Dirty (39 page)

One hand moved toward his waist and I pressed the muzzle of the .38 a little closer to his nose.
 
“Keep both hands where I can see them.”

Outrage crackled in those gray eyes.
 
“I could haul your pretty ass in for this, Mercer.”

I had to smile.
 
Well, whaddaya know.
 
The G-Man thinks my ass is pretty.
 
He’d said last night that he was enjoying the view.
 
Apparently liked my legs.
 
I cocked one hip just to draw his attention there.
 
It worked.
 
I got another little surge of glee.
 
“So arrest me, Mr. Fed, and I’ll tell the whole world how you’ve got something to hide.”

More of that unadulterated rage tightened the features of his face.
 
“You’d better start trusting your instincts, Mercer.
 
If they’re any good at all, you’ll know I’m on the up and up.
 
If they’re not, you’re going to get yourself killed.”

Now he’d done it.
 
Pissed
me
off.
 
What was with all these men assuming I couldn’t take care of myself?

“You know what, Brooks,” I said, my tone dripping with venom, “you’re right.
 
I should start trusting my instincts better.”

I reached beneath his jacket, felt around for the shoulder holster I was confident he wore and retrieved his weapon all while he stared, stunned at my audacity.
 
He didn’t even flinch or attempt to stop me.
 
I ejected the clip and tossed the .40 cal as far as I could into the open field flanking the road.
 
His lips formed a grim line as I reached into his jacket pocket and fished out his cell phone and did the same.
 
“Give me the car keys,” I ordered.

He shook his head.
 
“No way.”

“Do it.”
 
I twitched the barrel of the .38 for emphasis.

“You’re going to regret this,” he said as he reached inside and dragged the keys from the ignition.

“Maybe I will.”
 
When I grabbed the keys his fingers curled around my wrist and held on tightly, sending a distinct high-voltage charge up my arm.
 
He looked as surprised by the electricity that crackled between us as I did.
 
I blinked, snatched back my hand and mentally kicked myself for letting that annoying little zap of static happen.
 
I eased back toward the door of Dawson’s truck.
 
“But I won’t be the one hitching a ride back to Houston.”
 
I tossed the keys in the same manner I had the phone and gun.

I didn’t look back when I drove away.
 
Refused to analyze what had just happened between the Fed and me.
 
Sometimes I wondered if I’d been a man in another life.
 
Or maybe an overactive libido was simply in my genes.
 
I definitely needed to ask my mother if there was something I should know.
 
Then again, there was nothing wrong with a healthy sexual appetite.
 
Like any good diet, it was all in what you chose to eat.

Putting off the inevitable moment of having to tell Dawson the truth about his brother, half an hour after the encounter with Brooks I walked into the Cow Palace, ignored the hostess and went straight to where Bob Fraley sat, like a king on his throne surveying his kingdom.

“Why, Jackie, how nice to see you.”
 
He flicked a two-inch line of ash into the ashtray.
 
“You’re looking quite lovely this afternoon.”
 
He visually measured the length of my legs.
 
Obviously he and his brother shared that fetish.

I plopped unladylike into the chair opposite him and took a moment to beat my temper back before I spoke.
 
“You know, Bob, I hate being lied to.”

He sucked in a lungful of tar and nicotine, then blew it out, taking care not to send it my way.
 
“I can honestly say that I’ve never lied to you, Jackie.
 
Not once.”

I leaned forward and gave him my best Jack-Nicholson-from-The-Shining-over-the-edge glower and said for his ears only, “You withheld, Bob, that’s even worse.”

“Ah, you’ve been to see my dear brother.”

As if he didn’t know.
 
I should have known Luther would call him the instant I walked out the door.
 
“That’s right and I am fully aware that you know more than you’ve told me.”

“You do realize that my brother is mentally unstable and one can’t depend on a thing he says.”

“Save it for someone who doesn’t know better.”

The waitress paused at the table and Bob waved her off.
 
“Are you sure you want the whole truth, Jackie?
 
I’m not entirely certain you can handle the
whole
truth.”

Trepidation slid deep into my chest like a sharp blade.
 
I ignored it.
 
“No more games, Bob.
 
Tell me what you know.”

He smashed out his cigarette, took a moment to assess the high and mighty seated around the dining room and then settled that all-seeing gaze on me.
 
“Ask your uncle.
 
He knows that truth you’re looking for.”

“I don’t believe you,” I said, barely keeping a snarl out of my tone.
 
It thoroughly pissed me off that he and Brooks wanted to blame my uncle.
 
Maybe he was guilty of something, but it wasn’t murder or smuggling drugs.
 
I would never believe that.

“As I told you before, things are not always what they seem.
 
Illusion is a powerful tool,” he said without saying anything at all.

“Cut the crap, Bob.”
 
I smiled widely for the benefit of anyone who glanced our way.
 
“I’m not interested in your fancy metaphors.
 
I want specifics.”

His gaze sharpened.
 
Bob was not a man who cared for being ordered around especially by a mere peasant such as myself.
 
“I warn you, you might not like what you find.”
 
He lit another Turkish cigarette.
 
“Ask your uncle, Jackie.
 
It’s always better if you hear it from your own flesh and blood.”

A cold, hard knot formed in my stomach and I suddenly felt certain Bob was right.
 
I might not want to know the answer.
 
But I had to finish this.

“Thanks, Bob.
 
I can always count on you for sage advice.”

I stood and walked out.

As I climbed into Dawson’s truck apprehension morphed into a new rush of anger.
 
I was sick and tired of the runaround.
 
I wasn’t about to be accused of doing the same, whether what I had to do was pleasant or not.

I jammed the gearshift into reverse and squealed out of the slot.
 
Then I put in a call to Hobbs and told him to post Dawson’s bail and meet me at Central Processing.

My cell phone chimed the instant I closed it.

“Mercer,” I snapped.

“Jackie?”

Mary Jane.
 
“Yeah, Mary Jane.
 
Sorry, I’ve had a bad day so far.”

“Anything I can do?”

I braked for a traffic light.
 
“No, I’ll be okay.
 
What’s up?”

“Just wanted to let you know that your uncle has just entered Lottie’s Diner with Chief Cates.
 
I can see them sitting in a booth.
 
Do you want me to go in and see if I can overhear the conversation?” she asked excitedly.
 
“I know you said not to, but it looks safe enough and I don’t think we need to worry about two cops.”

I hoped to hell she was right.
 
As tempting as it was to tell her yes, I couldn’t.
 
“No, don’t go in.
 
Just keep tabs on where Hank goes and who he talks to.”

“Okay.
 
You be careful now.”

I could hear the disappointment in her voice.
 
“Thanks, Mary Jane.”
 
I closed the phone and tossed it into my purse.
 
Looks like Hank had made good on his threat.
 
He’d wanted to go to Cates and work this through his old contacts.
 
I wished I could feel better about that.
 
But somehow I didn’t.

A few minutes later Detective Ryker and I met in an interview room.
 
Nance would be madder than a democrat at a republican convention that I hadn’t brought him in on this, but he’d just have to get over it.
 
I didn’t trust him.
 
He was too far up the Chief’s ass.
 
It wasn’t that I had any reason to suspect him or the Chief but I just didn’t want to involve anyone else.

I explained to Ryker about Rayburn’s body, as well as the other two.
 
He stared, open mouthed, at me.
 
I hoped I hadn’t made a mistake picking him for this.
 
But he hadn’t been around ten years ago and shouldn’t have taken sides.

“I know it’s a lot to absorb,” I offered.
 
“But you’re going to have to trust me.
 
I can’t reveal my source.
 
Help me out here, Ryker.
 
I’m working against time.”
 
Whatever Brooks was up to, I could feel the urgency of time pressing in around me.
 
I had to hurry or something—something bad—was going down.

Ryker let go a mighty breath.
 
“All right.
 
What do you want me to do?”

Relief made my knees weak.
 
I’d felt like I could count on Ryker.
 
“Thanks, man.
 
I owe you.
 
I’d like to speak to Dawson alone and then you and Hobbs—you’ve met my assistant, right?”

He nodded.
 
“Sure, I know Hobbs.”

“Good.
 
He’s here too.
 
Maybe the two of you can get Dawson through this.
 
There’s something else I have to do.”

Ryker’s expression turned worried.
 
“You sure you don’t need back up?”

I shook my head.
 
“Don’t worry.
 
What I have to do next is the easy part.”

Detective Ryker swallowed that line of bull without much resistance and stepped outside.
 
Dawson sauntered in.

Not a scratch on him.
 
I thought of Brooks’ jaw.

“You don’t look any worse for the wear,” I said with all the wit I could marshal, knowing what I had to tell him.

“I’m certain Brooks looks worse,” he said with a feigned smile.

“You’re right,” I confirmed, “he does.”

I saw a real smile try to peek past Dawson’s fury.
 
“Let’s have a seat,” I suggested.

He glanced at the table and two chairs generally reserved for interviewing suspects and witnesses.

“We couldn’t go to Starbucks?” he teased, his humor a bit on the dry side.

“Maybe later.”
 
I settled into one of the chairs.
 
He took the one opposite me.

“Must be bad news,” he remarked offhandedly.
 
But I saw the way the muscles of his throat worked as he swallowed.
 
He wasn’t feeling nearly as glib as he wanted me to believe.

I wanted desperately to reach out to him, but that would be a mistake...one I might not be able to take back.
 
I guess something in my eyes, maybe the dread I felt building at the back of my throat, had tipped Dawson as to solemnity of the situation.

Between Luther’s place and here I had considered the easiest way to give him the news but there was no easy way.
 
Like Bob said, the truth is hard.

“Remember I told you that when I woke up that morning your brother was gone?”

Dawson nodded, his expression turning flinty.

“When he left the room he was picked up by two men.”
 
I prepared myself for saying the words out loud.
 
“Those two men killed your brother and dumped his body.”

“Brooks is a dead man.”
 
Dawson was out of his chair before I could stop him.
 
I barely reached across the table in time to catch him by the arm, wouldn’t have been able to restrain him then had he not allowed me too.

“Wait,” I urged, struggling to hang onto calm myself.
 
“There’s more.”
 
He had to hear it all.
 
“The men who killed your brother were DEA.”
 
I bit down on my bottom lip to stem the emotions brewing inside me like a tropical storm.
 
“We could be wrong about Brooks.”
 
I wasn’t exactly sure about that yet, but the idea that he’d let me take his gun without putting up a fight kind of made me wonder if he was the bad guy I’d thought him to be. Then again, he couldn’t be sure I wouldn’t shoot him.

Whatever Dawson felt at that moment, he didn’t allow me to see it.
 
“Just tell me where my brother is.”
 
That muscle that always worked in his jaw whenever he got angry or tense, flexed rhythmically.
 
He had waited a long time to know the truth.

I gave Dawson the details, but as promised, I kept Luther out of it.
 
Feds or not, the two men Luther had killed were scumbags.
 
They’d gotten what they deserved in my opinion.
 
An eye for an eye.

“Detective Ryker and Hobbs are going with you to drag that bayou,” I told Dawson gently.
 
There was nothing else I could say to him.
 
I couldn’t bring his brother back and I couldn’t make the reality any less painful.