Wilder Days. Linda Winstead Jones
like a large, tense, restless boy. “Shock will come by in the morning and drop off a bag. I’d like to get out of here pretty early. By ten, anyway.”
“Del…”
“And don’t tell me I’m not going with you,” he interrupted. “You need me, Vic.”
Those were the last words she wanted to hear! “I do not need you.”
She didn’t need anyone to look out for her or Noelle. The only men who had ever tried to shelter and protect her had ended up betraying her, in one way or another. Her father; Preston. Even Del. These days Vic looked out for herself and her daughter. She didn’t need a man to play the hero.
“At least let me see you settled somewhere safe,” Del said, obviously trying to placate her. “I know of a few good places to hide.”
“I’m sure you do.”
Del grinned at her blatant insult. “You got tough while I was gone.”
He couldn’t possibly know what a nerve he’d touched on. “I didn’t have any choice.”
Shock was right on time, for a change, and he came bearing everything Del had asked for. Clothes, ammo, an extra pistol. And a file on Vic and her ex-husband.
Del enjoyed his morning ritual, coffee and a cigarette, and flipped through the file. There wasn’t much.
“Any luck finding Tripp and Holly?”
Shock shook his head. “No, man, they’re staying clear of their regular haunts. They’ll turn up sooner or later. They always do.”
Up until now, the Mayrons had been a minor annoyance, two pesky flies in the ointment. They hadn’t been this determined, violent or organized before. Besides, Tripp Mayron was a major screwup.
“And the other?”
“Most of the good stuff is up here,” Shock said, tapping a fingertip against his temple. “I made a few phone calls last night and dug up the real dirt.”
Del looked down at a photo of Vic, an impersonal and unflattering driver’s license picture. And still, she looked good. “Let’s hear it.”
“Six years ago Preston Lowell, who works for Vic’s old man, was caught with his pants down. Literally. Not a pretty sight, from what I hear. The guy’s apparently got a really tiny little…”
“Shock,” Del growled in warning.
“Old man Archard, his secretary and a new client walked into Preston’s office after hours to get some papers or something, and found naughty Lowell and his new secretary…dictating, right there on the desk.” Shock waggled his eyebrows. “Vic kicked him out and he got transferred to the Raleigh office, a demotion from what I hear. Vic had already been selling some paintings, but once she was on her own she really threw herself into the business. Now she releases several prints a year and makes a decent living doing it.”
Del stared at the grainy photograph. He wasn’t sorry that Vic was currently unattached, but he was incensed that any man would treat her that way. She deserved better.
“By the way, this is the Vic, right?” Shock’s long, thin fingers danced over his heart.
“Shut up, Albert,” Del muttered.
Shock clapped a hand over his heart. “Man, I do you a favor and you call me Albert. What’s gotten into you?”
Del lifted his eyes slowly. “Anything else?”
“Only that no one at Archard Enterprises likes Preston much, and that he’d been fooling around for years. Everybody knew, probably even Vic. Once the old man caught him, though, that was his ass.”
“But he was demoted, not fired?” Del shook his head. “The old man should have kicked his butt and then run him out of town on a rail, but instead he transfers him to Raleigh?”
Shock just grunted, in a familiar kind of acknowledgment.
Del took a long drag on his cigarette. “Okay, the old man is screwed up. I already knew that. But if Lowell had been fooling around for years…why would Vic put up with that?”
“Why don’t you just ask me?”
He and Shock both turned their heads toward the kitchen doorway to find an irate Vic standing there, her hair curling wildly, her thick white robe cinched tight. She stepped toward Del and he tried to close the file. Too late. She saw her own picture.
“Vic, baby…” he began.
“Don’t you Vic, baby me,” she snapped, reaching out and taking the cigarette from his fingers, tossing it into his coffee cup. “And don’t smoke in my house!”
Del glanced down at what was left of his cigarette floating in what was left of his coffee. What a waste. “Like it or not, you’re as much a part of this as I am.”
“Yeah, right.” She crossed her arms over her chest. There was fire in her eyes, color in her cheeks and pink nail polish on her toes. What a woman. “I’m an artist. No matter how unhappy someone might be with a painting I do, they don’t try to blow me up!”
“We have to cover every possibility.”
“No, we don’t,” she said calmly. “Get out of my house before I call the police.” With that, she turned her back on him.
“Nothing’s changed, Vic,” he called after her. “As soon as you’re dressed, we’ll go pick up the kid and find a safe place for you both.”
“No, thank you.”
“Fine, then,” he said, growing angry at her stubbornness. “Call the police. Someone there will surely talk. It’ll hit the newspapers, maybe even the noon news. And the next thing you know Tripp and Holly will know we didn’t go up with the warehouse and they’ll be back.”
She spun on him. “It’ll be worth it to see you in jail.”
“Jail?” Shock said. “Man, what did you do?”
Del kept his eyes on Vic. “Nothing. Vic just has some mistaken ideas about what my life has been like. Isn’t that right, baby?”
She turned red. “It doesn’t exactly take a genius to figure it out.”
He reached into his back pocket, drew out his ID and flipped it open to display the badge. “DEA,” he said. “Did you figure that one out?”
She stared at the badge from a distance. “Drug Enforcement Administration,” she said softly, obviously surprised. Her brow wrinkled, her lips thinned. “Why didn’t you tell me this yesterday?”
He shrugged. “I work undercover. The idea is not to tell everyone in the world what I do.”
She looked hurt, as if it pained her to be clumped in with everyone else in the world. Did she think she still meant something to him, that she was special? No, too many years had passed for that.
“Del is the best,” Shock said, breaking an uncomfortable silence. “We’ve been partners for five years,” he added. “There was this one time—”
“Not now,” Del interrupted.
“Sure, man.”
Del stared at an angry Vic. “Pack your bag and let’s get out of here.”
“I don’t…”
“What are you going to do the next time the doorbell rings, Vic? Hide? Take a chance and open the door on God knows what? Tripp and Holly might hire out the dirty work, since you’ve seen their faces. Anyone who comes to your door could be the bad guy, and next time they might decide to take your daughter, too.”
Her face went white.
“You saw them, you can testify against them, and they won’t forget that. We’re leaving