Against the Wind (21 page)

She found it at the bottom of the page. Ace was working on a couple of Southgate's demolition jobs, but the information was five months old, before Andrew had died, the projects probably completed by now.

Reaching over, she flipped on her laptop. When Google popped up, she typed in
Southgate Demolition.
There were several articles in various newspapers in the L.A. area, as well as the Southgate Demolition home page.

She skimmed their website, which showed color photos of buildings being torn down, then clicked on
the link that read
management.
The company was currently being run by a man named Theodore Schuler. Since she had never heard the name, she figured he had probably been appointed by the probate court.

Going back to the Google list of entries, she clicked on a recent article in the
L.A. Times
naming Southgate as the company hired to demolish a six-story building in East L.A. Sarah mentally placed the location, thinking it might border a fairly rough section of town. But then much of L.A. was being revitalized. Space in a city that was growing so fast was always at a premium. Jackson's brother, Gabe, had said he was doing a lot of that kind of work in Dallas.

She jotted down the address of the project, searched a little longer but found nothing that seemed particularly useful.

Next she typed in
Ace Trucking
on Google.

The Ace home page was informative. The company was owned and operated by a man named Vincent Spalino. Though Andrew had mentioned him, Sarah had never met him. There was a photo of Spalino on the page, an older man with beefy jowls, hard black eyes and thick, iron-gray hair. He looked more like a dock worker than a businessman, which didn't seem to fit with the exotic-looking, expensively dressed man who had threatened her here in Wind Canyon.

Then again, if the man who had accosted her was some sort of hired gun, how he dressed wouldn't matter to Spalino.

She yawned, satisfied she had learned all she could for now, turned off the computer and went to bed. They were flying out at seven and she wanted to have Holly settled with Livvy before she left the ranch.

The morning went as planned. Livvy had Holly nestled on the sofa watching cartoons in the ranch house living room by the time Sarah left. The road was clear on the way to the airport and the weather was good. The chartered, twin-engine plane departed right on schedule.

Sitting next to Jackson in one of the cream leather seats, she took a sip of hot coffee then handed him the information she had collected.

“This is the stuff we printed off the pen drive we found in the storage room and I also printed some items off the internet.”

Jackson took the file. “Great minds, I guess. I went on the net last night, myself.”

“Find anything?”

“I took a look at Southgate Demolition's web page and ran across the location of a couple of their current projects. I read about them in an article in
Heavy Equipment
magazine.”

“I know they're tearing down a building on Brooklyn Avenue. That's East L.A. It was mentioned in a
Times
article on city revitalization.”

“They're demoing a grammar school in Monrovia, too.”

“You think they'll be using Ace Trucking?”

“We're going to find out.” His foam cup crackled as he took a sip of coffee. “I also made a call to my brother. I asked him if he could arrange for us to talk to his informant, the guy who told him about Ace's cash payments to your late husband.”

She ignored a sudden chill. She hated any reference to Andrew as her husband. “And?”

“And he said he'd see if he could make it happen. I expect to hear from him sometime today.”

Sarah leaned back in her seat. It was the logical first step. Find out what else Devlin's informant might be able to tell them—if he was willing to talk.

“You think this man will meet us?”

Jackson shrugged. “Money talks,” was all he said.

Sarah opened her mouth to tell him she couldn't afford to pay the sort of money it would take, but he held up his hand and simply shook his head.

Sarah sighed. There was no point in arguing. She reminded herself what his brothers had said. Jackson was helping her. Just as he had helped people in the past and would again in the future.

She bit her lip and closed her eyes, let the drone of the engines lull her. She relaxed and grew sleepy. She was just drifting off when erotic images of Jackson began to appear in her mind. She squirmed in her seat, softly whispered his name. She wasn't sure what else she said, something provocative, it was clear, for when she opened her eyes her blouse was unbuttoned, Jackson's dark head bent to the task of suckling her breast.

“Always happy to oblige a lady,” he said softly, then returned to the job at hand.

Sensation swamped her. Sarah laced her fingers in his hair to pull him closer, urging him to continue. His teeth grazed her nipple, then she felt the sweet sensation of his mouth opening to take the fullness.

Sarah moaned. Her heavy-lidded gaze slid toward the cockpit door but it was firmly closed. She glanced down to see that her slacks were unzipped as his tanned hand moved over her belly, slipped beneath the band of her thong panties into the tangle of dark hair between
her legs. She was wet in an instant, plump and ready for him to take her.

“Jackson…” She was trembling all over, more than eager, but there was a pilot sitting behind the cockpit door and no possible way they could make love.

“As soon as we get to the hotel,” he promised, claiming her lips in a slow, ravishing kiss. “In the meantime, I'll give you something to last until we get there.”

Sarah arched upward as his long dark fingers slid inside her, stroking deeply, expertly. In moments, she was hovering on the verge of climax. A glance toward the cockpit door assured her it remained tightly closed, and she gave herself over to the exquisite sensations.

“Come for me,” Jackson softly urged, and the deep, sexy cadence of his voice sent her over the edge. His hard kiss swallowed a cry of passion, and he held her as she trembled, then began to spiral down.

Her tremors slowly eased, replaced by a glow of satisfaction. A last soft kiss and he let her go, settled himself back in his seat.

Sarah looked down at her open blouse and unzipped slacks and hurriedly rearranged her clothes. Embarrassment pinkened her cheeks as Jackson leaned back in his seat, a smug male smile tilting the corners of his lips.

She couldn't believe it. She had let the man pleasure her in the seat of an airplane!

She glanced toward him from beneath her lashes.

“You don't have to be embarrassed,” he said, clearly reading her thoughts. “I liked it, too.”

“But you didn't get to—”

“No, but I enjoyed touching you just the same.”

She glanced away. He was such a virile man. He liked sex and he made no secret of it.

Sarah rose from her seat and made her way to the tiny bathroom in the rear of the plane to freshen herself. As she closed the minuscule door, she gazed into the small oval mirror on the wall. Her dark hair was mussed and a soft flush colored her cheeks. She looked, well, satisfied.

The plane hit an air pocket just then, tossing her against the wall in the narrow, confining space. She had never liked flying. She glanced back at her reflection in the mirror, saw the glow in her face, felt the sweet tingling that hadn't completely left her.

Then again, there were definitely some advantages to flying with Jackson Raines.

J
ackson's cell phone rang as he slid behind the wheel of his rental car. They had flown into the Burbank Airport, which was close to Ace Trucking in the San Fernando Valley and not far from Southgate Demolition in Glendale. The day was California-warm, eighty-five degrees and sunny. But the weatherman had predicted light showers that night.

Jackson flipped open his phone, recognized the caller ID. “Hey, bro.”

“You on the ground?” Dev asked.

“Yeah, we just landed in Burbank.”

“That'll work. My guy's name is Jorge Rodriquez. He's willing to meet you—for a price.”

“Not a problem. When and where?”

“Tonight. Nine o'clock. A place called the Arizona Café. It's on Valley Boulevard in Alhambra.” Dev gave
him directions off the eastbound 10 Freeway. “He'll be wearing an L.A. Dodgers ball cap.”

“How much do you know about him?”

“Jorge worked for Hollister up until he died. Did pretty much whatever the guy wanted him to. Nothing wet, I don't think. Just errands that required tight lips and muscle when it was needed, that kind of thing. He was out of a job after Hollister got snuffed. Does a little work for a guy I know. According to him, Jorge's got a family. He needs the money. He'll tell you as much as he knows.”

“Thanks, Dev.”

“It may not be all that much, but you were coming out anyway, so it's definitely worth a try. I'll expect to hear from you when it's over. Take care, big brother.”

Jackson leaned back in the car seat. All three brothers were protective of each other. As kids, with a mother who was mostly drunk, there was no one but the three of them, nobody else who gave a damn whether they lived or died. The feeling had stuck. Dev would be worried until he got Jackson's call.

“So what did he say?” Sarah asked from the passenger side of the rental car, a midsize, nondescript Chevy that wouldn't attract attention.

Jackson turned the key in the ignition and the engine roared to life. “I'm meeting with his informant tonight at nine.”

“
We,
Jackson.
We're
meeting him tonight.”

He flicked her a glance, caught the stubborn tilt of her chin.
I'm going,
it said.
One way or another.

He sighed, raked a hand through his hair. He put the car into gear and pulled out of the lot. “You can be a real pain in the ass sometimes, you know?”

Sarah grinned more broadly than he had ever seen her. “I'll take that as a compliment.”

Jackson grumbled a word he didn't want her to hear. “Fine, but you do exactly what I tell you, okay?”

She nodded, pleased with herself for getting her way. “Okay.”

He thought he understood. She was coming into her own, growing stronger every day, now that she was out from under her husband's brutal, domineering control.

“So where's the meeting?”

“Alhambra. I guess that's a town. You know it?”

She nodded. “It's south and east of here. We're staying in Burbank, right?”

“Afraid so. Nothing fancy, this time, just a little hotel I found on the internet that looked easy to get in and out of and seemed to have decent rooms.”

The hotel, the Gramercy, was a little over four miles from the airport, a three-story, U-shaped building that looked clean and well cared for and had parking on all three sides. He had reserved a two-bedroom suite, small but adequate, though he hoped they would only need one of the bedrooms.

They checked in and were shown upstairs into room 318. Sarah rolled her carry-on through the door into the second bedroom.

“You sure you don't want to stay with me?” His hopes rose at the indecision he read on her face.

“I like my privacy. You don't really mind, do you?”

“Of course I mind. I want you in my bed, Sarah. I want to make love to you. I want you there when I wake up in the morning. But I know you need time and I'm willing to give it to you.”

Sarah moistened her lips, making them glisten, and his blood began to heat.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

He forced his thoughts in a safer direction. “We've got a little time before tonight's meeting. Let's take a drive past that demolition site I came across on the internet—the one Southgate is working on in Monrovia. I looked it up on the map and I don't think it's that far away.”

“All right. Traffic shouldn't be too bad this time of day. Maybe we'll run across something useful.”

They finished unpacking, then went back downstairs to the car. Fortunately, even after plowing through traffic and checking into the hotel, it was still early afternoon, not yet the rush hour, so the drive didn't take too long.

The bad news was, when they got to the demo site, it wasn't Ace but another trucking company that was busily hauling away the big chunks of cement, bent and rusted rebar, broken windows, mountains of Sheetrock and lumber, and just plain piles of trash resulting from the destruction of a cluster of buildings.

“They aren't using Ace,” Sarah said, disappointed. “I wonder why.”

“Maybe their bid was too high. Southgate's tearing down a school. The contract would probably be awarded by the state.”

They watched the men working, the bulldozers piling up debris, skiploaders scooping it up and dropping it into dump trucks.

“Andrew owned a lot of equipment,” Sarah said. “Why do you suppose Southgate needs to hire a truck
ing company? Why doesn't Southgate just haul the stuff away?”

“Andrew owned equipment, but not all of it was the right kind. From what we've seen, Southgate Demolition uses on-site machinery—bulldozers, pavers, skiploaders, that kind of thing. Andrew was never in the transport business.”

Sarah studied the activity on the site. “Still, he owned some trucks. Maybe Ace does some kind of specialized work for Southgate. Something that requires slightly different kinds of trucks.”

“Good thought. Maybe tonight good ol' Jorge will be able to tell us.” And if not, maybe they would at least pick up something useful. Jackson looked at his wristwatch. The afternoon was slipping away. The traffic would be worse going back. They hadn't had anything to eat since morning, and the long plane ride was always tiring.

“Why don't we head back to the hotel? You can call and check on Holly, then we'll get something to eat and maybe catch a nap. We'll regroup and be ready for Jorge.”

Sarah nodded, yawned behind her hand. “Now that you mention it, I could use a little sleep.” She looked up at him and a sexy smile curved her lips. “Besides, I owe you for that little present you gave me on the plane. I wonder…am I officially a member of the mile-high club?”

A rush of blood went straight to his groin. “Only an associate member, but I'll be glad to remedy that on the flight back home.”

Sarah laughed, but her cheeks turned red. The lady was definitely an enigma, embarrassed one minute, bold
the next. She wanted a room of her own, but she wanted to have sex with him. She had a lot to figure out about herself, he guessed.

“You don't owe me for that,” he said, getting back to the subject at hand, “but I'd like nothing more than to take you to bed.” Leaning across the console, he kissed her long and deep.

Sarah kissed him back and he figured they had just sealed the deal.

 

Sarah watched the big green freeway signs for the exit off the 10 that Devlin had said to take into Alhambra. The sun was almost down, the last faint remnants of light fading along the horizon. The heat of the day was easing, as well, the temperature cooled by a layer of clouds moving over the city. A light rain had begun to fall, just enough to dampen the arid land along the highway.

Earlier, after making love, a nap in Jackson's bed, and hamburgers and French fries from the hotel's limited room service menu, they set off for tonight's meeting, leaving early enough to get there even if they ran into trouble on the road.

Another freeway sign loomed ahead of them out of the darkness. “There it is.” Sarah pointed. Jackson spotted the turnoff, signaled and eased the car toward the off-ramp. A few minutes later, they were heading down Valley Boulevard in search of the Arizona Café.

It was a coffee shop, Sarah saw as they pulled into the parking lot and Jackson turned off the engine. She had no idea why it was named for another state, except maybe for the dirt and tumbleweeds around the edge
of the lot, making it look like it sat in the middle of the desert.

“We wait out here until it's time to go in,” Jackson said. “I doubt Jorge would want us drawing any more attention than necessary.”

They waited fifteen minutes, till exactly 9:00 p.m., then got out of the car, crossed the rough pavement, and pushed through the glass doors into the small café. A mix of whites, Hispanics, African-Americans and Asians sat in booths and at the long Formica-topped counter. A good spot to meet, Sarah thought, a place where, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, her hair pulled back in a ponytail, with Jackson in jeans and a short-sleeved shirt, they would blend in fairly well with the rest of the customers in the café.

Jackson said Jorge Rodriquez would be wearing a Dodger's baseball cap and Sarah scanned the counter in search of him. He wasn't there, or in any of the pink vinyl booths along the wall.

“He's in the back, the last booth,” Jackson said softly.

Sarah spotted him, average height, muscular build, plain white T-shirt snug across his chest. Jackson's fingers entwined with hers and he led her forward.

Jorge Rodriguez pulled his cap a little lower over his straight black hair as they slid into the booth on the seat across from him. He was drinking a cup of coffee, a dark-skinned, round-faced man with black eyes and an earring in his ear.

“Why'd you bring her?” he asked Jackson sullenly. “You should have come alone.”

“She's Hollister's widow. She's the one who's on the hook for his mistakes.”

A waitress appeared, stringy blond hair but a friendly smile. They ordered coffee, waited till she set the heavy white china mugs down in front of them and returned to her duties.

“Tell us what you know.” Jackson shoved a folded newspaper across the table. Jorge peeked inside, saw four crisp hundred-dollar bills, closed it quickly and dragged it to his side of the booth.

“Ace made a cash payment once every month. I picked up the payments directly from Spalino and delivered the envelope to Hollister personally.”

“What was the money for?”

“I don't know. I overheard them talking once…something to do with getting rid of waste.”

Sarah exchanged a look with Jackson, neither of them had a clue what that meant. Still, the information might prove useful.

“What else?” Jackson slid another hundred out on the table.

“They talked about putting it somewhere safe. They didn't say where.”

“Anything else?”

“That's all I got.”

Jackson dropped a five-dollar bill on the table to pay for the coffee. With a nod at Jorge, he urged Sarah up from the booth, and they walked toward the door. Clues. Like pieces of a puzzle. Separately they meant nothing, but putting them altogether might just give them the answers they so desperately needed.

Outside in the parking lot, the light rain had already stopped, leaving a pattern of scattered drops in the dirt.

“It wasn't much, was it?” Sarah said.

“Might be more than you think. We're only getting started. Let's see what tomorrow brings.”

Sarah just nodded. Her mind was spinning. So much was happening. So many things seemed out of her control. She thought of the dark-skinned man in Wind Canyon who had threatened her in the parking lot. She thought of Detective Mercer, and a shudder moved down her spine.

If it weren't for Jackson…

A lump swelled in her throat. He was helping her now. But what would he do when he found out it wasn't just another of Andrew's crooked business partners who threatened her?

What would he do when he found out the police were after her, too?

 

Sarah slept poorly, even though she and Jackson had made love and he had convinced her to spend the night in his bed. Unconsciously, she snuggled closer, absorbing his warmth, his hard-muscled body enfolding her protectively even in his sleep.

Still, it wasn't enough to stop the nightmare from returning, slipping into her subconscious as it had done dozens of times before.

 

She was upstairs packing, getting ready to leave the house for good, when she heard Andrew's voice downstairs.

“Sarah! Sarah, come down here! I want to see you in my study!”

She could hear the anger in his voice, the fury. Fear cut through her, settled sickeningly in her stomach. Her glance strayed to the bed and uncertainty swamped her.
She bit her lip, trying to decide, then stiffened her spine and moved forward. Her legs trembled as she crossed the bedroom, walked to the side of her bed and pulled the pistol out from under the mattress.

The pistol Patty Gorski had sent her.

“Use it if you have to,” the brief note had said. “Don't let him hurt you again.”

There were no serial numbers on the weapon. Patty was smart about those kinds of things. She'd sent it UPS, boxed like clothes ordered over the internet.

Sarah's hand shook as she stuck the gun in her purse, looped the strap over her shoulder. It took every ounce of her will to walk to the door, open it and make the trip downstairs. But the gun was there, lending her courage. She wouldn't pull it out unless she had to, but she wouldn't take another brutal beating.

She stood in the open study door, saw him rise from behind his desk.

“What…what do you want, Andrew?”

“Do you think I'm a fool, Sarah?”