Bargain Hunting (28 page)

He shrugged. “I guess I could go back to the store in Wellington with pictures.”

“You’re not going anywhere.”

“I’m not going to be a sitting duck.”

“So you’ll leave me here alone?”

“No. I’ll figure something out.”

“What? A babysitter with an Uzi?”

“There’s a thought,” he teased as he took my hand in his. “I’ve got a guy I throw some work when I’m too busy. I trust him.”

“Is he an ex-cop, too?”

He shook his head. “Nope. Ex-special forces. His name’s Paul Booker. Good guy.”

“That still doesn’t solve the problem of you putting yourself out there in harm’s way. I’d feel better if you stayed here with me.”

“I will,” he said as he kissed my hand. “Most of the time.”

“So when do I meet this guy?”

“Soon. I’ve already called him. He’s up to speed.”

The doorbell rang and for some dumb reason I leapt over the sofa and cowered in a huddled ball. I heard Liam get off the sofa and walk to the front window. “You can come out now. There’s a car here with a big chicken on the top.”

Dragging my humiliation with me, I moved toward the door. Liam was standing there with a gun at his side. “I thought you said it was okay?” I whispered.

“Just being cautious,” he said as he stood behind me when I opened the door a crack.

“Hi, Miss Finley.”

“Hi, Frankie. How are you tonight?” I asked as I pressed the code on the alarm so I could leave the door open.

“Great. You?”

“Dandy. Hang on and let me get my wallet.” I went to the kitchen counter and opened my purse. The gun stared back at me. Note to self, the next time you hide, take the gun with you.

I gave Frankie a generous tip and took the bag. Liam closed the door, locked the dead bolt, and reset the alarm. “Smells great,” he said.

I took plates down and put out utensils before I unloaded the chicken, potatoes, and spinach. “Hope this is okay,” I said. “I probably should have asked you if you liked spinach.”

“It’s fine. The only thing I don’t eat is sushi.”

“That’s a problem. I love sushi.”

“That’s why you have Becky, Liv, and Jane.”

“Point taken. I also have my mother.”

“The shooting was on the news. Why hasn’t she called to make sure you’re okay?”

I blew out a breath. “It’s complicated. You saw her at the wedding. Did it seem to you like we were close?”

“Not really. But I thought she was just . . . distracted.”

I smiled. “She is now. She’s set her sights on husband number six. Or is it five? Whatever. I’m sure she has other things on her mind right now.”

“If you want to call her, I can give you privacy.”

“If you want to stay my friend, you won’t make suggestions like that.”

We were quiet as we ate. Apparently, getting shot at works
up an appetite. “There’s more chicken,” I said, passing him the container.

“You sure?”

I pushed my plate away. “Yes. I’m full.”

“I’m not,” he said as he finished up the remaining food.

Just as I started to clear the dishes, my cell rang. While I was on the line, Liam placed a distracting series of kisses along my neck. I swatted him away but it did no good. He kept flustering me until I hung up the phone.

“Don’t do that,” I said halfheartedly.

“I like to watch you squirm.”

“Well, you’ll like this even better. That was Darrell.”

His eyebrows pinched. “Darrell who?”

“He does handwriting analysis for us,” I explained. “Your signature on the sign-out sheet is a forgery.”

“Which sign-out sheet?” he asked.

“The week before José was killed he signed out your gun and the document has you signing as the registered owner. Only you didn’t sign it.”

“José did?” he asked.

I shrugged my shoulders. “Darrell can only tell if a signature is real. Without an exemplar of the forger’s handwriting, he can’t tell me anything more than that.”

“Can we get exemplars from the other team members?”

“It won’t help,” I explained. “Not with a tracing. When someone traces a name, the way they tell is in the flow of the ink. People aren’t fluid when they’re copying something, so all the examiner can tell is that there were starts and stops in the questioned document.”

“So our best bet is still the spy store in Wellington?”

“And talking to Ina Lopez. Which reminds me—didn’t Cain’s wife say Stan was transferred out of the gang unit after the Peña grand jury?”

Liam nodded. “José went to traffic division.”

“So if Stan and José were both out of the unit, that would mean someone else was the inside man. Or men.”

Liam stood and took a shirt out of his duffel bag and pulled it on, buttoning the buttons as I watched with unabashed interest. Here I was, center stage in a murder plot, and I was thinking about his biceps.

“If you were going to play both sides, what would you do?” I asked Liam.

“I wouldn’t.”

I rolled my eyes. “Pretend. We’re tossing around ideas here. What would it have taken for you to betray your friends?”

“If someone had something on me. Something that would end my career or my marriage.”

I stroked my chin. “Maybe that’s how they got José to turn. Would the police force hire a former gang member for the gang unit?”

Liam shook his head. “Not if he had a record or some other thing that would have deemed him unfit for service.”

“Like?”

“A bad psych eval. Any arrest. Juvie problems. You’d be amazed by the number of fruitcakes who want to join the force.”

“But aren’t most juvie records sealed?” I asked.

“Depending on the crime and the whim of the judge, but yes, usually.”

I got up and grabbed my laptop. After logging in to LexisNexis I tried searching for José’s name. I came up empty. “This isn’t going to work,” I told Liam. “Is he from Palm Beach County?”

“Miami, I think. But I’m not sure.”

“We’ve got to talk to his widow, or whatever you call the ex-wife of a dead guy.”

Liam shook his head. “We are not leaving this house. Besides, Booker and a friend are coming over in a little while.”

“So you can do what?”

“I thought I might go see my old buddy Deputy Young.”

“The gun cage guy? Going out in the dark is just plain stupid.”

“But necessary,” Liam countered. “I can handle myself.”

“But—” I was cut off by the sound of Liam’s cell ringing.

He covered the receiver and mouthed “Garza.” I sat quietly while he grunted “uh-hum” and “yeah” into the phone. “Thank you for calling,” he said, then ended the call. “They got the shooter.”

I felt relief wash over me. “Really? That fast?”

“Someone called in to Crime Stoppers. Led them right to the guy.”

“Did he say why he was shooting at us?”

Liam’s expression hardened. “He was shot at the scene after he got off a few rounds. DOA.”

“Do they know who it was at least?”

“Low-level member of the Latin Bandits. He had ID on him and he had the tattoo.”

“Well, that should convince Garza to drop the charges against you.”

“The shooter had something else, Finley.”

“What?”

“A picture of you. You were the target.”

Liam held me until I stopped shaking. “Garza is going to talk to Tony about relocating you until this is over.”

“Why just me?” I asked, terrified. “I only feel safe when you’re around.”

“I know but—” His phone rang again and he cursed before answering.

I heard him giving directions to my house. As soon as he hung up he said, “That was Booker, he’s on his way. Can you get me a current address for Deputy Young?”

Reluctantly I went to my laptop and pulled up the information I’d e-mailed myself when I’d done the research at the office. According to the records, he didn’t really have a home address. “It just says slip nineteen, Singer Island Marina,” I said.

“That’s good enough,” Liam told me. “He won’t be hard to find.”

“I wish you wouldn’t do this,” I said quietly.

“I have to,” he replied as the doorbell rang.

At least this time I didn’t dive for cover, but I did cower behind Liam as he checked out the window, then hit the alarm pad.

He opened the door to a giant human being with a military brush cut and arms the size of cannons. He was well over six feet, with muscles on top of muscles. And he wasn’t alone. Standing next to him was a very large dog with its tail wagging.

“Hey, boy,” Liam said as he bent and scratched the dog behind the ears. “Booker,” he said, acknowledging the man. “In,”
he told the dog, then Booker followed, dropping the leash and adjusting the large sack of dog food beneath his arm and a small black duffel looped over his shoulder.

The dog entered and started sniffing everything. I was praying he wouldn’t pee on my expensive furniture. “Why is a dog here?” I asked as I automatically backed into a corner, hoping not to be noticed by the pony-size animal.

“Think of Perry as a backup alarm,” Liam said. “If anyone comes near this house, he’ll let you know it.”

“If he doesn’t eat me first,” I grumbled.

“I’m Booker,” the huge man said as he shook my hand, swallowing it completely with his beefy fingers.

“Finley,” I said, though my eyes remained fixed on Cujo.

Liam noticed my discomfort and called the dog over. “Sit,” he said. The dog did as instructed. “Shake,” he said and the dog offered me his large paw. “Now it’s your turn,” he said to me.

“My turn to do what?”

“Give him a command.”

“Like what?”

Liam was grinning at me. “Perry, be dead.” The dog fell over in a heap. “Now you.”

“Perry, sit,” I said unsteadily. The dog complied.

“See, gentle as ever so long as he knows you’re a friend.”

“What if he gets confused?” I asked.

“He won’t. Booker will be in the guest room and Perry will be right next to you on the floor when I’m not around. Between the two of them, you’ll be perfectly safe.”

Great, big man with gun and big dog with teeth. When did my life go to shit?

No matter how much I begged, I couldn’t convince Liam to refrain from going to see retired Deputy Young. Knowing the sign-out sheet was a forgery was pressing him on. At least he took his gun and his cell phone. That made it seem a little less stupid.

Booker turned out to be the strong, silent type. No matter what I asked, he managed to answer with a single word. The dog was more animated than the man. Wanting to make sure Perry Mason was happy, I went into my room and filled a sock with an old pair of hose, then tied a knot. I returned to the living room and played with him. He was like a small child. My arm was tired of tossing it in the air for him to catch, but he wasn’t even winded. We were warming up to each other. Mainly because he hadn’t jumped up on any of my furniture. One stray hair and we’d have issues.

“Shouldn’t Liam have called by now?” I asked Booker.

“Maybe.”

He was so not helpful.

“How long does it take to talk to one guy?” I asked as I glanced at the clock on the end table. “He’s been gone for two hours.” Alarm sounded in my head. “What if he’s hurt? Or what if he got caught with the gun?” I had a hundred and fifty thousand reasons to be worried about that. Though the money didn’t matter much when I thought of Liam hurt or worse. “I’m calling him,” I announced.

“Not a good idea.”

“Too damned bad,” I replied as I grabbed my cell and dialed.

Liam answered quickly but quietly. “What?”

“Where are you?”

“Young’s boat.”

“What did he say?”

“Nothing. He’s not here.”

“Then get out of there before he comes back.”

“I don’t think that’ll be a problem.”

“Why not?”

“This place is covered in blood.”

The cure for boredom is curiosity, but there is no cure for curiosity.

The dog whimpered and
his ears straightened. I immediately sat up in bed. I didn’t hear a sound, but Perry Mason got up and started toward the living room. Very quietly, I took the gun out of my bedside table and prayed my hands would be steady.

As soon as I reached the hallway, a large arm came out and shoved me back inside. Booker held one finger up to keep me silent. Like I could talk over the lump of terror in my throat.

Perry Mason barked once, then I heard the front door open. Booker had a gun out and he held his elbows locked, with the gun pointing in the direction of the living room.

“It’s me!” Liam called.

My pulse stopped thudding in my ears.

I put the gun back and walked out to join Liam, Booker, and my new best friend Perry in the living room. Liam looked sexy and disheveled. Well, except for the blood smears on his
hands. “What have you been doing all this time?” I asked as he went to the sink to wash up.

“I was going over Deputy Young’s things,” he said. “Discovered he had a habit of taping stuff under drawers.”

“Is he dead?” I asked.

“Based on the amount of blood, I’d say yes.”

Liam came over to my coffee table and took several blood-spattered pages from his back pocket. Carefully, he unfolded them and lined them up in a row.

“That guy looks familiar,” I said as I pointed to the mug shot of a kid in his teens holding an informational card at chest height. The sign said
GARCIA, JOSÉ
.