by C. A. Szarek
Still no Renee.
Give up on that, think about your case.
Saving your brother’s ass.
Jared stewed in his seat.
Where the fuck is Joe?
Why did the FBI suspect he’d headed toward Antioch anyway? Had they connected the dots to Jared?
Did Special Agent Taylor Carrigan know they were brothers?
His heart tripped and Jared shook his head.
No way.
He’d been adopted, his name legally changed from Pompa to Manning at age twelve. Jared hadn’t ever had a middle name that Child Protective Services had known about, so he’d taken his dad’s first name, Jason, as a second name. So Jared Pompa to Jared Jason Manning would be even harder to match up.
Unless someone knew to look, sixteen-year-old court records shouldn’t even come to light.
Joe had been gone at seventeen. Their calls had been sporadic. Not even Jared’s parents knew he’d had contact with Joe.
Jared had never mentioned it because he couldn’t stand the disappointment in his mother’s eyes if his brother’s name was said aloud. Amy Manning saw Joe as the boy she’d failed to save.
They would’ve adopted him, too. They’d tried so hard with Joe the year he’d spent in their home. Jared didn’t remember too many specifics since he’d been so young, but his brother’s one year with the Mannings had been filled with rebellion, truancy and a few police reports.
“Fuck me.” He fought the urge to close his eyes and glanced at his watch.
Twenty after six. He’d told Cole he’d handle Carrigan’s advent, but he regretted it. Jared would rather troll any likely hideouts for his brother and friends. There were a few places in Antioch he could look. The old warehouse district and the decrepit trailer park came to mind. Or Homeless Row.
But how well did Joe know the small city? His year in Antioch was a long time ago. The place had changed.
Jared’s cell phone blared from his pocket and he jumped. “Manning.”
“Detective, this is Special Agent Taylor Carrigan. I spoke to your partner earlier. He told me to contact you.”
Her voice was deep for a woman’s. Direct, like her words. Maybe she had a low bullshit tolerance.
Is that good or bad?
“Yes. If you want, we can meet now. Where are you?”
“Stuart and Main.” Carrigan’s answer was without hesitation.
She’s prepared. Definitely doesn’t do BS.
Jared smirked. “Hang a left on Ash. You’ll see McAuley’s on the right.”
“Sounds good. I assume I’ll see you in a few minutes.”
He ended the call and shook his head. “If first impressions mean anything, let’s hope efficient doesn’t mean hard-ass.”
“Did you say something, Detective?” Brian McAuley asked, as he filled a frosty glass from the tap in front of Jared.
“No, sir. Just talking to myself.”
The bartender flashed a smile. “That’s just fine unless you start answering yourself, too.”
“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.” Jared chuckled, and ran his hand through his hair. His stomach was in knots.
He hoped to God no one else pointed out his resemblance to Joe.
Especially Special Agent Taylor Carrigan.
Chapter Seven
Taylor set her cell phone down in the cup holder in lieu of trying to bury it back in her jacket pocket while driving.
She passed a large blue reflective sign with white lettering that read Antioch Justice Center and had an arrow pointing toward on Precinct Drive. Where she’d assumed she’d be heading after leaving The Covington.
Not so much.
Her GPS hollered that she was being rerouted when she made a left on Ash, as the detective had instructed.
When she saw that bar’s parking lot, she made a face.
So much for hoping it was a restaurant.
The word McAuley’s was on the front of the building, posted high and in blue and red lit-up letters. The colors made her think of a police cruiser’s lightbar, but the place wasn’t the police station.
First time in the small city of Antioch, Texas, and Taylor had never imagined meeting local law enforcement—temporary co-workers—at a place that served alcohol.
She didn’t want to deal with Manning anyway. Her boss, Special Agent Matthias Baker, had told her to cooperate with the local PD. That wasn’t going to be a problem, but she wanted to deal exclusively with Cole Lucas. He was former FBI. He knew his way around an investigation, and how things would have to work. But he was off grid, or so his text message had said.
My partner’s around. Jared Manning. Told him to expect your call. See you in the a.m.
Then Manning’s number. So Taylor didn’t have a choice.
Lucas was married, so she didn’t blame him, really.
A picture of John’s smile, his kind brown eyes and handsome face flashed into her mind. She’d loved the cleft in his chin most.
Sorrow caught in her throat and she swallowed so she wouldn’t sob. Taylor clenched her jaw until pain shot into her teeth.
Get it together. You’re working.
She was supposed to have been married, too.
John and Taylor had been planning their wedding for almost six months. The date was inching closer and closer. February the fourteenth, in honor of the anniversary of their first kiss, as well as Valentine’s Day.
That bastard Joe Pompa had taken it all away.
Taylor would get him.
Cuffs or a bullet, she hadn’t decided yet.
Get that out of your head. You’re not a murderer—like he is.
Prison.
Pompa needed to go to prison for a long time. She’d make it happen. No matter what Taylor had to do.
She pulled the Chevy Impala into the parking lot of the bar, but she didn’t park up next to the building. Taylor glanced at the clock as a few more cars and a truck pulled in and several guys headed inside.
Great, the place is busy.
Taylor had no use for alcohol, let alone some stupid Happy Hour, which lasted until seven-thirty, according to the banner attached the building.
She tried not to slam the car door. Then she trotted up to the place she had no desire to enter. Taylor fought a shiver, even though it was warm for a November evening.
A tall guy with brown hair wearing a leather jacket and tight dark jeans, held the door open. He winked as she passed by him and mumbled thanks. His demeanor screamed cop but she ignored him, including the lack of returning his pleasant smile.
She doubted he was Manning.
When Taylor looked around the inside of the place, her frown deepened. It was like some deranged cop shrine. The history of anything Police-Americana had vomited up all over the place.
No wonder the sign is red and blue.
The guy that opened the door hadn’t gone away. “Can I help you find someone, ma’am?”
The Texas twang that still got to her sometimes rocked her a little bit. She’d grown up in Chicago, and had only been assigned to Violent Crimes out of the Dallas office of the FBI for two years. Not many FBI agents were actually from Texas in her unit. Quantico shipped people all over the US after graduation.
Her gaze snapped to his face. Taylor tried not to notice the unusual amber color of the man’s eyes. Or that he was handsome and tall.
Still looks like a cop.
The need to clear her throat before speaking irritated her. “Actually, yes. I’m supposed to meet Detective Jared Manning. Know him?”
“Yup.” He looked around, then the cop met her eyes. “Leather jacket, far end of the bar.”
“Thanks.”
Flashing a dimple in his right cheek, he nodded. “Anytime. Sure I’ll see you around.”
Taylor watched him walk away, her stomach jumping.
He shook hands with two men at a back table and took a seat.
She frowned again and smoothed the front of her blazer.
Then
she turned toward the detective and squared her shoulders.
Let’s get this over with.
* * * *
The longer the FBI agent took to arrive, the more his stomach twisted. She’d been about five minutes away when she’d called.
What the hell?
Jared whipped his head around every time the door opened. So far no one female entered, let alone a woman that fit the FBI bill.
He turned back toward the bar with a sigh. Took a sip of the water Brian had put in front of him a few minutes before, even though he hadn’t asked for it.
Water really wasn’t cutting it. Maybe he could order that drink after all. A shot of Scotch, his normal. Or two.
It might calm his worries about Joe…and his longing for Renee.
“Detective Manning.”
The same deep, yet feminine, voice from the phone almost made him jump, but Jared chided himself to sit still. He plastered on a smile and turned on the barstool to face her.
Carrigan was sizing him up, even before he stuck his hand.
“Jared Manning,” he said.
She accepted his shake, her eyes landing on his face. Carrigan didn’t smile, but she did offer a head nod. “Taylor Carrigan.”
For some reason, he wanted to squirm in his seat.
“Last I checked, Antioch Police Department is down the street.”
Jared smirked. “Yeah, well, it’s after five. And if you take a look around, you’ll find more than a few cops here.”
She arched a fair eyebrow. Still no smile. “A bar.”
Guess it was too much to hope for that she wasn’t a hard-ass.
Insisting on heading into Antioch tonight, despite the two-hour drive, should’ve told him something.
“Right. A bar. Do some of my best investigating from right here. Have a seat. Take a load off. We can talk shop.”
Agent Carrigan stared at him as if he’d sprouted wings. She wasn’t very big for someone whom intimidation was currently rolling off. Then again, most women were diminutive to Jared, since he was six-three.
“I prefer some place more confidential. Like the police station,” she said.
“Maybe in the morning. I’m here. Not there.”
If he hadn’t just met her two seconds before, he would’ve told her to loosen up. Her strawberry blonde hair was in a librarian’s bun, not a strand out of place, even at six-forty in the evening. Her outfit was neat and tidy, too. Black slacks and a royal-blue button-down that was most definitely tucked in. She wore a black blazer that concealed the handgun he knew was at her waist.
Even if Jared wasn’t a cop, he’d have been able to spot her as law enforcement ten miles away. Her demeanor screamed FBI agent.
Add uptight to that.
Not even the freckles strewn across the bridge of her pert little nose gave her an air of innocence. Kind of ruined her beauty, in a way. Because Agent Carrigan could’ve been gorgeous without the stick up her ass.
“Detective Manning, I don’t think—”
“I read your case file. I have some ideas.”
Her mouth snapped closed, but she didn’t relax. The FBI agent crossed her arms over her chest. Her hazel gaze was shrewd. “Ideas?”
“Of where to look for Pompa and his gang.”
Damn it’s hard to say Pompa like the name means nothing.
“Ah.”
“Do you have a place to stay tonight?”
Agent Carrigan straightened, as if she hadn’t expected Jared to ask. “Yes, I checked into The Covington before I called you.”
“Good deal. Well I don’t know about you, but it’s been a long day. And it’s two days before a holiday. So why don’t you head to your room and we’ll meet in the morning? I’m sure my partner will want in on our discussion anyway.”
Carrigan frowned. “I assumed we would start tonight.”
Jared stared. He’d ask if she was for real, but it was obvious. Not only was she a hard-ass, she was a workaholic.
Great.
He and Cole were no strangers to working their asses off for a case—all hours of the day and night until it was done. On the other hand, it was a holiday week. His parents expected him at the table on Thanksgiving Day.
His younger sister, Jenna, was coming in from Corpus Christi where she went to college. It was a long drive—about ten hours—and she’d be in town tomorrow. Was bringing a guy—her new fiancé, actually.
Jared needed to threaten the dude. If he hurt his baby sister he’d kick his ass—or worse.
Wasn’t Carrigan leaving family in Dallas for the holiday?
“My partner and I—our whole detective squad, actually—are up to speed with your case. I think our hands are really tied ‘til we meet as a group, anyway.”
Her frown deepened. “I’m not fond of wasting time, Detective. Especially my own.”
Jared thought better of rolling his eyes—but he was tempted. “How about a compromise?”
Carrigan arched an eyebrow—again. “How so?”
“There’s a corner table over there, I’m sure no one will bother us. We can get a bite to eat and talk about the case. I’m sure you’re hungry after your drive, and I’m starved.”
She cocked her head to one side as if she was thinking about it. Then the FBI agent gave a curt nod.
When he stood from the stool, she amended her gaze to look up at him, and Jared bit back a smartass grin. Carrigan was short—had to be about five-one.
“Hey, Bri,” he called. “We’re going to order food in a few.”
“Sure thing, Detective.”
That fair eyebrow shot even higher. “Come here often?”
Jared snorted. “Like I said, half of APD is here right now. This is the cop-bar in town. Thought it’d be obvious with the décor.”
Carrigan made a disparaging sound and pulled the chair out when he led her to the back corner. She touched it daintily, as if it was filthy.
Jesus, don’t tell me she just added prissy to workaholic hard-ass, too.
He plopped down across from her and tried not to look at the table just to the right he’d been seated with Renee at the night before. “So tell me, what makes you think Pompa headed to my small, no-where city?”
Carrigan studied him for a moment, but her expression was pleased, as if she hadn’t expected Jared to dive right in, but liked not being put off again.
“It made sense. Considering where Murray’s…body was found.” She squared her shoulders and cleared her throat.
Jared watched her swallow—twice. Hmmm…emotion?
Or had he imagined it? Who was the dead agent, John Murray, to Special Agent Taylor Carrigan?
Jared studied her until she averted her gaze. Surprise rolled over him. She didn’t seem the type to admit defeat—even in a staring contest. Carrigan was hiding something, and she didn’t want him to latch on.
We’ll just see about that.
She grabbed a menu and opened it. “So, what’s good here, Detective?”
“You can call me Jared.”
Her pretty hazel eyes widened and she shook her head. “Formality is better for me, Detective. No offense.”
Jared gave her another once-over then let her comment slide. He reached for his own menu from behind the rack of condiments, sliding the salt and pepper shakers out of the way. “I usually get a burger, but they have other tasty things if a hunk of beef isn’t your style, Special Agent.”
She paused, fingertips in mid-turn of the menu’s second page.
Speechless?
He bit back a grin and tried to school his expression, but she’d read him like a book if Carrigan’s tight brow was any indication.
The appearance of one of Brian’s two waitresses stopped the FBI agent from answering.
She ordered a burger after all. With bacon and cheese.
Jared tried not to smirk as she tucked into it with her pinkie finger sticking straight up. Like she was drinking tea. Carrigan was dainty after all.
He glanced dow
n at his own plate and grabbed a few thick French fries. They were the best—carnival style. Damn good thing he and Cole would run off the bad food choice in the morning. They were supposed to meet at the track at five-thirty.
Not like he watched what he ate like a chick, but he’d been partaking in too much grease this week and had missed one run already.
Although, vigorous, fantastic sex was exercise, too.
Do not think of Renee right now.
Carrigan didn’t talk much as they ate, but Jared was okay with that. However, it didn’t escape his notice that her gaze kept darting to the left, to a table of three APD cops—Shannon Crowley, Mark Rodriguez and Joe Benton.
“Know them or something?” he finally asked when she looked that way the fourth—maybe fifth—time.
She jumped.
Jared arched an eyebrow.
The FBI agent cleared her throat and took a sip of her Diet Coke. “No. The one on the left opened the door for me is all.”
“Ah. They’re all APD. Brown leather jacket?”
Carrigan nodded.
“His name is Shannon Crowley. Newly promoted to sergeant, he works the graveyard. Must be gearing up for his shift.” He smirked. “Want an intro or something?”
She glared and Jared chuckled. “Let’s get down to business.”
He laughed again, ignoring Carrigan’s frown. He should back off anyway—he didn’t know her well enough to jack with her.
The professional part of him thought it might be good to get her take on things, too. She’d been working this case for a while, so her familiarity wouldn’t hurt.
You still have to get to Joe first.
Jared bit back a wince at the reminder and opened his mouth. He had to brief her on the layout of the city before they could get started.
Chapter Eight
Mel smiled at her dad from across the table.
He stretched and patted his midsection. “That was fantastic, Melody. And the pie! You’re a baking genius, Valerie!”
Val grinned from ear to ear and reached for her glass of red wine. “I’m glad you liked them. The melted caramel over the lattice weave crust on the apple is my special touch.”