Phantom in the Night

"Lucky for me this time," she murmured and smiled, then winced. Streetlight from the window caught her face. Her cheek was swelling.

  How could any man raise a fist to a woman? "Let's get some ice on that."

  "I've got to call the police... soon." She pushed up out of his lap.

  Yep, the spell was definitely broken.

  "No rush. Hatchet might lose some blood, but his pulse was steady." Nathan stood and wrapped his arm around her waist, concerned her leg injury might cause her to fall.

  "I need to get him out before he makes a bigger mess," she grumbled.

  She didn't pull away, so Nathan walked her into the kitchen and gently lowered her into a chair. The hood fell forward, keeping his face hidden. "Want to tell me about your leg?"

  "Not really."

  He had to appreciate her honesty "Got any Ziploc bags?"

  "Third drawer, left of the sink." The swelling affected her speech, garbling some words. That jaw would hurt like the devil tomorrow.

  He found the box and withdrew a bag, filling it with ice. Glancing around, he snagged a frilly towel hanging on a drawer handle and wrapped the bag in the towel before handing it to her.

  "Thanks." She cupped the makeshift ice pack to her face and winced.

  Hatchet deserved the compound fracture.

  "You want some tea or something?" Nathan's mother used to like tea when she was upset.

  "No, but thanks for offering. I'm good right now, really."

  "What did Hatchet want?"

  "Is that his name? Fits him."

  "He's one of FinMan's bodyguards."

  She adjusted the bag slightly on her face. "Hatchet must have missed the party when you put the others in the hospital."

  Nathan flinched. That removed any doubt he had about whether she knew if he was responsible for Hatchet attacking her or not. "What did he say?"

  "Said he came looking for you."

  "Why?"

  Terri scooted around until she could prop her elbow on the table and support the ice pack with her hand. "Marseaux's hunting FinMan... thinks he ratted out the drug shipment... because you scared him. Marseaux wants his product. FinMan figured he could make peace if he delivered the shipment." Her gaze wandered around the kitchen before she added, "Going to be a trick for anyone to get their hands on that shipment now."

  Nathan caught her meaning. The drugs had been removed from the container and were likely in NOPD lockup.

  "Since Marseaux is hunting FinMan, I'll have to assume he didn't kill him," she added. "Did you?"

  "FinMan's dead? When?" He watched her eyes to see if she believed him. No judgment, but no decision, either.

  "Last night. And if you didn't kill him, any idea who did?"

  He shook his head. "The list of suspects is virtually endless."

  "Where were you last night?"

  "Alone, Terri. I have no bullshit alibi at all and I'm not going to pretend I do. You can either believe me or not. Your choice. But you've seen me enough that I think you'd know what the truth is."

  The brief pause that followed flooded the room with tension. He waited for her to condemn him like everyone else, then enjoyed, a rush of relief when she nodded her acceptance.

  "In that case, you need to hide out." Her earnest gaze implored him to heed her words. "Everyone is after you."

  "What do you mean by everyone?" He knew who wanted his head, but wondered if she knew all the players.

  "DEA wants you cause they think you're the missing Drake body or connected to the missing body. Marseaux wants you because he thinks FinMan spilled his guts to you. Hooknose Rodaine and Johnny Boy want you for kicking their asses. NOPD wants anyone connected to the missing body, the drug shipment, and Marseaux, plus they think you killed FinMan. That pretty much sums it up." She hiked a sardonic eyebrow.

  "What about your agency? Are they after me, as well?"

  Her gaze fell away to study the worn oak tabletop. "Not yet."

  She hadn't told her people. Nathan tried to figure out why she'd shielded someone who had caused her so many headaches.

  What an unusual woman. Special.

  That longing for a woman surfaced again, but his body only wanted one woman. Her. He could do without his mind tormenting him with the impossible. She was the kind of woman who wantedno, deserveda man with a future and he had none.

  "Who are you?" she asked so softly he could have ignored the question, but wouldn't. "I've just given you a little trust, something that doesn't come easy for me. Will you trust me enough to show me your face? Tell me who you are?"

  She'd earned his trust, but he hadn't stayed alive this long by giving it so easily. Nathan wanted to tell her, he really did. But the more she knew about him the worse it would complicate her life.

  Compromise her life.

  And she'd likely withdraw from him in disgust if she knew he was an ex-con.

  "Are you willing to trust me without question?" he asked.

  Terri paused, questions racing across her gaze. "No. I trusted the wrong person once." She worked her jaw back and forth, wincing before she continued. "That mistake cost my partner his life and gave me... an injury I doubt I'll ever stop feeling. At this point, unconditional trust is something reserved for someone I care deeply about, like my grandmother."

  "Good." He smiled at her look of surprise. "That's how it should be."

  "I'm glad you understand. Given our situation, I think we both need to be honest."

  "Agreed. Now, about this case. I want you out of it. What's it going to take you to see reason?"

  Terri sighed. "Look, I understand. But it's not like this is a new revelation for me. I spent two years in the field with the DEA. I'm well aware of the risks connected to investigating drug runners."

  "Something tells me there's more going on with your case than drug running." He moved to stare through the doorway to the living room, then back to the kitchen windows, studying everything outside.

  Terri carefully watched for another chance to catch a look at his face. She'd seen quick snippets when he fought in her bedroom, glimpses that had shook her, but not enough for her to determine if he was truly related to the Drakes.

  Maybe if she saw him in daylight she'd believe he was real. His face had felt real. Not a latex mask as she'd speculated.

  She wished now she'd pulled his hood off if for no other reason than to have seen his eyes.

  And for one fleeting moment, she'd had the intense feeling he would have let her unmask him.

  "What do you think is going on besides drug running?" she asked.

  "I have no idea... yet," he muttered, then turned to her, strategically standing as far away as he could when he faced her. "That's the problem with this kind of work, lack of information until it's too late sometimes."

  This kind of work, Terri lifted her head away from the ice and set the bag on the table, thinking on his words. "That sounds like you've either been in this field before or are now. Which is it?"

  He leaned against the refrigerator, arms crossed. "I have some experience in a past life."

  "When, where... what did you do?" She tried to imagine all the possible answers. Her heartbeat quickened. Sure, she was being foolish, but she wanted him to be in law enforcement, maybe working as a contractor like she was. Then he wouldn't be a criminal.

  "Trust me, you don't want to know and I don't want to talk about it."

  Her excitement deflated. "Are you a criminal?" No point in avoiding that question any longer.

  "Depends on your definition of a criminal."

  She shook her head. "That's not an encouraging reply."

  "I don't want to encourage you."

  That hurt, but she'd told him to be honest.

  "You should pack up your grandmother and get out of here until this blows over," he said.

  "My grandmother is away for a few days. I'll send her out to see her sister in Texas when she comes home. Much as I appreciate your concern, I can't turn my back on this case. There is a lot more
at stake than just drug running, but that's all I'm willing to share until I know more about you."

  He didn't move from where he leaned with arms crossed. She could tell by how tight his fingers gripped his forearms that he didn't care for her reticence to abandon the case.

  "In spite of what happened tonight," she continued, "I can take care of myself."

  "Why don't you have a partner? Backup?"

  "My business."

  "Who do you work for?"

  "Think I'll follow your lead and plead the fifth, as well."

  He let out a frustrated breath. "Someone got that container yanked out from underneath the DEA and I doubt you have that kind of pull on your own."

  She slapped the ice pack down on the placemat next to her arm. "You have no idea what kind of pull I have."

  "I heard you left the DEA under questionable circumstances. If that's the case, I can't see how they'd fold under pressure from you."

  He might not have meant to embarrass her, but he'd done a good job of it. "What I do and how I do it is none of your business"

  "It is now."

  "How do you see that?"

  "Marseaux is targeting you because of what I've been doing. If you aren't going to get a partner, then I'm your backup."

  "Having a partner or not is my business. Stay out of my way." Terri's reputation had a long way to go before being completely mended, if ever. All she'd need would be for someone to catch her being friendly with a guy who probably had a rap sheet as long as her arm. She should have a gun on him.

  But he'd saved her life tonight or, at the very least, from a severe beating.

  "I appreciate your help." She stood, needing to feel on equal footing with him even if he did tower over her. If he thought she was a pushover just because she'd indulged his alpha display when he'd carried her to the living room, she'd straighten him out on that real quick. She didn't need a man to coddle her.

  Especially one on the wrong side of law enforcement.

  "I've got to call the police, get this guy booked and make a report," she said. "Unless you want to explain your part in this, I suggest you leave now."

  He lifted away from the refrigerator and moved forward, radiating danger with every calculated move. When he reached her, his body blocked out what ambient light filtered into the kitchen from the windows.

  She held her place, waiting to see what he'd do. He cupped her face with his hand, gently rubbing his thumb across her cheek. Terri couldn't have moved, even if she'd wanted to. She stared at the dark shadows of his face.

  Two dark eyes peered intensely at her.

  "Thanks." He'd whispered as if afraid someone might hear him.

  "For what?"

  He brushed a lock of hair from her forehead, then dropped his hand away. "For letting me hold you tonight." Then he moved and was gone before she could recover.

  For letting me hold you tonight. Her heart thumped. With six words he'd scrambled her emotions all over again.

  Who could he be? What was he after? Answering those two questions would solve this case faster. Or force her to choose between allowing him freedom to move and issuing an APB to have him picked up.

  Terri wobbled her way to the phone and dialed the precinct. Once she identified herself, explained the situation, and assured the officer on duty she was okay, she hung up and waited for the furor to erupt once they showed up.

  She leaned against the sink cabinet and moved her swollen jaw around. When her gaze landed on the ice pack creating a puddle of water on the placemat, she froze, then moved her hand to the third drawer on her right. She opened it and stared at the box of Ziploc bags as if she'd found a buried treasure.

  In a way, she had.

  She didn't trust this Drake impersonator beyond certain limits, but they had forged a fragile alliance born of intersecting paths. And much as she wanted to deny it, she liked this man. There was something honest and sincere, even if he wouldn't share his identity. If she knew who he was, would it change the way she thought of him right now?

  Terri wiggled a clear plastic bag out of the box, then used her fingernails to lift the whole box and dropped it into the bag. She pinched the top and slid the plastic through her fingers, sealing his identity inside.

  Decisions, decisions.

  *

  Sergeant Taggart got up from his folding chair for the third time and stretched his legs. Clouds covered what was left of a full moon. If he wasn't so close to retirement, he'd pitch a fuss over babysitting a container full of crap. A retirement cut to the bone by those highfalutin politicians. Twice the vote had come up for higher wages and increased retirement benefits in the past five years.

  Twice. They'd voted "no" both times. Those thieves had it good, slept in fine homes, and had a meaty retirement socked away. And what did they do for a living?

  Sure as hell didn't protect the citizens like he did.

  Hell, he needed protection from the politicians. What did he have to show for all these years? Not much but worn-out shoes. At least he'd been inside, nice and warm, until tonight.

  He eyed the shipping container with disgust. Who was going to steal a generator that weighed as much as his car? The drugs were locked up. The rest of the contents sounded like the garbage his wife, Erma, used to drag home from yard sales. God rest her soul.

  He opened his faded white and red Igloo cooler to root around for a cold soda. The radio played one of his buddy Franks favorite country tunes, reminding Taggart they were supposed to go fishing this weekend.

  Unless he got stuck guarding this stupid container again. The captain had raised sand after that consultant woman let someone break into it.

  Taggart fingered his keys, which included the one to unlock the container, which he'd made those boys at the gate hand over in case it rained tonight. The sky had been overcast all day. He reached down into his duffel and fished out his flashlight.

  Captain had reamed the guys working the gate after the night the container had been broken into.

  What was the big deal anyhow? Taggart unlocked the lock, pulled it off, opened the door a few inches, and hooked the lock back in place. He eased the door farther open, watching the gate, but those boys had been talking about the ball game when he came in. Even if they were paying attention, you couldn't see a blasted thing that far away. Once he was inside the container, he thumbed on his flashlight and ran the beam over the contents. Fingerprint dust was everywhere. The first four boxes were piled with Erma trinkets. But his eyes lit up at the fifth one.

  Carpenter tools. Nice ones made of teak. Damn crime techs fingerprint dust covered the fine wood pieces.

  Taggart lifted a high-quality hand plane, an L square, and narrow saw. This is what Erma should have put on the mantel. He snooped further and found a couple more tools. The place was a mess. Bet the importer would dump all this stuff and claim it on his insurance. Wouldn't waste his time cleaning the powder off these beauts.

  How would anyone know who took these teak pieces since the container had been broken into once? Just be a bunch of finger pointing. He glanced around behind him, then back at the tools. Make a nice bonus, better way of saying thanks for all the years than a damn watch. If he asked, he'd just hear "no."

  Then all this would end up as firewood for some homeless party.

  Taggart carried his handful to the door and stuck his head outside. Coast was clear. He shoved them in his duffel and reached for the lock, then paused. Frank liked tinkering with wood projects as much as Taggart did.

  He lifted his flashlight and squeezed back inside. Next shift was two hours. Nobody would be the wiser.

  * * *

  CHAPTER NINE

  Nathan shifted in the narrow area where he stood between the Dumpster at the rear of the NOPD parking lot, which, lucky for him, backed up to a brick three-story building. The space stunk from vagrantsand probably a few officersusing it as a urinal.

  Tight fit for someone his size, but this spot gave him a clear view of the rear e
xit of the precinct where Terri consulted. Officers and detectives had trickled in and out during the past hour he'd stood there watching squad cars, dark sedans, and one blue Mini Cooper parked in the lot. Terri had parked two spaces over from the Dumpster ten minutes ago.

  Twilight encroached on the small lot, waking a few critters in the Dumpster who were now digging around, A yawn caught Nathan by surprise. Been a while since he'd run forty-plus hours without sleep. He had another stop tonight he'd planned to make once Terri arrived at work, and stayed put for a while. He'd left the Black Death parked a block over. Close enough to reach quickly so he could follow Terri, but too far to keep an eye on her outside the building.

  The door to the precinct opened and two male officers came out discussing something. They climbed in on each side of a cruiser and drove away. Another couple cars pulled up, belching out more officers of both genders.

  A midnight blue Crown Victoria swung into the lot and crept along as if the driver were searching for a premium parking space. Might as well have marked the tag "Federal employee." The car stopped behind Terri's, then swung into the next row over in a spot that faced the rear door of the precinct.

  Nathan might have left sooner, but the driver stayed in the car for twenty minutes... until Terri emerged from the building.

  A stocky guy with unkempt brown hair climbed out of the blue Ford. His suit needed pressing, but he was FBI, DEA, or the equivalent. Nathan squeezed closer to the end of the Dumpster near where Terri had parked.

  She hurried through the paved lot toward her car and the Dumpster. She wore jeans, a windbreaker, and sneakers. Clothes that worried Nathan. She was up to something.

  The Fed climbed out of his sedan and yelled, "Yo, Mitchell, hold up."

  When Terri paused next to her car, the frown she quickly hid said she hadn't wanted to be caught. "Brady. What are you doing here?"

  Nathan couldn't really afford the time to follow her around all night and still make his next stop. He was weighing his choices when Brady said, "We need to talk about Drake."

  *

  Not now, Brady. Terri leaned against her car, hiding how she put her weight on her stronger leg.

  "I have to get rolling. NOPD doesn't pay me to dally."

  "You're your own boss, right?" His question had been more test than rhetorical. "Not like you clock in and out."