Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Cain flexed to his feet and tried to help Betsy up, but she pushed him away and stood on her on.
He glanced at the papers in his hand. How the hell had this happened?
This had to be someone who’d been following him or at least keeping a dossier on him for future use.
The question was who. Might have been one of the dealers he took down the day these photos were taken.
Maybe their boss. Whoever it was had gotten hold of the damaging information within twenty-four hours of the takedown because after that it had all been washed by the DEA and local authorities.
Now here it was out in the open little more than six months later. Crayton must be a bigger operation than he or the police figured. Criminals usually held blackmail-worthy stuff back until a big operation called for it.
“Don’t play innocent with me, Cain Connery. Or did you think no one would recognize you in this little town.” She poked his bicep. “There’s a lot of people spend their days on the Internet just searching for gossip. The people in Crayton aren’t any different.”
She poked his shoulder, swift and to the point, as if putting a period on her tirade.
His shoulder flinched and his abs jerked in reaction, then his muscles relaxed along with a clearing throat growl.
Part of him hated people who thought they could get their point across by poking at him.
Another part had been surprised she’d even touched him again after her reaction to the brush of her fingers on his chest. The way her lips had parted had almost done him in.
“This isn’t what it seems,” Cain said.
“You might as well know that I called Deputy Evans. He said I should let you explain.” She held up her phone. “But he’s on standby if I need to call him back.”
Cain’s mind raced to what might have happened with his personnel file. He’d been a DEA agent for over ten years. Stuff like this didn’t just happen on a dime.
She stood on her own for a moment, then wobbled and reached for the side of the house again.
He steadied her with his arm as he pushed her through the doorway and walked her to the sofa.
Even this late in the day she still smelled like orange blossoms. Suddenly, what little color had returned to her face took a nosedive.
“I’m going to be sick,” she moaned.
“No you’re not. Not in my living room.” He picked her up and headed down the hallway.
She squirmed in his arms, her long legs kicking against his side. “I can walk.”
He blew out a cheek-puffing sigh and stopped. “Are you sure?”
“No.” Her shoulders slumped as she leaned her head against his chest. “I need some orange juice.”
“Are you diabetic?”
“No. Hypoglycemic…which means…”
“I know, I know.” The usually in charge Betsy melted like ice cream in his arms. Under other circumstances good. This circumstance, bad. “Means you’re supposed to eat small meals throughout the day. Keep your blood sugar up. Why didn’t you stop to eat on the way back from St. Louis?”
He retraced his footsteps and detoured to the refrigerator, stood her on her feet and grabbed the bottle of juice. “Here. Drink this.”
“Glass?”
Why did women always need a glass? “Open the lid and drink some juice. Do you want me to make you a sandwich?”
“No. I’ll be fine.” Slowly, she shook her head while intermittently gulping down some of the orange juice.
Next stop would be his bedroom since most everything else in the house was torn apart with remodeling. He pointed her in that direction and steadied her as they went. He led her to the king-sized bed and sat her down. Backing away far and fast.
She rolled to her side, tucked his pillow under her head, and curled into a fetal position right in the middle of his slept-and-left rumpled sheets. “Tell me why I shouldn’t believe my eyes. And don’t give me any cock-and-bull story that they aren’t real.”
This sure wasn’t how he had imagined having Betsy in his bed. Not that he’d imagined it. Much.
In his dreams, she was soft and willing.
Her sheer hazel-green eyes sparkling with laughter and desire.
Her red hair spread across the pillow, free of the always-in-place band that loosely pulled it back every day.
He liked the way escaped curls teased her face by mid-morning at the car lot, but the thought of letting his fingers tangle through the free silkiness ranked higher than winning a triathlon.
Another slight moan preceded Betsy opening her eyes. “I’m listening.”
“The photos are real.”
“See? Where’s my phone?” She tried to sit up, but plopped back down, covering her eyes with her arm. “I need to call Deputy Evans back and tell him I was right. You’re a drug dealer using Peyton’s for your operation.”
“Are you crazy?” What would possibly have given her that idea? “I am not a drug runner. Got that? Never have been. Never will be.”
“How can you tell me those pictures are real one second and that you’re innocent the next?”
“Because there’s real. And pretend real. Understand?”
She waved her hand wildly above her head as if to include the entire universe. “Well, whatever you’re into, my uncle will have your hide.”
That much was true. Sheriff Davis would have at least part of his hide if anything happened to his niece on his watch. Only one thing would save Cain from a good toss under the bus. Her uncle had come up with the idea to use Peyton’s, and he already knew all of Cain’s background with the DEA.
“Look, Betsy, I worked deep cover for the DEA. Deep means exactly what it sounds like.” He brushed his hands down the sides of his jeans.
“Suffice it to say, what you see in the photos happened, but only as I worked the case. Trust me, if you went looking for that mug shot right now…it’s not out there.
The very next day it was cleaned from the files by the DEA. ”
He grabbed his cell phone from the nightstand, punched in the direct number to the police department and waited. Within seconds dispatch answered, and he didn’t let them get through their spiel. “This is Cain Connery. Give me Deputy Evans, ASAP.”
“What’s going on, Cain?” The always serious tone of Deputy Evans filled the phone.
“You need to get over to Peyton’s. We need to brush for fingerprints in Betsy’s office and at all the doors.” Cain paced. “And we’ll need to view all the security video inside and outside.”
“I’ll make sure the lab guys get on it right away. Why?”
“Someone snuck in and left Betsy a manila envelope filled with info from the last DEA job I worked. The one where I was arrested so my cover wouldn’t get blown.”
“I figured it was something like that when she called all hyped about arresting you. She okay?”
Cain glanced at Betsy, and felt his jaw tighten. At least she was sitting on the side of the bed now, although her cat-green eyes didn’t hold the sassy spark they usually flashed.
“Yeah, she’s okay. Anything else you want to tell Deputy Evans, Betsy?” Cain pushed the speaker button. If he really wanted to push her buttons, he’d flat out ask if she needed the deputy to come and arrest him.
“No.” Betsy headed to the adjoining bathroom, then looked back out. “Oh, I forgot to mention that one of my lookie-loo customers was at the dealership when I left. The guy who creeps me out.”
“You talk to him?”
“No. I just waved as I drove by his car. He just sat there staring at me from behind the driver’s side window.”
Cain tensed. “What kind of car?”
“A powder blue 1995 sedan that can’t remember the last time it was washed.” She entered the bathroom, and a moment later he heard running water in the sink.
A sigh of relief eased from his mouth, followed by one from the deputy. If she’d mentioned a gold SUV, they’d have known their plan was working. The trouble was, drug buyers and sellers didn’t like being interrupted. They liked a witness even less.
Right now, he didn’t like anything about this whole stakeout scenario. Or the fact Betsy was involved. He took the call off the speaker and turned his back toward her. “Doesn’t sound like the drug runner’s MO that we’ve been able to piece together. Definitely not the car model and color.”
He pulled a Glock from behind the headboard and checked the magazine before slipping it back into the quick access panel he’d built.
Never hurt to have an extra hideaway gun.
If the drop guy he was zeroed in on was brazen enough to show up when people were still at the car lot, then the man had no qualms about taking someone out if necessary.
Keeping one of his weapons hidden but close was a lesson Cain had learned from his first partner. Home. Truck. Job location. Wherever he planned to be for any length of time, he planted a gun. Had saved him more than once.
“Evans, it might be a good idea to get a look at what’s on those cameras we installed, too.”
“Already top of my list. Plus, we’ll pull recordings from Betsy’s own security at Peyton’s. In fact, I’ll have some patrolmen meet me there to take a look around the entire dealership.”
Still on the phone, CAIN walked into the hall and lowered his voice as he talked to Evans. “You know, Betsy’s gonna blow a gasket when we tell her we moved some cars into her lot with surveillance cameras attached.”
“Yeah. But then again maybe we picked up the man in charge coming or going. All we need is one break.”
At what price though? Cain had told the sheriff, the deputy and every other lawman involved in this setup that this was a case riding on top of a grenade. They all disagreed. Said he was being overprotective.
“Maybe so, but she’s still not gonna be happy when you tell her.”
“Don’t you mean when you tell her.” Deputy Evans chuckled.
“Don’t you forget this is a team effort. Technically, I can end my consulting contract with the Crayton Police any time I want.” Not that he would, but that was going to be his story if ever needed.