by Erik Carter
“Thank you, sir. And Spencer?”
Taft waved it off. “Bastard didn’t even make it to the hospital.”
Dale expected as much. In his last fuzzy memory of Spencer, there was little, if any, life remaining.
Dale was blank. He couldn’t react. As much as he had been through with Spencer, as unfair as it had been that Glenn Downey and the CAE had short-circuited his brain, the undeniable truth was that Spencer had become a monster. The BEI operating instructions requested that agents remain emotionally impartial to all cases, even those in which an agent had a personal connection.
So all Dale did was nod.
“I need you to sign,” Taft said. He held out a pen and an open manila folder.
Paperwork is like a really tough flu bug. It keeps fighting to the very end.
Dale took the pen. His hand was still weak.
Form BEI32A9: Case Finalization. At the end of each BEI case, the agent signs over all accountability and is expunged from the record. Officially, the liaison agent is given credit. The press would know FBI Special Agent Cody Wilson as the man who took down Spencer Goad.
Dale signed the form.
Chapter 68
Dale was happy to be in his street clothes again—that is, what remained of his street clothes. His T-shirt had been properly destroyed during all his misadventures, and the hospital saw it prudent to dispose of it. Thankfully they saved his jeans. If they’d tossed out his 501s, there would have been hell to pay.
He asked Taft to buy him a new T-shirt from the gift shop. Taft returned with the only shirt left in the store. Fortunately, it fit Dale well and was a nice shade of brown. The downside was that it read, Get well, Grandma.
But it was a good conversation starter. Dale had been flirting up the hospital’s front desk receptionist for the past ten minutes. Karen was twenty-three, worked nearly full-time, took classes at the local community college, and had gorgeous hair. She thought the shirt was a riot.
Dale was now planning on working the Grandma shirt into his regular rotation. He loved happy accidents. Before Karen could get too attached, though, there was a tapping on Dale’s shoulder. He turned around.
It was Susan.
Her eyes were tired, her face puffy and covered in painful-looking red scratches. Her good looks were so natural that even now they blew Karen’s out of the water. This was a woman.
She motioned for Dale to follow her, and they stepped away from the desk. Dale gave a little goodbye wave to Karen, who scowled at Susan before returning to her work.
There was a quality to Susan’s eyes, something that hadn’t been there before. When two people had been through what they had, there would be a strange connection between them forever. Like there had been between Dale and Spencer.
“I want to thank you for last night,” Susan said.
“I knew you’d end up telling me that someday.”
She laughed. “Never a reverent moment for you, is there?”
“Rarely. You headed back to Virginia?” He affected a tone of disappointment, just so she’d know he was still interested.
She nodded. “Yeah.”
“Give your brother a knee to the stomach for me.”
Susan scoffed. “After everything that happened last night, do you think I’ll let a person like Brian push me around again?” She gazed into him for a long moment with that new look in her eyes. “I have to admit, I was wrong about you. You proved your true mettle.”
“So does that mean I can buy you dinner?” His asking her out was partly his natural inclination. After all, he’d had salacious thoughts since he first saw her. But after the previous night and the bond they now shared, Dale wondered if maybe, for once, he might be able to make something real out of a date.
Susan smiled. She put her hand on his chest and gazed up at him. Those eyes again. Hazel. Her hair was down. Dale touched it, putting his hand next to her face.
He leaned in, and she did too. Their lips met.
This kiss was unlike the one in the motel. It was long and strong, and Dale knew there was something to it. Like the look in her eyes. This could be something that could fill the void in him. Something more for Dale Conley. Something other than bars and hollow pickup lines and cheap perfume. Something to replace the memories and Brad Walker.
Susan finally pulled away. “No. You can’t take me to dinner.” She paused, and her face was surprisingly blank. She either didn’t realize or didn’t care that she just killed a small piece of his hope. “But I do want you to know that you’re someone I’ll never forget.”
She turned and went toward the front entrance. Dale watched her walk away, shoes tapping on the floor.
There was a voice behind him.
“Hey there, All-Star.” It was Wilson. He and Sheriff Brown walked up to him. Wilson leaned past Dale and looked at the entrance where Susan was leaving. “Crash and burn, huh?”
Dale looked down the hallway too. Susan was just getting in the revolving door. She stepped through, took a turn, and was gone.
“Yeah,” Dale said. “I suppose so.”
Brown stepped up beside him with that ambling stride of his. “Sounds like you got the son of a bitch after all, huh?”
Dale thought about Spencer in the helicopter, his dead eyes. “In a manner of speaking.”
“Well, if you ever find yourself back in Augusta County, you got a friend.”
The two men shook hands. Brown had a strong grip and thick, callused skin.
“Thanks, Sheriff.”
Wilson took Dale to the parking lot with the promise of a “surprise.” Dale was sore and stiff as could be, even with the pain meds they’d put him on, but Wilson helped with his walking, even kept a hand on his shoulder. Deep down, Wilson was a softy.
And, Dale finally realized, he wasn’t a half-bad guy after all.
It was a clear day outside, mild and comfortable. When they rounded a corner, Dale saw the surprise.
It was Arancia, glistening in the sun like a piece of pure steel sex.
“Snatched your keys. Went all the way back to Virginia and drove her here myself,” Wilson said, beaming.
Dale nodded and gave him a pat on the shoulder. “Damn decent of you, Wilson.” He looked at Wilson and smiled. Wilson’s Custom Cruiser was parked right next to Arancia. “But please don’t park that piece of crap next to my Pantera. Its monotony is making her lose her focus.” He checked for door dings.
“Maybe if you treated a real woman as well as you treated ‘her,’ you might land yourself a keeper someday.”
There went Wilson’s brutal objectivity again.
“Your mom already broke my heart,” Dale said. “Once you’ve shared your soul with Betty Wilson, you’ll find no other love.”
Wilson rolled his eyes. “Look on the passenger seat. There’s another surprise for you.”
Dale looked through the window. Sitting on the seat was his Smith & Wesson Chiefs Special. He was pleased.
“They found it in the warehouse, stuffed in an apple crate.”
“Was your latest BEI adventure everything you thought it would be?” Dale said.
Wilson loosened his tie. “I need to remind Taft of my request to stop getting these assignments.”
“BEI assignments in general or those with me as a partner?” Dale was testing the waters. He didn’t have many friends, and a guy like Wilson was the kind you wanted on your side.
Wilson grinned. “Hey, you’re the Bureau’s golden boy again. If I gotta have a BEI case, I might as well work with the best.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere.”
Wilson got in his station wagon, gave Dale a half-wave-half-salute, and took off.
Chapter 69
Dale sat at a booth in Rich’s Diner. A coffee was on the table in front of him. He aimlessly twirled a spoon in his mug and watched as it clinked against the sides. The assignment had wiped his brain clean, and Taft was gracious enough to give him some time off.
Julia walk
ed up to his table and set down a piece of apple pie. “How’s it going, secret agent man?”
He glanced up from his coffee.
She looked really good today. Her hair was in big waves, a style more classic and less trendy than the one she had been wearing the last time he saw her. There was a relaxed smile on her face. Her eyes were bright. She looked like she was having a good day.
“It’s going okay,” Dale said.
“You don’t look okay. Your latest mission not treat you well?”
Dale grinned. By the way she said mission, he knew she was once again joshing him. She was coy, that Julia. This girl was dangerous. In the best possible way. After what he’d just been through, it would be fun to play this game again.
“Well, I stopped the bad guy, and he sure as hell isn’t coming back,” Dale said. “But I didn’t end up getting the girl in the end. In fact, she completely rejected me.”
Julia looked at him for a moment, and her lips parted. Her expression changed. She believed him finally. At least about losing the girl. “Sounds like a pretty crappy mission, if you ask me.” Her tone imparted a level of concern. “You know what always brightens my day?”
“What’s that?”
Julia pointed at the plate in front of Dale. “Apple pie.”
This girl was great. And Dale wasn’t going to waste any more time. He intended to make up for his romantic shortcomings yesterday at the hospital.
“That’s all well and good,” he said, “but you know what makes me feel even better?”
“What?”
“A meal with a beautiful girl. How about we have dinner tonight?”
“I don’t think so.”
Dale nodded and twirled the spoon in his mug again. “You’re the second girl in as many days who’s rejected me.”
“I didn’t say I wouldn’t have a meal with you. I just turned down your dinner offer.”
Up and down. This girl’s spunk was never-ending. He liked that. He liked it a lot. And her constant propagating and subsequent dashing of his hopes only served to further pique his interest.
“So what do you have in mind?” Dale said.
“This.” She reached into the nearby cooler and pulled out another slice of apple pie. She sat down across from him. “My shift just ended. Tell me about yourself, Dale Conley.”
Everything works out if you give it time.
“Well,” Dale said, “where do I begin?”
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Dale Conley Books 2 & 3
If you enjoyed Stone Groove, then check out the exciting sequel, Dream On.
A brutal killer. A shocking theory. And a growing death count.
And stay tuned for the third book in the series, The Lowdown, coming March 2018.
Also by Erik Carter
The Dale Conley Action Thriller Series
Stone Groove
Dream On
The Lowdown (March 2018)
The Barnaby Wilcox Wild West Mystery Series
The Clements Kettle
The Preston Emerald
About the Author
Erik Carter writes thrillers and mysteries. A trained public historian and design professional, his adventures have led him across America, where he has done everything from hosting a television show to shooting documentaries in the desert to teaching college. These experiences gave the background he needs for his greatest adventure—writing fiction.
www.ErikCarterBooks.com
Acknowledgments
For their involvement with Stone Groove, I would like to give a sincere thank you to:
My beta readers, for giving me such fantastic feedback: Mom, Dad, Jim, Aunt Amy, April, and JMM.
The wonderful April Snellings, for amazing editing and being the type of friend who is always willing to evaluate sentences or website graphics or cover design or …
Dad, for copious police procedure, automotive, firearm, and 1970s period information.
Jim, for being my go-to ’70s guy.
Mom, for further ’70s insight and a lady’s perspective.
JMM, for various assistance.
Micah, my friend and brother, for aeronautical technical information.
Aunt Amy, for medical advice and being my #1 fan.
Dave King, for astute editorial assistance.