by Taylor Lee
For many long moments they lay wrapped in each other’s arms, laughing and crying, shaking as sensation after sensation washed over them. Crooning loving words Nate praised her. Told her how beautiful she was. How powerful. How she made him feel and what it meant to him that she loved him the way that she did.
Later he untangled himself and returned from the bathroom with a wet washcloth. He washed her gently, her face, her neck, her slick chest. He murmured to her as though she was a small child who played so hard that she was covered with sweat. And in truth she was. Hot, sweaty, filled with his release and her own. Barely hearing his crooning murmurs, she drifted into a luscious space at the edge of sleep and then allowed herself to give in to the powerful man holding her safely in his arms.
Erin didn’t know how long she’d dozed when she realized that Nate was sitting up resting against the headboard. He frowned when she looked up at him dazed, surprised to see that he was wide awake.
She forced herself to wake up.
“Are you okay, Nate? Is something wrong?”
“I’m sorry, Erin. God, honey, I didn’t mean to wake you.”
She roused up on one elbow and nestled in against him.
“You didn’t wake me. But… are you okay?”
“Erin, how could anything be wrong after what you and I just did to each other. You know, Erin. I love you more than I knew it was possible to love another person. You’ve made me the happiest guy in the world. Thank you, baby.”
She pressed her fingers against his lips.
“I know that, Nate. I never believed I could feel the way I do about you. That someone like you would love me the way that you do. It’s…a miracle. But Nate, I can tell when something is bothering you. Talk to me. Tell me what is on your mind.”
He gave a heavy sigh.
“Ah, Erin. You know what’s bothering me. You’re as close to it as I am. I hate like hell that it intrudes on our time together.”
“I know, Nate. But we can’t ignore it.” Her voice was wistful. “Maybe… together we can keep it from interrupting our lives, from stealing our joy.”
Nate’s voice was fierce. “We have to, Erin. We can’t let the crap around us threaten everything that matters to us. Promise me, Erin. Promise me you’ll keep your guard up. Not let that happen!”
Erin made her voice firm. “I promise, Nate. I love you too much to let anything hurt us.”
She knew in her heart that she did. But like Nate, she was only too aware of the dangers swirling around them. Physical dangers, and more potent emotional dangers. Demons from their separate pasts hid in the shadows rearing their ugly heads without warning. She and Nate were just now getting to the place where they both trusted that the love they felt for each other was powerful enough to face whatever came their way. Erin nestled against his strong shoulder and prayed that they were right.
Chapter 4
“Nate, if you sigh once more, I’m going to think you’d prefer to ditch me somewhere along the road.”
Nate sniffed and shook his head. “Hell, Sam. There’s no one I’d rather have along on this. You know more about meth than anyone on the CFPD except for yours truly—and of course Chief Roberts. I don’t want to give you a bigger head than you already have, but again with the exception of me and the Chief, you’re the smartest cop I know. High praise, buddy.”
Sam whistled. “Damn, Nate. Now I am getting worried. This guy really must be something if you are that concerned about meeting with him. Or, is it that you’re concerned about me?”
“That’s what I mean, Hollywood. You’re too damn smart. Okay, I’ll be straight, cut the trash talk. This is a big fucking deal. While Jeb Stuart Jones has always been a pain in the ass, he’s become significantly more dangerous. He threatens everything I believe in. And he’s not to be toyed with. In the last year he’s managed to connect with some very powerful, very dangerous people. While I can’t give you names, or solid proof, if the information my CI’s getting is as good as I think it is, we are getting damn close to tying him in with La Familia Muerte.
“Damn, Nate! I had no idea. If you can prove that and actually take him down, hell, you won’t only be famous they’ll start building statues of you in town squares all over the damn country. Seriously, man. Jeb really is at that level?”
“Sam, the only other person beside my confidential informant who has this information is Chief Roberts. Dan doesn’t even know it. I’m telling you because I know I can trust you with my life and with information this critical. And because you’ve worked with the crème de la crème of the shitworld and no one else on my force except the Chief and I have. I’m also working with a couple of top level undercover guys who are fronts with the DEA. So yeah, Sam. This is an important meeting today. Taking down Jeb Stuart Jones may just be the most significant case of either of our careers.”
Sam shook his head. “I hate to minimize what you’re telling me with a bad joke, but hell, right here in ChicadiafuckingFalls?”
Nate laughed. “Amazing, isn’t it? I say that after every big case I crack. I think I’m a fucking drama magnet. I can’t explain it. If it’s big and never, I mean never happens except in big cities like NYC or L.A., it nevertheless somehow ends up happening here. Right smack in the middle of my sleepy little Northern Minnesota college town.”
“You know this, Nate. But it means more than I can say that you are willing to take me into your confidence. Hell, what can I say except thank you? And I promise I will be worthy of your trust.”
“I know you will, Sam. You are one righteous guy.” He guffawed. “Christ, I’ll never forget when I first met you. I was mad as hell that the Chief was doing a favor for some big Los Angeles hotshot. Chief said he needed me to babysit the guy everyone had pegged to be the next LAPD Police Commissioner. Give the sorry fucker some experience in the real world, is how the Chief put it to me.”
“As I recall, you described it somewhat more colorfully, Nate. You asked me why you had to be the one to show a nepotistic sycophant how the big dicks did it?”
Nate groaned. “I really am an asshole aren’t I, Sam?”
“Yeah, you are.”
Nate’s eyes twinkled. “But you did me one better, dude. When I discovered you were 36 years old, and a highly educated black guy, I made the obvious assumption that you were ‘connected’ big time. When I asked which senator you were related to, you didn’t miss a beat. You said and I repeat, “No, Detective Stryker, my father is not a senator, neither are any of my uncles nor my grandfather. However, my father is the Chief Justice of the California Supreme Court.”
Nate and Sam both laughed out loud at the memory.
Nate was the first to speak.
“I don’t want to embarrass you, Sam, but from that moment on, I respected you. Everything you’ve done since has impressed me more. Like I said, you are a righteous guy. I have a lot of acquaintances and a hell of a lot of admirers and more detractors, but I can count on one hand my true friends. And, Sam Carter, you are one of them.”
Sam nodded. “That’s how it should be, Nate. Because I feel the same way about you.”
They were silent for several moments then Nate moved to what was bothering him most.
“But there’s something else gnawing at my gut, Sam. In addition to being an extremely dangerous man, Jeb Stuart Jones is a racist misogynistic pig. He’s cynical, obnoxious, and despises me. As I told you yesterday, because of who I am AND because of who you are, he’ll be gunning for you. I hate like hell to put you in this spot, all because of your fucking race. And I wouldn’t… except that I need you.”
“Nate, for God’s sake, what do you think has been the story of my life? I can handle it, I promise you. You don’t need to worry about me. My skin was tougher than it is black by the time I was five years old. The thing I worry most about is Annika. I know how these racist supremacist assholes feel about a black man dating a white woman.” He shrugged. “But that’s too damn bad. They keep it up and Annika and I might not
invite them to our wedding.”
Nate couldn’t hide his surprise. After a moment he gave Sam a satisfied nod.
“You know what, Hollywood? Jeb Stuart Jones may just have met his match.”
“He already has, Nate. He’s met you.”
~~~
Sam let out a low whistle and shook his head in astonishment as they turned on to the curved fieldstone driveway that led to a huge Colonial house nestled in a grove of trees at least a quarter of a mile from the main road. Lush manicured gardens surrounded the house and a garage that looked more like an airplane hangar sat behind the Olympic size swimming pool. Being a car fiend Sam couldn’t hide his amazement at the entourage of high end automobiles visible in front of the eight car garage. He whistled again when he spotted what looked like a horse stable and a large training ring.
“Holy shit, Nate. Man, this is not what I expected from an over the hill mini-Hitler skinhead.”
“What did you expect?”
“I dunno. Tents, an outhouse, dirty disheveled bearded people. A whole lot of broken- down trucks.”
“Oh hell, Sam, of course Jeb’s got a truck.”
Sam held up his hand with a grin. “No, let me, Nate. I know. In Northern Minnesota trucks are like assholes—everyone has one.”
Nate chuckled. “Why Sam, I do believe you are picking up our culture. They’re not gonna recognize you when you get back to L.A.
“Nope, Jeb Stuart Jones doesn’t fit any stereotype you’re likely to come up with. He is a true original. Kinda like Satan. Beautiful, charming, powerful—and evil. He is the vainest man I know. And I believe, a true sociopath. But I’ll let you decide if he fits your stereotype of a White Alliance terrorist.”
“Jeb gets more intriguing by the minute, Nate. But damn, this is a showplace. Not exactly understated and must have cost a fortune. The grounds alone. Christ, riding stables? And an eight car garage? Damn!”
“Yeah, Jeb’s hit it big. He’s been living well for a while now, but all of this is new. He built this place in the last twelve months. Now you and I know the kind of money that flows through this evil industry and somehow Jeb got himself hooked in with the big boys. I admit the magnitude of his activity caught me off guard. But I’m on him now like ugly on an ape.
“By the way, in case you’re wondering what his legitimate business is, he sells guns and hunting equipment. He has several high end wilderness camps close to the Boundary Waters. Runs weekend warrior expeditions for wealthy guys who like to fish and hunt in style. The only way into the camps is by plane. Before you ask, yes, Jeb has several private planes. Says they come in handy to transport ‘groceries’ and the like into his remote camps.”
“You go back a long way with this guy don’t you, Nate?”
“Yeah and like I said yesterday, I could easily have fallen into the same rat hole he did. My cousin, Luke, he’s Connor’s older brother, was and is, my best friend. Luke, Cougar, Jeb and I were inseparable for a lot of years. We went from one dirty deed to another. Mama D and Marcus had a tight hold on Luke’s shirttails, and jerked him back no matter how many times I dragged him into the dirt. For some unknown reason, Chief Roberts, he was Detective Roberts then, decided if he was going to have a surrogate son, it may as well be me. He had me by the scruff of the neck for most of my teenage years. And not just me, either. But even though he tried his damndest with Cougar and Jeb, their badness ran too deep. It was more potent than even the Chief was. Fortunately, with the Chief’s help, basketball had a stronger pull on me than Jeb or Cougar did. It saved my life. Baseball saved Luke’s.”
Nate pulled into the parking area to the side of the house. He unwound himself from the front seat of his Turbo Z and faced Sam over the hood of the expensive car.
“Jeb’s father was a drunk, so was his mother. I don’t know that I ever saw his dad without a flask in his hand and filth spewing from his mouth. He was a paranoid son of a bitch. Mel Gibson times David Duke. Always muttering about conspiracies, how the government was taking away privileges from white folk and giving them to the Indians and the blacks. He was a member of every ultra-conservative gun group around and a racist pig. Jeb heard that crap from the day he was born. Even so when I got back from overseas I was surprised to learn that Jeb had become one of the head honchos in the White Alliance. I thought he was too smart for that.”
At the welcoming shout from the front door, Nate turned to see Jeb ambling down the stairs. He had a big grin on his face and his hand outstretched in front of himself.
“Well, well, well, as I live and breathe. If it isn’t the Big Dog himself. Dee-tec-tive Nathan D. Stryker in the flesh.” Reaching for Nate’s hand, Jeb pulled him close and clapped an arm around his shoulder.
“Damn, Nate, you’re looking good. Once a Golden Boy always a Golden Boy, right, man?”
Nate shook his hand and grinned back at Jeb.
“Hi, Jeb. Good to see you, buddy. It’s been a long time. At least a year now since I hauled your sorry ass in to the St. Louis County Court on the charge of—”
Jeb held up his hand. “On a trumped up RICO charge. Jesus, Nate. What were you thinking? Thought you could make that stick?”
Nate laughed. “No, but it kept you in jail long enough for me to subpoena your bank accounts.”
Jeb’s grin spread. “A subpoena which my lawyer promptly crushed.”
Nate nodded in agreement. “He did indeed. Amazing what those silver tongued devils can accomplish if they’re crooked enough and their client has enough money to bribe the judge. It must frost your ass, Jeb, that the legal system you despise protects even as big a criminal as you.”
“Now, now, Nate. Let’s not get testy. But then you’re like you were when you were a kid—always pushing. May I presume this is a social call? Even though I don’t remember issuing you an invitation. Tell me you don’t have some corny warrant stuck in your jeans pocket that isn’t worth the paper it’s printed on.”
“Hell, no, Jeb. When I take you down, it ain’t gonna be with a warrant.”
Nate was gratified to see Jeb’s eyes darken and his smile tighten.
He continued, “No, man, this is definitely a social call. Give us a chance to catch up. Plus I wanted to see this spread of yours first hand. It’s the talk of the County.”
Turning to Sam who was standing to the side his eyes wide with interest, Nate motioned Sam forward. Nate introduced him as if he didn’t know full well that Jeb knew exactly who Sam was.
“Jeb, this is my partner, Commander Sam Carter. Sam’s visiting for a spell. He’s on sabbatical from the LAPD. Sam, meet the infamous Jeb Stuart Jones.”
Nate had to admit that Jeb looked good. But then he always had. His curly dark brown hair was as styled as Nate’s was ragged. His pale blue eyes were twinkling now but Nate knew they could turn an icy blue in a heartbeat. Suntanned, with high cheekbones, a strong chin and an easy grin, Jeb was the kind of man who turned heads, both men and women’s. He was tall, lean, built more like Sam, not as big as Nate. Not nearly as muscular as either Sam or Nate. In fact Nate noted that his boyhood pal was getting soft, downright fleshy around the middle. But the double shoulder rig holding two 9mm Glocks and the bulge at his ankle underscored that this guy relied on weapons, not muscle, to hold his own. Not exactly what you’d expect from a suburban guy with the most opulent house in the county. But from the head of the White Alliance and operator of the biggest meth operation in thirty states? Yeah, he fit.
Sam reached out but Jeb shook his head and pointedly put his hands in his pockets, refusing to shake Sam’s hand.
To Nate’s amazement, Sam responded with a grin. Hell, it even looked genuine. When Nate heard the next words out of his friend’s mouth, it was clear that not only was Sam’s amusement real, he planned on having a damn good time.
“I’m pleased to meet you, Jeb. Did your folks name you James Ewell Brown Stuart like the Confederate hero or did they just give you the guy’s nickname? Too bad. I always liked Stuart’s full n
ame, had an aristocratic ring to it.”
Sam narrowed his gaze studying Jeb. From the expression on his face, it looked as though Jeb didn’t measure up.
“Nate didn’t describe you, but I have to admit you don’t look like I thought you would. I was expecting an 1860’s kinda guy.” He waved at Jeb’s head. “Maybe a feathery plume in your cocked hat. A flower in your lapel. You know. A velvet lined waistcoat with a few ruffles, a little lace at the collar. At least to a kid like me who thrived on military history, Jeb Stuart was my image of what a cavalry officer should look like. A dandy. Fancy. Hell, today we might even think he was gay.” Ignoring Jeb’s gasp, Sam continued, “Too bad Gen. Lee screwed him at the end. But then the war didn’t turn out well for either one of them, did it?”
Jeb’s glower was palpable.
“You a historian, Stud?”
Sam gave him a pleasant nod. “I enjoy history. I like to believe knowledge of history can keep us from repeating the mistakes of the past.”
Jeb snorted. “So said that libelous traitor to mankind, Sir Winston ‘the whiner’ Churchill?”
Sam shrugged. “To be precise, it was George Santayana who first coined the phrase. While I doubt you and I agree on what constitutes the mistakes of the past, the sentiment is sound. History no matter who writes it is important. Wouldn’t you agree?”