Kickout Clause (Savannah Martin Mystery)

by Bennett, Jenna

  A few weeks ago, I’d found Tim Briggs holed up there, avoiding the police, so Walker’s place had been on my mind recently. If it hadn’t been for that, I would have assumed that he’d lost the house when he went to prison.

  Tamara Grimaldi nodded. “I asked the Oak Hill cops to check on it. They said it was empty. And they’ve been doing drive-bys all night, just in case.”

  “What about the guard? If Walker killed him, he might have taken the guy’s keys and gone there.”

  Grimaldi smirked. “Trying to take my job, Ms.... Savannah?”

  “God forbid. But if Rafe’s going to be busy working this case, he won’t have time to babysit me. And I certainly don’t want to make him choose between working the case and babysitting me. So the sooner you—or someone—can get Walker back where he belongs, the better it’ll be.”

  There was no arguing with that, and Grimaldi didn’t try. “There’s an APB out on him. And on the car they were driving. We’ll get him. Just be careful.”

  I promised I would, and watched her walk up to Rafe and the officers and engage them in conversation. Rafe glanced at me over his shoulder and held up a finger. One minute. I nodded and folded myself back into the car to wait.

  “I’m so sorry,” I told him ten minutes later, when we were on our way back out of the neighborhood.

  He glanced at me. “Thanks.”

  “You liked him a lot.”

  There was a pause while his hands tightened on the steering wheel until the knuckles showed white, before he relaxed again. “He was me, ten years ago.”

  “Grimaldi told me he was drafted in prison, the way you were. Do you think someone from his old life did this to him?”

  “Hard to imagine what else it could be,” Rafe said. “He hadn’t started working anything big. It takes time to establish a cover and work your way in deep.”

  He should know, having spent ten years doing it.

  “How long did it take you?”

  He glanced at me again. “Nine years. I told you that. They recruited me while I was inside—”

  “Both the TBI and the bad guys, right?”

  He nodded. “The bad guys first, and then, when they figured out what was going on, the TBI. But it was just small stuff at first. Then a little bigger, and a little bigger. It took until last fall before I finally made contact with Hector.”

  Hector Gonzales, head of the biggest—former—South American Theft Gang in the southeast, now a guest of the Georgia Department of Corrections. Thanks to Rafe.

  “Grimaldi said there’d probably be a joint investigation. TBI and MNPD.”

  “Good,” Rafe said grimly. “I want the guys who did this.”

  I didn’t doubt it.

  “I asked her about Walker, too. There is no news. He’s still out there.”

  “You worried?” He shot me a look as he merged with traffic heading north on I-24. By now, rush hour had started, and we were headed toward downtown in a glut of fifty other cars.

  “Not too much. I think he’s probably miles and miles away by now. And even if he isn’t, I think he has more important things to worry about than me.” Such as saving his own skin. I mean, I may have been responsible for putting him in prison, but he was out now. And he wasn’t stupid. Surely he’d realize that the best thing he could do for himself would be to get as far away from Nashville as he could as quickly as possible, and not linger to even the score with me?

  Rafe muttered something.

  “What?” I said.

  He shook his head and focused on driving. After a few minutes, and a few miles, he glanced over at me again. But not at my face this time. “What are you wearing?”

  “Yoga pants,” I said. “And a T-shirt.”

  He didn’t say anything, and I added, “I’m sorry. I just didn’t want to take the time to put on all the things I usually wear when it was so early and we were in a hurry. Pantyhose and high heels and everything. I thought it was more important that we get out of the house quickly. But if you don’t like it, I won’t do it again.”

  “Why would I care what you wear?”

  He sounded honestly baffled, and I blinked. “I thought...”

  “Cause Bradley gave you a hard time about going outside dressed down, you thought I’d do it, too?”

  Something like that.

  “I told you before,” Rafe said, “I ain’t Bradley.”

  “I know. I just...” I’d fallen back into old habits, thinking the man I was with, and the people surrounding me, judged me based on whether or not I looked polished and acted perfect at any given time. “Why did you ask, then?”

  “Wondering whether I need to take you home before I take you to the TBI with me.”

  Oh. “Yes, please. I wouldn’t want to go to your workplace dressed like this.”

  “Too bad,” Rafe said and merged with traffic on I-40.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re wearing exactly what I want you to wear.”

  I was? “How so?” If he wanted to take me to the TBI and introduce me to his coworkers, I wasn’t likely to impress anyone dressed like this.

  “I could tell you,” Rafe said, “but...”

  “You’d have to kill me?”

  “Not really. But I don’t feel like listening to you argue.”

  Ah.

  We sat in silence for a few more minutes. He headed north on I-24 and took the exit for Ellington Parkway.

  “How about if I promise not to argue?”

  “We’re just a few minutes away,” Rafe said. “Just be patient.”

  Fine. I stuck out my lower lip and folded my arms and did my best.

  Chapter Seven

  The Tennessee Bureau of Investigations’ headquarters is located in Inglewood, just off Ellington Parkway and quite close to the medical examiner’s office.

  I’d never been there before.

  At the medical examiner’s office, yes. It was where my sister-in-law, Sheila, had ended up after being fished out of the Cumberland River back in November. And it was where Tamara Grimaldi had had me meet her to give a preliminary identification of my friend Lila Vaughn in September.

  But I hadn’t been to the TBI yet. My only knowledge of Rafe’s desk and his cubicle had been from description.

  Now I got to see it up close and personal, if not quite as personally as Rafe had hinted he wanted me to.

  He scanned his ID card at the front desk, and signed me in as a visiting guest. Then he took me through the jungle of hallways and cubicles down into the basement. Nobody stopped us, not even to ask questions about Manny. Either they hadn’t heard the news yet, or the look on his face—grim determination with a hint of don’t-mess-with-me-unless-you’re-prepared-for-the-consequences—warned them off.

  I looked around, at the gray concrete walls and utilitarian floors. “What’s down here?”

  “Gym.”

  I glanced up at him. That expression on his face made me a little wary myself. “Why are we going to the gym?”

  “If you’re gonna be out there on your own, with an escaped murderer looking for you, I want you to be able to protect yourself.”

  Ah.

  And then I realized what he’d said. “What are you going to do to me?”

  “Teach you unarmed combat,” Rafe said.

  “You’re joking.”

  He looked at me. “No. Why?”

  “I don’t think I’ll be very good at that. I wasn’t brought up to be violent.”

  “I don’t want you to be violent, darlin’. I want to you protect yourself.”

  “How am I going to do that without being violent?”

  Rafe pushed open a door halfway down the corridor and gestured me inside. “Try to think of it as self-defense. Not violence.”

  I stepped through the door into the TBI gym and looked around.

  It was big and utilitarian, with lots of mirrors along all the walls. Dumbbells and benches and other strength training equipment took up one half of the ro
om, and the other half consisted of a bunch of mats and a boxing ring. At this time of the morning, it was empty except for the two of us.

  Rafe steered me toward the mats. “We’ll start with some stretches to get you warmed up.”

  I did my best not to look at myself in any of the mirrors. I knew I looked awful. My hair was a mess, I was sans makeup, and my T-shirt wasn’t long enough to cover my butt in the tight yoga pants. “Why do I have to warm up? If someone attacks me, I won’t have stretched.”

  He arched a brow. For a second he didn’t say anything, but then he nodded. “Just don’t blame me if you pull any muscles.”

  “If someone attacks me, I won’t be wearing these clothes, either. Maybe we should do this sometime when I’m wearing a skirt and heels.” Heels I could dig into someone’s foot.

  “Sure,” Rafe said accommodatingly. “Maybe we can wait until the place is full, too. That way, when I throw you down on the mat and your skirt flies up, everyone can enjoy the view.”

  I blinked. “You’re going to throw me down on the mat?”

  “That depends on you,” Rafe said, “and how good you are at getting away from me. But yeah, I imagine your back’ll hit the floor a few times before we’re done.”

  I looked away. Met my eyes in the mirror and looked back. “I don’t want to do this.”

  His voice gentled. “I know, darlin’. And I wish you didn’t have to. But if I ain’t gonna be there to protect you, I wanna know that you can protect yourself.”

  I suppose I did have a certain propensity for getting myself into situations where a few basic self defense moves might come in handy. “Fine. What do you want me to do?”

  “I want you to fight me off,” Rafe said and lifted his hands.

  I didn’t lift mine. I was afraid of looking stupid. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  He grinned. “You won’t.”

  He reached for me. I dodged, but he must have read my mind and known which direction I was going to go, because he was right there, spinning me around and into his embrace. His arms closed around my ribcage like a steel band, squeezing the air out of me. Turns out it’s hard to fight when you can’t breathe.

  It took him a second to kick my feet out from under me, another to force me to my knees and then onto my stomach. He spared a last second to flip me over onto my back before landing on top of me. I blinked up at the florescent lights, trying to catch my breath. Not an easy task between having the air knocked out of me in the fall, and the two hundred pounds of muscle sitting on my diaphragm.

  “That,” Rafe said, looking down into my face, still keeping my hands pinned to the mat above my head, “was pathetic.”

  He, of course, wasn’t breathing hard.

  “If I’d had high heels on,” I informed him, “I would have stepped on your foot.”

  He shook his head. “Wouldn’t have done you any good.”

  Maybe not. But it would have been something to do. As it was, I hadn’t had a chance to do anything at all.

  He vaulted off me. “C’mon.”

  I took the hand he extended and let him haul me to my feet. “I don’t think this is going to work.”

  “Give it a chance.” He brushed me off, with a little extra attention to my butt. “You just have to learn what to do.”

  “I think there’s probably a little more to it than that. You’re much bigger than I am.”

  If it was Walker Lamont coming at me, it’d be a different story. He was shorter than Rafe by several inches, and weighed probably thirty pounds less. Still bigger and heavier than me, but considerably smaller and slighter than Rafe. I’d have a chance against Walker, at least as long as he wasn’t carrying a gun or a knife. Against Rafe, I had no chance at all.

  “It ain’t just about size. A smaller, lighter guy can take down a bigger, heavier guy every time if he knows what to do.”

  “So what do I do?”

  “The target points are knees, groin, throat, nose, and eyes.” He pointed to them as he spoke. “Hit me in any of’em, and I’m gonna be distracted. Hit me hard enough and you might get away.”

  “I told you. I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “And I told you you won’t.” He stepped in close behind me. “Let’s try this again. If I grab you like this,” he slipped both arms around my waist, but without tightening the grip to cut off my air this time, “what’re you gonna do?”

  I hesitated. The first time he did it, he’d had me on the ground in a couple of seconds. This time he was giving me time to think.

  However, as soon as I shifted my weight onto one foot to stomp his foot with the other, he yanked me off balance and then I was back on the mat with him on top of me again. This time he didn’t even bother to turn me right side up, just landed on my back.

  I grunted, in a very unladylike fashion.

  “This is getting monotonous,” I informed him once I’d gotten my breath back.

  “You made it easy for me. I outweigh you to begin with, and then you made it easier by compromising your own balance.” He lifted me to my feet. “Try again. This time, don’t make it so easy.”

  Easier said than done, no pun intended.

  But trying to stomp on his foot hadn’t worked, so this time I threw my weight backwards, and came pretty close to having the top of my head connect with his nose; one of those target areas he’d shown me. But he must have been expecting it, because while he rocked back on his heels, he didn’t fall or so much as stumble. And then his arms tightened around my midriff again. “Good try,” he told me while I struggled to catch my breath, “but not good enough. Try again.”

  He put me on my feet and gave me a second to get my balance.

  I thought about my options. Stomping hadn’t worked. Going backwards hadn’t worked. How about going forward?

  I tensed, but that just caused him to tighten his arms again, and to move his knee to the outside of mine, preparatory to knocking me down. “Don’t telegraph your moves, Savannah,” he murmured against my ear, his breath stirring the hairs at my cheek. “Surprise me.”

  Sure.

  I fought back the shiver that warm puff of air had caused. If going backwards didn’t work, and going forward wouldn’t work, how about going limp? It went against every inclination to fight—or at least every inclination I would have had to fight, had it been anyone but Rafe behind me—but it might be the most unexpected thing I could do. And unexpected was good, right? If I couldn’t throw him off balance physically, maybe I could do it emotionally.

  I sagged against him. He didn’t falter, as I had hoped, but his hold changed to support instead of restrain me. To hold me up instead of keeping me from getting away. I took the opportunity to twist in his arms, and looped my own around his neck, so we were stomach to stomach and face to face.

  His mouth softened into a half smile. “That’s one way to do it.”

  “It wouldn’t work on anyone but you,” I informed him, a little breathless, although not so much because he was holding me too tightly this time.

  “Sure it would.”

  “It wouldn’t work on Walker.” Since Walker didn’t swing my way.

  “Maybe not.” He made no move to let me go. I shifted a little, just enough to rub against him, and watched his nostrils flare.

  I lowered my voice to a whisper. “You know...”

  “Yeah?”

  I stroked the back of his neck with my fingertips. “Right now, I wouldn’t have any problem at all putting you on the ground.”

  He opened his mouth to argue, but closed it again when he realized I had my knee between his legs and was a tenth of a second from being able to knock his crown jewels up into his abdomen. A flicker of chagrin crossed his face, followed by amusement. “Damn.”

  “I know.” I preened, just a little.

  “Oh, well.” He shrugged. “Since you got me...” His arms tightened and his gaze dropped from my eyes to my mouth. As he lowered his head, my eyes fluttered closed. Only to fly open again, in s
hock, when instead of the expected kiss, my back hit the mat.

  “I told you,” Rafe said, two inches from my face, his arms braced on either side of my head, “don’t telegraph your moves.”

  The unspoken part of that sentence? Don’t believe other people when they do.

  He’d certainly managed to surprise me.

  He also felt very good where he was. His weight pushed my body into the mat, and he was warm and hard against me, his mouth just a few inches from mine. I’d been primed for a kiss, and I hadn’t gotten one. I wanted it. He must have as well, because when I looped my hands around the back of his neck and tugged, he didn’t resist.

  Things might have gone on from there, had it not been for the rather insistent clearing of a throat that cut through the rosy clouds a minute—or five—later.

  Rafe rolled off me and to the side. “Oh,” he said after a second, “you’re here. Good.”

  I blinked up at Wendell Craig, Rafe’s handler from back in his undercover days. And I didn’t share Rafe’s assessment that it was a good thing. Wendell didn’t seem happy, his eyes flat and his lips set in an uncompromising line as he looked from Rafe to me and back.

  “I’m sorry.” I scrambled to my feet, my cheeks flaming. I’d never gotten caught making out in high school, probably because Todd and I hadn’t really made out, ever. But here I was at almost twenty eight, caught in the act, and by my boyfriend’s boss, no less. It was beyond embarrassing.

  Rafe didn’t seem to have any such qualms. “I was teaching Savannah self-defense,” he said.

  “No offense,” Wendell told him dryly, “but it didn’t look like she was fighting very hard.”

  “We got a little carried away,” I murmured.

  Rafe glanced at me, and then put an arm around my shoulders. “With Lamont out there,” he told Wendell, “I wanna make sure she can take care of herself.”

  Wendell’s expression showed what he thought of that excuse. “She know how to handle a gun?”

  “I’ve touched one,” I said, “if that’s what you mean.”

  Wendell shook his head, possibly in amusement but more likely in disgust. Rafe grinned, and I realized a little too late that ‘gun’ is also a euphemism for something else.