For Jess, the message was loud and clear. DeShawn Simmons crossed the wrong person and had paid the price. If his grandparents insisted on pursuing the matter, there would be trouble. But what those thugs needed to bear in mind was that their problem was Jess, not the grandparents.
If, as she suspected, Simmons’s disappearance was related to MS-13, that reality added a whole new layer of ugliness to the situation. MS-13, Mara Salvatrucha, represented a growing and mobile threat in most communities. They were fearless and used the most violent tactics. As recruiters they were relentless, as enemies ruthless. Their range of criminal activities was broad and varied. Drugs, murder, prostitution, robbery, you name it. There was little they wouldn’t do and violence was always the overwhelming theme. Their members were either immensely loyal or stone-cold dead.
She and Harper were damned lucky that, for whatever reasons, this evening’s warning had been decidedly nonlethal. It didn’t quite fit unless that was only the preview before the main event.
To her surprise Burnett hadn’t shown up at the scene or at the hospital. Usually he was Johnny-on-the-spot to do the protector thing. Which would have provided the opportunity for her to demand why he’d kept Helen Simmons’s request from her. Why not just tell her that she couldn’t stay on the Chandler case because she had been requested by the family of a possible victim in another case?
Helen Simmons had prayed for Jess’s help after watching the news. Had she missed the part about how badly Jess had screwed up the Player case?
Evidently so.
Jess squeezed her eyes shut and forced images of Eric Spears and Matthew Reed from her head. Spears, the Player, had gotten away. A serial killer with dozens of murders on his score sheet, and he had slipped through their fingers.
Through her fingers
. Not once but twice.
His protégé, Matthew Reed, hadn’t been so lucky. He was dead. The sound of the bullet exploding from her Glock echoed in her brain. She’d had no choice. She’d do it again if necessary. Reed had killed Special Agent Nora Miller and he’d very nearly done the same to Realtor Belinda Howard just last week. The bureau had since learned that Reed had killed his own parents and planted them in the backyard of their West Coast home. Those three murders were documented. There was no way to know how many others he’d murdered. As much as she believed in and respected the justice system, there were those who didn’t deserve a trial… who didn’t deserve even the most remote opportunity to repeat their heinous acts.
Matthew Reed had been one of those people.
Didn’t matter to the powers that be that she had used that single bullet fired from her weapon on a twisted killer who would have kept on killing as long as he had breath in him. She still had to deal with the consequences. The internal review into her actions was ongoing, and that included a psych eval.
“Whoop-de-do.” Who didn’t want some shrink crawling around inside their head? She had a degree in psychology, for heaven’s sake. Another human being was dead because of her. Yes, she understood that. She had committed the ultimate violent act against a living being. Got it. But it was either kill him or allow him to keep killing innocent people at the bidding of an even more evil man. She had made the right decision. The only decision.
Given the chance, she would put a bullet between Spears’s eyes as well. A smart man would never allow himself to get that close to her again. But maybe even the most brilliant of evil men had temptations they couldn’t resist. If she needed to test that theory, all she had to do was consider that Spears still contacted her when the right occasion presented itself.
He’d had the audacity to text her before boarding a commercial airliner to flee the country just five days ago. The bureau had lost him and Jess hadn’t heard from him since. But she had a feeling that he wasn’t finished playing his games with her just yet.
Until next time
.
“That’s right, Spears. I’ll get you next time.”
If Burnett found out the peace lily plant sent to the hospital when he was recovering from last week’s stabbing had come from Spears, he would be fit to be tied. Spears had apparently placed the order before boarding that flight out of JFK. He could be anywhere now. Part of her hoped he stayed wherever the hell that was, but another, more twisted part of her wanted to end this once and for all. Wanted to ensure he never killed again. Burnett, on the other hand, would prefer that Spears never got anywhere near her again. The problem with that scenario was that letting him close might just be the only way to get a killer like Spears. Dangle the bait and wait. That was precisely the reason she couldn’t tell Burnett about any contact with the bastard. As long as Spears had some sort of twisted attraction to her there was a chance she might find herself face-to-face with him again.
Jess sipped her room-temperature wine as she recalled a line from on old Clint Eastwood movie. “Go ahead, Spears, make my day.”
Just further proof that she actually did need that psych eval. Poor Mrs. Simmons. She had prayed for Jess’s help. Bless her heart.
Pounding on the door made her jump. She dropped her plastic cup in the tub. “Shit.”
She felt on the floor next to the tub for her Glock, her heart racing a hundred miles per hour, and snatched it up. Who the hell would be at her door at this hour?
So much for her Dirty Harry attitude.
Weapon in hand, she stood, grabbed a towel, and wrapped it around her. One dripping foot hit the floor, then the other. She eased the bathroom door open and listened. Besides the candle, the dim glow from the table lamp by the bed was the only other illumination in the motel room that currently served as her home.
She mentally ran down the list of people who knew her temporary address. Wouldn’t be Harper. He would call first. Lori, maybe? Jess doubted she would show up without calling first either.
Another round of pounding followed by, “Jess! You in there?”
She rolled her eyes.
Burnett
.
“Hold your horses!”
Where was her robe?
Closet
. After placing her weapon on the counter, she swabbed her damp skin with the towel, then tossed it aside and grabbed her robe.
“Coming!”
At the door, she drew in a deep breath and wished she had taken the time to comb her hair. The wild mess was pinned haphazardly on top of her head. Unfortunately she wasn’t one of those women who could pull off the freshly-risen-from-tousled-sheets look.
Be that as it may, she unlocked and opened the door. “I was trying to relax in the tub. What’s up?”
Why didn’t you call?
she didn’t bother tacking on.
If she had her guess, he was here to scold her about not being better prepared in a neighborhood like Druid Hills. Or for making that comment to Captain Allen about his Gang Task Force having completely missed the Simmons connection. Oddly enough, Allen had taken her dressing down pretty well.
One look at Burnett’s grim expression and she decided that maybe Allen hadn’t taken it so well after all.
She’d built her reputation on crossing lines. Why was Burnett or anyone else surprised at her tactics? Actually, he should be here checking on her well-being. Not to mention her top detective’s.
“What happened tonight?” Burnett demanded.
“It’s almost midnight. Are you just now getting the news?” He was the chief of police. Didn’t someone inform him when there were bullets fired at one of his deputy chiefs? And what was with the two cups of Dunkin’ Donuts coffee? He towered in her doorway, a cup in each hand. A peace offering? Chocolate would have been a better choice.
Or more wine.
For two weeks she had fussed at him about checking up on her and worrying about every little thing she did and doing the protector thing. Oddly, after being shot at, she was a little miffed at not getting
any
of that.
She mentally added wishy-washiness to her list of reasons the psych eval was a good thing.
Those blue eyes that she quite often felt could see through brick walls and definitely could see through her big fat lies searched her face before skimming her robe-clad body. “Are you all right?”
She relented and backed up. “Get in here before my neighbors mistake you for a drug connection or a pimp.”
“After this weekend I suspect it’s too late to avoid all sorts of conclusions.” He came inside and closed the door. “I wouldn’t lose any sleep over what the regulars in this neighborhood thought.”
The heat that swept through her like a flash fire whenever she thought about this past weekend scorched her now. Frustrated the hell out of her. Twenty-some years ago they had been madly in love and then he’d given up on
them
and walked away. Before a couple weeks ago she hadn’t even seen him in ten years. Another annoying flash fire roared through her at the memory of them running into each other in a Publix supermarket that Christmas over a decade ago. They’d ended up in bed together that time too.
What did it say about her that she kept repeating that particular mistake?
“Don’t start again with where I live.” This motel was only temporary. She had to sell her house in Stafford before she could consider buying one here. Unlike the Dentons and the Burnetts of the world, she couldn’t afford to own two houses at the same time and drive luxury vehicles to boot. Besides, she might not even opt to buy another house. She was rarely home. Why not just get an apartment or condo? Who needed all the lawn maintenance responsibility? She kind of liked knowing that stuff was taken care of. This secret would go to her grave with her, but she had grown somewhat attached to having a maid as well. Not that the one here was that great, but not having to worry about vacuuming or making the bed was a serious perk.
All those years she had castigated Katherine Burnett for being too lazy to clean her own house. Well, now she knew.
He held up the coffee. “You’re right. No more low-rent-district jabs.” He offered her one of the cups. “I know it’s late. I brought coffee. Thought we could catch up on what happened this evening.”
That he still wore the charcoal suit he’d been wearing at work today told her he hadn’t been home yet. He worked too hard. But the fine lines all that responsibility had etched into his handsome face just made him look distinguished. Unlike her, he pulled off the rumpled look as if he’d taken lessons from George Clooney.
“I don’t want any coffee. Are you just leaving the office?”
The instantaneous and complete lockdown that closed his expression gave her the answer before he opened his mouth to offer whatever excuse he was clearly scrambling to dredge up.
It was too late to take back the question. Mortified, she suppressed a groan. That they had shared the bed only a few feet behind her for most of Saturday and Sunday didn’t give either of them controlling stock in the other’s business. They had rules about that. Sort of.
“I had dinner with Annette at Bottega’s. We needed to talk about Andrea.” He shrugged, the gesture too quick and blatantly stilted. “She’s having a tough time and after today it’s only going to get worse. I didn’t realize my cell was on silent until I was headed home.”
Wow. He had dinner with his most recent ex-wife and had his cell on silent? He didn’t even do that when they had sex. Far more suspicious was the idea that it was almost midnight and he was just leaving Annette.
Jess stiffened her spine. She absolutely refused to show the nasty green jealousy currently coursing through her veins. “What does Brandon have to say about all this?” Brandon was Andrea’s father and Annette’s current husband who used to be her ex. Jess did a mental shake of her head. These people were the ones who needed a psych eval.
“Brandon’s out of town on business.”
Do tell
. “With her husband out of town,” Jess offered, “she had nowhere else to turn, I’m sure. It’s a good thing you could be there for her.”
Gag
.
Avoiding eye contact now, Burnett crossed the dinky room and placed the cups of coffee on the counter next to her Glock. Turning back to her he did a double take and studied the open bathroom door an extra second or two. Oops. He’d spotted the bottle of wine on the bathroom floor. Damn. She should have closed that door.
He gave her one of those looks that came from the chief of police, not the man. “Wine and a hot bath? That’s a dangerous combination for a woman alone in a motel room. Don’t you watch the news?”
Way to change the subject from his ex-wife and her out-of-town husband. “That tub is hardly deep enough for me to slip under the water on purpose much less by accident.” She would never in a million years admit that he had a valid point.
Another survey of the room and then his attention settled firmly on her. “Nine tomorrow morning. Dr. Pricilla Oden. You have her address on Nineteenth Street. Don’t forget.”
He’d already given her that instruction. He’d even had Harper checking up on her. Now he comes to her after dinner with his ex at one of Birmingham’s finest Italian restaurants wagging coffee to remind her that she needed to see the department shrink. “Thanks for the reminder, Chief. Now”—she gestured to the door—“I’d like to get back to my bath. And, FYI, Sergeant Harper was shot but it was only a flesh wound and he’ll be fine.”
For a long moment Burnett didn’t move. Just stared at her as if there were many things he wanted to say but somehow he couldn’t find the words. And, standing this close, she was nearly certain she could smell Annette’s perfume clinging to his jacket. Of course that could be explained by a mere hug. Everyone hugged in the South. It was some sort of unspoken rule or irresistible compulsion.
Jess had never been a hugger. Maybe it had something to do with multiple foster homes and nearly two decades in the bureau. Annette, on the other hand, was a hugger. She and her daughter often gave and accepted hugs twice in a row.
“I spoke to Harper a few minutes ago. He called to let me know what happened. No one else felt inclined to do so.”
He was blaming that on her? “And if I had called, how would you have known since your cell was on silent and you were otherwise occupied? After ten o’clock the work side of my brain retires for the evening.”