by Liliana Hart
Reverend Oglesby’s death hadn’t been a result of his sexual orientation as they’d wanted us to believe. Daniel had simply seen something he shouldn’t have. And they’d muddied the waters with his death by having Lorna let it slip that he was gay.
Julie Lawrence had died because Ronnie Campbell had decided to make a plea deal and had told Julie everything he knew about the operation. Greg Vance had eyes and ears everywhere, in a lot of powerful places, so he knew as soon as Ronnie opened his mouth to spill his guts. Julie and Ronnie had been casualties of war.
Doc Randall’s death had been to clean up loose ends. Just like George’s death. They’d both fulfilled their usefulness. Greg Vance still hadn’t cracked under the pressure of interrogation, but all his cohorts were throwing him under the bus, trying to save themselves. Except for Lorna.
Lorna had been easily seduced by Greg. A small-town mouse of a woman, whose repressed sexuality made her hunger and hate at the same time. Her grandfather had filled her head with lies and self-loathing, and he’d made sure she knew she was always to stand for the organization if they needed her. He’d made it clear her only usefulness in life was to serve for the higher calling of the Aryan Nation.
Greg had told her everything she’d needed to hear, sweetening the pot with the affection she’d been denied as a child, so in the end she’d have done anything for him. He’d told her the “cleansing” the organization did was what God and the church wanted. She’d believed him. The DA is going to push for diminished capacity and a lighter sentence because of her upbringing, but she still won’t see the light of day for a while.
Greg wasn’t talking. Not yet, anyway. But like Jack said, the money didn’t lie. The Aryan Nation had accounts worldwide, and the FBI had found the withdrawals used to lure Doc Randall, under a false account using Jesse Fife’s name. The FBI was rounding up dozens of people involved in the mess, but Jack had gotten what he’d been after. George, Doc Randall and Daniel Oglesby had been ours. And we took care of our own.
Kenny Laubach and Booth Wilkins had easily rolled over on Greg Vance and a few others as participating in Oglesby’s murder. But Kenny had also given up Lorna. She’d been the one to give Oglesby the drug. Her prints matched the ones we’d found at the scene, and she’d been the one who’d pulled the trigger on Doc Randall. We’d been right. She’d panicked after she’d shot him. He’d been her first.
Carver was sure the DNA from the cigarettes we’d found at the crime scene would belong to Greg. He hadn’t quit smoking soon enough. Kenny had fessed up to owning the bandana and setting the barn on fire while we’d been trapped inside. One of Jack’s officers had shot Kenny in the leg while he tried to escape back to his car, and it had been difficult for Kenny to plead innocence with the matches and lighter fluid he’d had in his hands as the bullet took him down.
As far as how I was dealing with the upheaval—I was taking it a day at a time. I’d buried Mrs. Perry, George, and Reverend Oglesby. The Virginia State Medical Examiner had allowed me to assist with Doc Randall’s charred remains, and I’d had a moment of pride when he’d told me I did good work. It was really all I needed. No one else’s opinions mattered. Except Jack’s.
Also, I’d somehow gotten engaged. Life or death situations made for crazy decision-making. But I wasn’t nearly as panicked about it as I should have been. We loved each other. It had just taken us a long time to get to that place, and now it was as if nothing had ever been any different. We’d just been waiting for the right time.
So two weeks later, when the initial frenzy died down and life was slowly getting back to normal, I came out of the funeral home to find Jack waiting for me in the driveway. I couldn’t help but smile when I saw him. I felt happier than I ever had. More at peace with myself and the decisions I’d made in my life. I still had my parents’ crimes to deal with and things to discover there, but I knew it would all be okay as long as Jack was beside me.
I got in the cruiser and fastened my seatbelt, cracking my knuckles in nervousness. “I think it’s time.”
“Now’s not good for me,” he said, putting the car in reverse and backing out. “This car technically belongs to the county, and it’s against the law to engage in sexual acts in a car provided by the taxpayers. I’d have to arrest myself.”
“Good grief. Don’t you ever think about anything else?”
He was quiet for a minute and then said, “Nah, not really. All I can think about is getting you back on my desk. That moment pretty much defined my life.”
“Which, speaking of,” I said. “Also the taxpayers’ money.”
“Hmm.” He drove down Queen Mary and stopped at the crossroads, his blinker flashing to turn right towards the house where we’d spend the rest of our lives. But I put my hand on his wrist and he let the car idle there for a minute.
“I’m ready to go back to the house,” I said softly. “There are things I want to pack up and bring with me so I can start my life with you. I’ve come to realize that there are a few memories from there that aren’t so bad. Those are the ones I want to bring to you. Thank you for loving me. I’ve never been given a greater gift than that.”
I leaned in and our mouths touched. His thumb brushed across my cheek and wiped away a tear.
“I’ll go with you,” he said.
“No,” I told him. “I can do it. I’m strong enough to face it now. And it’s something I need to do on my own. Can you understand?”
“Yeah,” he sighed. “Stubborn brat. But I don’t have to like it. I’ll drop you off, and then I’ll bring the truck back once you’re ready to start hauling things out.”
I squeezed his hand in thanks and he turned the car left, heading down the rutted lane to the home I’d grown up in. The realtor was going to get a For Sale sign in the yard by the weekend, and then I’d be free.
Jack came to a stop, and I dug in my bag for my keys.
“I’ll be back in an hour,” he said. “And then you’re going to give me something sinfully erotic.” His voice dropped to a husky whisper and I felt myself giving in one last time to the temptation of his lips. He kissed me once. “Something outrageously decadent.” He kissed me again. “It should probably involve chocolate syrup.”
I nipped at his bottom lip and then opened the car door to get out. “I’ll take you to Cracker Barrel tonight for dinner. Sounds like you’re just hungry.”
He barked out a laugh, and then I waved bye and turned to face my past. I walked up the cracked sidewalk to the front porch as I listened to Jack drive away. The porch steps were fixed, and they didn’t make so much as a creak as I stepped up to the door. I took a deep breath and stuck the key in the lock. I could do this. I had to do this.
“Jack will be back in an hour,” I said aloud. “No big deal.”
I pushed open the door, and I expected the smell of blood and death to greet me as it had the last time I was here. But there was nothing but the faint smell of fresh paint and lemons. I walked in and shut the door behind me, looking up the stairs and into the kitchen before I looked at the spot I’d almost met my death.
A creak of the floorboards had me spinning towards the den, my heart pounding in my chest. I couldn’t see anyone, but I knew I wasn’t alone.
“So you’ve decided to move in with Jack, huh?” A voice called out. “I wondered how long it would take the two of you to stop dancing and get down to business. I always did like that boy.”
I tripped over my feet and slammed back against the door. Mewling whimpers escaped from my throat as my sweaty hand fumbled for the doorknob. But then the familiarity of that voice caught up to my brain and my knees turned to jelly.
“What’s wrong, Jaye? Aren’t you going to say hello?”
“Dad?” I whispered, just before I crumpled to the ground.
DIRTY ROTTEN SCOUNDREL: A J.J. GRAVES MYSTERY ~ Coming Soon!
About the author:
Liliana Hart is the pseudonym for an author of more than fifteen books. She lives in Texas wit
h her husband and cats, and loves to be contacted by readers.
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Here’s an excerpt of SHADOWS AND SILK, the newest offering in the MACKENZIE FAMILY series by Liliana Hart.
Available 12/25/12!
MacKenzies were nothing but trouble.
Brant had known that for almost fifteen years—ever since Cade MacKenzie had dragged him to his home in Montana for Thanksgiving one year and shoved him into the freezing cold pond behind their farmhouse. They’d been as close as brothers ever since, and he considered the MacKenzies to be his second family, especially since his sister, Bayleigh, was now married to Cade.
But sometimes families were a pain in the ass, and this was one of those times.
He weaved in and out of the late night Georgetown traffic—the Harley rumbling beneath him—as a cool mist fell and collected in fine droplets on his riding leathers. Every instinct he had was telling him to turn around and go the opposite direction.
Unfortunately, he didn’t have much of a choice when it came to this latest summons. The call from Declan MacKenzie had come early that morning—there was to be a meeting between all team leaders involved in the investigation of the del Fuego drug cartel. All agencies had been working together for the past four years to put an end to the cartel’s reign of terror, and since Brant was the special agent in charge for Homeland Security, he had no choice but to be at the meeting.
He slowed and turned onto M Street, cursing the inaccuracy of the weatherman as a loud crack of thunder rent the air and the soft mist turned into a downpour. Headlights glared off the wet streets and impatient drivers blared their horns as this latest inconvenience kept them from their social obligations. He veered around a florist van to pull into the underground parking garage across the street from O’Malley’s Pub.
With his helmet stuck under his arm, he sprinted across the street and into the warmth and familiarity of the long time hangout used by a mixed bag of federal agents. The smell of beer and the polish they used to wipe down the seats of the bar stools and booths hung heavy in the air. The floors were scarred and the wood paneling on the walls darkened with age. Music thumped steadily from the speakers, but not so loud you couldn’t hear the person next to you. O’Malley’s was a place to talk shop, let off steam, or sweet talk pretty waitresses—though not necessarily in that order
Brant ran a hand through his hair, dripping water onto the mat on the floor, and wiped his feet.
“Agent Scott,” Jimmy O’Malley said from behind the bar. “Haven’t seen you in here in a while. What’ll it be?”
O’Malley was a former FBI agent and had opened the pub after a bullet shattered his knee and he’d been taken out of the field. He always said he’d rather serve whiskey than start drinking it because he was bored out of his mind sitting behind a desk. Brant couldn’t say he blamed him.
“The usual. And put it on Declan’s tab,” Brant said, causing O’Malley to laugh.
“I’ll have Lily bring it to you. Your friends are upstairs.” O’Malley jerked his thumb at the curved staircase that led up to the private room he sometimes rented out for parties or wakes, and Brant nodded his thanks and moved toward the back of the bar. He acknowledged a few of the familiar faces he passed on his way, and headed up the stairs.
“It’s about damned time, Scott,” Shane MacKenzie said, his concentration never wavering from the game of darts he was playing. “Devlin here already owes me fifty bucks. Can’t play darts for shit.”
Max Devlin was leading the DEA team assigned to the recent tourist murders that had been happening throughout Mexico as the cartels battled over their turf and with the Mexican government’s crackdown on drug trafficking. He’d been Cade’s boss once upon a time, and since Devlin was a former Marine sniper, Brant very seriously doubted it was him that couldn’t play darts for shit. Devlin punched Shane in the arm and called him an inappropriate name and then quickly made a bullseye on his next turn.
Brant stripped off his leather jacket and tossed it across an empty chair, laying his helmet in the seat. The noise from below was muted and the bass from the music vibrated the floor, but the room was private for all intents and purposes.
Declan MacKenzie sat in one of the wooden whiskey barrel chairs, his posture relaxed and his eyes hooded halfway in sleep. Brant knew as well as any of the others in the room that Declan was never fully relaxed, and he could be up with a weapon in his hand before most people could blink.
He’d been crossing paths with Declan for years during different assignments, and he’d sat across from him at the dinner table for MacKenzie family dinners more times than he could count, but he still didn’t know exactly what branch of the government Dec worked for. By the way he seemed to know every damned thing almost as soon as it happened, Brant was guessing CIA. The one thing he did know was that Declan was in charge of this op, whatever it was, and he was calling the shots.
Lily knocked on the door and came in with a tray filled with drinks. Dark haired and dark eyed, she gave Shane a smile that would have any red-blooded male’s blood boiling, and went about passing out the drinks. She was efficient as she set them around the table, and Brant raised a brow as he saw her place a napkin and a beer in front of the fifth seat. As far as he knew, only the DEA, Homeland Security and the assigned Navy SEAL team had active operatives searching for the del Fuego labs. It had been an assignment met with little success over the last few years.
“Ooh, baby,” Shane said, as Lily gave him one last smile and closed the door behind her so they’d have privacy. “I think I’m in love.”
“That’s what you said last night, dickhead,” Devlin said.
“There’s love and then there’s love,” Shane said, waggling his eyebrows. “I think Lily could be the one. And she was real delicate about the way she slipped her number in my pocket.” He held up the piece of paper from his pocket for them to admire.
“Jesus, sometimes I can’t believe I’m related to you,” Declan said. “How old are you again? Fifteen?”
“Jealousy doesn’t become you, brother. Just because you’ve got a sex life that rivals great-aunt Matilda doesn’t mean I’m ready to follow in your footsteps.”
“Am I wrong, or did I miss the part where this was a MacKenzie family brawl instead of a government op?” Brant asked.
“You’ve been in the middle of enough MacKenzie family brawls to recognize when it’s serious,” Declan said. “Or have you forgotten the broken nose? Maybe I need to refresh your memory.”
Brant flipped him off and took the seat next to him. “I knew you did that on purpose, asshole. A slip of the elbow my ass.”
“All’s fair in football. Suck it up, Nancy.”
“Maybe if Cagney and Lacey are done playing darts, we can get this show on the road.” Brant took a long sip of beer and felt some of the tension drain out of his shoulders. It had been too long since he’d just taken an evening to relax. “I’d like to have an entire weekend off at some point in my career.”
“I’ve never had one of those,” Declan said. “I don’t see why you should get one if I can’t.”
“I appreciate that, Dec. You’re nothing but heart.”
“That’s not what the ladies tell him,” Shane broke in with a laugh. “They tell him he’s nothing but—”
“Enough, Shane,” Declan growled. �
��Take a seat, and lets get this done. Our guest will be here before I’m done with the briefing.”
An uneasy feeling slithered up Brant’s spine, but he pushed it away. His intuition was infamous in the agency, and right now it was screaming red alerts at him. He trusted Declan. Hell, he trusted all the MacKenzies. But something was going on, and he was pretty sure he was going to hate whatever it was. He was an expert at reading people—at body language and the signs a person gives when they’re in an uncomfortable situation. Declan wasn’t giving away anything as usual, but he’d known Shane long enough to see the worry in his eyes and the tension in his shoulders. He hadn’t stopped tapping his ring finger against his leg since Brant had walked into the room.
Declan tossed out sealed manila envelopes to everyone at the table. At Declan’s nod, they each broke the seal and pulled out the papers.
“We’ve received new intelligence that the del Fuego cartel has in fact been taken over by Alexander Ramos and the whole operation moved to Mexico.”
“Shit,” Brant said, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. They all knew of Alexander Ramos. He was currently the leader for the Sinaloa drug cartel, which happened to be the most powerful and deadly cartel in Mexico. “He’s expanding his territory.”
“It looks that way,” Declan said. “He’s setting up the del Fuego cartel in southern Mexico, from the Yucatan to the border of Guatemala. He already controls almost all of the west, and I think we can agree that controlling that much territory isn’t going to go well once the Mexican government finds out and they start cracking down. The rumors are already spreading. The streets will be overflowing with the blood of innocent people.”