Against the Wall

by Debra Webb

  “That bastard.” She stalked toward her office but Dylan stepped in front of her. She glared at him.

  “Settle down a minute. Bring me up to speed. What did he say that made you so mad?”

  “You heard him.” She jerked back a step. “I don’t have to be in any hurry to clean out my office,” she repeated, her anger wobbling a little. She fisted her hands, her mind racing in different directions when she wanted it to stay on the anger. “The governor hasn’t so much as hinted about who he’ll appoint to fulfill Dad’s term. Sam could be out of a job just as well.”

  “You don’t think you’ll be chosen?”

  Jana considered Dylan’s question for a moment. “It’s not impossible. I’m young but I know Dad’s political values and priorities. I’ve been on his staff for years and I’ve been a part of Texas politics my whole life.”

  “No need to borrow trouble then,” he suggested. “We’ll know when we know. So, are we done here?”

  “Not quite.” Jana braced her hands on her hips and tried to focus. What was left to do here? She’d gone through her dad’s office. There wasn’t really any need to bother with hers.

  “Who is Sam to you—besides being your dad’s chief of staff?”

  Jana shifted her attention back to Dylan. “Sam’s been like family my entire life. He’s always worked with Dad.” She stopped, staring through the doorway at her dad’s desk as a wave of bitterness washed over her. Someone had cheated her, stolen the most precious person from her life. She would never again stand in this spot waiting for her dad to look up from his work and give her that big-as-Texas smile. “Sam’s always been direct with me, but he’s never been unkind.” She faced Dylan again. “Until today. Could that mean something?”

  My God, you’re grasping at straws, Jana. The words echoed in her brain, making her want to crawl into a hole and pretend none of this had happened. You have to be stronger than you’ve ever been before, she reminded herself.

  “Probably not what you want it to mean,” Dylan offered.

  His words slowly registered and her stomach knotted up again. No matter that she was heartbroken by Sam’s thoughtless remarks, she hadn’t meant to imply he was capable of murder. “I know. Sam loved Dad like a brother.”

  He couldn’t be the killer. But someone had to be—unless she was wrong and she was not wrong. Maybe that was what she was picking up on from Sam. He was like Camille... and the police. How could the man who had worked so closely with her dad for so many years believe he’d committed suicide? Or look at her as if she might be losing her mind because she thought otherwise? When she’d dared to show the letter to Sam and to the police, both had seen it as another indication that her dad had taken his own life. Sam had urged her not to show it to Camille. It would only hurt her, he’d insisted.

  After the way the police had reacted to the letter, she hadn’t bothered to tell them her suspicions about being followed. She’d only seen the man in the sport coat a few times and, frankly, she didn’t want any more of those looks of sympathy from Sam or from the police. She wanted to do something to prove she was right. To find her dad’s killer and to clear his name of these maligning rumors.

  “Are you reconsidering your theory?” Dylan asked, drawing her from the disturbing musings.

  “No. I am not.” Her dad hadn’t killed himself. She knew that in her heart, in her soul. “Let me get the papers. Will you shut down Rose’s computer?”

  “Sure.”

  In her office, she started fuming all over again. How could Sam be so certain her services wouldn’t be needed by whoever filled her dad’s senate seat? She knew her dad’s vision, his friends and allies, and his agenda for the upcoming session. With her knowledge of issues and the key players on the social policy stage, Jana would be an asset to any appointee. She’d expected a chance to prove it. Implying she’d be booted out was uncalled for.

  Strangely, the anger felt good and kept the other, far more painful emotions at bay. It was tempting to clean out her office and write a heated resignation letter, but Claytons didn’t give up and they didn’t go down without a fight. Growing up in her dad’s political shadow, she understood the game better than most. It wasn’t that she would have any trouble finding another job. It was the idea that she wouldn’t be here to help see her dad’s plans for the future come to fruition. The new senator would certainly have his or her own agenda, but Jana wanted to ensure that her dad’s wishes found a place, too.

  Working to compose herself, she pulled a briefcase and a tote bag from her office closet and returned to her dad’s desk. Dylan waited in the doorway, watching as she filled both bags to bursting with the paperwork she wanted to examine more closely. Satisfied nothing looked out of place, she turned to him. “Whatever has Sam so convinced I’m out, I hope golfing fixes it.” She squared her shoulders. “I’ll move out when the new senator asks me to.”

  Dylan smiled. “That’s the spirit.” He took the briefcase and the tote, his fingers brushing hers. “By the way, I charge extra for heavy lifting.”

  “So much for chivalry,” she said, feeling better than she should under the grim circumstances. Speaking of feelings, she couldn’t deny those little tingles that accompanied his touch, even if it was nothing more than his fingers touching hers. How foolish was that? Maybe it was a coping mechanism. Whatever it was, she had never in her life had such trouble keeping her mind off a man’s body.

  When she’d locked the door and they were in the elevator, she glanced at the man standing so very close. “Thank you, Dylan.”

  Though he was hardly more than a stranger, he kept her from feeling so alone in this. The few seconds that elapsed before he responded proved incredibly awkward, particularly since her senses abruptly locked onto his scent. The way he smelled was difficult to describe. There was no overpowering cologne fragrance. Nothing like the cloying aftershave Gregory wore. Dylan’s scent was more crisp and clean. Natural and just a little bit erotic.

  Oh, dear God. Jana, you have really lost it.

  “Haven’t done much to earn your thanks,” he said, hitching one of those wide shoulders.

  He might not be great at dealing with her tears, but something about him told her there was real compassion lurking behind those vivid blue eyes. “You’ve done plenty.” Like saving her life. Even if that drive-by shooter hadn’t been targeting her, she’d come very close to getting shot.

  Dylan made one of those male noncommittal sounds, more of a grunt than anything else. “I’ve done my job.”

  “Regardless,” she turned to him, “you have my gratitude.”

  “It’s your dime.”

  Yes, it was. And she was determined to use it to find a killer and restore her dad’s reputation. “Why don’t we take all this back to my place and get started wading through the pages over lunch?”

  His agreement was a brief nod as the elevator doors parted. She accepted more condolences from others headed into the capitol. She and Dylan didn’t chat on the way to her car. She couldn’t think of anything witty and serious topics were best saved until they were alone. Since he’d never returned her car key, she automatically went to the passenger side and waited for him to hit the unlock button. She was so distracted with thoughts of what she needed to find to prove her dad hadn’t killed himself, driving probably wasn’t a good idea.

  “No protest?” he asked, loading the tote bag and briefcase into the back seat and then opening her door.

  “Would it matter?” she asked as she slid onto the seat. No need for him to know she didn’t trust herself to drive just now. She wouldn’t have even admitted it to herself yesterday.

  “No.” The ghost of a smile tilted his lips.

  She resisted the wholly feminine response to that smile. The man had really nice lips as well as that classic square jaw and Roman nose. As he rounded the hood she shook her head. What was wrong with her this morning? Dylan Parker was here, at her request, in an official capacity. Sexy or not, he was, as he so often point
ed out, here to do a job and didn’t approve of her roller-coaster emotions. If he was uncomfortable with her tears, he would no doubt be ready to run if she revealed any sign of her attraction to him. She couldn’t chance driving him away and starting over with another investigator. The thought was completely unbearable.

  He was quiet during the drive. She kept her focus on the road until she couldn’t resist any longer. She glanced at his unyielding profile, then at his hands tight on the steering wheel. By the time she’d worked up the nerve to ask him a few questions, she recognized that something was wrong. It was the way he repeatedly checked the mirrors that set off her internal alarm. Icy fingers of fear traced her throat.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “Not yet.” He shot her a smile. “Do you have a particular drive-thru in mind for lunch?”

  “I’d rather cook.”

  “Are you any good at it?” He sent her a questioning look that was just the tiniest bit mischievous.

  “Yes. I don’t always have time, but when I do I very much enjoy it and I’m damned good at it.” Working with her hands would give her time to mull over where they went from here if the load of papers from her dad’s office revealed nothing. She opened her mouth to start a discussion along those lines when the car jerked and shifted.

  Dylan took his foot off the gas and eased to the shoulder as the unmistakable slap and wobble of a flat tire reverberated through the sedan. A horn sounded and traffic blew by them in fast spurts, matching Jana’s racing heart. “Perfect,” she muttered, reaching for her cell.

  He flipped on the emergency flashers. “Do you have a spare?”

  She nodded. “In the trunk, but I can call roadside assistance.”

  “No need for us to wait. I can take care of it.”

  “Does that cost extra, too?” she inquired, hoping to relax. Flat tires happened. On the crisis scale this was a minor inconvenience.

  He grinned. “We’ll call it even since you’re making lunch. Wait in the car. This won’t take me long.”

  “Thank you,” she called as he shut the door.

  Jana took a couple of deep breaths and tried again to relax. Her efforts were futile. He’d told her to wait in the car. She did exactly that for about thirty seconds and then the incessant click-click, click-click of the flashers got to her.

  He looked up from fitting the jack into place. “I needed air,” she explained.

  He loosened the first lug nut and started on the second. “Still a little annoyed at Maguire?”

  “A little. Yes.” If there was nothing in all those pages she had gathered... what then? The question would not stop echoing in the back of her mind.

  With his sleeves rolled back to the elbow and his hands smeared with dirt, Dylan effortlessly handled the tire iron. Jana considered again that she knew basically nothing about him. She glanced at the cars whizzing past. She really didn’t need to know anything about him, she supposed, but her curiosity got the better of her.

  “Where’s home for you?” she asked.

  “Here and there.”

  She folded her arms over her middle. “So you get to know everything about me and I know nothing about you? It doesn’t seem quite fair.”

  “Ask whatever you want.” He loosened the final lug nut. “I reserve the right to answer as I see fit.”

  “All right then, who’s waiting for you when this job is done?” There it was, the second question out of her mouth and it was related to his relationship status. This was proof positive that she wasn’t herself.

  “My banker.”

  “Ha, ha. You must have a personal life.”

  He eyed the oncoming traffic before pulling the tire off the car and then leaning it against the rear bumper. “What’s with the twenty questions?”

  “That was one question.” Maybe two. And a leading statement he’d ignored. “I’m just making conversation,” she said, almost convincing herself.

  He moved to the trunk and rounded up the spare. “Let’s talk about something else.”

  “Is that the way it works? I don’t get to know anything about you?” She was unsure of the protocol for this situation. Evidently, he was very private about his personal life. Maybe they were more alike than she’d realized. The major difference, the way she saw it, was that her world had an order, an expected action and reaction. Nothing in her life had prepared her for this. For him. Or for murder. She shivered. “I’m accustomed to schedules and routines and familiarity with those around me.”

  “This flat could be sabotage,” he said curtly, pointing to a large screw at the edge of the tread of the deflated tire. “A slow leak usually goes unnoticed until you end up with a flat. And let’s not forget the drive-by yesterday. There’s nothing routine about either event. In fact, at this rate, I think it’s safe to say we have a pattern emerging.”

  “I’m not sure what point you’re trying to make.” Why was he suddenly so angry? Whatever the reason, his remarks were making her increasingly anxious.

  “Get in the car.” He wrestled the spare into place.

  Refusing to blindly obey the barked order, Jana watched as Dylan replaced the tire with the speed and finesse of a racecar pit crew. Then he barely gave her time to scoot out of the way as he tossed the flat tire into the trunk and slammed the lid. She resumed her place in the passenger seat and tried her level best to think of an appropriate and completely sarcastic remark for when he slid behind the wheel. The man unnerved her on far too many levels.

  Once he’d settled behind the wheel and merged into traffic, she tried to explain herself. “I wasn’t prying. I’m curious, that’s all.”

  “Sounded like prying to me.”

  Good Lord. “Very well. What do you mean about the sabotage? Are you saying my flat tire has something to do with my investigation into my dad’s death?”

  “That’s what I’m saying.” Sounding distracted, Dylan shifted in his seat, checking the mirrors. “Is your seatbelt fastened?”

  “Of course,” she replied, annoyed that he’d once again glossed over the answers to her questions. “Why?” She watched him split his attention between the road ahead and the traffic behind them.

  “There’s about to be an accident.”

  She watched, stunned, as a black motorcycle pulled out into traffic from the median. “Is that the same one as yesterday?”

  “We’ll see.” His hands flexed on the steering wheel.

  Jana’s fingers wrapped around her fastened seatbelt as the motorcycle sped by them and then jerked into their lane and hit the brakes. Dylan slowed in reaction. Her heart launched into her throat as a second motorcycle roared up to their rear bumper.

  “What the hell?”

  “My thought exactly.” Dylan tapped the brakes again. The bikers adjusted immediately. “Dumb move to pit a bike against a car.”

  “You have a plan?” She certainly hoped so.

  “Call 9-1-1 and report bikes illegally racing. Don’t give them your name and use my phone so they can’t trace it back to you.”

  Rather than ask why, she made the call. She relayed the information to the dispatcher despite the lump in her throat and the roar of the engines as the motorcycles continued to keep them hemmed in. The motorcycles carried two riders, like the one yesterday on Sixth Street. When the dispatcher asked her name, Jana ended the call. She might have felt bad about that but just now she was too terrified.

  “Good job,” Dylan said.

  “Take the next exit,” she suggested, her fingers fidgeting with her seatbelt again. They’d have immediate help at the businesses near the off ramp.

  “No.”

  She started to demand what he was thinking but the bike following them suddenly came up on her side of the car, using the exit lane. The passenger whipped out a gun. It was big and the barrel was aimed directly at Jana through the window.

  She screamed.

  Dylan slammed on the brakes and pulled the steering wheel hard to the left. Tires squealed and the righ
t rear quarter panel of the car sent one of the motorcycles spinning off the road and into the green slope. She wasn’t sure if she was praying or cursing as Dylan regained control and squared the car in the lane again.

  “Get down!” he ordered as the passenger on the second motorcycle, still in front of them, pulled a gun next.

  She ducked, hearing two pops and then a crack followed by a sudden whistling of air through the broken windshield.

  The car swayed and rocketed forward. Jana held her breath and prayed the highway patrol would hurry. This was it, she realized. This was undeniable evidence that someone really was trying to kill her.

  Yesterday had been no random drive-by shooting.

  Dear God. But why? She was nothing but a staffer. Was this somehow relevant to her dad’s murder? Silly question. Of course it was.

  Amid the turmoil around her one thing became frighteningly clear: her dad had been right. She could trust no one.

  “They’re gone,” Dylan’s voice cut through her panic. “You can sit up now.”

  She didn’t want to. What she wanted to do was curl up into the fetal position until further notice.

  “Come on, Jana. Sit up.”

  This time she obeyed. The windshield looked like something from a movie. Two holes were just to the left of her field of vision. Her stomach lurched. “They tried to kill me.”

  “Yes,” Dylan agreed.

  “Pull over.” Her stomach roiled. Her heart thundered.

  “As soon as it’s safe,” he said.

  “Now. Please. I’m going to be sick.” She swallowed the rising tide of terror and bile.

  “Go ahead. It’s your car.”

  She scowled at him. “You’re being a jerk.”

  “True.” Dylan spared her a brief glance. “But you haven’t thrown up yet.” He took the next exit and drove past two service stations and a grocery store, parking under the awning of a modest hotel chain. “Let’s work at my place this afternoon.”