pond. She’d twisted it up on the top of her head, held in a casual clip. Stray curls, wisps of gold sprung free, shadowing her face and neck. He wondered for a guilty moment what it would look like, hanging free, soft, and wavy around her shoulders.
Her skin was pale, fair, a natural rosiness highlighting her high cheekbones. Her lips were full, as though she bit them often in frustration or, he thought with a grin, more likely, annoyance. But it was her eyes that obsessed him. Shadowed by dark brows and lashes, they were stormy grey, almost black. Granted, most of the time they were flashing with anger that intensified the color. What haunted him as he walked back to the conference room was the pain that underlay the anger.
Jake grew up in North Carolina’s Smoky Mountains. He’d done his share of hunting as a kid. More than a few times, he’d freed animals from cruel traps other hunters set. Perilously near death, these animals stubbornly clung to life. He never forgot their eyes. They reminded him of Alexis: proud, angry, and vulnerable.
~~~
Jake strode into the conference room and grinned at the cluster of men huddling by the coffee pot poking through a box of tired looking sugary doughnuts. He motioned to the table. Without comment, all of the men hurried back to their places, joining the chief, who was comparing notes with his deputy.
Jake took his time refilling his cup, giving the men time to settle in. When the room was quiet, he walked back to his chair at the head of the table. He glanced at the chief, who silently conceded his authority to Jake.
Jake leaned back in his chair, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“Well, gentlemen, we have our work cut out for us.”
There were a few guffaws and appreciative mutters of “Hell, yeah!”
Jake shifted forward, waiting until he was sure that he had the attention of every man at the table.
His voice was low, intense.
“Anthony Beloi was my team mate, my friend. He had my back on more missions than I can count. In places and situations no human being should endure. He was the hardest assed fighter and most compassionate man I have ever known. He was no jump chump. He was the first one in and the last to leave. There wasn’t a man among us who didn’t like and respect him.”
Jake hesitated to let his words sink in and to control the painful emotions gripping his chest.
“I only saw Anthony a couple of times after he left active duty. But I know he was as committed to his work in the Yuma Police Department as he was with the Green Berets.”
Pausing for emphasis, he laid down his marker.
“I wasn’t talking out of my ass when I told that young woman, Anthony’s sister, that no report will be written or any files closed by the U. S. Army OR the YPD until the person or persons responsible for his death are apprehended and punished.”
All the men around the table nodded in agreement, their expressions as fierce as Jake’s.
With a heavy sigh, the chief jumped in.
“Hell, Jake, we’re all with you one hundred percent. Anthony was a fuckin’ superstar. In all my years, I’ve never had a more accomplished undercover guy. Damn, he could move in the shadows like he was born in them. I’ve never seen a guy who could fit in the way he could, insinuate himself in any situation, whether it was a confab with a passel of gang bangers or a meeting with the mayor. He was a fuckin’ chameleon. And you got my word that no one is gonna rest until we haul in the asswipes who killed our guy. I know he was a beret, but hell, he was also a cop. Our cop.”
A chorus of agreement rang out. Jake gave the men time to speak, to remember Anthony. The stories were poignant, some funny, some hardcore, all were heartfelt. He was gratified that Anthony affected the men in this police department the way that he had his team. When they turned back to him for orders, Jake knew he had their cooperation.
“Okay, men, I want every transcript, every piece of evidence, and every fucking clue, no matter how unimportant it seems, on my desk by 8 a.m. tomorrow morning. We’ll meet then. Lt. Morrison is my point man. Anything you need from me or to say to me can go through Clint. We’re joined at the hip. Oh, and while you’re at it, make a copy of those materials for Miss Beloi.”
The chief reared up. “Dammit, Jake, you know we can’t do that. This is an ongoing investigation into a fucking undercover operation. Antony was getting close, damn close. The last time we talked his eyes were gleaming. Said it would be a matter of days before we’d get a break in the case. We can’t have a private citizen, an overwrought young woman at that, sticking her nose in critical police business.”
Jake raised an eyebrow and drawled, “Unless I’m mistaken, and that ’overwrought’ young woman who raked you over the coals an hour ago, was an aberration, you don’t have a choice, Chief. I’ve got a feeling Anthony and his sister share more than looks. Anthony would grab a rat by the tail and wrestle it to the ground until he could read every entrail splattered there. My sense is his sister’s got the same instincts.”
He held up his hand, stopping the chief’s protest. “Give her what she asked for, John. Redact anything confidential. There’s no reason she can’t see the witness list. Hell, she’ll likely know everyone on it before end of day tomorrow.”
He added with a slight frown, “Hold back the autopsy report.”
The chief growled, “Christ, Jake, that’s the one thing she has a right to see.”
Jake shook his head. “I know that, John. But I want to be sure someone is with her when she reads it.”
No one at the table argued. Words weren’t necessary. They’d all seen the body.
~~~
Lexie hiked up her exercise bra and yanked on biker shorts. Unrolling a practice mat on the balcony of the shabby motel, she glided into the Kung Fu crane position. She forced herself to move slowly, gracefully, breathing into the demanding posture. She longed to drive her fists and feet into a punching bag, to find a sparring partner who fought as hard as she did. But she’d have to wait until she found a dojo close by, where she could go day or night. She didn’t know how long she would be in this dusty town, but even a day without a three hour strenuous practice left her with jangled nerves ready to claw out the eyes of the person closest to her.
She scoffed. Some martial artist she was. Calm? Centered? Detached? Like hell. She was wound tighter than a spring, every muscle twitching with the effort to be still. Her most difficult practice had always been the one she forced herself to do now. She breathed in and out, slow deep breaths, oohming the word, detach. But it was no use. All her years of work with Master Wan to focus her energy, control her anger, use it as a positive fighting force, was gone. It died when Anthony did. Even pounding through a five mile speed run after she left the police station hadn’t helped. She needed a place where she could bury her anger in the unrelenting weight of the bag and slam the blocks. Where the warrior shrieks and screams of fellow fighters might help to calm her surging soul.
She made it through five of the rigorous poses before she gave in to her need to begin her mission. Heading to the shower, she tried to ignore the dirty carpet and threadbare bedspread and towels. She wondered if she should drag every piece of linen to a laundromat and dump in a bottle of bleach. She chided herself. Like she hadn’t been in shit holes before. Damn, she’d spent most of her early life in one or another. They’d been her natural habitat for years. She realized now that the aberration, the lack of reality, were the years she’d spent with Master Wan and Madam Juen. What a fool she had been. She’d begun to think that good could overcome evil. That if you worked hard enough, practiced long enough, life could be somewhat safe. That maybe there was a God. What a fucking lie. What a massive joke the universe had played on her. And she had gone along with it. She’d even thought she could protect the Jill’s of the world. Fuck that! She couldn’t even protect the person she loved more than anything in the world.
Ignoring the chipped tile and disgusting mildewed grout circling the battered tub, she turned the water on full force. Knowing in crap joints like this that the hot water wouldn’t last long, she damn well intended to get every drop. Five minutes later, she began to relax. The scorching water was still beating a skin reddening pattern on her back and she’d rinsed her hair three times. Fortunately, she’d been smart enough to pack the soaps and lotions and oils her body craved. For a few precious moments, she ignored the ragged background and reveled in the smell of lavender, citrus, and lemon grass.
But the steaming water didn’t drown out her memories of the last two days. Master Wan had begged her to wait, to let the police do their jobs. She didn’t deign to answer him. Leaving the devastated old people without a backward glance, she’d hit the road driving from San Francisco to Yuma in less than ten hours.
She’d been amazed at how easily that she had commandeered the investigative team supposedly working on Anthony’s case. She’d left Chief Burton a message the night before telling him that she wanted to meet with the
