Look Before You Jump (22 page)

In a daze, I let the detective into Zeke’s
apartment, feeling more than uncomfortable by his close proximity
and with the new information. A text? From my phone to Amy’s? Was
Duncan setting me up? Was this a ruse to try and get me to confess
to something I hadn’t done? I went into this to help Bobby, but it
appeared in the process I’d ended up with a target on my back.

With a sleight-of-hand worthy of a
pickpocket, I slid my cell between the clothes I’d laid out on
Zeke’s coffee table the night before, picked the bunch up, and
headed toward the bathroom. “I need to change, so I’ll only be a
minute.”

Duncan grunted in acknowledgment before I
closed the door, dropped the clothes on the counter, then fished
out my phone. I prayed Zeke wasn’t in some meeting or too far away
to rescue this damsel in distress. Just when I thought voice mail
was ready to kick in, Zeke’s voice came through loud and clear.

“So Sleeping Beauty decided to wake up?” he
asked

“Yeah,” I whispered. “But Sleeping Beauty
needs Prince Phillip to hightail it back to the castle before a
dragon named Duncan hauls her off to jail.”

No questions. No teasing. Not even a pause
this time. “Stall. I’ll be there in five.”

There are perks to being a woman. To us five
minutes is merely a suggestion and not an accurate measurement of
the clock. Sleeping Beauty delayed as long as possible, keeping the
water running while washing my face, brushing my teeth and hair,
and just plain covering up the sound of my knocking knees. Prince
Phillip, on the other hand, must’ve broken every traffic law on the
books to arrive within a measurable five minute window after ending
the call. Sometimes it really paid to carry a badge. Duncan scowled
and was none too happy to see Zeke storm the castle.

“Watching my place to see when I’d leave?”
Zeke asked, eyes blazing.

“Must’ve just missed you,” Duncan
returned.

“I thought we had an agreement,” Zeke
said.

“Agreement?” I questioned. “What
agreement?”

Without looking away from the detective, Zeke
responded to my question. “The agreement Detective Duncan and I had
that he would contact me if he had any further questions for
you.”

Dick measuring? Again? That did it. I was
sick of being fought over, fawned over, and frisky – or was that
frisked? Regardless, I was sizzling like a vat of hot oil. My
french fries were beyond crispy. We’re talking black as hockey
pucks.

“Seriously?” I growled, forgetting one was
there to save me from a one-way trip to the slammer. “I’m sick and
tired of you guys trying to corral me for your own purposes. I’m
not like those cows from last night.” I pointed out my frustrations
in order. “First Zeke’s trying to get me back in his bed and now
Detective Dingbat shows up to leer at me. What’s next from you,
Duncan? Planning to frisk me so you can cop a feel?”

The accidental double-entendre was merely
icing on the cake. Gee, all these thoughts of food were making me
hungry. I wasn’t going anywhere until I got some nourishment – in
the form of caffeine for starters.

The boys ignored me. While I stomped into the
kitchen to take advantage of fuel, Duncan showed Zeke the written
trail of my phantom text conversation with Amy. For all I knew,
this was just a ploy by the desperate detective to try and come up
with a motive for Amy’s murder – as if Bobby and I were lovers and
had offed his wife.

I froze, the coffee pot trembling in my hand
as I tried not to drop it. Bobby and I had a known history, with a
police report to back it up. It didn’t require too much of a
stretch of the imagination to conclude Bobby could’ve filled his
wife with enough sleeping pills to put down a horse. Then I lure
Amy to my building where I toss her to the asphalt parking lot
below. Then Bobby and I live happily ever after. In a twisted way
it made sense – at least from the detective’s warped perspective.
Only one problem.

Not a bit of it was true.

Not to mention the other holes in the theory.
How would a sleeping-pill filled Amy have driven halfway across
town without falling asleep at the wheel? Ignoring that little
anomaly, how would either of us have thrown her over the side
without leaving any footprints along the asphalt rooftop? Then
again, how would I have gained access to the roof in the first
place without a key to unlock the door? The entire theory was
predicated on the possibility I’d sent Amy a non-existent series of
text messages.

I put down the coffee pot, strode across the
living room and grabbed my phone from the bathroom while the local
law enforcement twins argued over jurisdiction of my residency. A
careful scroll through the history to that night. Oh yeah, wet
t-shirt night. Fake Boobs had won, though I’d commandeered much of
the attention during the awards ceremony that night. A night when
I’d been briefly separated from my phone to protect it from the
elements.

A shock shivered down my spine as I stared at
the text evidence on my phone. Evidence that could fry me like a
french fry. But at least now I had a better idea of how all of this
was connected.

And a good idea who the nefarious culprit
was. But that sent up another question that remained
unanswered.

Why?

After Duncan grudgingly re-upped the
agreement with Zeke that he’d be responsible for me, they both left
for greener pastures. The rest of Monday I spent in my bathrobe,
hiding out from the gathering storm like the yellow-livered filly I
was – of that I had no trouble admitting. I was so afraid at that
point, you may as well have treated me for jaundice. Instead of
sleeping off the late night and too early morning, I alternated
between planning how I’d trip up the cowardly killer into a
confession and wanting to hide beneath my mother’s skirts like when
I was a girl.

Okay, you got me. Since I was never really
the hiding type, that left me with coordinating my counterpoint to
his point. Thus far the killer had been successful at keeping
suspicion at bay. He’d pointed the finger not only Bobby’s
direction but mine as well. But in doing so he’d given himself
away.

When I woke up Tuesday morning, I faced an
exhausting day of shopping with Mom, who even allowed restocking of
some of my rather scandalous attire for bartending duty. There’s
something to be said for Momma Bear Syndrome. She also tugged out
of me Friday’s planned attendance with Zeke to the governor’s
dinner, which required yet another visit to another store – this
time one of Mom’s favorite and exclusive boutiques. Personally, I
think she’d developed visions of grandchildren with that
pronouncement, even though I insisted I’d been strong-armed into
agreeing to go with Ranger Taylor. At the end of the day, not only
were my dogs barking but the sperm donor’s bank account had to be
howling like a hound dog at a full moon.

Between Monday’s planning and Tuesday’s
spending, by Wednesday afternoon I was all set to lasso me a
killer. But do you remember what they say about those best laid
plans of mice and men?

Yeah, this mouse forgot about that too.

***

The parking lot at the bar was sparsely
populated when I pulled in, but one black truck with a lighted roll
bar over the cab grabbed my attention. Check one – the bird was in
the nest.

My legs went all noodley as I walked across
the lot. But instead of attraction to my boss, this time it was
fear that had me in a near swoon. I had to hold it together around
him to get through a shift without revealing I was onto him. Would
I be able to play our little
tete-e-tete
with the usual sexy
and sophisticated aplomb?

Okay fine. I wasn’t so sophisticated, but I
could still play the sexy part. So check two – the yellow-livered
filly was cured of jaundice. Maybe not cured, but definitely on the
mend. I think.

Check three screeched to a halt like the
Vette stopping on a dime when I entered the bar. “What the hell are
you doing here? Where’s Grady?”

Bud stopped prepping the area and looked up
at me with a wink. “Grady called and asked me to come in for him
tonight.”

“Then why’s his truck out in yonder parking
lot?” I inquired.

“That’s a Chevy, not a Dodge,” Bud replied
with a smirk. “Square wheel wells, not round. It’s my brand new
baby.”

“And it got you here before me for once?” I
asked in surprise and tossed my purse into a cabinet.

A grunt. “Since it was an emergency the other
job let me off early.”

I should’ve noticed the wheel well shapes.
Already the night wasn’t going as planned, which had the gray
matter spinning as to how to accommodate this unexpected
hiccup.

“Well don’t try and sneak off early from
this
job then,” I said. Clean glasses sat in the top rack of
the dishwasher. I grabbed a towel and started drying, half
disappointed and half relieved that I wouldn’t have to face the
boss – that meant I wouldn’t get any answers tonight either. “What
was the emergency?”

“Said he wasn’t feeling well. Probably went
home to hork up a hairball,” Bud replied.

“Ugh, thanks for the visual. I know all about
hairballs.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard those long-haired cats can
be especially nasty.”

My insides clenched and the glass almost
slipped from my fingers. “How do you know about my cat?”

Bud’s eyes grew hooded. Guarded. “Well uh…you
talk about that thing enough around here.” The fake Texas accent
dissipated and the northern accent snaked through his words.

“Oh,” I replied.

Tension thickened. Silence between us
extended as I lined the shelf with glass after glass. My mind
whirled with conflicting thoughts as the band came in and warmed up
for the night. I smiled as usual when patrons ordered, but all the
while my brain buzzed with something other than beer.

As far as I could remember, Slinky had never
been a topic of conversation in the workplace. Even if something
had slipped between my inebriated lips, I doubt the length of my
tabby’s fur would’ve been the highpoint of anyone’s night. So where
would Bud have come across that information but through firsthand
knowledge? How would he have come across that knowledge unless he’d
been in my apartment? Uninvited.

Trust me. Bud would’ve never been
invited
to my apartment, no matter how drunk as a skunk I’d
gotten.

That left only one conclusion – Bud had been
to my apartment without my knowledge. He’d seen my pet. Threatened
my sweet baby kitty. Stowed the critter away in my closet and
ransacked my rooms.

That realization swung me between rage and
fear like a hyperactive pendulum. Now it made sense why Grady kept
Bud’s worthless and lazy ass around. Why he put up with the
constant tardiness and early escape. It wasn’t about loyalty to an
old Army buddy – Grady and Bud were partners on this side of the
cartel’s drug smuggling operation.

Since Zeke knew Grady a bit, I hadn’t wanted
to bring him in on my plans to try and trip up the boss tonight.
But did Zeke know about Grady’s nefarious connections? If Grady and
Bud were the wranglers we’d seen at the cattle pasture the other
night, the Ranger had to have been onto them. Zeke had even said
they had a line on identities but were waiting for them to lead
authorities to the bigger fish in the pond.

And I’d worked side-by-side with those two
rotten, stinkin’, bottom feeders for years. No, Zeke didn’t realize
who Grady really was or he’d never have allowed me to work at this
particular bar.

Not that I would’ve paid much attention to
Zeke’s cautions or demands. I’m just not very good with
ultimatums.

The only questions still in need of adequate
answers were not only why Amy was killed by the cartel, but why
they tried to pin her death on Bobby. And why use my phone to draw
Amy to my apartment in the first place? The answers could be as
mundane as a convenient means to an end all the way up to me being
the intended target all along, what with all the activity centered
on my building.

Hey, I know I’m a bit narcissistic and all,
but that’s a plausible suspicion when you’re the only child of a
well-known and wealthy family. It could explain why my apartment
was vandalized instead of burglarized when they discovered I was
in absentia
. Then again, Grady knew I’d be gone to Austin
with Zeke that day.

Damn. I’d really wanted some answers tonight,
but now I was more confused than ever. The only things I was sure
of were drug smuggling goings on, Amy’s biological father connected
to a drug cartel, and Bobby charged with Amy’s murder – and somehow
my boss and co-worker were involved. One of them corresponded with
Amy from my phone. One of them tore apart my apartment. And one of
them threw Amy off my building without leaving any footprints.

Footprints. I’d forgotten all about the roof.
As soon as I escaped tonight, I needed to swing by my apartment
building and see if the access door was unlocked. Then I could get
a bird’s-eye view of what Amy had seen of the Dallas skyline –
before someone else sent her on her journey.

Spirits lifted, I finished the night
alongside a potential killer and skedaddled across the parking lot
as fast as my cowardly legs would carry me. Bud was still halfway
to his truck when I fired up the Vette and peeled out toward
home.

Ah, home. The old brick building had never
looked as good as it did when I pulled into the parking lot. I
missed having my own space to crawl home to every night. Since I’d
given my only key to Mom, I couldn’t step inside to check out what
direction Reggie had taken the décor of my apartment. But after
only a few days there probably wasn’t much to see ‘cept perhaps new
paint on the walls. Special order takes weeks – sometimes months. I
groaned, and not from the extra floors required to scale the
building to the top.