“You’re well informed,” said Pike.
“As are you. And since you both evidently already know what happened tonight, I don’t see what else I can do to help you. O’Reilly’s office is working overtime on the bodies, and you’re taking my time away from looking into leads we might be able to come up with.”
“You don’t need to look for leads!” The mayor’s face had turned bright, apoplectic red. “All you need to do is ask Lucy Sadler who would send her two dead bodies!”
“Believe me, Mayor Dobbs, I have asked her. She doesn’t know. If you do, I’d be more than happy to have that information as a place to begin. But there seem to be an abundance of people in this town—this county—who’d like her gone. Just tonight, Rita Calloway—who didn’t even live here until a few years back, treated me to her opinion of Lucy’s character. It doesn’t make the suspect list any shorter.”
“Maybe she planned it herself. With the things she’s written about, I wouldn’t put it past her.” This from Pike. “Gave herself the perfect alibi by having you there at the time. Wouldn’t that just be great publicity for her book about her mother?”
“Are you working on that case?” The mayor’s shout could probably be heard halfway to Dallas.
“That woman died almost twenty years ago! I demand you leave that case alone until you’ve fixed the problems we have right fucking now!”
“Mayor—”
“Have you ID’d the body in the truck yet?” Pike asked.
“Not definitively. Registration comes back to one Juan Ramirez of San Antonio. Name ring any bells?” Both men shook their heads.
“I figured out where I’d seen him before,” said Scott from behind Ethan’s back. Thank God. Someone sane.
“Yeah? Where?”
“He’s a day laborer. Hangs out in the parking lot of the El Lobo Loco looking for work, and in the bar itself at night.”
“Interesting. I’ve been meaning to stop over there and check it out. Run a search and see what you can dig up on the place, will you? Call outs, ownership, whatever you can find.”
“On it.” Scott walked back to his desk and began pecking away on his computer.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me gentlemen, I have to work.”
“You’re over your head here, Donovan,” Pike said. “Let me send you a few men to help. You’ve got a dead coed, and now two more dead.”
“And you have a dead politician and the body of an as-yet-unidentified female. I’d say you have enough on your plate. If I need help, I can get it from the state or from the Feebies.”
“What the hell would the FBI want with any of this?” Was he imagining it, or could that be a note of real panic in Pike’s voice?
“I told you before. My consultant is looking into connected cases.”
“Your consultant. You mean Lucy Sadler.”
“Yes.”
“And I told you before, Donovan, that girl is nothing but trouble.”
“Don’t go there, Sheriff. We’ll have a chat about your high school experiences another time. That’s a promise.”
Pike stared at him for a long time, but Ethan wouldn’t back down. His teeth clenched so tightly he could feel the stress all the way up to his temples. Pike looked away first. “No idea what you’re talking about, Donovan, but I’m always happy to relive the good old days. As you say, though, you have a lot to do. So the mayor and I will let you get to it.”
Ethan ran a hand over the back of his neck and wished like hell he’d never accepted the position of chief of police. In three months, his contract would be up and there wasn’t a chance in hell of Dobbs renewing it at this point, which meant all he’d done was buy himself a year by taking the job.
Of course, a treacherous voice whispered in the back of his mind, if you weren’t tied to this town, you might have a future with Lucy. But Lucy hadn’t shown any interest in a future. And all the conflicts remained. If he wasn’t chief of police in Dobbs Hollow, where no one cared about his disability, what would he do?
He shoved the thought away and went to see what Scott had uncovered about El Lobo Loco. Not much, as it turned out. In the nine years since it had opened, the bar had hosted only a handful of fights requiring police attention, probably because it catered to illegals who preferred to stay under police radar. The owner, one Diego Sanchez, had no record. His driver’s license showed an address a few miles outside of town.
Ethan checked his watch. Eleven. Friday nights were apt to be busy at El Lobo Loco. He wondered whether the boss would be in.
“C’mon,” he said to Scott. “Let’s check it out.”
Sanchez was tending bar when they arrived. If having the police in his establishment bothered him, it didn’t show. Short, fat, and rapidly losing his hair, he presented as unthreatening a front as Ethan had ever seen. So why did he set the fine hairs on the back of Ethan’s neck to bristling? “Sure, I know him,” Sanchez said without hesitation when they showed him the enlarged driver’s license picture of Juan Ramirez. “He’s in here several nights a week, and I see him outside looking for work. I give the guys coffee if they want it. It’s a hard life they have.”
“You haven’t had trouble with anyone in town because of the way you treat the illegal immigrants? No one’s made threats?”
“Threats?” He shrugged. “A few folks are upset about the men I serve, sure, but not enough to do anything about it. It’s not as if any of them want the work these guys do, after all.”
“What else can you tell me about Juan Ramirez?” He’d like to ask whether Sanchez had seen anyone dealing drugs in his bar, but he wasn’t ready to antagonize the man. “Any particular group he hangs out with?”
This time Sanchez paused for a split second before answering. Was he just thinking or did he know more than he was willing to say? “Not that I’ve noticed. Sorry.”
“Mmm.” Ethan eyed the dozen or so men in the bar, three at the bar, the others at flimsy wooden tables. Unlike the place’s owner, its customers were an underfed lot, if muscular from the manual labor they performed. Not one would meet his gaze.
“How about you?” he said to the nearest man at the bar. “You know Juan Ramirez?” The man barely glanced at the picture before shaking his head, still without fully facing Ethan. He’d likely have no better luck with any of the rest of them, so he nodded to Sanchez, and he and Scott headed back to the station. He’d up police presence in the bar for a couple of days, put the pressure on Sanchez. If Sanchez knew anything about Ramirez, he’d talk when business started dropping off from having cops in the bar all the time.
Ethan wanted to call Lucy, to hear her voice, even if all she wanted to do was curse him out for his behavior that afternoon, but he figured she’d probably fallen into bed the minute they’d gotten to TJ’s apartment. He drove by there and checked the windows, but there were no lights on. Not like he could have invited himself in even if they’d been up. One more trip, this time past Lucy’s house to see whether anyone was hanging around, and he forced himself to head back to his place alone.
• • •
WELL, WELL. SOMEONE else was having fun with Lucy Sadler. No skin off his neck, but he’d like to know who. He didn’t appreciate interference. He’d thought he put a stop to it when he’d taken Drew out of the picture. Of course, Drew had insisted he hadn’t had anything to do with the snake, so the Commander should have recognized another hand in the game. Still, dead men were in a completely different class than rattlers. Especially given what he’d heard about the body in the back of the truck.
How the hell could another man be operating in town without his knowledge? It meant he’d misjudged someone. Because he knew just about everyone in Dobbs Hollow one way or another, and he’d never even considered one of them capable of the kind of violence it would take to dismember a human being.
And then there was the dead Jane Doe. Who
the fuck was she? And where had she come from? Renee had been a thing of beauty. Best job he’d done in ages. And she’d riled up the town like crazy. God, what a rush. Way better than those pathetic women he’d had to bury over the years because they didn’t survive his games.
And Lucy Sadler would be even better. He just had to be sure no one else got to her first.
Chapter Fifteen
My mother moved to Dobbs Hollow when she was twenty-one, with a child and no husband. She hardly lived a perfect life, either before her arrival or after, but she didn’t deserve what happened.
from A Bad Day to Die by Lucy Sadler Caldwell [DRAFT]
TJ MOVED SLOWLY through her morning tai chi routine. Breathe, move, focus, balance. Find your center. Focus. The sun shone through her windows, and she found herself humming slightly despite her knowledge of the grim day ahead. Down the hall, she heard the shower shut off. Lucy, too, was preparing for whatever was to come.
The doorbell rang, surprising her into losing her balance, and she cursed as she tripped, barely managing to catch herself without toppling the floor lamp beside the dining table. She stumbled to the door and peered out the peephole, ready to berate whoever dared show up on her doorstep at eight in the morning.
Of course, that was before she saw him.
Despite the fisheye distortion of the peephole, the man waiting in the hall was almost shockingly handsome. Thick, dark hair sprang back from his face in barely controlled waves. Black stubble covered, but did not mask, a sharply defined jaw and chin. And his body, well, it was a thing of beauty. Even at ease, muscles stood out beneath his black T-shirt and well-worn jeans.
Too bad she had to meet him, whoever he was, in sweatpants and a tank top.
“Yes?” she called through the door.
“My name’s Jacob Nolan. I’m looking for Lucy Caldwell.”
“ID?”
He held up a badge to the peephole. Lucy had said he’d disappeared, but apparently, he hadn’t resigned from the FBI yet. She opened the door.
For a moment, neither of them spoke, and she had the sense he studied her as closely as she did him. Up close, his masculine appeal took on a sharper edge. His eyes were the color of shadows on slate, a dark gray-blue that revealed nothing of what he might be thinking.
And then a shriek had TJ stepping out of the way as Lucy launched herself at Nolan.
“Jake!” Lucy pummeled the broad chest, but not hard. “Where in the hell have you been?”
“Here ’n’ there.” The man’s grin should have been illegal. It lit those stormy eyes and cut deep grooves in his cheeks. “Georgia, mostly, and Louisiana. But I caught your upload last night and decided maybe you could use my help.”
“Of course we can! But are you sure you want to come back? You look much better having been away for a while.”
“You don’t. You look like crap.”
“You’re such a gentleman.” But she smiled, then turned to TJ. “You two met?”
“Not really.” She held out a hand to Nolan. “TJ Dobbs.”
He took it in his own and a tiny shiver snaked up her spine.
“Jake Nolan.”
“Lucy showed me your program. Very impressive.”
“Thanks. With a little luck, it will bring answers.”
“How did you know where to find me?” Lucy asked.
“I went by the cop shop, and Donovan told me where you were staying.”
“He’s still there? Doesn’t the man ever sleep?”
“Actually, he’s right behind me. Got a radio call as we were pulling up.” TJ couldn’t decide which she found more intriguing, the excited, happy Lucy who’d thrown herself at Jake or the concerned and caring Lucy who worried over Ethan Donovan’s lack of sleep. This must be the true Lucy, Lucy when she wasn’t searching for her mother’s killer. TJ found herself smiling. She hadn’t even realized how much she’d worried that, between Drew’s actions in high school and her mother’s murder, Lucy’s emotional life would have been stunted forever.
A knock on the door signaled Ethan’s arrival. TJ let him in, then watched in fascination as both he and Lucy tried to avoid looking at each other. Lucy blushed.
“Why don’t I get us all coffee,” TJ offered. “Then we can figure out what to do next.”
She headed for the kitchen, too aware that Jake Nolan followed her. “I’m perfectly capable of fixing coffee myself.”
“I know that. I thought they might want a couple of minutes alone.”
“And that doesn’t bother you?”
“Why should it?”
TJ shrugged. “I’m not clear on your relationship.”
“We’re friends. Nothing more.”
• • •
THE MOMENT TJ and Nolan left the room, Ethan pulled Lucy into his arms. She slid her own around his waist and turned her face up to him, waiting for a kiss. He obliged, glad she had forgotten their tiff. Or at least forgiven it.
“I missed you last night.” He hardly recognized his own voice, rougher than he’d ever heard it.
“Did you get home at all?”
“For a few hours.”
“You should have let me stay at your place.”
“I would have. I will if you want to. We didn’t exactly part on the best of terms, so it didn’t seem appropriate. Besides, there are a few things I should tell you first.” After which she might not be so eager to put her safety in his hands.
Sensing his misgivings, she put her hands on his cheeks and held his eyes with her own. “Whatever it is, I promise it’s okay.”
Before he could reply, TJ and Jake returned to the room, coffee in hand.
“So what did you discover last night?” TJ asked as she put a coffee mug at each place on the small dining table and a bottle of milk and jar of sugar in the center.
“Last night wasn’t terribly productive,” Ethan admitted, “but I just got off with Scott, and I’d like to discuss what he told me.”
“Scott Allenby is one of the DHPD officers,” Lucy explained to Jake.
“Last night, Scott and I went to El Lobo Loco because that’s where the RO for the truck has been known to hang out. I had Scott work up deep background on the owner, and he turned up several old charges. Nothing stuck, so nothing in his official record, but Scott went the extra mile and called to talk to the local PD where the guy used to live.”
“What were they for?”
“Cocaine.”
“The owner of El Lobo Loco?” TJ sounded flabbergasted. “He’s a good hundred pounds overweight. He was using blow?”
“Selling it. Meanwhile, both Richie Mack and Juan Ramirez were chronic meth abusers. I’d bet good money Sanchez is back in business, using his bar as a cover. If he’s not selling meth himself, he’s taking a cut of deals that go down under his watch.”
“Okay. What does that give us?”
“In itself, not much. But Scott. . .” He sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. Under the table, he felt Lucy’s hand touch his thigh in reassurance. He grasped it in his own. “Scott thinks Eric may be dealing drugs.”
“Oh shit,” said TJ.
“Who’s Eric?” asked Jake.
“Eric is Scott’s younger brother,” Ethan explained. “Scott said he’s suspected it for a couple of years, even tried to discreetly search Eric’s place when Eric would invite him over, but the brothers aren’t close, and he never found anything. Thing is, Eric lives beyond his means, and he’s never been fond of rules and regulations.”
“We still don’t have proof.”
“No, we don’t, which is why Scott let it go all this time. But once it began to look as if last night’s events might be drug-related, he felt honor-bound to admit his suspicions. Of course, hearing his story reminded me that, after the snake incident, TJ mentioned that Eric also has an affinity for cr
eepy-crawly things I asked Scott whether Eric was still handling critters and he said Eric still spends a good deal of time in the woods, so it’s possible. But that he didn’t believe Eric had any reason to hold a grudge against Lucy or put the snake in her car.”
“I’d managed to forget that about him,” Lucy said, wrinkling her nose with distaste. “But what could he possibly have against me?”
“Maybe nothing. Right now, we’re just playing with a theory. These are the first links we’ve found.”
“Will Scott talk to us honestly about his brother? In more detail?”
Ethan sighed at Jake’s question. Some days he really, really hated his job. “Let me call him.”
Scott arrived about twenty minutes later. TJ brought him a cup of coffee, and he stared down into the mug as he stirred in sugar. No one spoke, letting him figure out how he wanted to begin.
“Eric was always a weird kid,” he said finally. “My parents’ death hit him hard. He was only thirteen. We didn’t have to move or anything—my aunt and uncle came to live with us so we could stay at the same school, live in the same house—but Eric ran a bit wild. He’d sneak out at night, cut school, cause trouble, get into fights. Normal kid stuff, but taken to extremes. He spent every free moment in the woods, told my aunt he wanted to be a hunting guide when he grew up.” Scott fell silent.
“So, he’s a loner, then?” Jake asked, and Ethan could practically see the profiling instinct kick in.
“He was.” But Scott still didn’t look up. “My senior year, his sophomore year, he started hanging with a few of the guys in my class. Mostly Chuck Hemming and Richie Mack. All three played football. Eric sat on the bench, but I guess they liked him anyway. Chuck was okay, but Richie had a few screws loose even then.
“I spent most of that year in and out of hospitals because I had some mysterious disorder they never did figure out. I’d get violently, incredibly sick for two or three days at a time. Dehydrated, the whole deal. My aunt and uncle spent a lot of time taking care of me, and Eric got ignored. I’m pretty sure that’s when he fell in with that crowd, got out of control.”
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