Authors: Cait Jarrod
She
imagined he waited for an answer. Andrew never did. He yelled, did what he
wanted, and never asked her opinion about his actions.
“I
don’t know what’s going through your head right now,” Larry said, his voice
stern, yet quiet, “but I deserve an answer if we have any chance to remain
friends.”
She’d
put this argument into motion, so why did it hurt when he pulled the ‘friend,
not lovers’ card? “What are you saying?” Her voice broke more than she liked,
exposing how much he got to her.
“Simple.
You think so little of me you compared me to your ex-husband. Saying I’m
manipulative…” He rammed a hand through his hair and looked away, the movement
stretching and flexing his muscles under the camel-colored shirt. His scowl
locked on hers. “Your impression of me is the opposite of what mine is of you.”
A
car passed. She blinked and remained quiet.
His
gaze slipped to her mouth.
She
wanted to be mad, tried to stay irritated to break off the thread of a
relationship they had left, but was so enamored, her mind ceased to work. Any
corrupt emotions vanished and more of her resolve chipped away. “I know.”
His
eyes bore into hers, and an expression she couldn’t identify skimmed his
features. “Careful what you say.” Heated breath brushed across her face.
Shifting closer, his chest brushed her breasts, causing her nipples to do the
happy dance. “Say only what you mean.” The authoritative tone lowered to a
conspiratorial whisper. “Or say nothing.”
Again,
he told her what to do, but the yearning in his eyes stole her strength to call
him on it.
His
scrumptious lips gave her no choice except to nod.
“I
protect, Charlene. It’s what I do. I damn well will protect you.” His mouth
came down over hers. His taste, the gentleness of his mouth…the swooning she
experienced earlier replayed. A moan broke the connection a moment before his
gaze flicked to hers. An odd, yet exhilarating spark passed between them,
leaving her with a sense of emptiness if she didn’t kiss him again.
He
lowered his head, giving her the king of all kisses. Her legs turned to mush.
Larry slid his hands around her back until they settled on her rear. Hard
muscles and other interesting features she wanted to become intimate with
skimmed her legs.
The
sound of a motor defused the moment, splitting them apart. A black Chevelle
parked behind the car.
“Understand?”
He cocked an eyebrow.
No
way was he using his slick moves to convince her to listen. Ready to tell him
what she thought, she jabbed her hands on her hips.
Grinning,
he kissed the tip of her nose and slid his fingers down her neck, lower, toward
the swells of her breasts. “I want to finish what we kicked off,” he whispered,
moving his hands to her waist, and nibbled on her ear lobe.
A
knot formed in her throat. “Kicked off?”
“Larry,
we’ve got to go.” Jake’s voice interrupted. “Charlene, drive my car. I’ll get
it later.” Jake tossed her the key to his car. She snatched the ring out of the
air a second before it hit her.
“Quick
hands,” Larry ribbed.
She
smiled and looked at Jake. “You sure? It’s your baby.”
“My
baby
works at The Memory Café.” Jake
winked.
Larry
placed a finger on her cheek and nudged her until she locked gazes with him.
“Okay if I come by later?”
The
promise of what was yet to come lingered. Her insides boogied. “Okay.”
Chapter Seven
Larry
disconnected the call from the FBI office manager, Missy, and set his phone in
the console. His grip tightened on the wheel. “Another anonymous tip.”
“What’s
it this time?” Jake asked from the Suburban’s passenger seat.
“Illegal
plants at Greenwood Manor,” Larry said, his brain wanting to stay fixed on
Charlene and not the case. Her confusion, hurt, and then her desire detained
his attention. Watching her expressions change so vividly spoke volumes for her
mental state.
Damaged
, like him. He
wanted to pull her into his arms, shield her from the bad in the world, and
comfort her to make her troubles disappear, the thoughts tempted and daunted.
“Wonder
if the tipster is calling out of revenge.” Jake’s voice pulled him from
profound thought. “Or perhaps they want to take over the operation, or
something else more sinister.”
“The
something else
has me concerned,”
Larry said.
A
half mile from Greenwood Manor, Larry pulled into a country store parking lot
next to a McDowell Brothers’ Construction truck. Mark McDowell sat behind the
wheel, Steve next to him.
Larry
rolled down his window and propped his arm on the door. “Hi, Mark.”
“How’s it going?” Jake called out to his
longtime friend.
Mark
pushed up his Panama hat with a finger. “Hey, guys! You ready to go on a
fishing trip?”
Larry
pressed his lips together. With the workload sitting on his desk, and now with
the manor situation, he doubted he could take time off. Truth be told, he
didn’t want to leave Charlene. A few days’ fishing trip, with little to no cell
service, wouldn’t work. His gut demanded for him to stay close. “Not anytime
soon, I can’t.”
Jake
leaned forward and turned down the chattering police radio. “Ditto, Panama
Jack.”
“Told
ya they wouldn’t take off,” Steve said and slid out of the construction truck.
“Thanks for the ride.”
“You
bet, buddy.” Mark focused back on Larry and Jake. “You guys are sticks in the
mud.”
“Not
everyone can take time off whenever they want.”
“Jake,
did you forget you’re the boss?”
Jake
chuckled, halfheartedly. “The detective agency is trying to find its feet. If
one of these guys,” he nodded toward Steve and Larry, “would join, then I can
take off.”
“Well,
hell, that won’t work,” Mark said, looking in his rearview mirror. “We’re all
supposed to go. Paul, too.”
Larry
looked behind Mark’s truck. A woman with brown shoulder-length hair approached.
“Gotta
go. You guys call me when you get a life.” Mark saluted and drove off before
the woman reached him.
“Another
woman bites the dust.” Jake laughed. “One day, he’ll stop running.”
Steve
smiled at the woman and climbed into the backseat of the Suburban behind Larry.
“I have the key for the lock on the side gate. Take the next right.”
Larry
put the Suburban in gear. “Did you get the tire patched?”
“Yes.
Mark helped,” Steve said. “Celine’s employee at Fredericksburg Tourist called
in sick. She had to go in.”
Jake
snapped his fingers. “What’s the employee’s name?”
“Hell,
if I know,” Steve muttered.
“He’s
always hitting on her,” Larry chimed in, trying to rile Steve.
“Didn’t
they go out once?” Jake asked.
“Shut
up.” Steve bristled. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Or
do we?” Larry laughed and turned off the road to a dirt path leading to an
entrance.
With
Steve as gatekeeper and Larry and Jake watching the area for anything that
might stand out as strange, they passed through the entrance quickly.
Steve
slipped back into his seat. “Park behind the rows of trees.”
Larry
drove through straw grass, followed a path made by a vehicle, and parked the
Suburban behind the trees. In front of him, woodland stretched out separated by
patches of grass. Off to the right, woods; to the left, an open pasture.
Larry
opened the door and slid out. Smell of grass, manure, and mud assaulted his
senses. Knee-high grass brushed his legs and crunched under his steel-toe
boots. “Have you guys been back here before?”
“Not
this far back,” Steve said.
“Nope.”
Jake unclipped his magazine, looked at the bullets, and clicked it back in
place. “Heard coyotes run wild. Keep your eyes peeled.”
“What’s
up with you?” Steve moved a branch out of his way. “Why would you have to check
to see if you had bullets in your gun? Where’d you think they went?”
“Never
know,” Jake slipped his gun in the back waistband of his jeans.
“Say
it’s not so.” Steve paused. “Is Pamela not letting you load it before you leave
the house?”
Jake
chuckled. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Your
routine’s broken,” Larry said. “Messes with a guy.”
“It
is, but not because she won’t let me load it.”
“Ah,
she’s letting you load something else, distracting you.” Steve chuckled and
shifted before Jake’s fist connected with his shoulder.
“The
tip insisted a trailer held illegal drugs. It’s supposedly located in the
wooded area close to the main road.” Larry pointed to the grove of trees fenced
off from the open pasture. “Let’s check it out first.”
“Damn,
that’s a hike.” Jake unlatched an aluminum gate. They followed.
Larry
took in the cows scattered across the field. “Where’d the livestock come from?
They weren’t here last night?”
“Don’t
know,” Jake said. “Paul mentioned the land wasn’t ready for livestock. He’s
anxious to get his horses over here. There’s more riding area here than on the
farm where he boards them.”
“Paul
still rides?” Steve asked. “When does he have the time?”
Jake
shook his head. “Beats me.”
The
bright sun had Larry slipping on his sunglasses. “I hope a bull isn’t nearby.”
Jake and Steve had been around farm animals, but not him. He wasn’t sure what
to expect, but knew they’d charge when scared, hell, for any reason.
“You
think the sunglasses will hide you?” Steve teased as a crow cawed overhead.
“Ass-wipe.”
Grinning,
Steve set his shades on the bridge of his nose. “Watch the herd. If they get
aggressive, duck behind a tree. They can’t turn well.” Steve took the lead,
following a narrow path the cattle had made. “Have either of you two talked to
Jed Bradley?”
“He’s
out of town at a funeral. We keep missing each other.” Larry thought back to
the message Jed left on his cell a few days before. Said he and Mr. Scott, the
guy that owned the manor, were okay with whatever he needed to do and left both
of their cell numbers. Larry thought it odd at first, but given Paul and Jed’s
friendship, he understood. “I left him a voicemail that we’re checking on the
lights and a suspicious tip,” Larry said. “Did the same with the owner, Orville
Scott.”
“Son
of a bitch.” Steve hopped around on one foot then slid his boot through tall
grass. “You’d think the cows would crap where they don’t walk.”
“They’re
not the smartest animals. Then again, they don’t care if they walk in manure.”
Jake laughed.
Larry
chuckled. “At least I know not to step in cow shit.”
Steve
glared. They laughed harder.
“Glad
I entertained.”
“I
appreciate it.” Larry smirked and moved toward the trees, which put them in the
open.
“As
many times as I’ve visited this place with Paul, it amazes me the stuff I still
haven’t seen,” Steve said, nodding toward a large sawdust pile with bones
poking out.
“A
cattle cemetery,” Jake said. “What’s the story with Jed? I’ve met the man a few
times and Paul’s good friends with him, yet he’s a conundrum. He’s supposed to
oversee this manor, yet he hires someone else to look after it. What’s up with
that?”
Larry
had asked the same questions when Paul called about the lights. “I can answer
some of it. Jed Bradley runs another farm.”
“Yeah,
the place where Paul keeps his horses,” Jake interrupted.
“That’s
right. The owner of Greenwood Manor and Jed Bradley knew one another as kids.
When Scott decided he wanted the manor to be operational again, he hired Bradley
as the overseer with the condition that Bradley wouldn’t start full time for
another six months. Hence, the reason Bradley hired this guy Mathews.”
“You
received confirmation on Mathews’s employment?” Steve asked.
“I
did,” Larry said.
Nearing
the fence row where the trailer was located, Larry removed his sunglasses,
hooked them on the front of his shirt and drew his weapon. Jake and Steve
lifted their guns.
Fallen
leaves and twigs covered the dirt. Through the sparse woodland, a rusty trailer
butted a dirt slope, the front tires buried in the soil. Old, metal doors stood
propped open by mounds of dirt. Faded signage covered the side.
Gun
in one hand, elbow bent, Larry motioned with his other hand to Jake and Steve
to advance. He progressed to the right, while Steve, gun at the ready, advanced
to the left. Jake covered them.
Stepping
closer to the opening, a pungent odor drifted toward him. Larry reached the
door and peeked inside. Dirt and plants covered what once was the floor of the
trailer.