by Debra Webb
“Well,” Hobbs harrumphed, “you told him.”
I did indeed. But I wasn’t entirely sure I had succeeded on any level. His final piece of advice kept ringing in my ears. You’re in way over your head. How did he know what case I was currently working on? When had he decided to check out Dawson? Then it hit me. Chief Cates had likely given him an update. The two appeared to be pals.
“I want to check out Brooks,” Dawson said, his chiseled jaw tight with rage.
“Let’s not go off half cocked, Dawson,” I countered, still not sure I wanted anyone digging around in this case but me. Whether it was about trust or the intimacy of the whole thing with Rayburn, I didn’t know yet.
I’d pretty much kept Dawson out of the loop until last night. Since Hobbs was as horrified of snakes as me, I’d had no choice but to call Dawson to come take the reptile away. It was either that or call animal containment which would have been like emailing HPD about the incident. I had no intention of giving them any more ammunition. Nance was already sniffing around like a bloodhound on steroids.
I shuddered at the memory of finding the cold blooded wiggler in my bed. The snake, not Nance. It hadn’t even been poisonous. Harmless, Dawson had called it. Hobbs and I had exchanged uncertain looks but, in the end, we’d recognized (after a quick search on Google) that Dawson was correct. Poison or not, I didn’t like finding anything in my bed that wasn’t either operated by batteries or testosterone. Admittedly I’d had a snake or two in my bed, but this was the first one capable of shedding his skin.
“I’m part of this agency, Jackie,” Dawson pressed. “I want in all the way.”
I shuddered again, this time at his words. I had to stop letting that double entendre thing control my thought processes. Resisting the urge to shake my head in defeat, I took a deep breath and said what had to be said. “You’re right.”
My assistant’s eyes widened at my confession. I cut him a look that said stow it before he could open his mouth.
With complete sincerity I threw up my hands and took the final dive. “I don’t know what Hobbs and I would have done without you last night.” I had to smile. “That you fractured Willis’s jaw gives you high marks in my book.”
Dawson didn’t look amused.
Get serious, Jackie. The guy deserved better than that. “You’re my partner, Dawson. I promise I’ll play fair from now on.” I stuck out my hand to seal the deal.
Dawson looked from me to my hand and back before accepting the gesture. “Thanks.”
I think he said more but my ability to hear or pay attention was suddenly overridden by the feel of his big, strong hand—the same one that had knocked Willis off his feet—wrapped around mine.
My gaze shot up to his. I blinked, drew my hand away and grabbed back control just in time to manage a look of approval, one that didn’t include any sexual undertones.
“You might be onto something,” I allowed as I folded my arms in front of me to keep my hands occupied and to hide my attentive nipples. “Brooks has been around awhile. I haven’t worked with him before, but that doesn’t mean he’s new. Check him out. See if he was part of that joint task force working Disposable.” He’d certainly made it clear he didn’t want me nosing into the subject. Or maybe he’d meant Willis and whatever op the two had going. Yet somehow, his words had felt exactly like a threat about my current case...about Disposable. But like I said before, paranoia goes with this business.
“I have some new information on Rayburn,” Dawson said out of the blue.
The frown already digging into my brow deepened. “What kind of information?” And why hadn’t he told me this? Maybe he’d been on his way to do just that when Brooks arrived. He’s my partner, I reminded. No jumping to conclusions. Give the man the benefit of the doubt. I didn’t question his source since he was an ex cop with his share of connections.
“Warren Rayburn was a rogue DEA agent,” Dawson explained. “He was on the verge of being suspended when he disappeared. No body was actually found. But he’s considered dead.”
This changed everything. According to what Max had found Rayburn died the day after we...but that might or might not be the case if no body was recovered. Could he be the one sending me these messages? I couldn’t believe he would do that. What was I saying? I didn’t actually know the man, not like that. Even if it was him, what did he hope to accomplish? What was his motive?
Rogue. Missing. No body found. What the hell happened here ten years ago? That was the real question.
“He supposedly went missing the same day Masters and Reagan were gunned down,” I said, a thought spoken, my lungs empty of air...my nerves jangling in anticipation. This whole case just got more and more bizarre.
Dawson nodded. “Looks that way. But, my source believes the DEA listed him as deceased as of that date to keep the Feds from looking dirty.”
As paranoid as it sounded that explanation made sense. No Fed liked getting caught with his pants down.
“Since the gunman was never identified,” Dawson went on. “I guess it’s possible that Rayburn was the shooter. Maybe Disposable wasn’t ever supposed to go to trial.”
I didn’t agree. I might not have known his name until yesterday but I knew the man I’d slept with that night. He wasn’t a killer. Not that kind anyway. “No way. He was no assassin.”
A muscle ticked in Dawson’s jaw. “You can’t know for sure. You exchanged bodily fluids with the man, not personal history.”
Remember that pissed off dimension I referred to before? We were suddenly there.
My gaze shifted to Hobbs. I didn’t move a muscle for fear I’d lunge into attack mode. “We need some privacy.”
My assistant’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed with major difficulty. He knew the look, the tone. “Of course.” He was out the door, closing it behind him before my stinging order stopped vibrating the air.
“You are this close—” I held my thumb and forefinger about a millimeter apart right in Dawson’s face “—to being out of here, buster.”
Unbelievably, the warning didn’t faze my new partner. In fact, he had the nerve to move closer. His nostrils flared and every female chromosome in my entire being went ape shit, which only pissed me off all the more. “That’s what you said. That night was about sex, not talking. No information exchange, just hot sex, right?”
I was fire-breathing, punch-his-lights-out mad, but even in that whacked zone, I understood that, somehow, for reasons I couldn’t yet comprehend, he was angrier than me.
“I’m going to give you this one, Dawson.” Mainly on account of Texas being so big on the death penalty that the powers that be had actually put in an express lane for heinous criminals. Considering what I wanted to do to Dawson right now I’d be at the front of that unpopular line. “But this ain’t no frigging baseball game. You won’t get three strikes.” Fact was, I’d already given him that leeway up front.
“Tell me, Jackie,” he went on as if I’d said nothing at all, “how does it feel to know you were the last one to see him alive besides whoever killed him? Maybe being with you just put him in the right place at the wrong time.” He leaned down and flattened his hands on my desk on either side of me, forcing my bottom down onto the edge and still his face was so close to mine I couldn’t take a breath without it coming from his lips. I almost drew away but refused to surrender that easy. “Think you were worth it?” he murmured.
Before good sense could stop me I’d grabbed him by the shirt with both hands and lunged to my feet, maintaining the intimate proximity, face to face, but forcing him back and leveling the playing field a couple of notches. “One thing’s certain, Dawson, you’ll never know.”
Both of us were breathing hard, the air sawing raggedly in and out. My whole body shook with equal measures anger and awareness. In spite of those volatile emotions I couldn’t take my eyes off his...felt lost in that churning sea of blue. His lips trembled making me shudder with some new, indefinable rush of sensations. In th
at infinitesimal moment I knew with complete certainty that if he touched me we were both goners.
“Jackie!” blasted from the intercom on my phone.
I trembled, blinked twice.
“Line one,” Hobbs bellowed across the intercom. “It’s Alita.”
Dawson didn’t move. Our lips were close enough for me to feel the charge of sexual energy crackling between them. And dammit all to hell I wanted to kiss him more than I’d ever wanted to do anything in my entire life. Fucked up, huh?
Somehow my fingers released his lapels and fell away, but he still didn’t move. He licked his lips and my breath hitched loud enough for Hobbs to hear it in the next room.
“Line one, Jackie!” This time the voice came from my door.
I shook off the haze of lust and stepped away from Dawson. “What?” wrenched from my throat.
“Alita,” Hobbs said pointedly. “She says it’s urgent.”
“I can do this alone.”
Dawson stared at me across the seat of his ancient truck. It was dark but I felt his eyes burning into mine.
“We’re partners, right?”
I must have been out of my mind to hire him. I’d spent most of the time since alternating between wanting to fuck him or kill him. Maybe not even in that order.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I muttered.
Ten before midnight. We’d gotten to the cemetery early.
I relaxed in the vinyl covered bench seat and thought about the call from Alita once more. She’d heard through that highly developed grapevine operating in the Hispanic community that something related to the dead guy (whose skull got bashed in with my rock) was going down here tonight.
Dawson had insisted, even Hobbs had chimed in, that I could not come alone. So here we sat, both dressed in black like burglars ready to invade Tiffany’s.
After today’s stand-off, Dawson and I had stayed put in our respective offices, keeping our distance. Hobbs had kept the communications going between us so that we didn’t have to interact face to face.
I leaned my head back and allowed a sigh to escape into the quiet of the cab. I had to admit the whole truth. Good-looking men such as Dawson were like kryptonite to me. I’d worked hard to develop this superwoman persona only to realize, like Superman, I had one fatal weakness.
“Look.”
The sound of Dawson’s intensely sensual voice only made bad matters worse.
I opened my eyes and turned my face toward him. I could just make out his chiseled jaw in the moonlight. Shit. The man looked good even in the dark.
“I’m sorry about today.” He heaved a sigh of his own. “I have a great deal of respect for you, Jackie. I meant it when I said you’re the best. I guess I just got caught up in the case...I’m usually a lot easier to get along with than this.”
I pointed my gaze forward once more. Didn’t want to risk that he could read anything on my face, even in the dark. “You said your piece. Let’s leave it at that.” If he wanted forgiveness he could forget it. I was still riled at what he’d said. That wasn’t going to change anytime soon. I occasionally held a grudge. So sue me.
“What was Rayburn like?”
A bark of disbelief popped out before I could stop it. What was wrong with this guy?
“I mean, was he a nice man? You know, thoughtful or whatever?”
“Dawson, we’re not going to dissect that night again.” No way in hell.
“Maybe talking about him will help you remember something you’ve forgotten,” he persisted like a starving dog after a big old ham bone.
Why fight it? This guy wasn’t going to give up. Might as well do something to pass the time even if we had done this already. I turned my attention back ten years and thought about Warren Rayburn. Tall, muscular. Sweet. Oh yeah, he’d definitely been thoughtful, patient and...just totally amazing.
“He was nice. The kind of guy you want to get to know better,” I admitted. I couldn’t believe I’d just said that but it was true. Warren Rayburn had been relationship material in its purest form. A good guy. No way in hell did he kill those two suspects. No way was he some rogue agent with his own selfish agenda. I didn’t care what DEA said.
“I’m glad.”
My head came up at that comment.
“I mean, for you. I’m glad he was nice to you.”
That was a lie. I didn’t need the aid of light to know one when I heard it.
When I would have demanded an explanation Dawson touched his lips with one finger then pointed toward the cemetery.
Well, well. Alita was right. At least three men had gathered in an area of the cemetery reserved for indigents. Those who couldn’t afford a proper burial or who had no one to claim their bodies got planted here in the proverbial pine box—which was actually either a kind of pasteboard material or very thin gauge metal.
We eased out of the truck at the same time. Dawson proved well prepared. The cab’s interior light didn’t come on as we exited. I doubted a vehicle this old had an off setting, meaning he’d either removed the bulb or found some other way to ensure it didn’t flicker to life when the doors opened.
I slid Shorty (remember, that’s my nickname for my .38) into my waistband at the small of my back and moved up beside Dawson who had done the same with his Beretta. I should have known he was a Beretta man. He had that whole Mel Gibson in Lethal Weapon attitude going on.
Progressing through the cemetery, using headstones for cover, we split up to gain a bit of an advantage since it was three to two. As I moved in closer to our target I reasoned how tonight’s activity might tie into a decade old case like Disposable. Was someone using illegal border crossers for mules and then disposing of them like before? It happened way too often, definitely wasn’t anything new. But Disposable had been different in that the whole ugly business had been very large and highly organized. If an operation on that level had started up again, that could very well explain why the locals didn’t want me nosing around in an ongoing case. Was that why Sanchez was dead? Or had he been picked out just to send me a warning not to get too close? Could someone who was involved in that ten-year-old case be involved now?
I mentally ticked off the players I’d learned about so far. The dead ones way out numbered the live ones. Hank Mercer was the only surviving one whose part in the case was undeniable—and he still hadn’t returned my call. Dawson hadn’t dug up any proof Brooks was involved just yet. I’d even looked into the possibility that Willis had been involved but he’d moved to Texas from Louisiana four years ago. No wonder I couldn’t trust him. Probably had French Cajun blood flowing through his veins. French guys were worse than cowboys when it came to little lies.
I felt my phone vibrate in my rear pocket. I hunkered behind the closest block of stone engraved with some dead person’s name and checked the display just to make sure it wasn’t Hobbs or Alita with some change in plans or otherwise info related to the here and now.
Mom calling...
Oh hell. I’d forgotten all about lunch. A frown kicked aside my guilt. Why hadn’t she called the office and demanded to know why I’d stood her up? I shoved the phone back into my pocket without answering it. I’d call her back later.
Pushing aside the distraction, I hurried to match the distance Dawson had covered.
As I moved in closer it was clear that a grave had been dug. I couldn’t tell if the grave had actually already been there and reopened for some reason or if it was entirely new. A coffin sat next to the mound of earth, couldn’t tell if it was empty or not. The three men stood around smoking cigarettes as if they were waiting for someone to arrive. With the body maybe? Or to retrieve a body? What I could make of the conversation was in Spanish. I only picked up a word here and there. Not enough of any one sentence to understand the gist of the discussion.
Something cold and hard jammed into the back of my skull.
I froze.
“Hands up!”
The words were English but the thick, unreconstructed accent was v
ery definitely spiced from below the border.
I stood, held my hands high. Wondered where the hell Dawson was.
“Drop it, pendejo.”
Oh, there he was. I had to smile at my partner’s smartass remark.
When I would have turned around a muscled arm suddenly wrapped ruthlessly around my throat.
Definitely not Dawson.
My weapon was snatched before I could grab it.
When I would have fought my attacker, the cold, hard muzzle of a gun bored into my temple.
Where was Dawson? No weapons discharged. Even a silencer wasn’t completely noiseless. No sounds of a struggle. My heart started to pound. He could be dead.
Stay calm. Wait for an opportunity. Maybe there were three or more of them to my one, but I couldn’t just surrender. I twisted my head slightly in an attempt to see the guy dragging me across the cemetery.
Not only did I not get a look at the bastard squeezing off my airway as he hauled me nearer to the grave, I didn’t get a decent visual of the three men waiting in the shadows beyond the freshly mounded earth around that glaring hole in the ground.
My feet scraped across loose dirt and I dug in my heels, tried to slow the momentum toward that final destination. Too late. Before he released me, as if he’d wanted me to see, I got a good look at Dawson lying in that open coffin which had been tossed into the hole in the ground.
My own scream was the last thing I heard before being shoved down on top of my new partner.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“Dawson! Goddammit, wake up!”
If I sounded hysterical it was probably because I was. Terror coursed through my veins like a paralyzing drug, short circuiting my thinking processes.
Getting buried alive apparently had that effect.
I couldn’t move much. I had managed to get my arms up where I could shake Dawson’s head in hopes of rousing him. I knew he wasn’t dead because I could feel the slight rise and fall of his chest beneath me. I could also feel the overhead part of the coffin a little closer than it had been before all the dirt got piled on top. Now I knew first hand why concrete vaults were not only a nice but also a necessary option in the better funerals.