.38 Caliber Cover-Up

“You okay now, Officer O’Malley?” he asked, grabbing a washcloth from the top of an unpacked box, wetting it like a nursemaid and handing it to her.

“How do you know who I am?”

“I came looking for you, remember?”

She over-exaggerated her movements to lean against the tub. The porcelain cooled her hot skin. Her visitor might as well think she was still ill instead of capable of ramming her head into his stomach and sending him crashing into the laundry room. If all else failed, she could wait until he really passed out from blood loss or exhaustion.

Which wouldn’t be too long from the looks of him.

He swayed, using the doorframe to hold himself upright. Viewed from this angle on the floor, he was especially tall. He continued to hold the dishtowels under his bunched-up shirt with a bloodstained hand.

She gulped down more nausea. “You need a…a doctor.”

The stupid jerk had faked getting sick and grinned from ear to ear, leaving her to stare at perfectly aligned teeth. But that was the only thing perfect about his rugged-looking face and two-toned, brown-and-gold hair. A small trail of blood was smeared across his chin from a busted lower lip. His tanned forehead had road rash, with bits of gravel embedded in the lacerations.

This close she could tell his nose had been broken at least once. His strong, square jaw matched that magnificent chest hidden under his loose shirt. The silver dagger dangling around his neck somehow made him as sexy as a pirate instead of creeping her out. And his eyes… Good grief, it looked as if there were a thousand lifetimes in those whiskey-colored spheres.

“What I really need is whatever Pike left for me.” He drew a deep breath, grimaced and allowed a short moan to escape. “God, O’Malley, Walter Pike was more than a friend to me. You saw the picture. I’m one of the good guys.”

“Who still has my Glock shoved down the front of his pants,” she answered, pointing toward her gun.

“Where it’s going to stay.”

“First things first.” She wanted out of the close quarters of the bathroom. “Just how hurt are you?”

“O’Malley.” He rolled her name around as if he should be talking with an accent, his eyes never losing contact with hers. “I thought you’d be a bit more, well, manly. Pike never mentioned you were a woman. But we don’t have much time.”

“I can hold my own. And Pike never gave me anything.” It wasn’t a lie.

Pike had been shot at the academy and she’d found his body. He managed to say someone would come to her asking for a package, but he died before giving her details. She had no idea what it contained or where it was located. She hated to let her partner down, but she hadn’t had any luck finding what Pike had spoken about. Or any luck finding information that would clear her brother of murder charges.

“Right.” He sank to the floor, sliding his back down the doorjamb. “Then why was I directed to come here?”

“Let me call an ambulance.” Was he acting again or had the adrenaline rush finally worn off?

“No.”

“Then your handler.”

“No one,” he said, fingers on the butt of her gun. “Can’t trust…any of them…right now.”

Threatening or nonthreatening. She didn’t trust herself to choose. For the past several weeks she’d doubted her intuition. Nerves on edge, jumpy, imagining looks from colleagues. And here she was cornered in her bathroom by a thug claiming to work for… Who was he claiming to work for?

“It will complicate my weekend if you die in my hallway.” She tried to be detached and uncaring, but this unusual suspect was fading fast. Or was he?

His eyes closed and he coughed—one of those pathetic “ahem” things that didn’t convince her one way or the other of his weakening. She inched her way toward the door. Informant or not, she couldn’t just wait for him to die.

“I’m undercover DEA.” He looked up through pain-filled eyes. She was sunk. “I need your help, O’Malley. Can I depend on you?”

Can I depend on you? The words echoed in her mind.

Two weeks ago, she would have answered yes in a heartbeat. She had answered yes—too many times to count. But now no one counted on her. How could they? No one really trusted her. She’d failed Michael, and Pike had died in her arms.

“Verify…two one four…five five five…nine six nine six,” he mumbled, fading. “Double-crossed. Don’t tell ’em…anything.”

RHODES OPENED ONE EYE at a time, wondering why he didn’t see swirling stars and birdies. Maybe the tom-toms in his head had scared them all off. Stifling a groan, he inched his way to a sitting position against the door. Every bit of him hurt from his earlier fight, but his side had stopped bleeding and had a bandage.

“Glad to see you’re coming around.” O’Malley stood in front of him—left hand pointing her department-issued pistol at his head and her right holding a cell phone.

Triumphant and gorgeous. She had to be at least five-nine or five-ten. Slender, with a body honed by the rowing machine in the corner of the living room.

“Who are you and how are you involved with Michael?”

“I already told you, O’Malley.”

“Wrong answer.” She pushed a button and held the phone to her ear. “Yes, sixteen forty-nine Mayflower Drive. Male, mid-twenties, he’s passed out and hit his head. I can’t stay on the line, but I’ll let them in.” She clicked the phone off and sported a very satisfied smile. “You have seven minutes. Tops.”

“I’d give us three before the guy sitting on your house busts inside.” Another reason he’d used the back entrance. A guy with “cop” written all over him was watching this house from a traditional dark sedan.

“Real answers or you go to the hospital with the cops.”

“You are the cops, O’Malley.”

“Six minutes and counting.” She leaned against the bare wall—barely out of his reach, curly hair neatly tucked behind her ear, gun firmly in her hand, sounding confident.

But she was vulnerable. He’d seen her throw up.

“I’m sure it’ll be less of a headache to let you become someone else’s problem. Not to mention the paperwork that I detest. So convince me.”

He needed to be back in control. He inched his way up the doorjamb, his strength steadily returning despite every muscle in his body aching. What was going through her mind? Did she fake the call? Nope, she looked too confident. “I was double-crossed tonight. Hand over the package Pike gave to you, and I’m out of here.”

“And the DEA won’t help you because…?”

“Can’t trust ’em.” Okay, raising one very cute eyebrow was her prompt for more information. And the little tug on her Lucky Care Bear T-shirt meant what?

“Why would you think you could trust me?”

Again, the one curious eyebrow thing. Nice. Don’t get distracted, Rhodes. He was running out of time.

“You saw the photograph. There’s only one reason I’d be sent here.” That hit a nerve. Her fist tightened around the gun handle. Yeah, she knew about the mysterious package. He could see the indecision playing across her lightly freckled face.

Focus.

“Five minutes,” she said in a flat voice, ignoring all the emotion he’d witnessed.

“I’m tracking a guy who might have murdered Pike.”

“I’m still listening.”

How much could he spill without jeopardizing his next moves? Enough to get them out of here before her shadow parked out front knocked on the door. Them? Yes, them. It was the only way he could be sure she told him the truth. And to guarantee no one would be coming after him.

“If the package isn’t here, I think we should leave.” Someone had her house staked out and Rhodes couldn’t tell if the guy in the car would be on her side. “Look. Tonight was supposed to be a simple meet. Get some information. Find out where to go next. I was set up. Trigger-happy cops at one end of the alley and a gun at my back pinning me in the middle. Most likely my handler from the DEA.”

“They obviously didn’t want you dead or they would have been a little bit more accurate.”

“I’m not too sure about that.” He pressed his hand to his side. The bleeding had definitely stopped. A flesh wound that still hurt like the devil.

“I can save you a lot of trouble. I didn’t set you up and have no information about your…package.”

She grinned at the double entendre. Cute.

“Aw, but you do.” Yeah, she did. O’Malley wasn’t a very good liar. Strange for someone in undercover work. “And you’re curious.”

“I’ll give you that one.”

“Shouldn’t we be leaving?” They’d be cutting it close by walking out the door now. “Call the number I gave you? Verify my ID.”

“Um…cop,” she said pointing to herself. “Called it and got the Dallas Celebration Deli while you were unconscious.”

“Then I have nothing. Let your curiosity or faith take over. I need your help. You’re the only one I can count on.”

There it was again. That indecision he’d seen earlier and something more. It would be close if they left right now. Thank God she had a rear-entry garage. “No more delays. They’ll be here any minute.”

“I’m not turning over whatever Pike left me because you have a map instructing you to come here.”

“Take me to the package.” He was back in control. He could see how much she wanted to participate. Her eagerness was written all over her face.

Don’t say anything else, Rhodes. You’ll just screw it up. It has to be her decision.

The whine of an ambulance grew in the distance. He needed to avoid the complication of the Dallas P.D. and deal with the one cop he’d been sent to find—O’Malley. One step and he had his back to her.

Nothing.

A shake of the doorknob.

He knew. Just knew. His thighs tensed, ready to move. His abs hardened, anticipating the requirement of his body.

The front door bashed open and hit the wall. O’Malley turned toward the noise.

There was a pop, a hole in the wall. Someone barely missed shooting a hole in O’Malley’s heart.

No time to think, shout or plead. He wrapped one arm around her waist and his free hand around her pistol. He yanked her toward the kitchen, aiming at the target, blindly pulling the trigger.

Chapter Two

Bits of drywall stung Darby’s cheek. She landed with a heavy thud on top of the agent who had saved her life. With her snug against his body, his strong arm circled her waist and hauled her into the kitchen. He anchored her to his rock-hard chest, continuing to point her gun at the opening to the hall—his hand wrapped firmly over hers, committing her to action.

The agent’s arm pulled so hard and fast, her breath escaped her body. She couldn’t move. Or had time slowed to a frame-by-frame? Her eyes blinked. A strand of hair floated across her face, moved by the man behind her.

And still the agent held her locked to his long body. Her legs nesting between his.

Waiting.

A quick intake to fill his lungs. She did the same, but his grip around her middle didn’t lessen. No sounds came from the front room. She heard nothing but his matching heartbeat against her back.

“You hit?” Warm air circled her ear, shooting tingles down her spine in spite of their situation.

The still-unnamed agent released his death grip and her hand holding her weapon fell to her leg. She shot to her feet with him quickly following. His eyes locked onto hers while his fingers explored her body.

“Are. You. Hit.”

A rough, impatient voice countered the concern in his eyes. Her side was coated in blood—his blood. The look she’d seen in his eyes for a split second let her know they had something in common…he’d seen death, too.

“I’m fine.” She was anxious to get her eyes back on the crazy SOB who had busted through her door, gun blazing. “Stay here.”

Five years of training kicked into gear. Scanning the room and beyond for potential harm, she kept an eye on her unarmed hero. He should have stayed in her kitchen, but he took her flank through the dining room door.

Chest-high bullet holes in her hallway were more than enough evidence that the creep bleeding inside her living room had been shooting to kill. The perp half-sat, half-leaned against her freshly painted—now blood-spattered—wall. Alert. Smug. Shot in the thigh.

“Dallas P.D. Show me your hands.” For someone unaccustomed to being shot at, her voice and grip were surprisingly steady. She covered her mystery man as he frisked the shooter. Dealer? Doper? Someone had followed the man who saved her life to her house.

Her DEA agent picked up the weapon several feet from the shooter and slipped it in the back of his jeans. Her agent? Definitely not a safe way to think. He had saved her life, but she couldn’t completely trust him yet.

The agent had a photo of Pike and the reverse side was a hand-drawn map to her house with doodles around the edges. Doodles to anyone else, but it was a code she and her brothers had used since childhood. The message told her to stick with this man until Michael contacted her. Sent before Michael was shot with Pike’s weapon. Sent before he was found comatose on police academy property. She had no reason to trust her brother and even less to trust the outsider carrying the message, but did she have a choice?

“Who wants her dead?” the agent demanded. He smashed the shooter’s hands on top of the wound. “You’ll want to keep pressure on that.”

The shooter sucked air through his teeth in a long hiss.

Blood seemed to be everywhere. But it wasn’t. Not this time.

Her hands were covered. No. Her hands were clean.

Swallowing hard did nothing to stop the tremors trying to overtake her body. She took several deep gulps of air, closing her eyes and ignoring the fact that her home was now a crime scene. But closing her eyes didn’t keep the image of Pike’s death from appearing.

Pike was lying in her arms. Bleeding. Nothing blocked the memory of your partner’s life fading away. The tortured look of pain as he struggled to tell her his last secrets would be with her forever.

His screams echoed through the parking lot. Wait, Pike hadn’t screamed. Her vision focused on the open mouth of her attacker. His painful roar bounced off the bare walls of her home.

What was the source of his agony? He hadn’t been in that much pain when they’d entered the room.

“Tell me.” The agent’s powerful voice sounded different, more guttural, more vicious. “I only have seconds to find my answers, man. But I can leave you in pain for a long time.”

The shooter screamed again when the agent’s fist pushed the shooter’s hand deeper into the bullet wound. Darby rushed forward. This couldn’t be happening. Cops were the good guys.

“Get back.” The agent flipped a badge toward her. “He’s a cop. A cop who just tried to kill you.”

“All right, all right,” the shooter yelled. “We’re cleaning up loose ends.” He hissed through the pain.

The agent didn’t stop.

“I swear,” the shooter cried. “I was supposed to make it look like a break-in, find the stuff Pike had given her and get rid of the girl.”

“We can sort through this train wreck with the correct authorities.” Darby should stop him. But she was unwilling to drag the agent from the only person in the room with answers. “There’s got to be a logical reason—”

The decision was made for her when the shooter passed out.

“He’s a cop. They’ll haul us to jail. We won’t find our answers while stuck in a holding cell until someone clears this mess up. They might finish what this guy started.” He stood and tossed the badge on top of the shooter’s chest. “You coming, O’Malley?”

The lights from the ambulance arriving outside flashed through the curtains. Her insides stopped shaking. “We have to call this in.”

“Lucky thing that ambulance is out front.” He gently turned her around by the shoulders and nudged her toward the kitchen. “We have to go. Now. I’ll drive.”

He slid past her and swiped her keys from the counter before she could object to anything.

“We can’t leave the scene of a shooting.”

“We don’t have time for a discussion. The EMTs are here.” He yanked on her right arm, keeping her from returning to the front of the house. “That dirtbag tried to kill us. He admitted they’re after Pike’s package.”

“I’ve got this man,” the first EMT shouted, coming through the doorway. “This is a badge. Call dispatch, officer down.”

It took a second to register the vise grip around her upper arm. And yet another second for her to accept how much trouble she’d be in once she left her house.

Oh yeah, she was leaving.

Following her brother’s instructions to stick with the agent might possibly clear Michael from suspicion and find Pike’s real murderer. She’d keep her word to her dead partner and save her brother.

“O’Malley, we have to go. Now.”

“Right after you hand over the shooter’s weapon.”

Secret Agent Man released her arm, pulled the .38 from the middle of his back and handed it to her. No argument, but he slammed through the door. She scooped up her gun belt, running close behind. He punched the opener button and ran to the driver’s side.

With their doors barely closed, he revved the engine and tore out of the alley. He zigzagged through the streets until he reached Central Expressway.

She squirmed enough in her seat to watch in case someone followed. She’d halfway expected to be in cuffs by this point, not in the clear. She stowed the shooter’s weapon in the compartment between the seats and holstered her gun, keeping it in her lap in case her companion did something crazy.

“North or south?”

“South.” Toward her office. Toward the familiar. Toward safety.

“South it is,” he said casually, driving like a law-abiding citizen, turning onto the highway as if nothing were wrong. “You should remove the battery from your phone.”

He was right again. She had a data phone with GPS capability that the police could track. The lights from Central Expressway illuminated the dismantling process that left her disconnected from anyone familiar.

“Why did that man follow you to my house and try to kill you?” she asked five minutes down the road.

“Didn’t he say he was after you, Officer O’Malley?”

“Let’s cut the cutesy crap, shall we? Pull over at an all-night gas station. I need a minute to process what happened.” Maybe she should wave her gun to emphasize she was in charge. “And it’s Detective.”

Or it used to be before she’d been transferred to the academy.

“So we’ll need gas?” he asked, avoiding yet another question and darting his eyes to the rearview mirror.

“Look. I still don’t know who you are and Pike wasn’t all that clear about who the package was for. He didn’t mention anyone by name.”

“And you didn’t open it?” He smiled a toothy grin in her direction. “You strike me as the curious type.”

He was confident and arrogant about his decisions. He’d done this before. Run. Evade the police. Shoot suspects or worse. Some of his experience was beginning to piss her off. Most she was beginning to admire.

“Don’t pretend to know me. We’re only twenty minutes from where I report for duty. So cool it.”

He lifted his fingers off the steering wheel in mock surrender. The next exit approached and he crossed three lanes of traffic to come to a screeching halt on the shoulder.

“What the heck are you doing?” she yelled.

“Keep your eyes open, O’Malley. Good surveillance requires more than one person. I’m looking for a second car.”

Automatically turning in her seat, she watched as four cars sped past.

“You don’t seriously believe that man was a cop?”

“Don’t you? His badge looked authentic to me.” He swiveled in his seat to face her instead of the mirror he’d been staring at. “Pike sent for me. In my book, that means he couldn’t trust anyone near him. Bad guys. Bad cops.” He shrugged. “Doesn’t make any difference to me. Somebody killed Pike and I’ll return the favor.”

“Pike meant a lot to me, too.” But so did Michael. She wouldn’t let this mystery agent find anything without her. Not when the most obvious path to Pike’s killer might lead him to her brother. She needed to be certain he avoided that particular road. “What could be so important that Pike would be killed before anyone even knows what it is? Why would cops want to make this mysterious thing disappear along with anyone who knows about it?”

“I promised to deliver it to the DEA. I’ll let them sort out all the whys. Don’t worry about my end. Just take me to it.”

“I prefer to drive.” She removed the keys and shot out the door, walking around the tail of the car while he circled the hood.

What was she doing? Was this DEA bad boy truly Pike’s friend or someone wanting the package to destroy it? She’d find whatever Pike had hidden and the truth. Cops trying to kill her didn’t make sense, but neither did this agent. Quick on the draw, saving her life—she understood that was part of the job. But even her own father had never held her hair while she’d thrown up.

Was she totally out of her mind? Shoot, she already knew the answer. She’d fled the scene of a crime. A man—a cop—had been shot with her duty weapon. And her job was history. Her only ray of hope was if this guy was legitimate. They could explain what happened to his supervisor, retrace Pike’s steps and find the missing pieces. It was her best, perhaps her only, chance of helping her brother, getting justice for her old mentor and hanging on to whatever shred of what might be her career.

If the agent could connect the dots to prove Michael’s innocence, she’d lend him the pencil.

“Let’s start with something simple…your name.” She shoved her weapon into the door pocket, unsnapping the security strap of the holster. Easy access if something went wrong.

“Now that we’ll be working together I guess you should know. Erren Rhodes to your rescue.”

“I’m not working with you.”

“Isn’t it a little too late for that decision?” He turned in the seat, leaning back toward the door window. “Look. All we need to do is retrieve Pike’s package and you’re done. Back to whatever boring job you do.”

Boring was correct. She wanted out in the field. More specifically, she wanted to be undercover. She’d spent years analyzing other officers’ work, verifying accounts of operations and preparing case information. She’d longed to be in the field. Instead she’d been transferred to the academy.

Whoever this man was, he was her clue to unraveling this mystery and she would stick with him to find her answers. It had to be the cop in her telling her she could handle this guy. After all, she had the gun, right?

Right. That’s why a voice in her head kept screaming she must be completely and utterly nuts. It would be easier if it were the Sergeant Major’s voice droning in her ear about making the wrong decision. Truth was, she hadn’t heard her father’s voice in a long time. Nope, it was her voice asking questions.

“This’ll take some getting used to,” he said. “I’ve never worked with anyone before. You’re in, O’Malley. Admit it.”

“So how do we avoid every cop in the city who will be searching for us?” Every instinct told her that trusting this man would help clear her brother’s name.

“You mean they’ll be searching for you,” he stated, very certain of himself. “They don’t know who I am yet.”

“Someone knows you’re in Dallas. Didn’t you say they ambushed you?”

“You’re probably right.” His nod was a silhouette against the passing cars. “Start by taking me to the package. We’ll open it up and find out what we’re dealing with.”

“This is ridiculous, Agent Rhodes.”

“Cut the agent bit. It’s too easy to slip up in front of the wrong person. Call me Erren or honey or babe.”

She watched him fix that gorgeous smile back on his face. Yes, it was totally for her benefit. And it was halfway doing its job.

“It doesn’t matter. I won’t be approved to work with you.”

“Who are we asking?”

Erren stared as O’Malley didn’t crack a smile.