“You there—are you the new neighbor?” A woman hurried after him, making great strides despite her age and size, her full hips swaying with a purpose. Behind her she dragged a scraggly-haired mutt that looked about a hundred years old. Even the dog’s four legs couldn’t keep up with her two. The pair reminded him of Paula Dean and Old Yeller.
The woman stopped in front of him, the top of her poofy white hair coming up to his chest. Her plump head tilted back, revealing narrowed eyes. Ash sensed it wasn’t because of the bright sun.
She wrapped the leash around her wrist, ensuring her dog couldn’t escape. Not that he would. The damn thing dropped to the ground the second she stopped walking. His tongue hung out of his mouth, and his broad chest expanded in exaggerated motion.
“I’m Maybel Ray,” she said, sticking out her free hand. “And you are?” Her eyes narrowed farther in challenge, as if she knew he wouldn’t answer.
Ash thought long and hard about doing just that, but that wouldn’t help his cause to blend in and gather information. So he forced a pleasant smile and lied. “John.”
“John, huh? You have a last name, John?” She popped her hip out and placed her hand on it. The movement tightened the slack on her dog’s leash, causing him to yelp when it restricted around his neck.
“Oh! Oh my. Sorry, Rufus.” She patted the dog’s head, and he fell back onto the pavement, snoring.
Maybel turned to Ash. “How about that last name, John?”
He wanted to give her a narrow-eyed expression of his own but chose to keep the smile in place instead. Intel. It’s all about collecting intel, he reminded himself. “Black.”
“John Black,” she echoed. “All right, Mr. Black. Are you from Baltimore? When did you move here? What do you do for a living?”
A car engine revved somewhere from the right. Ash glanced in that direction, spotting a dated Buick moseying toward them, but Paula Dean didn’t take her eyes off him. A lesser man would have crumbled under her direct gaze. Not Ash. He’d faced down drug lords, hard-core criminals, and some of the world’s worst terrorists. One old broad and her decrepit dog weren’t going to break him. Just the thought made him want to laugh.
“Are you in a gang?”
Now that was a first. He laughed out of honest amusement. “Why do you say that?”
She glared at his neckline. “You have a tattoo. Gang members have tattoos.”
So did a lot of other groups. Like Special Forces and SEALs. He glanced down as if he could see the ink on his neck and chest. “From my Army days.”
“Hmm.” Her eyes opened a fraction more, and the creases on her face softened. “So you’re a vet?”
He gave a nod.
A look of approval crossed her features. “What brings you to 19th Street, John?”
He hooked a thumb through his belt loop and crossed one foot over the other. “I grew up around here before I joined the Army. I’d been deployed a bunch of times and was getting tired of life in the desert. So when I was getting out, I wanted to grow roots where I had some ties.”
Maybel tilted her head as if assessing if his story was legit. She must have deemed it was, because she dropped her full chin once.
His turn.
“What about you? You and old Rufus lived here long?”
She glanced down the street with a far-off expression as if she was looking into the past. “Moved here in the eighties with my husband. He worked in DC, and I got a job at the local school. It’s a great area. Always has been.” She inhaled a deep breath, then blinked a few times, coming to. She looked at him directly. “We’re a tight-knit group here on 19th Street. We watch out for each other. We don’t take kindly to new people disrupting the balance.” She slanted her head to the other side. “You’re not going to disrupt the balance, are you, John?”
He would’ve taken offense to her insinuation, but he couldn’t ignore the blatant pride she had in her hometown. They had the same agenda: to keep the balance in Baltimore. Specifically for him, it was to stop men like Viktor Heinrich from causing devastation and misery.
He looked her square in the eye. “No, ma’am. I’m just looking for some R and R.”
She loosened her hold on the leash, letting it drop onto the cement. The mutt rolled onto his side and began scratching his stomach with his back leg. The woman mirrored Ash’s casual stance, crossing a foot over the other, but contradicted it with a Mafia stare-down. The DEA could use a broad like her. She almost intimidated him. Almost. “I’m glad to hear it. You stay out of trouble, you hear, John?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said again. “Is there trouble I need to be looking out for?” Might as well see if the old broad had heard of anything out of the ordinary. Based on the event this morning and the way she was drilling him, 19th Street was a lot more active than she was leading on.
She stepped toward him, her overabundant chest almost brushing his stomach, and jutted her chin out. “Just keep your nose clean, young man. If you cause trouble, you’ll be sorry.”
The woman reminded him of his genteel grandmother. She was soft and round in the midsection and probably baked cookies every day for fun. But his grandmother would never make threats she couldn’t keep. And Ash could guarantee Maybel Ray didn’t, either. From her firm stance and hard gaze, the woman meant business. He was also damn certain that she knew more than she was saying.
“Take care for now, John. I’ll be seeing you around.”
He gave her a final smile for good measure. “Looking forward to it, Ms. Ray.”
She turned and reached down for the leash, which was no longer where she’d left it. Instead, it was about ten feet away, trailing behind the curved body of Old Yeller who was taking a dump on his front lawn.
Before he could pull the plastic bag off his take-out and make her pick up the dog’s crap, his cell phone vibrated in his pocket. Sliding it out, he glanced at the screen. Tyke. The new team leader. Ash’s replacement.
His movement caught Maybel’s attention, and she leaned in to catch a glimpse at his cell phone. Ballsy, he’d give her that.
He kept the smile in place and signaled to his phone. “My baby sister. We’re supposed to meet for dinner tonight.”
Her perceptive eyes didn’t waiver. “Best get going then.”
His phone dinged, alerting him that he had a voicemail. “See you around.”
She gave a little wave, then whistled to her dog. Old Yeller kicked his feet backward, uprooting chunks of grass to cover his pile, before trotting away like he’d just won the Eukanuba Nationals.
Ash would worry about that particular pile of shit later. First priority was getting on the horn to Tyke to report what he’d learned about the Vamper and Club Hell.
Dashing up the front cement stairs, he entered his house. Dropping the food on the kitchen counter, he pushed a button on his cell phone to access his voicemail.
“Hey, asshole,” Tyke’s gruff voice said. “Avoidin’ my call? Real fucking mature. Why don’t you do yourself a favor and call me when you get this? I’d like to know you’re doing some kind of work on this assignment. Or did you already find some woman to screw off with?”
“Fuck you, Tyke,” Ash mumbled. It was one time. One. And it was going to haunt him for the rest of his career.
“Just call me back,” the message continued. “I wanna know what else you’ve found out about Heinrich. Anything out of the ordinary going on in the city? Do your goddamn job so I can do mine.”
Ash was marooned by himself in Baltimore because of his involvement with Lorena Serrano on their previous mission. She had been an informant offering information about Jose Serrano, an immensely powerful and wealthy drug creator. Of course, when Ash fell in love with her, neither he nor the Agency had any clue that Lorena was Jose’s daughter. Ash might have figured it out if his head hadn’t been up his ass with stars in his eyes. She was beautiful, with curves in all the right places. He fell for her, and he fell hard. Started ignoring direct orders from the directo
r. Missed meetings with his team. Even thought about leaving the DEA for her. It wasn’t until after they arrived at Jose Serrano’s chateau in Buenos Aires that he discovered the truth. That was also the night Ash sacrificed an innocent boy’s life and was then shot by the supposed love of his life and left for dead.
All of which put him on Director Landry’s shit list. And for good reason.
Fun times.
Somehow Ash got to a hospital and survived. But his career didn’t. Landry yanked Ash out of Argentina and placed him on desk duty for a few months to recoup and cool off. Good move since all Ash had wanted to do was head back to South America and track down Lorena and her father. Once the director felt like Ash was in his right mind and could handle something other than getting coffee and filing reports, he sent him here to Baltimore. Still punishment since he wasn’t allowed to rejoin the team, but better than being a paper pusher. He’d take it.
Staring at his lo mein on the counter, he inhaled. You did this to yourself. Suck it up and play along.
Chapter Five
After spending six grueling hours waiting in the emergency room, Sam finally made it back home. The doc said her foot wasn’t broken, thank God, but she should stay off of it for a day or so. That was fine with her, since the next two days were going to be filled with sitting on her bum and spying on her neighbor.
She knocked on the door at Grandma Rose’s house and heard voices yelling from inside.
Grandma opened the door and peered down at Sam’s foot with a worried expression.
“I’m good,” she said. “Just have to keep it elevated and put ice on it. The pain’s more in my rear-end than my foot.” It still throbbed like an extra heartbeat, but the doctor wrapped it good and tight. Even if she walked into a wall, it wouldn’t hurt it any further.
“That’s good news. When Lou called and said he’d had to practically drag you to the ER, I didn’t know what to think.”
More shouts erupted from inside Rose’s house. Sam looked over her grandmother’s shoulder.
“They’ve been here since noon.” Rose smiled and motioned with a swing of her arm for Sam to follow.
Sam ambled into the back of the house toward the kitchen, where the rest of the women from the 19th Street Patrol huddled around the table like a pack of lions devouring a fresh kill.
Grandma’s house was identical in layout to Sam’s. Living room with TV just inside the door, a short hallway with a powder room, then the corridor opened to a dining area with sliding glass door to the right and kitchen to the left.
Sam stopped in the doorway between the dining room and kitchen, gripping the inside of the doorjamb.
Evening had descended. The moon was full, sending its white rays through the window, acting as a spotlight to gadgets laying on the kitchen tabletop.
“No,” Maybel snapped, yanking a video camera with infrared technology from Estelle’s hands. “I told you, I’m going to use it. I have better vision than you do.” Maybel, Vice President and oldest member of the neighborhood watch group, was what most people would consider a typical grandmother. Wearing a blue short-sleeve cotton shirt and khaki culottes, she appeared as the essence of simplicity. One would never guess that behind that easy-going facade lurked a woman with an unquenchable thirst for information.
During the Cold War, Maybel had worked as an operative for the CIA. She usually clammed up when Sam asked her about what happened, but Grandma Rose had said Maybel played a part in the peacekeeping efforts between the U.S. and the Soviets. Whatever that meant.
She must have had a pretty huge part, because she still had connections at the Agency and beyond. She never spoke about the who and the what, but if the 19th Street Patrol needed anything, Maybel could provide it.
“But my hands are steadier,” Estelle barked, snatching the piece back. “You can’t hold the camera still long enough to see what’s going on. Always looks like the suspect’s being sucked into a damn hurricane.” Estelle wore a spaghetti-strap top and a tight denim skirt, looking more like a barmaid than a grandma. She’d lived alone, five doors down from Grandma Rose for forty years. Never married, but never without a list of adoring suitors at her beck and call.
“What do I get to do?” Celia asked no one in particular. At sixty, she was the youngest and most proper of the group. Dressed in her usual Sunday best—cashmere top, pearls, kitten heels, and hair pulled into a perfect chignon—she reached cautiously across the table for a dart gun. She marveled at it and then pointed the barrel at her face.
“No!” Sam leaped forward, pulling the gun from Celia’s hand before the woman figured out how to pull the trigger. Celia shooting herself in the face and passing out from the tranquilizers wouldn’t be a great start to the evening.
Voices continued to holler over one another, arguing about who was going to handle which device. Excitement at the prospect of gathering information on their mysterious neighbor had taken over the room. Sam let their racket go on for another minute, before forcing order.
“Ladies! Ladies!” She bobbed her hands in the air like a teacher trying to calm an unruly class of first graders. “Ladies, please listen.”
The arguing continued.
Grandma Rose stuck her fingers in her mouth and let out an ear-piercing whistle.
All eyes turned and gave Sam their undivided attention. “Thank you for coming. We have a very important mission tonight. We need all hands on deck for this one. As you know, we have a new neighbor. And he’s a slick one. I had a run-in with him this morning. Big, bad, and carries a pistol.”
A collective gasp erupted.
Sam nodded for effect. “The man is dangerous.”
Maybel dropped her binoculars onto the table with a thud. “I bumped into him while I was out walking Rufus this afternoon—”
“More like spying on him,” Estelle said out of the side of her mouth.
She shot the woman a stern sideways glance. “I questioned him is all.” She straightened her spine and lifted her chin. “As VP of the watch I have a right to.” She paused, seeming to wait for someone to challenge her logic.
“And?” Estelle said, drumming her fingers on the table. “What’d you find out? We’re waitin’ on baited breath here. Some of us might die soon.”
“His name is John Black. He moved back to town after serving in the Army. He grew up around here.”
“That’s it?” Estelle asked. “That’s all he said? What about the juicy details?”
Juicy details was right. He might have moved back to his hometown, but then why the gun? And how did he know so much about those drugs?
Maybel slumped in her chair. “There weren’t any. I could tell there was more to his story though. Much more.”
With an eager expression, Estelle rested an elbow on the table and leaned over it. “Like what? Firefighter by day, Magic Mike by night? That kind of thing?”
Maybel sent a deadpan look to her friend. “No, Estelle. I was thinking more that he was hiding something of importance.”
The other woman leaned back and shrugged. “You don’t think a man who can gyrate like Channing Tatum is important?”
Celia bent to whisper to Rose. “Who’s Channing Tatum?”
Rose waved her off. “I’ll show you tomorrow afternoon during tea.”
Satisfied, Celia nodded and folded her hands in her lap.
“What I meant,” Maybel said in a stern tone, “was that I don’t believe his story about who he is and where he’s from. He’s definitely hiding something and I want to know why.”
Sam’s gaze shifted to the windows looking out to the back alley. She focused on the aged-wood fence outlining her grandmother’s small yard.
A vision of her brawny neighbor came to her, and her heart suddenly beat double-time. “He’s arrogant,” Sam mused. “But I guess he can be, since he’s all buff and what-not…he’s wide like a tractor-trailer and just as tough…a bit roguish, but it’s a front. He’s not fooling me with that tough-guy exterior.” She s
norted. But man, the way he’d saved me from that kid and took control of the situation. Capably. Securely. Forcefully. She shuddered. It was meant to be in disgust, but it definitely wasn’t. His muscles are enormous. And he has this commanding way of—
“Is he a bad guy or a hero in a romance novel?” Estelle said through a sly smile. “Sounds like Channing Tatum ain’t got nothing on Beefy next door.”
Sam jumped and glanced at the smirking faces staring back at her. She’d said all of that out loud. How embarrassing.
Estelle threw her shoulders back, showing off her low-cut neckline. “From that description, I’m thinkin’ we should go over and welcome him to the neighborhood, if you know what I mean.” She nudged Maybel in the ribs and winked. “Might not be such a bad thing havin’ a little eye candy to stare at.”
Sam’s focus cleared and snapped to the women at the table. They had to understand the importance of tonight. “He’s no piece of candy. And if he is, he’s a…a…chocolate-covered maggot.”
There was a shared, “Eww.”
“Yuck,” Celia whispered to herself, her face turning an ill shade of green. She pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and placed it over her mouth. “Why would anyone want to eat a maggot covered in chocolate?”
“No one eats ’em, Celia,” Estelle responded. “It was a figure of speech. A poor one, but one nonetheless.”
Sam narrowed her eyes at Estelle but didn’t comment.
Estelle shot her a mega-watt smile and batted her eyelashes.
“Oh.” Little red patches appeared on Celia’s cheeks.
“Chocolate maggot or not,” Grandma Rose interjected, “I’m grateful to him. He did, after all, save you from that horrible drug addict.”
Another collective gasp.
Sam’s arms waved up and down to calm the group. “It was nothing. I could’ve handled it on my own.” But she hadn’t. Ash had saved her. Her voice didn’t sound as confident as she would have liked, and the awkward silence and worried expressions on the other women’s faces told her they had picked up on it.
On Her Six (Under Covers) Page 4