Still uneasy, Jackson glanced in the direction of the back porch where he’d left his uncle and Nicki. “It’s an at-risk cook I’m most concerned about.”
“Have you had any luck gaining her confidence so she’ll open up to you about her cousin?”
“I don’t think she’s holding anything back, Captain. I really don’t. Nicolette Johnson is no fool. If she thought she could end this threat by simply confessing, she would. In a heartbeat. I think she’s as clueless as the rest of us.”
“That’s unfortunate.” McNeal squared his hat on his head and huffed. “Because if you’re right and I’m wrong, that young woman is in for a rough ride.”
“Clearly, whoever is causing all the trouble doesn’t want to kill her. If they did, they’d have used C-4 or something equally as deadly in their bombs.”
“Maybe so. Until they’re certain she really isn’t hiding the supposed code. Once that happens, if it does, she’ll be in even worse danger, and you know it.”
McNeal started down the front porch steps, then paused to look over his shoulder. “If I were you, instead of expending so much effort comforting her, I’d let her get good and scared. Maybe that’s what it’ll take to make her talk.”
Watching the other officers climb into their various vehicles and pull away, Jackson couldn’t get McNeal’s advice out of his mind. Let her be scared? That notion galled him. Nicki had already been through hell, thanks to whoever was targeting her. There was no way he was going to stand back and allow anyone to get closer to harming her.
What had already taken place, in spite of his best efforts, was plenty bad enough.
FOURTEEN
To say that Nicki loved her job at the ranch would have been an understatement. Not only did she get to plan meals on her own, whatever she prepared was received with eagerness and gratitude.
She was beginning to settle into the daily routine, and had decorated her private quarters as best she could with a few things salvaged from her ruined apartment. Anything that wasn’t either washable or hard-surfaced had had to be thrown away due to the permeating smoke odors. Unhappily, that included the old Bible she’d borrowed from Pastor Eaton. When Jackson had realized how upset that loss had made her, he had provided a brand-new, leather-covered edition.
Now the Bible rested on her nightstand beside an old photo of her parents, ready for her evening devotions. She hadn’t known what to call the habit of daily Scripture reading until Harold had mentioned doing the same. One other thing he’d told her was that Jackson, although he called himself a Christian, had apparently given up regular Bible study after returning to civilian life.
Titan had begun following her in and out of the kitchen, much to her delight and her boss’s chagrin. The dog came for tidbits and stayed for TLC, both of which she dispensed gladly.
The big black dog’s limpid brown eyes, gazing up at her as if he had never seen anyone he adored more, warmed Nicki to the core every time they met. His master’s eyes would have done the same, she was certain, if Jackson had not been avoiding her so much.
Oh, he showed up for meals, all right. But he didn’t linger in her presence unless they had specific plans, such as more target practice. Her aim was getting good. Too good. Jackson had remarked on it the last time they’d plinked at tin cans out behind the barn.
“Looks like I can’t teach you much more,” he’d said. “You’re a natural. As long as you remember the safety rules, you’ll do fine.”
“I wish I had a sidearm to carry in a holster the way you and Harold do.”
“That’s all we’d need. Arm the cook, and we’d never be able to tell you we didn’t like your recipes.”
“Very funny. I told you, I don’t think I could hurt another human being.”
“Then forget about carrying,” he had snapped back. “Never draw or point a loaded gun unless you’re prepared to use it.”
“That sounds so callous.”
“No more so than standing there like some sacrificial victim and letting the bad guys finish you off.”
“Good point,” Nicki remembered saying. Now that she was proficient at shooting, however, she knew she’d feel a lot safer armed. After all, the ranch was far from any neighbors, and there had been times when both Harold and Jackson had been busy with chores and she’d been on her own.
Soon, however, the whole house and yard would be filled with members of the law-enforcement community. She had been making preparations for an outdoor barbecue get-together for two days. Brightly colored paper tablecloths with matching, disposable plates and cups covered long tables, beach umbrellas provided extra shade, and Harold already had a whole pig slow roasting in a pit in the side yard.
The main group of guests would be the K-9 unit and their dogs, something Nicki was certainly looking forward to. She had met a few of the others during the crime responses involving herself, but it would be good to see and meet each dog. She especially wanted to give the injured dog, Lexi, a big hug for acting so heroically during the hostage crisis.
Only a couple of weeks had passed since that awful man had broken into her apartment, shot Lexi and pulled her into this mess. Sometimes, it seemed as if that confrontation had happened years ago. Other times it felt immediate. So did losing Arianna.
There were instances when Nicki still felt guilt for having ignored her kin for so long. And then she’d remember that all her current troubles led back to the cousin who had marked her as a target. Whether the act had been malicious or not, the fact remained that she was still walking around with a virtual bull’s-eye on her back.
Sighing, Nicki stirred the bowl of frosting she was preparing for one of the special cakes she’d baked. Jackson had suggested she make more than one kind of dessert, and frosting the white layer cake was the last uncompleted task.
A shout from the rear of the house distracted her. She set aside the bowl and whisk and hurried to the back door. Harold was cradling two watermelons that had to weigh twenty pounds each, and Jackson toted plastic bags of crushed ice.
“I’ve got the door,” Nicki said. “Put the extra ice in the big freezer ’til I see what I’ll need. The melons can go on the counter or in the sink. Just be careful they don’t roll off.”
The “Yes, ma’am” she got from Jackson sounded rather cynical. Well, too bad. If he wanted a nice party, he’d have to learn to follow her orders.
Cowboy boots clomping on the bare floor as he walked, Jackson strode through the main part of the kitchen, and into the pantry where the chest freezer sat.
Harold gingerly placed the melons in the divided sink basins and stood back, breathing hard. “Whew. One more and I’ll have ’em all.”
As Nicki turned to watch him go, she noticed a flash of movement off to one side. She frowned. Had something just ducked under the kitchen table?
It never occurred to her to be scared. No one had bothered her on the ranch for weeks, and she was certainly not expecting trouble.
She bent. Lifted the edge of the tablecloth. Gasped. Then she screamed, “No!” at the top of her lungs.
The hair on the back of Jackson’s neck stood on end. Nicki! He whirled and raced back toward her, drawing his gun as he ran.
There she stood in the middle of the kitchen with her hands clamped over her mouth, her eyes wide and glistening.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” he shouted.
She merely pointed at the floor.
He didn’t see anything out of the ordinary until he leaned down and peered under the table. Then, he wasn’t sure whether to bellow in anger or laugh. Apparently, Titan had gotten tired of waiting for his usual treats and had helped himself. To a whole cake.
Jackson holstered his pistol and turned on Nicki. “You didn’t have to scare ten years off my life, woman.”
She smiled ruefully. “Oh, my. I am sorry. I just...”
“You’ve spoiled that dog,” Jackson insisted. “It’s no wonder he’s getting out of hand. I’ll have to practically retrain him if I expect him to t
urn down treats from strangers the way he’s supposed to.”
“I’m no stranger. Besides, I didn’t give him the cake. He stole it.”
“Well, the good news is it’s not chocolate so it won’t be toxic to his system.”
“Wonderful.” She glanced at the clock over the stove. “I don’t have time to bake another one.”
“You should have thought of that before you made a house pet out of my working dog. I don’t know who I’m madder at, you or him.”
Nicki picked up the bowl of now unneeded frosting and gave it a stir. “Bummer. This is starting to stiffen. Without a cake to put it on, I might as well throw it away.”
Jackson’s hands were fisted on his hips as he glared down at her. “Serves you right for encouraging Titan’s bad behavior.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah.” Scowling, Jackson stood his ground while she slowly approached, the bowl cradled against her ribs on one side, the whisk in the other hand. There was a look in her eyes that he couldn’t exactly read, but he was pretty sure he didn’t like it.
“You need to lighten up, mister,” Nicki drawled.
“What are you talking about?”
“Your lousy temper. You used to be such a nice guy. At least I thought so before I got to know you better.”
“Maybe the problem is that I got to know you,” he countered. Having her underfoot for the past few weeks had played havoc with his emotions, and he was nearly at the end of his rope. Pretending that he wasn’t attracted to this appealing, delightful woman was the hardest thing he’d tried to do for a long, long time. Maybe his Herculean efforts had made him a little touchy, but that couldn’t be helped. After all, this was his life she had waltzed into and turned upside down.
The blue of her eyes seemed to deepen. He was so focused on trying to read her expression, he failed to see what else she was doing.
She raised the hand that had been holding the whisk, opened her fist in front of his face and plopped a glob of frosting right on the end of his nose.
Jackson was flabbergasted. How dare she! Who did she think she was? This was his house. She was his guest. No mature adult should even consider doing such an immature thing, let alone expect another person to tolerate it.
As he saw things he had two choices: let her get away with the act or retaliate. The smirk on her face made his decision a whole lot easier.
He grabbed for the bowl. Almost dropped it. Reached inside and filled his hand.
Nicki screeched and whirled to flee.
Jackson let fly.
The sticky, gooey missile caught her in the back of the head.
She skidded into the wall and left a sugary handprint while changing direction. Coming at him low she clamped a hand on the edge of the bowl and began to wrestle for it.
Jackson whirled like a quarterback carrying a football and held on tight.
Her hand snaked around him, through the space between his side and elbow, and she managed to get more ammunition.
He shouted, “Let go!”
Nicki refused.
The floor was already slippery from their antics and getting worse.
From behind them came a booming, “Hey!” that brought them both to a halt.
Harold was standing in the doorway displaying a grin that threatened to split his face from ear to ear.
Jackson was thoroughly embarrassed, but his adversary seemed delighted with the entire fiasco.
“She started it,” he grumbled, before realizing that making an excuse merely contributed to the childishness of the situation.
“If you two are through roughhousing, I suggest you clean up this mess—and yourselves. Our guests will be here in an hour or so.”
When Jackson looked at Nicki, he saw that her cheeks were rosy and eyes were still sparkling. In a way, he was glad they had fooled around like silly kids because doing so seemed to have relaxed them both. It had certainly helped him. He had been so keyed up lately, it was a wonder he hadn’t bitten her head off instead of accepting her overture of playfulness. She was going to be a good mother. A fun parent who knew how to enjoy herself as well as manage her life sensibly when she needed to.
He was going to miss those things about her when she left, Jackson realized, sobering.
“I’ll take care of what’s left of the cake and wash the dog,” he said flatly. “You go get the frosting out of your hair and change. Harold can mop the floor. He used to do that before you came.”
Looking sheepish and still flushed, Nicki grinned at the older man. “Okay, but I’ll owe you one.”
“You sure will, Ms. Nicki,” he quipped back. “And when it comes time to repay me, remember how much I love homemade cherry pie.”
“Good thing this wasn’t cherry, then!” Nicki giggled. Passing Harold, she cupped a hand around her mouth and spoke in a stage whisper. “I did start it, you know. And I’d do it again. In a heartbeat.”
Jackson shook his head and managed to control his own chuckling until she was out of the room. Then he looked at his uncle, blushed and laughed heartily while dragging the cake-sated Labrador retriever out the back door.
* * *
Nicki only owned one summer dress, so her choice of what to wear to the party was made for her. A frilly apron tied high over the waist of the full, flower-patterned skirt masked the tiny baby bump. She felt wonderful. Everyone was so sweet to her. And the dogs were magnificent.
All of them were on leashes except Titan, who meandered from one canine visitor to the next, politely touching noses, sniffing and being sniffed, as if personally welcoming them to his home.
The bloodhound, Justice, lay at Austin Black’s feet, yawned and looked as if he could barely keep his eyes open. Austin had invited his fiancée, Eva Billows, and her son, Brady, who was currently using the big dog’s side as a handy pillow.
In sharp contrast, the little black-and-white border collie, Kip, stayed alert and never missed a thing. It shocked Nicki to be told that Lee Calloway used the sweet-faced dog to locate dead bodies. Lee’s petite, blonde companion, Lucy Cullen, didn’t seem to mind their gruesome background a bit. As a matter of fact, she had hardly left her husband-to-be’s side the whole time they’d been there. Given the trauma of Lucy’s amnesia, back when everybody had mistakenly thought her name was Heidi, Nicki supposed it was natural for her to cling to the man she’d fallen in love with during that ordeal.
Then there was Valerie Salgado’s Rottweiler, Lexi. Nicki was doubly glad to see for herself that that dog was recovering after being shot in the hind leg, even though she did still limp.
Nicki paused while refilling glasses of iced tea to pet Lexi’s broad, black head and speak with the female officer. “I’m so thankful she pulled through,” Nicki told Valerie. “When she went down, I was worried the bullet had killed her.”
“You and me both. She still has a lot of physical therapy to go through, but she’s coming along,” Valerie said with a smile. “How are you feeling, by the way?”
Nicki tenderly laid a hand on her slightly thick waist. “I’m good. Barely any morning sickness.” She didn’t have to force a smile when she glanced over at Jackson. “I can’t believe I ended up with a job like this. Not after all that happened. It’s ideal, particularly now. I just hope I can stay awhile.”
“Why wouldn’t you?” Valerie gestured at her nearly empty paper plate. “This meal is delicious. I can’t see anybody in his right mind letting you go.”
“I don’t know. Sometimes my boss acts as if he doesn’t like having me around.”
“Or he likes it too much. Jackson is a hard guy to get close to. He never has been overly chummy.”
Nicki arched a brow. “Really?”
“Yes. As a matter of fact, this is the first time he’s invited the whole unit out to his ranch, and I’m really sorry my fiancé, Trevor, couldn’t make it, and now that I can see the other kids, I wish I’d brought my niece, Bethany.” Her eyes grew misty. “I can’t believe how instant motherho
od has changed my life.”
Touched by the officer’s candor, Nicki smiled. “I guess I have a lot of that kind of thing to look forward to. It’s not as if I wanted to get pregnant. Not before marriage.”
“I know.” Valerie laid a hand of comfort on Nicki’s arm. “I didn’t plan on raising my niece, either, but since that’s the way the Lord led me, I can’t argue.”
“I hope I’m a good mother,” Nicki said, sobering.
“You will be. Trust me. It starts to feel natural pretty quickly.” Valerie smiled at her. “And if you need any advice about parenting—” she giggled “—ask somebody else.”
Nicki rolled her eyes and laughed. “Thanks a bunch. I’ll remember that.”
Looking around at the other guests she remarked, “Everybody seems to be having a good time. I’m glad.”
“Me, too. Lee’s been here before because he and Jackson are old friends. And maybe Captain McNeal and a few others have in the course of duty, but we haven’t shared social engagements much. I sort of got the idea that Jackson preferred it that way.”
“He can be kind of standoffish. Harold says it’s because of his time in the service. Titan, too. That kind of thing changes people.”
“Hey, daily life here in the States can do that, too,” the reddish-haired officer quipped.
“That’s certainly true.”
As Nicki continued to circulate and top off iced tea glasses, she paused to ruffle the pendulous ears of narcotics detection beagle, Sherlock. He was the smallest of the canines in the Sagebrush unit, and was partnered with Detective Parker Adams. Apparently, that little beagle could smell dope no matter how well it was packaged or hidden.
And then there was Slade McNeal and his five-year-old son, Caleb. The boy seemed unduly shy, but Nicki had been told that a lot of his timidity was due to the loss of his canine buddy, his father’s multipurpose, elite German shepherd, Rio. The poor little boy had been mourning since that dog was stolen right out of the McNeal yard.
Nicki could understand feeling so alone and bereft. She had spent many of her teen years experiencing the same thing. That was one reason why she went out of her way to crouch down and speak to the child.
Explosive Secrets (Texas K-9 Unit) Page 14