Dirty (24 page)

A muscle ticked in Dawson’s jaw.
 
“You can’t know for sure.
 
You exchanged bodily fluids with the man, not personal history.”

Remember that pissed off dimension I referred to before?
 
We were suddenly there.

My gaze shifted to Hobbs.
 
I didn’t move a muscle for fear I’d lunge into attack mode.
 
“We need some privacy.”

My assistant’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed with major difficulty.
 
He knew the look, the tone.
 
“Of course.”
 
He was out the door, closing it behind him before my stinging order stopped vibrating the air.

“You are this close—” I held my thumb and forefinger about a millimeter apart right in Dawson’s face “—to being out of here, buster.”

Unbelievably, the warning didn’t faze my new partner.
 
In fact, he had the nerve to move closer.
 
His nostrils flared and every female chromosome in my entire being went ape shit, which only pissed me off all the more.
 
“That’s what you said.
 
That night was about sex, not talking.
 
No information exchange, just hot sex, right?”

I was fire-breathing, punch-his-lights-out mad, but even in that whacked zone, I understood that, somehow, for reasons I couldn’t yet comprehend, he was angrier than me.

“I’m going to give you this one, Dawson.”
 
Mainly on account of Texas being so big on the death penalty that the powers that be had actually put in an express lane for heinous criminals.
 
Considering what I wanted to do to Dawson right now I’d be at the front of that unpopular line.
 
“But this ain’t no frigging baseball game.
 
You won’t get three strikes.”
 
Fact was, I’d already given him that leeway up front.

“Tell me, Jackie,” he went on as if I’d said nothing at all, “how does it feel to know you were the last one to see him alive besides whoever killed him?
 
Maybe being with you just put him in the right place at the wrong time.”
 
He leaned down and flattened his hands on my desk on either side of me, forcing my bottom down onto the edge and still his face was so close to mine I couldn’t take a breath without it coming from his lips.
 
I almost drew away but refused to surrender that easy.
 
“Think you were worth it?” he murmured.

Before good sense could stop me I’d grabbed him by the shirt with both hands and lunged to my feet, maintaining the intimate proximity, face to face, but forcing him back and leveling the playing field a couple of notches.
 
“One thing’s certain, Dawson, you’ll never know.”

Both of us were breathing hard, the air sawing raggedly in and out.
 
My whole body shook with equal measures anger and awareness.
 
In spite of those volatile emotions I couldn’t take my eyes off his...felt lost in that churning sea of blue.
 
His lips trembled making me shudder with some new, indefinable rush of sensations.
 
In that infinitesimal moment I knew with complete certainty that if he touched me we were both goners.

“Jackie!” blasted from the intercom on my phone.

I trembled, blinked twice.

“Line one,” Hobbs bellowed across the intercom.
 
“It’s Alita.”

Dawson didn’t move.
 
Our lips were close enough for me to feel the charge of sexual energy crackling between them.
 
And dammit all to hell I wanted to kiss him more than I’d ever wanted to do anything in my entire life.
 
Fucked up, huh?

Somehow my fingers released his lapels and fell away, but he still didn’t move.
 
He licked his lips and my breath hitched loud enough for Hobbs to hear it in the next room.

“Line one, Jackie!”
 
This time the voice came from my door.

I shook off the haze of lust and stepped away from Dawson.
 
“What?” wrenched from my throat.

“Alita,” Hobbs said pointedly.
 
“She says it’s urgent.”

“I can do this alone.”

Dawson stared at me across the seat of his ancient truck.
 
It was dark but I felt his eyes burning into mine.

“We’re partners, right?”

I must have been out of my mind to hire him.
 
I’d spent most of the time since alternating between wanting to fuck him or kill him.
 
Maybe not even in that order.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I muttered.

Ten before midnight.
 
We’d gotten to the cemetery early.

I relaxed in the vinyl covered bench seat and thought about the call from Alita once more.
 
She’d heard through that highly developed grapevine operating in the Hispanic community that something related to the dead guy (whose skull got bashed in with my rock) was going down here tonight.

Dawson had insisted, even Hobbs had chimed in, that I could not come alone.
 
So here we sat, both dressed in black like burglars ready to invade Tiffany’s.

After today’s stand-off, Dawson and I had stayed put in our respective offices, keeping our distance.
 
Hobbs had kept the communications going between us so that we didn’t have to interact face to face.

I leaned my head back and allowed a sigh to escape into the quiet of the cab.
 
I had to admit the whole truth.
 
Good-looking men such as Dawson were like kryptonite to me.
 
I’d worked hard to develop this superwoman persona only to realize, like Superman, I had one fatal weakness.

“Look.”

The sound of Dawson’s intensely sensual voice only made bad matters worse.

I opened my eyes and turned my face toward him.
 
I could just make out his chiseled jaw in the moonlight.
 
Shit.
 
The man looked good even in the dark.

“I’m sorry about today.”
 
He heaved a sigh of his own.
 
“I have a great deal of respect for you, Jackie.
 
I meant it when I said you’re the best.
 
I guess I just got caught up in the case...I’m usually a lot easier to get along with than this.”

I pointed my gaze forward once more.
 
Didn’t want to risk that he could read anything on my face, even in the dark.
 
“You said your piece.
 
Let’s leave it at that.”
 
If he wanted forgiveness he could forget it.
 
I was still riled at what he’d said.
 
That wasn’t going to change anytime soon.
 
I occasionally held a grudge.
 
So sue me.

“What was Rayburn like?”

A bark of disbelief popped out before I could stop it.
 
What was wrong with this guy?

“I mean, was he a nice man?
 
You know, thoughtful or whatever?”

“Dawson, we’re not going to dissect that night again.”
 
No way in hell.

“Maybe talking about him will help you remember something you’ve forgotten,” he persisted like a starving dog after a big old ham bone.

Why fight it?
 
This guy wasn’t going to give up.
 
Might as well do something to pass the time even if we had done this already.
 
I turned my attention back ten years and thought about Warren Rayburn.
 
Tall, muscular.
 
Sweet.
 
Oh yeah, he’d definitely been thoughtful, patient and...just totally amazing.

“He was nice.
 
The kind of guy you want to get to know better,” I admitted.
 
I couldn’t believe I’d just said that but it was true.
 
Warren Rayburn had been relationship material in its purest form.
 
A good guy.
 
No way in hell did he kill those two suspects.
 
No way was he some rogue agent with his own selfish agenda.
 
I didn’t care what DEA said.

“I’m glad.”

My head came up at that comment.

“I mean, for you.
 
I’m glad he was nice to you.”

That was a lie.
 
I didn’t need the aid of light to know one when I heard it.

When I would have demanded an explanation Dawson touched his lips with one finger then pointed toward the cemetery.

Well, well.
 
Alita was right.
 
At least three men had gathered in an area of the cemetery reserved for indigents.
 
Those who couldn’t afford a proper burial or who had no one to claim their bodies got planted here in the proverbial pine box—which was actually either a kind of pasteboard material or very thin gauge metal.

We eased out of the truck at the same time.
 
Dawson proved well prepared.
 
The cab’s interior light didn’t come on as we exited.
 
I doubted a vehicle this old had an off setting, meaning he’d either removed the bulb or found some other way to ensure it didn’t flicker to life when the doors opened.

I slid Shorty (remember, that’s my nickname for my .38) into my waistband at the small of my back and moved up beside Dawson who had done the same with his Beretta.
 
I should have known he was a Beretta man.
 
He had that whole Mel Gibson in
Lethal Weapon
attitude going on.

Progressing through the cemetery, using headstones for cover, we split up to gain a bit of an advantage since it was three to two.
 
As I moved in closer to our target I reasoned how tonight’s activity might tie into a decade old case like Disposable.
 
Was someone using illegal border crossers for mules and then disposing of them like before?
 
It happened way too often, definitely wasn’t anything new.
 
But Disposable had been different in that the whole ugly business had been very large and highly organized.
 
If an operation on that level had started up again, that could very well explain why the locals didn’t want me nosing around in an ongoing case. Was that why Sanchez was dead?
 
Or had he been picked out just to send me a warning not to get too close?
 
Could someone who was involved in that ten-year-old case be involved now?

I mentally ticked off the players I’d learned about so far.
 
The dead ones way out numbered the live ones.
 
Hank Mercer was the only surviving one whose part in the case was undeniable—and he still hadn’t returned my call.
 
Dawson hadn’t dug up any proof Brooks was involved just yet.
 
I’d even looked into the possibility that Willis had been involved but he’d moved to Texas from Louisiana four years ago.
 
No wonder I couldn’t trust him.
 
Probably had French Cajun blood flowing through his veins.
 
French guys were worse than cowboys when it came to little lies.

I felt my phone vibrate in my rear pocket.
 
I hunkered behind the closest block of stone engraved with some dead person’s name and checked the display just to make sure it wasn’t Hobbs or Alita with some change in plans or otherwise info related to the here and now.

Mom calling
...

Oh hell.
 
I’d forgotten all about lunch.
 
A frown kicked aside my guilt.
 
Why hadn’t she called the office and demanded to know why I’d stood her up?
 
I shoved the phone back into my pocket without answering it.
 
I’d call her back later.

Pushing aside the distraction, I hurried to match the distance Dawson had covered.

As I moved in closer it was clear that a grave had been dug.
 
I couldn’t tell if the grave had actually already been there and reopened for some reason or if it was entirely new.
 
A coffin sat next to the mound of earth, couldn’t tell if it was empty or not.
 
The three men stood around smoking cigarettes as if they were waiting for someone to arrive.
 
With the body maybe?
 
Or to retrieve a body?
 
What I could make of the conversation was in Spanish.
 
I only picked up a word here and there.
 
Not enough of any one sentence to understand the gist of the discussion.

Something cold and hard jammed into the back of my skull.

I froze.

“Hands up!”

The words were English but the thick, unreconstructed accent was very definitely spiced from below the border.

I stood, held my hands high.
 
Wondered where the hell Dawson was.