After Love (23 page)

“How do you get so logical on that stuff?” Nick waved her exhaled smoke away. The last thing he needed was a contact high.

“Quit being such a prude. Listen, first you need to ask yourself, is Jamie someone you
have
to have in your life?”

Nick sat back and absently petted Harley's head as he contemplated her question. “I see myself differently when I'm with her. My sons are more interesting. Harley makes me laugh. I'm a deeper, more thoughtful man. I actually care about her happiness.”

Another cloud of smoke drifted between them as she exhaled slowly. “I've never heard you so introspective, Nicky. I think you're right. So here's the second and much more difficult question. You will never win against her dead husband. That's not the hill to die on…and you
will
die if you try to replace him or make her forget him. The question is, are you the man who can love her so much that she's willing to risk the possibility of losing you just so she can be with you as long as you're still alive?”

“Still alive?” This conversation was not making him feel any better so far.

“Look at it from her point of view. You are in a dangerous line of work, and you may not make it home. Unless you're willing to give it up and start selling insurance, it's a part of you. Your challenge is to make her realize that life with you, however short, is better than life without you.”

Nick nodded. “I get it. But how do I do that?”

“This is where I need to go get another bag.” Grammy stood and went into her house. When she returned, she reached into her baggie and lit up again. She drew in and exhaled before speaking thoughtfully. “You have to establish new traditions, places to go, new friends, your own song….You know, things unique to just you and her. Keep her dead husband's memory clean in her mind. You don't use his tools, wear his clothes, or make love to her in his bed. You're not the ghost of her first husband….You're Nick Archer, the keeper of things she must have in her life to be happy.” Grammy drew in again and the smoke curled over her wrinkled lips and toward Nick, who by now didn't bother swatting it away.

“In other words…I have to make her believe that it's okay to love again after love?”

Grammy glanced over and smiled. “Couldn't have said it better myself!”

“The only problem is that it's all a moot point now,” Nick said. “Jamie probably won't even take my calls.”

“She's just running scared. Let her realize how much she misses you, then she'll come back.”

“You have more faith in me than I do.”

She reached over and squeezed his hand. “Honey, I always have. Staying the night?”

Nick looked down at the half-empty bottle of Jack. “Guess I should.”

“Good. I'm starving. I've got some of the neighbor's chicken wings to bake up. Blue ribbon winner!”

There was a poster of the DeLorean from
Back to the Future
on one wall and a
Mad Max
poster on another. A bookshelf had a variety of books from the Hardy Boys mysteries to
Lonesome Dove
to
Pet Sematary
to
Patriot Games
. Nick had never been a voracious reader like his older brother, Justin, but he'd managed to read a couple of books each summer. He and his brothers had spent a lot of time here at Grammy's when school was out because both of their parents worked full time. Plus, all three brothers loved spending time at the farm. Grammy always gave them each a month when she focused on them individually. As anyone would guess, Grammy wasn't a harsh disciplinarian. But she insisted the boys read at least one book, write one poem or song, and complete one art project.

Luke was the poet, Justin, the reader, and Nick had discovered a talent for art. Some of his paintings still hung on the walls of this house. He lay on the narrow twin bed that his six-foot frame no longer fit and looked at a charcoal drawing of a horse running in a field. In all modesty, he thought it was pretty good. What had happened to that artistic side?

He'd taken a few art classes in college and had thoroughly enjoyed them. But somewhere between boot camp and a Middle Eastern sandbox and getting shot in a cheap apartment during a drug raid, he'd lost his muse.

His gaze moved to the row of dinosaurs on one of the shelves. He remembered the Christmas morning he'd gotten the set of prehistoric creatures, along with an Usborne book about dinosaurs. His kids played with them now, especially after the recent movie
Jurassic World
. They had no idea how many hours their dad had spent with those plastic figures, creating dioramas out of dirt, twigs, and rocks.

This room had been his and his brothers' home away from home for as long as he could remember. Even though the big house had four bedrooms, all three brothers had slept in this room on three mismatched twin beds, talking and laughing late into the night because the first one to fall asleep ran the risk of being pranked. Nick couldn't remember the last time he'd actually stayed here, but it had been many years.

Nick dressed and cleaned up in the upstairs bathroom. This whole house was like a time capsule. Nothing had changed for as long as he could remember, and that was strangely comforting. It took him back to when he was much younger and more innocent. He'd never seen a dead body or watched a junkie take a last hit. He'd never heard the wrenching cries of a woman whose child had just been shot or the deafening pounding of his heart when he'd been pinned down by unseen snipers who were gradually closing in.

Being in Grammy's house washed the sins of the world away and reminded him of a simpler time…a happier time…a time that was gone forever.

Grammy called up the stairs, “Breakfast is ready.”

Nick finger-combed his damp hair and headed to the kitchen. He sat at the scratched wooden table in the same place he always sat. His fingers traced the letters
NA
, which he had carved on the oak tabletop to mark his spot. Grammy had not been amused when she saw it, but even after all these years, she had left it.

She placed a plate in front of him, covering the initials. It was the same breakfast he'd eaten here since…forever. Fresh eggs, bacon, whole wheat toast, and a large navel orange cut precisely into eight sections. Sundays were the only days that the menu changed, and that was when Grammy made waffles. She never allowed cereal in the house because she believed it was full of chemicals, artificial colors, sugars, and crap.

He smiled at the memories.

“How'd you sleep?” Grammy asked.

Nick spread an ample amount of butter on his toast until it was totally covered, corner to corner. “Surprisingly well, thanks. You?”

Grammy sat down next to him with a plate of her own. “It was nice having you sleep over….Reminds me of the old days.”

He savored each bite. No one cooked like his grandmother.

“What's on your agenda today?” she asked. “Want to go fishing?”

“Fishing…” He was so tempted, but he wasn't that barefoot twelve-year-old boy who would have dropped anything for a day at the lake. He was a grown man with a serious job that meant life or death to some unsuspecting kids. “Sorry, Grammy. I wish I could, but I'm real close to breaking that killer loosie-goosey case wide open.”

“I suppose you're right.” She tried to hide her disappointment. “The whole drug thing has changed since I was your age. I always knew the grower personally, so I didn't worry about quality. It's too commercial now. That's why I grow my own.”

Nick put his hands over his ears. “I didn't hear that. Please don't tell me things like that.”

Grammy smiled. “You're a good boy…and a good agent. But you don't have to be both at the same time.”

“You're giving me permission to be bad?” he teased.

“I think your life is too serious. I'll bet you don't have a hobby, do you?”

“I watch sports on TV.”

“Phht,” she sputtered. “Turn off the TV and get out and pick up a ball. Surely there's a softball team you can join or a football pickup game. You're too pale. And unhappy. What's the last book you read?”

“Jeez, I hate these pop quizzes.” He whistled for Harley, who was lying on the back porch, watching for wild things to wander into the yard. The dog jumped up and walked to Nick, who handed him a half slice of bacon.

“I already fed him some eggs and hamburger I cooked up,” Grammy said. “He loved it.”

“You should get a dog. It's not good for you to be out here all by yourself.”

“I've thought about it. When I was going out on tour all the time, it didn't make sense, but now…Maybe I'll check out the pound.”

“That's where Jamie gets most of her dogs. It's been a great experience for…” Nick's phone rang. “Archer,” Nick growled, not recognizing the phone number and resenting the disruption of his breakfast.

“It's Larry.”

“What's up?”

“I need your help.”

“Sure, I owe you one.”

“I've got a hot bust all set up, but my partner's out sick. I've got a backup, but I need someone to watch the entrance to southbound Texas 130. College-age kid pushing to kids in the park. I think it'll be an easy arrest, but if he freaks, he might head that way. You in?”

“Cool, what time?”

“We're meeting at two p.m. at the Stone Hill Whataburger. The buy is at four.”

“See you there.” Nick hung up. He shoved the last piece of toast in his mouth and wrapped the orange in a paper napkin for later.

“Loosie case?” Grammy asked.

“No, I'm just helping someone out.” He stood and clapped his hands, and Harley was ready. “Thanks for the advice last night….I think it's too late….” He bent down and kissed her on the cheek.

“You've never been a quitter. Go get her.”

“I'll tell her you sent me.”

“I'll set a place for her on Sunday.”

“Nick!” Larry called out from the corner booth near the window at the Whataburger at the Stone Hill shopping complex in Pflugerville.

“Hey, Larry,” Nick said as he slid into the booth. “Who's our third?”

“Stacey Betts. She just called, and she's already at the park.”

“She's solid.”

“I agree.” Larry laid the picture of the suspect on the table. Want to know his name?”

“Not really.” Nick picked it up and examined it, committing the face to memory. “Lives with his parents?”

Larry smiled. “How'd you guess?”

“He has that look…kind of empty, like his eyes aren't plugged in. What's he driving?”

“Usually it's a late-model black Suburban.” Larry put the picture back in his notebook.

“Daddy's car?”

“Yeah. Papa owns a chain of car washes. You can't miss the license plate:
WASHME2
.”

“What kind of car is
WASHME1
?”

“A red Corvette.” Larry touched an American flag on his lapel. “My new body cam. You'll be able to see and hear exactly what I'm seeing and hearing.” He handed Nick a mini iPad.

“That's cool.” Nick turned it on and his own face appeared on the screen.

“One, two, three, test,” Larry said in a low voice.

“I hear you,” Nick confirmed.

“Ready to go?”

Nick nodded.

“Good. Let's get him.”

They left and headed in different directions. Nick drove down the Texas 130 service road a short distance and pulled into a parking lot that was several hundred feet from the on-ramp. He circled around so he was facing outward. As soon as he saw the Suburban or Corvette, he could zip out and cut it off before the kid entered the high-speed, limited-access highway.

“Okay, Harley. It's your first stakeout. We're looking for a black SUV or a red Corvette. Too bad you're color-blind.” Nick reactivated the iPad and watched as Larry got out of his car at the park.

“You got me, Nick?”

“Yes, loud and clear. Suspect in view?”

“Not yet.”

“We're ready to go out here,” Nick assured him.

“He just pulled in…black Suburban.” The camera view snapped back to the parking lot as a sparkling-clean SUV pulled in.

“Come on, kid…step into the web.” Nick watched as the perp parked his vehicle across multiple parking spaces. In less than a minute several kids, mostly teens, approached the driver one at a time. They were orderly, standing in line as if it were the lunchroom on pizza day. The video was clear enough to see the drugs and cash changing hands.

“Stacey, can you see this?” Larry asked.

“I'm too far away, but if he leaves through the west entrance, I'll have him,” she answered.

“I'm going in,” Larry whispered. “Nick, keep your engine running.”

“Ten-four.”

Nick watched as Larry took his place in line. He was wearing a ratty T-shirt and baggy shorts, just like everyone else in front of him. He had pulled a baseball cap down so his face was in shadow. Even though he was twenty years older than the others, at first glance he blended in well. Gradually he moved up, carefully positioning himself so that his body cam was recording every transaction.

“Hey,” Larry said when it was his turn.

“Waz up?”

Larry handed him a twenty-dollar bill. “Need a
bump
.” He looked around cautiously, playing the role of nervous buyer.

The man took the twenty and held out a small plastic bag. “One bump.”

Larry pocketed the drugs and pulled out his badge in one smooth move. “You're under arrest for selling a controlled substance. Get out of the vehicle.”

“No way, dude.” The man rolled his window up and accelerated. Larry lunged for the door handle, but the car pulled away.

“He's driving across the grass,” Stacey called out. “He got past me.”

“On it,” Nick said as he flipped the tablet to the floor and placed a magnetic flashing blue light on the roof of the pickup.

“Coming your way, Nick,” Larry gasped, breathing heavily as he ran back to his car.

Nick watched from the south side, where contractors parked at the back of the Hawaiian Falls water park. A black Suburban approached the intersection at a high speed. Nick knew the dealer had two choices. A hard left would take him north. With posted speeds of eighty miles per hour, he could disappear quickly, especially if he exited onto any of the many side roads. However, Nick had a gut feeling the man would be heading south because that would give him quicker access to the interstate. He watched as the Suburban took a hard right toward the southbound entrance ramp. Nick gunned his pickup, shooting out of the parking lot just as the Suburban approached.

The guy had to see him coming, but instead of stopping, he jerked the wheel to the left, trying to avoid the truck that was heading straight for him.

“Hang on, Harley,” Nick yelled. He punched the accelerator and nailed the Suburban in the right rear quarter panel.

The vehicle spun 360 degrees clockwise, nearly taking out a white Honda Accord whose driver had guessed wrong and tried to pass.

Nick gunned his pickup again and rammed the vehicle in the right side of the bumper, which popped the rear door open. The vehicle turned sharply left to get on the entrance ramp, and out of the back dropped a large wire kennel full of something black. The kennel bounced once, then skidded across the lanes as the door popped open, pouring ten black puppies out onto the feeder road. Nick glanced in his rearview mirror just as Larry's car passed him, taking up the chase after the crippled but escaping Suburban.

“Stay, Harley,” Nick commanded as he turned his truck crosswise, blocking two lanes, then jumped out. The puppies had scattered in every direction, including into the oncoming traffic. Tires squealed as people slammed on the brakes. Nick scrambled to catch the frightened puppies, but he could hold only four at a time before he had to take them to his truck and put them in the back.

People climbed out of their cars and chased after the rest of the little animals.

Harley stayed inside the cab, watching everyone chasing after the terrified puppies. He paced back and forth in the small space and whined. Finally he couldn't take it any longer and jumped out the window. He took off after a puppy no one else had noticed who had run off into a field. Streaking across the grass, he quickly caught up with the puppy and grabbed it by the nape of its neck. It instinctively went limp and allowed itself to be carried. Harley trotted back to the truck, stood up on the bumper, and dropped the puppy over the tailgate into the truck bed with the others.

Nick and two of the drivers dropped the last three puppies in with the rest of the litter. Nick brought the crate to the truck, put it in the back, and climbed in so he could load them all back in where they'd be safe. Surprisingly, all the puppies seemed to have survived their traumatic tumble and escape with no obvious wounds. With all the puppies inside and the door latched, he turned around.