Dirty Deeds (5 page)

He let go of the blind and turned. With his back against the wall he looked over at the woman he loved. She was so young and pretty, beautiful really. And, she trusted him. Just like his parents did. His way of saying "thanks for believing in me" was to lie to them all. The lies had rolled off his tongue with such ease it became second nature. Sometimes even he couldn't tell the difference between the truth and his lies anymore; why would he expect anyone else to? Except maybe Paul. He'd never been able to fool his big brother.

What a mess. He couldn't have screwed this up more if he tried. How he got caught was beyond him. He was careful. He'd made the run so many times, he could do it in his sleep. It was almost as if someone set him up, only that didn't make sense either. Who would be crazy enough to do that?

The feds now had their hands on over two hundred thousand dollars of BC bud. It was one mighty big haul by anyone's standards and losing it to the U.S. authorities was as good as signing his own death warrant. Losing a quarter of a million dollars could do that.

Now, the feds wanted names and the people he worked for wanted his hide. A lose-lose situation all the way around for him. He thought he'd gotten himself in hot water before. Compared to this, everything else was chicken-feed. He'd screwed himself big time.

"Jamie," Kendall prompted when he continued to stare at her in silence.

"Yeah?"

"How much were you running?" she asked in a quiet, steady voice.

He closed his eyes and sighed. "Way more than you want to know about."

"Oh Christ, Jamie, how could you be so stupid?" The fire in her words burned his heart.

"I wanted to make the money for us."

"Bullshit."

She didn't understand, but it was the God's honest truth. That he had debts to pay for losses at the casino was equally true. But with this last run, his take would've paid his gambling losses and still left a tidy sum for his life with Kendall. She didn't need his money; she had plenty of her own. He'd needed to prove he could take care of her. "I did."

"No, you didn't, you just wanted to be a big shot." Her words were bitter.

Man, he wasn't expecting that. "Come on, babe, I wanted to make a life for us."

"You're full of it. You know it and I know it. I turned the other way because I love you, but damn it, this is bad."

"I know and I don't want you involved."

"Right. And you're here now for exactly what reason then?"

She had a point. He didn't want her involved, but his being in this house got her involved whether he meant to or not. The problem was she was the only one he could turn to. The only one he trusted enough anyway.

"I need some cash and your car." He figured he might as well be blunt and, for a change, honest.

She took a deep breath and her gaze held his. After a second, she blinked and got up. Alone in the kitchen, he rubbed his face and choked back tears. He wouldn't cry again. A minute later she came back in and slapped three fifty-dollar bills and a set of car keys on the table in front of him.

"I'm so sorry." He stuffed the cash into his pocket with shaking hands. His whole body buzzed as if he was on speed.

She reached up and touched his face, then sighed. "You can't keep running, you know. You're going to have to make this right somehow."

He wanted to say something profound and powerful. He had nothing. "I'm scared."

"Yeah, baby, I know, and I'm scared for you but it doesn't change a thing. You go figure this out and when you do, I'll be here."

"Kendall, I love you," he whispered.

She smiled though her eyes were sad. "I know, and some day you're going to grow up enough we might even have a future together. Now go before somebody finds you here."

"I'll bring your car back." He didn't want to stay, but he didn't want to leave either.

"Go." She turned him toward the same back door he'd come in through earlier. "And try not to get yourself killed."

Jamie kissed her and then left. Somehow he would get himself out of this mess, and come back a changed man for Kendall.

Chapter Three

True to his word, Paul McDonald telephoned about an hour after she'd left the arena to report James did, indeed, have a girlfriend, a fact he learned only after a call to his parents. Louie thanked him for the lead, turned back to her computer, and began to dig up what she could on the newest piece of the puzzle.

The girlfriend was a reed-thin twenty-year-old from the south side of Spokane who worked at one of the hottest nightspots in town. She attended school at Gonzaga University, though Louie wasn't able to discover her major. From all accounts, she was a knockout so popular at the nightclub that her tips paid for her school expenses.

Kendall Stewart didn't seem like the kind of girl who would pal around with James McDonald, a college dropout who never knew where his next dollar was coming from. On the other hand, he was good-looking and seemed, from what Louie had gathered so far, rather sweet. Well, sweet in a not-responsible, crime is okay sort of way. There was, she'd learned from experience, no accounting for taste. Whatever it was Kendall Stewart found in James to stir her heart, it was enough to sustain a relationship almost two years strong.

Satisfied that she'd found out all she could online, Louie decided that her next stop was Kendall Stewart's home, a fair sized two-story located mid-south hill. The property records showed that she'd inherited it from her grandmother. Even in the dark, Louie could see that it looked well cared for, loved even. It was surrounded by gorgeous old growth maple trees in a tidy yard. No car was in the driveway.

Despite the lack of a vehicle, the hour was late, and Louie hoped Kendall would be home and able to provide a clue or two, but there was no telling what Louie would run into. Love affected people in many ways. She understood better than most the lengths to which one could and would go for love.

She'd left one life behind and created a brand new one all in the name of love. Well, love and revenge. She'd have liked to include justice in as well, but she wasn't all that certain when she came face to face with her brother's would-be killer she'd leave his fate in the hands of the justice system. She wanted to think she'd take the high road, though truth be told, she wasn't completely convinced she would.

Louie got out of the car and walked up to the front door. Music played behind the closed door, not loud though not soft either. She knocked and waited. And, waited a little longer. She knocked again, louder this time. Still no answer.

Hmm, the lights are on and nobody's home?
She looked around. The driveway was empty, as was the street in front of the house. The only thing that clued her in that a car had been in the driveway not long ago was the fresh spot of dark oil on the otherwise clean concrete.

She left the front steps and walked around the house. As she did, she peered into windows. She walked with a nonchalance she hoped would raise little suspicion if anyone happened to glance out of neighboring windows. So far, so good. Nothing seemed to move near or around the house.

At the back door, she knocked again. Just as when she tried the front door, no one came to answer her knock. Again, she looked around. All quiet on the western front. She slipped on a pair of latex gloves she'd pulled from a pocket and then tried her luck with the doorknob. It was unlocked. She pushed the door open and stuck her head inside.

"Hello," she said loud enough to be heard over the music.

Other than the beat of the song playing, not another sound greeted her. She stepped inside and stopped. Her breath caught in her throat.

An unwelcome though familiar scent hit her. Her gaze dropped to the floor where drops of blood glowed crimson against the muted sand-color of the tile floor. It was still wet.

This wasn't good. Slowly, Louie drew the gun from inside her jacket. Both hands on the grip, she slipped further into the kitchen. She watched for movement and listened for any sounds beyond the beat of the music. The house was quiet. Eerily quiet.

Kendall Stewart's still body lay half in the kitchen and half in the hallway. She'd been shot while standing at the sink, Louie decided as she studied the room. Blood splatter fanned out from the counter and at the window, a hole about the size of a quarter was surrounded by spider-web cracks.

As she gazed out the damaged window, a large maple at the back of the lot caught her attention. It would be the perfect hiding spot with a clear line of vision into the kitchen. Whoever fired the fatal shot knew exactly what he or she was doing.

Death had not been instantaneous. Even as her life faded, Kendall had tried to flee her attacker or attackers by pulling her body as far as she could out of the kitchen and into the hallway. A small wound dotted the front of her shirt while blood spread out beneath her body like a crimson cape. Louie didn't need to check for a pulse. Kendall's spirit had left long before Louie stepped foot inside the house.

Kendall's eyes were open, an expression of surprise and fear etched forever on her once beautiful face. Louie studied the body for only a moment before resuming her slow and careful search of the rest of the house. She needed to see what she could while avoiding the same person who ended the life of this pretty young woman. The overwhelming silence made her feel as though she was alone in the house. Her gut told her the same. Still, only a fool would forego a search.

Her gun lowered, Louie finished her exploration of the house and was just outside the doorway to the kitchen when a noise brought her hand back up with the gun pointed. Her back against the wall, gun held out, she sidestepped into the kitchen, taking a well-practiced shooter's stance.

For just a moment, she thought she was hallucinating. Only for a moment though and then as her finger moved slowly away from the trigger, she snapped. "What're you doing here?"

Did he have any idea how close she just came to shooting him? Damn fool. This was the last place she expected to see him. To see anyone for that matter.

Paul McDonald's face registered shock at about the same level of annoyance she was feeling. "Are you going to kill me too?"

Louie lowered the gun, clicked on the safety, and then tucked it back into the holster. "Am I going to what?"

"Kill me."

"Why on earth would I kill you?" she asked. Was the guy as nuts as his brother?

"You tell me." His gaze traveled to the hallway where Kendall lay, sprawled and bloody.

Shaking her head, Louie ran a hand through her hair. "Oh, for heaven's sake, I didn't kill her."

"You're the one with a gun."

"My handgun aside, Mr. McDonald, you're seeing the same thing I did about five minutes ago when I came in."

It should be obvious if he had two eyes in his head. She hated civilians at crime scenes. Oh yeah, she forgot, technically
she
was a civilian these days. Well, she hated the uninstructed at crime scenes like Mr. Hockey Coach here.

"You didn't shoot her?" he asked, and it sounded a bit like disbelief to Louie.

"No, Mr. McDonald. I didn't kill her."

Louie noticed the hockey stick he gripped with both hands. Raising an eyebrow, she asked. "And you were going to do what with that?" She pointed to the stick.

He possessed the good grace to look sheepish. His shoulders lifted. "I don't carry a gun."

"So I see. Come on." She motioned to the door. "We need to get out of here. Did you touch anything?"

"No."

"Good. Then let's go."

He paused at the door, his gaze on Kendall. "We can't leave her like this."

Louie put a hand on his back and pushed. "We can't be here when the police show up."

He didn't move. "We didn't do anything."

"True, but have you ever been forced to sit at the police station when you were a witness to something?" she asked.

He shook his head.

"Well, I have and trust me, it's better to just get the hell out of here. We can call the police from a public phone."

"I don't know." Paul and his lethal hockey stick still weren't moving.

"Trust me. Let's go somewhere and talk." She nudged him again.

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure."

* * * *

One down, one to go.

A smart man probably would have left the second his quarry was down. He was a smart man, though he was still compelled to stay and savor the moment. Outside it was dark, the neighborhood was quiet, and he assessed the danger level to be quite low. And so he stayed under the cover of the big old maple tree, soaking in the sweet smell of success. The air was fresh and the night sky cloudless. Stars sparkled as if turned on just for him.

He did indeed savor the moment until noise broke into his pleasant introspection. He made up his mind to call it quits at the sound of light steps. Someone was heading his way. He shook his head, not at all surprised to see the spunky bounty hunter Louie Russell. Or, rather the first visitor, Louie Russell. She was being cautious and he was convinced she was unaware of his presence.

Not long after she slipped into the darkened house, visitor number two made an appearance and turned out to be a huge surprise. Big brother showed up on the girlfriend's doorstep. Now that made him smile. Sooner or later hockey boy was going to blaze him a trail right straight to little James and then all his problems would be solved.

It was only a matter of time before it all came together. He just hoped it was sooner rather than later. Dusting off the old rifle always brought him pleasure, though he would prefer to do it on his own schedule. This clean-up work, while entertaining, was annoying at the same time. He had things to do, people to see, and places to go.

Pinpoints of light bounced in the kitchen window like fireflies dancing in the darkness. If he were to guess, he would say they were searching for answers. How exactly did a healthy young woman end up lifeless on the kitchen floor? He knew, and it sent shivers racing up his spine. Good luck with their search for the truth. They would never guess.

How he'd missed this: the hunt and the kill. Running his hands along the stock of the rifle, he smiled. It felt so good against his palm, both familiar and comforting. It wasn't just a weapon; it was a piece of him, a part of the whole. Once perhaps he could have lived without it, but no longer. Somewhere along the line, he and the gun became part and parcel of each other.