Girls With Guns Read online

  Jess had suffered even more than I had at the hands of Teresa Perez. She’d been taken hostage by thugs with a hard-on for vulnerable cops, and despite her law-and-order tendencies, Jess had sworn she’d tear Perez’s face off if she ever showed it again. She’d meant every word. As much as I’d love to see that action, I took a breath and measured my response. “Not tonight.”

  She pulled me close and nuzzled her head against my neck. The scent of green-tea something or other swirled around my head, and my hunger shifted from Thai food to something else. Something that wouldn’t keep. In a brilliant display of mind reading, she asked, “Hungry?”

  “Always.”

  The bedroom was close and we were there in an instant, kissing, stripping, ready for a fast fuck. Funny, since now that we lived together we could totally take our time. While I yanked at her shirt, she jammed her hand into my jeans. I bucked against her and dove my face into her breasts, loving how quickly they hardened with arousal. For years we’d done this dance and it worked every time. Every single time. Fast or slow, hard or soft. No one got me like she did, and in the blink of that realization, I almost told her what I’d found out tonight, but the roar of my own orgasm drowned out my thoughts, and I surrendered to the haze of complete and total pleasure.

  “You still hungry?”

  I rolled onto my side and pulled her close. We were almost snuggling, but I’d never call it that. I let a slow grin show and said, “I could go again, but I probably need to eat first.”

  She punched my arm lightly. “I’ll go get the food. I waited for you.”

  I pulled her back. “Wait.” I hesitated.

  “What?”

  I wanted to tell her about Perez and wasn’t quite sure what was holding me back. Cantoni had given me the name of a guy who knew another guy who he said could get me a lead on where Perez was hiding out. Instead of taking Cantoni to jail, I made him take me to guy number one to prove his story. To Joe’s credit, the guy sported the Mexican Mafia gang sign. If anyone would know where she was, her former law-breaking pals were the most likely suspects, so I took him at his word when he assured me I would get a call from his pals about Perez.

  I looked at Jess, who was still waiting for me to answer. We’d have a better chance of nabbing Perez together, but Jess had a job that required her to bring suspects back alive. If she found Perez, she’d be in a hard spot, and I didn’t want to be the one that put her there. “Nothing.” I looked away to keep her from reading the opposite in my eyes.

  She reached out and stroked my face. Sweet and gentle. “You don’t have to feel bad about tonight. You’ll get back in the swing of things.”

  “I thought I was pretty amazing.”

  “I wasn’t talking about the sex, doofus.”

  I laughed. “I know. Don’t worry. I’ve got a full day planned tomorrow. I’ll bag a bad guy. I swear.”

  “I’m sure you will, but it won’t be tomorrow.”

  “You have other plans for me?”

  “No, but the Crowley courthouse does. Did you already forget about your jury summons?”

  My stomach sank as I recalled the official envelope that had arrived in the mail a few weeks ago. I’d closely examined it at the time, certain I’d meet one of the exceptions listed on the flip side of the formal notice, but not one applied. So instead, I turned to my favorite defense mechanism and forgot all about it. Leave it to my cop girlfriend to put it on the calendar. “Why don’t you call one of the many judges you know and get me out of it?”

  She shook her head. “Save the favors for the next time you get arrested. Don’t worry. You’ll be there a couple of hours at most. No way you’ll get picked.”

  I mustered a dose of righteous indignation. “What’s that supposed to mean? I’m perfectly capable of sitting in judgment on my peers.”

  “I have no doubt, but you’re a bounty hunter and you live with a cop. Both sides will probably strike you.”

  She was right. Seemed like a total waste of time to get up early and trudge through the crowd at the courthouse for nothing, but maybe it would mean I’d be off the hook work-wise for a while. I glanced at the clock. It was late. I should eat and get some sleep, but as I turned back around and saw the curve of Jess’s breast barely covered by the sheet, thoughts of food and rest fell away. My dreaded morning obligation would be here soon, but I was going to enjoy every minute of this evening.

  Chapter Two

  When I finally made it to the central jury room the next morning, I was in a long line of other folks who hadn’t found a way out of civic service. From the middle-aged guy in his fancy suit, whose eyes were glued to his phone screen, to the twenty-something in skinny jeans and too-high heels, swaying in time to whatever tune was flowing through her headphones, it looked like all of us would rather be anywhere but here. The best thing I could do for now was stay below the radar. If I was one of the unlucky few who got called up to a courtroom, I’d start speaking out about how I couldn’t possibly be fair and impartial. When I reached the double doors, I handed my slip to the bailiff but kept my eyes trained on my boots.

  “Luca Bennett, what the hell are you doing here?”

  The words were followed by a big belly laugh, and I looked up into the eyes of Curtis Landridge. He’d been a Dallas cop who’d worked with Jess when she was on patrol. “I could ask you the same thing. When did you start working for the sheriff’s office?”

  “Just last week. I left DPD after I hurt my back, so I got this new gig herding jurors. It’s boring as hell, but it’ll let me get in my last couple of years so I can take full retirement.”

  I nodded, even though the idea of getting paid for not working was a completely foreign concept. “Don’t suppose you want to cut me loose?”

  “No can do. If you made it this far, you have to go all the way. Hey, are you still friends with Jessica Chance?”

  Memories of Jess’s naked body flashed in my brain, and I hoped the heat I felt wasn’t showing on my face. “Yep.”

  “Tell her I said hey. She’s a helluva cop.”

  I heard someone clearing his throat behind us, and then a clipped male voice said, “Do you think you could postpone your personal conversation to another time? Some of us have places to be.” When I looked down the line, I saw business guy looking all indignant and full of himself. When I turned back to Curtis, he had a big grin on his face.

  “Better hope you don’t get stuck on a jury with that one,” he said.

  “I don’t plan on getting stuck on any jury.”

  He handed me the summons and patted me on the shoulder. “Good luck.”

  I walked through the doors into the large room lined with rows of chairs, the kind that were hooked together to make sure people didn’t get all willy-nilly about the seating arrangements. I settled into a seat toward the back of the room and pulled out my phone. So far, no word from Cantoni’s pal, but it was probably a little early in the day for criminals to get moving. I turned off the ringer, shoved the phone in my pocket, and distracted myself by looking around the room.

  Several televisions were positioned around the room featuring a local newscaster giving a spiel about the wonders of jury duty and what we were in for over the course of the next hour or so. The broadcast was on a loop, and by the third time it played, I wanted to hurl my boot into the screen closest to me. I started looking around the room to see if there was anywhere I could sit that would shield me from the drone of the television. Before I could assess my options, a woman plopped down in the seat next to me and started talking.

  “I’m not late, am I? They haven’t called any names yet? Halfway here I hit the worst traffic on I-30. Of course when we finally started moving, there was absolutely no sign of an accident, so I don’t have a clue why we were stopped. You’re sure they haven’t called any names yet, right? My name’s Cris, by the way.”

  I looked down at the hand she held out while my brain caught up to her rushed tumble of conversation. The very last thing I wan
ted to do, besides being here in the first place, was engage in small talk with anyone else in this room, but her hand hung in the air, and despite popular opinion, I’m not a jerk. I reached out and shook it, surprised by the firm grip. “Luca. And, no, you haven’t missed anything unless you enjoy watching endless loops of useless information.”

  She followed my glance to the nearest television monitor, and I’m certain I saw her mouthing the words along with the narrator. A few seconds later, she looked back my way and the slow creep of a blush reddened her cheeks. “Thank goodness,” she said. “They always turn the introduction off before they call the names.”

  As much as I didn’t want to make new friends, curiosity got the best of me. “So, you’ve done this before.”

  “Absolutely. This is my third time.”

  I cast about for the appropriate condolence, but her exuberant expression told me she didn’t need my sympathy. She actually enjoyed jury duty. Wow. Now that I’d found out this much, I had to know more. “Guess this must be more interesting than your day job.”

  I didn’t have a day job, and I imagined them to be endless, boring stretches of time spent trapped in a cubicle, talking on the phone, and possibly typing. So many people had them, though, they must have some appeal to the general public. Judging by her neat but casual attire, I pegged this woman for a secretary of some sort who likely viewed jury duty as a perfect escape from a demanding and possibly lecherous boss. “What do you do?”

  “I’m head of accounts for Advanced Teleconnect,” she said, naming one of the top telecomm companies not just in Dallas, but in the world.

  I was impressed but still leery. Someone with that kind of clout should’ve been able to make a phone call or, better yet, have her secretary make a phone call, to get her out of this cattle call. If she was stuck here, that didn’t bode well for my chances of ducking out without a fight. Determined to ignore this whole scene in hopes it would go away, I crossed my arms and let my head fall onto my chest in my best I’m-sleeping-now-and-we-don’t-have-to-talk-anymore pose. The escape lasted all of five minutes.

  “Is this your first time?” she asked.

  First time sleeping in public? First time at the courthouse without being in trouble? The possibilities were endless. I was done engaging, but she clearly wasn’t getting it, so I grunted an affirmative.

  “I can tell. You didn’t dress in layers.” She tugged at her jacket and patted the messenger bag at her side. “And you didn’t bring snacks.”

  My ears perked at the word “snacks,” but I shook my head. “I don’t plan on being here long. I’m not exactly jury material.”

  She started to reply, but at that moment a tall, thin man in a black robe stepped up to the podium at the front of the room and tapped on the microphone. Cris sat ramrod straight in her chair and grinned like a kid at a carnival. I resumed my casual pose, hoping to fly under the radar. Ten names in, my hopes were dashed at the sound of the judge’s gravelly voice over the loudspeaker. Cris punched me in the arm in what was supposed to be a congratulatory move, and I slowly made my way to the door, headed for the 283rd District Court on the sixth floor. As I passed the bailiff, I heard the impatient businessman from earlier asking him directions to the same court I was headed to, and I sped up before I got roped in to showing him around. I wasn’t here to be a tour guide, and if all went well at the next stop, I wouldn’t be here much longer at all. I had leads to chase, and kicking around upstairs while I waited for some prosecutor or defense attorney to realize I’d shacked up with a cop was a complete waste of time.

  I took the escalator to the third floor, as high as it would go, and then broke off to the stairwell. The elevators in the building were notorious for not working, which meant the ones that did work were crowded with a bizarre mix of wide-eyed innocents, creepy-looking defendants, armed cops, and impatient attorneys packed into too little space. Three flights of stairs later, I regretted how many times I’d missed my morning run over the past couple of months. I’d had to give it up for a few weeks, post gunshot to the abdomen, but then I’d just gotten lazy. Happy and lazy, which is the worst kind since it’s really hard to be motivated to do something when someone is whispering sweet nothings in your ear.

  When I finally huffed my way to the double doors of the courtroom, I grabbed a seat on a bench in the hall and settled in for the next round of waiting. A few minutes later, the businessman I’d seen downstairs strode up to the doors and pushed his way through. I mentally counted the seconds, betting he’d be back in less than ten. Only took five before the courtroom bailiff ushered him back out into the hallway.

  “Wait here until your name is called,” he said.

  “But you don’t understand. My name was already called. That’s why I’m here. I’d like to go ahead and talk to the judge and explain why I need to go. It’ll save everyone time.”

  “Nice of you to want to save time, but that’s not how it works. Have a seat and wait for your name to be called.”

  I didn’t bother hiding a smile as I watched Busy McBusiness frown at the bailiff’s back and then look at the remaining benches with a look of disdain. Ultimately he chose to remain standing, punching the buttons on his phone in a fit of self-importance. Fine by me. I wasn’t in the mood for sharing the space I’d managed to stake out.

  “Luca!”

  Disconcerted at the sound of my name, I looked up and sighed when I saw Cris standing nearby. She pointed at the space beside me. “Is anyone sitting there?” I shook my head, suppressed a sigh, and scooted over.

  “Hard to believe we got assigned to the same court. What are the chances?”

  The chances were crazy, actually, but maybe I was having all this bad luck now, and when we got into the courtroom, the defense attorney or prosecutor would recognize me and cut me loose before I had to endure a couple of hours of inane questioning. I could hear it now. Can you be fair? I couldn’t be fair about anything if I was locked in a room all day, subjected to set meal times all for a few measly bucks.

  “I wonder what kind of case this will be,” Cris said. “Last time it was trespassing.”

  “It’ll be more serious than that,” I told her. “They only handle felonies on this floor.”

  “How do you know?”

  The bailiff saved me from answering as he rolled out a large plastic trash can full of clipboards. As he called out directions for completing the questionnaires, I took a minute to look around at my fellow inmates. A pretty diverse mix of folks, and all of them, with the exception of Cris, looked as bummed as I was to be here.

  I used the clipboard as a shield for the next thirty minutes, providing honest but inflammatory answers to the questions. I paused for a few seconds over the section that asked about whether I was related to anyone in law enforcement. Related. Funny word. I’d known Jess since we were young recruits, days into our stint at the police academy. For years she’d been my go-to source for pretty much anything from information about a bail jumper to sex at a moment’s notice. She knew me better than anyone else, and now we lived under the same roof. Did all that and the fact I’d finally said those three little words that used to make my stomach churn make us related?

  Damn it. I was overthinking this. My pen cut through the paper as I carved Jess’s name in all caps. If nothing else, listing her should give the defense attorney a reason to try to strike me from the panel.

  A few minutes later, the bailiff gathered up our clipboards, and a while after that he ushered us into the courtroom and assigned us seats. I wound up two spots down from Cris on the third row, a position that caused me to sigh with relief. Felony cases called for twelve jurors, and plenty of folks were ahead of me. To my extreme satisfaction, McBusiness was front and center.

  After close to an hour of sitting on the hard benches in the courtroom listening to Judge Bowser drone on about how jury service worked, we broke for lunch. I checked my phone first thing and found three texts. I took the stairs two at a time while I read each messa
ge:

  Hardin: You got Cantoni yet?

  I ignored that one and glanced at the next message.

  Jess: Lunch?

  I started to type hell yes, but before I could thumb the words, my eyes strayed to the last text. It had come in three minutes ago. I didn’t recognize the number.

  Got the info. Call now.

  Guess I wasn’t going to be eating anytime soon. I looked up from my phone to see everyone crowding the elevators, and I sidestepped a woman pushing a stroller to head for the stairs. Once I hit fresh air, I called the number and waited impatiently through the rings. I’d about given up when a gruff male voice answered.

  “Yeah?”

  “It’s Bennett. Whatcha got?”

  He growled an address and said, “Come to the back. Be there in fifteen.”

  The line went dead before I could respond. Great. Looked like this was turning into a scavenger hunt. Luckily, the meet wasn’t far from the courthouse. I jogged across the street to my Bronco, silently bemoaning the fact I’d have to pay to park again when I got back. As I slid behind the wheel, I felt the burn of someone watching me and slowly turned my head to the left. Cris, the eager juror, waved from a car two spots away. It was a little disconcerting to see her out here since I thought she’d planned ahead so she’d never have to leave the courthouse, but I wrote off my paranoia to the adventure I was headed toward. I gave her a quick wave and pulled out of the lot.

  I recognized the building as soon as I pulled up at the address. A well-worn sign that read Antiques hung by the door. If there were antiques inside when this place opened, they were ancient now. I pulled around back and cruised the parking lot, without a clue as to what I was supposed to be looking for. A few minutes passed and I silently cursed both Joey Cantoni and my failure to take the sandwich Jess had offered when I left the house this morning.