The Trouble with Twelfth Grave (Charley Davidson #12)(63)

Was that what Kit meant when she said she had someone on the inside with a connection?

“Only he told me he was a security guard at New Mexico State. He lied.” She gave him an admonishing scowl chased quickly with a flirtatious grin. “So, I had my men take him to an abandoned warehouse to … question him. Just a little. Nothing too dramatic.”

Had she done the same to her brother? Questioned him?

“They were to kill him afterwards. Davey knows I don’t like being lied to.”

I glanced at him, but he sat completely stone-faced, giving nothing away.

I didn’t have to see evidence of his emotional state on his face, however, to know what he was feeling. Underneath the calm, almost robotic exterior beat the heart of a man who was going to kill me if he ever got his hands on me. Anxiety churned inside him. Somehow his cover hadn’t been blown. Somehow it all played into his new role in life. Even so, the situation was sticky. One wrong word could get us both killed.

“As you might imagine,” she continued, “I wanted to know if he’d been sent. You know, in an official capacity. But before my men could finish the job, he took them out. All three of them. Single-handedly.”

Her pulse sped up at the thought of her boyfriend taking out three violence-prone men. Probably three of her best.

“An hour later, he showed up on my doorstep, after disabling two of my personal guards, mind you, and asked me why I sent my men after him when he only wanted to date me.” She giggled and curled an arm into his.

“How … romantic,” I said.

“My thoughts exactly.”

She picked up a glass of champagne that had been ready and waiting for her and took a sip before continuing, and I couldn’t help but wonder if she could be any more of a cliché.

“Once I showed him how impressed I was with his … abilities, he explained. He told me he hated being a cop. Hated the grayness of it all. He had a unique philosophy, you see. A person is either good or bad, but many cops are a lot of both. He didn’t like the ambiguity of it all, so he’d been looking for a career change, one in private security. He wanted to land a good job before he told me the truth.”

“A man after my own heart,” I said, not sure if I was supposed to know him at this point or not.

“When I told him who my family was, what we did for a living, he shrugged and said, ‘I was a cop, not a saint.’” She turned to him and ran a finger under his jaw as though he were her favorite pet. “That’s when I knew I had a keeper.”

“I’d say. And he told you all about me in the two minutes it took me to make it through the line? I’m impressed,” I said through gritted teeth.

He didn’t flinch.

“No,” she said, “his exact words were, ‘That’s the woman I told you about. Be careful.’”

He ratted me out? Wait, he’d already told her about me? I sat appalled.

“It seems you’re something of an urban legend.”

Resisting the urge to blow on my nails and polish them on my shirt, I shrugged.

“He said you help your uncle with his cases and that his arrest record is impeccable because of it.”

“I do what I can.”

She lowered her head to apprise me with more purpose. “He said you’re dangerous.”

“You know it’s funny. In all the time I’ve known him, he’s never mentioned you.”

She let a slow smile spread across her face to let me know just how unimpressed she was.

The neighborhoods ended, and we drove farther and farther into the country. This was not going to end well.

“I’m surprised your mother lets you keep him on,” I said, “considering his job history.”

“Please, some of our best assets are cops. Or ex-cops. Cops are people, too,” she said with a wry laugh.

“I suppose they are.”

“So, my question to you is, what did you mean?”

“Exactly that. I’m a god. It’s hard to believe, but there you have it. Just wanted you to know.”

“At the grave. What did you mean when you asked, what would my mother think?”

“Oh, right. I just wonder what she’ll think when she finds out you killed your brother—a.k.a., her son? You know, just one of those random thoughts I have. Why is the sky blue? Why is a green chile green? What will Elena Felix’s mother think when she finds out her daughter killed her son?”

The more I talked, the tenser Elena grew. A turbulent rage sparked inside her and then a vulnerability. She cast a sideways glance at Taft, who remained impassive, but I felt the jolt of shock rush through him. He didn’t know. She hadn’t used him to get her brother’s body to the country for disposal. Interesting.

“I just can’t figure out why,” I said, trying to keep her talking. After all, the more she talked, the more Cookie could record. If she hadn’t hung up on me.

Elena taking my phone worked out perfectly. I could hardly have stuck it down the front of my dress. A dress that fit like a condom. The outline would’ve shown clearly.

Of course, I had no idea if Cookie had actually picked up. Or if she’d turned on the recorder as was standard protocol anytime I seemingly butt-dialed her. We’d used the technique once before to catch a husband in the process of trying to hire a hit man to kill his wife.