Detective on the Hunt

by Marilyn Pappano

  She sat on one of the storage cubes while Zoey dropped onto the bed. Zoey had decided she would talk only to JJ, but now that they were alone, she slumped against the wall, rubbing at a worn area on her sweats above her right knee, and stole occasional looks at JJ that were part hostility, part curiosity.

  “So you’re a detective,” Zoey said at last. “How’d you get to do that?”

  “I worked my ass off for it.” JJ crossed her legs and saw the woman give her leather boots an appreciative look. “Back in the day, my department required a college degree. I got that, went to the academy and went into uniform. I spent seven years proving I could do as good as or better than the men, and I eventually got promoted up the chain to where I am now.”

  “Do you still have to prove you’re as good as or better than the men?”

  “Every day. Do you?”

  A wry expression crossed Zoey’s face. “Not so much anymore. You beat up enough people, word gets around.”

  JJ had no problem imagining her in a physical confrontation—and handling it quite well. She wasn’t big, but she was strong, wiry and savvy. She’d probably learned to fight dirty when she was still in diapers, and she had attitude enough to keep her skills honed.

  She was also very pretty: red haired, porcelain skinned and green eyed. Her muscles had curves, and for a woman about JJ’s own height, her legs seemed a heck of a lot longer. With a little refinement and polish, she could walk into a room and make men tremble, and not from fear.

  “Do you know Maura Evans?”

  “I’ve met her. Don’t like her. Rich bitch.”

  “But she’s Zander’s girlfriend.”

  “She’s slumming. Women like her do it all the time.”

  “Do you see her very often?”

  Zoey finally stopped picking at the spot on her sweats and met JJ’s gaze directly. “I’ve been to a few of her parties. Me and Zander, we each got our own friends. His are hoods. Mine are punks.”

  Hoods. There was a word JJ hadn’t heard in a long time. She figured Zander’s friends were all probably hoodlums. Like likes like, Grandmother Raynelle used to say. Birds of a feather, Kylie used to translate.

  “Have you met Maura’s friend Mel?”

  “A couple times. She was like a little puppy dog, wanted to dress like Maura, look like Maura. She didn’t have the money to be Maura, but the bitch spent a lot on her. Dressed her up like a doll, got her hair and nails done, taught her how to walk and talk and not be so low-class.”

  Bitterness colored her voice at the end. A little jealousy? Was there a part of her that wished Maura had chosen to make her over instead of Mel? Hell, there was a part of JJ that wouldn’t mind a makeover from someone with limitless funds. She loved expensive clothes when she could afford them, and there was no denying pricey cosmetics felt and looked better than bargain brands. When a woman had had nothing, the prevailing opinion of Mel pre-Maura, how dizzying would it be to suddenly be given not just everything, but the best of it?

  “They were good friends?”

  “Yeah, I guess. As long as Mel didn’t mind turning into a Maura clone, and she was brainless enough to like it.”

  “Do you know why Mel left?”

  She lifted one shoulder. “I think it had something to do with Zander. He likes attention, and he don’t play nice with others. I think he weaseled his way into Maura’s life and kinda pushed Mel out. At least, that’s what he said. ’Course, he didn’t like Mel. Thought she took advantage of Maura.”

  More likely, he thought that every dollar Maura spent on her friend was a dollar she couldn’t spend on him. It could be true that Mel had gotten bored and moved on, or maybe Zander’s dislike had been mutual. His ego might have claimed credit for getting rid of her, or he truly might have driven a wedge between the two friends.

  “Is Zander in love with Maura or just taking what he can get?”

  JJ expected a disbelieving snort for the first half of the question or a defense spurred by the second, but Zoey was thoughtful instead. “Zander’s never loved anything but himself. And money. But he’s been with her five months. Longer than anyone else ever. And he’s not antsy yet about moving on. Maybe...”

  Maybe he did love her.

  Or maybe he was just in a long-term con. As long as there was money in her bank, there would be love in his heart.

  It was a depressing thought to consider.

  Zoey was watching JJ, a restless air about her. She didn’t sit still for long, JJ suspected. Didn’t play nice for long. Or cooperate with the police, or talk with someone who, apparently, if Zoey’s growing twitchiness was anything to judge by, intimidated her in some way.

  JJ rose, bowed her spine a little to ease the stiffness from sitting on the wooden cube, then asked casually, “Do you know where we can find Zander today? We’d like to talk to him.”

  Zoey stood, too. “Are you going to all this trouble to look in on Maura because you’re friends back home?”

  “I babysat her fifteen years ago, but we’re not friends. I’m doing it because people are worried about her.”

  “You think Zander’s a bad influence on her?”

  JJ bit her lip for a moment, then with a shrug, ruefully answered with the truth. “I think Zander might be a bad influence on everyone he meets.”

  “Has he done anything illegal? Spending time with her so she gives him stuff?”

  “No.” In the larger scheme of things, the amount of money Maura had spent in Cedar Creek was insubstantial. There were tens of millions of dollars more where it came from.

  The answer satisfied Zoey, who gave an agreeing sort of nod. “He’s been pretty much living there in that big house with her since around Christmas. The downstairs is empty, but upstairs they’ve got furniture, TVs, electronics, games. You wanna see a picture of him?”

  There must be a pocket in the ragged sweats, because she whipped her cell phone from somewhere and began scrolling through pictures. When she found the one she wanted, she offered the phone to JJ.

  JJ didn’t see a shred of resemblance between Zoey and her brother, unless surliness counted. His skin tone was dark, his hair was brown, his eyes appeared brown, and he was fair to middlin’ in looks. His power was all in his manner, she assumed. Attitude, charm, just the right amount of don’t-give-a-damn insolence, and susceptible women’s hearts would start to pound.

  “He looks like your father.”

  Zoey took the phone back. “Yeah, he’s gonna be just like him in twenty years. Idiot.”

  “Your dad’s a good-looking guy.” Mentally JJ crossed her fingers to cover the lie.

  Zoey scowled. “Him and Quint graduated school together. Quint’s a good-looking guy. My dad’s a bad son, a bad husband, a bad father and a lazy-ass human being who hasn’t done anything but drink and smoke weed his whole adult life.”

  Well, yeah, when you put it that way... But JJ found it hard to compare run-of-the-mill losers to hard-bodied men who reminded her every day of all the passion and hunger and sex missing from her life. Now was not the time to think of that.

  “Worst part is,” Zoey continued, “that’s all he ever wanted.” Her head ducked, her gaze scanned the room and she added in a whisper, “Not what I want.”

  Hiding her sympathetic wince, JJ closed the distance between them and extended her hand. “Thank you for talking to me, Zoey. I appreciate it.”

  The look of discomfort suggested she didn’t hear thanks very often. “Yeah, just do us a favor and take the rich bitch back to South Carolina with you. We don’t need the trouble.”

  After collecting Quint from the kitchen, JJ picked her way carefully down the broken steps. She inhaled deeply, only then realizing how musty and stale the inside of the house had smelled. “She’s a nice girl,” she remarked when they reached the driveway.

  “You weren’t quaking in your boo
ts the whole time you were alone with her?”

  She scowled at him. “These boots aren’t made for quaking. And I wouldn’t have quaked, anyway. I’m not scared of her.”

  “Only because you have your Taser.”

  “There’s that. And she was barefooted. I figured if I needed an advantage, I could stomp on her foot first. That might give me a half second’s head start.” She hesitated before making her next observation. “She’s a little feral, isn’t she?”

  Quint hesitated, too. They’d both run across people who bragged about being wild, but there was nothing to brag about in this situation, except that Zoey had survived. “She never had any parenting. Mom’s too busy trying to feed and clothe them. Dad’s too lazy. Her role model was Zander, and the two of them taught Zeke everything he knows.”

  Not what I want, Zoey had said under her breath. She could have been so much more. Could still be so much more. There was intelligence in her green eyes, strength of will, a hint of lost little girl that betrayed her boldness. She’d learned only one way to cope—to be tough—and unfortunately, that wasn’t enough to live any kind of life.

  But she’d learned it. Which meant she could learn anything else she put her mind to.

  Sadly, not JJ’s problem. She was just a visitor here. But that didn’t stop her from adding Zoey to the long list in the back of her mind of people she’d come across on the job who were better, or deserved better, than circumstances had given them.

  JJ was about to get into Quint’s truck when a tiny whimper caught her attention. A quick look around didn’t reveal the source, but when it came again, she followed it to Hank’s Chevrolet, ducking low to look beneath it. A tan fur ball lay on a bare patch of concrete, huddling in the chill, watching her with huge suspicious eyes.

  “There’s an animal under here.”

  “Likely a skunk or rabid possum.”

  “You grow skunks in different colors here? ’Cause this one’s tan.” Clutching her coat close, she bent lower. “Hey, baby. You look so cold in there. Are you okay?”

  Quint’s steps sloshed around to join her. He bent to look under the economy-size truck bed. “I bet he doesn’t live here. Zander doesn’t like dogs.”

  “See if you can coax him out.” She straightened and retraced her steps to the front door, knocking directly on the door through the gap in the screen. Zoey answered, hands empty of weapons to throw. “Is that your dog under the truck?”

  Zoey snorted. “We don’t have dogs. Zander doesn’t like them. Dog bit him when he was about twelve and—” Abruptly, her face went pale, flat and blank. “We don’t have dogs.”

  That was all JJ needed to know to shove that subject to the back of her mind. Though she probably couldn’t whip Zoey in a fair fight, or an unfair one, she might be able to take Zander, especially with little tidbits like that feeding her aggression. “Do you know who he belongs to?”

  “Nobody. Some woman in an Escalade dumped him here a few days ago.”

  “None of your neighbors are feeding him?”

  Zoey’s gaze flickered the length of the street. “No one can afford to.”

  “Then I’m gonna take him. Okay?”

  “Please do.” She said it with a shrug, as if she didn’t care either way, but JJ heard the very faint undertone. Before Zander comes home and finds him.

  She was seriously looking forward to meeting Alexander Benson.

  * * *

  Quint sat in the warm cab of the pickup truck, his pants wet from knee to ankle and an oil smudge on his jacket from having to get down under Hank’s old truck to reach the pup. Their assumption it was a male was wrong; the female had shaken violently when he’d first touched her, but she’d let him pull her out into the open, where JJ had scooped her quickly into her arms. Quint had donated a hoodie from the back seat to the cause of warming the dog, whose face was the only part now visible. Her wide brown eyes, hypercautious and distrusting, were fixed on him.

  “Zoey said a woman in an Escalade threw her out.”

  The sour taste of disgust rose in his stomach. He’d worked too many neglect, abuse and abandonment cases involving animals in his career. It was so ridiculously simple: if you don’t want to take care of a pet, don’t get a pet. Why were people so damn stupid?

  “An Escalade,” she repeated. “It’s not likely this little one was a financial hardship. Just a nuisance. She probably peed on the carpet or chewed up a shoe.”

  “I hope it was an expensive carpet or an even more expensive shoe.” Quint adjusted the vents on his side to blow in the puppy’s direction. A hint of dread, as sour as the disgust a moment ago, stirred in his gut. “What are you going to do with her?”

  JJ bent her head to the dog’s, nuzzling the top of her head. The dog was dirty, wet and smelled, but the human didn’t seem to notice. He didn’t need the knot growing around his dread to know how this was going to play out. He rarely hoped he was wrong, but this time, if he were still a praying man, he would pray that he was.

  JJ looked up, her hazel eyes troubled and, yes, that was a little naïveté there, too. “I don’t suppose you know anyone...”

  The dog was probably two or three months old. Seriously underweight. Most likely not spayed. Given the warm weather before this latest front, probably had ticks, fleas or other buddies. And she was a pit bull. Pits had a serious public relations problem around Cedar Creek.

  He shook his head.

  “Hmm. My nieces would love her. And would fight over whose house she lived at.” She ruefully wrinkled her nose. “So would my sisters. The fighting part, not the love.”

  “Claire has cats,” he pointed out. “She’s not going to like a stray pit coming into her hotel. A dirty, stray unhousebroken pit. Not with all the antique rugs and furniture and paying guests.”

  The animal lifted her face to the warm air, sighed and snuggled deeper into JJ’s lap. Quint trusted animal instincts, and judging by the dog’s blissful expression, this one knew she was safe with JJ, that she would be protected and fed and taken care of. Her worries were over.

  But his weren’t. Though if they traded places, the dog and him, and he was snuggled in JJ’s arms, he might be feeling pretty blissful, too.

  “Aw, jeez,” he grumbled, turning his head away. He was in trouble on two fronts, wasn’t he? And one was far more dangerous than the other.

  The dangerous one smiled at him. Even though his gaze was directed at the pin oaks past the Benson house whose new buds were pushing off the few dead leaves that remained, he could feel the warmth of the smile. It was bright and happy and guilty and hopeful and manipulative, and he’d never been strong in the face of sweet-natured, kindhearted, vulnerable and tender female manipulation. No matter how much he didn’t want a woman in his life or a dog in his house, he was going to end up with both. He might as well roll over and show them his belly right now.

  “You like dogs, don’t you?” JJ’s voice sounded more feminine, more Southern, more everything good. Manipulation, he reminded himself.

  A muscle clenched in his jaw as he tried to find some resistance deep inside. “I like ’em fine. Outside. At a distance. Belonging to someone else.”

  “Aw, come on, you crawled under a vehicle in the snow and melt to get her. Look at her little face. Look how grateful she is.”

  He did look, focusing hard on the dog’s face rather than hers. “That’s not gratitude. It’s entitlement.” She resembled canine royalty whose Prince Charming had, of course, rescued her and whose Princess Charming would, of course, pamper away her discomforts. Or con someone else into doing it.

  “She’s so sweet.”

  “Have you not noticed that she’s a pit bull? She’s lulling you into complacency before she takes over the world.” JJ’s world. Not his.

  “I promise I’ll take her with me when I go. I just need a place to leave her until then.”
r />   Finally realizing they still sat in the Bensons’ driveway, Quint backed out and turned onto Main Street once again. “You don’t know how long that will be.”

  “Neither do you.”

  He scowled her way, but he was too cowardly to make eye contact. She was expert at what she was doing, and his defenses these past few days weren’t as good as they should have been. “It’ll be long enough for me to have to make sure she’s not sick, put some weight on her, get started socializing her and house-train her. Do you even want a dog?”

  “Of course I do. I love dogs. I had a sheepdog when I was a kid. I loved him better than my boyfriend.”

  “Did you want one before ten minutes ago?”

  Her cheeks turned a delicate pink, and like so many people he’d known, she looked away in a sure sign of duplicity. “I always planned to get one. Someday. Maybe when I make captain or chief of detectives.”

  As a delaying tactic, he let her answer distract him. “You want to be in management? Overseeing people like yourself?”

  “I’d be a damn good chief of Ds. And I’d be very hands-on and in the field most of the time.” She gave him an arch look. “And there are no people like me.”

  Then her nose wrinkled again. It was a cute look on her, even though its purpose was to convey disappointment. In him. “Maybe we should contact a rescue group.”

  We? He wasn’t part of this. He was just along for the ride. If she chose to contact a rescue group, it didn’t matter to him. Not that it would help. “Like their resources aren’t strained to the limits.”

  He hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

  “Put up flyers? Free Dog.”

  “There are plenty of free dogs around. And if you put up Free Pit Bull, you’ll scare off the possibly decent owners and attract the possibly bad ones.”

  She wasn’t accepting defeat yet. Her gaze was distant, noticing nothing as they drove, but thoughts were running through that brain of hers. He could practically see them, like a breaking-news scroll across the bottom of a TV screen.