by Diane Kelly
“Holy crap!” I cried. Brazos would be smothered under all that perfumed flesh! My celebrity crush would be crushed!
Lu rushed forward. “Come on! We’ve gotta help him!”
Lu and I ran to the pile of women and began pulling them off. I grabbed one by the hair and yanked her backward. She landed on her butt on the asphalt.
“You bitch!” she cried, her eyes flashing with fury. Before she could get up and come after me, I’d slung another woman her way, knocking her back onto her ass once again.
Lu grabbed two by the waistbands of their skirts and dragged them aside. Not bad for a woman in her sixties. Looked like those workouts were paying off.
The next woman I pulled off the stack began slapping at me, windmill style. With her hands moving in front of her, she didn’t see my foot coming. I hooked my loafer around her ankle and gave her chest a shove. Fwump! She, too, fell back on her ass, joining the other women on the asphalt.
The older woman with the pie made it to the car just as a young woman on top of the pile threw her leg up behind her. The girl’s stiletto hit the bottom of the pie plate with a resounding ting! and sent the dessert soaring into the air.
“Nooooo!” The woman who’d baked the pie could only watch in horror as the plate reached its pinnacle, gave in to the forces of gravity, and fell back toward earth, turning top down on its descent. Spluck! The pie landed on the roof the Ferrari, sending up a splatter of apple pieces, gooey cinnamon-scented filling, and buttery crust. The woman’s face contorted in rage and she grabbed the girl who’d kicked the pie plate by the calves, tugging her from the fray and onto the pavement.
The rest of the women were making no effort to get off Brazos, like football players fighting over a ball. Lu and I exchanged glances. We were running out of steam, but if Brazos didn’t get out from under this crush of bodies right away, he would be both squashed and torn to pieces, a bloody smear and dismembered limbs in the parking lot the only things left of him.
I was just about to pull my gun from my holster when Lu beat me to the punch, aiming her gun at the sky. BANG!
A few of the women at the top of the pile screamed, gave up their quest to touch Brazos and ran off, their hands curved protectively over their heads.
BANG!
Lu’s second shot scared off the next layer of women, but at least half a dozen diehards still remained.
Brazos wasn’t yet visible, though we could hear his terrified gasps. “Get … off … me! I … can’t … breathe!”
I pulled my gun and joined Lu, each of us getting off one shot.
BANG!
BANG!
Several more women scattered, running for their lives. Two stubborn women hung on, though, yanking Brazos back and forth like a rag doll, his head tossing first one way then the other. Both Brazos and one of the women had bloody noses, while the other woman sported a split lip and a raw cheek that had been scraped from her chin to her brow bone.
Brazos looked up at me and Lu, his blue eyes alight with desperation. “Help me!”
“Don’t worry, Brazos!” Lu cried. “We’ve got ’em!” With that she raised her gun and slammed the butt of it into the side of the closest woman’s skull. The woman’s head spun for a moment before she collapsed forward, falling face-first into the Ferrari’s back tire hubcap. Ping!
Lest she suffer the same fate, the other woman threw up one hand to shield her head and used the other to push herself to a stand. She took off running, her pace impeded by the broken heel on her left shoe. Click-thud-click-thud-click-thud!
While Lu and I slid our guns back into our holsters, Brazos lay back against the door of the car, his eyes wide, his jaw slack, and his chest heaving. His blue western shirt was ripped to shreds, both front pockets and one sleeve missing, a tear in the front revealing a waxed pec and a pinkish nipple. His belt was gone, his jeans pulled down several inches, revealing a pair of blue striped boxer briefs and barely concealing his naughty bits. Both of his brand-new Buckin’ Bronco boots were gone, though the spurs had fallen off and lay on the ground near his feet.
Now that all of the women, other than the unconscious one at our feet, had fled, the two members of the security detail rushed over. Spotting the prone woman, one phoned an ambulance, while the other summoned local police.
When Brazos had gathered his wits, he looked up at the four of us. “Those bitches nearly killed me!”
I reached down an arm to help him up and Lu did the same.
He took our hands and pulled himself to a stand. After looking down at what remained of his clothes, he dusted himself off, hiked his pants up, and reactivated his charm, turning those dazzling blue eyes on us. “I sure was lucky you two were here.” His eyes gazed into mine for a moment, then traveled down my body and back up again, the resulting smile telling me my moves today had gotten his attention and that he was duly impressed.
Those same blue eyes cut to his bodyguards, treating them to a look that was more disgusted than dazzling. His trained protection detail had been bested by two women, one in her sixties and one who stood only five feet two inches.
Neener-neener.
Brazos knelt down to retrieve the spurs, then offered one set to me and one to Lu. “A little memento of all the fun we’ve had here today.”
The three of us shared a laugh. It was a special, intimate moment.
As Lu and I tucked our souvenir spurs into our purses, the police and ambulance arrived, sirens wailing and lights flashing. A male medic tended to the woman Lu had pistol-whipped, while a female medic treated Brazos’s nose and felt him up all over.
“Checking for broken bones,” the EMT claimed as she ran her hands over his rib cage.
Seemed to me she was just taking advantage of the situation to cop a feel of celebrity flesh. There were no bones in his ass, after all.
The female fan, now conscious but dazed, was taken to the hospital for observation.
The police officers took statements from each of us. When they finished, one turned to Brazos. “Any chance I can get an autograph?”
“Me, too!” said the other. “And one for my girlfriend?”
Brazos nodded. “Be happy to oblige.”
When the autographs had been signed, the cops set about gathering evidence, sliding the dented pie pan, the broken heel, and an earring into evidence bags.
As the officers were wrapping things up, a news van roared into the lot. In the front passenger seat sat Trish LeGrande, a bosomy reporter with hair the color of butterscotch or ear wax, depending on your viewpoint. I was in the ear wax faction. Trish had reported on various cases I’d been involved in, and she rarely made the IRS look good. She’d also relentlessly pursued Brett Ellington, the guy I’d dated before Nick. Needless to say, I abhorred her.
Trish must have caught the action on a police scanner. The van had barely screeched to a stop when she leaped out onto the pavement. She wore a fitted suit in her trademark pink, along with gray high-heeled boots and a pearl choker around her neck.
“Mr. Rivers!” she called, raising a hand that held a wireless microphone. “I’ve got some questions for you!”
Her cameraman joined her and began shooting footage of her impromptu interview.
“I understand that a group of fans attacked you here only moments ago,” she said in her typical breathless, bedroom voice as she stepped up close to Brazos, accidentally on purpose brushing her boob against his bicep.
Tramp.
“That’s right.” Brazos aimed a brilliant smile at the camera. “I’m lucky to have a following of dedicated fans, but this particular crowd was a little overzealous,” he teased, “as you can see.” He gestured from his shoulder to his hips, indicating the torn clothing.
Trish put a concerned hand on his shoulder and, though the camera couldn’t pick it up, I noticed she ran her thumb over his shoulder blade in a flirtatious, far-too-personal gesture. “I, for one, am glad you survived this terrifying incident.”
“That makes tw
o of us.” Brazos chuckled, then waved me and Lu over to stand beside him. “I owe it all to these two lovely ladies.”
When Trish saw me, her eyes flashed with revulsion. She felt the same way about me as I did about her.
Without waiting for Trish’s prompt, Brazos continued speaking. “Miss Holloway and Miss Lobozinski pulled the women off me and fired their guns into the air to scare the more determined ones off. If not for them I’d be in much worse shape.”
Trish skewered me with her eyes. “Tara Holloway shooting her gun again. Why am I not surprised?”
Brazos looked from Trish to me, his brows lifting. “You two know each other?”
“She’s reported on my previous cases,” I said before Trish could open her plumped pink lips. And she hadn’t reported fairly.
Trish turned away from me and cocked her head coyly. “Tara tends to push the limits of the law. The public has a right to know.”
Brazos looked again from Trish to me, the expression on his face telling me he was both amused and intrigued.
When Trish wrapped up the interview, she slipped her business card into the front pocket of Brazos’s jeans and looked up at him, her lips parted seductively. “Just in case you need to reach me.”
She might as well have said, Call me if you want an easy lay.
Lu and I bade Brazos good-bye.
He gave us each a warm hug. “You two are one of a kind.”
It might have been my imagination, but I thought I heard Trish mutter, “Thank God!” under her breath.
chapter fifteen
Don’t Fence Me In
Nick cornered me and Lu when we returned to the office. “Well? You two get a firm commitment from Brazos?”
Luckily, Lu responded for me. “We got something better!” she cried. “His spurs!” She pulled her set from her purse and jingled them in front of Nick’s frowning face.
“Really?” he snapped. “That’s all you got?”
“’Course not.” Lu dropped the spurs back into her open purse. “We got his manager’s number. She’s the one who was supposed to file the returns.”
Nick grunted. “Same song, second verse.” He narrowed his eyes at Lu. “Don’t tell me you fell for that little tax-cheatin’ cowboy, too?”
Lu crossed her arms over her chest. “If I didn’t know better, Nick, I’d say you were jealous of Brazos.”
Whoa! I tried not to laugh when Nick sputtered.
“Me?” he said. “Jealous of that pop-music punk? That’ll be the day.”
The bulging vein in his neck told me that Lu had struck a chord. Frankly, I was glad she’d put Nick in his place. Not because he’d been wrong about anything, but instead because he was absolutely right yet didn’t have the sense to keep his mouth shut about it.
When I returned to my office I placed a call to Brazos’s manager. Unfortunately, all I got was Sierra’s voice mail. I left her a message, asking her to call me ASAP. “Interest is accruing at the rate of $2,191.78 per day,” I told her. “So it would be best for everyone involved to get those taxes paid up right away.” With that, I ended my message and hung up my phone.
I sat back in my chair. Now that I was away from Brazos, I could think clearly again. This case had dragged on longer than it should have without any sort of progress. Nick was right. It was time to get things moving along.
* * *
Nick and I ordered pizza in and ate dinner at his place, feeding our crusts to Nutty who ate only a small portion but licked the cheese and sauce off the rest. We spent the evening cuddling on the couch and watching sitcoms, with Nutty lying between us. The dog’s head was in Nick’s lap, his butt aimed in my direction. Nutty glanced back at me with his cataract-clouded eyes and gave a soft but demanding woof.
“Okay, buddy.” I reached out to scratch his hindquarters with both hands. “How’s that?”
He thanked me with a quick wave of his tail.
I didn’t bring up the issue of Brazos Rivers and neither did Nick. It felt good to relax and not think about work for a while.
When the ten o’clock news came on, we flipped through the channels to watch Trish’s report. Though she spent a full minute detailing the attack on Brazos, she made no mention of his rescuers. Lu and I had ended up on the cutting-room floor. Grr. I wouldn’t mind taking a pair of scissors to Trish someday, too, maybe lop off those shiny golden locks of hers and shove them down her throat.
“Lu and I saved Brazos’s ass,” I lamented. “I can’t believe Trish didn’t mention us at all.”
“Don’t let that ditz get you all hot and bothered.” Nick slid me a sultry grin and nuzzled my neck. “That’s my job.”
Mmm. I tilted my head to give him more skin to work with. “If this is your job, I should give you a raise.”
“You already did.” Nick gestured to the sizable tent in his sweatpants.
“Wow,” I said. “That’s going in your performance review.”
I spent the night at Nick’s. Alicia and my cats could take care of themselves. Besides, things between Nick and me had been strained since the concert. I was crazy about him, and I didn’t like it when we were at odds. With any luck, Sierra Behr would call me tomorrow, she and I would get things sorted out, and I could finally put my case against Brazos Rivers to rest.
* * *
Despite my leaving her four more voice mail messages, Sierra Behr did not call me on Tuesday or Wednesday. Things did not get sorted out. And I still couldn’t put the case against Brazos to rest.
Dammit, I thought as I toyed with the silver spurs the singer had given me. Dammit, dammit, dammit!
When I hadn’t heard from Sierra by five o’clock, I wasn’t merely embarrassed, I was frustrated and annoyed and out of patience. What part of “call me back immediately, this is extremely urgent” did she not understand? Due to her failure to return my call, Brazos had racked up $4,383.56 more in interest. I felt sorry for the guy. I mean, I knew the people working for him must be busy. But they were supposed to be helping him make money, not waste it.
I sat back in my chair, pondering my options.
One, I could give Sierra another day or two to return my call. Maybe she’d been tied up with work or a personal issue. It happens. Was I being too impatient?
Two, I could call Quentin Yarbrough and find out when and where Brazos would be making his next appearance in the area. But that could be weeks away and I was ready to take action now.
Three, I could drive out to the Brazos Bend Ranch. There was a good chance Brazos was still staying out there with his parents. I could take an agreement with me, get his signature on it. That way it would be his problem to figure out who was supposed to get his returns filed and why they hadn’t done it. I felt stupid that I’d let him put that task on me in the first place. I never did such a thing with other taxpayers with past-due bills. I’d simply advise them that they had to get their returns filed by a specific date or they’d be hauled off in handcuffs. I’d trusted Brazos, assumed he’d been on the up-and-up with me about his returns. But I was beginning to fear he’d fed me a line of bull.
I pulled up a form agreement on my computer and filled in the blanks, giving Winthrop Merriweather VII one month from today to file his delinquent tax returns and pay up. After printing out the form, I slid it into my briefcase and stormed out of my office, a woman with a purpose.
Two hours later, I drove up the country road toward the ranch, passing one of PPE’s gas rigs. The lights surrounding the rig lit up the dark evening sky. A number of workers milled about the rig with equipment and tools, earning some overtime. I wondered if one of them might be Doug Dunne.
As I approached the ranch, I spotted more lights up ahead, what appeared to be a single headlight flanked by a smaller red light on one side and a green light on the other.
A plane.
Was Brazos flying out?
No!
I pushed the gas pedal to the floor, flying down the road at eighty miles per hour, then ninety, then a
hundred. But it still wasn’t fast enough. Just as I reached the gate to the Brazos Bend Ranch, the singer’s private jet barreled down the asphalt runway and soared into the sky, leaving a cloud of exhaust hanging behind it in the cool evening air.
I banged a fist on the steering wheel in frustration, inadvertently honking the horn. I kept screwing this case up, over and over. Ugh. Maybe the IRS shouldn’t have given my badge and gun back to me after all. I rested my head against the wheel and closed my eyes, not wanting to face myself even if it was only in the rearview mirror.
When I finally lifted my head, I caught another flash of light. Someone had come out the front door of the Merriweathers’ house. From this distance and in the dark it was impossible to tell who it was, even through my field glasses. Was it possible that Brazos could still be here? Maybe his pilot had flown the plane somewhere for maintenance or refueling. Or maybe Brazos had given his pilot a few days off and the pilot had decided to fly home, wherever that might be. The tour bus wasn’t in the drive, but perhaps the bus driver had taken it elsewhere, maybe driven the Boys of the Bayou and the roadies to a hotel. Rather than speculate, I might as well drive on up to the gate and find out for myself whether Brazos was around, right?
I drove up to the gate and pushed the button with the picture of a speaker on it. Bzzt.
When nobody had responded in twenty seconds, I tried the buzzer again, holding the button down a little longer this time. Bzzzzzt. Still no answer. Just for kicks, I buzzed out the tune to “Baby, If You’re Willin’.” Bzt-Bzt Bzt Bzt Bzzt-bzt. Nobody came to the intercom. Apparently, nobody was willin’.
It dawned on me then that if the person had come outside, there might be nobody in the house to respond to my summons. I eyed the gate in front of me. It topped out at eight feet, but that was no match for the east Texas tree-climbing champion. I turned off the engine, tucked my keys and the agreement in my pocket, and took a running leap at the fence. Grabbing the upper bar, I used my feet for leverage and eventually managed to straddle the gate. Swinging my outside leg over, I dropped to the ground. Plop.