But I didn’t cry out, mind you. My lips remained firmly pressed together, with a metallic tang on my tongue. As I furiously brushed off hair and clothes, I could only hope the web had been unoccupied when I’d crashed the party.
A strap on my sandal had broken in my headlong fall. Scratches on my legs and arms burned – or was that a spider bite? Just great. Why hadn’t I thought to wear more appropriate gear for this stakeout? Probably because this city girl hadn’t realized the stakeout would be in the countryside. This was the Taylor family’s neck of the woods – not mine.
As I stepped and slid my way along the trail like Frankenstein’s hunchbacked assistant, darkness closed in around me. Clouds rolled in and intermittently obscured the quarter moon. The tree canopy thickened. Something slithered through the nearby underbrush. I tried desperately to come up with a song in my head to shut out the rising panic, but all that came to mind was Itsy-Bitsy Spider.
I could really use a drink about now. My heart pounded so hard I just knew it had to be audible. Cold sweat trickled down my brow – and that’s saying something for June in Texas. No telling what I might step on out here. At this point, I wasn’t opposed to it being more along the cow-patty variety. At least that crap wasn’t alive.
I should’ve brought along a flashlight. Oh wait – my flashlight was with good ol’ Detective Duncan. After this, I needed to pay him another visit and get my belongings back. I’m sure Bobby would like to have those letters returned too, even if they were the property of Amy’s mother.
All thoughts of snakes, letters, and flashlights dissipated when a hand slapped over my mouth.
Chapter Twenty
The familiar hiss in my ear kept my bladder in check. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Attempts at talking around Zeke’s firmly planted hand proved futile until he let go and spun me around. In the near pitch-black darkness, it took a moment for my eyes to adjust and confirm what my ears had revealed.
“You didn’t have to scare me like that,” I replied.
“Oh,” Zeke retorted, “and I guess calling out in the dark and having you scream loud enough to wake the dead would’ve been so much better.”
“It might.”
“Keep your voice down.”
“You first.”
Though I couldn’t quite see his eyes, his momentary silence told me I was once again getting the Big Z dagger stare. “I’ll ask again, what are you doing here?”
“Same as you,” I said. “Trying to help clear Bobby’s name.”
“Trying to clear…?” Zeke started, then turned away and raked his hands through his hair before spinning back around to face me. “I’m on an op here. This has nothing to do with your boyfriend.”
“Friend who’s a boy…er, guy,” I corrected. “And if this doesn’t have anything to do with Bobby, why the trip to Austin? Why the interest in Amy’s father, who happens to share the name of a known drug cartel? I’m not stupid, you know.”
“Go home, Vic,” Zeke hissed through clenched teeth.
“No.”
My feet and head switched places so fast, I thought for a sec I was falling until I landed with a grunt on his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Zeke carried me effortlessly as he trudged up the path the way I’d come.
“Let me go, Zeke Taylor,” I demanded. “I’ll just walk back. I’ll call your mother on you. I’ll scream.”
With that threat firmly under his belt, Zeke flipped me over and placed me back on my feet. “You’ll scream? And ruin any chance to help Bobby?”
“Ha. Called it.”
A sigh. Then his arms snaked around my waist, and he pressed against me, Zeke’s sultry tenor licking the tiny gap between us. I gulped when a zing hit my nether regions like a lightning bolt. My legs turned to chocolate pudding.
“I only want to keep you safe, Vic,” he whispered, warm breath hot against my face.
All thoughts of spiders, snakes, and lizards – oh my – dissipated. I forgot about the broken sandal. Charlotte’s web. Bobby who? All I wanted at that moment was Zeke’s lips on mine.
A disembodied voice shattered the moment. “We’ve got movement out here.”
Zeke grunted. “Roger that.” With that he released me and pointed down the lane toward the cars. “Home. Now.”
I trotted after him. “I’m not a dog you can order around, you know.” Some might argue that point with a capital B, but Zeke didn’t respond. The Ranger had returned to the hunt.
“You don’t need to get involved here,” Zeke said.
“Involved? I’m already involved,” I sputtered. “I got involved when my apartment was terrorized, traumatized, and ostracized.”
“Ostracized?”
“Well, that’s more me from my apartment. I’m homeless now.”
“You’re not homeless. I told you, you can stay with me as long as you need.”
“Point is, I’ve got just as much right to find the creep who started all of this as you do.”
No response.
I took that as a sign to continue. “I’m just gonna follow you.”
He whipped around. “Then stay behind me and don’t get in our way.”
Progress! With my floppy sandal it was a little difficult to keep up with Zeke’s long and sure strides, but somehow I managed to trip along to where he and a couple of his Ranger cohorts crouched at the edge of the tree line.
A fenced pasture stretched across the clearing, the scent of manure clinging to my olfactory senses. But the empty field didn’t appear to be the focus of concentration. Dim lights flickered across the way. The tramp of cow hooves against metal and soft lowing followed as two-by-two the herd exited the semi-trailer like a reversal of Noah’s ark.
See? I’d listened on occasion in Sunday School.
I whispered, “Why are we watching the cow-patty parade?”
A terse shh was all the reply I warranted. Guess I should’ve been grateful Zeke had allowed me to tag along instead of hog-tying and throwing me in the bed of his truck. I stayed silent – for a bit.
“Is this a cow-poaching operation?”
Another shh.
Don’t hate me – I’m a girl. There’s only so long those of the fairer and feminine sex can go before we have to speak or we’ll burst like an overflowing dam. It’s coded into our genetic make-up. You gotta problem with it, talk to God.
Mosquitoes attacked my bare legs like Kamikaze bombers during World War II. Dinner was served – and I was the one on the menu. I could feel the welts rise across my arms and legs. Then the itching started in earnest.
“If we stay out here much longer, I’ll need a blood transfusion,” I complained.
“Then go home,” Zeke whispered.
My feasted-on carcass stayed put. A few moments later, the diesel engine fired up and the rig slowly pulled away from the scene, leaving us sitting near a field of dazed and confused cattle. With a holler and a shout, the two wranglers got into a black four-wheel-drive truck with highly polished chrome that gleamed red in the rig’s taillights. A lighted roll bar lit up on top when the throaty roar signaled life. As it drove in the rig’s wake, it struck me as familiar, but then black trucks around these parts are about as common as mosquitoes in summer.
A couple of hand signals and whispered commands, then the gang of four moved forward as one, sliding between the fence rails until sneaking up to one of the newly arrived animals. I stayed at the fence and watched as three of the team corralled the cow and held her down, while Zeke pulled on a long glove-like sheath that reached all the way up to his shoulder. Then much to my dismay, his gloved arm disappeared into the backside of the protesting animal. After fishing around in regions I’d rather not think about, Zeke slid his arm away and inspected what he held in his hand. Murmurs of acknowledgement passed between the team before they let the old girl up to trot away.
Zeke once told me I was full of crap, but I always
assumed it was a bad thing. Seeing the excitement on the guys’ faces as they headed my way with a handful of steaming cow dung, do you think I could’ve been wrong in my assumption?
Don’t answer that.
***
“Drugs?”
Once again, Zeke strutted around his apartment with a bare chest after getting out of the shower. It was his apartment after all, but those rippled pecs and abs on display all the time were an unfair home court advantage.
He finished toweling his hair then tossed the damp mass my way. “Yep.”
“In a cow’s ass?” I asked.
“Yep,” he returned.
“But how do they keep them from pooping it out too soon?”
“You gotta shove the packs of heroin high enough up their colon shortly before the border crossing. Then you corral them on this side of the border and wait for them to release it. Those wranglers will return tomorrow night with high-powered flashlights to search for fresh cow pies.”
“That’s gross,” I whined, and continued slathering on the calamine lotion to stem the itch the earlier shower hadn’t taken away. Being a mosquito sandwich isn’t a fun way to spend an evening, but it was better than my party with Charlotte’s web. A little. Maybe.
“Gives a whole new meaning to taking a shit,” Zeke said with a smile.
I just rolled my eyes. “So instead of drug mules, the Juarez family is using cows now?”
“It’s nothing new. The cartels change up their delivery methods, but they always circle back around to the ones that work. For awhile they were even hiding coke in boxes of diapers.”
“Another crappy method,” I said with a snort. Then my bathroom humor tempered. “So how does knowing this help me help Bobby?”
“We’re trying to track their people on this side of the border,” Zeke said. “All the while, I’m still trying to connect the dots leading to Amy.”
“Then why didn’t you chase after the delivery rig and the wranglers? At least get a license plate of that black truck.”
“We’ve got a line on them, but we’re hoping they’ll lead us to the bigger fish.”
“I get it.”
Zeke sidled up and tugged me into his arms. “I had fun with you tonight.”
“Hmm,” was all that came to mind as the scent of his body wash swirled around my senses.
“We make a good team, you know.”
With only his towel and my robe between us, my legs turned to mush. “Uh…huh?”
My knees buckled as he nipped at my ear. “You doing anything this Friday night?”
At that moment, I could conjure up a whole bunch of things I could do to him Friday night. Do. I mean do Friday night.
“I g-g-gotta work,” I stuttered.
“Can you ask off?” Lips trailed along my neck.
I’d be willing to ask for the whole week off. “I can try.”
“Good.”
I nearly toppled across the antler monstrosity he called a coffee table when Zeke released me.
“Seven-thirty,” Zeke continued. “Governor’s dinner. Wear a cocktail dress. Come sober.”
With that, he headed to his bedroom and shut the door, leaving me flustered and frustrated. I was seriously rethinking my abstinence resolve while at the same time considering taking up archery.
Less chance of forensics tracing the killing arrow back to me.
Chapter Twenty-One
Monday morning came way too early. Sleeping on the sofa at Zeke’s place was quickly wearing out its welcome. Maybe I would be better off living in my Vette for the next few weeks. I’ve never understood how a man could function with only a few hours’ sleep night after night, while I become a raging wad of bitchy after missing the standard eight hours.
While Zeke clanged and puttered around his kitchen getting ready for work, I tugged the blanket up over my head and burrowed my face into the pillow. Eventually the thundering stopped, the front door slammed, and I was left in blissful peace to return to the realm of fevered dreams of firm pecs and soft lips.
Until a knock on the door reverberated through the apartment.
Muttering words that would turn the sun blue, I threw aside the blanket and shoved my arms into the robe as I stomped to the door. Detective Dingbat Duncan’s sweaty mug reflected through the peephole, and I slung the door open.
“Ranger Taylor isn’t here,” I snarled.
“I’m not here for Zeke,” Duncan responded.
Eyes traveled up and down my frame. I’m sure mine were bloodshot, with dark circles a raccoon mother would be proud of. My hair likely stuck out at all angles, with knots the size of Texas. But it took a moment to realize Duncan wasn’t concerned about those aspects of my appearance, as his eyes were fixed on a particular area of my anatomy. My hastily donned robe hung wide open in the middle, exposing the thin fabric of my nightgown and giving him a birds-eye view of God’s bestowed accoutrements.
I jerked the robe edges together. “What do you want then, Detective, besides to leer at me like a porn addict?”
His cheeks flushed. Did I call it, or did I call it? “You need to get dressed and come with me.”
I folded my arms. “Why?”
“You’ve got some explaining to do.”
“Explaining? What about this time?”
“How about providing misleading information to law enforcement?”
“What?”
“There’s also hindering an official police investigation.”
“In what way?” I demanded.
“Withholding evidence for another.”
“Hey, you can access the vital statistic information just as easily as I did.”
“I’m talking about the text you sent to Amy Vernet the night she died.”
Bitchiness died in my throat. “Text? What text?”
“This text,” Duncan said as he held a paper up to my face.
I nearly sucked all the air from Zeke’s apartment as my mouth hung open like a sprung trapdoor. The exchange supposedly between my phone and Amy’s stared from the page. Legs barely supported me, and I felt faint as I read the words.
Phantom Me: Need to talk. Can you meet at my apartment?
Amy: Certainly. When?
Phantom Me: Thirty minutes?
Amy: I’ll be there.
The rest was Phantom Me sending directions to my place. Timestamps of the exchange reflected the later stage of my shift at the bar, though for the life of me I couldn’t focus on exactly what had occurred that night. The implication in the words was clear.
Though I tried to project a wall of confidence, my voice still sounded small. “I was at work all night like I told you before. I drove around the corner from my building and saw the lights that night. My boss can corroborate when I left. My b-b…friend Nick can too.”
Even in the throes of trying to save my sorry carcass, I still couldn’t call Nick my boyfriend. Regardless, Nick needed to get home from whatever modeling gig he was at soon – and fast. For more reasons than one now.
“I still need you to get dressed and come down to the station,” Duncan directed. “Oh, and I’ll need to confiscate your phone as evidence.”
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 t
his 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.