Читать книгу Relentless - Jan Hambright - Страница 9

He jerked hard, pulling her off balance. Her right hand slammed against the tabletop, the Taser dislodged from her grip and clattered onto the floor.

She hit the ground.

In slow motion, he pulled her toward him.

Elbows against the concrete floor, her heart pounded and she kicked, swimming against a wave of fear that threatened to drown her, but he was too strong.

Catching sight of the Taser, she reached for it, straining to touch it in a final desperate move.

One more second and she would be his, but he suddenly let go. Hope for survival surged in her veins. She sat up and fixed her gaze on him.

He pulled himself upright and leaned against the front tire of the Beamer. “Kate Robear. Detective Mick Jacoby. New Orleans Police Department, auto theft division.” He held the badge in his hand like a trophy. “Battery on an officer is a crime.”

She tried to shut out his words, but an image of Cody staring at her through prison glass was the only thing that came into focus.

“Can’t we work this out? You never identified yourself as a cop. I thought you were going to kill me.”

He sat very still. His chiseled features as hard as stone. She didn’t know if her reasoning could find a catch hold, but she had to try.

“You locked us in here together. I deserve an explanation for that.” He continued to watch her with eyes the color of shallow seawater.

“I’m not a car thief.” Desperation diced her composure to bits. “This car has been repossessed, legally. I have the paperwork. I didn’t steal it.”

“Prove it. Take me back to Otis’s.”

“You can’t be serious. You’re in no condition to go anywhere but Mercy Hospital.”

“I hope you like jail.”

Her pulse jackhammered at her temples. He wanted to go back into the swamp?

“You’ve got a first aid kit.”

“You’re nuts. He shot at us. At me. Who’s to say he won’t kill us next time?” The thought rattled her bones.

“Get the kit.”

She scrambled to her feet and grabbed the medical supplies she always carried. He had to be crazy if he thought he could do this. Cops thrived on danger, but blood loss didn’t take the testosterone level into consideration. He’d be at Mercy before dawn and she’d be in jail or dead. The victim of a drunk wielding a shotgun.

“Put a dressing on it. It’ll hold until I get to Otis.”

“You need more than a dressing.”

He pulled his T-shirt farther up, his jaw locked against the pain. Muscle tensed just under his skin and she watched him stiffen. Desire drummed deep in her body.

“What are you going to do? Arrest him?” She felt his stare as if it was solid, looked into his eyes and pressed the thick pad against his wound.

For an instant he closed heavy-lashed lids over pain-clouded green eyes, but opened them almost immediately.

“Why do I need Otis?”

“How about him shooting at us for starters. And he did this.” She nodded to the bandage she pressed to his side. “He assaulted you first.”

A half smile arched his mouth, but vanished as quickly as it had appeared. “I have a Robear in custody. I’m doing my job.”

She’d taken the family career track? Was that what he thought? “Let’s get you to my car before you pass out. You don’t have to be conscious when I drive you to the hospital.”

He forced his palm down on her hand. Heat burned into her fingers and sent a jolt of current through her body. She tried to pull away, but couldn’t escape his touch or the awareness it evoked.

“You will take me to Otis.” He was so close, she could see beads of sweat form on his upper lip. “If you don’t, you’ll serve time when I’m done with you.”

“Okay. Okay!”

He released his hand from hers and she felt him shudder.

“I’ll open the lock.” Kate moved away from him and fished the bloody key out of her pocket. If she didn’t get him out of here soon, he’d pass out.

Hand shaking, she fit the key into the padlock and raised the metal door. He was on his feet by the time she returned to his side. He slid his gun into the waistband of his pants. At least someone could shoot back this time.

“Get your stuff, MacGyver.” He glared at her. “Nice and slow.”

Kate jammed her things into her backpack and zipped it shut. There was no way out except going into the bayou with him.

“His place is about seven miles from here on the edge of Bayou Gauche.” She pulled his arm over her shoulders.

He walked on his own, but leaned heavily on her, pressed close to her side. His body heat radiated into her and pulled her nerves thin, doubling her discomfort, but she couldn’t run away. Couldn’t escape the myriad of opposing sensations that targeted her mind and body.

A fine drizzle fell outside. She settled him into the passenger seat of her Bronco and hurried around to the driver’s side. Kate started the engine and rolled out of the lot, letting the flip-flop of the windshield wipers calm her nerves. What a mess she’d gotten herself in tonight. Life had just become immensely more complicated thanks to the angry, wounded cop in the passenger seat next to her.

“You do know you’re in the middle of my investigation?”

She gave him a sideways glance and refocused on the road. “I didn’t know cops liked to hide out in car trunks. You’re in the middle of my repo job.”

“A man’s got to get creative. You picked a bad night to take his ride.”

“Some ride.” Kate killed the lights as she made the turn just short of the house. “No sense getting him fired up.” She cut the engine, rolling the last twenty feet. She’d learned to be quiet and invisible. “There it is.”

The single bulb over the house numbers still burned in the darkness. The bathroom light shone at the side of the house.

“Just like I left it. He’s probably in his crib, sleeping like a baby.

“How did you find this place?”

“My boss gave me the information.”

Mick pulled his pistol out of his waistband and checked his rounds. “Who is this boss of yours? Has he got a name?”

“I don’t give out that information.”

“You will.” He snapped the cylinder shut. He’d catch Otis in his bed, arrest him and take him downtown. Any leads he’d have gotten with the tracking device in place were gone now, but he had her. It wouldn’t surprise him if she knew more than she was telling.

The pain in his side had turned to a dull ache. He’d been in rougher shape a couple of times, but he’d never been assaulted by a Robear. Certainly not by a female one who was short on details and long on looks. He hadn’t even known the strange breed existed, until tonight. “Stay here.”

He climbed out of her Bronco and stood still, listening to the sounds of the night. The rain had stopped, but there was a dampness in the air that penetrated through his skin. He turned the collar up on his jacket. It had been a long time since he’d been in the bayou without the sun overhead. He glanced at Whittley’s house and scanned the darkness.

The night was strangely still. His caution level rose. Beyond the thick mesh of trees protecting the house, he heard movement in the water. A slow rhythmic slosh, like the dip of a paddle. Then it stopped. Probably an alligator courting a meal.

Striding across the road in a zigzag pattern, he made it to the porch. A rickety stairway approached the front door from the left. He stepped up onto the first stair. The rotten wood moaned under his weight. He skipped the next two and made the landing without a sound.

The screen door dangled from a single hinge. Otis had been in some kind of a hurry to stop Kate from taking the car.

He leaned to the left of the entry and balled his fist. Bang, bang, bang. He pounded the door and listened to the sound echo inside. “Otis Whittley. New Orleans police. Open the door.”

No response.

He didn’t have a warrant. If Otis didn’t come out willingly, there wasn’t much he could do.

“He’s not here.”

The element of surprise was usually his, but he whirled around at the sound of her voice. Kate stood on the step below him. “What the…get back in the car.”

“He’s not here. I looked in all the windows.”

“You did what?”

“I’ll show you.” She brushed past him, turned the knob and gave the door a push.

It swung wide-open. A shaft of light from the outside bulb penetrated the front room.

She moved to step over the threshold, but he pulled her back. “You can’t go in.”

“And why not?”

The hairs on his neck bristled. “See the broken lamp, the ransacked kitchen?”

“Yeah.”

“Something went on here after you boosted the car.”

“I didn’t boost the car.”

“It’s a crime scene.”

“We’ve only been gone half an hour. I don’t know how anything can happen in half an hour.”

“It’s as easy as squeezing the trigger. Click. You’re dead.” He took Kate’s hand, ignoring the burst of electricity that arced up his arm and spread through his body. He’d neglected to point out the pool of blood near the end of the hall. Fresh blood.

He marched her closer to the car. Closer to safety. He put her in the passenger side and moved around to the driver’s side, eyeing the darkness. Braced for unseen threats that could come at any time.

What was he thinking, bringing her out here? He should have called a black-and-white to take her in. He climbed in and threw a sideways glance at his unwilling passenger. “I need your cell phone. Mine’s DOA. Shrapnel.”

“Sure.”

He watched her rummage in her bag of tricks and pull out the phone. She handed it to him and smiled. His insides went to mush. She was good. There wasn’t any doubt about it, but he didn’t trust her.

Mick pressed in Callahan’s station number and waited for his friend to pick up. “I’ve got a crime scene.” He rattled off the location of the shack Otis lived in. “There’s no body. It’ll probably go to Schneider. ETA? Fifteen. I’ll be here.” He hung up and leaned back into the seat, feeling ragged around the edges.

“Body? What are you talking about?”

“I can’t involve you.” His own words kicked him in the gut. She was already involved, but just how, he wasn’t sure.

“Tell me everything you know about Otis Whittley and his Beamer.”

“I told you all I know. I repossessed the car tonight. I don’t know Otis. He’s just a name on a list.”

He didn’t want to believe her. Believe she’d just been in the right place at the wrong time? Things didn’t happen by accident. “Who do you work for?”

Pulling a penlight out of her pocket, she opened the glove box, shined the narrow beam of light into the compartment and pulled out an envelope. “I have a court order, that’s all you need to know.”

Who was she protecting? There wasn’t an honest person in the Robear clan. Any one of them could steal a car in under thirty seconds and wave as they drove off. Was she any different?

He set his jaw and locked out a minuscule desire to believe her. A Robear was a Robear. They’d taken all they were ever going to take from him.

“I’ll have to haul you downtown. My supervisor has a nasty temper in the interrogation room. You’ll spill your guts before the bars on Bourbon Street close.”

“Where do you get off threatening me? I’m a law-abiding citizen. That car is in my possession and I intend to shuttle it to Dallas at the end of the week.”

“You’re in my custody.” The air temperature in the car went subzero.

“You’ll have to arrest me then, because as soon as your buddies arrive, I’m going home.”

If he wanted to keep her, he’d have to arrest her. The charge wouldn’t hold her for long. The thought tasted like dirt in his mouth, but he was in no condition to drag her there in cuffs, only to have her bond out in the a.m. “As soon as the crime-scene investigator arrives, you’re free to go. You’re a material witness. I’m going to need a full statement and elimination prints. One of the hazards of touching the doorknob. Don’t leave town.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” She sat stiffly in the seat next to him.

“Give me the papers.” He pulled them from her hand and opened the envelope. She directed the beam of light onto the document.

Mick studied the paperwork, giving the bank in Dallas authority to reclaim its property by any means necessary. As much as he hated to admit it, she was telling the truth, but he’d check to see if she had a record.

“I’d like a copy of these.” He folded the papers and shoved them back into the envelope.

“Can do.” She flipped the switch on the flashlight, plunging the interior of the car into darkness.

Mick waited for his eyes to adjust in the weak light from the porch bulb.

“Why do you have it in for me Officer Jacoby?” Her voice was soft and low, matter-of-fact.

His nerves twisted around his hatred. “I have it in for anyone who’s broken the law.” He’d forced the words out. Did she know how much he wanted her to be guilty? Only her court order was going to protect her tonight. “Looks like you’re in luck.” The CSI team van made the corner with its lights flashing.

She was out of the car before he could finish his sentence. Mick climbed out from behind the wheel and closed the door. They met in front of the Bronco. “I’ll be on your doorstep tomorrow morning. You better be there.” He wanted to slap the cuffs on her right now and chain her to the nearest tree, but he hesitated.

“You can plan on it, Officer.” He searched her angelic face for a glimmer of deceitfulness, but it was his heart that told him she would be there in the morning, waiting.

The CSI van slowed and stopped, followed by a string of other vehicles.

He waved her off, stepped aside and watched her climb in behind the wheel.

“Jacoby, you responsible for this mess?”

Mick turned around as Callahan climbed out of the van and walked toward him. “You know me. If there’s a crime, I’m there.”

Callahan slapped his shoulder and smiled. “I like your attitude. Sure you won’t come back to homicide? We could use you.”

“No. I had all of that I could take.”

“I understand. Let’s have a look.”

Mick took him up the stairs and pointed out the pool of blood at the back of the hallway. “I’d say there’s a body somewhere.”

Callahan shined the beam of his mag light onto the large red stain. “Good-size volume. I’d have to agree. I’ll get the team in here. We’ll let you know.”

Mick felt his body sag and sat down on the top step. His head throbbed and he tried to fight off the shakes.

“You okay?”

“No.” He watched Kate’s taillights disappear around the corner. Five years’ worth of mental compensation had just been spent in forty-five minutes. Five long years of a search that never ended, a search for the car thief who’d killed his wife and daughter during a boost, and never looked back. The rumor was it had been a Robear behind the wheel that night. Was it her? Was she the one?

“Call me a ride out of here, Callahan. I need a gurney.”

“You’ve got it, buddy.”

KATE STEPPED OUT of the shower, coiled her hair in a towel and slipped on her bathrobe. She’d let the water needle her skin for twenty minutes, but she still felt like a zombie. Even a couple hours of REM sleep hadn’t been enough to erase last night’s confrontation with Mick Jacoby. Maybe the attraction she’d felt toward him was only imagined.

The buzz of the doorbell, followed by a couple of loud knocks, pushed into her brain. Tiptoeing to the door, she looked through the peephole. The focus of her thoughts stood on her front porch. She jerked back. He was even more sexy in daylight. She’d known he’d come around to talk to her, but 7:00 a.m.?

She took a deep breath, undid the dead bolt and swung the door wide. “Good morning, Officer.” Her cheerful attitude didn’t bring an iota of change to his solemn features, grayed by lack of sleep and blood loss, she guessed, but he was still the best-looking male she’d seen in too long. His formidable self couldn’t change that.

“It could be.” He moved past her into the house and stopped in the middle of the living room with his back to her.

Kate closed the door and watched him size up the place. His silence and lack of visual contact annoyed her, but the full-on backside view of Officer Jacoby made her heart beat faster.

“Shall I lift the cushions so you can check for stolen cars?” Scurrying to the couch, she lifted the center cushion. “Nothing here. Maybe I keep them under the rug.” She stomped her bare foot a couple of times and pulled in a breath as he turned toward her and leveled a stare on her with eyes she guessed never missed a thing.

“Look, Ms. Robear. I didn’t come here to search the place…um, your…”

Heat radiated into her cheeks and she felt her face redden as his all-seeing gaze slid down the front of her robe. Reality along with the feel of air on exposed skin made her draw a sharp breath. She squeezed the gaping lapels together. “I’ll throw something on.”

She hurried from the room, alarmed by the tingle his stare had provoked. She certainly wasn’t a prude, but neither was she ready to provide a peep show for a cop.

Closing her bedroom door, she leaned against it. Why was it he always seemed to be judging her? She had the impression he’d dealt with her car-stealing family. Every cop in New Orleans had. He probably thought all Robears were created alike. Born to boost cars and chop them up for fun and profit.

Well, she took cars legally these days, and if it took every ounce of her persuasive power to convince Officer Jacoby of that, then so be it.

Moving away from the door, she picked out a pair of jean shorts and a plain white blouse and put them on. There was no denying Mick Jacoby was a looker, but he was also a man on a mission—something she’d be wise to never forget. But she had a mission, too. Keeping the Beamer and the five-thousand-dollar bonus that went with it. She composed herself and went back into the living room.

He stood in the same spot where she’d left him. She took a second to appreciate the thigh-hugging black jeans molding the outline of his quadriceps. His maroon T-shirt was pulled tight over washboard abs and bulging biceps hooked to shoulders as broad as the liberties she mentally took with his physique. She’d bet he could tell her how many tiles there were on the ceiling of the local gym.

Looking away, she swallowed and tried to put distance between her thoughts and the situation. Cop. Cop. Cop. Drilled in her mind.

“How did you do at the hospital last night?” She tossed the question over her shoulder while she moved into the kitchen and scooped coffee into the filter, filled the reservoir and turned it on.

“A single piece of buckshot. I’ll live.”

Unsatisfied with his answer, she turned around. “How bad?”

“A fraction lower and you’d have hauled me to Dallas.”

Nibbling her lower lip, she studied him. He was tense, as if standing in her living room made him uncomfortable. She couldn’t have that. “Why don’t we sit down?” She’d be doing herself a favor if she was on her best behavior. “I’ll pour us a cup of coffee and we can talk.”

She hoped he’d position himself on the sofa and relax a bit, but he pulled out a chair at the dining-room table. All business. Her business.

Mick settled into the wooden ladder-back chair, complete with a blue checked seat cushion. If Kate Robear was a car thief, she had to be the best disguised one he’d met. Her small house had a homey feel to it. From the floral sofa to the pictures on the walls, the place held her sultry warmth. He watched her move about the small kitchen. Notes of the song she hummed tickled his ear, but he couldn’t name the tune. Her legs were long and shapely. She carried herself like an athlete. If she weren’t on his witness list, she’d be on his gotta-have list. He shook his thoughts. She was a Robear. That was all he needed to know. No quaint gingerbread house and a cup of hot coffee was going to change that. He had to concentrate.

“Can we get on with this statement?”

“Oh, sure.” She moved into the dining room and set a cup of coffee in front of him. “Do you take cream and sugar?”

“No.” Mick flipped open his notepad, anxious to move his thoughts forward. “Last night, did you notice any other car besides the Beamer?”

“No, but there are lots of pull-ins on Bayou Road. I suppose I could have missed seeing a vehicle, if it was parked in the undergrowth.”

Picking up his cup, he took a slow sip, eyeing her over the brim. She looked innocent enough with a towel around her head and large round eyes that crinkled at the corners when she was thinking.

“I had my friend Gabby drop me off. She waits for me to call her if the mark doesn’t show up. Then she’ll come out and get me.”

“I’ll want to talk to her. See if she saw anything.”

Mick wrote down the phone number Kate gave him. “What about the man you work for?” She hadn’t budged on the point last night. “It’ll go a lot better for you, Kate, if you’ll tell me who you work for.”

“David Copeland. He handles Dallas S & L. I’ve never had a face-to-face with him.”

“How long have you worked for him?”

“A little over six months.”

Mick rolled the man’s name around in his head. He’d have him checked out. “How does he contact you?”

“He calls me the day before a job. Gives me time to make arrangements for Cody.”

“Cody?”

“My son.”

Mick’s heart rate sped up. She had a child?

“Can you tell me what other cars you’ve repoed in the last six months?”

“Sure.” She stood up and went to a small desk, opened the drawer and pulled out a notebook. “I keep track for tax reasons.” She returned to the table and sat down. “Let’s see. October a Porsche 944, owner Stephen Hacker, 1844 Caldwell. In November a Rolls, owner Hugh Keller, 3210 Jasper. I repoed a Mercedes E class in December from Nathan Morris.”

Mick jotted down the make of the car, date and name of the owner. “Address?”

“Looks like 4060 Lindstrom, on the west side. Nice neighborhood. In January, it was a Porsche purchased by Jacob Estes, 4028 Garnet. In February, a red Mercedes convertible, owner Thomas Romaro.”

Mick’s internal alarm went off at a million decibels. Thomas Romaro was the victim of an unsolved homicide. His buddy Schneider was working the case. They’d pulled the guy out of the Mississippi in pieces. “Go on. Have you got an address on Romaro?”

“Westside, near the Garden District…1019. In March it was a Jaguar XJ belonging to Orlando Durant, 4237 Vivian. Last night I went after the BMW.”

Looking up from his notes, he paused, watched her lick her lips and focus her attention on him. The movement shot holes in his control and raised his heart rate, but he didn’t drop his gaze from her face.

“It’s strange. Every one of these deadbeats lived in an upscale neighborhood, but every house looked deserted except for the car in the drive. None of them were in the garage where you’d expect an expensive car to be parked.”

He couldn’t agree more, but it was the dead man that interested him. Maybe it was just a coincidence, but maybe not. “I need a date and time you repoed Romaro’s Mercedes.”

He watched her run a long delicate finger down the list, wondering what it would feel like against his skin and not as a woman administering first aid.

“Looks like February 14. Valentine’s Day. I think it was around midnight because I asked my date to bring me home early.”

“You don’t sound too disappointed.” Mick watched her think; her eyes crinkled at the corners as she looked him square in the face.

“You could say we disagreed, but my love life isn’t open for questions, is it, Officer?”

He liked the challenge he saw flash across her face, then vanish into the smile on her lips. Why was she being so compliant this morning? Belligerent, he could handle. Maybe she was feeling guilty for sticking it to him with a hot Taser, or was it something else? Perhaps a little charm as lubricant to wiggle out of an uncomfortable situation.

“We’ll call it good for now, but don’t leave town.” He watched her face go placid and knew she was thinking about the Beamer and a road trip to Dallas. “How much do you make recovering assets?”

“More than you make getting shot at.”

“Tell me. What do you do with all that cash?” He wanted to push her. Money made people do strange things and she wouldn’t be an exception.

“I give to the needy.”

“I suppose that’s a worthy thing to do.” He felt anger charge through him. Hell, he deserved it, probing into her business. It looked more and more like she was for real, but he had to check out the list of marks on his notepad before he let her off the hook completely.

“I need to get your prints. We can do it here, or you can come into the station. What’ll it be?” She swallowed and looked straight at him, her expression trepid. The idea of entering the station frightened her? His suspicion bubbled up.

“I’ll come in this afternoon.”

“Great.”

The front door of the house flew open and a little boy burst into the room. Two steps behind him lagged a young woman.

“Mommy.” He threw his arms around Kate’s neck and knocked the towel loose from its coil. Her hair spilled over her face and he listened to her laugh. Soft, sweet, genuine.

“I missed you.”

“I missed you, too. Did you treat Molly good?”

“Yeah.”

An awkward ache moved inside him as he watched the exchange, sucked into memories of years past and lives lost.

She smoothed her hair back. “Cody, this is Officer Jacoby. He’s a policeman.”

“Where’s him’s uniform?” The little boy looked up at him, determined to discover why he didn’t look the part.

“Well, not every policeman wears a uniform. Sometimes they wear plain clothes and look just like you and me. Isn’t that right, Officer?”

He stared down at the handsome little boy, with eyes the shade of his mom’s. Thoughts of his own daughter churned in his mind and scrambled his words before they could make it onto his tongue. He nodded and found his voice. “That’s right. Sometimes we don’t want the bad guys to know we’re around.” He pulled his badge off his shoulder holster and held it out. “Here’s my badge.”

Cody ran his hand over the shield. “Wow.”

The understanding of a child only encompassed a simplicity. He was free to be impressed minus all the muck that went with the job.

“It’s nice.”

“It’s nice when it gets the respect it deserves.” He looked into Kate’s face and saw a hint of doubt, but he didn’t need her respect. He needed the answers she could give him. How close was she to this case? How much did she know about that night five years ago that ripped his world apart? “Here’s my card. Call me if you think of anything else.” She took it from his fingers and slid it into her pocket.

“I’ve gotta go.” Mick put his badge on and tried to cram his emotions into the mental box they’d escaped from. “I’ll expect you at the station.”