Collision Control

by C. A. Szarek

  However, what Taylor had learned from watching Andi Thanksgiving Day was all good stuff. She was a good mom and wife.

  Taylor had apologized for adding an unplanned plate to their dinner table on the holiday, but Andi had been gracious and welcoming.

  And those little boys…

  Ethan and Micah were adorable. At almost six, the elder was charming and talkative. He’d reached for a handshake when Lucas had introduced her to him, and Taylor hadn’t been able to bite back a smile.

  The little one wasn’t talking much yet, but when he’d reached for her, Taylor had frozen. Micah had tried to scramble onto her lap, and of course she’d had to lift him up. Which had ended with her holding him.

  She hadn’t wanted him to fall and get hurt, after all.

  Micah had stared up at her with his mother’s big blue eyes and a shy smile that’d only made his dad’s dimples peek slightly.

  Taylor had melted on the spot.

  It hadn’t been difficult to relax then, even though she hadn’t had a baby on her lap for longer than she could remember.

  Ethan had talked her ear off, going on about school, and his teacher, Miss Nash. As well as his parents, Uncle Pete, and—she’d tried not to frown—his Uncle Jared.

  He was a bright kid, and just as adorable as his younger brother. He, too, had Andi’s eyes.

  Normal had surrounded her.

  And had just about killed her.

  Jared tried not to roll his eyes as he glanced at Carrigan’s stiff back. He put his cell to his ear. “Manning.”

  Someone cleared their—her—throat.

  Mel?

  His heart flip-flopped.

  “Uh…Detective?”

  Not Mel.

  “Yes, this is Detective Manning.” He ignored the disappointment eating at his gut. “How can I help you?”

  “My name’s Valerie Hart. I’m a friend of Melody Nash.” She paused, but Jared could tell she wasn’t done talking. “Best friend, actually. And she’ll kill me if she finds out I called you.”

  Now his interest was piqued. “What can I do for you, Ms. Hart?” After all, his mother had raised him with manners.

  “Val, please. And it’s what I can do for you, Detective.”

  “Oh?”

  “Have you ever heard of Friends First?”

  Jared frowned. He’d heard radio ads for the company. “That activities club?”

  “Right. For singles.”

  Her slight emphasis on the last word had him stilling. “Singles club…Mel… No way. She didn’t…”

  “Wow, I like that you’re sharp. And oh yeah, she sure did. She didn’t join yet, but she wants to check it out. Christmas mixer is free to attend.”

  “Hell no.”

  Val laughed. “That’s what I said.”

  “When, and where?”

  “I’m really glad you’re on board.”

  “More than on board. I suppose it’s no secret what happened the night we met, but… I want to take her out. Date her, hang with her. She won’t give me a shot.”

  “I know. And I can’t seem to yell sense into her. So we have to be sneaky.”

  Jared grinned. He had a feeling he was going to like this girl. “I can do sneaky.”

  “Good. Saturday at three. The new Antioch City Center. Can you make it?”

  “You bet.”

  “See you there. Oh, hey, Detective.”

  “Yeah?”

  “You happen to find a purple shoe at your place?”

  “Yeah, actually.”

  “It’s mine. Can you bring it?”

  “Sure.” He disconnected the call and pocketed his cell, grinning about the shoe. So it was her friend’s? Jared had tossed it in his truck’s toolbox when he’d found it, so he’d just have to remember to give it back.

  His heart soared.

  Jared was going to see Mel in a few days.

  She’d probably just reject him again.

  No. This time I won’t let her.

  This time was going to be different.

  Merry Christmas to me.

  Even though Christmas was still thirteen days away.

  Jared was giddy, like a little kid, but his smile faded when he met his FBI partner’s hazel eyes.

  “Plans?” She had one fair eyebrow arched, displeasure written all over her pretty face.

  Carrigan’s presence in Antioch very well might ruin his holiday. God knew she couldn’t loosen up. And like Thanksgiving, she’d already stated she wasn’t heading back to Dallas.

  He probably owed Lucas one for hosting her on Turkey Day, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to offer her a place at his parents’.

  Even if being alone on Christmas would suck.

  Besides, the irritation on her face at that moment sucked his manners away.

  “If you must know, yeah. For Saturday.”

  “We’re working a case.”

  Oh? Now you want to work with me? He swallowed his instinct to snap. It wouldn’t do any good. “Right, and you’ll survive without me for a few hours. Lucas should be back by then, I hope. You can ruin my partner’s Saturday instead of mine.”

  The insult rolled off her without response.

  “I’m sorry.” The FBI agent’s voice was soft but her hazel gaze unwavering.

  “Excuse me?” Shock hit him but Jared squared his shoulders. He’d never expected an apology, despite his confrontation before Valerie Hart’s phone call.

  “You’re a good investigator. I should take advantage of your skills.”

  Jared harrumphed. Of course she’d ruin her apology by being a think-for-yourselfer. Calling her on it would make things worse. “We’re supposed to work together. So let’s do that. Find Pompa and Bennett. Put them away. Maybe we’ll get something accomplished before my partner gets back.” He cleared his throat. Like always, he’d had to force his brother’s last name out with conscious care, striving for normal.

  Her gaze sharpened and he tried not to squirm. Carrigan nodded curtly, but she still studied him from his own chair. “All right.”

  He forced himself to loosen his shoulders with the FBI agent’s affirmative.

  “There’s been no sign of Bennett, as we’ve already discussed, but there is this.” Carrigan grabbed a piece of paper off his printer, and Jared stepped forward to grab at.

  His eyes skimmed the report. “Well, will you look at that.” He whistled. “A stolen BMW, last seen by the owner, right outside of town.”

  “And two miles north, a sheriff’s deputy found a maroon Mercedes with Arizona plates. Reported stolen outside of Tempe the day before Thanksgiving. I bet if we keep going west, we’ll find a few more dumped.”

  “We agreed Pompa didn’t go west.” Once again, Jared had to clear his throat and focus on being normal. He forbade himself from thinking of Joe.

  “Yes. I think it’s Bennett, coming this way. After Pompa. John’s body was found in Oklahoma, but we know they went to California. They must be coming back around. Maybe Bennett figured Pompa didn’t go west, too.”

  “Yeah, I see it. The cars are a trail.”

  “Could be. Do you want to go check out the Beemer? It’s conveniently in the impound lot your department uses.” Carrigan’s expression didn’t change, but Jared had to admire that she was reaching out to him for the first time since they’d met.

  “Sure. Has it been processed?”

  “Inventoried, but I requested they leave the processing up to me—us—when my office got the call.”

  He wanted to ask why her office got a heads-up when the sheriff’s office in question was in his county, but Jared screamed at himself not to be territorial. Carrigan probably had a contact she hadn’t shared with him.

  She might have apologized, but they weren’t besties. Never would be.

  “All righty. I’ll get my kit.”

  Carrigan nodded.

  Jared smirked. She was probably going to argue with him about who was going to drive.

  Chapter E
ighteen

  The hair stood up on the back of her neck. Taylor’s gut screamed something was very wrong.

  It wasn’t the fact she was following her Antioch PD partner. That wasn’t even offering guilt at the moment.

  Jared Manning lived in an apartment here in town. His parents lived on Chestnut Street, also in Antioch. So why was he heading into a house on Montgomery Street with grease soaked brown paper bags from the bar she’d met him at?

  Yeah, I checked up on you.

  After all, he’d suggested it.

  She’d pulled his file after he’d left for the day. Tried to convince herself mere curiosity had her looking at his pertinents.

  Manning hadn’t been boasting when he’d mentioned his closeout rate. The man was a machine—even before he’d partnered up with Cole Lucas. The two had an unreal solve rate of ninety-five percent.

  Her detective partner glanced over his shoulder as he entered the huge house.

  There was no way he could see her from where Taylor watched, but she winced anyway. Watching him pretty much confirmed she didn’t trust him.

  So much for the apology and praise of his skills earlier that day. As far as Manning was concerned, they were square now. Taylor had even assured him she’d take advantage of his investigation abilities.

  Liar, liar, pants on fire.

  “But something is wrong here.” Maybe saying it out loud would make her feel better. “I won’t apologize for being right.”

  Right?

  And since when do you talk to yourself?

  She couldn’t put her finger on it, but from the start there’d been something fishy about Manning and this case.

  Taylor’s gut was never wrong.

  The door closed, and even though she was too far away to hear the sound, the thud resounded in her ears.

  What are you doing, Taylor?

  Watching your partner?

  She drummed her fingertips on the steering wheel of her FBI-issued Chevy Impala.

  Many a co-worker had accused her of being the suspicious sort—even for someone in her line of work. It made her keen, sharp.

  Something didn’t seem right with Jared Manning. No harm in checking it out.

  Investigating.

  That was her job.

  What if you’re wrong?

  No.

  What if I’m right?

  Lucas was still in New York City. He’d called earlier and told both Taylor and Manning he hoped to be home by the end of the week.

  Could she share her suspicions with the former FBI agent?

  He’d want proof with such a hefty accusation, and she only had what her gut was telling her.

  Was she becoming paranoid?

  Taylor narrowed her eyes and focused solely on the big house.

  It was a nice place. Someone took care of the outside. The hedges were trimmed and lined the walkway and the length of the porch. Unlike most of the homes in the neighborhood, it was a two story, instead of a ranch, and from the outside it looked huge.

  There were two windows on either side of the front door, and no light was visible from the inside.

  Manning walked into the dark?

  She could see no movement, but then again, every visible window had navy or black curtains that didn’t even have a sliver of a gap.

  As if someone had taken care to make sure nothing of the interior was visible.

  Weird.

  “No. Not weird if you’re hiding something.”

  Manning hadn’t told Taylor where he was headed after work—not that it was any of her business.

  They’d had a long, arduous day with little progress, despite making contact with the deputy who had found the ditched BMW.

  The evidence they’d collected was a positive, but only if the DNA was a match for Bennett or Pompa. Hell, she’d even take Rowdy Vargas at this point.

  After Taylor had read up on her partner, she hadn’t been able to force herself to leave the PD. The day had felt like a waste, and she couldn’t stomach it.

  What am I missing? played in her head on a loop.

  She’d sat at Manning’s desk, reading a few of John’s reports for the thousandth time. Especially the ones that’d detailed dealings with Bennett.

  Then she’d studied Bennett’s dossier. Tall and blond, he wasn’t a bad looking guy, but he was lanky and had a congenital defect in his back that caused him to walk with a perpetual slight limp. His brown eyes were deep and obviously held dark secrets.

  Carter Bennett seriously didn’t give off the impression of killer. Criminal mastermind, yeah.

  But Eddie’s guy—and Eddie himself—were convinced he was crazy, and responsible for the deaths of two members of his own crew.

  Make that four deaths.

  When Taylor had shared the news about Brandelyn Willis and Michael Gentile being killed, Eddie had agreed Bennett was responsible.

  The conclusion was bad and good. If Bennett was responsible for the murders in Antioch, it confirmed Eddie’s informant’s info.

  Bennett was after Pompa and the two he’d killed. He’d known they were in small-town Texas or had somehow traced them there.

  Bad news was they had no idea where he was or what the hell had happened to Pompa.

  The ringleader’s fingerprints had been all over the trailer—along with Brandelyn Willis’ and Michael Gentile’s.

  So, her prime suspect had been right under her nose and had got away.

  Were Bennett and Pompa together?

  Nothing like a little shooting to help along a reunion.

  Maybe Bennett had Pompa against his will?

  Her questions were endless and evidence quite the opposite.

  It’d been almost seven when Taylor had finally left the police station.

  She’d spotted Manning’s huge black F-150 leaving the parking lot of McAuley’s when she’d driven by the place on her way to her hotel.

  Taylor hadn’t meant to follow him—at first.

  Even at a distance, his posture had been tight in the driver’s seat. More so than she’d ever seen him—and she’d been with him all day.

  Manning had turned into a neighborhood that was opposite the direction of his apartment complex, so curiosity had caused Taylor to follow.

  It was a wonder he hadn’t spotted her, with all the head movement she’d observed on the short drive.

  She would’ve broken off and gone on to The Covington, but when she’d seen her temporary partner pull into Freedom Park and sit in his truck for a good ten minutes, her interest had piqued even more.

  Then the detective had exited his vehicle and not walked into the small park, but away from it.

  He’d crossed the street and headed the direction he’d just driven in from, jogging down the sidewalk and then up the porch stairs of the big house.

  Taylor’s instincts had started screaming and not stopped since.

  She couldn’t see anything. Didn’t matter—it still wasn’t sitting right.

  Her stomach growled, reminding Taylor she hadn’t eaten anything since that morning, but she didn’t move. Kept staring at the door.

  Taylor wouldn’t learn anything—to lend to or from suspicion—if she left.

  She’d learned a lot about Jared Manning in the short time they’d been working together, as well as when she’d read his personnel file.

  Am I being paranoid?

  Maybe she’d been at this too long. Taylor hadn’t stopped to take a breath since John had been killed. Had had to beg her boss to let her work the case.

  Conflict of interest floated around in her brain.

  But it wasn’t, was it?

  She’d been working Pompa’s theft ring with John long before the bastard had killed her fiancé.

  Taylor was just being thorough. Wanted to finish things. Get Pompa for the murder as well as his other activities.

  Now she had to get Bennett, too.

  Had thorough slipped into paranoid where her temporary partner was concerned?


  Anyone could live in that house.

  Manning could have a girlfriend. Hell, a friend could live on Montgomery Street. Family other than his fire lieutenant father and librarian mother.

  “No.” Her instinct wouldn’t let her believe her train of thought.

  Something’s not right here.

  All Taylor could do for now was watch.

  Observe.

  Exonerate or condemn Jared Manning.

  Question was…

  For what exactly?

  And who’s in that house with my partner?

  * * * *

  “Joe?” Jared shut the door as quickly as he could manage with the paper food bags filling his hands. He’d stocked the fridge of the big safe house, but something told him his brother wasn’t posing as Sally Homemaker, so he’d grabbed burgers to go from McAuley’s.

  Can I coax Joe into talking?

  He needed to know what had happened at the trailer park. He needed to know what Joe had seen and confirm Bennett was the shooter. Maybe even find out what team Rowdy Vargas was playing on.

  How he’d explain the new information was a problem for the morning.

  Carrigan was too suspicious of a person in general to believe Jared was that good a guesser. Sucked that he’d have to keep the new knowledge to himself—at least for now.

  The BMW had been wiped clean—mostly. They’d found some blood residue. Hopefully the small samples they’d been able to gather would be enough for DNA, and match the bloody boot prints from the trailer.

  One look at his brother’s sneakers confirmed the prints didn’t belong to Joe. And they hadn’t been Michael Gentile’s, either.

  His gut and logic agreed both belonged to Bennett. But if the guy was bleeding, how badly was he hit, and where the hell was he?

  Trolling hospitals had got them nowhere, so he wasn’t hurt badly enough to seek medical attention, yet anyway.

  Carrigan and Jared had come to a small peace. He felt better about things—sort of. But she still stared as if she knew he was hiding something.

  What did she think she knew?

  Had she looked at Joe’s picture and put together how much they looked alike? If so, would Carrigan mention it to Lucas?

  Not like I can ask either of them.