Dirty Deeds (15 page)

Jamie checked himself in, paid with some of his dwindling cash supply, and dropped to the bed once the door clicked shut. Exhaustion was nearly crippling. In a way, he was glad he didn't make it across the border today. He'd still be on the road and as tired as he was, that wouldn't have been safe for him or anyone else for the matter. Tomorrow morning would be soon enough. By catching a ride with Scott Aaron, the egg hauling truck driver, he'd be back at the bike and across the border before nine in the morning. Things would all still work out and with enough time for the luxury of a little rest.

As he lay across the sagging bed, his mood deflated even more. Maybe he was being stupid, thinking he could make a run across the border and find safety in the wilds of northern Canada. Maybe the best thing he could do was call Paul, tell him the truth and beg for us his help. Paul always knew the right thing to do. Jamie rolled over and grabbed the receiver of the old olive green phone bedside telephone. He punched in Paul's number. His heart raced as he listened. After the fourth ring, it popped into voicemail.

Should he leave a message? He slowly replaced the receiver and stared at the phone for a long moment. It didn't matter. He didn't really know what he expected anyway. Absolution? Forgiveness? What a joke. Paul couldn't help him. No one could help him.

Jamie lay back against the flat pillows, closed his eyes, and finally drifted into an uneasy slumber.

* * * *

When the classic Mustang stopped, he pulled over as well, still far enough behind the two in the car to be confident they hadn't noticed him behind them. He was very good at what he did and he'd certain Paul McDonald had no idea he was being followed.

He sat and stared at the Ford, curious as to why they'd pulled off the highway. They were still miles away from the border crossing and by stopping, they'd give the younger McDonald more time to pull ahead. But when the Mustang did a one-eighty, he noticed the motorcycle on the side of the highway propped on its kickstand with the two front forks resting on a good-sized block of wood. Now he understood.

Little James had encountered a problem with the front tire of the big shiny bike. He smiled as he turned his own car around and began to head south. Two miles back, a dirt county access road led him far enough off the highway he could park without fear of being seen. This was going to be easier than he thought. More fun, too.

He got out and opened the back hatch. He slipped into the camouflage pants and shirt he kept folded and ready in the rear cargo area. A camo hat covered his hair. He had paint for his face as well and he picked it up before he put it right back down. They'd be hard pressed to see him under the cover of the thick pine trees and evergreens that lined both sides of the highway, especially when they weren't expecting company. The face paint would be overkill he didn't need. Besides it was a bitch to wash off. Better to go natural.

Not that he intended to get close enough to McDonald or his pretty passenger to be seen. He didn't need to. All he needed was brush for cover and a clear view of the motorcycle. Neither would be a problem in this rural, mountainous terrain. Plenty of evergreens and pines. Plenty of low brush and tall wild grasses, a perfect setting for a man with his great skills and bad intentions. Excellent for cover.

He closed the hatch and walked around to the vehicle's side. From the rear seat he took his rifle from between the folds of the navy blanket. He held it to his face, inhaling the faint scent of cleaning oil. Fresh and ready. The stock was warm against his cheek.

He pulled his rifle down and held it out in front of him. Years of routine had him checking the load. Habits were hard to break even when he knew better. He'd never go to a battle without the proper preparation. Smiling, he caressed the stock.

Locked and loaded.

Into his jacket pocket, he dropped extra rounds, just in case. He wouldn't need them, never did. He did, however, believe in always being prepared though he'd never even been a Boy Scout. Hey, a good idea was a good idea. And after all, he'd been a scout, just not the Boy Scout variety. The do-good Boy Scouts were always a little tame for him. Too by-the-rules for his tastes even as a young guy.

With the sling clipped on the rifle, he was able to hang it off his shoulder. It made carrying the precious gun easier while he hiked. From the backseat, he also grabbed a pair of night goggles. If Jamie-boy came tripping back after sunset, the goggles would prove very handy. He liked to be prepared for every contingency.

Night was dropping fast, the woods alive with the sounds of the animals that made the forested area their home. He slipped through the trees and underbrush in near silence, a quiet predator stalking its quarry. Comfortable in the rough, overgrown terrain, he moved quickly. How much time before James returned was the only question. It could be hours or it could be minutes. He'd be in position before James came back to claim the bike.

James McDonald would never ride on the leather seat again with the wind in his hair and the sun on his face. The raw truth was that he lived on borrowed time already and while he didn't know it, his ride to the gravel shoulder of the highway would be his last. Not a threat but a written-in-stone promise.

A small rise flanked the road far enough back to provide excellent cover but not so far away he'd have trouble with the kill shot. He lined up from several different positions, sighting on the bike each time. Each was acceptable. The death gods were by his side tonight. Not only was the location perfect, but he was far enough away from Spokane to create a disconnect with Kendall Stewart's take-down. The local podunk cops would need years to make the link, if they ever did. He loved it when a plan came together.

He settled in to wait, gazing up at the moon as it rose full and milky in the clear sky. He put the rifle to his shoulder, the sight to his eye, and looked at the motorcycle where it sat empty along the side of the road.

"Bang, bang you're dead." he whispered and laughed under his breath.

Chapter Nine

"He
is
coming back tonight, right?" Louie eyed the sky overhead, wondering how long they'd be stuck sitting against the massive pine like a couple of huggers on save-the-tree duty. The sun was going down and the air, while crisp and clean, was a little on the cold side. There was no cool about it either. The temperature had dropped from comfortable to cold in the blink of an eye, and she wasn't dressed for it. The only thing that kept the night from being a complete wilderness adventure was a couple of soft blankets retrieved from the trunk of the Mustang and spread out on the ground.

Paul leaned against the tree and watched the occasional passing car or truck. "Maybe."

"Maybe?"

"Well, it's possible he couldn't find a tire."

She smacked him in the arm. "Now you tell me."

He shrugged. "One of the dealers will have one. The real question is whether or not they'll have it now or in the morning."

She groaned. "Great, so you're suggesting we stay here in the woods all night?"

"Why not? I thought you tough bounty hunter types were used to all sorts of stakeouts and covert operations."

She rolled her eyes. "You've been watching too much television."

"You Yanks are so soft."

She smacked him again. "I'll show you soft."

"Ouch. You hit all your partners?" He rubbed his arm though his gaze never wavered from the stretch of highway framed by the expanse of trees and brush.

"Oh, so now we're partners?" The word didn't have a bad ring to it even if she hadn't worked with a partner since leaving the police. Of course, her last partner had been a dog, so she wasn't sure if that really counted. Not that she believed he was being serious about the partner thing. Bail enforcement and hockey weren't even in the same universe.

Paul shrugged. "Sounds better than stalker."

That made her smile. She didn't think of him like that. Maybe with another man stalker might be closer to the truth. With Paul, not a chance. "True. I'd prefer partner over stalker too, and no, I don't usually hit my partners. Only the ones who deserve it."

The wind chose that moment to kick up, sending leaves and pine needles hurtling through the air. The cold air struck her face and she shivered, brushing bits of leaf from her hair. It was going to be a long night.

She jumped when Paul put an arm around her and pulled her close to his body. Lord, she acted like she'd never been touched by a man before. She wanted to keep her distance except…damn if he wasn't big and warm. She cuddled closer instead of moving away. Yeah, and how unprofessional was that anyway?

Why not? She was cold and he was warm, and they were all alone.

The hoot of an owl rippled through the still evening air. What else would the night bring? She was a city girl, comfortable in streets and alleys that bustled with constant movement. She knew Spokane like the back of her hand, from the West Plains to the South Hill to the North Division corridor. She knew where the kids cruised, the meth makers plied their trade, and the skin merchants peddled their bodies. She'd spent countless hours on stakeouts during her time on the job, drinking crappy coffee and watching run-down brick buildings and crumbling rentals. She and Butch had crawled through tunnels, jumped fences and raced through open lots.

What she didn't know were the sights, sounds, and smells of the wilderness. She didn't hunt, didn't fish, and absolutely didn't camp. Her idea of camping had the words
concierge
and
room service
attached. She was completely out of her element out here in God's country and knew it, not that she was about to admit it to Paul. Better he think her rough and tough than a pansy.

Traffic was light on the highway, with fewer and fewer vehicles passing by their niche in the underbrush as each hour passed. Without heat or life-giving coffee, the night would be long and cold. Those many mind-numbing stakeouts in her unmarked car were beginning to look really good.

For a long time they sat in silence, side by side. Cool air slapped her face while her hands were stuffed into her pockets. Odd how comfortable she felt with his arm around her shoulder, her body pressed next to his. Comfortable though not peaceful. Every nerve tingled and heat pooled inside her. Still, curiosity trumped attraction. Besides, it was safer to act on curiosity.

"So what's the story with you and little brother? You didn't really finish explaining earlier and I'm curious. Or, maybe just nosy."

Paul sighed, a sad sound floating across the night. He leaned back to rest his head against the tall tree. Moments passed, and she didn't think he was going to answer. She'd pushed too far this time.

"That's the million dollar question," he said quietly. "I tried for years to understand Jamie and I finally gave up. He's been doing one stupid thing after another for as long as I can remember. I kept thinking one day he'd grow up. I was wrong."

"What made you stop talking to him?"

"It wasn't any one thing. More like a whole lot of little things that built up until he calls me early one morning to ask if I would come bail him out of jail. He'd been partying with some friends, driving Mom's new car, and managed to get it high-centered it on a median in downtown Vancouver. He was picked up for driving under the influence. That was the last straw for me. I left him in jail and I haven't talked to him since. I figured it was only a matter of time before he either killed himself or somebody else."

"What about your parents? Obviously they're still involved."

This time his sigh was louder. "I hoped they would make Jamie stand up and be responsible. They didn't and they haven't. Not that I blame them. It's that unconditional love thing. They keep hoping and they keep enabling. It's a vicious circle."

She put a hand on his arm and squeezed. "I see it more than you can possibly imagine. Parents come in to see Harry every day of the week. Guilt, I think. Their babies are in trouble and they wonder what they did wrong. They all want to try and make it better. They want to fix what's broken, not realizing they can't."

"I don't get that." He sounded bitter. "I grew up with Jamie. We were in the same house with the same parents. He had every chance the same as I did. Bottom line is, our parents didn't do anything wrong, yet Jamie keeps dragging them down into his mud."

"If I've seen it once, I've seen it a hundred times and it is a little thing called free will. It's all about choices, Paul. Parents want to believe that if they raise their children in a good and loving environment, they'll be good and loving adults. They fail to factor in free will. Despite all the best intentions of parents, some children choose a path that's contrary to everything they were taught."

"Like Jamie?"

"Like Jamie."

A strong gust of wind whipped the bushes around them. She shivered again as the cold knifed right through her thin jacket. A heavier coat would have been nice.

"Damn," she said and moved closer to him. "This could be a long night."

He pulled her to him until she sat between his outstretched legs, her back against his chest. He arranged one of the blankets over the top of them both, tucking them inside a cocoon that cradled them together. The intimacy seemed wrong and right at the same time. His arms came around her and he held her close, his chin on the top of her head.

"This isn't very professional," she told him.

"No, I suppose not. Do you want to go back to the car?"

She thought about it for a split second. The nice cushy seat. The warmth of the heater to take the chill from her skin. It would be better in so many ways and so much worse a few others.

"Uh … no."

"Good."

Louie relaxed her body and the tense muscles in her neck eased as she rested against him. When was the last time she'd felt so peaceful? Maybe never. Odd that she did now, considering they were sat wrapped up in a blanket in the chilly woods of Northeast Washington. Not the most romantic getaway.

She closed her eyes and let herself be in the moment, accepting the invitation without question or comment. When his lips touched the tip of her ear, she smiled. She tipped her head to the side and allowed his mouth to move to her neck. His touch was feather light and erotic. A rush of something she hadn't felt in eons flowed through her body. She had forgotten how it felt to be embraced by passion. Or was it lust? Didn't matter really, it felt fabulous whatever it was.