A Forever Kind of Hero Read online

  Everywhere else left him tossing and turning, wired and restless at the same time. And, like as not, feeling like hell. He supposed, if he looked at it in a positive light, feeling wired gave him an edgy energy that the job made adequate use of.

  Still, it would have been nice to get out of bed in the morning feeling as if he were actually rested and relaxed, instead of as if he were a warmed-over plate of stew.

  A shower would help a little. Garrett walked off to the bathroom.

  Ten minutes later, the receiver was in his hand, still vibrating from its first ring. His body was still dripping from the shower. The fact that the temperature in the hotel room was too hot didn’t help matters any. It had been that way, he discovered, ever since he’d come up here last night. Alone and thinking of Megan. And what had happened between them.

  And what hadn’t.

  He ran his hand through his hair, sending drops of water scattering. A drop fell into his eye, and he blinked it away.

  “Wichita here.”

  “Good news, Garrett.” It was Oscar. He should have known. “That lost sheep you’re looking for called home this morning.”

  “Got a location?” He riffled through the nightstand drawer for paper and pencil, but found none. He’d have to trust his memory for details.

  “Got a city,” Oscar answered brightly. “Best we could do. The girl hung up before Carlucci could get a final lock on the call.”

  The name of the DEA agent was unfamiliar to him, but Garrett let it go. There were more important questions. “How big a city?”

  Oscar paused. “Big.”

  That meant one of the major ones. Well, they already knew that their man got around. Garrett let the towel drop on the floor and cradling the receiver against his neck, hurriedly pulled on his pants. “Great.”

  Oscar wasn’t put off by the tone. “Hey, you can’t have everything. Then there’d be no challenge. Guess where you’re headed off to?”

  Barefoot, Garrett hunted around for his shoes. “Skip the guessing games, Oscar. Just tell me where. I’m not in the mood to play.”

  Oscar laughed. Garrett could see the man’s more than ample belly shaking. “Whose wrong side of the bed did you wake up on this morning?”

  Megan’s face involuntarily intruded on his thoughts. He deliberately shut it out again.

  “Nobody’s.”

  “Well, that would explain it.” He laughed again as Garrett growled a warning at him. Oscar sobered. He knew when to stop playing. “You’re off to Scottsdale my friend.”

  “Scottsdale?” Finding his shoes, Garrett sat down on the bed and put his socks on quickly. Belatedly, he looked down to see if they matched. They did. “Isn’t that like the Beverly Hills of Arizona?”

  “Yeah. Nothing but the best for our drug dealer,” Oscar cracked.

  “No, he feeds on nothing but the best,” Garrett corrected grimly. And Andy had been the best. Before he’d gotten lost. “How long a trip is that?”

  Picking up his suitcase from the floor, Garrett tossed it on the bed. Except for a change of clothes, he hadn’t unpacked anything. In the last year, he hadn’t been anywhere long enough to make use of a closet.

  “Roughly three hundred miles as the crow flies.”

  Garrett frowned, unzipping a false compartment in the bottom of the suitcase and checking his ammunition. “How long is it if the crow’s driving a car?”

  “Oh, yeah, right. I forgot our man doesn’t fly.”

  Velasquez had a pathological fear of airplanes. Garrett dreamed of taking the drug dealer up over an empty field and giving him his first skydiving lesson. “No, only his customers do.”

  “Hang on, I’ll print up a route and fax it to you.”

  In the background, the radio he’d turned on to keep him company in the room had Willie Nelson singing “On the Road Again.”

  It was quickly becoming his own theme song, Garrett thought. He would have preferred another.

  Garrett dragged out another suitcase, a smaller one this time. “Hang on while I hook up the portable fax.”

  “All the comforts of home, eh, Garrett?”

  Garrett glanced around at the impersonal room with its torture rack of a bed. He remembered the string of foster homes that had littered his teen years. This was preferable to that.

  “Yeah.”

  Chapter 5

  Hurrying through the revolving doors of the Random Hotel, Megan quickly scanned the lobby. She hoped she wasn’t too late. Even though it wasn’t even nine o’clock, something told her that Garrett liked getting an early start.

  Halfway to the front desk, she sighted her target. Garrett was standing by the front desk with his back to her, two small carry-on suitcases on the floor on either side of him.

  Bingo.

  From the looks of it, her hunch was right. She’d gotten here just in time. Coming closer, she saw that his hair looked damp. The call from headquarters must have pulled him right out of the shower. An image of Garrett, dripping wet and toweling himself off, popped unbidden into her head. Megan tried not to dwell on it.

  Sam had promised to call her on her cell phone if he tracked down any leads on Kathy’s call. So far, her phone hadn’t rung. That meant Wichita was her only key.

  She didn’t like putting all her eggs in one basket.

  She’d been almost at the hotel when she remembered that she’d told the Teasdales that she was on her way to their house. Megan had placed a quick call to the couple to let them know of the change in plans, and that she was currently on her way to see if she could trace Kathy’s call.

  On impulse, Megan had asked Warren to call the number that the DEA agent had given him There was an outside chance that Wichita would actually release the location of the incoming call to Kathy’s father.

  It was worth a try, though she doubted that Wichita would be willing to be straightforward with the couple. The man had struck her as someone who was too wound up around winning his case to remember that there were real people involved in it, every step of the way. People like the Teasdales, who were getting their hearts kicked in—all because they’d tried to live a decent life, and loved their daughter.

  But you never knew. Stranger things had happened.

  Catching her breath now, Megan came up behind Wichita. “You really were serious about checking out early, weren’t you?”

  Garrett stopped writing his name on the credit slip, as the sound of her voice sank in. Completing the signature, he laid down the pen and turned around to look at her. If he thought about it, he wasn’t really all that surprised to find her standing there.

  The lady was in for a rude awakening. His hands were tied. He couldn’t tell her any more than he’d told Warren Teasdale, when the man had called a few minutes ago.

  “I never say what I don’t mean,” Garrett finally said, taking back his credit card from the clerk. His eyes on Megan, he carefully inserted the card into his wallet.

  Garrett half expected Megan to still be wearing her clingy turquoise dress. The tan jeans and bright green pullover were admittedly a bit of a letdown.

  But when he raised his eyes to her face, she still had that come-hither look in her eyes, and he remembered what that mouth had tasted like.

  He should have taken a cold shower instead of a hot one, he decided. Too late now.

  Gamely, Megan decided to test his honesty, at least as far as this situation went. She bet Wichita said a great many things that he didn’t mean, given the right situations. Or the wrong ones, depending on your take on things. “I suppose you know that Kathy Teasdale called her parents this morning.”

  “Did she now?” he asked dryly.

  There was no point in appearing surprised. It would just be a waste of time. She’d been standing right there when he’d asked the Teasdales for permission to tap their line.

  Ignoring his amused expression, she pressed on. “And I suppose you know where the call came from.”

  He picked up a suitcase in each hand, shook
his head at the bellman, and began walking toward the revolving doors. “There’s a fifty-fifty chance you might be right.”

  Fifty-fifty chance, my foot. “And I suppose,” she continued, raising her voice to be heard as they both went through the hotel’s revolving door, “that you’re not about to share that information with me.”

  Coming out behind him, she rapped a knee against one of his suitcases. Megan bit her lower lip to keep from making a sound.

  Garrett grinned at her as he looked over his shoulder. “There’s a better chance of you being right about that.”

  She thought as much.

  Garrett widened his stride.

  As she hurried to keep up with him, Megan realized that he was bypassing the parking valet and going straight to the self-parking structure. She’d parked her own car across the street in what she hoped was the spot with the best view of the hotel’s parking lot. It looked now as if her foresight was going to pay off; she had a strong feeling that he wasn’t going to go for what she had in mind.

  “What do you think about us temporarily teaming up?”

  He spared her a look that was far from flattering. “You really don’t want to know the answer to that.” Picking up his pace, he left her behind.

  “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t,” she called after him. He made no answer.

  The DEA agent was carrying two suitcases, and the path to the parking structure was slanted slightly upward, but the man didn’t slow; he was in great shape. But she’d already figured that part out last night at the restaurant.

  Annoyed now, Megan all but trotted to cut the space between them.

  Wichita took the stairs to the second level rather than the elevator.

  It figured. She was going to have to see about getting back to her tae kwan do exercises, Megan promised herself. Right after she finished up this case.

  And him.

  “Hey, Wichita, wait up.”

  When he made no effort to stop or even slow down, she raced after him. Her opinion about his direct connection to the missing link became stronger.

  Because she was hurrying, Megan almost plowed straight into his back, when Garrett abruptly stopped beside a four-door sedan. Recovering, she bit off a few ripe words about his manners. She could save that for later.

  Stepping back, she looked at the car. It was probably the last vehicle she would have pictured him driving. He belonged behind the wheel of something sleek, racy.

  Dusty, bland, with two dents in the front fender, this car looked as if it had known a far better decade than this one. It definitely did not look like a car belonging to a man who could disintegrate your knees with one kiss.

  Bemused and curious, she surveyed the back end of the car. There was another dent—a larger one, right in the center of the bumper. Had someone played road tag with him?

  She raised her eyes questioningly to his. “What’s the matter, Wichita? The department doesn’t pay you enough to buy a decent car?”

  He ignored the disparaging look on her face. “It’s a rental.” And it had been the only thing available at the time. He’d learned a long time ago to make the best of whatever happened his way.

  “It’s not a rental, it’s a wreck,” she countered. But she wasn’t here to talk about his choice in cars. Megan moved in front of him, as he slipped his hand into his pocket for the keys. “Look, why can’t we team up and share information? What harm would it do?”

  Garrett looked at her. She had no idea, did she? Having her nosing around could blow the case right out from under him. And maybe get her runaway killed as well. The woman was a liability looking to happen.

  “Potentially, a lot. I don’t have time to stand here and discuss it with you.”

  “Got a plane to catch?”

  He wished. And then it occurred to him that if he led her to the tangled web of parking lots at John Wayne Airport, she’d think he was at the airport somewhere, rather than driving to Scottsdale.

  He looked down at Megan, purposely tight-lipped. “Maybe.”

  “Wouldn’t want to tell me which airline, would you?”

  “No, I wouldn’t.”

  Taking out his key, Garrett unlocked the trunk and threw in one of the suitcases. He reached for the second one, but Megan already had it. Annoyance took hold. He expected her to do something infantile, like using it to barter with.

  But she surprised him by depositing it into his trunk behind the first suitcase.

  Did she think that she could ingratiate herself that simply? Maybe she wasn’t as bright as she seemed. “Hey, you don’t have to—”

  As she turned against him, the strap of Megan’s oversize bag slid off her shoulder and fell at his feet. Frowning, he swallowed his admonishment and bent down to pick it up, then shoved it unceremoniously into her hands.

  “There, we’re even,” he pronounced. “Now if you’ll just step out of the way, there’s someplace that I have to be.”

  And Megan meant to be there with him, or behind him. She’d just seen to it. But if she didn’t protest, he’d be suspicious. “Wichita—”

  Garrett blew out an exasperated breath. “All right, have it your way.”

  Hands on either side of her shoulders, Garrett lifted her quickly off the ground and moved her to the side. Depositing her again, he strode to the driver’s side and got in.

  He half expected her to tear around the hood and jump in the passenger side. Instead, he heard Megan mutter something marginally unflattering about him under her breath. Then, as he watched in the side mirror, he saw Megan turn on her heel and quickly walk away.

  For a second, he just sat there, staring. He had to admit that the jeans looked a hell of a lot better from this view.

  And then she was gone.

  Slipping the key in the ignition, he started up the car. After an initial cough, it came to life. But he hardly noticed; his mind lingered on Megan.

  Well, that had certainly turned out to be a lot easier than he’d expected. He’d obviously given her too much credit and overestimated her tenacity. Too bad the rest of the case couldn’t arrange itself like that for him.

  Still, he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that he wasn’t really in the clear.

  Just because you’re paranoid... he mused.

  When Garrett finally drove out of the parking structure, he scanned the surrounding area slowly, looking for Megan. She didn’t appear to be anywhere in sight.

  Maybe this was too easy, he decided.

  To be on the safe side, he drove the car the half-mile to the airport, and then spent the next fifteen minutes weaving in and out of the various terminal-designated parking lots, just in case she was following him.

  He never saw her.

  Satisfied, Garrett hit the road again, heading for the state line.

  Flying would have been faster, but Velasquez traveled everywhere in his white stretch limousine. The hassle of checking in and out of airports and renting cars only unnecessarily ate into Garrett’s margin of operation.

  His superior, Jim Cassidy, had once told him that you had to live like your quarry in order to catch him. Garrett had asked Cassidy if that meant he had to surround himself with white furnishings and wear white suits the way Velasquez did. Cassidy had replied something that couldn’t have been put in any report.

  But Cassidy had held fast to the belief that Garrett had to drive rather than fly, so Garrett drove, and occupied himself by reviewing information that would eventually put the nails into Velasquez’s legal coffin.

  Several times along the road during the six-hour trip that followed, Garrett looked in his rearview mirror to check out the road behind him. But the cars that were following him were always different from ones that had been there the last time he’d looked.

  Sighing, he felt vaguely disappointed. It made no sense to Garrett, and he didn’t even bother trying to understand it.

  The cell phone lying on the seat beside him rang just as he entered the Scottsdale city limits. He welcom
ed the break. It was a wonder that he hadn’t fallen asleep, traveling through monotonous vast stretches of nothing but cacti and country that only hermits could have enjoyed.

  He flipped the telephone open and held it to his ear. “Talk to me.”

  “No ‘hello’? No ‘How are you, Oscar?’”

  “You’re getting to sound like a wife, Oscar.” Garrett laughed, shaking his head. “One of us has been at this too long.”

  There was no hesitation. “Must be you. I’ve already got a wife. I’ve also got an address for you, so be nice to me.”

  Any sleepiness induced by long miles of desert terrain vanished. Every bone in his body tensed. “Velasquez’s?”

  “None other.”

  The odds had been less than fifteen percent in their favor that any informant on the street had the address. There was still a chance that it was bogus, a plant. Ninety percent of the job was tracking down false leads and working trails that went nowhere.

  “I’ll name my firstborn after you—now give me the address.”

  “I’ll hold you to that.” Oscar read off the numbers and street name, and gave the cross streets. Pulling over to the side on the hilly road, Garrett wrote everything down. “I could fax a street map,” Oscar offered.

  “Not necessary.” He’d thought to buy a road map at the last gas station. The map looked fairly old, but appeared reliable enough. Garrett looked at the address before folding the paper and putting it in his pocket. “Where did you get this?”

  “Comes by way of one of the disgruntled locals. Claims the drugs Velasquez gave him to distribute were poor quality. When he went to complain, Velasquez threatened to have him cut up for shark bait. Now he’s hiding from both the small-time dealers and Velasquez’s people. The snitch traded the address for protection.”

  It was a familiar song, only a few of the lyrics were different. Garrett released his emergency brake and got back on the road.

  “Hope they put someone good on it. Velasquez likes his revenge.” And the man, they all knew, had a knack of getting his way.

  “Want backup?” Oscar asked. “I can tell Cassidy—”