Читать книгу A Different Kind of Man - Suzanne Cox - Страница 11

JACKSON PUT ON LATEX GLOVES before grasping the handle of the muddy bag. So much for a calm job in a quiet town. He’d come here expecting a less stressful life and all he seemed to find was more confusion. Two dead bodies, one with a bag full of who knew what, only promised trouble for the folks of Cypress Landing.

He tugged at the sludge-covered zipper with one hand while scraping mud from its path with the other. Someone had made a hasty exit to leave this behind.

When he finally opened the bag, he cursed. He hadn’t expected this. Drugs, yes. With the city of New Orleans not far away, it would only stand to reason that a certain amount of drug trade would be happening in the smaller surrounding towns. Drugs could be quick money, dangerous but quick.

A canvas bag full of guns was another matter entirely. Guns were one of the favorite items of trade for the Mafia family he’d investigated while still part of the FBI. Just when he thought he’d be tracking down stolen boats and lost hunting dogs, he’d found a bag of guns. And these weren’t destined for the local deer hunter, either. Right at the top were two assault rifles. If a sportsman planned on landing a trophy buck with this, he’d sure taken a risk.

“Do you think these two were together?” Jackson recognized Matt’s voice above him and looked to see the sheriff motioning toward the first body they’d found on the riverbank.

Jackson lifted one of the assault rifles turning it slowly from side to side. “My guess would be yes, although we’ll know more when we get the autopsies and some of the forensics back.”

“No serial number.” Matt pointed to the gun before Jackson dropped it back in the bag. “That could have been made in somebody’s own makeshift gun factory or else there’s a gun maker doing a few illegals. Either way we can’t track guns without serial numbers.”

“Let’s hope they’re not all like that.” Peeling off his gloves, Jackson got to his feet. The scenery was different in Cypress Landing, but that might end up being the only difference if his cases continued to be like this one.

“I’m going to talk to the guys collecting evidence.”

TEN MINUTES LATER Jackson had three men helping the state crime lab officials scour the area for pieces of evidence as he leaned against the sheriff’s car writing notes on a pad. Nearer the river, Matt stood in the glare of car lights and battery-powered spotlights they’d set up to help them work into the night. Beside him a slim woman with long black hair squatted fingering the dirt before making marks on a piece of paper she had fastened to a clipboard. Jackson returned to his own notes only to look up fifteen minutes later and see her still there, moving about in an ever-widening circle. Every few steps she would pause, look at the ground, scratch on her clipboard or shuffle through the papers. Several times, she touched the ground or picked up a piece of dirt and held it to her nose. After thirty minutes of this, he couldn’t stand it any longer. He had to know what she was doing. Besides, she was stomping around in his crime scene, even if she did have Matt’s permission.

“What’s going on?”

Matt held up his hand to silence him and Jackson crossed his arms and sighed impatiently. Several more minutes passed before the woman stopped in front of them.

“Finished?”

“I’ll need a bit longer then I’ll type it up for you if you like.”

Jackson stared at the two of them as they ignored him.

“Good.” Matt nodded. “Remember, give it just to me.” He glanced at Jackson.

The woman smiled. “I know, it’s all unofficial.” She stuck out a slightly grimy hand. “Hi. Brijette Dupré. Matt called me in.”

Jackson shook her hand “What exactly are you doing here?”

“Brijette’s on the search-and-rescue team. You didn’t get to meet her the other day, but she’s our tracker.”

He gave a quick glance at Matt. “As in she follows human tracks?”

The woman gave a soft laugh.

“How exactly is that supposed to help us?”

“Brijette, why don’t you give Jackson here your brief first impression so far.” Matt winked at the girl and Jackson felt like he was missing the joke, but then there wasn’t a lot of call for trackers in Chicago.

“This is what I can see.” She started walking, with Jackson and Matt following close behind. “Four guys got off a boat or boats here.” She pointed to the ground where Jackson only saw a bunch of footprints. “They all jumped off. One of them had something heavy, probably that bag you found. Then another person came from the parking area. He walked down here and at some point, the guy with the bag got back on the boat. Something happened, and they moved really fast from this spot. Possibly the shooting of the guy you found on the bank. The person who came from up the hill went back to his car and one of the guys from the boat went with him. The other got back on the boat in a hurry.” She pointed to the edge of the water. “Someone slipped right here. I’ll look some more and be more detailed in the written report.”

Jackson shook his head. “You get all that from a bunch of footprints?”

She nodded then walked away, leaving him staring at Matt.

“You think she’s got a clue about this?”

“She knows what she’s talking about, I promise. It may not help us but I like to get a report from her and file it away. Just in case.”

Jackson started to leave but Matt didn’t move. The sheriff regarded him expectantly, and he knew why.

“Look, I’m sorry I lost my temper earlier. It won’t happen again. I guess I just felt overprotective for a minute.”

“Em doesn’t need protecting.”

Jackson wasn’t sure if he wanted to argue with the man or just crawl in a hole. What kind of guy did Matt think he was?

“I know I have a bad history, with the fights and everything that happened back in Chicago, but you and your wife visited me when Christa and Connor were still alive. I was different back then. After they were murdered, I lost my head, but I don’t think I’ve shown myself to be a threat to anyone, especially a woman.”

“The bureau saw you as a threat. ‘Out of control,’ I think were their exact words. That was why they wanted to put you behind a desk.”

The bureau had thought he was out of line following a Mafia guy whose uncle had paid for his quick release from jail. Jackson hadn’t been able to prove it, but he was sure the man was responsible for his family’s death. Of course, the beating he’d given the man once hadn’t helped. He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I couldn’t be a desk jockey, pushing paper all day.”

“I realize that. But you still have some problems. We saw that today. I want to hear you say it’s going to get better, or at least it’s not going to get worse.”

Matt didn’t know how badly Jackson wanted the whole thing to go away. He’d actually thought it had. But when he’d held Emalea close, it had affected him, even though she meant nothing to him. She’d been trembling, and he’d wanted to protect her from everything bad in life. In an instant, he’d been ready to stop Matt from sending her into the river again. Never mind that she’d been the one who’d volunteered to go. A few hours ago he’d have said he was over the issues he’d had with his anger, but now he wasn’t sure.

“I won’t make promises, because I doubt if you’d believe me, but I will honestly tell you that I’m doing everything I can to stay clear of situations that set me off.”

“Good. I hope you include Em in that. You’re not the only one with demons in the past, you know.”

Dropping that bombshell, Matt strode away. Jackson realized he’d just lost some of Matt’s respect. Since he’d already lost the respect of everyone in his office in Chicago, he wasn’t going to let things get worse. He wasn’t a monster who went around hurting people. He would be friends with Emalea and nothing more, then he wouldn’t have to worry about protecting her from any danger that he might bring her. But first, he had to make sure she was all right.

EMALEA ROLLED OFF THE COUCH, her knee slamming onto the hardwood floor. Disoriented, her gaze flew from the window to the door, then finally to her watch. Good grief, it was eleven o’clock. She’d only planned to lie on the sofa for a minute and watch television. On the screen, Jay Leno was bantering with Jim Carrey. The noise that had awakened her rattled through the house. She clenched her teeth, her knee smarting as she scrambled to her feet. Whoever was banging on her door at this time of night had better have a good excuse. She lifted one slat of the blinds covering the French doors that led to her front porch.

“What the hell is he doing here?” she whispered. With a quick twist, she threw open the door, not bothering to hide her irritation. “I don’t know how people conduct themselves in Chicago, but around here we don’t go visiting in the middle of the night.”

He took a half step back. “We just finished at the river.”

“And what did you find?”

“A bag full of guns.”

Emalea knew the shock had to have registered on her face.

“Not a normal occurrence in Cypress Landing, I guess.”

“You’d guess right. Did Matt think the militia might be involved?”

“He did, but I’ll have to do some research on that subject. I’m not very familiar with militia activity.”

She leaned against the door frame, playing the possible scenarios in her mind. She could think of no plausible reason for guns to be in the river. After a few moments, she realized they were standing in her doorway staring at each other and saying nothing.

Jackson cleared his throat. “I’ll be going then. I only wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“And why wouldn’t I be okay?”

“You seemed upset after you found the body. I…I don’t know. I guess you’re fine.”

“Of course I’m fine. If I’d been a guy who’d found that body, would you have come by to check on me?”

His lips drew together in a thin line, and she noticed a slight quivering just above his right eyebrow. “I might have, if he’d been as upset as you were. I really can’t say for sure. After all, you’re not a man. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

One boot squeaked as he made his way back to the steps. Emalea bit her lip when she felt it move, as though she might tell him to stop or that she was sorry or some other foolish thing. She started to close the door but stopped when he reached the bottom step and turned back.

“Emalea, I don’t know what you’ve heard about me but if you ever want to know the facts, I’ll tell you myself. I’ve done things I’m not proud of. But I guess most people have. I’m not trying to hit on you or play games with you. I’m new here and it looks like we’ll be working together. We obviously have the same interests, motorcycles, scuba diving. I’d just like to see if we could be friendly, if not actually friends. That’s why I’m here.”

His chest rose and fell visibly several times as though the speech had taken an immense physical effort. She wondered what he thought she might have heard about him. He took two strides toward his truck before her mouth got the best of her.

“Saturday morning, eight o’clock, in front of the library, we get together and go for a motorcycle ride once every other month. I… You’re welcome to come if you want.”

His expression was hard, yet sad, and a cold chill ricocheted along her spine. Then one side of his mouth went up in a tentative smile. “I’d like that. If I can get done at work I’ll make plans to be there.”

She slammed the door shut before she could get herself in more trouble. An emotion that might have been elation or despair swirled inside her. No reasoning in the world could explain why she’d invited Jackson to their Saturday ride. Such a nasty habit, this attraction she had for men who were so wrong for her. Maybe if he went along with her friends, she would be safe from making further mistakes and she wouldn’t feel as if she were shunning a new person in town. Her aunt had raised her to be more hospitable than that. Inviting him had been the neighborly thing to do. She nodded to herself, trying to pretend she hadn’t twisted logic to suit herself.

She pressed the off button on the television and made her way, in the dark, to her bedroom. Without turning on the lights she pulled back the cover and slid into bed, only then realizing that she’d answered the door in her favorite pajamas. She groaned and hugged a pillow to her. No wonder he’d looked at her with such a wide-eyed expression when she’d flung open the door. The nearly threadbare cotton top and matching bottoms trimmed in lace had seen better days. She had to admit the tank top revealed much more than she would have liked but, under the circumstances, what did the guy expect, showing up at her house in the middle of the night? She pressed her eyelids together, wishing for the deep sleep from which she’d been awakened. Instead, a wide chest seemed to be pressing against her, as though she were still in the back of the patrol car. Exasperated, she rolled over again, fairly certain that any dreams she had tonight involving Cypress Landing’s new investigator would be anything but neighborly.