Cheyenne McCray - Point Blank (Lawmen Book 4) (21 page)

If Natasha had gone out the back door, there was a chance that whoever was watching her wouldn’t know. He shoved his hands in his pockets, giving off a casual appearance, and walked toward the rear of the building. When he was out of sight of the street, he jogged to the back in time to see Natasha heading up a street toward a parking lot on the hill. He winced as he hurried, the pain from the accident causing him to clench his jaw.

He looked around again before walking along the sidewalk behind her. His strides were much longer and he reached her in moments. He caught her by the arm, forcing her to stop.

She let out a cry of surprise and her eyes went wide when she saw it was Brooks. She held her hand to her heart as her eyes flickered with relief, followed by anger, then fear and panic.

“Go.”
She jerked her arm away from him and took a step back. “I don’t want you near me.”

“I know something is going on, Natasha.” Brooks hardened his expression. “We know what happened to Christie was intentional, and I’d bet any damned thing in this world you know why.”

“I told you to stay away from me.” Natasha’s face went red. “I’m more grateful than you can imagine that you saved Christie. But I don’t want you near me.”

“You mean you can’t have me near you.” His words came out harsher than he’d intended. “Someone has warned you to stay away from law enforcement.”

A greater look of fear passed over her face, so much so that Brooks let her back away from him. “Get out of here, you bastard.” She hissed the last word.

She whirled and practically ran up the hill.

He ground his teeth and did his best to ignore the pain as he jogged down to the alleyway behind Natasha’s shop and then to the street again. He made sure it was clear before striding across it and going to his truck. He knew Natasha’s address and she would have to drive past him to get to her home.

It was later in the morning, and tourists and locals were walking up and down either side of the street. He saw a man and woman stop by Natasha’s and look at her window displays before seeing that the shop was closed and moving on.

Usually he had no problem being patient. Not this time. What if he’d been wrong to leave her alone? He clenched his jaw then relaxed it as he saw her car come up the street. She had the window down, as if needing the fresh air to clear her head. Her dark hair had loosened a bit more, and it fluttered around her face. She had both hands on the wheel of the new yellow Beetle as she drove from Main Street and further up Tombstone Canyon, to the street on the hillside where she lived.

He waited to make sure she didn’t have a tail. He was about to head out of the parking lot to follow her, when a 1970’s green Ford Maverick pulled away from the curb and slowly traveled behind Natasha’s vehicle.

Brooks was certain the man was tailing Natasha. Brooks drove his truck out of the parking lot and followed both the Maverick and the Beetle.

While he drove, he connected his phone with his truck’s Bluetooth and called Trace by voice command.

Trace answered in two rings. “What’s going on, Brooks? I bumped into Jase about two minutes ago and was about to call you.”

Brooks figured a face-to-face would be better when it came to telling Trace about the investigation that included Natasha. So he decided on the bare bones.

“I need you to understand that I can’t explain everything right now.” Brooks guided his truck up through Tombstone Canyon as he followed Natasha’s tail. “It’s important you listen to me and take my word for it.”

“What the hell are you getting at?” Trace had an edge to his voice.

“You need to get home and stay with Christie and the baby.” Brooks blew out his breath. “Something is going down that has to do with Natasha and her extended family. Natasha and Christie’s grandparents in Florida are in danger.” He held back fury burning in his gut, not wanting to worry Trace even more. “First of all, Christie is fine. But someone tried to run her down earlier.”

“Jesus.” Fear for his wife was clear in Trace’s voice. “Are you sure she’s all right?”

“She’s a little scraped and bruised.” Brooks worked for a calm tone. “Otherwise, she’s okay.”

“Shit.”
Trace blew out the word in a growl. “I’m headed out the door, but you damned well better tell me what the fuck is going on. Does it have to do with Christie’s ex and the cartel?”

“No.” Brooks clenched the steering wheel. “Natasha’s in trouble, and we can’t allow anyone to know law enforcement is involved. This is life or death for her and everyone she’s related to. Just get home with your girls and I’ll talk with you about it when I can. Right now I’m tailing someone who I think is following Natasha.”

Trace let out more expletives and Brooks heard the sound of an engine roaring to life. “I want a full explanation and you’d better get it to me soon.”

“You’ll get it.” Brooks disconnected the call.

He set his jaw. His gut clenched when the car took a turn by the firehouse, not too far behind Natasha. It was unlikely that the man just happened to be driving up the same narrow street as she was.

Brooks waited a heartbeat before heading up the street himself. He paused at the beginning of the street to Natasha’s home. From the reports, he knew he was close to her home.

He saw Natasha climb out of her car in the parking area above two homes while the Maverick slowed and turned into a pullout at the side of the narrow street. The vehicle was not too far from where Natasha was now walking toward stairs that led down to the houses. Brooks continued on, past Natasha’s street, and then turned onto a side street.

It was another winding, one-lane narrow street bracketed by old pines and walnut trees, and it took a while for Brooks to find a good place to park. He hadn’t been in the Bisbee-Douglas area long enough to know it well. He had memorized the location of Natasha’s home, but that was as far as it went for this particular area.

Brooks backed his truck into a place just big enough to park in without blocking the street. He always parked so that he was ready to go without having to back up. Officers and agents in LE tended to do the same—they needed to be able to take off at a moment’s notice, without delay.

After grabbing a wand he kept to detect listening and recording devices, Brooks locked his truck. He shoved the wand into his back pocket and headed down the steep wooded hill, grinding his teeth as he favored his injured leg.

When he reached the street above Natasha’s house, he looked for a way to get to her home without being seen. He shook his head. The way her house was built on the side of the hill, it appeared that the door closest to the concrete steps that led down from the street served as the main entrance.

It was an oddly built house. Getting into her home without being seen wasn’t going to be easy. He’d have to get inside from the left side of the house, where he saw a set of steep wooden steps leading to another door. He didn’t think that door could be seen from the vantage point of the man watching her home.

Brooks found a small path to walk down. Bushes and trees lining the unmaintained path scratched at his arms, and his leg and side ached as he moved. When he got to the rear of the house, where the mountain dropped steeply below the backyard, he searched for a gate and located one. Another set of concrete steps led from the gate, a good distance down the hillside—he couldn’t see where the steps ended. That was not unusual from what he knew of Bisbee.

He shook his head as he looked at Natasha’s place. This was a crazily built house, but then a lot of homes built on the sides of the mountains in Bisbee were just as crazy if not more so.

From the time he left the truck to the time he made it up the stairs to the door on the side of the house, a good twenty minutes had passed. His injury certainly hadn’t helped his speed, and the terrain hadn’t helped much, either. He thought about knocking, but he wasn’t sure how Natasha would react.

He pulled out his wallet and slipped out the small lock-picking tool.

Natasha clung to her purse as she stood in her kitchen. Her nerves were shot. She couldn’t stop shaking, her chest was tight, and her body cold. Christie could have
died
. Brooks could have, too.

All because of Natasha getting involved in something bad. Really bad. Did Brooks’s hanging around have something to do with it?

She pulled at the end of her braid until her scalp hurt.

What could she do? How could she end this?

Kill Mark.

She shuddered as the thought passed through her mind again. Maybe she should buy a handgun—for her safety and the safety of anyone who might be with her, of course. As a result of growing up with a police officer for an uncle, she knew how to handle a pistol. Dexter had insisted she learn how to protect herself and had taken her to the range many times. It had been years since she’d handled a handgun—since her uncle’s death. She was rusty, but she knew she could pick it right back up. She’d been good at it.

But she wouldn’t really kill Mark…

Or would I?

It took some effort for Natasha to calm her breathing. She dropped into a chair at the kitchen table and tossed her purse on the chair next to her. She stared at the peach accent wall behind the fridge and counter. Sun shone through the one kitchen window and Copper-bottomed pots gleamed from where they hung nearby. She rarely cooked, so the pots stayed shiny.

She braced her elbows on the table and buried her face in her hands, trying to blank out the image of the car bearing down on Christie and then Brooks. Natasha raised her head and blinked. Closing her eyes only made it worse.

It was still early in the day, but she had closed up because she couldn’t take the chance of Brooks coming into the shop and her being caught with a lawman.

Yet she was more than grateful he’d been there—he had saved Christie’s life. Now she had to see if more of her family was in danger because he had, thank God, been there.

It was such a mess. Everything was an awful mess.

She needed to check on Christie, who should be back on her ranch by now. She grabbed her purse and fished out her cell phone. Christie was on the favorites list on the phone and she touched the contact image to dial her cousin.

Natasha’s heart thumped as she waited for Christie to answer.

“I’m so glad it’s you,” Christie answered.

Natasha relaxed to hear her cousin’s voice before she tensed again. “Is something wrong?”

“No, not at all.” Christie sounded less shaky than she had earlier. “Brooks called Trace, though, and what happened upset him enough that he’s on his way home. I imagine he’ll be here at any time. I’m going to have to talk to Brooks. I hate for Trace to be worried when he has his job to be concerned with.”

Natasha let out her breath, relieved to hear that Trace would be with Christie. “I think it’s good he’ll be home with you today. With your hands injured, it’s not going to be easy to care for Jessica.”

“I’m
fine.
” Christie used an admonishing tone. “Don’t worry, okay? It was just some insane driver, maybe like one of those crazy people who push commuters in front of oncoming subways.” Her tone changed. “That wasn’t funny.”

“No, it wasn’t.” Natasha inhaled deeply before letting her breath out. “But I know what you’re saying. Likely he was some random homicidal bastard.”

Although she was certain he wasn’t random.

“Yeah, I’m sure you’re right.” Christie sounded cheerful as she continued, but Natasha thought it was forced. “I sent the sitter home. My hands aren’t so bad, so Jessica and I will be fine.” She paused. “To be honest, though, it will be good to have Trace home. Being in his arms makes me feel so safe—like nothing bad could ever happen. You know what I mean?”

Natasha thought about the night with Brooks. He had made her feel safe, too. She decided not to answer the question and heard Jessica start crying in the background. “Sounds like my adorable niece needs her momma.”

“Yes, I’d better get going.” Joy was in Christie’s tone and it made Natasha’s stomach twist at the thought of her cousin losing that joy. “Love you, Nat.”

Natasha was afraid her voice would tremble, but she kept it calm. “Love you, too.”

She disconnected the call and closed her eyes. She didn’t want to think about what was happening, but it was all she
could
think about. It ruled her life and she didn’t know how she was going to live like this.

Her throat worked as she swallowed. She dropped her phone back into her purse in the chair beside her.

For a long moment she stared into space, trying to make her mind go blank instead of pinging from one thing to another.

A ring that sounded shrill to her ears came from her purse and she jumped. A sense of dread came over her as she stared at her purse. It could be Mark or even Brooks. It might even be Christie. Natasha didn’t want to talk with anyone, but it was clear she didn’t have a choice when it came to Mark.

Her hands trembled as she dug through her purse and pulled out her phone.

Mark Okle.

The pit of her stomach dropped out.

She pressed the answer icon and put the phone to her ear and tried not to sound hysterical. “Why did you try to kill Christie? I’ve been cooperating.”

“I want to make sure you know I’m serious.” Mark chuckled. “If it hadn’t been for the Good Samaritan, you would be less one family member.”

A loud moan reached Natasha’s ears over the line and a faint bit of morbid curiosity come over her. The moan grew, and then a cry sent a chill down her spine.

“I’ll tell you anything you want, Mr. Okle.” A male sob. “Anything.
Please.
”

“Shut him up,” Mark snapped, his tone slightly muffled, which indicated he’d moved the phone away from his mouth. “I’ll deal with that piece of shit when I’m off the phone.”

The chill she’d felt turned into icy fingers of dread. Mark was torturing someone. Or was that a set up for her benefit? She mentally shook her head. The voice had sounded far too real.

Mark’s voice was clear again as he came back to her. “What happened with Christie was just an example of the kind of
accident
one of your family members or friends could experience. Next time some stranger won’t be around to save her.”