Keller County Cops Book Seven: Code of Vengeance (4 page)

"Hope Williams shows up in the morning."

"Me, too." Mitch sipped his coffee and winced. "If the bastard skips bail after all this--"

"We'll all be in trouble."

"Yeah, especially
you."
The detective smirked. "Maillet will have a field day. I can only imagine the damage he'd do to your campaign with stories about Williams being on the lam."

"Wouldn't be an issue if Judge Bryant had left the skunk in jail where he belongs." With a frustrated sigh, Rick sampled the brew in his cup. Nasty. No wonder Mitch had cringed.

The front door opened, and a couple of deputies in uniform strolled in. Mitch turned to check them out, and then deflated. No Tiffany.

"She worked the scene with me down at the Kitty Kat Klub and did a great job. I sent her home an hour ago to get some shuteye so she can run down some stuff for me later today."

"I'll be happy to pick up the slack if you need me to, sir," Mitch said.

Rick shook his head. "Not necessary. I've got this one. You need to go get some sleep so you can make it to court by ten o'clock."

"I was planning to work straight through so I could catch up on paperwork, but since you said Tiffany went home--"

"It's okay, Detective." He motioned toward the door with his coffee. "Go reconnect with your wife. Your paperwork will still be here after court."

"Yes, sir." With a grin, Mitch tossed what was left of his cup of brew into the trash and pulled out his keys. "You don't have to tell me twice."

Course I don't, Mitch. I'd race home, too, if I had a woman like Tiffany waiting for me under the sheets. A beautiful blonde cop with the smarts to move up the ladder? Hell, yeah.

Rick shrugged off the spear of loneliness that jabbed his gut. After his last long-term girlfriend had cheated on him during his second tour in Iraq -- hell, that had been about seven years ago now -- he'd given up on ever finding a woman he thought might stick around and maybe give him a family. So he didn't have
any
kind of woman waiting on him, under the sheets or otherwise. All he had was the job... and keeping it depended on his getting re-elected.

His eyes fell on his father's picture on the credenza behind his desk. His old man had been sheriff once, too. He'd held the position for over twenty years, and then bowed out to let a younger guy take over. Of course, he'd had good reason to retire. He'd wanted to travel, especially after Rick's mother died. Rick had always envied their relationship, and hadn't been surprised when his dad came to him one day and told him he needed to get away because home just held too many memories. Thinking back, Rick sighed. He'd never have a relationship like that. He was already over forty. Better to just love 'em and leave 'em than to get his heart broken again. He was too old for that kind of pain.

His office phone rang. Barbara, his secretary, didn't come in on weekends, so he'd have to either grab it himself or let it ring. Irritated by his prior train of thought, he dumped the rest of his coffee into the garbage on top of Mitch's cup and hurried to answer the shrill summons. Nobody else was in the building except for the two deputies, who'd disappeared into the locker room, and the operator and dispatcher manning the computers at the call center in the other wing.

"Sheriff Rick Blaylock," he said, a bit breathless by the time he picked up the phone.

The person on the other end of the line paused. "Hello, Sheriff. Hope I'm not disturbing you. This is Mindy Ravens with WHBZ, following up on the story we aired early this morning from the Kitty Kat Klub. If you don't mind, I'd like to--"

"No," Rick broke in, clenching his jaw to keep from spouting obscenities. Nobody else in the world had the gall those people did. "I have no comment. That's the
only
story you're going to get from me. I never comment on active investigations, and I certainly won't give you any dirt on this one. So you might as well stop calling."

"Had the victim visited the Kitty Kat Klub before his demise?"

"No. Comment." Without uttering another word, he dropped the receiver back into its cradle. Slamming it down would've soothed his frayed nerves, but he didn't want to give Ravens any more fodder for her stories about the election. The heifer spewed enough sewage as it was.

He raked a hand through his hair and plopped down in the chair behind his desk. The resultant squeak reverberated inside the empty office.

"This is ridiculous," he muttered, irritated not only by the reporter's call but also by the sorry state of his office furniture. "And I want to
keep
this damned job? What the hell have I been smokin'?"

"Not sure 'bout you, boss, but I hear Tripp sneaked a joint the night that body burned up in the wreck on the way to Jackson during the Delgado case, round two." Grinning like a damned fool, Cash Starkey poked his head in the door and laughed.

Rick chuckled. "Wouldn't put that past Tripp or
you,
Starkey. Not for one dang minute. Good thing I didn't catch him, though. I would've kicked his ass." He sobered and motioned for the detective to come inside. "What are you doing here at this time of morning with Tessa in the hospital? Please tell me nothing else's happened to her."

"No, she's good. They're actually sending her home later this morning, so I'm heading over to my place to get things ready. She's gonna stay with me while she recuperates."

"She agreed to that?" A little surprised by the deputy's news, because he knew Cash and Tessa were taking it slow, Rick lifted a brow.

Cash grinned. "It's not a permanent arrangement, but we're making progress. If things go well, then maybe I can talk her into moving in before too long. We'll see."

"Well, good luck, son. Something tells me you're gonna need it."

"Thanks. You're probably right." His smile faded, and he cleared his throat. "Look, sir. I, um... I know we're pretty short-handed right now, but I'd like to take one more day off so I can get Tessa settled in. With that cast from hand to shoulder, she can't do too much for herself."

"Take two more if you need 'em, but no more than that unless she has a setback. Okay? Our cases are backing up, and I need my investigators on the job."

"I know. I hate to take more time off, but I don't want to leave her to fend for herself just yet. She and her parents don't exactly get along, so that leaves me to do the heavy lifting."

"All right." Rick moved a stack of files off the blotter so he could see his desk calendar. "I'll put you down as comin' in bright and early on Tuesday morning. Will that work?"

"You bet. I'll be here on Monday if Tessa gets settled in and is doing okay."

"Works for me," Rick said. "Oh, and congrats on your progress. She's a keeper."

"Yeah, she is. Thanks, Sheriff." Cash blinked, as if fighting off a surge of emotion. "I'm just glad she wasn't hurt any worse in the accident."

"Me, too." He waved his hand toward the door. "That's enough jawin'. Go on, boy, and get outta here. You've got a lot of work to do before you pick up your girl."

"You're right. I do." He backed away from the desk. "Thanks again, sir. I really appreciate the time off."

"I know you do. Now get moving."

"Going." Cash raised both hands, smirked, and disappeared out the door.

"And another one bites the dust." Rick murmured to himself, wagging his head in disbelief. "What is it with these guys and women? All of 'em are tied down now, even Brody, and he's the youngest of the bunch. Amazing."

Before he got the last word out of his mouth, the phone rang again.

"Damn it. Don't they ever stop?" He scrubbed both hands down his face, sucked in a deep breath, and snatched up the receiver. "Sheriff Rick Blaylock."

"Sheriff?" Mitch's voice carried a hint of alarm. "You might want to turn on the TV. I turned it on for a second when I got home and... well, sir... you can see for yourself."

"Which station?"

"WHBZ. Mindy Ravens is interviewing Maillet about the crime problem, and they have video of you from last night. Nothing bad, just... edited, I guess."

"Son of a--" He gripped the edge of the desk. "Why am I not surprised?"

"Sorry, sir." Mitch hesitated. "Just thought you needed to know."

"Thanks, Mitch. Get some rest so you can make it to court on time."

"Will do."

Rick hung up, cursed every reporter under the sun, and grabbed the remote out of his top desk drawer. A 32-inch flat screen TV hung on the wall opposite his desk for instances such as this. He'd bought it himself and hung it early one morning before starting the day.

"...at the Kitty Kat Klub. Another gruesome murder in the sleepy little town of Hunter's Bayou, right in the heart of Keller County. Sheriff Rick Blaylock had no comment for our reporter last night, even though he's currently the head of the only law enforcement agency in the county. He's running for re-election this year, and yet crime is on the rise. Is that why he refused to field my questions?"

"Damn her and her insinuations," Rick snapped, tossing the remote onto the desk. Today was Sunday, and that crazy woman was still shoving lies down people's throats. Although who might be watching at this time of morning, he didn't know. He refocused on the screen.

"...stay tuned for more information at six-thirty a.m., when we'll air my exclusive interview with Henry Maillet, the Keller County businessman running for sheriff against the incumbent Rick Blaylock." Ravens picked up a piece of paper and grinned like an idiot until a commercial about pancake mix replaced her annoying face.

Rick sat back, rubbed his eyes, and groaned.

Another senseless murder he couldn't help.

The investigation was less than five hours old, and the press failed to take into account that it was the middle of the damned night and the sheriff's office had no suspects yet because the Kitty Kat Klub had been empty by the time Tiffany had arrived on scene.

No. They'd already crucified him

Vultures.
Every freaking one of 'em.

They'd tear him limb from limb if they could, and laugh while they did it. Even though crime had been down countywide until just the last month or so. What was it about late summer that brought out the crazies? He didn't know, but he needed them to calm the hell down.

All of them.

Because unless he brought whoever had killed Dirk Woodward to justice before the November election, he could kiss his job goodbye.

*****

"Ms. Ravens? I'm so pleased you're the one who drew this assignment. So sorry I needed to tape it on a Sunday morning." Henry Maillet sidled up to the striking brunette beauty as soon as his interview ended. Boy, wouldn't he love to get his mitts on her body. She had creamy, perfect skin and legs that went on for days. Legs he could imagine wrapping around him when they--

She turned and pinned him with a razor-sharp glare.
Wow. Fucking gorgeous, and smart, too. She never missed a damned thing.
Tilting her head, she lifted a brow. "I'm sure you're not concerned about adding to my work schedule, Mr. Maillet. What do you want?"

"May we... um..." He hesitated. "May we talk privately?"

"Why?"

"I have an idea about something that might help my campaign, and I'd like to run it by you. If you're amenable to the idea, that is. You have the last word."

"I don't understand." She frowned. "Why would your campaign plans concern me? I'm a news anchor. A reporter. So unless you have some fresh news for me, I'm not interested."

"I believe you will be once you give me a chance to explain." He jerked his thumb toward her open office door. "All I need is five minutes. Please."

"Oh, all right," she said with a disgruntled sigh. "Just make it fast."

"I will." He held out his arm to allow her to precede him into the room. "After you."

Without protesting further, she pressed those full red lips together, lifted her chin, and marched past him, swaying those sexy hips so hard her bright blue dress swished back and forth. He licked his lips and followed her.

She rounded her desk, lowered herself into her oversized chair, and crossed those long, lean legs. Maillet glanced at the two unpadded, retro orange chairs opposite her and rebelled against the urge to sit. Not only did the seats promise he'd be uncomfortable, but they also clashed with the rest of the room's minimalist decor.

"I'll cut to the chase, Mindy." Happy he'd remained standing because now he could look down on her and destroy the advantage she'd gained by proving she belonged here and he didn't, he met her enraged gaze. "May I call you
Mindy?"

"I prefer Ms. Ravens, if you don't mind."

"All right, Mindy." He twisted his lips in a devious smile and touched two fingertips to his lips. "Oops. My goodness. I am so sorry,
Ms. Ravens."

"I'm sure you are. Get on with it, Mr. Maillet. Please." Her snappish tone teetered on the knife-edge between anger and boredom. "I have work to do."

"Of course. As do I." He squared his shoulders. "I actually have a proposition for you. A business proposition, if you will."

"I already have a job."

"Oh, I know. And you do excellent work bringing news to our wonderful community."

"Cut the crap, Maillet." Her eyes turned feral. "What do you want?"

"Aha." He didn't even try to stop the leer that landed on his face. "Now the true Mindy Ravens appears. Or should I say
Ms. Cherry Delight?"

The anchor's beautiful face leached of all color.

"I'm sure you're wondering how I learned about your earlier career, and what I might do with that knowledge," he pressed on, hoping to undermine her resolve to keep her distance from his idea. "Rest assured that right now, I'm the only one who knows you used to strip for a living over in Biloxi."

"Mr. Maillet--" Her voice cracked, and she broke off.

He held up his hand to keep her from continuing. "Wait. Let me finish. You grew up in a happy middle class family -- that is, until your father's furniture business went under and he lost everything, including your college fund. He changed after that, didn't he? Drinking too much, spending his days in bed staring at the ceiling. Your mother tried to help out, but ironing only brings in so much cash, and without a decent education she couldn't land a better job. So you turned to stripping to pay your way through college. Am I right?"