Sleuthing for a Living (Mackenzie & Mackenzie PI Mysteries Book 1) (20 page)

I was afraid to twitch, to draw a deep breath or do anything that would prevent him from talking. My heart went out to him as I imagined the terrifying unpredictability of his childhood.

"Things got better for me when I went to school." Hunter's gaze was unfocused. "We were bused off the reservation, and I was away from home for hours and hours. But I was always worried about what was going on back there, what he was doing to her while I was safe, and what I'd come home to. I think it was the guilt that made me pick fights with him. If he wore himself out beating on me then he wouldn't hurt her too badly."

"But you were just a little boy," I whispered, my heart breaking.

He looked at me then, his intensity scorching me where I sat. "I never had the luxury. My mother begged me to stop goading him, told me I should keep my head down and not rile him the way she did. I didn't listen because, well, her approach wasn't keeping her any safer. And there was some satisfaction in taking potshots at the old man. Some little revenges to show him he couldn't break me."

"Oh, I know that feeling," I mumbled. "It's heady."

"And in my situation, dangerous. The day of the blood he'd been drinking since he rolled out of bed, and my mother had taken me into town for new sneakers. I was growing like crazy then. Most clothing items lasted three months, tops. We had donations, but people rarely think to donate shoes. So it was an ongoing expense. That's what started it, the cost of a twenty-dollar pair of sneakers.

"She didn't even have her coat off when he landed the first blow. She went down hard, and I immediately put myself between the two of them. He snarled at me to get out of the way, that this was between them. I told him they were my feet and my sneakers so I wasn't going anywhere. He picked me up by my shirt and tossed me into the kitchen wall. I hit so hard it cracked the plaster."

"Hunter," I begged, not wanting to hear anymore.

He blinked, shook himself. "Well, it went on like that for a while, me refusing to stay down no matter how sore or dizzy because I knew he'd keep going after her if I gave in. He kept ranting and railing until finally my mother got up. She told him she was leaving him, that she'd had enough, and we were going. Her hands were trembling, and her voice shook, but she stood there and refused to give in. I'd never been so proud of her.

"She went down the hall to their room, and he followed. She called to me, told me to take any clothes that fit and put them in the shopping bag we'd gotten with my new shoes. I did, loading up the bag as full as it would get. I remember feeling, light, hopeful. My father was shouting, swearing, telling her he'd kill her before he'd let her leave. Then I heard the crash from the other side of the wall."

A chill crept through me, and I knew this story wasn't going to end on a high note.

"I dropped the bag and ran to see what had happened. My father stood there in the room, still shaking, and my mother—" He broke off to clear his throat. "He'd shoved her through the window. She was lying outside the house, cuts all over her body. A jagged piece of glass was sticking out of the side of her neck, the blood spurting out, like a fountain. I ran outside, stripped off my shirt, trying to stop the bleeding but it was too late. She was gone.

He came out then, started howling like he hadn't just killed her. He killed my mother and wept over her body like he had any right to mourn. I remember looking down at the new sneakers that had started the whole thing. They were stained with her blood. I took them off and started walking and made it about two miles before they found me."

My throat had gone dry, but I managed to choke out, "I'm so sorry."

His gaze refocused, and he reached for my hand. "I've never told anyone that story. At least not with so much detail."

"But your parents, the people who adopted you, I mean."

"Oh, they found out what had happened through police reports. My father had disappeared by the time they arrived. They caught up to him a few weeks later though, passed out in a new place with a new woman like nothing had changed. He's serving a thirty-five year sentence for manslaughter and aggravated assault."

His story explained so much about him. Why he became a cop. Why he insisted on playing by the rules. Why he didn't smile much. Why the idea of me putting myself in danger upset him so much. He'd already seen one young mother's death and was doing everything in his power to prevent another.

"I'm so sorry about your mom," I whispered and reached for his hand.

"So am I." He tangled our fingers together. "Sorry, I didn't mean to burden you with all that."

"Burdens are meant to be shared. It makes them less…burdensome."

That provoked the half smile. "Burdensome?"

I rubbed my tired eyes with my free hand. "It's late. I should be getting back home." Though the likelihood of me sleeping after hearing such a story was nil.

"Stay. And not because you feel sorry for me or because you think I need comforting. Stay because you want to and because I want you to more than I've wanted anything in a long time."

"Hunter," I protested.

Without warning he pulled me off my chair and onto his lap. His free arm went around my waist like a steel band. "Say yes," he whispered and then kissed me in that all-consuming way of his.

Again I melted into him, and again he was the one to pull away first.

His hand traveled up to spear into my hair as he nipped my bottom lip. "I want you, Red. Say yes."

"Is that an order? Because I don't take orders well."

No answer.

I ran my fingers through his silky dark hair, studied his every earnest feature. He was so tempting, and I wasn't the kind of girl to say no to temptation for long. "Yes."

A slow grin spread over his face, stealing my breath. His smile intoxicated me faster than my mother's horrible cocktails and made my head swim. "Come on, I want to show you my bedroom."

I rose, and he took my hand, leading me toward our destination.

He didn't turn on the light, just shut the door closing us into the moonlit space.

I didn't look away from him as I said, "Nice room."

Then he kissed me until I lost all sense of time and place.

Private investigators who lack professional skill cause more problems than they solve. If this lack results in injury or loss to another party, the PI can be held liable for malpractice.

From the
Working Man's Guide to Sleuthing for a Living
by Albert Taylor, PI

I crept back to my apartment before first light and headed right into the shower. The hot water helped clear away some of the cobwebs but didn't touch the sense of icky confusion that clung to me like a second skin.

I changed into a faded pair of jeans with fraying cuffs and a black racer-back tank that proclaimed the java's honest truth in big block letters:
I can't adult today
.

Mac was at the coffeepot looking daisy fresh. "You got in late. I didn't even hear you. More work?"

"No." I couldn't even wrap my head around the investigation, just one more thing I was screwing up.

My daughter studied me closely as she poured her coffee. "You're not looking too hot. You coming down with something?"

"Nothing like that. Hey listen, you think maybe you could play hooky today? I'll write you a note. Tell them you have a fever." I said the last part in my best Christopher Walken inflection.

Mac groaned and stuffed a bagel in the toaster. "Mom, it's too early for SNL skits."

I couldn't resist and fell right back into it. "They don't need to know that the only prescription is
moar
cowbell."

Mac rolled her eyes at my Walkenesque pronunciation just as her bagel popped out of the toaster "I can't. I have a Spanish test, and I need to get some work done on the genetics project during my free period."

I poured my own coffee and took a fortifying sip. "Hey listen. I didn't get a chance to tell you yesterday that I ran into Brett again."

Mac froze with the bagel halfway to her mouth. "What happened?"

"It was all case related, mostly his case. But I remembered some stuff. About him and his issues with the truth. And then the whole debacle with the police happened and between school and your new internship…and I was just thinking that maybe we should wait on the grand reveal."

Mac was quiet. Like Hunter type quiet.

It made me nervous. "Yes? No? Maybe?"

"Were you with him last night?"

"What?" I blinked. "No, of course not."

"Where were you then?"

I blew out a breath. "I was with Hunter. I know I told you I wouldn't, and I didn't intend to, but it just happened. It was a mistake."

She turned and dropped her bagel in the trash, scooped up her backpack, and headed toward the door.

"Hey wait a second!" I scurried after her, snagging the strap of her backpack before she could escape. "Not only did you just waste perfectly good food, but we were in the middle of a conversation. You can't just leave."

"I have school, and my appetite disappeared." I could practically hear her molars grinding. "Let go."

"Not until we talk about this."

She rounded on me. "What's to talk about? You never do what you promise me you'll do. Do I have to sneak past his door now, avoid all eye contact? Should I remind you he was there when I was arrested and
didn't do anything to stop it
?"

"You told me it wasn't his fault," I argued back. "Yesterday, you were the one defending him!"

"Because I didn't want you coming down on him like a ton of bricks. But I didn't know the alternative would be you hopping into bed with him!"

I blew out a breath, tired of defending my actions to her. "Listen, I'm sorry if you're so upset, and I won't do it again, but I'm not sorry it happened. I really like him, Mac."

"Did you sneak out of his bed this morning?"

"That's not—"

She bowled right over the top of me. "Does he still live next door? Are you two on the same
it was a one-time thing
page or will my life get even more complicated? And then there's Brett."

I put my hands on my hips in classic showdown fashion. "Is that really what this is about then?"

"You promised me you'd tell him." She mimicked my pose.

"I will, but Mac, think it through. You already have a full plate."

"Stop pretending this is about me," she snapped.

"Hey," I snapped back, the leash on my temper frayed to the breaking point. "I know I may not act like it all the time, but I am your mother, and when I say now isn't the right time to invite your father into your life, I expect you to accept it as the truth even if you don't like it."

"Whatever." Mac wrenched her backpack free and yanked the door open. "You'll do what you want. You always do, no matter the collateral damage."

I gaped at her, open-mouthed as she stormed through the entryway and slammed out the front door. I wanted to call her back but figured the walk to the bus stop would cool her temper and maybe a little normal teenager type of distraction would help her get over her ire.

"Everything all right down there, doll?" Nona called from the top of the stairs.

I cleared my throat. "Yeah, just teenager versus mama drama. I'm not liking my odds."

"Come on up. I got a nice coffee cake," Nona insisted.

"Just let me put the dog out."

I let Snickers out in the back yard and then, remembering Nona's mini-cups, grabbed my coffee mug, and filled it to the brim.

Nona's door was open, and she was slicing into the coffee cake.

"You seem verklempt," she observed.

"I passed verklempt a few days ago." I lowered myself into the chair. "Right now I'm at the regretting-I've-been-born phase."

She patted my hand. "Tell Nona all about it."

I blew out a sigh. "The long and short of it is that Mac's angry because I won't tell her father about her existence."

"He doesn't know he has a daughter?"

"No. When I first saw him he was all cool and collected, and I felt bad, but then I caught him in a lie, and all the reasons I thought he was too immature to handle parenthood came back." I fiddled with my napkin. "And I don't want to share her."

"Ah." Nona nodded. "I see."

"She's my best friend as well as my daughter. Even when she's being the quintessential difficult teenager, I'm lost without her. If Brett knew about her, he might want to spend time with her, and between school and her new obligation with the police…"

"The police?" Nona's eyebrows went up.

"It's a long story. And she's also mad at me about Hunter. We… that is Hunter and I…" I looked her in the eye, lowering my chin as I waited for her to catch my drift.

"Schtupped?" Nona waggled her eyebrows. "I knew you two would go together like pastrami and rye. How was it?"

I blushed.

"That good, huh?" Nona fanned herself with her napkin. "Honey, give yourself a break. It's okay to enjoy life to the fullest. And as for Mac's father, you did what you believed was right for you and for her then, and you'll do what's right for both of you now."

"But what if what's right for her is not what's right for me? She'll be heading off to college in a few years, and I'll hardly see her. I want to savor the time we have together before she's gone."

"The tighter you hold on, doll, the sooner she'll leave."

She was right. I knew she was. "Thanks, Nona. Now, if I could only solve my murder case, I'd be set."

"Can't help you with that, I'm afraid. Give my regards to that handsome lawyer when you see him."

I pushed back my chair. "Will do, Nona. Will do."

After letting Snickers back in and changing into more suitable work attire, I was all set to head out the door when someone knocked. "Open up Red. I know you're in there."

Judas Priest, I wasn't ready to deal with Hunter yet. For one thing, I'd snuck out of his bed in the wee small hours like a coward. And for another, I was hoping Mac would come around to our relationship. Sure, it had all the potential for a romantic disaster, but with great risk came great reward. And, for maybe the first time I was almost ready to take the risk. Which scared me to death. But still, I had promised Mac it was a one-time thing, and I didn't want to renege on yet another front. Me and my big, fat mouth.

"Mackenzie." He knocked louder and Snickers barked. "Let's talk about this."

No, no, no. Warning, warning, danger, danger, Will Robinson! I backed slowly away from the door, heading back to the bedroom and out the sliding glass door. After climbing the low fence, I crept through the bushes and over to where Fillmore was parked. Though I had no clear destination in mind, Fillmore was the better bet for surveillance.

I called Brett and let out a relieved sigh when his voicemail picked up. "Hey, this is Mackenzie. Can we meet up? You can reach me at this number."

My phone rang just as I hit the end of the street. "Hello?"

"Mackenzie? Hey, it's Brett. I have some information about your case."

"You do?" I asked eagerly. "That's good because I need to talk to you about something. Where can we meet up?"

"How about your lawyer's office. I'm not far from there now." His voice sounded a little strained.

"Sounds good. Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, sure."

"How did it go with your case?" I probed. "Did you catch Ruth's man dealing your drug?"

"I don't want to get into it over the phone." He definitely sounded distracted.

"Okay, it'll take me about twenty minutes. See you then." I disconnected and drummed my fingers against the steering wheel. Had I mentioned Len to Brett? Well he was a PI after all, and he'd been at it longer than I had. Traffic was backed up, and I distracted myself thinking about Paul Granger, aka the leg-humper.

The man had the morals of an alley cat, and considering what I'd learned about him, I was surprised he'd had the intelligence to repurpose the Alphadra. The fact that Right Touch had hired Brett showed that Paul wasn't at all careful about hiding what he'd been up to. Even his wife had known the company had been paying him.

His wife. The doctor. Who presumably had the knowledge of drugs and how they interacted with the human body. Who was going through a messy divorce and maybe needed the money.

Could Jessica Granger have hired someone to kill her husband the way Hunter thought? She had certainly put off the type of vibe I would have associated with a murderer. But I kept coming back to Kimmy. How would the two women have met, except through Paul? And if Kimmy had been helping distribute the drug, why would Dr. Granger have killed her?

The number for the men's health clinic where Kimmy had worked was in my notebook. I pulled Fillmore over, plucked up my cell phone, and dialed.

Ruth picked up on the first ring.

"It's Mackenzie Taylor." I said. "I was just wondering, did a Dr. Jessica Granger ever stop by the office?"

"Not that I'm aware of," Ruth said. "And I'm getting a little fed up with all your questions."

"Kimmy was your friend, Ruth. Help me find out who killed her."

"Make it snappy," Ruth said. "I don't have all day."

I got down to business. "Do you know of anyone who would want to hurt Kimmy? An ex-boyfriend or maybe a relative who was abusive?" I asked, thinking of Hunter's story.

"If she did have anyone like that lurking around, she never told me about it," Ruth responded.

"We think Paul Granger was killed because he was messing with the drugs he was supposed to be selling, faking orders, and selling them on the street. Is there any way Kimmy maybe caught on to whoever was helping him?" I said. "Any secrets that were maybe eating her up?"

"Now that you mention it, she was acting a little weird since your visit. She'd been quiet and jumpy. I thought that was maybe because one of the doctors barked at her, but it could have easily been something else. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to keep this line open." Ruth hung up before I could thank her.

Some thanks it would be, too, if her significant other was arrested for dealing the Alphadra. Damn, I really needed to find out what Brett knew if I was going to have any chance of piecing the answers together.

I parked across the street from Len's office. There was the Escalade, a few spots down. Good, Brett was there already.

My phone rang, and the sleeping profile candid I'd snapped of Hunter that morning popped up. So, he knew I was no longer in the building.

"I'm just heading into a meeting. I'll talk to you soon." I cradled the phone between my shoulder and head so I had a hand free to open the door.

"No, wait, Mackenzie," he began, but I fumbled the phone and accidently disconnected.

The front door was unlocked, and I pushed my way inside calling out, "Len! It's me. I hope you have coffee because—"

The words died in my throat as I saw Len and Brett tied to chairs and an unconscious woman lying face-down on the floor. And over by the desk sat my wide-eyed daughter and a familiar man holding a handgun to her head.