Dirty Deeds (19 page)

He took a deep breath and said, "I have to call our—my folks."

She kissed him and touched his cheek with her hand. "Yes, you need to talk with your parents. They're really going to need you now. Call me later?"

He reached up and touched her cheek. "I'd rather you be with me." She didn't owe him anything. One night under the stars didn't entitle him to what he asked of her now and yet he hoped she'd stay.

Her gaze softened and an expression he couldn't quite define crossed her face. Her fingers stroked his cheek. "Of course."

He let out a breath and leaned his head back.
Thank you, God.

"Do you want to make the call from my office or go back to your house?"

"Home, I think."

Louie slid out of the car as she said, "I'll follow you in my car."

Paul watched her from the rear-view mirror all the way to Five Mile and into his driveway. He waited for her before he opened the door and walked into the house. Knowing this was the last place Jamie was before…it was like a shot to the heart. Jamie came here. Came to him but Paul had turned his back. How was he going to tell the folks?

As if she read his mind, Louie wrapped her arms around him. "It's not your fault," she said softly as her cheek rested against his chest. "Jamie made a deal with the wrong devil and it wasn't you."

He hugged her back and took the strength she offered. With a deep intake of breath, he stepped back. "I'm going to make a stiff drink before I call the folks. You want one?"

She shook her head. "No."

Once he had the scotch and water in hand, he picked up the telephone handset. He sank to the sofa and stared at the numbers. She sat beside him and took the drink from his hand, setting it on the low table in front of them.

"I don't know if I can do this," he said not looking at her.

"You can," she said softly. "I'm right here with you."

Finally, he summoned the courage to punch in the numbers. The moment he heard his mother's voice, tears began to slide down his cheeks. If not for the steady comfort of Louie's hand on his leg, he might have lost it altogether.

When he clicked off and set the phone on the side table, he was numb. Louie pressed the drink into his hand and he gratefully took a big swallow. The burn of the scotch was a welcome sensation. At least he could feel something.

For a long time, they sat together in silence. He sipped from the drink and she leaned into him. He put his hand over the one she still had on his leg.

"Thank you," he said at last.

She turned his face with one finger and kissed him on the lips. "No thanks required. I'm here for you any time."

A quiet hour later, Paul stood at the window and watched Louie drive away. He had the strangest urge to run out after her, afraid that he might lose her too if she was out of his sight. He turned away from the window and went to make himself one more drink.

* * * *

Much later, Louie looked up from behind her desk to see Harry standing in the doorway. He smiled, gave her a wave, and then headed to his office. He looked good, better than she could remember seeing him for a long time. Granted, she hadn't been paying a ton of attention to him the last few days. She'd been otherwise occupied. Now she saw a calm about him that had been missing for eons. He'd been like this in the early days, back when Chris was active and Harry was in the beginning stages of setting up his bonding company. But that had been another lifetime. All three had been different people back then, with different lives and radically different priorities.

The last five years had been tough on both Louie and Harry. Wrapped up in her own world, she rarely took full stock of what her partner was up to, though she'd noticed the escalating blood pressure, which was obvious when he looked and sounded ready to explode at any moment. Still, she hadn't really taken the time to just be with Harry like in the old days. They'd been three great friends when Chris was healthy. Harry'd been like another older brother. She wished, as she had a thousand times before, that those days hadn't disappeared.

Maybe things could be different soon. She sure felt different. Chris had always chided her about the reserve she maintained…until she'd met Paul. In the last few days everything changed for her and now, she felt it in Harry as well.

Harry didn't wish James McDonald dead, that was a given. At the same time, no one had to tell her he was happy not to have to pay the hundred thousand dollar bond and then turn around and foreclose on the McDonalds. If nothing else, Harry was a pragmatist who could see the good in every situation even if it was a bad one, and James dying alongside the scenic highway was way up on her list of bad.

She bet Harry thought that the McDonald case was over, but it wasn't, not to her. Finding James had become only a piece of the puzzle, and she didn't intend to stop until she had all the answers.

Five years. For five incredibly long years, she'd been searching for the shooter who'd put her brother into a coma up on that hillside. Now, a tall red-head had walked into her life and everything turned upside down, in more ways than one. The answer to her personal tragedy was somehow linked to the McDonald brothers and she was going to find out how and why.

That she had rolled in the hay with Paul McDonald, or rather rolled in the pine needles, was strange enough. She should feel bad about being more than a little wanton and yet she didn't. Not even a tiny little bit. They'd been great together, and if she was lucky, she'd get the chance to do it with him again. Pretty weird thinking for her. The last thing on her mind during the last five years had been sex. Too many other more important matters had cluttered her mind and consumed her energy. Now, one night of love under the stars and she couldn't stop thinking of sex.

Sex and finding a killer. What was the old adage about a fine line separating sex and violence? Didn't bode well for the beginning of a lasting relationship with Paul. Oh well, she'd worry about those details later. Right now, she wanted to know who killed James McDonald and why.

She'd think about the sex, the very great sex, later.

Louie got up and walked to the doorway between their offices. She leaned against the doorframe and watched Harry work. His head was bent in concentration, his long braids hanging down on either side of his face. Something Joe said earlier nagged at the back of her mind, like an itch that wouldn't go away. A bad penny that kept turning up. A bad rash that kept coming back. Yeah, bugging her like that.

"Hey, Harry?"

He looked up from his desk, his dark eyes alert. "Hey yourself, sugar."

"What do you know about snipers?"

He shrugged his big shoulders. "Everything."

"Come on, I'm serious."

"So am I, sugar. You forget, I'm a sniper." He held out his thumb and forefinger as if to shoot her.

She pushed away from the doorframe and walked over to his desk, dropping into a chair in front of it. She knew Harry had been a trained sniper for the Rangers. Her question was vague because she wasn't even sure at this point what she was trying to get at. She was throwing out broad questions hoping something would click to narrow her focus and get her on the right path.

"Oh, I remember. I just don't know what I need to ask."

Leaning back in his chair, he stretched out his arms, lacing his fingers together and resting his hands on the back of his head. "Why are you asking about shooters? Something to do with the McDonald kid?"

"Yes." Then she told him about her conversation with Joe and his theory that the shooter was a trained professional. "I have to agree with him. Whoever shot James knew what he was doing."

"What else, Louie? I can see it in your face. Trained shooters are a dime a dozen in these parts. This is prime hunting country and folks around here love their guns. It wouldn't take much to find a couple guys with the kind of skill you're talking about. So what else is on your mind?"

"We haven't talked much the last few days, have we? Well, the down and dirty is that the murders of James McDonald and Kendall Stewart are somehow related to what happened to Chris."

"Aw, come on. How that can be? Chris was shot five years ago. He wouldn't even have known McDonald or this Stewart gal."

"I know it sounds crazy. Doesn't make it any less true. The bullet they pulled from Chris was shot from the same gun that killed Kendall Stewart. That's a fact and it puts a completely different spin on everything."

"No shit?" He sat up sat up straight and leaned toward her.

"No shit."

"Okay, so say that's true, how do McDonald and his girlfriend fit into this? I mean, it seems incredible they'd be connected to Chris."

She didn't have a good answer. The ballistics told her that the bullets in two of the shootings—Kendall and Chris—had been shot from the same gun. She'd put a big bet on the same match for James. Her gut also told her the shooter who had pulled the trigger was the same. Running both hands through her hair, she shook her head. She still didn't know where she was going with all of this except she felt compelled to keep pushing forward.

"Don't know, Harry. The only thing I do know is it's all connected."

"Maybe, sugar, and maybe not. I think you're tired and could be making connections where they might not exist. I'll grant you the shots could have come from the same gun but guns move, you know that as well as I do. It's possible you could have at least two shooters with no connection to each other at all beyond the gun."

Nope, she wasn't buying into his argument. She was tired, yes, but she wasn't wrong about the connection.

"Could be," she said, even though she didn't believe it. Chris was a part of whatever James McDonald had gotten caught up in and she was going to find out what it was. "I still think it's one shooter."

"A rifle killed McDonald, right?" he asked.

"True, but a trained shooter, a sniper for the sake of argument, would be skilled with a number of guns."

He nodded. "True enough, Lou. I can handle just about any gun you put in my hands. I'm best with my favorite rifle, but I can shoot anything and be damned good at it too. Shoot the wings off a fly, if you know what I mean."

She didn't doubt him. If anyone knew guns and how to handle each and every one of them, it was Harry. "Then it's possible that we have one shooter in all three cases. The ballistics state that rifle shots took Chris down and killed Kendall Stewart, so my argument is more than academic."

He nodded slowly. "You could be right, Louie. My only advice is to remember our deal is done and you'd probably be wise to leave the rest of it up to your buddies in law enforcement. You're not on the job anymore and you know how touchy they get when we civilians tread on their investigations. Let them do what the good taxpayers of this state pay them to do."

Being off the job and turning off her mind were two very different things. Harry should know that as well as anyone. She didn't believe for a second that he'd ever turned off. Once a Ranger, always a Ranger. She'd seen the same thing in Chris.

She stood, tapped his desk a couple times with her fingertips, and smiled. "I think I'll take your advice and give it a rest. Right now I'm dog tired and home has a real nice ring to it."

"Good idea, sugar. You could use some beauty sleep, if you catch my drift." He gave her an exaggerated wink.

"Thanks a lot. You know, a real gentleman wouldn't mention when a lady is looking a bit less than her usual model-ready self."

"Now, sugar, I don't think I ever claimed to be a gentleman." His laughter followed her all the way into her own office.

Ten minutes later when she left, Harry was already gone though she hadn't heard him take off. Probably hiding from her non-stop questions and "what if" scenarios. She didn't blame him. If the shoe was on the other foot, it'd likely get on her nerves as well. He was a man of few words and if she had to guess, one who'd been pushed well beyond his limit for the day.

* * * *

He watched from the shadows. She was too focused to notice him. Tall and thin with curves that proved she was all woman; when she walked by, heads turned, both male and female. The shine of her dark hair in the sunlight made him want to run his fingers through it. She was one-hundred-percent female despite her choice of a historically male profession. The fact she'd made that particular choice and flourished made her all the sexier.

He wondered again how she was in bed. He imagined her naked and filled with desire, a fine sheen of sweat giving her body an alluring shimmer. He could see it in his mind's eye and wished things had been different. How he'd love to hear her scream with pleasure. How he'd love to feel her soft skin against his. He'd never have her, but who could blame a red-blooded man for fantasizing? Louie Russell was straight up hot and she carried a gun which made her even hotter.

For the most part, he was happy about how things turned out. He never quite got over the fact Christopher Russell refused to die, but since he was locked into a world far away from the rest of them, his survival was a moot point. Short of a miracle, Christopher would never cause him trouble again. Chances were that comatose Chris would pass away without ever opening his eyes. That put the odds very much in his favor and he loved odds like that.

Little sis was a different story. So was James McDonald. James had been handy enough for a while. He'd caught on quick and turned out to be quite efficient at the drug smuggling game. He'd carried that hockey bag without the tiniest hesitation. He'd been a natural, maybe because he'd grown up with a hockey bag in his hand. The only difference between then and now was the contents of the bag.

Of course, if James had been as efficient with the cards as he was at smuggling dope across the border, he'd never have found himself working in the game. The boy couldn't gamble worth a shit and McDonald's loss was his gain. He'd paid James' markers and that allowed him to keep playing. James also put a new spin on the term losing streak. For every marker he picked up, young James made another run. The arrangement had been perfection until the little shit got himself arrested.