by Debra Webb
The truly bizarre part was that this—whatever the hell this was—had happened literally overnight.
“Fool,” he muttered as he grabbed the bag.
He’d given himself a good swift mental kick by the time he reached her door once more. And with one look he lost his balance all over again.
She was out of bed, the shirt hanging just past the tops of her thighs, thighs that led to toned calves and on to small, bare feet that were ridiculously distracting.
“Thanks.” She grabbed the bag. “I hope my phone charger is in there.” The bag plopped onto the bed and she dug through it. “Great.” She quickly plugged in her phone, bending and reaching, driving him a little crazier than he clearly already was. “My sister might call again,” she said as she faced him once more. “I know it was her voice.”
He nodded. “We have someone working on that. If another call comes in they’ll conduct a voice analysis to confirm your conclusion.”
She chewed her lip a second then asked, “Do I have time to shower?”
“Sure.”
Shane pivoted and walked away. This time he didn’t stop until he was outside. The idea of her naked…of her smoothing his soap over her skin had him hard all over. He needed some air. The colder the better.
THE COLD HAD CREPT INTO HER bones despite the heavy coat and gloves she wore.
“That’s him,” Shane said as a man came out of the house they had under surveillance in the Oak Park neighborhood. “Mackey’s best friend, Jose Torres.”
Mary Jane leaned forward to peer at the man. “I don’t remember ever seeing him before.” But that didn’t mean anything. She’d only seen Jason Mackey once. “Are we going to follow him?”
Shane made no move to start the car. “No. We want to talk to his girlfriend.”
“Okay.” She wasn’t sure what talking to his girlfriend would accomplish, but she wasn’t the investigator.
“Teresa Thomas was Jason Mackey’s live-in girlfriend right up to the time he started dating Rebecca.” Shane looked at Mary Jane then. “She should be willing to give us any dirt she knows on the guy since he dumped her for another woman.”
The decision to go for the girlfriend over Torres made sense, considering that information.
Before Shane opened his door to get out of the car, Mary Jane asked, “Is that your ex?” She hadn’t meant to ask. It just kind of popped out. But there was a picture of a beautiful woman on the visor and she wondered. If Shane was finished with his ex, why keep a picture of her around where he had to look at it every day?
He glanced at the photo clipped to the driver’s-side visor. “That’s Piper, the wife of one of my colleagues, Ric Martinez.” He cut her a sidelong look. “And the owner of this car.”
Oh. “I thought this was your car.”
“Afraid not. I’m a Harley man.”
She intended to get out of the car before he came around to her door to open it, but she just sat there, remembering the way he’d mounted the bike. The way he’d looked astride it. Even the leather jacket, securely patched on the left sleeve with handy black duct tape, held that air of mystique…of danger.
Yes, he was right. He was a Harley man.
And she was so out of her element here.
No matter, she followed him to the home of Jose Torres. Shane rang the bell and waited. Mary Jane huddled in her coat. It was mercilessly cold this morning. The bitter edge to the climate should have kept her mind off the smell of the soap—his soap—she’d used that morning. But it didn’t.
The door opened, and a petite, dark-haired woman looked from Shane to Mary Jane. Her eyes went wide as if she feared Immigration had come to take her boyfriend.
“Teresa Thomas?” Shane displayed his credentials, which looked remarkably like FBI credentials.
The woman swallowed visibly and looked to Mary Jane once more. “Yes?”
“We have some questions to ask you regarding Jason Mackey.”
Strangely, her anxiety didn’t visibly abate. “He’s dead,” she said stiffly.
“Yes,” Shane said, “that’s right. But we have a few questions regarding his activities just prior to his death.”
“I spoke to the police and the feds last year,” she protested, sounding a bit more confident. “I told them I didn’t know anything.”
“But you do know something,” Shane pressed.
Startled, Mary Jane stared at him. He hadn’t said anything about this part to her.
Teresa blinked but didn’t deny his assertion.
“He cheated on you to help out a relative and you weren’t happy.”
As if she’d snapped out of a coma she reached for the door to shut it in his face. Shane flattened his palm against it and held it open.
“You don’t have to talk to us,” he offered, “but if I push the issue, the feds will be back around to see you.”
“If Mitchell comes snooping back around here, I’m filing charges,” she threatened, her booming voice overriding her petite size.
Mitchell. Marshal Derrick Mitchell, Shane’s former partner. The man who’d stolen his wife. Mary Jane had a very bad feeling about motive here. Was this about Jason Mackey or Shane Allen?
“Answer our questions,” Shane said, “and you won’t be hearing from Mitchell.”
The exchange went back and forth another minute before Teresa relented and asked them in. “My boyfriend’ll be back soon so we gotta make this fast.”
Shane fired question one at her before she’d offered them a seat. “What did you know about Mackey’s relationship with Rebecca Brooks?”
“I know she was using him,” Teresa said with obvious disdain.
“That’s impossible,” Mary Jane denied. Both Shane and the other woman stared at her. She hadn’t meant to say it out loud. But she just couldn’t believe her sister would be capable of what Teresa Thomas was suggesting.
“She came after him,” Teresa said bitterly. “She took him places he hadn’t been before. Spent big money on him. I didn’t have a chance against that.”
She was wrong. There was no way Rebecca did any such thing, but this time Mary Jane kept her mouth shut. If this woman figured out she was Rebecca’s sister she might not tell them whatever Shane seemed to think she knew.
“The cops believe Mackey sought her out. That he killed her.”
Teresa shook her head adamantly. “No way. Jason wasn’t a killer. I know what they said,” she added vehemently. “Jason couldn’t stand his cousin. He wouldn’t have worked for him for anything.”
“Anthony Chambers,” Shane clarified. “You’re saying Jason hated Anthony.”
“I told the cops that. But they didn’t listen. They wanted to blame her disappearance on Jason, and that’s what they did.”
“Her remains were found in the building where he died,” Shane countered.
“Yeah, well, that had to be Anthony’s doing. Jason was in love with her. He would have done anything to help her.”
“Even hire someone to die in her place?” Shane suggested.
Teresa’s eyes rounded, but her expression closed up tightly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She took a step back as if she feared just her proximity would somehow give away something she didn’t want to.
“I think you do,” Shane pushed. “I think you know exactly what he did.”
“You should leave now.” She hugged her arms around herself. “Jose will be back and he—”
“Will find out you lied to him,” Shane finished for her, “to cover for your ex.”
How did he know all this? Was he guessing? Mary Jane was blown away by the turn this interview had taken.
“He can’t know.” Teresa’s voice was shaking now. “He’d kill me.” She glanced at Mary Jane. “When me and Jason broke up, I wasn’t supposed to talk to him anymore.”
“You mean when you started cheating with Jason’s best friend.”
There was no way Mary Jane could have missed the bitterness in Shane’s vo
ice. She wondered if he knew he wasn’t over his ex yet.
“It wasn’t like that,” she practically wailed. “Jason was too busy with Rebecca Brooks to care what I was doing.”
“But they had a business deal, not a relationship,” Shane said.
“That’s the way it started but he told me—” she poked her chest with her thumb “—that he was in love with her and he was going to get her out of the trouble she was in.”
“But Torres was working with Chambers, and Jason needed your help.”
Fear skated across her face. “I didn’t do anything.”
“But you told him when Torres was going to make his move.”
Teresa looked from Shane to Mary Jane and back once more. “I didn’t want Chambers to make a killer out of Jose. He wasn’t that kind of man.”
“So, Chambers ordered Torres to kill her and Jason got in the way.”
She shook her head. “I don’t know what happened. All I know was Rebecca Brooks disappeared and Jason was dead. Jose swears he didn’t have anything to do with it.”
“But you didn’t tell this to the police.”
Another frantic shake of her head. “I couldn’t. I was afraid. Jose said we’d both end up dead if I said a word. And he swore he didn’t kill either one of them.” She held Shane’s gaze for an extended moment. “I believed him then. I still believe him. He wouldn’t lie to me like that.”
Shane took a card from his pocket and handed it to her. “Call me if you think of anything useful. Keep in mind that if Torres knows anything, sooner or later he’ll end up dead. Chambers isn’t going to allow any loose ends.”
Mary Jane was pretty sure she would never forget the sheer terror in the other woman’s eyes. She had about a dozen questions for Shane, but kept quiet until they were in the car and leaving the neighborhood behind.
“How did you know all that?”
He glanced at her, his expression grim. “Most of it was guesswork.”
He put in a call to Simon Ruhl and asked for surveillance on Jose Torres and his current residence.
When he’d finished the call, Mary Jane started to ask if any of it was based on personal experience, but her cell phone rang.
Unknown caller.
Her pulse reacted to an adrenaline rush.
“This might be her,” she said, her voice trembling.
He looked from the phone to her. “Answer it.”
Mary Jane pressed the necessary button. “Hello?”
“MJ?”
Rebecca.
Mary Jane’s heart slammed against her rib cage. “Rebecca, where are you?”
The voice that was surely her sister’s whispered an address then urged, “Hurry!”
The dead air told Mary Jane the call had ended.
She stared at the phone. This was the second call. That had to mean her sister was alive. No one could fake two calls…could they?
“What did she say?” Shane prompted, his voice firm.
Her gaze connected with his. Mary Jane repeated the address, a kind of numbness overtaking her, making her tone flat and emotionless. She shifted her attention to the street as her thoughts flew in a thousand directions. “She said to hurry.”
Chapter Ten
The street Rebecca had named was part of a neighborhood on the verge of extinction—the dilapidated homes were way overdue for demolition. This wasn’t exactly a safe place to be even during the daylight hours. Certainly not the sort of place he would expect Mary Jane’s sister to hang out.
Shane didn’t like this, he didn’t like it one little bit. He’d put in a call to Simon Ruhl to let him know their destination and reason for going. Whether or not backup would be needed was yet to be seen. If Rebecca Brooks was here they didn’t want to risk spooking her. But he didn’t expect that to be the case.
Mary Jane turned all the way around in her seat and surveyed the sad structures they passed. “Does anyone live here?”
“Not legally.” He slowed as they neared the block designated by the call. “Homeless folks have taken over the slightly more livable properties, but even those aren’t safe. No running water or electricity. Roofs falling in. Not exactly decent living conditions.”
“Why doesn’t the city tear all this down?”
“Eventually they will. This section of town isn’t exactly a high priority on anyone’s list.”
She collapsed back against the seat. “I don’t understand why she would ask us to come here. It doesn’t make sense.”
Before he could answer, she asked, “Do you think she’s been hiding someplace like this so no one could find her?”
He considered the question a moment. Any response was assuming Rebecca Brooks was actually still alive, and that had not been confirmed as of yet. “If your sister is still alive, I’m certain she would want to hide in the last place anyone who knew her would look.”
Shane parked the Mustang three houses away from their destination. The street appeared deserted but that didn’t mean there wasn’t trouble lurking nearby. He didn’t like this situation. Walking into these circumstances with a civilian was plain dumb. But he hadn’t been able to talk her out of coming.
As naïve as she might be, she was damned determined.
“This is one of those moments,” he turned to face her, “where you need to listen carefully to my instructions and do exactly as I tell you.”
She nodded slowly. “Okay.”
He surveyed the abandoned relics on either side of the street. “I don’t like this. Trouble could be hiding anywhere.”
“But you said you didn’t think those men were trying to kill anyone last night.”
His gaze connected with hers. “That’s right. I don’t. But that doesn’t mean that for whatever reasons that we aren’t targets today. We don’t know the end game, Mary Jane. We don’t know the players, the goal, nothing. We can only speculate, assimilate profiles. This—” he looked around again “—is real time. Not strategy, not profiling. If we get out of this car, we’re open targets with nothing between us and the enemy. If we walk into that house we could be walking into a trap that we won’t be walking out of.”
She stared at the house three doors down and heaved a ragged breath. “Well, we’ll never know as long as we keep sitting here.”
Determined and brave. He resisted the urge to shake his head.
“All right. Stay behind me at all times. Do what I say when I say it. No questions, no hesitation.” He searched her eyes as she nodded her agreement. “Let’s do it.”
They climbed out of the car simultaneously. He met her at the front bumper. “Remember, stay behind me.”
He continually surveyed the area, left to right and back, as they covered the thirty yards to their destination. The porch looked ready to collapse.
“Careful,” he warned, as he crossed the creaking boards. “And remember, no sudden moves unless I tell you otherwise.”
The interior of the house was dimly lit. Most of the windows were broken and boarded up. The smell of rotting carpet and mold met him at the door. He withdrew his Glock and braced for trouble.
Mary Jane stayed closed behind him. He slowed his respiration and focused on listening and watching for any sound…any movement.
The front room was clear. He moved into the kitchen area. More of that rotting stench.
His gaze landed on a body stretched facedown on the ragged linoleum and he stopped. “Don’t move,” he warned her as he moved closer to the body. The victim clutched a nine millimeter in his right hand.
Her gasp told him she’d spotted the body.
“Stay put,” he reminded as he crouched down next to the vic. Male. Dressed in business attire. Judging by the amount of blood beneath the body this guy was a goner. A check of the carotid artery confirmed his estimation. “Call 9-1-1.”
As she made the call, Shane reached into the man’s hip pocket for his wallet. Since his face was down against the floor, Shane couldn’t ID him without moving the body, and he did
n’t want to do that.
A gold homicide shield glinted when he opened the wallet.
Detective Brandon Bailen.
“It’s Bailen.” He looked up at Mary Jane. “He’s dead.”
“Put your hands up, Allen!”
The order came from behind Mary Jane. She whirled around and Shane flinched. No sudden moves, damn it.
“Marshal Mitchell?”
“Step aside, Ms. Brooks,” Mitchell ordered. “No one has to get hurt.”
Shane eased to his feet, careful to keep the move slow and even. “What’s going on, Mitchell?”
“Lay the weapon on the ground,” Mitchell told him as he moved fully into the room. Mary Jane had backed out of his way. “Then slide it toward me.”
“We just got here, Mitchell. And this is the way we found him.”
“That’s right,” Mary Jane urged. “He was lying there just like that when we walked in.”
“I suppose coming here was another of your anonymous tips,” Mitchell smirked.
“Don’t push me, Mitchell,” Shane warned. “I’m not taking this crap from you. My weapon—” he showed the man his Glock “—hasn’t even been fired.”
“Maybe not,” Mitchell countered, “but I’ll bet the thirty-eight I found in the yard has been.”
What the hell was he talking about? “What thirty-eight?” He hadn’t seen any weapon on the ground. But then he hadn’t actually been looking for one.
“I said put the Glock down,” Mitchell snapped.
The way his face was contorted with frustration or anger, Shane figured he’d be better off playing along. Mary Jane had already called for help. The only thing they could do at this point was play this out and hope the response time in this neighborhood was decent.
Shane dropped into a crouch without taking his eyes off Mitchell and the forty-caliber aimed directly at him. He placed his Glock on the floor and stood, then toed it across the scarred linoleum. “There you go. Happy now?”
“I don’t know what’s going on here, Allen, but you’ve got yourself in a hell of a tight spot.”