“The stories said she was something else. Gave up gambling to marry a pig farmer.”
He laughed. “A pig farmer?”
“Yep. Grandpa Jake Reed.”
“She must have been seriously in love to marry a man with pigs.”
“Yes, she was. They were married over fifty years, and according to the family Bible, died two days apart. Mama said her mama told her that Loreli died first and he died of a broken heart.”
Pops looked off into the distance for a silent moment and said solemnly, “When I lost my wife, thought I’d die of a broken heart too. Never remarried because I didn’t want to let go of her memory.”
“And now?”
He shook his head. “Nothing’s changed. I’ll be her husband until they put me in the ground beside her.”
“Didn’t mean to make you sad.”
He waved her off. “It’s not about that. She was just the love of my life. Always will be. Not many people get to have that.”
JT thought about her mother. “My mama never remarried after Daddy died either. I think she feels the same way. In fact, the two of you would probably get along real well. She loves to cook, loves ball.”
“She tall?”
“And fine.”
He grinned, “I already knew that.”
Jamal drove up in a golf cart and stepped up on the porch.
“Thought you and Brain were working today,” Pops said.
“We were, but he’s doing some trolling on the computer for Reese, so I thought I’d come see if JT would like to take a tour of our Ponderosa.”
The reference made her smile. Her mother was a big
Bonanza
fan. “Sure.” She’d finished her lunch and felt pretty good physically, so why not?
Pops thought that a good idea. “You two go on. I’ll clean up here. Good talking to you, JT.”
“Good talking to you too, Mr. Anthony.”
She got into the cart, grabbed the seat belt with her good hand and strapped herself in. Once she was ready, Jamal gently put the petal to the metal and they were off.
The Anthony’s Ponderosa was impressive. Jamal drove them past his father’s house and then Bryce’s place. Up close, the Brain’s cubist-inspired crib was pretty spectacular. They then drove to see the home Jamal was building for himself, and like Pops’s and Reese’s, his house was more traditionally designed. Next, he took her to see the orchards that were filled with trees that would bear apples and pears, an outdoor half court paved with asphalt, gardens where Pops grew everything from collards to roses, and a good-sized pond stocked with koi.
The open air, the lush green, and the quiet made it seem as if she’d stepped into another world. A world where bombers didn’t exist, Carole didn’t need surgery, and she wasn’t afraid to let Reese know she loved him. While they drove around, Jamal asked her about her job and some of the athletes, and she answered as truthfully as she could. She liked Jamal. He was quieter and seemingly more introspective than his brothers, but she supposed his temperament was needed to balance off the vivid personalities of the other two.
The highlight of the afternoon was the tour he gave her of the labs. First of all, the facility was underground, which rocked her.
“Keeps out those pesky spies,” he explained as he took out what appeared to be an electronics remote and pointed it at the door of a building resembling a small Quonset hut. The doors opened and he drove them inside. When the doors closed, the floor beneath the cart began to descend. JT looked around with surprise and a bit of apprehension.
He smiled. “We’re fine. It’s like a mine shaft. It’ll take us down a couple hundred feet.”
The walls of the shaft were made of black metal, with recessed lighting embedded into them that gave off enough illumination so she could see. When the platform stopped, the wall in front of them parted and he drove them into a brightly lit area that made JT stare like a country girl in the big city. Large glassed-in rooms held what looked to be prototypes of engines, brake systems, and truck cabs. “We have our own world down here.”
He drove on while she stared around in amazement. “Looks like a top secret government lab.”
“We do some government work here. Sometimes grad students at the universities need a clean lab to test a prototype and we’ll let them come in and run their data.”
“What’s a clean lab?”
“Sterile.”
“Ahh.”
They passed more sealed rooms containing works in progress. There was even a kitchen. “We each have bedrooms down here for when we’re too busy or too tired to crawl home.”
“And just you and Bryce work down here?”
“Yep. This is our underground tree house.”
“Can I ask how long it took to dig this all out?” The area seemed cavernous.
“Not long. This part of the state has underground salt mines. Some are still working, others like this one were abandoned when they stopped turning a profit.”
“We’re in a salt mine?”
He gave her the Anthony grin. “Yep.”
“Wow!”
That evening, she was relaxing up in Reese’s bedroom when he called. “How are you?” she asked, beaming in response to his familiar voice. Who knew she could miss a man so much.
“Doing okay. How are you?”
“Just fine. I toured the Ponderosa and the lab today.” And she was still wowed by all she’d seen.
He chuckled. “Really? You must be special. Pinky and the Brain never give tours.”
“I was very impressed.”
“My brothers, the mad scientists. How are you feeling? They didn’t wear you out, did they?”
“Oh no. In fact I’m in here chilling and taking it easy. Besides, you did a bit of wearing out yourself last night if I’m not mistaken.”
“That’s different.”
“I like different,” she teased back in a sultry voice. “A lot.”
“I noticed. Man likes a responsive woman.”
“Woman likes a man who can make her responsive.”
“Then we’re even.”
“Oh yes sir.” Her senses had come to life. Was this how people became addicted to phone sex? she wondered, smiling. “How’s the weather in New York?”
“I’m in L.A.”
She was confused. “I thought you told me New York?”
“I did, but something came up this morning that put me on a flight back here.”
The idea that he was even farther away than she’d thought was disappointing. “How long will you be there?”
“No clue. Bo Wenzel’s been charged with cocaine smuggling. He made bail and the hearing’s scheduled for a month from now.”
She sat up. “What?”
“Yep, you’ll probably see it on the news. Traces were found in his plane.”
She was stunned. “Goodness. Is his son involved too?”
“Not as far as I know, but the Feds are still collecting evidence.”
“That’s a shocker.”
“The league sent me here to make sure the team’s front office keeps rolling.”
She was still trying to wrap her mind around Big Bo being charged with smuggling cocaine. Who knew he was mixed up in something like that, and she wondered about the ramifications on her clients if the team went belly up.
“Agent Tate headed up the questioning.”
JT told him about the call she’d had with Tate that morning concerning Garrett’s money and the post office boxes.
“There’s so much going on with this,” he said.
“I know, but if anybody can unravel it, I’m putting my money on Tate.”
“Me too. You should have seen her interviewing Wenzel. She cooked him with a smile.”
“Bo and cocaine. I’m still trying to process that. But the bomber’s at the top of my list. Be nice if they caught this fool so I can stop looking over my shoulder.”
“Yeah, it would. Did you get any business done today?”
“If you call talking to fifteen different clients business, yeah. Everybody and their mama called today to check on me. Jason, D’Angelo, Death.”
“They worry.”
“I know, but I told them I was fine. I did get a chance to talk to Francine a couple of times, though. She’s scouting out new locations for the office. Talked to Brad. Carole’s doing well. She has a few more surgeries left before they’ll let her go home, but they’ve reconstructed the bones in her jaw and he said it looks good.”
“Great news.”
There was silence over the connection for a moment, then he said softly, “Miss you, girl.”
“Miss you too. Makes me want to grab a flight to L.A.”
“Would be nice, but you stay put and heal up. I’ll be back soon.”
She knew he was right, but it didn’t keep her from wanting him near.
“I should let you go,” he said.
“Okay” she agreed reluctantly. “Keep me posted on Big Bo. He signs some of my clients checks. If I hear anything from Tate on our bomber, I’ll call.”
“Fine. Keep healing so I can really wear you out sometime soon.”
She laughed. “I’m going to hurt you when I get well.”
“I dare you.”
“Good-bye,” she said, still laughing.
“’Bye, Jessi.”
She closed the phone, held it against her heart and smiled.
She heard a knock on the door. “Come on in.”
It was Bryce. He looked pensive.
“What’s wrong?”
“Something I need to talk to you about.”
He looked so serious. “Okay.”
“Found the ID of the person who paid for the virus that took out your equipment.”
“Who is it?”
For a moment he didn’t respond.
She peered into his face. “Bryce?”
He looked at her, sighed, and finally said, “Misha.”
“What? That’s crazy. I’ve known Misha since she was in high school. I helped pay her tuition. I took her with me to South Africa for her twenty-first birthday. There has to be a mistake.”
“I thought so too, but no. It was her.”
She felt like he was speaking in a foreign language. “I don’t understand.”
“I don’t either.” He told her about the kid in Seattle who’d created the virus and how he’d found him.
“This is the same kid who got the four hundred dollars for wiping out my computers?”
“Reese told you?”
“Yes.”
“Same kid. I offered him some incentives if he found the name of the person who’d taken out the contract. Took him about a week to hack into all the ISP servers but he found her.”
JT supposed she should have been awed by the kid’s tech skills, but she was still in shock over Misha’s involvement. “Why would she do this? Why?”
“Gets worse.”
She looked into his eyes and instinctively knew what he was about to say next. “She hooked up the bomber too.”
He nodded.
Furious, she unthinkingly slammed her arm down on the arm of the couch, and the pain reverberated with such intensity her curses turned the air blue.
He came quickly to her side. “You okay?”
She was still wincing and cursing at her own carelessness. “Give me a minute.” She closed her eyes. Teeth clenched, she waited for the aching to subside. It finally did. “Carole was almost killed!”
“I know.”
“Damn that girl! What did we ever do to her to make her think blowing us up was okay?”
He didn’t answer.
She snapped open her phone and hit Misha’s number. “I’m going to find out.” The voice mail kicked in. Keeping her voice level, she said, “Hey, Mish. JT. Give me a call back. ’Bye, babe.” She closed the phone. “Wait till I get my hands on her ass.”
“I have a camera on my computer, and I know that she does too, because we talked after I got back from Cali. I’ll try and contact her by e-mail and maybe you can get some answers face-to-face.”
“That would be good.” She was angry and, yes, hurt by the betrayal. She wanted answers and wanted them now. “And if she doesn’t want to respond to us, she can respond to the police.”
Early the next morning JT heard a knock on the door
and called out sleepily, “Yeah?”
“It’s Bryce.”
She’d had an awful night. She’d tossed and turned the entire time, dreaming of explosions, and blood, and Bobby riding a broom and cackling like the witch in the
Wizard of Oz.
“Come on in.” She dragged herself up to a sitting position and pulled the blankets up out of modesty and to keep from freezing in the chilly room.
He entered carrying an opened laptop. “Misha.”
The one word rendered her instantly awake. He set the jet black machine on her lap, and there on screen was Misha, crying. “I’m sorry, JT. So sorry.”
JT had no sympathy for her. “Just tell me why. That’s all I want to know.”
“He said he wouldn’t hurt you. But my God, Carole almost died.”
“Who said?” JT could see her hesitate. “Misha, I am mad enough to reach through this screen and strangle you! Who, dammit!”
“Bobby,” she whispered.
JT was dumbstruck. For a moment she couldn’t speak. She searched Misha’s wet tearstained face and yelled, “Bobby? Bobby Garrett!”
Misha’s face told all.
“You did this because of Bobby Garrett?”
“I didn’t know!”
“Misha, how could you!”
“I thought he loved me!” she wailed from her heart. She put her face in her hands and wept.
Tight-lipped, JT looked over at Bryce’s stony face before returning to the screen. This was the ugly side of love, the awful kind of love that sent women to jail, made them leave their children and forget their true worth. Most of the time the men responsible weren’t worthy enough to scrub their toilets, and in this instance it was especially so. “How long have you been seeing him?”
Misha raised red eyes. “Five years.”
JT threw up her good arm. She didn’t believe this. There wasn’t a woman on the planet who hadn’t done something stupid in her life because of a man, but this was beyond anything she’d ever heard of or seen. She now understood why Misha gave the clients the cold shoulder—she already had that weasel Bobby in her bed.
Misha blew her nose. “I put him out of my life after the explosion.”
“A little late.’
“I know, but when I woke up, I hacked around in his life to see what else he’d lied to me about. He’s got women all over the country, and he’s broke.”
That was the best thing JT had heard all morning.
“He’s been stealing from his clients and they’re basically broke too.”
She wasn’t happy hearing that. She sighed in response. “You have any proof?’
Misha held up a small USB drive. “All here.”
“Okay. I want you to call Francine and tell her I said to get you the best criminal lawyer in town, and then call Special Agent Brenda Tate with the FBI. Fran will have the number. Tell Tate everything. Everything. She’ll take it from there.”
Misha stared across the miles. She looked stunned. “You’re going to help me? Why?”
“Not you, your parents. Because this is going to kill your parents when it gets out, and I don’t want them hocking their future to pay for your defense. And two, Carole didn’t die. If she had, Misha, I would have called Tate last night when Bryce told me you were involved in this mess, and by now you’d already be in custody.”
Misha dropped her gaze.
“So call Fran.”
She was crying again. “Thank you.”
“Just be thankful Carole’s alive.”
She nodded.
JT handed the laptop to Bryce.
He cut the transmission and took in the anger on her face as she lay propped up against the pillows. “You’re forgiving her?”
“No. Truthfully, I want to chop off her head, but it’s Bobby Garrett I really want. When they throw his skank behind in jail, then we’ll talk forgiveness.”
He offered a small smile. “Remind me to stay on your good side.”
“Be glad I’m busted up. Otherwise I’d already be on a plane going home to find him. Silly girl. I’m so mad at her I could scream.”
“How about breakfast instead? Pops was up when I left the house.”
“Sounds good. Maybe it will take my mind off garroting Garrett.”
“I think that’s a great idea.”
“Your big brother would probably tell you not to encourage me.”
Bryce waved her off. “Nobody listens to Kingfish.”
He left grinning, and JT went to brush her teeth. When she finished, she called Agent Tate, and after telling her about Misha, offered to put up a $10,000 reward on Carole’s behalf to anyone with information leading to Garrett’s arrest. After the conversation ended, she called Reese.
Later, Francine accompanied Misha to Agent Tate’s office, and by noon L.A. time a federal warrant was issued for the arrest of Bobby Garrett the Third in connection with the bombing of JT’s office.
Bobby drove to Watts. Over the years the neighborhood had had its share of ups and downs. It appeared to be on another down cycle, if all the boarded-up homes and deserted stores and strip malls were any indication. It was heavy gang territory, and he and his red Mercedes were drawing lots of attention from the young bloods on the streets, but as he passed them he threw the proper hand signs and they seemed to relax. The car would be one of the first things to go; he’d already resigned himself to that fact. He would be needing something with way less bling if he wanted to stay out of the police’s sights.
The house was where he remembered. The blinds were drawn, as they’d always been. He stepped up onto the porch and hit the button for the bell. He hoped she still lived there. She did.
Upon opening the door, she took one look at his face on the other side of the screen door and said coolly, “Well, if it ain’t Mr. Got Rocks. What the hell do you want?’
It angered him to have to ask for help, but he spit it out. “Need a place to stay.”
“Really?” She hadn’t changed much; still overweight, still wearing wigs—this one blond—and her eyes still had the power to reach into his soul. “Police must be after you if you had to break down and come crawling to your grandma.”
His jaw tightened. She was his late mother’s mother. Her name was Irene. “Yeah. Bad.” Rather than be subjected to more ridicule, he pulled out his wallet and extracted four crisp fifty-dollar bills. “This ought to make up for the inconvenience.”
“Add another five hundred and you got a deal.”
“Five hundred!”
“Take it or leave it. It’s not like you’ve been family since you went off to that fancy school. I charge you just like anybody else off the street.”
Fuming, he showed her the bills. She smiled and opened the door to let him in.
That night JT couldn’t sleep. She supposed it was due to all the day’s drama. From Misha to Big Bo and back to Misha again, she was too wound up to drift off. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Misha’s tearstained face. At home when she had sleepless nights, she’d simply get in her car and drive, but her car was in California and she was here with a cast on her arm.
Tossing aside the covers, she saw by the glowing numbers of the clock on her nightstand that it was 3
A.M.
She padded to the window and looked out into the darkness. The other houses on the property were dark so she assumed the Anthony men were all asleep, unlike her. Deciding to go downstairs and get a glass of Kool-Aid, she was about to turn from the window when a shadow outside caught her eye. A lone figure was heading toward Pops’s house. It didn’t look like Jamal or Bryce, but whoever it was was doing his best not to be seen in the beam of Pops’s porch light. Probably so the gun in his hand couldn’t be seen, she thought, and grabbed her phone to call Pops, but it went straight to voice mail. Cursing because she’d lost sight of the intruder, she got Bryce on the phone.
He answered sleepily. “What?”
“There’s somebody sneaking around your dad’s house.”
“Stay put,” he ordered, yelled for Jamal, and ended the call.
But she was worried something might happen before the sons could get there, so she quickly found her purse and pulled out the new 9mm Francine had gotten to replace the one lost in the explosion. With only one hand at her disposal, she held the gun against her body and used her right hand to snap in the clip. Heart pounding, she forced her bare feet into her sneakers, stuck her phone in her robe pocket, and headed out of the room.
She was going down the stairs when she heard glass breaking. Stopping, she froze and listened. The sound came again, and her head swiveled toward the kitchen. There was a glass pane in the back door. Quickly and quietly, she pulled out her phone and whispered to Bryce, telling him what was going on.
“We’re almost there!” he said.
Gun at the ready, she had no intention of letting the intruder catch her unawares—been there, done that, with Lamont Keel—so she eased down the steps and hid next to the sofa, where she would have a clear view if the person entered the room.
She didn’t have to wait long. It was a man, short, and he was looking up the steps when JT snapped on the lamp. He startled, but by then she’d already squeezed off the first two shots. The lead exploded in his knee. He screamed and grabbed his leg. Fury replaced the pain in his eyes when he saw her, and he raised his gun, but her second volley was already on the way. Two more bullets caught him in the other leg, and with a demonic howl he went down, in too much agony from his shattered kneecap to care that his gun had rolled away.
Then the Anthony men came barreling through the front door. The man writhing and moaning on the floor at their feet took them by surprise. JT was standing on the far side of the room with fire in her eyes and her gun pointed their way. Seeing this, all three Anthony men slowly dropped their hunting rifles and raised their hands. Shaking with adrenaline and reaction, she drew down, then collapsed bonelessly onto the arm of the sofa.
The intruder was moaning, but otherwise you could hear a pin drop. Pops eyed JT and whispered, “Damn.”
Jamal and Bryce appeared frozen.
Pops asked, “Are you okay, girl?”
She nodded. She wasn’t really, but was damn tired of folks trying to take her life. “Somebody should probably call 911.”
Bryce got on his phone.
An angry Pops looked down at the intruder and asked, “You come here to rob us?”
“Fuck you, old man.”
Before Pops could react, JT strode across the room, planted her foot firmly on the prowler’s waist inches from his genitals, leaned down and stuck the gun in his young face. His eyes went big as Frisbees.
“Apologize!” she growled. She was so sick of this, she wanted to shoot him right then and there, and to hell with the consequences.
He could see that she wasn’t playing. “Okay! Okay! I’m sorry!”
She kept her gun in his face and her weight on her foot. “Now, answer his question. What were you after?”
His face was mutinous. “A woman named Blake.”
JT shook her head.
Lord, now what?
“Why?”
“A hit.”
“Who sent you?”
When he didn’t answer, she kicked him hard in the leg. He screamed, but because there wasn’t a sympathetic person in the room, he confessed with a whimper, “Bobby Garrett! My cousin, Bobby Garrett. Get this crazy bitch away from me!”
So the crazy bitch backed off and sat down, to await the arrival of the police.
They roared up a few minutes later. The young man’s name was Desmond “Po-Boy” Barker. He had a rap sheet a mile long and myriad outstanding warrants for everything from carjacking to armed robbery. The paramedics patched his leg and took him away on a stretcher. The police took her report, promised to touch base with the LAPD and the FBI, and left her and the Anthonys alone.
Pops said, “Having you around sure makes life interesting.”
JT gave him a small smile. “Nothing like a little target practice to cure my insomnia.”
“I told Reese we’d keep you safe, but you don’t really need us, do you?”
Jamal and Bryce flanked him, and they still looked amazed.
She said to them, “One of my great-great-grand-mothers was a gambler. The other organized a wagon train of mail order brides back in the 1880s. A great-great-grandfather was a Texas Ranger, and an uncle was an outlaw. No. We Blakes can take care of ourselves, thank you very much.”
“Then all I can say is: Who wants ice cream?”
Three sets of hands shot up.
Pops nodded. “Now that’s what I’m talking about.”
When Bobby turned over in the bed, he cracked open his eyes a bit, saw daylight through the small attic window, and moved deeper into the thin lumpy mattress with the intent of going back to sleep, until he noticed Ham seated in a chair right beside the bed. He was so startled, he sprang up and smashed his head against the attic’s low ceiling. As the pain thudded through him, Bobby fought off both the ache and the embarrassment brought on by Ham’s cold grin.
“Why the hell are you here?” Bobby asked.
“I could ask you the same question, but I already know the answer: You’re here because you’re stupid!” he yelled.
The forceful reply made Bobby jump again, but he tried to play it off. “Fuck you.” Ignoring Ham, he turned over and pulled the blanket back over himself, only to have Ham stand and snatch it away. Bobby flipped over to confront him but froze when he found himself staring at a silver gun with a bore the size of walnut.
“Stupid piece of educated shit!” Ham growled angrily. “I ought to blow you away right here, but that would be disrespectful to Miss Irene’s house. Do you know how much money you cost me because you had to steal from that dead old man? Do you?”
Bobby was trying not to shake but couldn’t stop.
“Big Bo’s been charged with smuggling. The popo’s probably going to link him to the murder, and he’s gonna have to sing to save his own ass, and you know what? I can’t be mad at him because I’d do the same damn thing!”
“What do you mean he’s been charged?”
“Oh, you’re deaf now too? Charged as in the FBI, muthafucka! He made bail, but he’d have to be stupid as you not to make a deal, and we both know he ain’t that.”