Authors: Nancy Brophy
“Ellie Parker spent her last evening in the Cottonwood Inn drinking with this man.”
From the bleachers a female voice called out, “That’s right. I saw them together.”
By the time she flipped to the photo of Cain, lots of people remembered seeing him in the diner for lunch. She showed photos of the limo before shifting to shoe prints from the front of the compound.
“My cousin, Rolf, was shot last night by a man who left this shoe print. Notice how the impression is stronger here,” she projected her laser pointer’s red dot to the inside rim of the shoe, “and weaker here. This is a man who walks on the outside edges of his feet.”
People scrambled for a better view. Cezi didn’t let up. She showed the matching shoe print from the kitchen floor, followed by the ropes, blood, sink and wall splatters.
“The deputies think Lyndsay could have taken off.” The crowd snorted in disbelief after seeing the blood. “With this amount of blood, unless she’s taken up slaughtering hogs in her apartment, which would be unusual since she’s a vegetarian…” a few guffaws greeted her comment “…I doubt she walked out under her own power without leaving a drop of blood in her living room or on the walk to her car. Look at this photo of her living room.”
The picture had been taken from the front door. “Lyndsay’s house is clean except for this circle of dirt in front of the couch. Anybody who’s ever cleaned a room will tell you if you don’t pick up the rugs when you sweep, dirt will gather underneath. Where is her rug?”
“And her car,” another voice called out.
“If you wanted to stash a car around here where it wouldn’t be found, where would you hide it?” Was the crowd was following her thinking?
“In the lake,” a man yelled. “Let’s check every boat dock.”
Several men rose prepared to bolt out the door, but Cezi raised her hand.
“In the shootout at Swallowtail Hollow, Cain was injured. I found traces of fresh blood that followed the motorcycle’s path. He will be back. The only way to defeat Cain and his men is to be alert. If either of these men show up, everyone needs to know.”
Carl half-rose from his seat, judging by his snarling lips and hateful expression, Cezi figured his plan was to discredit everything she said. Here it comes. Everything would be back to square one. Gypsies weren’t trustworthy.
But before Carl would find his words. A deep masculine voice spoke from behind her. A chill of excitement at the familiar tone gripped her. “And if you see them, your first call will be to let the FBI know. Call me on my cell.” He gave the phone number as Cezi whirled to look into the warm dark eyes and scarred face of Agent John Stillwater.
Her heart gave a stuttering lurch.
# # #
Twenty minutes later John maneuvered Cezi out of the gym with a firm grasp on her upper arm. He propelled her towards her father’s borrowed car.
Had he not been dragging her, she might have taken time to admire his ass in those tight jeans. What woman wouldn’t?
“You’re angry at me.” She jerked her arm free.
“Yes.”
Mr. Communication. Cezi planted her feet firmly beside the car door and shoved against his chest. “Well, I’m not sorry. They deserved to know,” she snarled, trying to duplicate an expression of Uncle Luca’s that not only scared her, but every one of his sons.
“What?” John’s look of disbelief gave her pause. “I’m not angry because of your bone-deep need to protect people. I admire that.” He stepped closer, grasping her chin, forcing her to look him in the eyes. “So many people in today’s world aren’t concerned. You care so much you try to protect people who’ve been mean to you.”
Cezi swallowed. He knew? “Mean or not, they don’t deserve to die.”
“Of course not.”
“So why are you mad?”
“Because I’ve left you text and voice messages for days. Why have you ignored me?”
Heat flooded her cheeks. “I haven’t. I’ve had my phone turned off. All of Swallowtail Hollow has, but even if that weren’t true, I don’t carry it with me very often.”
“Are you kidding me? This is America. Every man, woman and child has a cell phone glued to their ear. Twenty-four/seven.”
She tried to laugh, but it came out as a choking sound. “Who would call me? Other than family, no one calls to chat.”
The words hung in the air. Cezi closed her eyes. Could she sound more pathetic? “That didn’t come out right. What I meant-“
“I understand what you meant.” His gentle eyes crinkled at the edges. “I don’t have friends outside my work, either, and unlike you I never see my family anymore.”
“How come?”
“It’s a long story. Get in. I know you didn’t show them everything. Let’s go to your office and see what else you’ve acquired.”
“Not a thing,” she said, plopping into the seat of the car. He leaned in, pulled the seat belt across her body to strap her in. His face hovered inches from hers, Cezi’s breath caught.
“Liar,” he whispered, brushing his lips across hers.
Cezi’s cheeks tingled. Was that a kiss? He was gone before she could decide. No, it was definitely a kiss. Kind of.
When he slid behind the driver’s seat his face was impossible to read. Did he kiss her? Or was it like asteroids, resulting in an accidental colliding of the lips?
“The lab or your house?” He backed the car out of the diagonal spot, refusing to look in her direction. She wasn’t stupid. He definitely kissed her, but now didn’t want to own up to it. Did he think that refusing to talk about something made it go away?
“Lab,” she said. Like all men he needed to think he won a round, before she circled back to kick his ass.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Oh, man. She looked good in her pretty red and white striped dress, like a candy cane he could spend all day licking. He’d been unprepared for her impact. Yeah, he’d been thinking about her, but seeing her sucked the life out of him. In a good way like a watering hole after a long trek across a desert.
But kissing her hadn’t been his intention. Although her full lips were meant for kissing, particularly today when she’d glossed them a deep rose shade.
Which made him wonder about a far more interesting topic. What color were her nipples? How would her father feel about an Indian with a heart of stone delving into that question?
Suck it up, Tonto. Going down that path will only bring grief.
For the second time today, he pulled up to the front door of The All Seeing Eye. The yellow dog hadn’t moved but thumped his tail as the car stopped at the curb.
“Who owns that dog?”
“Riley’s mine. Keep driving.” She surveyed the street. He did as she instructed. First he circled the block and then expanded the area taking in several blocks. This older section of town was never what he would have termed the ‘happening spot,’ but with most of the town at the high school gym, it was truly deserted now.
“Turn in here.” She gestured toward an almost empty two-story parking garage a couple of blocks from the office. Peeling paint, none-too-clean windows, and a sea of concrete greeted him. At the far end a curved driveway swept up to the second floor.
She touched the built-in plastic cover on the ceiling of the car above the rear-view mirror. The rear wall activated and slid silently open revealing a down ramp. The FBPA could learn some security tricks from these people.
When the ramp became a tunnel, he scowled only because laughing would hurt her feelings. “Are we entering the bat cave?”
“What? You don’t have security where you work? Or are we too small-town to need to protect ourselves?”
Damn, he’d hurt her feelings. The tunnel opened up into another empty parking garage. This one was under The All-Seeing Eye Building. Scarcely had the car rolled to a stop when she jumped out.
At the monitor and computer keyboard installed next to a steel door, Cezi typed in a code. John expected the door to open, but instead the monitor flickered on and played a street scene taken an hour ago showing him getting out of his car. Every muscle in his shoulders and neck tensed as unease tiptoed there. He saw himself knock on the door of the private detective agency above them and read the notice about the town meeting at the gym posted on the door.
It wasn’t until his lips moved as he spoke to the dog that he realized the camera angle wasn’t from the overhead security cams, but from the dog itself.
John stepped closer, nudging Cezi aside as he studied his face spread across the monitor. He watched himself pull the cell phone from his pocket and dial Cezi’s number for the hundredth time before stalking back to the car.
“Tell me about the dog.”
Cezi grinned. “Pretty good, huh? You never knew.”
“Not a clue. The dog breathes.”
“And growls, bears his teeth and wags his tail.”
“You did this?”
“With Rolf’s help. He did the computer work. I made the dog.”
She amazed him with the workings of her intricate mind. “You could make a fortune using him for a prototype.”
“Not everything is about making money.” She shook her head. “Besides the
familya’s
doing okay, they don’t need it.”
The money went to the community coffers? And she didn’t think that was strange? “Do the locals know the dog’s fake?”
She giggled. A sound so pure and innocent, he turned to stare at her, ignoring the stab of pain spiraling in his chest.
“About once a month, the Sheriff’s office mails me a ticket for things like no pet license, noise violation, no leash. That kind of thing.”
“Are you kidding? You haven’t told them?”
“I pay the ticket so they can feel good about themselves.” She still chuckled as she opened the door.
“I’d have thought you would have fought it.”
“Then I’d have to tell them and it’s too good a joke to do that.” She skipped ahead of him. “Since you were here last, we installed new monitors upstairs. Wait until you see the new setup. I patterned it after the guys on the TV crime shows.”
He groaned. “You watch way too much TV. Our jobs are never as glamorous as television shows them.”
“Of course,” she agreed, as she briefly gave him a somber look. “I’ve sat for hours in surveillance vehicles and written enough reports for clients.”
Then her eyes twinkled. “Nine o’clock.” She lowered her voice to a monotone as she mimicked the reports. “Nothing. Ten o’clock. Nothing. Ten Thirty. Neighbor checks mail. Eleven o’clock. Nothing.”
He’d expected her to move through the series of doors in the office and head directly to the lab. Instead, she proceeded to the kitchen sink. In a cabinet above the sink, she removed a yellow soap dish and placed it next to the coldwater faucet. Not quite happy, she adjusted the dish’s location at least twice before she turned the handle.
John had never seen anyone wash her hands with such precision. First she wet her hands under the water for several seconds before reaching for the soap. She rubbed her hands around the bar three times and replaced the bar in the holder. Three more times she rubbed her hands together until finally she rinsed.
Did he need to follow the same procedure?
She picked up the soap a second time and repeated the identical washing ritual. After drying her hands on paper towels, she replaced the soap dish in precisely the same spot in the cabinet next to three other soap dishes.
“Do I need to wash?”
“What?” She looked up from what were obviously her own thoughts. “No. Not unless your hands are dirty. When are you expected back in DC?”
“Not for a while.” His gut told him to stay. He would not leave Cezi alone to fend for herself the way he had his sister.
Upon unlocking the upstairs door, she stepped in front of another sink. He knit his brow. What was she doing? Surely, not washing her hands again. He was all in favor of cleanliness, but this was ridiculous. Yet, he was hesitant to ask.
“Okay, are we ready to begin?”
“Maybe. Why do you need to wash your hands twice, but I don’t need to wash mine at all?”
“
Marimé
.”
He snorted. “Listen up, Lady MacBeth. You can’t wash away bad luck.”
“Bad luck?
Marimé
isn’t about luck. It’s a purification process.”
“I’m not following.”
“Everything is either pure -
wuzho
or polluted -
marimé.”
He knit his brow, trying to sort out her meaning. “
Marimé
is about hand-washing?”
“Of course not, but it’s hard to explain. Gypsy beliefs are ancient, we aren’t superstitious, but we do believe in a, ah…. Well, call it a philosophy. Like good and evil or yin and yang, one can’t exist without the other. Men/women, upper/lower body, inner/outer body.” She gestured with a sweeping motion of her hand. Then she looked him directly in the eye and pointed. “
Gaje
/gypsy.”
“Let me guess which one I am.
Marimé
?” His annoyance was hard to disguise and even to his own ears, he did a poor job of it. “How am I polluted?” He stepped closer, crowding her space. “Will touching me give you cooties?”
She backed until he’d cornered her with a wall to her left and a lab table behind her. “Cooties aren’t my main concern.” She tried to scoot to the right, but he slapped his hand on the hard surface to block her only escape route.
“What’s your main concern?” His other hand cupped her jaw, holding her head in place. The jumping pulse beating in her neck and the increased rise and fall of her breasts held him spellbound. For the first time since he’d known her, she was wearing a bra. But even a bra couldn’t hide the hard arousal of her nipples.