Think Before You Speak (11 page)

Heat swarmed my legs as engine warmth
revealed how close the trucks had pulled in behind me. The metallic
click and clatter of chambering rounds resounded too close for my
bodily comfort. I did what any good ol’ Texas gal who’d recently
visited the Alamo would do. I held my ground against unbeatable
odds.

Or maybe fear had frozen my feet where I
stood, but this wasn’t the time to quibble over minor details. One
way or another, I was about to become Swiss cheese.

A voice from behind yelled through an
intercom. “Disperse or we’ll open fire!”

Disperse? What gang leader used a word like
disperse
? Did their order include me? I’d be glad to
disperse if I could get over to my Vette.

The next thought sent my innards practically
plummeting to the ground. What if instead of a simple gang at my
rear, I’d become fodder for a group who kidnapped hapless and
helpless females to sell into prostitution rings? What if instead
of stewing about black
mail
, I was about to be sold into the
black
market
and pawned off on some ancient, wealthy sheik
to spend the rest of my life doing the Timbuk-two-step?

Okay, I’m neither hapless nor helpless. Most
of the time. Present circumstances excluded.

Grumbles rumbled through the guys in front of
me, and a smattering of anger reflected across the headlighted
faces followed by a sprinkling of fear on others. Those
others
? Looked like they were only a few years out of
diapers – and might need another one real soon.

“You have ten seconds,” the voice hollered
again.

Those holding the switchblades didn’t stick
around for a fight, but I wasn’t in the clear yet if the rival gang
with guns decided to take me as their prisoner. The rival gang who
had a loudspeaker system mounted on one of their trucks. A
loudspeaker system with a slightly warbled yet – now that I thought
of it – somewhat familiar voice.

The drawn-out creak of an opening truck door
finally had me turning around to face my fears head on. As he
stepped to the side of the headlight glare and my eyes adjusted, I
realized I’d truly stepped knee deep into the crapper. Oh yeah, I
was about to be someone’s bitch alright – and it wouldn’t be those
of the gang variety.

Jaws clenched in anger as he ripped the riot
gear helmet from his head. Daggers practically shot from his eyes
and skewered me to the spot. If I could’ve thought of anymore
clichéd sayings, I’m sure they would’ve fit the look on Zeke’s
face.

His voice hissed through clenched teeth. “You
had better have a good explanation for what you’re doing here,
Vic.”

***

Explanation? Yes. How good it was would be
something Zeke and I would debate until the second coming.

“Are you out of your mind?” Zeke yelled,
leaping from his truck after we’d pulled our vehicles into the
parking lot of my apartment building. “What the hell were you doing
in that part of town?”

I guess he thought it’d be safer bawling me
out in front of my own building than in one entrenched in gang
territory where we’d left the remainder of his team. Instead of
answering, I drove the Vette past his Kevlar-clad form and into the
garage space before slamming down the door with a metallic rattle.
When I turned around, his glare practically stabbed my carcass
against the side of the garage.

Nothing he did would intimidate me after the
scare I’d already had that night. With a flick of my ponytail, I
strode past and marched across the lot. His much longer stride made
it easy for him to keep up.

“You grew up in your little ivory tower,”
Zeke fumed and fussed. “You can’t fathom a time when your
knight-in-shining-armor won’t show up to rescue your sorry
ass.”

“You used to think my ass was less than
sorry, if I remember correctly,” I responded in kind, lengthening
my stride until I was in danger of breaking into a sprint – or
breaking the straps off my sandals. “And when did you start
claiming knighthood status?”

“Well someone’s gotta do it, sweetheart.”

The second sweetheart of the night. Zeke
must’ve already talked to Grady. “Check your armor at the door
then, because from this angle there’s no shine and plenty of chinks
out of it.”

“And whose fault is that?”

I slowed and tossed him a glare of my own.
“And speaking of ivory towers, you didn’t grow up so bad off
yourself, Sherlock.”

“At least I have half a brain to know where I
don’t belong…” Zeke checked his watch. “…at nearly four A.M.”

“Then what were
you
doing there?” I
challenged. “Getting a lube job?”

We came to a sudden stop at the main
entrance. “Are you volunteering?”

“I meant for your truck,” I explained,
fishing around him for the door handle.

Zeke pressed his back against the thick glass
door, folded his arms, and continued the stare down until he spoke
in a more controlled tone. “What were you doing in gang territory,
Vic?”

“What were
you
doing in gang
territory, Zeke Taylor?”

“My job.”

“Which is?”

“A complete and utter shit-storm now, thanks
to you.”

“What’d I do?”

“What’d you do?” Zeke repeated, his brown
eyes widening before staring into the starry night as if seeking
guidance from the great beyond in how to deal with a headstrong
woman like me. “How about unzipping our fly? How about exposing our
undercover base of operation? How about setting back this
investigation for God only knows how many months? No, more like
years.”

I had the presence of mind to soften my voice
and appear sheepish. “You were on a stakeout?”

“Something like that.”

How was I supposed to know I’d chosen to pull
into the very spot where a Texas Ranger undercover operation was
going down? Perhaps I really was rather hapless – but definitely
not helpless. Besides, I’d have figured some way out of the mess
I’d gotten myself into back there if Zeke and his Ranger posse
hadn’t ridden in to save the day.

Okay, that was probably a pretty big
maybe.

I sighed as if it killed me to have to admit
something to the Ranger. “I was trying to get the lay of the
area.”

“Why?”

Another sigh to bide time and figure out how
to approach this without giving Reggie away. “I needed some
information.”

“About?”

I shifted my purse to the other shoulder to
garner even more time. When I’d mentioned Switch’s name to
Jimmy-the-Super, he’d reacted badly. If I mentioned it to Zeke –
and in his present state – I might as well call the coroner to come
clean up after the meltdown and resultant explosion.

“This old gang leader.”

“Because?”

The leading questions were getting pretty
tiring, as if I was back in Mrs. Walker’s first grade class and she
was trying her hardest to pull the correct answer to two-plus-two.
Matter-of-fact, I was pretty tired period after the night at work
and the adrenaline rush from knives coming at me from the front and
guns cocked at my rear. All I wanted at that moment was a hot soak
in the tub – and a change of underwear.

“I’m trying to help a friend,” I finally
confessed.

That brought Zeke standing straight up in my
face – or at least looking down from his lofty heights. “What’s
Bobby Vernet gotten himself into now?”

“Bobby?” I questioned. “I have other friends,
you know.”

“Yeah, but he’s the only one who gets you
into Nancy Drew mode.”

What is it with law enforcement’s love of
calling me that name? My hair’s dark, not strawberry-blond. “No,
he’s not.”

“Yes, he is,” Zeke shot back.

“For your information, this has nothing to do
with Bobby,” I said.

He groaned and swiped a hand across his
forehead. “For crying out…would you stop playing like you’re some
PI and find a real career?”

Wait a minute. Here I was, being cooperative
while receiving a tongue lashing from the Ranger – hmm – and now he
was gonna denigrate my job? The job
he’d
recommended me for?
Oh, hell-to-the-no.

“For your information,” I emphasized with a
finger poke to his chest, stopped by a solid weave of Kevlar. “I
have a real career.”

“No you don’t. You’re only playing bartender
babe to bide your time and tick off your parents.”

I snorted. “Like you would know.”

That just got me a hard stare – or maybe more
of a glower – from reddened eyes with bags hanging beneath like he
hadn’t slept in days. The Ranger appeared more than beat in the
ambient glow cast from the over-the-door security light. “Actually,
I would know.”

I had to give him that one. “Knowing you is
what made Grady even
consider
me for the position.”

“I just never expected you’d make a long-term
stint out of sloshing drinks, dancing on bar tops, and winning wet
t-shirt nights,” Zeke admitted.

“Employees can’t participate in wet t-shirt
contests.”

“Doesn’t stop you from winning them.”

Score another one for the Ranger. “Are you
done yelling at me, ‘cause I’d really like to get some sleep before
sunrise.”

“Wouldn’t we all,” he grumbled under his
breath. “Just promise me you’ll stop with whatever the hell it is
you were doing tonight and go back to being a bartender.”

“But you just said I had no career tending
bar.” This time I was successful in skirting around him and opening
the apartment building door. I may be a foot shorter than Zeke, but
what I lacked in height I made up for in wiriness and speed. As I
jogged up the stairwell, I called over my shoulder. “Good night,
Ranger Taylor.”

“I mean it, Vic.”

“I know you do.”

Knight-in-shining-armor or lack thereof, I
had no intention of leaving Reggie to swing in the wind. But maybe
it would behoove me to explore others on the blackmail culprit list
before venturing out of my jurisdiction again. Regardless of what
Zeke thought, Momma didn’t raise no fool.

You can stop laughing now.

The idiot behind me in the champagne Lexus
honked his horn one too many times, thereby justifying opening the
Vette’s sunroof to the August oven and poking up my middle finger
in a southern salute.

Four lanes of traffic had screeched to a dead
standstill while news choppers circled what had to be a massive
wreck up ahead. Wasn’t like I could do anything other than inch
along like every other Tom, Dickhead, and Harry. Like it or not, we
were all in this together. Snarled. Stuck. Pretty much screwed
until Dallas’ finest finished the task at hand. I did what any
other woman would do in this situation – turned up the music to
drown out the honking horns.

Hey, it was either that or have a road rage
incident captured on camera for the five o’clock news. After the
night I’d had – or lack thereof – Mr. Impatient did not want a
visit from Miss Bitchy.

The headrest cradled my aching skull as I
leaned back with a sigh. The questions I’d been dragging around and
trying desperately to ignore bounded into my brain like a lioness
pouncing on her prey. She just wouldn’t be placated any longer with
table scraps, and instead wanted a bite out of Reggie’s hide.

What would we do if we caught the
blackmailer? The only way to stop him or her was to turn the
perpetrator over to the police. But turning him or her into the
police would create another paper trail, which would then be part
of the public record, which would then expose Reggie’s past for
public consumption. The purpose of this pursuit was to keep
Reggie’s past from exposure, but by paying off the blackmailer,
Reggie still had no guarantee he or she wouldn’t release the
records anyway. And if he paid the blackmail now, who’s to say the
blackmailer wouldn’t later return for another taste?

Since I was still trying to make sense of the
insensible, I’d kept Reggie out of my looping thoughts. No need to
bother him with pesky problems over details.

Last night when I’d laid my head to rest, or
more like early this morning, I’d had every intention of dropping
the gang angle in favor of exploring others on the suspects list –
for now. However, Zeke’s mention of Bobby had me stirring with the
guy on my mind. And no, not for any reason involving sexually
charged dreams about Ford F-150s. Simply as a friend. Honest.
Besides, I hadn’t caught up with the guy for a few weeks, and it
was high time I touched base.

That didn’t mean there weren’t ulterior
motives for visiting.

After losing his wife and unborn son, being
imprisoned and then released from murder charges, Bobby had
relinquished his position as the new children’s pastor at
Celebration Victory Church in favor of starting a prison ministry.
Not like prison ministries weren’t common, but one run by a pastor
who had been wrongly imprisoned like Jesus and most of the
disciples made Bobby think he could relate to the prisoners better
than most. I’d refrained from reminding him that the majority of
characters housed in those cells nowadays were incarcerated because
of actual guilt and not because of trumped up charges from some
anti-religious district attorney.

But I digress.

Since Bobby was in touch with the local
prison populace, he might know of or be able to learn information
about the local gangs, thereby helping with Reggie’s situation
without actual further contact on my part. ‘Course, I’d have to
tiptoe around the reasoning for asking. But if there was one thing
about my pastor friend, it was that he was the king of discretion –
unlike most of the gossipy church attendees I’d grown up
knowing.

Call me surprised when I finally pulled into
the driveway of Bobby’s three-bedroom home to see a
For Sale
sign parked in the yard – and a familiar red Mercedes convertible.
Little ol’ Nosey Nana offered up a finger wave and a smirk from her
front porch perch.