Rock point collection, p.33
Rock Point Collection, page 33
I’m still laughing, tears running down my face, when I drop him by his more appropriately sized Dodge Ram. By the time I turn out of town onto the 160, his big gray truck right on my tail, I’m crying. From one minute to the next, I’m a sobbing mess. I have to wipe my eyes constantly to be able to see, because now that I’ve let loose, it looks like I can’t stop.
I’m grateful I didn’t drive myself into a ditch when I pull up in front of my little house, but I’ve barely had a chance to turn off the engine when my door is yanked open, and Jasper is in my face.
“What the hell is wrong with you? You’re swaying all over the road, almost getting—” His mouth snaps shut when he notices my sorry state. “You’re crying?”
I have it on my lips to give him a catty retort, but when I open my mouth all that comes out is another sob.
Apparently that’s enough for Jasper, who pulls me out of the car and wraps me in a bear hug.
“I fucking hate crying,” he mumbles in my hair.
“Sorry.” My voice is muffled against his chest.
“Don’t apologize,” he whispers.
“Okay.”
At some point, my arms may have slipped around his middle, because I’m reluctant to release my hold when he tries to disengage.
“Gonna have to let me go if I’m going to check out your place, Squirt.”
FIVE
Bella
Squirt?
Last person to call me that was my brother, about twenty years ago, and he earned a karate kick to the gonads then. Never mind it was intended for his gut, which I didn’t quite manage to reach. I’m short, I’ve known that my whole life, I was teased enough. I didn’t need Damian to remind me of it in front of my then boyfriend, whose name I’ve long since forgotten. It was one of those things, like being tagged as the baby of the family, which grates on you when it’s used dismissively.
It didn’t sound that way coming from Jasper, and I’m not about to bruise his precious jewels; I’m too busy staring at his tight back end as he walks up to my door, dangling my keys in his hand.
I was told to wait in the car, which I didn’t argue. I just lived through my first winter here, and let me tell you, it is quiet here when there’s a pack of snow sucking up any sounds. Yet the silence and solitude never felt as oppressive as it does tonight.
He slips in the front door, and I suddenly remember the disaster I left in my kitchen this morning, when I had to rush out of the house because I was late. I’d woken up with a craving for my mother’s stuffed waffles and thought I’d have time. Given I’m a rather enthusiastic cook, I’m sure the waffle iron I left out on the counter is not the only thing wearing drips of congealed batter.
As I watch lights come on inside, I mentally go through every room, trying to remember if I left any other disasters. Not that there’s anything I can do about it now. It’s just a few minutes before Jasper steps onto my small porch and waves me over.
“All clear,” he calls, and I grab my purse, get out of the car, and walk up to him. “Except maybe your kitchen. You might want to call a hazmat unit out for that.”
“Whatever.” I bite down a grin as I squeeze by him to get inside. I hear him following behind me, closing the door.
“You may want to clear your unmentionables from the kitchen before you invite them in, though.”
My eyes shoot up and immediately find the pile of lacy underwear on the counter, beside the door to the small laundry room. I’d planned to hand-wash those this morning, when I got distracted by my mother’s waffles, and forgot all about them when I rushed out. I move fast, snatching the pile off the counter and tossing it into the laundry room. Jasper’s chuckle sounds behind me as I pull the door firmly shut.
“What are you doing?” I ask, when I turn around and see him wiping down the waffle iron with my dishrag.
“Cleaning this mess so we have room to sit down and eat.”
I open my mouth to object, when a timely rumble reminds me I haven’t had anything since this morning’s waffles. All I have sloshing around is a whole lot of coffee and a glass and a half of wine.
“Are you sharing?” I ask instead, earning me a grin.
“I’ll go grab the food.” With an overhead lob, he tosses the rag in my sink and heads out to fetch the May Garden bag from his car.
-
“Whoa, this shit is spicy.” I wave one hand in front of my mouth while the other reaches for my water glass.
“Mmmm…best Dandan noodles in town,” Jasper mumbles around a mouthful.
I’m not sure how much Jasper normally eats, but the sheer volume of food he pulled from that crumpled bag was impressive. I still can’t quite believe I’m sitting at my kitchen counter at nine thirty at night, having dinner with Jasper, of all people. He expertly handles the chopsticks that came in the bag, but I opted for a fork. Never quite mastered those things.
“It’s good,” I agree, shoving another bite in my mouth. “I grew up on mostly Mexican and Southwestern cooking. I like a little heat.”
“I’ll say.”
I drop my fork and turn to him, my hackles immediately up.
“What does that mean exactly?”
Jasper shrugs casually, unmoved by my sharp tone, as he slowly turns his eyes on me. “Only that you’re highly flammable. Fiery.” I huff, trying for indignation.
“So I have a short fuse; I’m passionate, it’s my Mexican genes.”
That earns me a snort from Jasper. “I don’t think it has much to do with that. You forget I know your brother.”
“He’s an anomaly in our family.”
“And I met your father, he’s a pretty cool customer.”
“Yes, but the rest of us take after our mother,” I point out.
He bumps his shoulder into mine, chuckling. “Your mom is from Texas, not Mexico.”
“Whatever,” I mutter around the piece of Kung Pao chicken I quickly shove in my mouth, annoyed. I can feel Jasper’s eyes studying me as I chew.
“So what was with the tears earlier?”
I almost choke on a piece of chicken shooting down the wrong hole. Jasper pats my back when I start coughing.
“It’s nothing,” I manage, when I’m able to breathe again.
“Can’t be nothing. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen you cry.”
I roll my eyes, but he seems unimpressed; just keeps scrutinizing me with those baby blues.
“Fine,” I eventually give in. “I lost a patient this morning.”
“I’m sorry.” The simple comforting gesture of putting his hand on my knee is enough to threaten tears again. He’s right, I don’t cry that much, not in front of others anyway. “Want to talk about it?”
“No, I don’t want to talk about it,” I snap, annoyed when I feel a tear slipping free.
Yet, not a minute later, I find myself spilling the entire story, from the moment the call came in, up to and including, the part where her father goes to his knees in the hospital hallway. By this time Jasper is gently stroking my back as I snatch up a napkin and dab at my wet cheeks.
“I don’t normally—” I start to apologize for emoting all over him, when he cuts me off.
“I know, which only goes to show how much you needed to let that out. Tough call,” he adds sympathetically.
“Yeah. And then the shooting. I just saw Belker on a call, not too long ago. He was jittery as a June bug.”
“Belker, is that the cop who got shot?”
“He’s just a baby, fresh from the academy.”
Jasper
I bite my tongue not to let it slip that the guy didn’t make it. After the day she’s had, she’ll have a hard enough time getting to sleep tonight, without me telling her about the message I received from Dylan while I was going through her house.
Bella stifles a yawn, as she gets up and starts clearing away the remnants of dinner. We made a good dent, but there’s still some left.
“Let me put that in your fridge. You’ll have enough dinner for tomorrow,” I offer. I have a feeling I won’t be home much in the days to come anyway. “It’s just gonna spoil in mine,” I quickly add when I see she’s about to protest.
“In that case, thanks.” The weary smile she gives me is sweet nonetheless, but then her expression turns serious as she puts her teeth in that plump bottom lip of hers. “And thanks for listening. That was…kind. I normally do okay processing through work stuff by myself, or sometimes I’ll talk to Kerry, but…”
“She’s on her honeymoon,” I finish for her.
“Right. Besides, I don’t know if I would’ve shared this call with her. Not now that she’s…”
“Pregnant?” I complete her thoughts again. Her eyes shoot to mine, surprised.
“You knew?”
“That’s why they pay me the big bucks, for my superior powers of deduction.” I grin when she rolls her eyes. “Actually, I tried to offer her wine twice at the wedding, which she refused, and then I caught her in the kitchen with her head under the tap when I went looking for you.”
“Clever. I see not much gets by you,” she pokes, smirking, but her eyes are weary when she looks at me. I bet I know what she’s thinking about and it’s time to air that little bit.
“I kissed you,” I blurt out. “I promised myself I wouldn’t—that I’d be buying myself a whole lot of trouble if I did—but I did it anyway.” A pretty blush creeps up her neck and stains her cheeks a deep pink, which I mistake for bashfulness.
“So that’s what you think of me? A whole lot of trouble?” she asks sharply, instantly setting me straight.
“Actually, your brother,” I correct her. “He’s my boss, and given the fact he won’t be happy to find out I’m thinking of you like that, it could seriously impact our working relationship.”
“Thinking of me like what?” She looks at me from under the thick fringe of her eyelashes. I grin and step into her space, putting one hand on her waist. With the other, I slide her thick hair off her shoulder before curving my fingers around her neck, forcing her to look up at me.
“Like I want to have my hands all over your curves, my mouth on your skin, exploring every inch of you,” I confess, as her mouth falls open in a perfect little O.
“You don’t even like me,” she whispers.
“I like you fine, attitude and all. I’ve just tried to steer clear of you, for everyone’s sake.”
She seems to need a minute to think on that and lowers her gaze to the middle of my chest. I use the time to feel the soft skin of her cheek with a light brush of my thumb. I inhale deeply of her scent; something subtly floral, maybe her shampoo, when she raises her eyes back up.
“Yet you kissed me anyway.”
“I did. Thought maybe if I could get it out of my system…” I let my voice trail off when her tongue pokes out for a quick lick along that bottom lip, distracting me momentarily. “It didn’t. Quite the opposite, in fact. I’ve tried to drown myself in work, but clearly that’s not working either, since I’m here, standing in your kitchen.”
“So you are.” I’m fascinated by the way her eyelids lower, her lips slightly part, and her head tilts to the side. Added to her sultry voice, there is no mistaking the invitation.
Fuck me, a saint would be tempted, and I never claimed to be one. Yet before I can lower my mouth to take her up on the invite, she stifles another yawn, and I firmly step back. She’s clearly tired and vulnerable from the events of the day, it wouldn’t be fair to take advantage of that. Granted, tomorrow her attitude will likely be back in full swing, and her silent offer may no longer be on the table, but maybe that’s for the best.
“You need to get some sleep. You’re swaying on your feet.”
“I was just about to kick you out,” she lies, enhancing her words with an exaggerated yawn. “I’m as worn out as a cucumber in a convent.”
Three hours later, staring at my ceiling, I’m still chuckling.
-
Four hours after that, my phone wakes me up.
“Yeah?” I groan, not bothering to look who’s calling.
“Morning, sunshine!” Dylan chuckles in my ear, much too chipper.
“What time is it?” I manage, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.
“Almost six thirty. Thought I’d give you a quick update before you head in.”
“Give it to me from the top.”
I swing my legs out of bed, pad over to the bathroom, and hit mute on my end of the call, so Dylan doesn’t have to listen while I relieve myself.
“The cop’s name was Christian Belker; new guy. He pulled over the black Civic with the missing license plate, and checked in with dispatch before exiting the cruiser. Looks like he barely made it out, when he got shot twice. He never even had a chance to unclip his sidearm. One bullet caught him in the shoulder and the second went in just above his ear. They figure he was about to close his door. He was all but gone when the first unit showed up. Autopsy scheduled first thing this morning. CBI was called in to process the scene. No shell casings found.”
The CBI, Colorado Bureau of Investigation, has an office in Durango as well. They’re frequently called in by either the sheriff’s office or police department to assist, often to provide forensic support.
“Sounds more like an ambush. Targeted. Anything on the car or the perp?” I ask, unmuting the phone as I dry my hands.
“Perp is still out there somewhere, but the car matches the description of a vehicle reported stolen two days ago from behind the Walmart, just a couple of miles south of the park on South Camino Del Rio.”
“What about a dash cam? His cruiser outfitted?”
“Apparently. They’re tight-lipped about specifics though. I’ll see what I can find out.”
“You sleep at all?” I ask, Dylan’s enthusiasm for the job often interferes with his self-preservation. Damian’s sent him home more than once.
“Sure,” he says easily, but I can hear the smile in his voice. “Pot calling kettle.”
“Dude, you’ve got a kid. You’ve gotta learn to pace yourself, or you’ll burn out.” Dylan is the single parent of a seven-year old boy, and although I know his mom and stepdad help out quite a bit, I have no idea where he finds the energy. It’s bound to run out one day. I have a feeling he is driven by something more than just his love for the job, but like most of us on the team, we’re not always good at sharing that stuff, and not just because we’re guys. Luna Roosberg, the only female agent on our team, is even more reserved than the rest of us. She’s a kick-ass operative, and I’d trust her to have my back under any and all circumstances, but other than her name and the fact she cleans up fucking nice in a dress, I know virtually nothing about any life she has outside of the agency.
“I know. I really did sleep, I’m just up because I had to get Max up for school anyway,” Dylan assures me.
“Fine, get him off to school and grab some more sleep. I’ll head into the office shortly and don’t want to see you there until noon, at the very earliest.”
“But the autopsy—”
“I know. I was going to check in with Blackfoot anyway. I’m on it.”
SIX
Jasper
“What do you want, Greene?”
I stop just inside the door and raise both hands defensively.
Judging from the collection of half-empty coffee cups, food wrappers, the gaunt face, and hair sticking out every which way, I’d say our Detective Blackfoot has been going nonstop. This might explain the snarling attitude, accompanied with warning glare he shoots me.
“Just here to offer help, Blackfoot.” When he looks at me suspiciously, I add, “We closed two cases this week so far, we’ve got some time on our hands. Not looking to step on any toes.”
Keith rubs his face in his hands, before waving me in. “Close the fucking door, will ya?”
“Sorry about the loss of your officer,” I offer, when I sit down across from his desk, the door duly closed. His bloodshot eyes come up and there is no sign of the cocky player I had him pegged as. This is a man suffering under the weight of his responsibilities.
“Fucking kid. Just got off the phone with his father, a farmer in Crete, Nebraska. The man wants answers, and I have none to give him.”
I make a sympathetic noise before asking him, “Run by me what you couldn’t tell him. Fresh eyes, more resources.”
He regards me for a second, then slides a folder across the desk before sitting back in his chair, and folding his arms behind his head. I flip open the folder to find autopsy photos and a detailed report on findings.
“You got this back already?”
“Coroner had him on the slab at six this morning. We needed those slugs.”
“Nine millimeter,” I confirm, scanning the report. “One entering the body at the left shoulder, cut a path through the joint and soft tissue and was found lodged in the clavicle. The other went in right above the ear and ricocheted inside the skull, instead of exiting.” I look up at Keith. “Shooter must’ve been at a fair distance for those bullets not to go straight through.”
“I figure,” he answers. “Trajectory was upward at a moderate angle. I’m guessing the guy never got out of his car.”
“Both distance and angle would indicate a pretty damn good shot.”
“Slugs are with CBI, once they run some ballistics tests, I’m sending someone to check local shooting ranges.”
“I can run the test results through our Federal database when you hear back. Dash cam tell you anything?”
“Fuck all. This wasn’t a traffic stop gone bad,” he suggests, turning to stare out his window. An assessment I’m already in agreement with.
“Doesn’t sound like it. I understand he never unclipped his holster?”
His chair squeaks as he swivels back to face me. “I’d like to know where the fuck you got that information.” I shrug, but stay silent. There’s no point. “Christ,” he finally hisses, exasperated.
After that he seems to brush the chip off his shoulder and takes me through all he has, which isn’t a whole fucking lot. Too many directions to go in and not enough leads. Without any witnesses, we have to make do with what we know; nine-millimeter slugs, and a stolen Honda Civic.
