Trust No One (12 page)

“Either way I’m being manipulated and I don’t like that one damn bit.” MJ clenched her teeth, ripped open the bandage wrapping. “If I stay, I lose Angel, and if I go, then someone with a rifle, as well as Vista, will succeed in sending me after Tasha. For all I know, Vista sent that sniper.”

“You think I’m expendable? What if I’d been killed?”

MJ crisscrossed medical tape on top of the bandage and admitted the thought of Ben dying would be a loss to mankind—or womankind rather. No need to let him know that though.

“Face it, Ben, if you’re telling the truth, and you haven’t been sent to take out Tasha, then this isn’t a first class assignment. I have no idea what you did to get something this shitty, but I’ve been on top assignments and this isn’t one.”

“So you think Vista’s trying to get rid of me?” He looked at his arm. “That’s the worst looking field dressing I’ve ever seen.”

She frowned. “You don’t shut up, and I’m going to forget I’m trying to help you. Besides me, have you gotten on anyone’s bad side at Vista lately?”

“You mean like sleeping with Jeff’s wife?” His gaze bore into her.

He looked so serious MJ couldn’t keep herself from asking, “You didn’t?”

A mischievous grin twitched his lips. “I don’t kiss and tell. Sorry. Ouch! What the hell’d you do that for?”

“The tape didn’t look secure enough.” She tossed the strip of tape she’d ripped off his arm into the trash. Tore off another piece from the roll, smacked it into place.

“No one can accuse you of having a gentle touch.”

“Can’t say anyone ever has.” She gathered her supplies. “There is another possibility.”

“Possibility about what?”

“About why you were shot. Keep up.”

“Sorry, in too much pain from your tender care.”

She advanced on him again. He held up his hands. “Okay, okay, what’s your theory?”

“Perhaps this assignment is more important than we know.”

“Nah, you think?”

“Smart ass.”

“Sorry, couldn’t resist. But you do have a good point, and there’s only one way to find out. When will you be ready to leave?” he asked.

“Half an hour.” Only you aren’t going with me, she thought. “Wait here, I’ll get you some pain meds.”

“You have pain medicine, and you haven’t given me any yet?”

“I forgot. I told you, I’m out of practice, okay?” When she returned moments later, she offered him a pill. “Here, take this for the pain.”

He looked at it with narrowed eyes. “What is it?”

“Tylenol 3, which is merely Tylenol with a little codeine,” she lied. In fact, she was holding a Vicadin, and hopefully he had no allergies to strong pain medicine. She wanted him unconscious not dead. “Harmless. Unless you’re allergic?”

“Nope, no allergies.”

“Look here’s the bottle, faster you take it, faster the pain will lower to a dull throb.”

He examined the Tylenol bottle which was really full of the Vicadin she’d put in there. She figured he’d be suspicious, any good agent would.

Take it, take it, take it, she thought as he looked at her again. She held his gaze. Then with a shrug, he used the glass of water she offered to take the pill.

Now pass out.

“You know the kid can’t go now there’s a shooter involved.”

“I know.” Her heart seemed to rip. She didn’t know how she was going to make it through the days without Angel.

Chapter 7

With Ben on her couch sound asleep, as planned, MJ moved efficiently, cataloguing what needed to be done. She first had to make a call to Dottie, and if she couldn’t watch Angel, then MJ had a problem. Yeah, like that would stop Jeff, she thought. And frowned.

Resentment churned like dirty hot oil sludging through an old engine. From the time of her parents’ death, MJ’s life had been run by someone else up until she nearly died for Vista. And up until that time MJ had never considered not working for Vista.

But things changed. If Tasha were on an unsanctioned killing spree obviously things had changed for her as well.

MJ wondered what had set Tasha off. What had these men done? How were they connected?

Dialing Dottie’s number, MJ hoped they were back home from the play rehearsal. While the phone rang, she let her mind run through questions about Tasha’s motivation. Had someone betrayed her too? Was she trying in some bizarre fashion to save the world from evil senators? MJ smiled. As if that were likely.

Should Tasha have retired already like MJ?

Her thoughts were interrupted when Dottie answered the phone. “Hi, Dottie, it’s MJ. Sorry, I’m calling so late.”

“It’s not late. We just walked in the door. Anything wrong? Angelina’s not sick is she?”

Considering MJ never called this late, she understood Dottie’s concern.

“Actually, I need a favor. My sister’s in a bit of trouble, and I need to go to her.” MJ debated on what to tell Dottie, then decided there was no reason not to tell her as much of the truth as possible. Good rule of thumb for lying—stick to the truth as much as you could, so as not to get tripped up later.

“Oh, well, you’ll need to talk to Tex then, let him know you won’t be at–”

“I do need to talk to Tex, but I also need to see if you can watch Angel for me. It’ll be a long, hard trip. I think she would be happier in familiar surroundings. I know technically you’re not supposed to keep the kids overnight so if you can’t–”

“Pshaw. I’ve fudged on that rule plenty of times. What the state don’t know don’t hurt ’em. Besides, I’ve been keeping kids longer than that rule’s been in existence.”

“I like your attitude,” MJ said. “Angel’s already asleep, but I need to leave right away.”

“Bundle her in her p.j.’s and come on over.”

“I’ll see you in fifteen minutes. I’ll wait to talk to Tex when I get there.”

MJ grabbed the two go-bags she kept packed in the closet. Old habits died hard. Before she took the bags down to her car, she checked on Ben. His trip to dreamland kept him oblivious to the effect his naked chest was having on her. Just as well. She was trying to ignore the effect herself. She reasoned it was the stark contrast of the white bandage to his dark skin that made him look especially appealing.

He was so still and silent, she thought she should take his pulse. To make sure he was still alive, of course. She in no way just wanted an excuse to touch him. He didn’t move as she took his wrist.

Beneath her fingers, his arm roughened with hair felt relaxed, warm, and promised strength even in sleep. It had been so long since she’d touched a man in anything but a most casual handshake at work. With car grease around her fingernails, no one wanted to hold her hand long no matter the miracle she performed on their car. And that was fine by her.

She didn’t mind the isolation. She told herself hundreds of times she was happier that way.

Still. As foreign as Ben’s wrist felt in her hand, something appealed to her, triggering a deeply buried, purposely forgotten longing for a companion, a partner in life. A lover.

The last thought shook her from her reverie.

She needed no man. Wanted no man. Could trust no man . . . aside from possibly Niko, who had been more than a friend to her over the years.

Almost throwing Ben’s arm down, she caught herself, laid it gently in his lap, not wanting to risk waking him.

She grabbed the bags, intending on taking them down first, and then coming back for Angelina. She didn’t want to manipulate both bags and baby.

As she opened the door, she heard Jenkins on the floor below, talking to old Mrs. Crandall whose words floated up the stairway. “You know, I do think I heard a gunshot,” MJ heard her say. The woman was not only old but deaf. And certainly couldn’t hear a gunshot when there wasn’t more than a thump of the silencer, which MJ hadn’t even heard the first time. The elderly woman was probably excited to have a little drama in her life.

MJ walked quietly out the door, locked it behind her and hurried down the back stairs. If she were lucky, she’d be gone before he got up to her apartment. If not, nothing she couldn’t handle. Just given their history, she’d rather avoid Officer Jenkins.

She had no idea he was so ambitious anyway. Taking the initiative to investigate . . . what? What had that man told Jenkins? That he saw a windshield shatter? Definitely not enough for the local cop boy to do.

She hurried to the parking garage, did a quick scan for Ben’s truck. It took her a moment to locate it over in a corner. He’d parked it facing the wall so it wasn’t immediately evident the windshield was broken. Unfortunately the flat tire was obvious. Still, flats were common enough and shouldn’t alert anyone right away.

Back in her apartment, MJ taped a spare apartment key, and a note to the door, warning Ben about the snoopy policeman.

Gathering up Angel’s warm cuddly weight in her arms, MJ paused for one last look at the peacefully sleeping Ben. Long lashes shadowed his dark cheeks. His swarthy dark skin made her wonder if his ancestry was such a hodge-podge. The combination of dark eyes, dark skin, dark lashes, all made a damned appealing package, probably irresistible to many women.

But not to her.

“Good bye Sleeping Beauty,” she murmured and closed the door. As she locked it, she heard footsteps on the front stairs. If she hurried to the back stairs–

Too late. Officer Jenkins saw her. “MJ.”

Just as well, if he’d knocked on her door and managed to wake up Ben, who in his drugged state might miss her note and open the door, there would be way too many complications. Yes, it was no doubt better that she speak with Jenkins now.

She turned to face him, noting he looked thinner in his police uniform than he did in a bulkier gi. Still, after their last sparring match, she remembered there was a punch of power in his fist, in spite of his lean physique. When they made eye contact, she placed a finger over her mouth then pointed to her sleeping baby.

“Trouble?” he asked in a softer voice.

“No, why?”

He looked at Angel. “You ask why, given it’s after ten o’clock and you’re going out with your sleeping baby? Need milk for breakfast?” He moved close, forcing her to step back against the wall. She didn’t like giving ground, but she didn’t want him near Angel.

“Is there some problem?”

“Been report of a possible gunshot.”

“Really?”

“You act surprised. I don’t suppose you heard anything.”

She adjusted Angel in her arms. “Can’t say I did.”

With the not so subtle intent to intimidate, he placed a hand on the wall beside her head and said, “Can’t say that you didn’t either.”

His position forced her to look upward. She admitted he wasn’t a bad looking guy, with his sandy brown hair. A sharp nose, flaring now, reminding her disturbingly of a male wolf. Definitely needed to shake the guy off. “Maybe someone heard a car backfiring? That sounds a lot like a gunshot.”

“Don’t think a car backfiring will break a windshield.”

“Someone’s windshield was broken?”

“Looks like it. There’s broken glass on the street in front of your building. Might not be safe for you to be out and about this time of night.”

“It’s Whiddon. I’ll be careful, but it was probably some kid with a rock.”

“I better walk you to your car.”

“No, really–”

“Not much you can do in the way to defend yourself with a sleeping baby in your arms.”

He leaned close, his thick lips almost touching her cheek. His dark eyes grew darker at the prospect of something she didn’t even want to imagine leaving her no choice at the moment but to allow him to walk with her. If she protested, he’d no doubt get suspicious, or worse, try to prove his point she was at a severe disadvantage with Angel in her arms.

His intimidating tactics receding after he got his way, he fell into step beside her. Very close beside her, much to her annoyance.

“You never did say where you were going,” he said.

“No, I didn’t.”

             
“You’re making me think you got something to hide.”

“Maybe I just don’t like nosy cops?”

“It’s a cop’s business to be nosy.”

She resisted engaging in a battle of wills with Jenkins. Neither spoke again until they’d walked down the stairs and he opened the door leading to the garage. “I could follow you.”

“For what reason? Going out with a sleeping baby after ten o’clock isn’t illegal.”

“But it is suspicious.”

“You’re bored. This little town has hardly has anything more challenging than lost cats, the occasional domestic spat, and kids breaking curfew.”

The look on his face said he didn’t like her analysis of his job. Truth hurts. She walked quickly to her car, pulling the keys from her pocket.

“Here, let me,” he said, taking the keys from her. His fingers brushed hers, from the look on his face, it wasn’t an accident.