Where Danger Hides

by Terry Odell

  He savored the sensation as pleasure built. He moved his lips to her nipples once more. She squirmed. Gasped. Her hips pistoned, and they fell into the instinctive motion, tempo increasing to a frenzy until his control was a razor-sharp wire and he was hanging on by his fingernails.

  Miri bucked under him. As his point-of-no-return approached like a herd of stampeding cattle, her fingertips dug into his butt and she screamed. His world exploded, and he was sure he screamed, too.

  * * * * *

  The pounding in Miri’s chest slowed to a bearable rate. The rainbow-hued shards that had become her universe rearranged themselves into Dalton’s bedroom. Breathing came under control. Dalton’s weight pressed her into the mattress, but instead of pushing him away, she wrapped her arms even more tightly around him, wishing she could slide inside his skin.

  Sated, dozing, she was dimly aware of a shift in positions as total relaxation sent her under. Later, floating to the surface, she felt Dalton curled behind her, his arm draped over her, his hand tucked between her breasts. She gripped his hand and snuggled tighter into his warmth.

  He nuzzled her neck. “I think you finally passed naptime.”

  Sunlight sliced beneath the curtains. She checked the red numerals glowing from the nightstand clock. Two-seventeen. “I guess so. Miss Ballenger would be so proud. Of course, I’m not sure she would have approved of your methods. She was more the storytelling type.”

  “I’ll be happy to tell you a story,” he said. “It’s about a man and a woman. And the man’s got this . . . problem.” He took her hand and placed it on his erection.

  “Yeah,” she said. “The woman noticed. She thought she was lying against a big stick, and it was poking her in the back. She asked the man to help her get rid of it.”

  Dalton murmured in her ear. “The man said he’d be glad to help. First he put a magic spell on the stick.” He slid away and she knew he was getting another condom. She smiled at how quickly he returned, sheathed and ready.

  He wrapped his arms around her again. “Then he showed the woman a secret place to hide the stick.” He lifted her thigh enough to slide his cock against her entrance.

  “Which moved the problem from one place to another.” She took him and guided him inside. “But the woman liked where he put the stick. She tried to hide it deeper in the secret place.”

  She rocked her hips. One hand tormented her nipple and the other moved between her legs, rubbing circles around her center. Pleasure shot through her.

  “And the woman . . . wanted to . . . keep the stick there . . . forever.” Her brain detached, and there was the sensation of Dalton filling her, of ecstasy coursing from breast to groin. “Oh, God. Don’t stop. Don’t. Ever. Stop.”

  Flesh slid along flesh. The fairy tale became guttural sounds, moans and gasps, and then she convulsed around him.

  “More,” he said, not relenting. “Go over again. For me. With me.” His fingers cast another magic spell.

  * * * * *

  “So, you gonna tell me about him?”

  At the sound of Keisha’s voice, Miri abandoned her class outline and the page she’d been staring at for the last twenty minutes. “Who?”

  “Whoever put that smile on your face, sister. And that swing in your walk. I ain’t seen you like this since—hell, I ain’t never seen you like this.” Keisha came into the office and set a coffee mug and a plate of oatmeal cookies in front of Miri. She hiked her ample hip onto the edge of the desk. “Spill.”

  “That obvious?” Stupid question. She’d been able to think of nothing but Dalton’s lovemaking all day.

  “Child, you might as well hire a band and have a parade.”

  Miri rotated the coffee mug. “He’s someone who was helping me out.”

  “I’ll say he done—did—a good job, then.”

  Heat rose to Miri’s cheeks and she picked up the mug, using it as a shield. “I didn’t mean it like that—he helped me with Jillian and Will.”

  “I kinda noticed they was—were—gone.”

  Miri peered over the rim of her mug. “And as far as you’re concerned, they were never here.”

  Keisha nodded. The residents were highly protective of one another’s secrets, and Keisha mother-henned them all.

  “They okay?” Keisha asked.

  “They’re in a good place.”

  Keisha gave her a narrow-eyed stare. “I know you’re not the sort to give that kind of a thank you—even for doing something big. He gotta be special, right?”

  “Okay, he’s hot, and kind, and it sort of—happened.” Like three times. Might have been four, but she’d insisted he drop her off at her place right after midnight. The heat in her face sizzled through her entire body. She snatched a cookie from the plate and took a huge bite. She waved Keisha toward the door. “I have work to do,” she mumbled around the mouthful of crumbs.

  Keisha gave her an exaggerated wink. “You go, girl.” She straightened. “Oh, and there’s a Detective Braddock in the lobby.”

  Miri leaped from her chair, barely catching the mug before tipping its contents onto the keyboard. “What? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I just did. Ain’t gonna hurt him to cool his heels for five minutes. If I came in here and told you about him first, I’d never have found out about your man, now, would I?” She pivoted and sashayed down the hall.

  Miri gulped a mouthful of coffee, trying to wash down the cookie, scalding her tongue in the process. Cursing under her breath, she rushed down the hall, slowing her pace when she approached the reception room. Detective Braddock stood by the counter, legs slightly apart, hands behind his back. His pose allowed a glimpse of the gun at his belt. He looked as worn as he had Saturday night.

  He nodded brusquely as she entered. “Ms. Chambers.”

  “Detective. Sorry to keep you waiting. What can I do for you? Do you have information about Luisa?”

  He shook his head, although she got the impression he wasn’t willing to share what he knew.

  “No, I came to discuss another matter.” Shoving his hands in his pockets, he cast his eyes toward Keisha.

  “I understand. Would you like to talk in my office? Can I offer you some coffee?”

  He scratched his head. “Thank you, ma’am. That would be nice. Black is fine.”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  He wanted to discuss another matter. She quelled the automatic apprehension and distrust while she went to the kitchen. If he wasn’t here about Luisa, had he found out about her past?

  Stop. You’re worse than Nancy. You’ve got nothing to hide.

  Somehow, despite all the time gone by, she couldn’t shake the way she felt around the police. Afraid they’d catch her picking pockets. Afraid they’d come take her mother away the way they had her father. Although she knew they served the community and cared about its citizens, logic couldn’t surmount the ingrained responses years of dodging cops had instilled.

  She poked her head into reception and, with a nod, invited the detective to her office. Gesturing him to the chair, she closed the door behind him and sat behind her desk.

  “Have a cookie,” she said, sliding the plate in his direction. She set his coffee beside it. “Sammi, one of our residents, bakes them.” Small talk. Delaying the inevitable. Cops didn’t come bearing good news.

  “Thanks.” He took a sip of coffee, then set the mug down, leaving the cookies untouched.

  Keeping her expression as neutral as she could, she waited. Let him ask a question before she’d volunteer anything.

  He cleared his throat. “A Victor Vaughn is behind some discreet private investigation inquiries as to the location of his wife, Julie Ann. I happened to notice the sheet come through internal channels. The description matches your Jillian Durbin.”

  Fear prickled her skin. Still, she waited.

  “You wouldn’t know if she’s the same woman, would you?” He picked up a cookie. Rotated it in his long, thick fingers. His eyes demanded an answer.r />
  “She came here a few weeks ago. Gave her name as Jillian Durbin. We don’t ask a lot of questions, detective. It kind of defeats our purpose.”

  “Would you have any idea—that is, of course, if we assume these two women are one and the same—why she would have left her husband? I did a little checking, and Victor Vaughn is a well-respected man in his community. Plenty of money. Lots of connections. Makes me wonder why someone would leave all that comfort to live at Galloway House—no offense intended.”

  “None taken.”

  “Of course, if she is the same woman, and she came to Galloway House from a comfortable standard of living, one might suspect that maybe she wasn’t as . . . cherished as Mr. Vaughn’s investigator indicated.”

  Miri’s mind swirled through her options. Was Braddock on Vic’s side? Would Vic have offered a reward for Jillian’s return? Vic was wealthy. Cops didn’t make much money. Could she lie to this cop? His eyes seemed to be twin lie detectors.

  He chewed the cookie. Sipped his coffee. “I talked to Mr. Dalton. We had a very interesting conversation.”

  He set the mug on the table and stood. “I wanted to let you know that I called Mr. Vaughn—figured I’d cut out the middleman and give him my official report.”

  Sweat trickled down Miri’s neck. She stayed seated, afraid her knees would cave in if she tried to rise. Dalton couldn’t have betrayed Jillian. Or her. Could he? How well did she really know him? “And?”

  He gave a noncommittal shrug. “I told him we haven’t seen anybody matching his wife’s description. I suggested he might try New Mexico. Albuquerque attracts runaways. Cost of living isn’t too steep, weather’s reasonable.”

  She couldn’t keep relief from her face. “Thank you, Detective.”

  “Never could tolerate abusers. Make sure Ms. Durbin stays away from New Mexico, though.”

  “Definitely.”

  He shifted in his chair and pursed his lips a few times. “Your friend also said you were worried about some missing people.”

  Miri’s pulse kicked up. “Did you identify more meth lab victims?”

  “No, ma’am. That’s another reason I’m here. He said you’d feel better knowing if they were women you knew.”

  Knowing they were dead? She’d rather convince herself they were success stories, like Becky Crandall. But the wondering haunted her. “What can I do?”

  He reached into a breast pocket and extracted an envelope. “Do you recognize any of these?” He pushed a small stack of pictures across the desk.

  A cold sweat filmed her hands as she reached for them, trying to put thoughts of Elena out of her mind. Relief tricked through her when the first picture belonged to a total stranger. She shook her head. “No, not her.” She let the photo drop to the desk.

  “Go on, please.”

  “Oh God, that’s Cissy.” She leafed through the others quickly, but not without recognizing two other former Galloway House residents. Barely able to speak, she identified them for Detective Braddock.

  “Thank you, Miss Chambers. That helps a lot.” He slipped the photos back into the envelope.

  “How? Why? What happened?”

  “We’re still investigating,” he said. “The lab was situated in the basement. Poor ventilation and the fumes probably would have killed these women even if the place hadn’t exploded.”

  “Why would they do it? Leave here, where it’s safe and clean, and—” Her voice cracked.

  “Money, most likely. Like with your friend Jillian.”

  “You think they’re connected?”

  He shrugged. “We have to consider all the possibilities. Jillian gave us a lead and we’re following it.”

  “What lead? Maybe I can help.”

  Detective Braddock hesitated before he replied. “She got the impression that there was another recruitment level. That if she proved herself buying the meds, there might be something more lucrative in it.”

  “Such as?” Miri leaned forward.

  The detective shrugged his beefy shoulders. “We think it was working in the meth lab. Quite likely, once they showed up, they weren’t allowed to leave.”

  “Jillian wouldn’t do that. And she would have said something.”

  “It’s funny what people will or won’t say when they’ve got a lot to lose. But no, I believed Jillian when she said she didn’t know anything about the meth lab. However, if you, or anyone you come in contact with, has information, I’d appreciate a call.”

  “Definitely.”

  “Keep up the good work,” he said. He picked up another cookie and walked out the door.

  Miri went back to her class outline. Her notes made less sense than before. She doodled spirals in the margins. Braddock had done her—and Jillian—a big favor. For that, she owed him. But the sense of failure wouldn’t leave her alone.

  She picked up her cell and punched in Dalton’s number.

  Chapter 19

  Dalton maintained an at-ease position while Horace Blackthorne adjusted his reading glasses and leafed through his report on Jillian and Will—the one he’d spent half the night and most of the morning writing. No way he was getting out of this office with his ass unscathed. That Blackie squeezed him in this afternoon made it clear enough. So did the pity on Madeline Scott’s face when he’d arrived for his appointment.

  Blackie glared at him. “You did this so I’d send you back into the field, right? After our last discussion about who decides what assignments are suitable for the company, you continue to take matters into your own hands?” He smacked the pages with the back of his hand and dropped them onto his desk.

  “No, sir.” He’d run every possible scenario through his head while he waited for Blackie to see him, and the only one that worked was a good offense. With a deep breath, he plunged in. “You made the initial assignment. I followed through and made a decision. I was afraid for a client’s safety, and time was of the essence.”

  “Bullshit. This Jillian and her son aren’t clients. I assigned you to investigate Miss Chambers’ concern for missing people.”

  “With all due respect, sir, you threw that assignment at me to get me out of the field. It was a pro bono job and you assumed if you put me on mandatory leave, I’d take matters into my own hands. I followed through as instructed. After investigating the situation, Miri—Ms. Chambers—agreed that missing people were not unusual given the circumstances of residents of a halfway house. However, during said investigation, your aforementioned non-clients came to my attention as needing safe refuge from an oppressive situation. Something, as you know, that Blackthorne’s covert operations teams are well trained to handle. I was merely carrying out my training. Sir.”

  Blackie waved his hand at him like he was shooing a cat. “Cut the crap and sit down. Aforementioned? Oppressive situation? What the hell’s gotten into you? You eat a dictionary for breakfast?”

  Without breaking eye contact, Dalton sat in the client chair. “I stand by my decision. If you want, you can deduct Mrs. Ellsworth’s subsidies from my paycheck.”

  Blackie huffed. “I spoke with Grace. She’s taken a shine to your—” he waggled his glasses “—rescued hostages and is willing to foot the bill herself. God knows, she has enough money.” He gave an unexpected chortle. “You charmed the daylights out of her. Nobody’s immune, are they?”

  Heat rose to Dalton’s face even as relief inundated him. “I wouldn’t know, sir.”

  “Next time, come to me first. I know you’re used to split-second decisions when you’re on an OCONUS op, but domestics are different. There are actually legalities involved. Minor details like our licenses, for starters.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “One more thing.” Blackie snapped his reading glasses into their case. “Grace seems to think Andrew Patterson’s migrant project might be edging into some gray areas. Given her history, she’s likely to assume there’s something shady about a summer day in Death Valley, but I told her I could spare someone to do a little dis
creet checking. She seemed to think you might be suitable.”

  His first thought was of Miri’s sister—okay, his second thought after Miri. After a third thought, he leaned forward. “Why me? I’m a field operative, not a trained investigator. You’ve got at least a dozen people on staff who can squeeze data out of a computer much better than I can. Why not put Zeke on it?”

  “You’re questioning my judgment again?”

  “No, of course not.” Right, Dalt. Dig the hole a little deeper. “I’m curious, that’s all.”

  “I think you’re suitable for the job. I don’t recall restricting you to computer searches, although I agree they are a necessary starting point. If you uncover something that requires more than your skills can handle, I trust you’ll report it, and I’ll assign someone with the necessary specialization.” He tilted his head. “I need a subtle, preliminary investigation.”

  “I think I understand. So, what’s shady about Andrew Patterson?”

  “If Grace knew that, she’d have told me, wouldn’t she? Patterson’s image is squeaky-clean. And he’s a client, one who pays well. But if he’s operating outside the legal system, I don’t want his money.”

  So, the dog-and-pony show with Fozzie had netted the contract Blackthorne wanted. “I understand. Under the radar.”

  “Think Carlsbad Caverns.”

  “You have anything beyond Grace Ellsworth’s suspicions?”

  “Not a thing. That’s your job.”

  “On it.” He stood to leave.

  “One minute.” Blackie’s features softened. “You’ve got a big heart, son. Your grandma would have been proud.”

  Dalton swallowed at the uncharacteristic sentiment. “Thank you.”

  “Go on—but remember you’re in the states, and our laws hold. We don’t need cowboys.”

  “I’ll remember.”

  As Dalton left Blackie’s office, the shredder whined behind him.

  Maddie took her eyes from her computer when he walked by her desk. He rubbed his butt and grinned. “He’s in good form today.”