Though the television was silent, Spanish music blared throughout the interior of the restaurant. The music muffled the conversation, and with the clinking of silverware on plates she felt confident this chat would not be overheard.
Choosing a back-corner booth, Jo took the bench that sat flush against the wall. If she was going to tell this story, she wanted to make damned sure she could keep an eye on anyone coming toward them. Sullivan arrived a few seconds later, sliding into the black vinyl bench across from her.
The waiter appeared with menus and a water pitcher which he left on the table for them before heading for another table.
She shook her head before Sullivan could ask any questions. “Not until we’ve got our food. I don’t want to be interrupted, nor overheard.”
She watched Sullivan closely, he seemed to understand that she’d kept this to herself for a reason. His nod of agreement was reluctant, and his thin lips set in a mulish line. He wouldn’t let this go and she couldn’t blame him. If the situation were reversed she’d dig in her heels too.
“I’m surprised you didn’t push for us to be the first team at the cemetery. But then I saw your email about the upcoming burials.” Sullivan went quiet. He leaned back as the waiter dropped off their chips and salsa.
After depositing their pitcher of tea and glasses, the waiter gathered the menus and took their orders. When he’d left again, Jo fell into the mundane chatter of their case. “That caretaker wanting a subpoena for his upcoming burial records pissed me off, and instead I scoured the obits for the past week.”
“Well, it paid off big time.”
Two of the burials were set to happen this weekend and both were potential victims. She selected one of the chips from the basket, dunked it into the tomato laden salsa and crunched.
Falling into general talk about cases was easy, flowing into family and upcoming birthdays. Nothing heavy, Sullivan must’ve sensed that the heavy shit would come after they had their food. She was reminded again of how glad she was to have this partner. He got her almost as well as Rhys did.
By the time their food arrived, the chips were demolished. Not expecting another interruption, she cut into her enchiladas and snorted at Sullivan dumping the rest of the salsa onto his burritos. His eyes met hers and she realized she was out of time.
The forkful of food held no taste as her appetite deserted her.
“You know I was kidnapped when I was five.” It was easier to start there. Most of the force knew about her kidnapping.
“Yeah, some friends of Carl’s helped rescue you . . . I think I remember they’d served with him in the army.”
And that was where the lies began. Taking a sip of her tea, Jo gathered her scattered thoughts.
Sullivan pointed his now empty fork at her. “What I don’t get is why he used them instead of calling in his partner and backup.”
Focusing wholly on her plate, she cut her food into bite-sized portions. “I asked that same thing when I was in the academy.”
“And?” he asked around a mouthful of food.
At least his appetite hadn’t left him. If it had, the world would be coming to an end.
“Carl was the key witness in that bust. Mom explained that the closer the trial came the more threats we received. To the point, they’d taken pictures of Mom grocery shopping with me and Abigail in tow. Pictures of Lee at school.” Jo had loved when her mother and Carl had finally started their own family. It was like she’d gotten live dolls to dress up and play with. All of them had been so innocent back then.
“Okay, and they moved you to a safe location.”
“Yeah . . .” She trailed off to let Sullivan catch up.
His eyes widened as it dawned on him. “You were taken from a safe house.”
“Yep,” she popped the ‘p’ at the end.
“Fuck.”
“So, Mom called my biological dad to help us.”
“How’d she know how to find him?”
Jo shrugged. “He found her back when she was pregnant with me. I’ve no idea how and she never said. He was worried with her being alone and pregnant. This was before Mom met Carl. He told Mom that if she ever needed anything, to call. But he also told her to never list him on the birth certificate because he didn’t want to put us in danger.” She fiddled with her glass. “I know he helped Mom with money until she got engaged to Carl.”
“How would she know he could help when you were kidnapped?”
“Apparently, she caught him numerous times in my room when I was a baby. A few times he’d been armed which pissed her off. When she finally confronted him, he made it sound as if he worked for the mafia as an enforcer.”
“And you didn’t buy it?”
Jo shrugged. It wasn’t that she didn’t buy the explanation, but the mafia wasn’t in Alabama. Gangs, yes. Drugs, yes. Guns most assuredly. Hell, even prostitution, but all that was controlled by gangs, not the mafia. “I didn’t know what to believe.”
Leaning closer, she lowered her voice. “What I do know is I dug into him and there was nothing. He was squeaky clean, and the only listing of work was ‘government contract’.”
“Holy shit.” Sullivan pinched the bridge of his nose as if processing the information. Using his go to phrase when surprised. “After all that you didn’t dig deeper?”
“Didn’t say that.” She searched the restaurant, but no one appeared to be listening to them. The glance around didn’t help her to feel safer, just more paranoid. Jo knew if she didn’t finish Sullivan would dig into the mystery himself and that could get him and his family killed. “When I graduated, I thought I was hot shit.”
“Yeah, same as most newbies.”
“Of course, I dug deeper. I wanted to know how one man could walk into a warehouse surrounded by fifteen guys and walk out with a five-year-old kid.”
Sullivan’s gaze bounced around the restaurant, and his voice lowered to a whisper. “One? Six of those guys died, Jo.”
“Yeah, so I dug. Ended up getting woken up in the middle of the night by a massive guy with a scar.” She trembled at the memory.
The man had scared her, then pissed her off. Until she’d watched what he left behind. After that, she hadn’t searched for any information.
“The scarred man had a knife, not pointed at me, but just flicking his fingertip with the blade as he explained how bad it’d be if I kept asking questions. How even though my bio-dad had saved me, he’d been forced to leave nine guys alive to tell the tale. So, my biological father had called in a favor from the scarred man to make sure this never happened to me again.”
“How the hell could that guy guarantee that?” Sullivan stacked his silverware and pushed the empty plate to the side.
“Those other nine guys, they’re dead.” Taking a breath, she finished. “I know they’re dead, because the scarred man left a flash drive that held a video file of them dying. And he’d held the same damned knife that skinned those nine guys alive.”
“Holy shit.” Sullivan’s face paled.
“Exactly. Now, I don’t dig into the kidnapping, and I don’t ask a lot of questions regarding my bio-dad. I’m telling you, warning you to make sure you do the same. I don’t want anything to happen to you or Arabelle. I think if my bio-dad knew, he’d put a stop to the scarred man. But I don’t know the rules among killers.”
Jo never wanted to find out how far her biological father’s loyalty was to her. Was it enough to kill the scarred man before he killed Jo? Or would he step aside and let the scarred man kill her? There were no ties back to the scarred man on those murders.
“Do you still have the video?”
“Yeah, in a safe deposit box. Before you ask, there’s absolutely nothing to go on to find him. I paid several hackers through the years because I’m sure that was not t
hat man’s first killing spree.” Clearing her throat, she finished, “And again, before you ask, I will never take that to the police. Because someone leaked the safe house location, and we never found who did it.”
“Your father’s a contract killer.” Sullivan’s eyes widened further. “What’re you gonna tell Rhys?”
Her gut clenched. “Not a damned thing. In the infamous words of Carlton Lassiter, ‘No body, no case.’“
“But you have a video.”
“And no bodies.” Jo didn’t need to add that she’d looked for those nine gang members. They’d been nowhere. Left in the middle of the night, taken a trip, gone to Mexico, each story convincing as to where the men had fled to after kidnapping a police officer’s daughter. However, only Jo, the scarred man, and her biological father knew the men’s stories ended in screams and death. Now Sullivan knew, but never Rhys. He was her one pure thing, untouched by any of her past. “So, no telling Rhys.”
“No telling anyone.” Sullivan’s gaze held a steadiness she relied on in her partner.
This conversation would never leave the restaurant.
Chapter 19
Nerves getting the better of him, Rhys tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. Dense traffic helped distract him from Jo’s rattling commentary as he jockeyed for a position in the right lane. Knots of tension crept into his shoulders the longer he listened to Jo laying out the plan to catch the Gravedigger again. Why did she have to fill him in on this today?
It took him over a month to plan the perfect Valentine’s Day. The restaurant alone was booked months in advance. He’d pulled a lot of strings to get them a table for tonight. Steak. Wine. Even the dessert Jo adored sat in his fridge waiting for him to bring her home.
But no, instead she regaled him about yet another stakeout that might end with her in the hospital. Uncomfortable, he shifted in his seat and winced when the small box, tucked into his pants pocket, dug into his leg. The cemetery surprised him.
“Isn’t that the cemetery he used last year?” He didn’t need her to confirm it. He recognized the cemetery where he first laid eyes on her. She’d stood out like a defiant beacon amidst the mayhem of the crime scene. Her shoulders had been thrown back and her chin jutted at a stubborn angle as if waiting for someone to attack her. She’d been hard to overlook and attracted him from the second he’d seen her.
“Yeah, I’d not have thought to hunt there. He’s off his pattern . . .”
He tuned out after that. Shuddering. Off his pattern? That meant the man was becoming unpredictable. Those types were always more dangerous.
His stomach churned. He didn’t know how the hell he’d ever keep his meal down. A quick glance in her direction showed she glowed with anticipation, not concern.
He didn’t like how excited Jo seemed, as if she had no thought to her own safety. “But you’re taking more people this time, right?”
He turned into the restaurant. Was it only five months ago when he heard the tale of her horrible date from Sam? Driving down two rows, he spotted a parking space, wheeled the car in, and cut the engine.
“Yes. I’ll be wearing my vest and it’ll keep me safe.”
“Fat lot of good the vest did Terry.”
Hearing her gasp, he wanted to call the words back. Not meaning to be antagonistic, he cursed himself, but he couldn’t rewind time. The words hung heavy between them now, but dammit Terry had almost died even wearing the vest. However, he could’ve chosen a better place to hash out the perils of Jo’s job than the inside of his car on Valentine’s Day.
“This is my job, Rhys and I’m damn good at it.”
His heart pounded at even the thought of her getting hurt. Of Jo being the one looking at multiple surgeries, or worse dead. “Look, let’s talk about this after dinner.”
Her gorgeous blue eyes, hard as ice from the argument, darted to the front of the unassuming restaurant that grilled the best steaks in town before coming to rest on him again. A warm light replaced the icy hardness as he met Jo’s gaze. “I love a good steak.”
He grinned, trying to relax and not ruin their first Valentine’s Day together. “So, I’ve heard.”
“Fine, but tomorrow at breakfast we’re discussing this and getting everything settled once and for all.”
“Deal.” He struggled to fall into the moment, but not dwelling on Jo’s job took a lot of effort. As if a giant purple rhinoceros sat in the booth with them.
It had been a bad idea to bring his worries up before eating, the intimate ambiance lost. Tucked away in the far corner booth, their curtains closed like so many others around the restaurant.
Instead of heat and passion, which was what he pictured when making the reservations, tension flooded the small space. Overwhelmed by the pleasant atmosphere, any normal conversation was impossible though they both tried. Tried until it became too painful and awkward to continue. Through the rest of dinner, silence reigned as uncomfortable and noisy as nails scraping down a chalkboard.
His concerns were legitimate. He’d meant to wait to voice them later. Yes, she was a cop. Yes, he’d known how dangerous her job was going into this relationship. But what her actual job entailed hadn’t hit him until she’d shown up at his home, her pants streaked with blood, and her sweater darkened with clumps of the dried reddish-brown liquid. Jo trembling, pale as a ghost, lost and incoherent.
Hell, if Jo had stayed with Ramirez, she’d be the one in that white bed, hooked up to all those lines. She would have been the one in ICU.
Terry had two cracked ribs, a broken collarbone, and a concussion. One surgery had already taken place to repair the collarbone, but Terry would need more.
Instead of worry for Terry, his only thought was ‘that could’ve been Jo’. Now she was determined to go corner the crazy man again?
“Dammit.” Jo’s snarl pulled his attention. “Another steak dinner ruined. And our first Valentine’s Day shot to shit as well.”
Guilt flared in him but quickly died. “I’m not going to apologize for being worried—”
“Didn’t ask you to.” She swallowed a mouthful of wine. “Look, I’m a cop. I’ve been a cop since before you knew me. It’s all I’ve ever wanted to be and if you can’t deal with that, then maybe we need to rethink dating.”
He flagged down the waitress and motioned for the check before turning back to Jo. “I didn’t realize how dangerous it was until Terry was shot.”
Disbelief made Jo’s mouth drop open. “Are you kidding? Do you not watch the news? We’re constantly in danger—”
“I know, but this is Alabama, not New York or California—”
She leaned toward him, her elbows propped on the table, an intense look he couldn’t decipher on her face. “And what? You think we don’t have violent crimes? This isn’t Mayberry, Rhys. We have gangs, drugs, prostitutes, crazies and everything in between, the same as all those other states.”
Relieved when the waitress returned with the check, breaking the tension, he pulled out his wallet and left enough bills to cover the check and a tip.
“I thought you of all people would understand how complete I feel doing something I love.” Jo shook her head. “You know what, just take me home. I can’t do this when I need to be focused tomorrow night. I can’t make a mistake that might get someone else shot, or God forbid killed.”
He understood loving your work. He had lost his chance at becoming a doctor when a phone call ripped apart his life. However, his dream job wouldn’t get him killed. Jo’s required a damned bulletproof vest, two guns, and backup.
So many thoughts raced through his head. However, the majority of them he could never voice. Not ‘quit your job’, nor ‘maybe a desk job would be better’ and definitely not ‘how about swapping departments . . . maybe IA, since they only investigate other officers. That can’t be as d
angerous’.
Instead, he wrestled to find something to say to fix it. Something that would ring with truth because he sucked at lying. Anything, but nothing came to him on the short trip to her apartment.
Of course, traffic was non-existent on their return trip. Every light between the restaurant and Jo’s apartment seemed to be green at the same damned time. They arrived at her building in record time. Not a word passing between them.
Taking a steady breath, he knew he needed to say something. Anything to fix this. But what passed his lips was a lame excuse as he repeated what he’d said earlier. “I just didn’t realize how dangerous the job would be Jo. I think I need some time to process it.”
Her small hand patted his thigh, then her lips pressed against his cheek. “Take all the time you need. When you’re ready, call me, but don’t expect me to wait on you forever.”
Then she was gone. Out of the car and up the stairs before he had a chance to touch his door handle. The warm leather of the steering wheel pressed into his forehead as he leaned against it. What had he done?
He fought the urge to race after her. No. That wasn’t the way. He needed to figure out if this was something he could live with. Did he love her? Yes. Could he live with her being a cop? That he didn’t know.
~ ~ ~
He snarled in frustration as he kicked the door closed behind him. The rose petals strewn across the floor fluttered everywhere. It’d taken him and Marta hours to set all the tea candles in the gorgeous crystal bowls she’d bought specifically for this occasion.
Then she’d convinced him to go all out and make a path of rose petals between the garage door and his bedroom. Four dozen roses plucked of their fresh petals. Though Marta claimed the pressed ones she’d bought were just as good, he disagreed. He wanted fresh ones. Wanted Jo to smell the sweet scent with every step she took.
Gravedigger (The Rayburn Mysteries Book 1) Page 18