Chapter 1 Page 12

  So that was his problem. “Don’t worry.” The last thing I needed was for him to take potshots at Noche and Blanco. I deepened my voice. “Noche! Blanco! Quiet!” Noche whined, but the barking stopped. “Good dogs.”

  After exiting the car, I inspected the policeman. He was kind of cute. Another all-American looking guy. Sandy blond hair, stocky build. Probably played football in high school, barely graduated, then joined the police force.

  “Ma’am, did you realize you were going under the speed limit back there?” he said in a Joe-Friday voice.

  When I noted his gun was still holstered, I regained my normal smart-ass attitude and came close to telling him this wasn’t Dragnet but doubted he’d get the reference. “Under the speed limit? You’re telling me you stopped me for going under the speed limit?”

  “Yes, ma’am. It’s dangerous to drive too slow on Lakeshore Drive.”

  “You’re kidding me, right? Why aren’t you out there saving this town from some really scary people?” I waved my arm toward a row of houses. “Like the criminals who get their pictures in the paper every day. Some of their mug shots appear so often they’re beginning to feel like family. Do I look like a threat to the community?” I raised the pitch of my voice just enough to make him wonder if he was dealing with a sane person. When Noche and Blanco heard me, they resumed their barking. “Look in the backseat. Will you take a look?”

  He scratched his head and hesitated. “What do you mean, ma’am? What have you got in the backseat?”

  I saw myself mirrored in his sunglasses. My hair had looked better. “I’m talking about the dogs.”

  “The dogs need to stay in the car, ma’am.”

  “That’s, my, point.” I enunciated each word carefully. “The dogs are also law-abiding citizens.”

  He scratched his head again. Irritating habit. Someone should tell him.

  “Seat belts. They’re wearing seat belts,” I said.

  He ventured a quick look in the backseat and gave me a lopsided grin. It was the first thing he’d done that looked human. Seeing the dogs safely buckled in brought about an instant change in his demeanor.

  “I’m going to let you off with just a warning this time,” he said, lifting his hat back, pulling out a handkerchief, and wiping beads of sweat off his brow.

  To my relief he didn’t ask for proof of insurance—he didn’t even check my license against the database. In fact, his grin turned into a full-fledged flirty smile. “So you live at Casa del Lago?”

  I held a hand to my eyes to block the sunlight. “Just for a few more weeks.”

  “So what do you do, I mean, what are you doing for fun…here in Waco?”

  His question caught me off guard. “Uh, I’m not really here for fun.”

  “Driving a Lexus and not here for fun? Just driving a Lexus must be fun.”

  How old was this guy, anyway, sixteen?

  “I can think of other things that are more fun,” I said matter-of-factly.

  His grin widened.

  Oops, had I ever said the wrong thing. “I mean like…watching movies, going out to dinner…” It had been so long since I’d done anything just for fun, I wasn’t sure what to say.

  He looked down at my license. “So, Ms. Shields, why don’t I show you a little southern hospitality tonight? Dinner on me. My name’s Butch, Butch Justice.”

  He paused a moment, as if expecting me to make some crack about his name, and when I didn’t he smiled sheepishly.

  “Is that legal? Asking out someone you’ve stopped?”

  He grinned again. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

  Five minutes ago I’d have said absolutely no way. But the vow I’d made was beginning to nag at me. I was looking for a man who wasn’t my type, and Butch Justice was just the kind of guy my mother would abhor. She’d call him middle-class poor for one thing. He also wasn’t tall, dark, or my kind of hunky. He was looking better all the time.

  “Why not?” I said, though I could think of one big reason. Butch might be cute, but he couldn’t hold a candle to Nick, whose flame burned as blue as his eyes.

  Back in the car I took a big swig from one of the dogs’ water bottles, wondering what I’d just agreed to.

  Butch was picking me up at eight under a tree near the circular drive. The arrangement seemed all right with him, though he did specify “no dogs,” as if I might bring them along as chaperones. “Macho Cop” must have a fear of anything with more than two legs.

  No need for Carmen to know I was slipping out at night with an officer of the law. I remembered how Berto looked when Nick mentioned the feds. And then there was the gun. Lots of people keep guns for protection, but why would Nick have brought one all the way from New Orleans?

  When I saw the old pickup making its way up the road to the house, I hoped someone had made a wrong turn or one of Ramón’s friends was paying a call. No such luck. The truck with splotched primer that looked straight off the set of The Grapes of Wrath belonged to my date for the evening.

  It didn’t take me long to discover Butch’s boots had more polish than his manners. He hopped out of the truck, but when he saw me heading toward him, he hopped back in. The truck sat high off the ground and didn’t have a side step. I lifted one leg and stretched it inside, then looked around for something to hold onto while I heaved my one hundred ten pounds up and in. Butch finally reached his arm out for me to grab.

  I could tell he’d tried to spiff up the inside when the smell of Armor All and piña colada hit my nasal passages. I looked him over while he drove. His face was sunburned, his hair bleached out by the sun. He wore a white, short-sleeved polo shirt, and his arms were red, like his face. Every now and then he’d look over at me and smile, but it was wasted on me. I reminded myself I’d asked for this, a guy guaranteed not to break my heart. I tried to be more optimistic. Dogs could be trained, after all.

  After fifteen minutes of bumping up and down on bad shocks, we pulled into what looked like an old warehouse complex someone had developed into shops and restaurants. “This is River Square,” Butch said, “on account of the Brazos River being right over there.” He pointed toward some buildings and a clump of trees about a block away.

  He got out of the truck, and when it was obvious he wasn’t coming around to open my door, I shoved it open myself. The buildings were lit up with neon signs of restaurants offering cuisine from steaks to seafood to Italian. My mouth began to water at the thought of a thick, juicy steak, medium rare, but Butch didn’t bother to ask what I had a hungering for. He led me straight to the Mexican food place. I’d wanted a different kind of guy and now I had one, so best not complain. He probably didn’t make much money protecting the citizens of Waco from themselves, and Mexican food was cheap. I should count my blessings. He could have taken me to McDonald’s.

  “I been to Abilene,” he said, after we’d been seated. “Nothing but tumbleweeds, dirt devils, and yellow grass.”

  I’d cut him slack on the Mexican food, but I wasn’t about to let him badmouth my hometown. “What’s wrong with tumbleweeds? Better dirt devils than the kind you have here—child molesters, drunk drivers, murderers. In Abilene no one locks their doors at night.” I looked out a window to see if a lightning bolt was about to strike me dead for lying and thought I heard a distant rumble.

  “That so,” he said.

  “Yes, that’s so.” I was glad I hadn’t shaved my legs or put on any makeup, save some lip gloss and a touch of mascara. Maybe I’d scare him off before he proposed.

  But if he was trying to woo me, he was pushing all the wrong buttons. “Must be nice having money.”

  Surely this yahoo couldn’t read my financial worth in my face, and I certainly wasn’t dressed like someone rich. “What makes you think I have money?”

  “You kidding? Driving around in a Lexus. Living in a mansion.”

  “It’s not my Lexus or my mansion.”

  “Yeah, but I can tell you’re one of them women of privilege.”
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  “And how can you tell that?”

  “Something about you. I’ve known rich girls. Not that I’m holding it against you. I like women with money.”

  I’ll bet. This time his cute lopsided grin didn’t look so cute.

  I was relieved when we finally got our food and I could stuff my face and not feel forced to make conversation.

  “So, Miss Julie, what’s it like living at Casa del Lago?” I could tell he thought he was being sexy when he reached over and slowly ran a finger down my cheek. I narrowed my eyes at him and pulled back, cringing inside. If Nick touched me like that, I’d be tempted to roll over and let him rub my belly.

  Butch’s calling me “Miss Julie” made me feel old, though the lines around his eyes said he wasn’t any pup.

  “Just Julie,” I said, looking at my watch.

  “I like your Rolex.” His accent seemed to get more country as the night wore on. “Your” came out as “yore.”

  I gave him a look meant to wither his acorns. “It’s like living in any large house. Nice. Big.” I didn’t tell him I had my own place out back. No need giving him ideas he didn’t already have.

  “What about those Espositos? They’re not from around here. Got a private pilot and make lots of trips to Mexico. Kind of suspicious, if you ask me. You might want to be careful. I’ve heard rumors.”

  “What kinds of rumors?”

  “Drugs, illegal aliens, you name it. They’re Mexicans, you know.”

  Anger shot up from my feet to my face. I didn’t bother keeping my voice down. “I beg to differ. They’re Americans, just like you and me!” Heads turned at a nearby table.

  Why had Butch really stopped me? Had he asked me out because he thought I was rich? Did he think I had inside information on the Espositos that would get him a promotion?

  Just then, a large clap of thunder shook the restaurant. I shoveled in my last bite of chicken enchilada and stood up. Butch got the hint I was ready to leave.

  Outside, as we walked out onto the covered porch in front of the restaurant, drops of rain started pelting the ground. I hoped he’d offer to run out and get the pickup, then drive around and get me. Instead, he grabbed my hand and shouted, “Let’s make a run for it!” and pulled me out onto the parking lot. About halfway to the truck, all hell broke loose. Old-timers would call it a frog-strangling gulley washer. By the time we got to the truck, we were both soaked. This time, I was glad Butch didn’t help me in. The last thing I wanted was his hands near my butt. I took another vow right then. If I got back to my rooms in one piece, I’d never go out on another date.

  Butch yanked an old rag from behind the driver’s seat and toweled off his hair. Then he dried his face and arms. As an afterthought he offered the rag to me. “No thanks,” I said. No telling where it had been. I leaned forward and wrung my hair out on the floorboard. Butch gave me one of his lopsided grins. “Wet T-shirt. I like that. How about us going dancing?”

  I gave him a you-gotta-be-shittin’-me look and snorted. Was he as obtuse as a triangle, or what? Just in case he was one of those crazy psychopathic cops I’d seen on TV, I decided to lie my way out of this one.

  “That’s very nice of you, but I told the Espositos I’d be home early so I could help them with some…some dog business.”

  “They do need to do something about them dogs. They’re vicious. Attack dogs.”

  “Attack dogs? They’re poodles!” Why had I subjected myself to his prolonged stupidity? “They’re pets.”

  “Well, you could’ve fooled me. The way they was snarling, if I hadn’t had a gun, I bet they’d have ripped my arm clean off.”

  “They had on seat belts, remember? And they didn’t know you had a gun. They were just protecting their territory.”

  By now we were bumping down Martin Luther King Jr. Boulevard, and the rain was pouring down so hard the visibility was about one foot.

  “Are you sure you can see well enough to drive?” Much as I wanted to hurry my homecoming, I also didn’t want to end up getting my name in the paper days or months from now when they pulled Butch and me out of the river.

  “Oh, sure. Grew up here. Know it like the back of my hand.”

  I hoped we were headed home. For all I knew, he was driving me out in the country so he could rape and kill me. Now I wished I’d told Carmen where I was going. I tried to think of a movie where the heroine thwarted the bad cop and came out alive, but none came to mind.

  “Sure I can’t interest you in a drink?” Butch asked. I half expected him to pull a flask from under the seat and offer me a swig. “I got some Jack back at my place.”

  “Jack?”

  “Daniels. You know, whiskey.”

  “No thanks,” I said, then added quickly, “but that’s very nice of you. The Espositos will worry if I’m not back by ten.” I kept waiting for that lightning bolt to strike. I’d done more lying since I’d come to Waco than I had in all my years in Abilene. Maybe it was something in the nasty-tasting water. The phosphates or the algae.

  As we rounded a curve, the rain let up enough to make out the road leading to Casa del Lago up ahead. I’d been saved. It was almost enough to make me reach over and hug Butch’s thick red neck. But not quite.

  My heart was singing in the rain as the pickup chugged up the slope to the house. I mentally segued into the “Hallelujah Chorus” when we reached the top and Butch swung into the circular driveway.

  As soon as he rolled to a stop, I gave him a quick “thank-you-for-the-dinner” and jumped out. Before I closed the door, he asked, “Can I call you?” I pretended not to hear and took off in a fast jog down the path to my rooms without looking back.

  On the way, I said a prayer of thanks for being spared the mortification of Nick’s seeing me with such a bigoted, ignorant boor.

  By now, the rain had slowed to a steady drizzle. As I neared my front porch, I saw something move. I jerked to a stop, thinking Butch had somehow transported himself ahead of me. I jumped when the beam of a spotlight struck me in the face, blinding me. I darted behind a nearby tree, wondering if I should make a run for the big house, hoping Butch’s clunky cowboy boots would slow him down.

  Before I could decide, a voice from the darkness wrapped around me like a warm, dry blanket. “Julie! I’ve been looking all over for you! Where in hell have you been?”

  Nick. Call me melodramatic, but I wanted to throw myself into his arms and tell him how close I’d come to death at the hands of a stranger.

  Chapter Nine

  My heartbeat slowed when I realized it was Nick, not Butch Justice, standing on my porch. I moved toward the sound of his voice until I could make out his features. His wet hair formed dark tendrils on his forehead, and his denim shirt was soaked. At that moment, I could easily have given up my vow of celibacy, but Nick’s thoughts were elsewhere. Tight lips replaced his usual grin. “Where have you been?”

  I started to tell him he wasn’t my father but stopped myself. I was too relieved to see him to snap back. “Out,” I said, as if that explained all. I must have looked quite the prize with my hair and clothes sopping wet and my eyes raccoon-ringed with mascara.

  “Out?” His eyes flashed with anger. “We’ve been looking for you since before dark. For all we knew, you’d fallen in the lake or gotten yourself kidnapped!”

  For once Nick’s imagination matched my own. In the distance, Berto and Carmen called my name. Nick spun around and shouted in the direction of their voices. “Down here! By the guesthouse!” Then he turned back to me. “We were about to call the police!”

  The irony of his remark struck me as amusing, and I spoke before I thought. “Huh. I was with the police.”

  His lip twitched slightly when he heard the word “police,” and he frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Could there be any truth to Butch’s accusations? Could Nick and the Espositos be involved in something unlawful? Drugs? Illegal aliens? Sex slaves? Nick had flown Berto to Mexico more than once since I�
��d been in Waco. What if Noche and Blanco were mules, like little Heroina, the pup found with cocaine sewed into her belly? I quickly discounted that theory. None of these people could be that cruel.

  Nick grabbed my shoulders, his eyes scanning my face. “What police? Out where?”

  I started to say it was none of his business, then decided the truth would be easier. “What difference does it make? But if you have to know, dinner. I was at dinner.”

  I heard Carmen and Berto before I saw them. Speaking in rapid Spanish, their voices tense, they broke through the bushes. Her dark hair was plastered to her head, Berto’s shirt was stuck to his chest, and both were out of breath. Berto was holding the black revolver I’d seen in the box, but at least it wasn’t pointed at me.

  Relief flooded Carmen’s face when she saw me. “Julie, thank goodness, you’re here. We were so worried.”

  I lowered my head and turned away from her, like Noche when I corrected him. I almost wished I had been kidnapped, rather than admit I’d been inconsiderate. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea anyone would even miss me.”

  Berto glowered at me under dark brows. “We were about to call the police.”

  “I told her. She says she was with the police.” Nick’s tone was sharp.

  Carmen wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, her eyes questioning. Berto breathed through his nose in short huffs, like a racehorse.

  I lifted my chin, and shot back at Nick. “I had a date.” Though none too proud of my voluntary brush with the local law, I wasn’t about to admit what a fiasco it had been. “Yes, with a policeman.”

  The three of them stared at me, as if waiting for more.

  Nick finally broke the silence. “A date?” No doubt he hoped my unfaithfulness to Philip would extend to him.

  Carmen looked first at Berto, then at Nick, her dark eyes full of concern. Berto ran a hand through his short, wet hair. “A Waco policeman?”