Dirty

by Debra Webb

  His eyes widened in surprise for about five seconds before what he actually felt had time to assimilate in his brain.

  But that was all the time it took.

  There were two things a girl learned to do simultaneously at a very young age: knee a guy in the crotch and scream at the top of her lungs.

  I did both. As he doubled over in pain I snatched my .32 from under my skirt.

  “Drop the gun, asshole,” I ordered, the muzzle of my nice, warm .32 stuck right in his face. He tried to speak but only succeeded in groaning. His weapon clattered to the floor. I kicked it out of his reach.

  “Very nice, Mercer.”

  I looked up as Brooks sauntered into the corridor.

  I adjusted my bead slightly, keeping both men in my sights. “Am I glad to see you?” I asked, still not certain of exactly where the Fed stood, considering his weapon was drawn.

  Amusement twinkled in his eyes. “You’re definitely glad to see me.”

  I relaxed fractionally. “You got any cuffs?”

  He dragged a pair from his interior jacket pocket. “I can be handy to have around, you know.” He lifted one eyebrow sardonically. “I had hell finding my keys, by the way.”

  Cates tried to straighten and say something but he just ended up puking. I jumped back just in time to save my shoes. He crumpled to the floor and curled into the fetal position. I cuffed the bastard.

  “I’d better call your uncle,” Brooks said as he reached for his cell phone. “He’s looking for you.”

  “I thought Nance and O’Linger were picking him up?” Confusion gained a foothold in my thoughts once more.

  “They tried, but I think he cuffed those two together in their car.”

  I started to laugh at the picture his words conjured, but then I scoffed. “Wait a minute. Are you saying that my uncle and you have been working together?” No way. Hank considered Brooks dirty.

  One side of the Fed’s mouth lifted in a wry grin. “Only for about forty-five minutes.” He glanced at his fancy watch, a Rolex if I remembered correctly. “Shortly after he tracked me down and decided to get the truth out of me once and for all.”

  Disbelief booted the confusion out of the way. “I’d like to hear how you talked your way out of that.”

  Brooks punched in a series of numbers on his phone. “You’d be surprised how persuasive I can be when I put my mind to it.”

  A smile tickled my lips. “I’ll just bet you can.” And just like that I was feeling like my old self again. Forty-five and looking fine...with a handsome conquest right in front of me. Why was it I could never resist a good looking man, even when I’d hated him the last time I saw him? Maybe it was that temptation thing again. I consistently worried that if I didn’t give in to it I might not get another chance.

  Another realization hit me, drawing me into a new dimension, one of pure, raw emotion.

  It was over.

  The mystery man’s mystery had been laid to rest.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  “So you haven’t heard from Dawson?”

  Donna and Mary Jane arrowed Shari a threatening look.

  “No. I haven’t.” I pretended not to care that she’d brought up the subject of...him. Oh well, I wasn’t hungry anyway. I pushed aside my scarcely touched French toast and reached for my coffee. The girls and I had a new routine. Breakfast on Friday mornings to discuss the week’s events and our plans for the weekend. Besides, all the good-looking businessmen popped into Betty Bean’s for their caffeine fixes before heading to the office. The scenery was excellent.

  “It’s only been two weeks,” Mary Jane offered in an attempt to be kind but only succeeding in dragging my thoughts back to the sore subject. “He’ll call. Two weeks is nothing.”

  I had my doubts about Mary Jane’s assertion. Two weeks. It felt like forever.

  “Hottie alert,” Donna said from the side of her lushly painted mouth. “Three o’clock.” Shari and I immediately looked to Donna’s right. Mary Jane looked left, which had her staring at the wall. “Three o’clock my time,” Donna said patiently.

  “Oh!” Mary Jane exclaimed as she turned the other way.

  While the others ogled the guy in the elegantly cut suit, I let my attention wander back over the past two weeks. Cates had been arraigned. My uncle had been right about him to an extent. Cates hadn’t been involved with Disposable per se. After Masters and Reagan had been arrested, McElroy had panicked. When my father couldn’t be persuaded to drop the charges, McElroy went into clean-up mode. He ordered the execution of everyone involved, liquefied what assets he could, but then he got cold feet. He’d called Cates and tried to make a deal.

  Cates had taken advantage of the opportunity, pushed McElroy until he killed himself then tucked the money away for a tax-free retirement nest egg. And everything would have gone just as he planned if Rayburn’s old DEA partner hadn’t confessed right before he died. Hank and Brooks had spent a decade believing the worst about each other. I doubted they would ever really be friends. Too much water under the bridge.

  By sticking up for HPD, Hank had unknowingly protected Cates for years. And, like Brooks had said himself, he’d been waiting for a chance to bring HPD down.

  The remains of Warren Rayburn had been identified as well as those of the two DEA agents who’d murdered him. Dental records were an amazing thing.

  Dawson had gone home to bury his brother. But even before he left we hadn’t seen much of each other those last few days. He’d dropped by the office and told Hobbs he was leaving. I was out on a pick up, so I’d missed him. It was just as well.

  It was better that way. Clean breaks were the best. Our professional relationship would never have worked out. And, God knew, my personal relationships never did. I’d decided recently that I hadn’t actually had a legitimate relationship since my marriage ended. What I’d considered mini-relationships were more accurately defined as multiple orgasms with men I was physically attracted to. Nothing wrong with that, of course. Simply stating the facts here.

  I’d also gotten my roots done again, professionally this time, and a fabulous manicure and pedicure. I’d even splurged and bought myself another killer pair of knock-off designer shoes, Gucci this time. Oh and the insurance had fixed my Jeep where Dawson rammed Brooks. After the initial shock of seeing the damage I’d been thrilled to learn I would get a new paint job out of the deal.

  “Anyone called about the investigator position?” Shari asked, as if she could bring up that aspect of my life without bringing Dawson into it.

  I’d posted another ad for an investigator in the paper three days ago. I couldn’t keep pawning cases off on Hank. Things were suddenly hopping at the Mercer Agency. Apparently the notoriety we’d garnered in the news from solving the Disposable case (of course we’d had to share it with the Bureau, specifically Brooks) had put my agency on the map—the local one at least. We’d even had a couple of requests for personal security. I didn’t have a problem with that. The money was good.

  “Not yet. Hank’s still helping out.”

  A moment of silence followed. In tribute to my failure with Dawson no doubt. My friends were still openly lusting after his memory and grieving his departure.

  Every damned thing seemed to go back to him.

  In time, I knew, that Dawson would become just another distant memory. There was never any question in my mind that we would part ways, even before I learned his true reason for showing up at my door. He was too young, too cocky. I wanted experienced, reliable, and someone not quite so good to look at.

  I wanted safe.

  My track record with dangerous men was...hazardous to say the least. In case you don’t know, a dangerous man, in this instance, is one who exudes sexuality and otherwise takes your breath away. Disables your ability to form a coherent thought. I seem to draw them like flies.

  “Willis is still calling you?” Donna ventured.

  I had to laugh at that one. Talk about hazardous relationships or near-r
elationships. “Yeah. He’s still begging for a second chance.” I didn’t mention that Brooks had called as well. But I couldn’t see myself with the Fed...not anytime soon anyway. Of course he’d pretended to be tying up loose ends, but I’d known better.

  “Now that’s where a man belongs,” Shari enthused, “on his knees begging.” She lifted her coffee cup. “To Jackie, for knowing how to put a man in his place.”

  We clinked mugs and did the cheers thing.

  “How’s software guy?” I asked Donna in hopes of steering the conversation to someone besides me and my numerous problems.

  “Blake?” She sighed. “Oh, he’s marvelous. I learn something new from him everyday. He’s shown me there’s something even better than sex,” she purred.

  “No way!” I countered. Mary Jane and Shari launched their own protests.

  Donna just smiled that sneaky little smile of hers and offered, “Sure, ladies. It’s fabulous. You’ll have to try it.” Pausing just long enough to have us on the very edge of our seats and heads leaning her way, she finally whispered, “Sex with chocolate on top. It’s the ultimate pleasure.”

  “Well, okay, you’ve got a point there,” I allowed. Then we all giggled as girls will do when we put our heads together to talk about boys.

  “I’m giving up yoga,” Shari announced before nibbling at her bagel.

  “What?” the rest of us harmonized.

  Sounding stoic, Shari tossed the bagel aside and went on, “I just felt I had to move on. There’s something to be said for extreme flexibility, but it doesn’t bear repeating more than a dozen or so times. Not to mention I found out my yoga man had more invested in his shrink than in his 401K.” Then she grinned wickedly. “Besides, I hired a new Pilates instructor and he is to die for. I’m talking nuclear meltdown hot, ladies.” She winked at Donna. “With chocolate on top.”

  Oohs and ahhs bounced around the table. Shari made the whole man-woman thing sound so easy. Donna did the relationship thing like no one else I knew. In, out, move on.

  “I have news, too!” Mary Jane piped up.

  Attention swung to our demurest member (we still hadn’t named our club in case you were wondering).

  “I have a cat. His name is Roy.”

  “That’s great, Mary Jane.” I was the one sounding wistful now. “I should get a dog.” My mother was right on that one. At least I wouldn’t get lonely at night if I had a dog.

  Shari shook her head. “You’ll have to lock him in your bedroom when it’s your night to host confession,” she told Mary Jane. “I have allergies, you know. Cats make me sneeze.”

  I winced inwardly, knowing the statement would hurt Mary Jane’s feelings. Not that Shari meant to, but she had a habit of speaking her mind and Mary Jane just wasn’t built tough enough to take it.

  “That’s what Benadryl is for,” Donna huffed. “Get over yourself.”

  A genuine smile spread across my lips as I watched my best friends snip at each other good-naturedly. Mary Jane caught me and joined in. She was such a sweetie. But something wasn’t right with her. I knew it, felt it all the way to my bones. Somewhere beneath those thick old glasses and those frumpy clothes Mary Jane had a secret she refused to share with the rest of us. Instinct told me it was too painful...but maybe I was wrong or simply jealous. Mary Jane was the only one of us who’d gotten that white picket fence and adoring husband pipe dream our parents had shoved down our throats when we were children.

  I’d gotten a lying, cheating no good buttwad and a rundown rental as close to the medical district as cheap could buy. My chest suddenly felt tight. But I had gotten my son from my ex. Steven was worth all the bullshit. Speaking of which, my beloved, very brilliant son had come to his senses and opted out of his dad’s offer. Thank God.

  “What’s cooking, girls?”

  My ever-flamboyant mother strolled up to our table looking terrific in her new jogging suit that sported more patriotic color than the giant flag flying over the Cadillac dealership. Power walking and cooking healthy were her latest undertakings. According to Dr. Phil or some other all wise and all knowing guru, learning something new every week was good for the memory. Her friends at the Ladies Auxiliary had decided their newest venture needed to focus on cardio and eating well to enhance their love lives as well as their health.

  At least they were no longer running around with cucumber peeling stuck in their dentures.

  “Hello, Mrs. Mercer.” Donna hopped up and gave Mother a hug.

  The rest of the table followed suit, including me, of course. Shari dragged up another chair and insisted Mother join us.

  “So what has the Ladies Auxiliary been up to?” Shari asked, knowing damned well my mother would talk the subject to death.

  Mother pooh-poohed the question. “Who cares? I’ve had my fill of that bunch of batty old broads.”

  When did this happen? Before I could ask, Mother continued. “That Wilma Patterson thinks she’s the stuff. Got herself a boob job.” Mother leaned into the center of the table, as did everyone else. “They’re so frigging huge she’s gonna need a new zip code.”

  “But I thought Wilma was your best friend?” What had I missed while burrowed in my own problems?

  “Nah...she’s a bitch. Didn’t I ever tell ya why her first husband left her?”

  Oh no. When my mother started in on stories about the past I got worried. I glanced around to make sure no one was listening. There was no telling what she might say.

  “Tell us,” Donna urged. She loved discussing other people’s business. Hazard of the job, she would insist. I felt like kicking her ass.

  “Well,” Mother glanced covertly around, “Harry told her she needed to show more interest in his family so she did.”

  “Well, what’s wrong with that?” Shari wanted to know.

  Mom’s eyebrows winged upward. “She slept with his brother.”

  I’d heard this story before but everyone else at the table looked properly mortified.

  “No wonder he left her,” Donna said resolutely. “Bitch.”

  Mary Jane shoved her glasses up her nose. “Betrayal is unpardonable.”

  While everyone else was busy agreeing, I sat there scrutinizing Mary Jane’s simple remark. I had to stop that. Mary Jane was far too sweet to be hiding anything big. It was just my suspicious nature.

  “You shouldn’t give up something you like just because you’re upset with Wilma,” I reminded my mom, using the same advice she’d used on me a thousand times.

  Mother shrugged. “Who cares about Wilma or any of them? All they want to do is sit around and talk about joint pain and acid reflux. Every time I try to infuse some excitement into the bunch like vibrator workshops and blow job classes they get all pissy. They’re all mad at me because I came up with this new vaginal cream recipe. I’ll probably make a fortune off it.”

  “Wow! Does it work?” Mary Jane wanted to know, duly impressed.

  My mother made a scoffing sound. “Well of course it does. Tastes just like barbeque sauce. It’ll have the guys eating out of your—”

  “We get the picture, Mom,” I said, cutting her off.

  Okay. Now I just wanted to hunker under the table.

  “Look,” my mother’s gaze met each of those seated around her, “Ladies Auxiliary be damned. I’m not ready to give up all the vices that kept me in a good mood for over half a century.”

  “Amen,” Shari and Donna cheered.

  “Well, I’ve got to go.” Mother popped out of her chair. “Hope you girls have a good day.” She leaned down and spoke for our ears only again. “And remember, men are like boomerangs, handle’em just right and they always come back.”

  With that sage advice she sashayed away.

  My mother...she needed her own talk show.

  I suddenly wondered if I had handled Dawson just right.

  I parked my Jeep in the usual spot and strolled into the building through the rear entrance. Abruptly I stopped, blinked and tried to analyze what
I saw.

  In the reception area sat three men, none of whom I recognized. From the looks of them, none I wanted to know.

  Being very quiet so as not to make a sound I eased back down the corridor and outside. I fished out my cell phone and punched in the agency’s number.

  I knew I’d paid my quarterly IRS payment so it couldn’t be about that. I couldn’t call to mind any other reason I might be in trouble. Hadn’t pissed off anyone that I knew of lately. Unless someone at HPD was holding a grudge against me related to Cates. But I didn’t think so.

  “Mercer Agency,” Hobbs singsonged.

  “Don’t say my name out loud just listen,” I hissed. I don’t know why I found it necessary to whisper. I was outside after all.

  “Uh-huh,” my assistant hummed.

  He was musical like that. You had to know him.

  “Who are those men?”

  “Let me check, Ms. Mercer’s calendar.”

  I could hear him walking into my office.

  Anticipation pumped through my veins. I was certain the Disposable business was over. Couldn’t be about that.

  “They’re applicants for the investigator position,” he said in a low voice. “Where are you?”

  “I’m coming in now,” I told him, then I closed the phone and dropped it back into my bag.

  Applicants.

  Interesting.

  I absolutely refused to feel the slightest regret or guilt at moving forward. I couldn’t wait forever to hear from Dawson. I wasn’t waiting.

  “Good morning.” I smiled broadly as I entered the reception area. Three faces that spanned the gamut and somehow defied immediate description smiled back at me.

  Hobbs stood and made the introductions. “Misters Hewitt, Moffett, and Billingsly.” He gestured to each man as he said the corresponding name. “Jackie Mercer.” He directed their attention to me.

  Each of the gentlemen greeted me politely. I cleared my throat and tried to think of something clever to say, but wit escaped me at the moment. “I’ll be right with you.”