.”
“It’s touch and go how kids like that’ll turn out,” Jake said. “I was one of them.”
“Oh yeah?” Karen didn’t look surprised.
“It’s possib
le Miller is the brains behind the grow op,” Jake said. “He’s selling to someone—maybe Death Row—and probably buying small quantities of other drugs like heroin, crystal meth, crack, and Ecstasy from them. He’s got his aging hippies out in the hills growing the stuff, and his local guys dealing to the kids. Like the man MacLean and I saw this afternoon. The guy was driving the same truck I saw out at the grow op. MacLean, you recognized him?”
“Pete Snyder. He’s a loser, a small-time criminal, but somehow we never find evidence to convict him. Maybe that’s Miller’s doing. Pete Snyder does odd jobs here and there, mostly for his brother, who’s got a construction/handyman business. Lives with his brother too. Oh, and the kids who were buying were grade twelve students: Rob Oppenheim, Adam Mark, and Jim Schultz. They’re borderline kids. Could turn out like Snyder if no one intervenes.”
“Snyder,” Jake said thoughtfully. “Any relation to Richard Snyder?”
“Richie’s his older brother, the guy he lives with,” Karen said. “Why?”
“Richie got his pilot’s license?”
“Yes. He was in the air force for a while but got kicked out. Why?”
“He was flying a small plane last Tuesday morning,” Brooke said. “Right, Jake?”
“Yeah. He was in the air when Brooke saw a little plane circling around like it was looking for something. Looking for me, probably. If this guy’s a handyman, he could be the one who rigged the water for the grow op, figured out how to steal the power. It looks like both Snyder brothers are connected to the grow op, but we still don’t have a clear tie-in to Miller.”
Brooke curled her hands around her tea mug. “What do you think, Karen? You know Miller pretty well. Is he capable of dealing drugs? Of . . . murder?”
Karen put her mug down abruptly, jarring Sunny. The cat shot her a look of displeasure. He removed himself from her lap and transferred to Brooke’s.
Karen said, “I don’t like him, okay? He’s a male chauvinist pig, a racist, and a homophobe. But he’s also a member, and I don’t want to think he’s gone bad. So, having stated my biases pro and con, I’ll try to be objective.”
“Please,” Jake said.
“Yeah, I guess I could see him trafficking. He thinks people who use drugs are scum. He’s got no pity, no sympathy. He wouldn’t mind making a buck off them. He doesn’t respect women. I could see him visiting prostitutes.” She gave a quick laugh. “Hell, I could see that more than I could imagine him giving his wife a good time in bed. But murder . . . I hate to think it, yet he’s got a cruel streak. I’ve seen him hit people when he arrests them. He looks for excuses to rough them up, and I swear he takes pleasure in it.”
Brooke nodded. “He takes advantage of people who are weaker than him. Back in my drinking days he was both suggestive and rough. When he arrested me for DUI, he implied he’d drop the charges if I, uh, gave him a blow job. When I refused he slapped me around a little.”
“Damn!” Jake spat the word out.
She shook her head. “It was a long time ago. Let it go.”
“I want him,” Jake said, his voice icy. “But we need a lot more than we’ve got.”
“I could arrest Pete Snyder for dealing drugs to those kids,” Karen said, “but I’m afraid that will tip our man off—whether it’s Miller or someone else. We don’t want to catch the small fry and let the shark get away.”
“Damn right,” Jake said. “Well, we could dig and dig and see if we can unearth tiny scraps of evidence that might build a case against Miller. Of course, if we’re seriously suspicious of him we really should report it to Internal. Right?” He glanced at Karen.
She nodded. “But that’s horrible, to report another member when we’re not sure.”
“He’s got another alternative,” Brooke said. “Right, Jake?”
“You know me too well. Yeah, I’m thinking we can use Snyder to trap his boss.”
“What?” Brooke said, just as Karen said, “How?”
“Let’s work on that. I’ll have to run it by Jamal too. But first, before I demolish all these cookies, how about dinner?”
“Let’s order a pizza,” Karen said.
“I have chili in the freezer,” Brooke said. “It won’t take long to heat it in the microwave.”
A couple of hours later, Jake drove Karen home. Alone in the house, Brooke loaded the dishwasher, then ran a bath. She tossed in a homemade lavender and rose bath bomb, then climbed in with a sigh. It had been an interesting and challenging evening.
Jake and Karen had a lot in common. She’d witnessed the way their minds worked, how they communicated with a minimum of words. Several times one of them had paused to catch her up. They’d done it nicely, so she didn’t feel insulted. They’d even listened to her opinion. But she knew perfectly well she was, at best, a temporary and probationary member of the team.
Fine by her.
Over the weekend she’d gotten used to a Jake who read, gardened, and line danced. She’d almost lost track of the bearded cop who’d pulled a gun on her rather than risk his mission. But that was the real Jake, and tonight she’d seen him again. He was coolly efficient, and the language he spoke came out of mystery novels. And yet, from time to time, he’d given her a special smile or reached across to touch her arm. He’d never let more than ten or fifteen minutes go by without reinforcing the bond between them—even as he and Karen plotted to trap the criminal the Snyder brothers worked for.
Brooke stirred restlessly, the silky warm water rippling around her. The summer-garden scent of lavender and roses wasn’t having its usual soothing effect.
Her life was getting far too complicated. Yet she couldn’t regret having taken Jake in. Tomorrow morning, she would have known him for a week. Just a week. And, if the trap worked, he’d be gone in a couple of days. Out of her life. Forever. It had to be that way. There was no other option for either of them. The thought shouldn’t make her feel depressed.
Besides, Jakes leaving wasn’t what most worried her. He was going up against a killer. He was capable, so was Karen, but the criminals they were chasing didn’t mess around. They’d killed a teenager and put a bullet in Jake.
Downstairs, the front door opened and closed. Jake called, “Brooke?”
“In the bath.”
In a few seconds he was standing in the doorway. “Now there’s a fine picture.”
“You could join me.” She tried for a flirtatious smile but it didn’t feel genuine.
He sniffed the air. “And stink of that girly stuff? I don’t think so. But I’ll wash your back. And other fun places.”
She pulled the plug and rose. “I’m done.” She reached for a towel but he beat her to it.
He held out a fluffy peach-colored one and enfolded her in it. “What’s wrong, Brooke?”
“Tonight I saw you at work. I got an idea of what your job is really like. I’m worried. What if something goes wrong with your plan? These men have already shot you once.”
He grimaced. “Won’t happen again. MacLean and I are each other’s backup.” Then he turned on his sexy, cocky Jake grin. “Trust me, babe.”
Easy to say, but so many aspects of the plan were out of his and Karen’s control. Still, as she’d said about Robin, she couldn’t wrap up everyone she cared about in a security blanket and protect them from the world.
She took a deep breath, forced herself to appreciate the steamy, flower-scented air, then let it out. If she only had a couple more nights with this incredible man, she should make the most of them. Deliberately she dropped the towel. “Coming to bed?”
And yet, when they made love, she found herself gripping him tighter than before. She was fine with knowing he’d go back to Vancouver—really, she was—but right now he was on her turf. She couldn’t bear the thought that tomorrow he might get injured. Or worse.
Chapter Nineteen
Jake recognized the adrenaline high and welcomed it, but tried to act normally with Brooke as they ate breakfast in her kitchen. She was subdue
d and he knew that she, too, was keeping her feelings in careful check. His excitement, her concern—they weren’t a comfortable match.
MacLean arrived in her RCMP cruiser, wearing her uniform and Kevlar vest. Her stride was steady as she walked up the steps and into the house, but she radiated an energy that told him she, too, was buzzed. She handed him a uniform and a vest. “These should fit.”
Brooke’s eyes widened at the sight of their vests.
Jake said quickly, “They’re part of the uniform. Doesn’t mean we’re expecting trouble.”
“You weren’t expecting trouble the night you got shot,” she retorted.
“Well, if anyone shoots at me today, the vest’ll prevent me from getting hurt.”
“If they’re stupid enough to shoot you in the chest,” she muttered. “And those things don’t stop knives, right?”
“You read too much.”
“But I’m right.”
“Okay, yeah, you’re right.” He grabbed the uniform and hurried upstairs before she could ask any more questions.
A few minutes later he stared at himself in the mirror. Since he’d started working U/C he hardly ever wore a uniform, so it was a shock to see himself, short hair and all, looking the way he had years go.
When he returned to the kitchen Brooke studied him, her expression strained. “I’m going to work. Good luck, you two.” Her lips trembled and he wondered what else she wanted to say. A bunch of warnings, he guessed.
“We’ll be careful,” he told her.
She pressed her lips together. “Good.” Her eyes stared into his for a long moment; then she turned and hurried away. No good-bye hug or kiss.
Despite—or perhaps because of—the way he felt about Brooke, he was glad to have her gone. He gestured MacLean to a chair. “Let’s go over it one more time.”
An hour later, MacLean at the wheel, they pulled into the Snyder yard. The house was dilapidated, the yard unkempt and decorated with rusting appliances, but Jake had seen worse. The black truck sat on a patch of scrubby grass near the house. Two scrawny mixed-breed dogs ran over, barking and snarling as MacLean parked the cruiser.