by Debra Webb
“Just because I’m alone right now, Jackie, doesn’t mean I will be forever. Who knows? I may meet someone tomorrow and I want to be able to please him. Oral sex is the hottest thing going. I expect you know that.” She harrumphed. “And screw Blanche. I can give head as good as she can any day. So what if my dentures leave teeth marks.”
Oh, Jesus. “I...agree,” I stammered, “and I really want you to be happy. Blow jobs are...great. And age is irrelevant, right?” I rolled my eyes. When did I start reciting Dawson?
“Getting back to your case, Jackie. I want you to be careful. Hobbs says you’ve cooked up some kind of crazy scheme to extract information.”
He was definitely dead. My only question before I killed him would be which of my three so called friends had leaked the latest information. The call had to have been made no sooner than they left my door for it to trickle down to my mother this fast. “I know what I’m doing, Mom.”
“Well, if there’s no changing your mind,” she said, “at least take my advice on how to handle the situation.”
“Mother, I–”
“Just listen to me, Jackie. You’re a woman. The best route to take when excavating information from a man, I’m assuming it’s a man, is the seduction express.”
“Thanks, Mom, I’ll remember that.” Shari had to be the one. She’d gotten that tip from Hobbs about the cemetery incident, she probably owed him.
“I mean it, Jackie,” Mother reiterated. “Seduction is the best way. But remember, don’t go for the goal until his trousers are all the way off.”
“Excuse me?” I couldn’t believe I was hearing this from my mother. Then again, I don’t know why I was surprised.
“It’s a scientific fact,” she added with supreme confidence in her statement, “that a man can’t think clearly once he’s naked from the waist down.”
Now there was a handy piece of information to have.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
I climbed out of my Jeep early on Sunday morning and considered that, despite being the proverbial day of rest, today was as good a day as any to get this done.
Solving this case couldn’t be put off, murder sure as hell wouldn’t be.
I’d called Hobbs and my uncle and warned them that today would be a regular workday, neither had complained. Hobbs had obviously contacted Dawson since his truck hadn’t been outside when I left home this morning. I’d touched base with Nance, gag, and he’d sworn that they had nothing else on the murder vics, Sanchez and the woman who was yet to be identified, or the perps from the cemetery incident.
No offense to Nance, but I didn’t trust him, so I put in a call to Cates for confirmation. Cates, in the middle of getting dressed for church like all good Christians on Sunday morning (decades of engrained teaching made me feel guilty even as the Chief and I talked), had confirmed what I’d learned from Nance.
Mary Jane had called in with word that my uncle had stayed put at his place all night. Donna had taken over tailing him this morning.
Dawson would likely have been better at that job than my gal pals, but I couldn’t share with him my misgivings about my uncle the way I could with the girls.
I could feel the situation around me evolving even now. Cop instinct, Hank would call it. The two murders and the goons at the cemetery were for show. As was the snake and the rock. Someone wanted to scare me off. As arrogant as it sounded to assume anyone would go to that extent to get me off a case, I feared I was all too right on that score.
My hand on the rear entrance to my building, I hesitated before going inside. If that were the case, why bother with killing innocent victims. Why not just go for me?
I shook off the thought and entered my agency. I was alive and as long as I was I planned to unravel this mystery.
The moment I stepped inside I recognized the classic 80’s collection playing. Alita must have decided to clean today to get ahead on next week’s work. Anytime she did so on the weekend she played music loud enough to put the whole building in the right mood. Hobbs kept an extensive collection of CDs around the office, mainly for her benefit. The guy was every bit the sucker I was, no matter how he wanted to deny it.
I smiled at Emilio. He looked up from his Legos long enough to flash a wide grin. Hobbs rolled his eyes and nodded toward the kid as if he didn’t care for the nuisance. Yeah, right.
Alita popped up from behind my desk when I entered my office. “Morning, Miss Jackie!”
“That’s got it, Alita.” Dawson popped up next.
What the...?
Dawson flaunted that killer smile. “She couldn’t get your phone line plugged back in,” he explained to me before turning that high voltage charmer in Alita’s direction. “No harm done.”
“Gracias, senor,” she beamed. “I bump it vacuuming,” she said to me.
I managed to point the corners of my mouth upward for her benefit. If I hadn’t known better I would have sworn I’d just suffered a twinge of jealousy. Impossible.
Dawson stood, then helped the petite woman to her feet. She thanked him and scurried out of my office still beaming.
Scary. No man should possess that kind of power.
I sat my Birkin on my desk and leaned sideways so I could see Hobbs through the open door. “Find out what time Hank is planning to get here.”
“Already did,” Hobbs shouted back over the sound of Alita’s music. “He’ll be here at ten.”
I glanced at the clock. Nine thirty now. It was amazing how Hobbs could anticipate my needs, but it bugged the hell out of me at times. Kind of like Radar on the old Mash series.
“Anything for me?”
I jumped, caught my breath. I hadn’t realized that Dawson still loitered in my office. Man, that was hard to believe. His scent had invaded my nostrils the moment I walked in. This, unfortunately, was a compliment. The man had the most appealing smell. Not even for a date with Johnny Depp or Robert Downey Junior would I ask Dawson what he wore. Wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing I’d noticed. But what really got to me was how he could look so damned hot after sleeping in his truck in front of my house. It just wasn’t fair.
“When Hank gets here we’ll talk.”
“I’ll see what I can dig up between now and then.”
I held up a hand to stall him when he would have walked out. “Just wait until after the meeting.”
Dawson nodded despite the confusion I saw in his eyes. A muscle jerked in his lean cheek, revealing just how much he didn’t understand and/or like that order.
The next half hour dragged by. I felt like a kid waiting for Christmas. Too bad the only presents I’d gotten lately were prizes for my bizarre sexcapades. I had accomplished one thing. I’d put in a call to Max (he apparently didn’t go to church either) and asked for his help on the get-back-at-Nance plan that had occurred to me during the night. At least my tossing and turning hadn’t been for naught. I’d also touched base with Steven and Mom, as per proper southern Sunday etiquette.
I chucked the report I’d been reading and puffed out a breath of frustration. Speaking of kids. Since I hadn’t allowed Dawson to do any work he’d spent the last thirty minutes playing with Emilio. I loved the little boy but I could have gone the rest of my life without knowing how good Dawson was with kids. Did the man have no imperfections?
At ten on the dot Hank arrived. “Are we having a meeting or what?” he asked as he strode into my office. He glanced over his shoulder at Dawson who’d just risen from Lego land.
“Bout time,” I said to Hank.
He raised an eyebrow at me. “Some of us take confession seriously.”
Oh damn. There it was. I hadn’t gone to church in months. I was going straight to hell. The only confession I’d done lately was with the girls and while under the influence of alcohol. I felt certain Father Frances, the same priest who’d christened me, would know exactly how I could make up for it. As long as it didn’t include donating my Birkin I might live through it.
I gifted my uncle
with a look that was less than pleasant and retorted, “Some of us have more to confess than others.”
Dawson came in then, preventing that particular tension from escalating. He and Hank parked in the chairs in front of my desk without bothering to speak to each other. Neither would like my plan, but I’d made up my mind.
“We need to force Brooks to act,” I announced, “so I’m going after Willis.” I heard Hobbs’ fatal-sounding gasp all the way from his desk in reception. (Remember he’s got BESP.)
“We can do this another way,” Hank interjected. “I’ve—”
I held up both hands. “No. We can’t. If Brooks is our man we have to be able to prove it. Since we have no evidence, our only avenue is to make him feel desperate enough to do something stupid.”
“I’ve touched base with some of my old contacts,” Hank persisted. “Cates can help—”
“Hank,” I cut him off, “listen to me. I know you think there’s a better way, but you’re wrong. Brooks is too slippery. You and your contacts didn’t get him last time.”
The truth hurt, but he needed to understand that I had my own strategy here. Judging by his stubborn posture that wasn’t going to happen. Well, I could be just as stubborn, after all, we shared the same DNA.
“What’s your plan?”
My gaze shifted to Dawson. I couldn’t be sure if he really believed in me or if he only wanted to show up my uncle by pursuing my approach.
“If Willis knows anything, I’ll get it out of him. But more importantly, I want him to think we know something,” I said bluntly. “I have a strategy.”
“Does your strategy involve fucking him?”
Before I had a chance to even get pissed off my uncle had grabbed Dawson by the shirt and hauled him out of his chair. “Listen, you little son of a bitch,” he threatened. “I was kicking ass before you were a gleam in your daddy’s eye. You watch your mouth or you’ll end up with my fist in it.”
Morbid fascination held me mute as well as immobile. The color of fury had overtaken my uncle’s face, while Dawson appeared unfazed. But I knew that wasn’t the case. His fists were clenched at his sides and that little tic was going a hundred miles an hour in his tense jaw.
“Hank,” I said when the two remained locked for combat beyond a reasonable length of time and when I’d found my voice once more.
He released Dawson. Actually it was more of a shove than a release, but Dawson managed to stay on his feet.
I wasn’t sure whether to be impressed at Dawson’s restraint or to steel myself for the coming storm considering his asking-for-trouble attitude.
When the full attention of both men rested on me once more, I said, “We’ll do this my way, end of subject.”
Hank shook his head, his fury still making his neck red. “Your daddy would have my hide—”
“Don’t even go there,” I warned.
He exhaled loudly, disgustedly. “Just tell me what it is you want me to do.”
“I want you to leave this office and spend the afternoon telling all your friends, including those still on HPD, that you and I are no longer on speaking terms. I’ve kicked you out of my life because of some fool story I learned while snooping around in this case.” That info would get back to Brooks in two shakes.
“What’s that supposed to prove?” Hank demanded. The heat of anger had given way to disappointment. I heard it in his voice. Saw it in the set of his shoulders.
“I’m setting the stage. I want Brooks or anyone else who might have been involved with Disposable to think you and I are on the outs and that I know something damning.”
I prepared for the fallout.
“You’re trying to get yourself killed, little girl. That’s what you’re doing.” Hank pushed to his feet. “I won’t have any part in it. You do what you have to and I’ll do the same.”
He wheeled around and headed for the door.
My heart shot out of the chute like a wild mustang and started to buck erratically...surely he hadn’t meant that. “Hank!” He paused at the door and turned back to me. “You do understand that this is just part of my set-up.”
He didn’t answer but he did wink at me and I understood that things were as okay as they could be right now. Which wasn’t saying a hell of a lot. I could only assume that he wanted to keep Dawson off balance. Here we were on the same team and not one fully trusted the other.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
My attention whipped back to Dawson. I met that piercing gaze with lead in my own. “My strategy involves only one thing, Dawson.”
Those blue eyes didn’t back off, just kept trying to penetrate my defenses. “And what is that?”
“Whatever it takes.”
He refused to look at me then.
“Until this is done,” I continued whether he looked at me or not, “I want the world to believe that I’ve fired you. Apply for jobs elsewhere. Complain about me to anyone who will listen. I’ll contact you through Hobbs until further notice.”
“Fine.”
He got up and walked out without a backward glance. I didn’t try to stop him.
There were things I could have said, assurances I could have given. But I hadn’t. It was better this way. I needed this set-up to feel real.
Hobbs wandered into my office. “So Dawson is fired and you’re not speaking to Hank.”
I nodded.
“Well, are you speaking to Bob?”
Anticipation spiked. “Fraley?”
“The one and only.” Hobbs gestured to my phone. “Line one.”
I snatched up the receiver. “Mercer.”
“I just got off the phone with Hank,” he said, dispensing with the usual pleasantries. “He’s pretty upset.”
“Well, so am I,” I returned, keeping up the pretense. As much as I wanted to trust Bob, I couldn’t be a hundred percent.
“Just remember, Jackie,” he warned after taking a long drag from his cigarette, then blowing it out right against the mouthpiece of the phone, “things are not always what they seem. Illusion is a powerful persuader. Can keep us from seeing what we really don’t want to see.”
The call ended on that note and I couldn’t help speculating on whether Bob had been talking about this case or was referring to my relationship with my father and uncle. Men in general, for that matter. Somehow relationships never worked exactly right for me. Or maybe it was the men I chose. Who knew? The kryptonite theory flitted through my muddled musings.
I didn’t have time to worry about that right now. I had one more move to make.
By seven that evening the ball was rolling. According to Donna, Hank had spent the afternoon at the Pistols and Petticoats Pub, a local cop hangout. Hopefully he would continue to do as I asked and spread the word that we were on the outs.
Dawson had called my cell about six and let me know that he’d hung out at a diner all afternoon poring over the help wanted section of the classifieds. Awkward stretches of dead air in the conversation had warned me that he wanted to ask about my plans with Willis but he didn’t.
I was glad.
If I was lucky the news of the division at the Mercer Agency had reached Brooks by now. And any damned one else who had reason to care.
Throughout the afternoon Dawson had tried repeatedly to intrude into my thoughts but I kicked him out each time. How could he ask me if I intended to fuck Willis for information? Well, it just showed that he didn’t really know me at all. That I allowed his asking to get to me only infuriated me all the more. My plan was, fortunately, proving useful on another level. Dawson and I needed the distance.
I parked in front of the ritzy condo that belonged to Ken Willis, aka Kevin Williams, and slid out of my faithful old Jeep. I reached back inside for my purse, which contained the necessary props for tonight’s performance and Shorty—I wouldn’t be caught dead without him, if you know what I mean.
Before heading to the door I took a deep, bolstering breath. This was it. My one ace in the ho
le. Whatever happened I could not screw this up.
I’d splurged on a new mantrap outfit. Lipstick red leather mini with black thigh-high stockings. The matching red lace-up bustier showed off just enough to whet the appetite. I flipped my hair over my shoulder, slung my purse strap there—I’d opted for a more casual Kate Spade knock-off—and took the plunge.
One ring of the bell brought the man of the hour to the door. He looked striking as always. His jaw was still just a tad swollen. Black Armani trousers with a silvery shirt that could be Versace or Dior. He liked both. He also liked it a lot when I looked slutty, like now. Hell, for that matter, I even liked it.
“You look great,” Willis said with a big old breathy sound of satisfaction. “Come in.”
I moved through the door and immediately made myself at home. Remembering my mother’s advice, I took it slow. Took my time building up his ego with small talk.
Willis had prepared dinner. That was just another thing about him. His culinary skills were nothing short of remarkable. Oysters on the half shell (imagine that) for an appetizer; Lobster and grilled salmon on a bed of rice as the entree. Five hundred dollar a bottle wine. Only the best.
When dinner was behind us and things had started to get cozy in the living room, I grabbed my bag and headed for the bathroom. The one off the master bedroom.
I did a little necessary business, then brushed my teeth and reapplied my lip gloss. Did a pit check and popped two Altoids. I took some time fiddling with my hair. I’d left it down. He liked it that way.
Before making my exit, I tucked a couple more Altoids in my mouth, hoping the pay off would be worth the burn.
He waited in his bedroom as I’d known he would. He’d kicked off his expensive shoes and relaxed into an upholstered chair that flanked the massive dresser. Miles Davis played softly in the background. I abruptly wondered what kind of music Dawson liked. Then reminded myself I wasn’t supposed to care.