Chapter Twenty-Six
Dirk left a note for Meg, saying he'd talk to her later, and left the house. He wanted to be gone before Rose Wills showed up. No use complicating things any more than they were already.
He thought of Charlie and hoped the little boy would be okay. He figured taking the kid to a shrink was probably the best approach.
After he'd left the Rangers, he'd spent a couple of weeks talking to a doc friend himself, a guy who'd served and worked with vets. He'd been lucky, never had PTSD or anything like that. But there were some things he'd needed to get off his chest and talking to the doc had helped.
From Meg's he went by his apartment to shower and change, then headed for the house he was rebuilding on Lakehurst Drive. He talked to Rollo Davis, the older man he'd hired to run the job, and was pleased with the progress the crew was making.
Then he stopped a few blocks away, at a house he'd stumbled onto after the fire and bought fairly cheap. Mostly cosmetic work to put the place in shape, and that work had been done.
As promised, the Realtor had planted a “For Sale” sign in the front yard. With any luck, he should net at least a hundred thou on the sale.
The office was his destination. He'd phoned Sadie to ask about her progress on Bremmer, but she hadn't been able to find anything useful to add to his file.
Parking the Viper in the lot, Dirk shoved through the back door. As he stepped into the building, Luke walked toward him.
“Saw you pull in, bro. I was just getting ready to call. I got something for you.”
“I hope it's a lead on Raymond Neville,” Dirk said.
“Not exactly. Mad Max Bremmer.”
“Almost as good. Let me grab a cup of coffee and you can fill me in.”
The corner of Luke's mouth edged up. “Late night?”
Dirk smiled. “Yeah, but not the way you think. Meg's little kid had a nightmare, screamed loud enough to shake the house down, and scared the piss out of me. That pretty much put my night of hot sex on hold.”
Luke chuckled. “No wonder you need coffee. I could use another cup myself.” Luke headed toward the employee lounge and Dirk followed.
Behind them, in the main part of the office, an area they called the bull pen, Nick Brodie, Luke's black-haired, blue-eyed cousin, sat behind his desk, his chair tipped back against the wall. Looked like he was texting someone, probably his cute little wife.
Ethan was talking to Diego Montoya, one of the guys who'd been keeping tabs on Meg's house. He was off the job now. Dirk still wasn't sure how he felt about that.
He tossed both men a wave. Nick waved back. Ethan tipped up his chin, but he and Dee were on a case, Dee's Latino features intense.
Earlier, on the drive to the office, Dirk had taken a call from a former client, a rap singer who was having stalker trouble with a fan. Normally, Dirk liked working with the guy, who called himself M-Jazz, but the job meant traveling, and he just wasn't comfortable leaving town right now.
Leaving Meg and her boy, if he were honest.
He and Luke walked into the break room. “So which hot babe kept you up late last night?” Dirk asked as Luke poured two Styrofoam cups of what smelled like fresh brew. “Jennifer or Shannon? Or did you finally break down and call Stella?”
Luke scoffed. “Not much into sharing, bro.”
Dirk chuckled. “Yeah, me neither. So who was she?”
“Girl named Devon I met at Mulkey's Tavern.” It was a locals' joint on the lake, not too far from the office. Tucker Mulkey was a vet and a mutual friend.
“Lady was a real bombshell,” Luke said. “Problem was, when I took her back to her house, damn woman wanted to tie me up.”
Dirk grinned. “Like that's gonna happen.”
“Yeah, I mean I didn't even know her. So I declined and she gave me the boot. Said vanilla sex wasn't her style.”
Dirk laughed. “I thought you liked it a little rough.”
He shrugged. “I might not have minded tying her fine ass up, but like I said, this just didn't feel right. I think I'm getting burnout or something.”
“Yeah, I guess. Hard as you hit it, it's a definite possibility.” They sat down at the round black-topped table and each took a sip of the scalding hot coffee, exactly the way Dirk liked it.
“Maybe you'll meet someone who really does it for you,” Dirk said. “Someone worth more than a night.”
Luke sipped his coffee. “That might be good, at least for a while. Long as there aren't any strings.”
Luke was a confirmed bachelor. Then again, that's what Dirk had been until he'd met Meg. It remained to be seen how that would shake out.
“So what have you got for me?” Dirk asked, taking a drink of coffee.
“After we talked yesterday, I called an old army buddy of mine. Name's Morgan Flynn. Big Irishman from Boston. I gave him all the info we had on Bremmer, which wasn't much, and asked him to dig around, see what he could find out. He called me back at four o'clock this morningâthe bloody sod. That's seven a.m. for him, with the time difference. I guess he figured I wanted the intel more than I wanted to sleep.”
Dirk grinned. “Good thing you weren't with the bondage babe.”
Luke grunted. “Yeah.”
“So is this friend ex-military?”
Luke nodded. “We were deployed down there together. He got out before I did, went back to South America, took a job working private security in Buenos Aires.”
“And?”
“Flynn made some calls, came up with a guy who knew Bremmer, knew him when he was working as a merc. According to the guy, Bremmer grew up in Argentina. He tried to join the Argentine Army, but they turned him down for mental instability. Bremmer went rogue.”
Luke leaned forward. “Here's the interesting part. Turns out Bremmer's a German name. Flynn's buddy says his granddad was a Nazi. Said Mad Max was a neo-Nazi himself.”
“Jeez, he really was crazy.”
“I did a little research after I got to the office. Nine thousand Nazis fled to Argentina after the war. Lot of them moved into an area called the alpine region. Guess it reminded them of home. There's a town named Bariloche. Last year they had an exclusive, all-night party on April twentiethâthat's Hitler's birthday, bro. You had to be on a secret list to get in.”
“Man, that's sick.”
“Yeah, well, Bariloche is a famous Nazi village, and that's where Mad Max Bremmer was born.”
Dirk rolled the info around in his head. Neville had been spotted in Argentina. Bremmer was an Argentine. That he was a Nazi might or might not be part of the equation. They needed more.
“What was Bremmer doing in the States?”
“Flynn says he'd only been here a couple of years, working as an enforcer for someone big in the international community.”
“I'm guessing Flynn didn't know who.”
“Unfortunately no.”
“I need to talk to Meg's dad. He runs in the big leagues. Maybe he pissed off someone way more powerful than we've been thinking.”
“Could be. In the meantime, I'll bring Sadie up to speed.”
Dirk nodded, finished his coffee, and pushed up from his chair. “Thanks, bro. That's good intel. I owe you, man.”
“Hell yeah. Tell Meg to fix me up with one of those sweet little honeys who model for La Belle and we'll call it even
.
”
Dirk grinned. “In your dreams.” Without looking back, he headed for the door.
* * *
Sitting at the dining room table in front of her laptop, Meg filled out another sheet of paperwork online. She had been at it for hours. Applications for a Tax ID number, resale permit, fictitious name, sales tax permit, the list went on and on.
This morning, she had gone to the bank to set up a business account for the boutique she was calling simply She.
Meg glanced up at the sound of her cell phone chiming and took a hopeful breath. She'd found the note Dirk had left on the kitchen counter, but all it said was
talk to you later.
How much later, she had no idea. Last time it had been five months.
When she saw the caller was Dirk, relief trickled through her. She purposely let it ring again, not wanting to seem overly eager, then picked up the call.
“Hey . . .” She wondered if he could hear the smile in her voice.
“How'd it go with the doc?” he asked, surprising her.
“Dr. Murphy was great. Charlie felt comfortable with her right away.”
“Did he tell her what happened at the lake?”
“He told her how he woke up in this strange place and that his head hurt. He said he was really scared. Charlie . . . umm . . . talked a lot about you.”
“Me?”
“Yes. He said this policeman who was his mama's friend came to the lake and saved us. He told her all about your car and your motorcycle.”
Dirk chuckled. “Maybe he won't have any more nightmares.”
She hoped not. “Will you be around to find out?”
Only a moment's hesitation. “Actually, I was planning to come by this afternoon. I've got a couple of questions I need to ask your dad. I'd rather do it in person. I thought maybe you'd go with me. It might be a little better if you were there.”
“Of course I'll go.” She wanted to know what questions Dirk planned to ask, but she'd know soon enough. “What time will you be here?”
“I phoned your dad earlier. He said anytime this afternoon was good. He's working at home today. I'm already on my way. I'll be at your front door to pick you up in about five minutesâif that works for you.”
Oh, yeah, that worked just fine. “Sure. I'll see you soon.”
Ending the call, she ran upstairs to change out of her loose-fitting jeans and T-shirt and into a pair of dark blue skinny jeans, a white turtleneck sweater that hugged her curves, and low-heeled, knee-high brown leather riding boots.
The weather had begun to change; a cold front had swept down from the north. Thick gray clouds boiled over the distant horizon, bringing the threat of a storm.
Meg grabbed the brown leather shoulder bag that carried her essentials and stepped out into the hall.
“I'm going out for a while,” she called to Mrs. Wills. When the heavyset woman walked out of Charlie's bedroom, Meg mouthed the word
Grandpa's
, and Rose smiled.
Both of them knew if she said the word aloud, Charlie would pitch a fit to go with her.
“You won't have to stay late,” Meg said. “I shouldn't be gone too long.”
“Charlie wants Sloppy Joes for supper,” Rose said. “If that's okay, I'll make the fixings and leave it in a pan on the stove. I'll set everything else out on the counter.”
“That'd be great. Thanks, Rose. Be sure to lock the door after me and set the alarm.” Better safe than sorry.
Meg descended the stairs and walked into the slate-floored entry. Grabbing a navy fleece jacket out of the closet, she pulled open the front door and went out on the porch to wait for Dirk.
She hadn't mentioned Dirk's name for the same reason as before. If Charlie knew, he'd want to come along. It didn't matter where, as long as they went with Dirk.
She frowned as she stood there waiting, spotting the sleek burnt-orange-metallic sports car, watching the Viper prowling the street toward the house.
Charlie was getting a little boy crush on Dirk. He didn't really have a dad. Dirk was a superhero to Charlie. Of course he would idolize him.
Her dad and Charlie were close, of course, but grandfathers didn't count, no matter how athletic and vital they were. Kids seemed to know the difference; she had no idea how.
It worried her to think what would happen to Charlie if things didn't work out with Dirk. It was one of the reasons she had ended their relationship before.
Shaking the unwanted thought away, she hurried down the walkway when the Viper drove up, pulled open the passenger door, and slid into the seat. The smell of leather and man and a trace of Dirk's woodsy cologne sent a tremor of awareness through her.
As she buckled her seat belt, she felt his warm fingers against her jaw, turning her to face him. Bending, he captured her lips in a welcome kiss that sent heat all the way to her toes.
“I missed you,” he said, smoothing a finger down her cheek.
“I missed you, too.”
Dirk kissed her again, then put the car into gear and pulled away from the curb. Sexual heat thrummed through her, pulsed out into her limbs. Their interrupted night had left her aching with need. Dirk had to be frustrated as well. Maybe tonight would change that, though he hadn't said whether he planned to stay.
“So what's going on?” she asked.
He flicked her a sideways glance as he continued down the street. “I talked to Luke this morning. He's got a friend in South America, guy named Morgan Flynn. Ex-military. Works private. Long story short, Flynn says Bremmer's a neo-Nazi from a town called Bariloche in Argentina.”
“Argentina. That's the last place Neville was spotted.”
“That's right. Before that, Bremmer was working in the States for somebody big in the international community. Neville's the kind of guy whose expertise doesn't come cheap. That means he was working for someone big, too. Since he dropped out of sight in Buenos Aires, I'm thinking Argentina is where we might find their employer.”
“Bremmer was a Nazi?” Meg repeated, still trying to get her head wrapped around the idea.
“That's what Flynn says. Apparently thousands of them fled from Germany to Argentina after the Second World War.”