Page 41 of More Than a Hero (Baytown Heroes #12)

Jeremy gripped the steering wheel of the county SUV, his eyes scanning the stretch of two-lane highway that cut north through the heart of the Eastern Shore.

Gray clouds loomed low overhead, casting the flat fields in a silvery haze.

Beside him, Pete sat silently, flipping through the notes they’d scrawled from the morning’s dead-end interviews.

They had spent hours chasing whispers, trying to pull something solid out of the fog surrounding Tamarcus Waters.

Norfolk PD hadn’t seen him in a while. He wasn’t living where he used to or haunting the same places.

The informants for the NPD could only say that Flame was moving up.

The word on the street was that Tamarcus was climbing within the ranks of the OBG, stepping into power.

That kind of rise didn’t happen quietly.

Yet… here they were. Still no face, no recent photo. Just rumors.

Cedric had reluctantly agreed to let them float the idea of a deal to Lashawn, hoping maybe, just maybe, the man would be desperate enough to talk. But desperation hadn’t even brushed Lashawn's hardened exterior.

Jeremy remembered the way Lashawn had sneered, one side of his mouth lifting in something close to amusement.

“I can do my time and live like a king on the inside,” he’d said, voice rough with disdain, “or I can be dead the first night. You go figure which one I want.”

Now, a new call had them heading thirty minutes inland. A possible gang-related shooting. Drugs involved. Jeremy pressed harder on the gas, the SUV chewing up miles of cracked pavement. The air between him and Pete was quiet as the silence filled with shared thoughts and unspoken theories.

They saw the pulsing red and blue lights before they reached the scene, a swirl of chaos illuminating the parking lot of a run-down laundromat tucked just off the highway. Jeremy pulled in behind an ambulance, gravel crunching under the tires, and both men stepped out into the damp air.

Deputies from the Accawmacke Sheriff's Office had already cordoned off the scene, the familiar yellow tape fluttering in the wind.

Jeremy offered a chin lift to a few of the uniforms as he and Pete made their way toward the cluster of responders.

The laundromat stood in the background, its flickering neon "Open 24 HRS" sign casting a jittery glow.

Their captain, Terry, was mid-conversation with Sheriff Liam Sullivan when they approached. Both men turned, nodding in greeting.

“What have you got?” Pete asked, his gaze still taking in the scene.

Terry blew out a heavy sigh, the kind that carried the weight of too many crime scenes. “Two shots to the head through the driver’s window. Close range. Execution style. The guy never had a chance. His gun was still in the seat next to him.”

Pete’s gaze slid to where a K9 unit circled the crime scene, the dog tugging its handler toward the rear of the vehicle.

“Drugs?”

“Traces,” Terry confirmed. “Dog found a small stash of powder. One of the detectives identified it as coke. So far, only found in the trunk.”

Jeremy stepped in closer, brow furrowing. “Do we know who the victim is?”

Terry gave a solemn nod. “Pennsylvania plates. Driver’s license says Jacob Parsons. Same Blood ink on his knuckles as Lashawn. We’ll know more once the medical examiner gets a look.”

The laundromat stood like a relic from another time, its paint peeling, its windows fogged with years of grime.

Still open for business… In this area, many people didn’t have washers and dryers in their homes, so there was always a need.

Pete looked around the lot, instinct already ticking. “Witnesses?”

Terry’s expression shifted slightly, just enough to signal something more.

“That’s what I thought you’d be interested in.

A couple was inside, doing laundry. They said they were watching when the victim’s car pulled in.

The engine was still running. He was looking down, possibly texting.

Then a black sedan with tinted windows pulled up beside him.

Passenger side window came down, shots fired. Clean, fast. No one got out.”

Pete and Jeremy shared a look. Terry continued, “The woman screamed and dropped to the floor. Her husband pulled her behind the counter. No security cameras outside, unfortunately. Just one inside.”

Jeremy shook his head. “Guess the owner only cares who’s stealing quarters.”

Terry smirked. “That’d be my guess too.”

He gestured toward the street. “The ambulance has already taken Jacob’s body to the morgue. Cora said she was going to get started on him straight away. You can check in with her on your way back.”

Pete noticed Jeremy’s mouth curved at the mention of Cora’s name. He knew he’d do the same if someone talked about Angie.

Turning back to Terry, Pete said, “Can we talk to the couple?”

“Yep,” Terry said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder toward the laundromat. “I told Liam to keep them here. I figured you’d want to see if you could get anything out of them that his detectives didn’t. You two know more of the players.”

“Okay, Terry. Thanks,” Jeremy replied, giving a nod of appreciation.

“I’m heading back down to North Heron. If you end up needing backup, just give me a call.”

Pete tilted his head, studying Terry. Their captain was usually composed, but something in his tone seemed rushed.

“Everything all right?” Pete asked, voice low.

Terry offered a tired half smile. “Got a call from the school. My daughter is sick, and of course, the one person who usually helps cover for me is out too.”

Jeremy waved him off. “Don’t worry about it. We’ve got this covered.”

With a few quick chin lifts and murmured goodbyes, they watched Terry retreat across the lot, slipping into his SUV and pulling away, tires spitting gravel behind him.

Jeremy and Pete turned toward the laundromat, their boots crunching over the pavement.

The victim’s vehicle sat crookedly in a space just left of the front window, engine now silent.

The driver’s window was shattered, with the glass sprayed all over the front seats, dashboard, and console. Along with blood.

Jeremy spotted the K9 unit nearby—a tall man with a neatly trimmed beard holding the leash of a German Shepherd who paced, alert.

They walked over. Pete extended a hand. “Pete Bolton. This is Jeremy Pickett. Drug Task Force.”

The handler shook it firmly. “Carlos. And this here is Birdie.”

Jeremy gave the dog a small nod, then smiled faintly. “She found traces?”

“Yeah. Led us straight to the trunk. We did a full search, since nothing was visible at first. I had her double-check the back and front seats too. Still clean. One of the detectives finally used trace paper and picked up a little powder in the trunk. Likely a carry situation… maybe a poorly sealed baggie leaked during transport.”

“Got it,” Jeremy said. “Appreciate it.”

Carlos gave a nod, and the partners continued inside.

The laundromat smelled like fabric softener. The old tile floor was chipped in places, and the plastic chairs had seen better days. The machines were all silent, but the warmth of their use still permeated the air.

Along one wall, seated on a molded plastic bench, a couple sat close together.

The man had his arm protectively around the woman, and she was clutching a paper cup of coffee with both hands as if it were the only thing keeping her grounded.

Her dark eyes were red-rimmed, her mascara faintly smudged.

A female deputy stood nearby and straightened when she saw them approach.

She gave a respectful nod. “This is Juan and Tina Ramirez.”

Jeremy offered a gentle smile and pulled a chair up across from them, lowering himself slowly so he didn’t feel towering. “It’s good to meet you. I’m sorry it’s under these circumstances. I’m Detective Jeremy Pickett, Drug Task Force. This is my partner, Detective Pete Bolton.”

The couple nodded. Tina gave a small, nervous smile, while Juan kept a steady hand on her shoulder.

Pete took the seat beside Jeremy. His voice was calm, his presence grounding.

“I know you've already been questioned. I imagine it’s exhausting to go over this again, but we’d appreciate it if you could walk us through what happened one more time.

Sometimes a small detail, even something that seems insignificant, can help us make a connection. ”

“I understand, sir,” Juan said. His voice was quiet, thoughtful. “It all happened so fast.”

“Just start from the beginning,” Pete encouraged. “Tell us what you remember.”

Juan glanced at his wife, who gave him a small nod of encouragement.

“We’d just finished loading the dryers,” Juan began.

“We would have about an hour to wait before everything would be ready. I thought about running down to the gas station for lunch, but Tina…” His eyes softened as he looked at her.

“She said she thought it might rain. We walked over to the front window to check the sky. Just standing there, talking about what we might get to eat.”

Jeremy leaned in slightly, his voice low and steady. “Do you remember what time this was?”

Tina lifted her head slightly, her voice still shaky but certain. “It was right at five minutes until noon. I know because I checked the time. The weatherman said it might rain this afternoon, and I remember wondering if we’d make it home before it started.”

“That’s good to know,” Jeremy said gently. “What did you see?”

Juan shifted in his seat and glanced out the laundromat’s large front window.

“A car. A black car,” he began, his voice low and steady, but tight with unease.

He nodded toward the victim’s vehicle, still surrounded by detectives and evidence markers.

“It rolled up and parked just where it’s sitting now.

I don’t think the driver ever planned on coming inside.

But I watched, just in case. I didn’t want to leave Tina if a lone male was going to be doing his laundry here at the same time. ”

Pete gave him a respectful nod. “Smart thinking.”

“He looked like he was using his phone,” Tina added. Her fingers tightened around her coffee cup. “I couldn’t actually see a phone, but his head was down, like he was reading or texting. And I noticed the license plate—Pennsylvania tags. I thought maybe he was lost, maybe looking up directions.”

Jeremy scribbled that down, then looked up. “And then?”

Juan exhaled, his jaw tightening. “Another car came flying into the lot. Tires squealed as it stopped right up alongside the driver’s side. Passenger window was already down. And then… he lifted a gun.”

Juan’s eyes unfocused, as if he were watching the whole thing again. His hand curled slightly on his thigh.

“It took me a second to understand what I was seeing,” he continued. “Then he opened fire. I heard the glass shatter in the other car, but he kept shooting. Tina screamed and dropped. I hit the ground, too, and crawled to her. I pulled her behind the counter over there for folding clothes.”

Pete kept jotting, his pen moving steadily as the couple recounted the chaos.

“Then it was quiet,” Juan said. “Just like that. The tires squealed again. When I peeked over the edge of the counter, the second car was gone. And I couldn’t see anyone moving inside the first one.”

Tina nodded, her voice softer now. “Juan told me to call 911. He stepped out to check, but…”

Juan nodded. “He was dead. The man… he was on his side, not moving. I didn’t know what to do. Open the door? Not touch anything? I… I… I had no idea.”

Jeremy glanced at Pete, both reading the silent pain in the couple’s expressions. Neither had expected to witness a murder that day. Most people never did.

“No words were exchanged?” Pete asked.

Juan and Tina shook their heads in unison. “No. He just drove up and started shooting.”

Jeremy leaned forward. “Tell us about the second vehicle. What did it look like?”

“Black sedan,” Juan said. “I didn’t really look too close. Everything happened so fast. But it had Virginia tags.”

“Do you remember anything about the license plate? Even just part of it?” Pete asked.

Tina’s brow knitted as she stared at the floor, then looked up suddenly. “Two Xs. I remember that. Right at the beginning. I don’t know why it stuck with me, but it did. That’s all I saw. He wasn’t there more than a few seconds before I dropped down.”

Jeremy nodded, encouraging. “That’s helpful. Anything you can tell us about the driver?”

Juan shook his head. “Windshield was dark. Could barely make out the shape of a person inside.”

Jeremy tilted his head slightly. “But earlier, you said it was a man.”

Tina opened her mouth, then paused, her confusion flickering across her features.

Juan frowned. “We assumed. But honestly? I couldn’t tell.

When I think about it now… I couldn’t see clearly.

It might not’ve been a man. The shape was there, but the windshield was dark.

I didn’t think it was legal to have a windshield so dark.

” His hand trembled slightly as he wiped it down his jeans.

“Anything about the shooter?” Pete asked gently.

Juan’s head snapped up. “Glasses.”

Pete blinked. “You saw that?”

Juan nodded slowly. “You couldn’t see much, just an outline. But when he turned his head slightly, just before firing, I saw the side of glasses on his face. Then his hand lifted with the gun, and that was all I could focus on.”

“Sunglasses?”

Juan’s brow furrowed. “I don’t know.”

They tried for more, but the details had been muddied by fear and adrenaline. Eventually, Jeremy and Pete handed over their cards and thanked the couple, reassuring them they’d done more than enough.

Outside, the late afternoon light had dulled into a steel-gray sky.

Pete glanced at his watch and sighed. They still needed to oversee the forensics team as they processed the car, then swing by the hospital.

Cora would be deep into the postmortem by now.

And somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he needed to call Angie to cancel their Thursday night plans with the group. He hated that more than anything.

As they walked toward the taped-off car, Jeremy glanced over. “First impressions?”

Pete didn’t hesitate. “Why do I feel like Tamarcus Waters was just here on the Eastern Shore… taking out more competition from up north?”

Jeremy gave a dry chuckle, but there was no humor in it. “I was thinking the same damn thing.”