One of them was a pretty damaging hold, too. Tucker wasn’t too beat up over it, even when he’d heard somebody shout, “Tell the paramedics to hurry it up—this guy is seizing on me!”
He’d squeezed too hard. He didn’t care. The guy had that dark, malevolent feel to him that told Tucker one thing . . . the man had murder on the mind. It was amazing the things a guy like him could pick up just from reading the vibes in the air.
Like now.
The cop standing in front of him knew that Tucker was lying. His name was Officer R. Rand.
R. Rand, Tucker thought. Well, Officer R. Rand had a good poker face and Tucker couldn’t read his mind. Thoughts and emotions were closed to him, but he could read the vibrations in the air . . . all of that crackled around the cop, hovered in the air around him, snapping like microcurrents, and those? Tucker read those things like they were the morning news.
And the cop knew Tucker was lying.
Tucker lifted the bottle to his lips and took another sip. Coors. Cheapest shit beer around, if you asked him. He hated it, but it would do in a pinch. Just then, all he wanted to do was look nice and laid-back. Uninvolved. He’d go for harmless if he thought he could pull it off, but that wasn’t going to happen.
“You want to tell me again, Mr. . . .”
Tucker smiled. “It’s Curtis. Rick Curtis,” he said, tossing out the fake name he’d decided to use for this job. He’d already turned over the fake ID and he was well aware he’d have to kiss it good-bye, both the ID and the persona, because the scrutiny he was getting from the cop was just not good. The ID would pass muster, for a while, he knew, but he had a feeling he just might have some problems on his hands. Shit. He hated that. He’d been here for years and he liked it. Liked his house, liked Lucia. Liked the work he did.
It was over now, though.
It wasn’t like he’d expected any of this to last forever, right?
Bastards like him were remembered. It wasn’t the height, it wasn’t even the tattoos. It was the hair. Sometimes he thought about shaving it all off or dying it, but that required upkeep, and since he rarely got involved like this . . . why bother?
Now he was wishing he’d bothered.
“So.” Rand smiled. “Mr. Curtis. Can you tell me again what happened?”
“Sure.” He slumped deeper in the seat, resting his chin on his chest as he eyed the house across the street. “I was hanging around here waiting for my girlfriend to get back. She was just heading out to pick up some food, maybe a movie, some beer that’s actually drinkable.” He shrugged and eyed the bottle he held with acute dislike. “Anyway, I heard a noise—people shouting. So I come out, see those guys on the porch, and you all are there.”
“Your girlfriend supposedly had the guy across the street hop in the car with her.”
Tucker heaved out a sigh. “Yeah? I’m out of town half the time and she’s out running around on me.” He gave the cop a dark look. “Women suck.”
The cop didn’t even bat an eyelash. “Nobody around here recalls seeing you before.”
“She just moved in.” Tucker shrugged. “I’m only here about a week out of the month because of my job. I live in Louisiana, actually . . . as you can see by my license. Work keeps me traveling a lot.”
“And what exactly is it that you do?”
“I’m a field service engineer.” He watched as the guy’s brows arched up into his hairline and he started to ramble on about how he spent nearly seventy percent of his time either taking QA calls or traveling to fix this, and that, which he had to do because the stupid motherfuckers who called the main office couldn’t handle the troubleshooting steps that he always outlined to them on the phone.
Halfway through his little rant, Rand’s eyes started to glaze over, and once he launched into a detailed breakdown of his last “job,” the cop abruptly lifted a hand and nodded.
“Okay, so you’re on the road a lot.”
Hiding his smile behind his beer, Tucker drawled, “Oh, yeah. A damned shame I worked out a few days to come visit my lady and then I hear she’s out running around with some dumb-ass. When I get ahold of that guy . . .”
The cop flicked him a look.
Tucker gave him a shamefaced look. “Shit, I’m sorry. Vaughnne and I . . . well. Never mind. I’ll work that out when I see her.”
“And that will be . . .”
He frowned and pulled out his phone. He eyed the messages like he was waiting for one to magically appear, and damn it, it would have to be magical, because he didn’t think he’d given her his number.
“I don’t know. I’m going to have to call her.”
“Would you mind giving me her number?”
Tucker straightened up. “Why?”
Gesturing across the street, Rand said, “Well, we do have a bit of a problem across the way. The neighbor’s house was broken into. She was last seen with the neighbors, not that long ago, if you’d recall. It seems we should get to the bottom of it.” He gave Tucker a friendly smile.
Tucker smiled back as he settled comfortably into the seat. “It seems you should. But, you see . . . Vaughnne didn’t really do anything except drive away. I don’t really feel comfortable giving you her phone number.”
“Maybe you’d feel more comfortable down at the station.”
Tucker lifted a brow and dropped the shucks, Southern boy charm. “Maybe you’d better produce a reason for taking me there first.” He shrugged and stood up, eyeing the mess going on across the street. The paramedics were there now, working on the men, calling out terms and phrases that Tucker was more familiar with than he cared to be. One of them would be fine, once Tucker dropped his hold.
The other one, though . . . nah. That man’s mind was toast.
He kept having seizures and Tucker didn’t give a damn. That son of a bitch had gone after a kid.
“Do I need to look for a reason?” Officer Rand glared up at him, looking unperturbed by the fact that Tucker had a good eight inches on him, and unperturbed by the fact that Tucker was still on the porch while the officer was on the ground.
“If you want me to go to the station, I’d suggest you find one,” Tucker said. He hooked his thumbs in his pockets and decided when he ran into Nalini, he just might paddle her ass. And not just because she had such a nice one, either.
If he got hauled in over this, there were going to be problems. A lot of them. There just might be . . .
The sight of the black car pulling up in front of him didn’t do a whole hell of a lot to settle his mind. It didn’t do his temper much good when the door opened and a rough-looking bastard climbed out.
The guy was even bigger than he was.
Their eyes met over the distance and Tucker tipped back his head and sighed, staring up at the white painted roof over his head. He didn’t bother looking away from it even when the newcomer approached Rand, no doubt flashing his shiny little FBI credentials.
“Special Agent Joss Crawford.”
As Rand introduced himself, Tucker figured he’d studied the ceiling boards long enough and he lowered his gaze, staring at Joss Crawford from under the veil of his lashes. A little while back, he’d sort of worked with this guy . . .
Their sides had collided because one of Tucker’s few friends, Dru Chapman, had ended up right in the middle of the mess. Dru and Joss were shacking up now. Tucker thought she should get her head examined, but what did he know?
“I’m afraid I’m going to have to take this man into custody,” Joss said, slipping Tucker a narrow look.
Well, now. Tucker might not be able to read minds, but he could read that look easily enough. It clearly read . . .
Rand rested a hand on his gun. “And just why is that?”
“I’m afraid I can’t discuss that, Officer, but it’s regarding an ongoing, sensitive federal investigation. This man has information on my case and he’s going to have to come with me.”
