Look Before You Jump (21 page)

I should’ve brought along a flashlight. Oh
wait – my flashlight was with good ol’ Detective Duncan. After
this, I needed to pay him another visit and get my belongings back.
I’m sure Bobby would like to have those letters returned too, even
if they were the property of Amy’s mother.

All thoughts of snakes, letters, and
flashlights dissipated when a hand slapped over my mouth.

The familiar hiss in my ear kept my bladder
in check. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Attempts at talking around Zeke’s firmly
planted hand proved futile until he let go and spun me around. In
the near pitch-black darkness, it took a moment for my eyes to
adjust and confirm what my ears had revealed.

“You didn’t have to scare me like that,” I
replied.

“Oh,” Zeke retorted, “and I guess calling out
in the dark and having you scream loud enough to wake the dead
would’ve been so much better.”

“It might.”

“Keep your voice down.”

“You first.”

Though I couldn’t quite see his eyes, his
momentary silence told me I was once again getting the Big Z dagger
stare. “I’ll ask again, what are you doing here?”

“Same as you,” I said. “Trying to help clear
Bobby’s name.”

“Trying to clear…?” Zeke started, then turned
away and raked his hands through his hair before spinning back
around to face me. “I’m on an op here. This has nothing to do with
your boyfriend.”

“Friend who’s a boy…er, guy,” I corrected.
“And if this doesn’t have anything to do with Bobby, why the trip
to Austin? Why the interest in Amy’s father, who happens to share
the name of a known drug cartel? I’m not stupid, you know.”

“Go home, Vic,” Zeke hissed through clenched
teeth.

“No.”

My feet and head switched places so fast, I
thought for a sec I was falling until I landed with a grunt on his
shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Zeke carried me effortlessly as
he trudged up the path the way I’d come.

“Let me go, Zeke Taylor,” I demanded. “I’ll
just walk back. I’ll call your mother on you. I’ll scream.”

With that threat firmly under his belt, Zeke
flipped me over and placed me back on my feet. “You’ll scream? And
ruin any chance to help Bobby?”

“Ha. Called it.”

A sigh. Then his arms snaked around my waist,
and he pressed against me, Zeke’s sultry tenor licking the tiny gap
between us. I gulped when a zing hit my nether regions like a
lightning bolt. My legs turned to chocolate pudding.

“I only want to keep you safe, Vic,” he
whispered, warm breath hot against my face.

All thoughts of spiders, snakes, and lizards
– oh my – dissipated. I forgot about the broken sandal. Charlotte’s
web. Bobby who? All I wanted at that moment was Zeke’s lips on
mine.

A disembodied voice shattered the moment.
“
We’ve got movement out here
.”

Zeke grunted. “Roger that.” With that he
released me and pointed down the lane toward the cars. “Home.
Now.”

I trotted after him. “I’m not a dog you can
order around, you know.” Some might argue that point with a capital
B
, but Zeke didn’t respond. The Ranger had returned to the
hunt.

“You don’t need to get involved here,” Zeke
said.

“Involved? I’m already involved,” I
sputtered. “I got involved when my apartment was terrorized,
traumatized, and ostracized.”

“Ostracized?”

“Well, that’s more me
from
my
apartment. I’m homeless now.”

“You’re not homeless. I told you, you can
stay with me as long as you need.”

“Point is, I’ve got just as much right to
find the creep who started all of this as you do.”

No response.

I took that as a sign to continue. “I’m just
gonna follow you.”

He whipped around. “Then stay behind me and
don’t get in our way.”

Progress! With my floppy sandal it was a
little difficult to keep up with Zeke’s long and sure strides, but
somehow I managed to trip along to where he and a couple of his
Ranger cohorts crouched at the edge of the tree line.

A fenced pasture stretched across the
clearing, the scent of manure clinging to my olfactory senses. But
the empty field didn’t appear to be the focus of concentration. Dim
lights flickered across the way. The tramp of cow hooves against
metal and soft lowing followed as two-by-two the herd exited the
semi-trailer like a reversal of Noah’s ark.

See? I’d listened on occasion in Sunday
School.

I whispered, “Why are we watching the
cow-patty parade?”

A terse
shh
was all the reply I
warranted. Guess I should’ve been grateful Zeke had allowed me to
tag along instead of hog-tying and throwing me in the bed of his
truck. I stayed silent – for a bit.

“Is this a cow-poaching operation?”

Another
shh
.

Don’t hate me – I’m a girl. There’s only so
long those of the fairer and feminine sex can go before we have to
speak or we’ll burst like an overflowing dam. It’s coded into our
genetic make-up. You gotta problem with it, talk to God.

Mosquitoes attacked my bare legs like
Kamikaze bombers during World War II. Dinner was served – and
I
was the one on the menu. I could feel the welts rise
across my arms and legs. Then the itching started in earnest.

“If we stay out here much longer, I’ll need a
blood transfusion,” I complained.

“Then go home,” Zeke whispered.

My feasted-on carcass stayed put. A few
moments later, the diesel engine fired up and the rig slowly pulled
away from the scene, leaving us sitting near a field of dazed and
confused cattle. With a holler and a shout, the two wranglers got
into a black four-wheel-drive truck with highly polished chrome
that gleamed red in the rig’s taillights. A lighted roll bar lit up
on top when the throaty roar signaled life. As it drove in the
rig’s wake, it struck me as familiar, but then black trucks around
these parts are about as common as mosquitoes in summer.

A couple of hand signals and whispered
commands, then the gang of four moved forward as one, sliding
between the fence rails until sneaking up to one of the newly
arrived animals. I stayed at the fence and watched as three of the
team corralled the cow and held her down, while Zeke pulled on a
long glove-like sheath that reached all the way up to his shoulder.
Then much to my dismay, his gloved arm disappeared into the
backside of the protesting animal. After fishing around in regions
I’d rather not think about, Zeke slid his arm away and inspected
what he held in his hand. Murmurs of acknowledgement passed between
the team before they let the old girl up to trot away.

Zeke once told me I was full of crap, but I
always assumed it was a bad thing. Seeing the excitement on the
guys’ faces as they headed my way with a handful of steaming cow
dung, do you think I could’ve been wrong in my assumption?

Don’t answer that.

***

“Drugs?”

Once again, Zeke strutted around his
apartment with a bare chest after getting out of the shower. It was
his
apartment after all, but those rippled pecs and abs on
display all the time were an unfair home court advantage.

He finished toweling his hair then tossed the
damp mass my way. “Yep.”

“In a cow’s ass?” I asked.

“Yep,” he returned.

“But how do they keep them from pooping it
out too soon?”

“You gotta shove the packs of heroin high
enough up their colon shortly before the border crossing. Then you
corral them on this side of the border and wait for them to release
it. Those wranglers will return tomorrow night with high-powered
flashlights to search for fresh cow pies.”

“That’s gross,” I whined, and continued
slathering on the calamine lotion to stem the itch the earlier
shower hadn’t taken away. Being a mosquito sandwich isn’t a fun way
to spend an evening, but it was better than my party with
Charlotte’s web. A little. Maybe.

“Gives a whole new meaning to taking a shit,”
Zeke said with a smile.

I just rolled my eyes. “So instead of drug
mules, the Juarez family is using cows now?”

“It’s nothing new. The cartels change up
their delivery methods, but they always circle back around to the
ones that work. For awhile they were even hiding coke in boxes of
diapers.”

“Another
crappy
method,” I said with a
snort. Then my bathroom humor tempered. “So how does knowing this
help me help Bobby?”

“We’re trying to track their people on this
side of the border,” Zeke said. “All the while, I’m still trying to
connect the dots leading to Amy.”

“Then why didn’t you chase after the delivery
rig and the wranglers? At least get a license plate of that black
truck.”

“We’ve got a line on them, but we’re hoping
they’ll lead us to the bigger fish.”

“I get it.”

Zeke sidled up and tugged me into his arms.
“I had fun with you tonight.”

“Hmm,” was all that came to mind as the scent
of his body wash swirled around my senses.

“We make a good team, you know.”

With only his towel and my robe between us,
my legs turned to mush. “Uh…huh?”

My knees buckled as he nipped at my ear. “You
doing anything this Friday night?”

At that moment, I could conjure up a whole
bunch of things I could do to him Friday night. Do. I mean
do
Friday night.

“I g-g-gotta work,” I stuttered.

“Can you ask off?” Lips trailed along my
neck.

I’d be willing to ask for the whole week off.
“I can try.”

“Good.”

I nearly toppled across the antler
monstrosity he called a coffee table when Zeke released me.

“Seven-thirty,” Zeke continued. “Governor’s
dinner. Wear a cocktail dress. Come sober.”

With that, he headed to his bedroom and shut
the door, leaving me flustered and frustrated. I was seriously
rethinking my abstinence resolve while at the same time considering
taking up archery.

Less chance of forensics tracing the killing
arrow back to me.

Monday morning came way too early. Sleeping
on the sofa at Zeke’s place was quickly wearing out its welcome.
Maybe I would be better off living in my Vette for the next few
weeks. I’ve never understood how a man could function with only a
few hours’ sleep night after night, while I become a raging wad of
bitchy after missing the standard eight hours.

While Zeke clanged and puttered around his
kitchen getting ready for work, I tugged the blanket up over my
head and burrowed my face into the pillow. Eventually the
thundering stopped, the front door slammed, and I was left in
blissful peace to return to the realm of fevered dreams of firm
pecs and soft lips.

Until a knock on the door reverberated
through the apartment.

Muttering words that would turn the sun blue,
I threw aside the blanket and shoved my arms into the robe as I
stomped to the door. Detective Dingbat Duncan’s sweaty mug
reflected through the peephole, and I slung the door open.

“Ranger Taylor isn’t here,” I snarled.

“I’m not here for Zeke,” Duncan
responded.

Eyes traveled up and down my frame. I’m sure
mine were bloodshot, with dark circles a raccoon mother would be
proud of. My hair likely stuck out at all angles, with knots the
size of Texas. But it took a moment to realize Duncan wasn’t
concerned about those aspects of my appearance, as his eyes were
fixed on a particular area of my anatomy. My hastily donned robe
hung wide open in the middle, exposing the thin fabric of my
nightgown and giving him a birds-eye view of God’s bestowed
accoutrements.

I jerked the robe edges together. “What do
you want then, Detective, besides to leer at me like a porn
addict?”

His cheeks flushed. Did I call it, or did I
call it? “You need to get dressed and come with me.”

I folded my arms. “Why?”

“You’ve got some explaining to do.”

“Explaining? What about this time?”

“How about providing misleading information
to law enforcement?”

“What?”

“There’s also hindering an official police
investigation.”

“In what way?” I demanded.

“Withholding evidence for another.”

“Hey, you can access the vital statistic
information just as easily as I did.”

“I’m talking about the text you sent to Amy
Vernet the night she died.”

Bitchiness died in my throat. “Text? What
text?”

“This text,” Duncan said as he held a paper
up to my face.

I nearly sucked all the air from Zeke’s
apartment as my mouth hung open like a sprung trapdoor. The
exchange supposedly between my phone and Amy’s stared from the
page. Legs barely supported me, and I felt faint as I read the
words.

Phantom Me: Need to talk. Can you meet at my
apartment?

Amy: Certainly. When?

Phantom Me: Thirty minutes?

Amy: I’ll be there.

The rest was Phantom Me sending directions to
my place. Timestamps of the exchange reflected the later stage of
my shift at the bar, though for the life of me I couldn’t focus on
exactly what had occurred that night. The implication in the words
was clear.

Though I tried to project a wall of
confidence, my voice still sounded small. “I was at work all night
like I told you before. I drove around the corner from my building
and saw the lights that night. My boss can corroborate when I left.
My b-b…friend Nick can too.”

Even in the throes of trying to save my sorry
carcass, I still couldn’t call Nick my boyfriend. Regardless, Nick
needed to get home from whatever modeling gig he was at soon – and
fast. For more reasons than one now.

“I still need you to get dressed and come
down to the station,” Duncan directed. “Oh, and I’ll need to
confiscate your phone as evidence.”