Page 8 of Killer Knows Best (Fallon Baxter FBI Mystery #4)
8
SPECIAL AGENT JACK STONE
“ J et,” I growl out my brother’s name as he offers up a goofy grin. “What the heck are you thinking?”
Fallon lifts a finger his way. “Please excuse my partner,” she says, shooting me a cool look with a threat layered underneath. I’m guessing this isn’t the protocol she wanted to take when it came to the idiots in question. “You know”—she glances at the pooch to her right—“Buddy and I were wondering about something.”
“Do tell,” I mutter, sinking in my seat a notch because it’s all I can do not to throw my brother against a wall right now.
Fallon slices another lethal glance at me, but my gaze dips to her lips. I miss them already.
Fallon and I are new—hours new—too new to be cavorting with my brother, of all people.
“Buddy and I were wondering what the name of your cat is.” She flashes a seemingly unassuming smile at my brother, and I have no doubt he’ll step right into her honey trap.
“Mom’s cat?” Jet looks momentarily confused as he looks my way. “What’s his name?”
It’s true, I have full custody of my mother’s cranky feline while its cranky owner is doing her latest stint behind bars for knocking off liquor stores. To hear her say it, that’s her specialty, but she’s not any good at it, hence the orange jumpsuit.
“He is she ,” I grunt back at my brother. “And I don’t know its name,” I growl over at Fallon because apparently I’m not above spreading around my bad mood. No sleep and being deprived of Fallon’s lips for too long evidently have a negative effect on me all around.
“Her name,” Fallon corrects while over-enunciating the words. “You don’t know her name.” She shakes her head at me. “She must have a name. What did your mother call her?”
“Her Effing Cat,” I say and my brows hike a notch in amusement. “I call her Cat for short.”
A dry laugh lives and dies in Fallon’s throat as she curls into her seat. “Well, no one will accuse anyone in your family of having an abundance of creativity. I’m not calling her any of the above. She needs a proper name.”
“How about Smokey?” Jet offers it up spontaneously and I squint up at him. Jet is lanky, pale as the walking dead, and he isn’t too picky when it comes to booze, chemical substances, and women. I’m hoping he doesn’t break Riley’s heart, because if he does, I’ll have to break a few of his bones to even things out.
Fallon tips her head as she considers this. “She is a black and gray striped tabby. But I’ve seen her slink around the cabin with elegance. I’m thinking something more feminine. How about Misty?”
“Misty it is,” I say, still not amused that Fallon has hijacked what could have been a highly effective shakedown. Odds are that if Riley knows where Erin is, thanks to her deal with the Morettis, then Jet may know by proxy.
“I vote Smokey,” Jet says with a shrug as if he has a right, and that’s all the motivation I need. I pop out of my seat and shuffle him out of the diner and into the icy morning air, driving him around to the side of the building and slamming him against the wall just the way I’ve been craving ever since he dared step foot in front of us. “You don’t get a vote in anything until you tell me exactly what Marco told Riley. I swear, if you know something and you hold back, I’m going to find out, and then I’m going to put a bullet through you and call your new girlfriend to clean up the mess. You don’t get to put Riley in danger in any capacity because I actually care about her safety.”
“ Bull .” He slams his hands against my chest, but I don’t lose my grip on him. “The only thing you care about is getting into her sister’s pants and we both know it.”
I growl his way.
I’m not going there with Jet. What Fallon and I have is off-limits to him. But I can’t fault him for reducing what I have to the most common denominator.
Our parents were hedonists of the highest order. Drugs, booze, and sex with anything that moved was not only permitted, but highly encouraged, and that was just between the two of them. Suffice it to say, we didn’t have the best role models when it came to just about anything. Which would also explain why we were left to our own devices after the two of them were sent to prison—my mother for her liquor store shtick and my father for possession of heroin.
My older sister was already living with friends at that point.
Thankfully, my brother and I ended up with Sandy and William Decker, who saw our plight as a way to store their own riches in heaven by way of feeding us hot meals, offering us a roof over our heads, and gifting us a brand-new sibling—a bonus brother about our age whose halo was far more tarnished than theirs.
Today, Mitch runs the family morgue out in Elmwood. That’s the same piece of crap town Jet and I hail from, a hotbed for sinners of every variety, but it seems to have a particular affection for hookers, junkies, and pimps.
“Let go and I’ll tell you.” Jet squirms until I do just that.
The rush of the falls in the distance fills the silence and I cast a glance their way. They alone are the reason I chose this dusty small town with a backdrop of lush mountainsides everywhere you look.
Pine Ridge Falls gets its name from those grand ribbons of rushing water that sit at the base of the ridge. It’s also home to Pine Ridge Lake, and that body of water is why I chose to live in the cluster of cabins known as Whispering Woods. It just so happens that Fallon and Buddy are my neighbors in Whispering Woods, which I happen to wholeheartedly approve of.
And it also just so happens that Jet is my unexpected roommate in Whispering Woods, due to the fact he can’t sit still in a rehab facility long enough to allow it to work its magic. But I think both Jet and I know there is no magic there—more like sleight of hand. Ninety percent of addicts return to their vomit, and both Jet and I are inches from doing just that. It’s a war, and one we’re determined to win, or at least I am. Although Jet is putting in a concerted effort, I’ll give him that.
“Spill it,” I say. “I’m getting hungry.”
“Marco says Erin is managing an operation for the Morettis. Something small.”
My eyes widen at the thought. No matter how small the Morettis or Marco Rossi thinks this operation is, it doesn’t change the fact it’s most likely illegal.
“She’s dispensable,” I say. “That’s why they chose her. That’s the only reason they choose anybody. What is she doing?”
“I don’t know,” he says. “The guy told Riley that if she went looking, she’d spook her sister and that she’d probably never see her again. ”
I shake my head. Marco told Fallon that Riley had all the info to land Erin at her feet.
I frown back at the falls and soak in the bionic rush of water, flanked with an overgrowth of oaks and pines. The oaks are a brilliant shade of ruby, easily winning out in the attention department.
Erin doesn’t want attention; neither do the Morettis.
“Anything else?” I give Jet another shove as I ask the question.
“Something about Elmwood.”
“Is she living there?” I can’t seem to keep the hint of alarm out of my voice.
“I don’t know. He said Elmwood was part of her hub.”
“ Hub .” I squeeze my eyes shut a moment. “What else?”
“That’s it.” He raises his hands as if surrendering. “Don’t worry. I told Riley we needed to let the two of you handle things and she agreed.” His lips twitch at the corners and lets me know he’s lying.
“Okay,” I say, giving him a pat to the arm that could leave a bruise. “Get back to work.”
We head back inside and split ways. By the time I get to the booth, my breakfast is waiting for me, sans the sausages I ordered.
“Don’t look at me.” Fallon fights the smile tugging at her lips. “Buddy prefers sausage and we both know it.” Her expression darkens as she hitches her head in the direction my brother took off in and I quickly relay everything I gleaned.
There’s no point in keeping anything from her. I don’t see myself as her knight in shining armor—more like her partner in wiping out the filth that lives among us.
“ Elmwood ,” she practically mouths the word to herself as she says it. “Good to know.” She casts a dark look at her mother as she works the register. “Nikki called. She says she nailed down the location where we can find the dirtbag who rented out that room at the Grand Meadows Hotel.”
“Sounds like our day is taking shape.”
She nods. And judging by that faraway look in her eyes, she’s got more than one person she’d like to track down today. Too bad Erin Baxter is as elusive as a ghost.
But our first suspect in last night’s double homicide isn’t.
We wolf down our food and I drop a wad of cash on the table as we speed for the door.
Rush Simmons has a lot of explaining to do. Only this time he won’t get a chance to skirt around the truth like he did with the deputies last night.
If he wants to maintain his freedom, he’s going to have to sing just like that lousy band he manages.
Here’s hoping there are enough clues in his lyrics to track down a killer.