by Paty Jager
He took a sip of his coffee and watched Baylor over the rim. The man was anxious about something. His left leg bounced and his fingers drummed on the counter. The waitress placed a glass of soda in front of him.
“You want the usual?” she asked.
Baylor leaned toward her, and Ryan couldn’t hear what he said. She smiled and wrote on her pad before disappearing into the kitchen.
Rowan entered and started toward Baylor. The DEA agent barely shook his head. Rowan changed direction, plopping down in a booth behind him.
It appeared Baylor and Rowan used the café as a rendezvous spot. Ryan picked up his coffee cup and sauntered over to the booth. He dropped into the seat opposite Rowan.
“You’re a hard man to track down.”
“Didn’t know anyone was looking for me.” Rowan shot a brief glance toward Baylor then slouched into the seat.
He tried to appear relaxed and unconcerned, but his left eyebrow twitched and the floor under Ryan’s food vibrated from Rowan’s toe tapping.
“What did you and Sidney Doring have to talk about this afternoon?”
“He’s buying one of my statues.”
There had been enough time since Ryan’s visit with Doring, he could have contacted Rowan and told him what to say. “That why he gave you an envelope of money?”
Rowan’s eyes widened, then narrowed, and he glared. “How did you know he gave me money?”
“Good guess.” Ryan smiled. He loved it when the bad guys slipped up. “Was he really paying you for a statue or was he paying you to kill his wife?”
Rowan’s gaze shot to Baylor, who stood up, dropped money on the counter, and left the diner.
“I don’t know what you two have going on, but he isn’t going to get you out of a murder charge.” Ryan slid to the end of the booth to stand.
Rowan grabbed his arm stopping him. “I didn’t kill anyone. And I’m not going to let you or Baylor pin it on me.”
Ryan slid back into the seat. “Tell me your story. I’ll decide if I take you in or not.”
Rowan licked his lips and scanned the diner. “I’m an informant for the DEA. They’ve been curious about Paula Doring for some time and set me up as an artist to get into her graces. She tended to be very friendly with the male artists. If you know what I mean.”
Ryan nodded.
“I figured out she was a drop-off for goods moving through the Rafael chain. I’d been playing up to her to get in and learn where they went next, but then I saw the photos of Joyce in her drawer and when I heard Joyce had overdosed, I discovered a whole new side to Paula. I’ve been giving information about her drug dealings to Baylor and information about her clandestine meetings and hatred of Joyce to Doring.” He raised his hands. “That’s all, just selling information to whoever wanted it. I don’t kill people.”
“Not with your hands maybe, but the information you gave Doring may have killed his wife.” Ryan tossed a five on the table for his coffee and hurried out to his vehicle.
He’d missed two calls. The first one from Shandra. He smiled. She’d figured out Rowan wasn’t who he pretended to be. The second number he didn’t know, and they didn’t leave a message. He hit the phone icon and waited.
“Hello?” The voice sounded like an older female.
“This is Detective Greer. Who is this and why did you call?”
“This is Lil, Shandra’s helper. Detective you need to get to the Doring Gallery. A DEA agent called and told Shandra she had to pick up her vase tonight. She could be in trouble.”
Ryan pushed the phone off button and cranked his car’s ignition. He didn’t trust Baylor. But if he’d call, surely Shandra would have called me. Was there more than one corrupt DEA agent?
Chapter Twenty-nine
Shandra parked in the alley. The vase was one of her larger ones and she didn’t want to pack it any farther than she had to. Where were the other artists’ cars? And what about the artists who weren’t local? How long would they have to wait to get their pieces?
The door was unlocked and standing open with light spilling out into the back alley. She stepped inside and stopped, staring at the empty room. The only thing left was the table and a workbench along one wall. Every scrap of paper or packing was gone. She made a note to drop a hint about possible drugs in her studio to the DEA the next time she needed it cleaned.
A light flickered in the gallery. She walked toward it. “Hello? Agent Perry? It’s Shandra, Shandra Higheagle.” Her voice echoed through the high ceilings. A shiver slithered up her arms and settled as a hard cold knot in the middle of her chest.
“Agent Perry?” Her feet continued one in front of the other carrying her into the gallery. The only lights were slender beams leaking out around the office door. She glanced back at the well-lit back room. “Why aren’t the lights on? How can we find our work?”
No answer. The knot in her chest grew tighter. She stopped at the door to the office. Her hand reached out to grasp the doorknob. If she locked herself in the office, she could use the phone to call Ryan. The realization this appeared to be a set-up shifted her fear to anger. She’d blindly walked into this because she was sure her findings had discovered the murderer. But Ryan had suspicions about Rowan and Baylor.
Shandra opened the office door and shut it, then hurried as quietly as she could back down the wall to a dark shadow. She’d wait for whoever had lured her here to go in the office after her, and then she’d run for the back door.
She didn’t have a clue where her adversary hid.
Air wafted and the soft sound of steps came toward her from the gallery. She peered into the darkness. An image emerged when someone walked into an open section that had the faint street light glow. The silhouette wasn’t of a woman.
What was he doing here? Her heart thudded in her chest and echoed in her ears like the ceremonial drums. Why hadn’t he answered her when she called out?
Her adversary flung open the office door. Before the door knob hitting the wall echoed, she ran for the back door. Her hands hit the now-closed back door. When had the door closed? Her palms stung from the impact. She rattled the knob.
Locked!
There was no place to hide in the empty room.
She spun around and faced her assailant.
Baylor. He swaggered toward her, a smirk on his lips. His gaze bore into her.
“Why are you holding me here? How did you get Agent Perry to call me?” She pressed her back against the door. Her only chance now was to get to the front of the gallery and break a glass window or cause some kind of ruckus to get the attention of someone out for an evening stroll.
“I’ve never met such a nosy artist before. Agent Perry does what I tell her to do. It’s amazing what you can get career-minded underlings to do.” Baylor stalked toward her. He didn’t have any weapons in his hands.
But he’s an agent. He could probably kill me with his bare hands.
“Do my questions bother you? They shouldn’t if you didn’t kill anyone.” She edged along the wall, hoping to race past him.
She pumped her arm back getting ready to sprint.
He lunged at her, grasping her arm tight.
“No, you aren’t getting away. You have a letter to write.” Baylor hauled her, dragging her heels, to the office.
“I don’t feel like writing a letter,” she remarked as he shoved her into the desk chair.
“I don’t care how you feel. Once you write the letter you aren’t going to feel anything again.”
Frantic to find a weapon, Shandra searched the office and noticed a coil of rope by the door. Is he going to tie me up?
“Pick up the pen.” He pointed to a pen sitting next to a blank piece of paper. “Now write: I can’t live with myself anymore. I killed Paula. And sign your name.”
Shandra shook her head. “No one would believe that. Why would I kill Paula? I barely knew the woman.”
“I’ll spread the word you were wanting to take over her drug route.”
A laugh burst out of her before she could stop it. “Why?”
“It doesn’t matter why. I’m a DEA agent and people will believe me.” He grabbed the back of her neck and squeezed. “Write.”
His fingers dug into her neck muscle, making her left arm go numb. She placed the pen on the paper and tried to concentrate on writing what he’d dictated. Her mind flashed to the brief moments she’d connected with Ryan. She wanted more of those. If she didn’t find a way to get out of this room, she’d never have a chance to see where their relationship could go.
“Please, I can’t feel my fingers to write.”
He eased up but kept his hand on her neck. If he was trying to intimidate her it was working.
“I gather from this note you’re having me write, you plan to kill me and make it look like a suicide.” This is where her grandmother’s stories of how her people found courage and pride in dying for their principles came in handy. She knew no one, especially Ryan, would believe she killed Paula. Ryan would seek out this man and bring him to trial.
His fingers tightened on her neck again. “Your remorse got the better of you.”
“What about you? Do you have any remorse about killing Paula?” She wasn’t sure he had, but that had to be the reason he was making her the patsy.
“She was going to tell the Rafaels that I was an agent. I couldn’t have her blow my cover. Not after I’d withheld evidence from her husband and killed the only person who could have spilled everything.”
“You have two murders on your hands? Who did you kill besides Paula?” she asked nonchalantly, but inside fear bounced around like a prickly pear.
He glared at her.
“What’s it matter? You’re going to kill me anyway. At least let me die having my questions answered.”
~*~
Ryan spotted Shandra’s Jeep. He pulled up alongside and exited his vehicle with his gun drawn. The gallery door was locked. Thankful he hadn’t turned in all the keys to the building, he slid his copy slowly into the lock and just as cautiously turned the knob and eased the door open a crack. Light seeped out around the door.
He took a deep breath, plastered his body against the side of the building, and flung the door open.
Nothing.
No sound.
He poked the nose of his Glock into the opening.
Nothing.
A quick glance showed an empty room. With caution, he entered the building and crept to the doorway that entered the gallery. Light shone under the office door. Were Shandra and Baylor in the office? Using the slim line of light as a beacon, he proceeded forward. The muffled sound of voices caught his attention.
Ryan leaned against the outside wall of the office and pressed his ear to the wall.
“So who did you kill besides Paula? Another informant?”
Shandra’s steady voice eased the fear he’d had for her safety, but her question baffled him.
“Not an informant. Someone who knew my informant before he turned narc. Paula, Joyce, and my informant all hung out in the same crowds in Seattle.”
Rage started at Ryan’s toes and flamed up to his face. Baylor! He knew there was something not right with the guy even if he did come highly recommended by the State Police Captain.
“You killed Joyce?” Shandra’s voice held less bravado.
“I wasn’t going to let some druggie ruin what I’d worked years to establish. Do you know how hard it is to get in with a Mexican cartel? To get them to confide in anyone other than their ‘family’?” The man took a deep breath. “I’d worked years cultivating Rowan to move into the cartel, I did everything but kiss Paula’s ass to get her to help plant Rowan. When she recognized Joyce as Dale Young’s girlfriend I had to get her out of the picture before he showed up.”
“He who? Rowan or Dale?” Shandra asked the same question Ryan was wondering.
“Both. Dale Young agreed to go under for us if we gave him a lighter sentence and changed his name and appearance.” Baylor snarled. “But he made a lousy informant. He couldn’t hide some of his tics. It would have only been a matter of time and Joyce would have figured it out. Then Paula got greedy. She wanted money for her silence in not only my identity but my part in Joyce’s overdose.”
Ryan heard enough. He kicked open the door.
“Police! Get your hands up!”
Baylor hauled Shandra up in front of him. He didn’t have a weapon in his hands.
Ryan flicked a glance at Shandra.
She dropped her gaze to the floor, and then stared straight in his eyes. She would drop when he gave the signal.
May the blessings of Saint Patrick be with me. He nodded.
Shandra slipped out of Baylor’s arm and dropped to the floor.
Ryan pulled the trigger.
Shandra hit the floor and started scrambling on her hands and knees toward Ryan. She didn’t stop until she’d climbed his body and he’d wrapped his arm around her. Her body shook from the terror and the adrenaline racing through her veins.
“Are you okay?” Ryan’s voice penetrated the ringing in her ears.
She nodded and caught an acrid whiff of gun powder. “Is he?”
“I need you to sit down while I cuff him.” Ryan held a gun on the man as he got her seated in the chair by the door and rolled the moaning Baylor over to cuff his arms behind his back.
Shandra stared at the back of the man who saved her life. She’d hoped someone would arrive and save her from Baylor’s hands. That it had been Ryan… She looked up. Ella, did you have something to do with this?
Ryan called on the phone for a car to come pick up Baylor. He came back over and crouched in front of the chair. “Why did you come here all by yourself?”
She shook her head. “I’d determined Rowan/Dale Young had murdered Paula. When a female DEA agent called and said I could pick up my vase, I thought she was legitimate.” She frowned. “I don’t understand why she didn’t get curious about his order.”
“I’ll not only ask Baylor that but the woman agent as well. I heard his confessions to you about Joyce and Paula. I can’t believe he would stoop that far to maintain his cover.” Ryan peered over his shoulder at Baylor. His attention returned to her. “I want you to drive straight home. Don’t come down off your mountain for anyone or anything. I’ll come up in the morning and get your statement.”
She stared into his eyes and nodded. After tonight, she might not come down off her mountain for months.
Chapter Thirty
Shandra was showered and dressed and in the middle of making a batch of waffles when Ryan drove up. She answered the door and smiled watching Ryan wrestle with Sheba and scratch her floppy ears.
“Just in time for breakfast. Come on in.” She left the door open and headed to the kitchen. The sound of boot heels following her through the house made her smile.
“It smells great.” Ryan helped himself to a cup of coffee and sat at the bar watching her pour batter into the waffle maker. He had dark circles under his eyes.
“Did you get much sleep last night?”
“Only about two hours. Once I’d questioned Baylor and Agent Perry, booked Baylor, and filed all the paperwork it was four.”
She placed a hand on his freshly-shaved cheek. He’d taken the time to shave, shower, and look as handsome as the first day she laid eyes on him. He smelled woodsy and clean. “I’m sorry. Did you learn how he rationalized calling me to the gallery to Agent Perry?”
“He told Perry he thought you were the killer, and that I was too attracted to you to see it. He wanted to get you alone to get to the truth.” Ryan’s brow furrowed, and his mouth formed a straight line of disapproval.
“After you left the gallery and I emerged with Baylor in handcuffs, Agent Perry stepped out of the shadows and tried to take him away from me. She figured he was up to something and had been staking the building out. When I refused to give him to her, she followed me to the police station and added some more information that will keep Bay
lor behind bars for a long time.”
Ryan gazed into her eyes. “He was right about one thing.”
Her face heated. “What?”
“I am attracted to you.” He grasped one of her hands and held it. “The sheriff gave me four days off for all the work I’ve done. I was thinking about hanging around Huckleberry and doing some hiking.”
Bubbles of happiness tickled her belly. “You know how to ride a horse, sheep rancher?”
“I’ve been on one a time or two.”
“After breakfast, I’d like to show you my mountain.”
“That’s the kind of R and R I need after the fright you gave me last night.”
He tugged her hand, drawing her around the counter to him. Shandra went, knowing he would kiss her. After all, this scene had played over and over in her dream last night. And Ella had been smiling.
Book Two in the Shandra Higheagle Mystery series:
Tarnished Remains
By
Paty Jager
Chapter One
Shandra Higheagle leaned on the shovel handle, staring into the pine forest to her right. She loved her excursions up Huckleberry Mountain to collect clay. She’d purchased this land two years ago for this pocket of clay. The yellowish mud, when cleaned and purified, enhanced her art. Using Mother Nature’s bounty to make her inspirations come to life enriched the overall appearance and authenticity of her work. That she used natural clay and formed pottery as her ancestors once had, made her pieces unique and sought after.
Enough musing and wasting time. She raised the shovel, sunk the metal blade into the ground six inches, and pulled out a shovel full of yellow clay. The packed soil held enough moisture to cling to the shovel. She knocked the blade against the top of the bucket, dropping the clay in. A good shove with her foot set the spade into the ground for another scoop. The metal grated on something hard. Possibly a rock. She’d hit a few while digging clay in this pocket.
Wiggling the shovel, she shoved again and pulled up another chunk of clay. Her artistic imagination saw a chunk on the side that resembled the shape of a cowboy boot heel. Shandra chuckled at her imagination and knocked the shovel against her plastic bucket. The chunk broke apart and a boot heel fell to the outside of the bucket.