Trust No One (6 page)

His determined dance for domination ended moments later when he lost control. His body stiffened, then pumped wildly beneath her. The force of his orgasm subsided, but with the need to keep him distracted, she used her breasts to full advantage, massaging them against his age-sunken chest.

Still humming to herself, she slipped her hand beneath the pillow, her fingers searching, then closing over what she sought. Slender and sharp. Long and lethal.

With experience born of practice, she used her palm and drove the six-inch long antique cloisonné hatpin deep into his ear. As his body jerked again, this time in a death spasm, Tasha whispered, “Goodbye, Mr. Senator.”

And another one bites the dust.

Chapter 3

Five hours after her encounter with Ben Walker, Tex called it an early day. Tonight was the first dress rehearsal for the annual Christmas play held at the local theater, and Dottie was the pianist.

“I want to boogie home,” he said, “and help Dottie so she’ll be ready to go when the kids walked out the door.”

MJ had no protest, happy to pick up Angelina early.

A combination of oatmeal cookies and baby powder infused MJ’s senses when she walked inside the old rambling house. No, baby shampoo, she decided as she gathered up her giggling squiggly daughter. “You washed your hair?”

“I had to bathe her.” Dottie carried a plate of cookies in from the kitchen. “We did finger painting and one of the children thought she was a canvas.” Three other children ranging in ages from three to five danced around Dottie like puppies after a chew bone.

MJ laughed. “And I bet you were a beautiful canvas,” she told Angelina, who was the youngest of the bunch. “Sounds like a busy day.”

“Always fun around here.” Dottie laughed as well, her teeth pearly white in her round dark face. She set the plate on the table and passed out cookies.

“How do you manage to do it all and bake cookies too?” MJ asked in awe of the woman’s organizational abilities.

“It’s all in the planning,” Dottie said. “I mix up the cookies ahead of time and freeze the dough, makes baking them easy, and much cheaper than the break and bake kind at the store. Here, have one.”

“Much better, too.” MJ, never one to turn down Dottie’s cookies, took one and shared a bite with Angelina. Even simple things like watching her little girl chew made MJ’s heart swell. She never realized such a pure, sweet love existed, since only vague images of her own parents’ love danced on the edges of her memories.

“Hey, cutie bug, where’s my hug?” Tex tweaked Angelina’s ears and grinned. The average person would never suspect gruff old Tex was a charmer with the kids. Around them he became as squishy as a soft marshmallow.

“Go see Tex while I help Dottie gather up the toys.” MJ gave Angelina a kiss before passing her off to marshmallow man.

Dottie cheerfully objected to any help but MJ insisted. Soon the living room was tidy. While MJ reclaimed Angelina, Dottie bustled into the kitchen. “Don’t hurry off until I pack you some cookies.”

Walking down the street, munching on another cookie, MJ took the time to breathe the crisp air of approaching winter. She was doing that more often lately. Stopping to smell the roses and all that crap.

Only it wasn’t crap. The slower pace gave her a deeper appreciation for life and the nuances she’d never given thought to before.

Stopping by the local diner to buy hot chocolate to wash down the cookies, she took time to chat with Paula, asking about her son who would graduate in the spring from Texas A&M as a vet. Paula, a widow, worked two, sometimes three jobs to get her son through college. And it had all paid off.

In her previous life, MJ wouldn’t have known or cared unless it was part of her job. Now it gave her a sense of belonging to a community made up of people who were more than potential assets, enemies or targets.

Though the sinking sun still shone bright, a definite chill slipped through MJ’s coveralls and light jacket, promising a very cool Texas night. It snowed maybe once in ten years here, but MJ, with no fondness in her heart for cold weather after her experience in Italy, didn’t mind the milder temperatures.

Since Angel was bundled in her jacket, MJ decided to detour by the park. The inside play area at her apartment was nice, but nothing beat fresh air and sunshine, even if there was a nip of winter in the air.

“Puck, puck,” Angelina chimed when MJ told her.

The park, a small oasis of grass, trees and toys in the middle of the town, looked oddly idyllic standing alone with no children playing. Too young to care, Angelina didn’t notice the lack of playmates as she toddled toward a mini-slide just her size.

Minutes later, Ben seemed to come from nowhere, but MJ knew he’d been waiting behind the big oak tree. Irritation pricked at her that he was being such a pest, even though he was no doubt only doing his job. She just hated that
she
was his job, for whatever reason.

He watched as she caught Angelina at the foot of the slide. To outer appearances, MJ didn’t let his presence bother her, focusing on her daughter, who soon tired of the slide and ran as fast as her chubby legs would go toward the swing. MJ went after her.

“Cute kid,” Ben said, following along to the swing. He held onto the chain while MJ buckled the safety harness.

The tone in his voice set her on edge. “Yes, she is.” She tried to analyze why those two simple words made her uneasy. It was as if he disliked kids. But then again, everything about him so far today had affected her senses. And not in a good way.

She silenced the thought and moved his hand away from the chain so she could push the swing. No sense in showing him his deliberate move unbalanced her, even if she hadn’t convinced herself.

He stepped back, seemed to acknowledge her message.

“Do you have children, Mr. Walker?” He didn’t wear a wedding ring, but that didn’t mean anything. He might be divorced. He might be an unwed father. He might not wear a ring when he was on a job.

“No.”

The word was abrupt. Clipped. Okay. Or he might not have kids at all.

No sense in pursuing the subject, and she had nothing else to say. She turned her attention to pushing the swing, enjoying Angelina’s delighted squeals and the abandoned way she kicked her little legs.

“When’s the last time you saw Tasha?” he asked over the noise.

MJ kept pushing. “I was told she visited me while I was in the hospital. I don’t remember whether she did or not.”

“No holiday visits?”

“I haven’t been back . . . h-home,” MJ stumbled over the word, the place she’d lived out the remainder of her adolescence had never really felt like a home, “ . . . since Ed died. You haven’t done your homework.”

“There’s been no reason to keep tabs on you.”

“So, why are you looking for Tasha?” MJ didn’t think about Tasha much. Tasha was the oldest of the three kids Ed had taken in—light years older it seemed when they were growing up. Tasha was beautiful—blonde, pale, curvy, and she had always known how to use her looks. Next to her, MJ had felt gangly, too skinny, her face too pointy, her hair too dark and straight. To add insult to injury, Tasha was brainy—she had both book smarts as well as a sharp cunning which had gotten her out of many sticky situations, even as a teenager.

Tasha’s brother Nikolai—Niko—was closer in age to MJ, and she had always gotten along with him better than his sister. They’d been quite close in fact, not only had Niko taught her to work on cars, but he’d taught her the meaning–

“Seems she’s killing people she’s not sanctioned to kill,” Ben said.

That shocked MJ out of her musings. She felt her eyes widen before she could stop the reaction. Her hands dropped to her side. Tasha was sly and crafty, true, and good at her job, but killing was something the Vista agents only did as an absolute necessity.

Of course, maybe Tasha did have a reason. She always adopted her own rules, her own agenda, and everyone who knew her knew Tasha didn’t appreciate interference. This time was likely no different. Regardless, MJ didn’t want to debate motives in front of this stranger, Vista employee or not. “Maybe they needed killing,” MJ commented, her tone casual.

“They were senators.”

Keeping her face blank, MJ said, “Well, there you have it. I’m sure quite a few senators need killing.”

Ben didn’t react with more than a slight raise of his left eyebrow.

“Hey, lighten up, suit. It’s a joke.”

“Do I look like a suit to you?”

“You might not dress like one, but you’re acting as stuffy as any FBI agent I ever met.”

“If you’re finished commenting on my–”

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” MJ interrupted. “So give me the details. How many has she supposedly killed?”

“To date, four.”

MJ blinked. Not much shocked her; she’d seen a lot in her years in the business. “So many? Why is there no outcry on the news about the senator murderer?”

“A couple of good reasons. One, the cause of death has been listed as natural; it mimics a stroke or a heart attack. And two, most of the senators are retired and don’t live in the D.C. area anymore, so it’s been difficult to connect the incidences.”

“Are you sure it’s Tasha? Maybe the cause of death
is
natural. If they’re retired, they’re bound to be old. God knows most senators don’t leave the job until a foot’s in the grave anyway.”

“We’re not one hundred percent positive. You can call it a hunch.”

“No proof? You’re wasting my time then.”

“You telling me you don’t believe in hunches?”

“Momma, momma. High, high.”

MJ shifted her attention to Angel. “There you go sweetie.” She gave the swing another shove before she turned back to Ben. “I believe in my own hunches, and right now it’s telling me I’m not going to be able to help you. Sorry.”

“You don’t sound too sorry. Maybe you’re holding out.”

“Why would I bother? Tasha’s a big girl, more than capable of taking care of herself, and cleaning up any mess she makes. I mean figuratively of course.”

“You could say it literally, too. The crime scenes are clean.”

“Then you really have nothing to go on. Good luck. You’re going to need it.”

MJ turned back to Angel, signaling the issue settled, but Ben obviously had other ideas. He moved into her personal space, and wrapped his hand around her bicep. Once more his touch sent a sharp spark of heat through her, even through her layers of clothes. Had to be purely imagined, she reasoned. Still, she frowned, not liking her body’s reaction. When she slowly raised her gaze to meet his, he made his point.

“I’m not the one who’s going to need luck. You are.”

His words snapped her focus away from unwanted sexual awareness and straight to the reason he was in Whiddon. MJ narrowed her eyes. This whole situation was starting to piss her off. “That better not mean what I think it does.”

“And they told me you were sharp.”

She jerked away. “I’m retired.”

“Not anymore.”

“Like hell.”

Ben knew he could have been more subtle but she was damned prickly and her constant defensiveness presented more challenges than he’d anticipated. It wasn’t her inappropriate sense of humor—she was right, in this business a sense of the bizarre, a way to find humor was a necessity to stay sane.

This was too often a shit business and it was about to get shittier. His frustration stemmed more from his orders rather than her. With what he knew about her, plus her devotion to that baby. . .it was going to be damn hard to continue as he’d been directed. Better to let her think he had no sense of humor.

Because if she didn’t agree to go after Tasha, he had no choice but to be heartless.

He mentally shrugged. If her opinion of him started low, it wouldn’t be a shock for it to sink lower. “Can we go back to your apartment and talk?”

“I don’t have anything more to say.”

“Look, it’ll be dark soon. You’ll have to go home in a few minutes. When you do, I’ll just park on your doorstep.”

She pierced him with a sharp stare that gave him the impression she wished for an equally sharp knife to maybe carve out his heart. Yeah, just wait until she heard the plans if she refused, then he’d really have to watch out for a sharp knife. He bet she had a good aim.

Finally, with her feet planted squarely beneath her shoulders she said, “You’re not invited to dinner.”

“Fair enough. We don’t have to be friends, MJ, but I’ve got to have your help.” He clenched his fists and thought how much more tolerable life had been when his hands were holding a bottle.

“My daughter isn’t ready to leave yet.”

Ben didn’t want to stay any longer, in spite of his threats to do just that. “How about I meet you at your apartment in an hour?”

Resignation sank deep into her eyes. “Okay.”

“Since you’re not going to feed me, where’s a good place to eat?” Food would take his urge off the need to drink as well. Every day he fought that urge. It was funny how Southern Comfort had become such a necessary comfort. Or maybe not so funny.