Dirty (36 page)

George Strait’s voice crooned from the sound system as Jerry led me onto the dance floor.

I slid my arms around his neck and moved in close as his went around my waist.
 
We fell into the music’s rhythm without missing a beat.
 
I moved in closer and whispered, “Is Hobbs in place?”

“Ummm-hmmm,” he hummed in my ear.

God, the man could dance.
 
I smiled.
 
“Do something for me, Jerry.”

“What’s that?”

“If you ever decide to go straight let me know first.”

I felt him grin against my temple.

“Don’t hold your breath, sweetie.”

I laughed softly, then closed my eyes and enjoyed the rest of the dance...pretended it was Dawson with his arms around me.
 
I tried not to...but hell, I’m just a woman.

When the dance ended Jerry and I, all hugged up and stealing little kisses (for show I assure you), made our way to the back corridor (snagging my purse en route) that led to the restrooms and the rear exit.

He pulled me nearer and backed into the ladies room as if a quickie couldn’t wait a minute longer.

“It’s about time,” Hobbs huffed as the door whooshed closed behind us.

Jerry let me go and I got my first good look at Hobbs wearing a long dark wig and a woman’s dress and heels (mine as a matter of fact, excluding the heels).

“Wow, Hobbs, you look amazing.”

His gaze narrowed as he glanced down at my new mini.
 
“There is no way in hell I’ll be able to get my hips into that skirt.”

I hustled into the closest open stall and shimmied out of it.
 
“Sure you will.
 
Leather has plenty of give.”
 
I tossed it over the stall.
 
“Now give me that dress.”

In two minutes flat we’d exchanged clothes and Jerry and Hobbs (all hugged up and stealing kisses—maybe for more than show) had made their escape out the rear exit.
 
They would make out awhile at my Jeep until Brooks came outside looking for me.
 
Once he had a visual, Hobbs and Jerry would drive away in Jerry’s Miata with Brooks following like a good little Fed.

I stayed in the stall, crouched on the toilet lid in case Brooks decided to have a peek, until my cell phone rang.

“Yeah?”

“Brooks took the bait,” Dawson let me know.
 
“I’ll pick you up around back.”

He didn’t give me time to argue.

I stole out of the ladies’ room and out the rear exit without encountering anyone.
 
I walked straight up to the driver’s side of Dawson’s truck.

“I need to borrow your truck,” I deadpanned.

“Get in,” he said.

I shook my head.
 
“Not going to happen.
 
I need you keeping an eye on Brooks, to make sure he stays off my tail.
 
I can take care of myself.”
 
I held out the keys to my Jeep.
 
“Now do it.”

I knew using Brooks as bait was a dicey maneuver but I didn’t want Dawson following me around...I needed some time alone to think.
 
And the early stages of another plan were developing.

He opened the door and swung out of the truck.

God help me just watching him move took my breath away.

He snapped the keys from my hand, his fingers lingering a second or two too long in my palm.

“Thanks,” I said but he didn’t echo the traditional sentiment.

Ignoring his slight I started for the open door of his truck but he stopped me with a hand on my arm.
 
“Do me another favor, willya?”

Like I could have resisted anything he said.
 
Heat was already rushing through me like a freight train from where his skin closed around mine.
 

“Yeah, what’s that?”
 
I looked at him then, couldn’t deny myself.

That alluring gaze nailed me, took my breath all over again.

“Don’t get yourself killed, Jackie.
 
I don’t want this to be the last time I see you.”

Bright and early the next morning I decided to go after some answers on a whole different level.

The idea had occurred to me in the wee hours of the morning as I sat on the deck of Hobbs’ downtown loft.
 
Jerry, after leaving Hobbs at my place as a decoy, had brought a change of clothes and toothbrush over for me.

I’d thanked him again and then I had spent the rest of the night reviewing what I knew and what I suspected.
 
Shari had called to let me know that Hank had gone to bed and she’d be sleeping in her SUV in front of his house.
 
I really appreciated the girls going above and beyond the call.

I didn’t want to believe the worst of Hank...or my father.
 
But I had to be objective here.

I had no evidence to go on, no nothing.
 
Just my gut instinct, which wasn’t entirely clear and probably had to do with too many of the possibilities being exclusively personal.

The way I saw it, our only hope was to prod someone who had something to hide into action, which was pretty much what Dawson had started out doing.
 
In this instance our only someone was Brooks.
 
Other than what I feared might be true about my uncle, we actually had no other breathing suspects.

I couldn’t get any straight answers out of anyone.
 
But there was one more prospect I hadn’t researched yet.
 
The instant dawn lit the sky I headed out to do just that.

Ten years ago a hit had been ordered on me, Rayburn and two suspects charged with drug smuggling and murder.
 
Now, I admit, that in retrospect, considering the hit list my name was associated with, I was low man on the totem pole.
 
Any local thug could have been paid to take me out.
 
But Rayburn had been a federal agent.
 
It took some balls to do that.
 
Couple that with the fact that the hitman had killed the two suspects who were in a kind of protective custody and he’d had to make that hit in broad daylight.

We’re talking one of two things, major
cajones
or plain old loco.

Since I didn’t know anyone with brass ones quite that large, I opted for the loco part.

Luther Fraley.

Ex-hitman and reputed psycho.
 
Brother to the esteemed Bob Fraley.
 
Funny how the two had made their careers on opposite sides of the law.
 
Or had they?

Now, Luther might not have been the hitman contracted for the job, but I would wager my Birkin and any future designer bags I might have the good fortune to own that he knew who was.
 
Like PIs, I assumed that assassins stayed up on the business, especially that which was conducted on his home turf.
 
Think male dog, we not only mark our territory, we monitor it ferociously.

Few people ventured into Luther Fraley territory.
 
I knew that for a fact because I’d lived in Houston my entire life and I’d heard the stories of unexplained disappearances, all blamed on the reclusive man and his domain.
 
Kind of like the Bermuda triangle tales.

Luther lived on the outside of the outer suburbs of Houston.
 
His driveway was three miles long and dirt.
 
At least ten old cars sat around the property, each abandoned in various stages of disrepair during the past couple decades or so.
 
The current vehicle of choice, or the one that appeared to still operate, sat in front of the porch, a faded green Chevy truck.

I parked Dawson’s pick-up and surveyed the yard and porch before getting out.
 
Guys who lived in the boonies like this usually had one or more vicious dogs.

Yep.
 
One lay sprawled on the porch.
 
I squinted, trying to make out his breed.
 
He was big, but he looked lazy.

Maybe I’d gotten lucky.

I opened the driver’s side door and got out.
 
Mega Mutt didn’t seem to notice or didn’t care.

The sun was hot already.
 
As I walked toward the house dust rose and settled on my bare legs.
 
The yard looked like it had gone bald about the same time Alfred Hitchcock had.
 
I hated like hell I’d worn my Christian Louboutins.
 
The short peach skirt and matching tank Hobbs had sent looked good on me.
 
Couldn’t have chosen better myself.
 
The pale peachy color showed off my tan.
 
I didn’t want my target intimidated, the best way to ensure that didn’t happen was to make certain he saw me as a woman.
 
Helpless, vulnerable, a sex object.
 
The cleavage revealed by the tank and my long, bare legs took care of that aspect.

I kept one eye on Mega Mutt as I climbed the four creaky wooden steps.
 
Flies swarmed around the huge animal.
 
Maybe he was dead.

As I topped the final step the good Lord gave me a sign letting me know the dog was very much alive.
 
A low growl rumbled from his throat with enough bass to qualify for membership in the Oakridge Boys.

Mega Mutt sat up.

Pitbull.
 
I swallowed back the fear that surged into my throat.
 
Hoped I wouldn’t need Shorty.
 
I’d never had to shoot an animal before...didn’t want to start now.

And then, as if he wanted it to be clear who was the boss, Mega Mutt leaned down and licked his balls.
 
Just like a guy.
 
Always showing off.

“Good boy,” I murmured.
 
I felt confident there wasn’t a man on the planet who wouldn’t give his right arm to be able to do that.

I knocked on the door.

Silence...well, except for Mega Mutt’s lapping tongue.
 
I shuddered.

I raised my fist and knocked again.
 
As I waited I called to mind the one time I’d seen a picture of Luther Fraley.
 
He’d been charged with murder and his face had been plastered all over
The Chronicle
.
 
The case had been dropped on some sort of technicality.
 
I couldn’t remember just what.
 
My father had been the judge.
 
That was one case about which he never mentioned his feelings one way or another.

When I would have banged on the door a third time it suddenly opened.

“Whadda you want?”

The owner of the rusty voice stayed in the shadows so I couldn’t see him very well.
 
Not the details anyway.

“Luther Fraley?”
 
My own voice was more or less a squeak.

A hand shot out.
 
In that hand was a black .40 cal Glock.
 
The muzzle of said weapon stopped about two inches from my face.
 
Well, hello to you too.

“Who the fuck wants to know?”

Rustiness had given way to ruthless.
 
Between that and the gun I was pretty sure this was Luther.

“Luther, my name is–”

“What the fuck do you want?”

I peered into the dim doorway, tried to make out what he looked like now.
 
Too dark.
 
Didn’t the guy believe in opening a window?
 
It was like a cave in there.
 
“I need to talk to you about an old case.”

The next thing I knew he’d manacled my right wrist and towed me into the house.
 
I heard the door slam behind me and worked hard at not getting nervous.
 
It was really dark now.
 
No way to know what or who else he had in here with him.

“Don’t move.”
 
I felt that muzzle bore into my skull.
 
He wasn’t going to have to ask twice.

He snatched the purse from my shoulder and then shoved me into a chair in the middle of the room.
 
A light came on somewhere behind me.

I blinked several times to focus.
 
The room was cramped and cluttered.
 
It smelled.
 
Like dirty underwear and greasy food.
 
I shuddered inwardly but quickly grabbed back control.
 
I had to stay calm here.
 
He circled me as if trying to figure out just what he should do next.
 
I tried not to stare.

“Mr. Fraley, I—”

“Don’t speak!”

He paused behind me.
 
I stared at my purse ten or so feet away.
 
He’d dropped it on top of a stack of magazines.
 
PlayBoy
.
 
So much for the outfit.
 
This guy had probably worn the skin off his pecker beating off.
 
He likely wouldn’t even get excited about the real thing anymore.