Against The Night Part 34

"They ought to be glad to have you on this."

"Truth is, in a way, I'm glad. I'm taking a couple of weeks of personal time. I talked to Wheeler, told him I'd help his guys keep an eye on things at the safe house. He said he was stretched pretty thin, glad for the extra manpower."

"I have a feeling Rachael's going to feel better knowing you're there," Amy said.

"I hope so. I know I'll feel a whole lot better."

Johnnie eyed him with speculation. "I think maybe for once the department is right. You are too personally involved."

"Maybe, but then so are you, so let's just leave it at that."

Johnnie flicked a sideways glance at Amy. "I see your point."

Across the drive, the SUV rumbled to life. As Vega walked over, the driver rolled down the window.

"I a.s.sume Wheeler told you I'll be staying at the safe house," Rick said to him.

The agent nodded.

"I'll see you there in half an hour."

"Make sure you aren't tailed," the agent warned.

Vega cast him a glance. "You do the same."

The car pulled away and Rick walked back to where Amy and Johnnie were standing. "Before I left, I took a look at Wes Henley's record. He's been in and out of jail, arrested for a.s.sault, charges dropped and arrested for the murder of a drug dealer named Benny Camacho but the prosecution couldn't make it stick."

"I knew last night the guy wasn't a pro. And if the hit had been ordered by someone in Ortega's circle, they wouldn't have sent just one man. If they had, it wouldn't have been a loser like Henley."

"My partner's running down the phone numbers on Henley's cell."

Mitch Lansky, Johnnie recalled, the older guy who'd transferred in a couple of months ago. The two men hadn't been working together long. Johnnie wondered if Lansky would be willing to go against orders to help them.

"The number you got last night off Henley's phone-the last two calls he made-belongs to a girl named Patty Wilkins. She does manicures at a salon on La Cienega called Epiphany. When I called her, she said she and Henley went out a few times, said he wasn't her type and she dumped him. He'd been ha.s.sling her ever since."

"Sounds like a great guy."

"Another thing...Rachael's pa.s.sport was a phony. Her real one was logged as part of the stuff they found in her studio apartment."

"Which means Ortega had a forgery made, probably a hurry-up job. He'd know people who could handle that kind of thing."

Amy looked up at Johnnie. "Then Rachael had no idea she was leaving the country that night."

"No," Johnnie said. "She definitely wasn't planning to take off with Ortega."

"So who wants Rachael dead?" Rick asked.

Johnnie just shook his head. "I've got something I want to check out. If it comes to anything, I'll let you know."

Vega nodded. "I'd better get going." He handed Johnnie a slip of paper with a number written on it. "It's a throwaway. No way to trace the call to the safe house."

Johnnie pulled out his cell and entered the number. I'll keep you posted. In the meantime, don't underestimate these jokers."

"Find 'em, Johnnie. Do that for me, will you?"

"Count on it," Johnnie said.

As soon as Detective Vega left, Amy and Johnnie headed for the guesthouse.

"I need to find out who did the work on Henley's bike," Johnnie said as they climbed the front porch steps. But he was looking at her with those hot brown eyes and she knew he was thinking about more than just the case. It seemed forever since they had made love. Nights she had lain in bed yearning for him.

They made it only as far as the entry when he turned her into his arms and his mouth came down over hers. Heat, need and desire all poured through her, collected low in her belly.

"Johnnie..." Parting her lips, Amy deepened the kiss, gave in to the feel of his big hard body pressing against her. Reaching down, she cupped the heavy bulge in his jeans, felt the power of him pulsing in her hand.

"We don't have time for this," Johnnie said against her mouth.

"I know..." But they were both past stopping and Amy didn't want to. Johnnie walked her backward into the living room. She came up against the sofa that looked out through the big gla.s.s windows. The next thing she knew, he was lifting her up and setting her on the couch, unzipping her jeans and pulling them down. Her sandals dropped onto the floor as he tugged the jeans down her legs and her panties followed.

"Next time we'll go slow," he promised. She felt him stroking the wetness between her legs, then he opened his fly and he was inside her.

Amy breathed a sigh of relief.

For several moments, Johnnie just stood there, his hands on her hips, his hardness deep inside. "G.o.d, I've missed you."

Amy leaned in and kissed him. "I've missed you, too."

He filled her completely, and when he started to move, she forgot everything but the pleasure, everything but Johnnie and how much she wanted him. How much she loved him. It was impossible. Loving him was breaking her heart, but in that moment, she didn't care.

He took her fast and hard and it was glorious. Amy felt a clenching low in her belly and then she was coming and so was he. They clung to each other, absorbing the pleasure, letting it swirl around them, then slowly drifting down.

She ran her fingers through his short dark hair. "We...uummm...forgot to use protection," she said.

He just smiled. "I'm safe and I'm sure you are." She nodded and he brushed a thumb across her cheek. "If something happens, we'll deal with it."

That something was a baby, and her heart squeezed. Nothing would please her more than having Johnnie's child.

He kissed her softly. "I've got to go. I won't be long."

Amy recognized the protective gleam in his eyes and preyed on it. "I'm not sure I should stay here alone. I'd feel safer if I went with you."

"I'm riding my bike."

Her eyes widened. "Your Harley?"

He grinned. "Maybe you're right. I'm not crazy about leaving you here. You like speed. Maybe you'd better come along."

She had never ridden a motorcycle. But she was definitely game. "Give me a minute and I'll be right with you." Grabbing her jeans and panties, she dashed down the hall to the bathroom, then returned a few minutes later, her hair pulled into a ponytail and her clothes all back in place.

Johnnie caught her hand. "Come on, let's go."

Johnnie set his spare helmet on Amy's head and tightened the strap beneath her chin. It was way too big, but it would protect her if something happened.

He swung onto the bike, supergloss black like his car, semicustom, not too far over the top since he used it for work and he didn't want something easily recognizable.

He pulled on his black helmet. "Just hold on to me and lean the way I do."

She nodded, slid her small arms around his waist. He could feel her b.r.e.a.s.t.s pressing into his back.

d.a.m.n, the woman drove him crazy.

Forcing his mind back onto the job he needed to do, he cranked the powerful engine to life. "Hang on." Then he slammed his boot against the kickstand, gunned the accelerator, and they shot off down the drive. The police were still roaming the estate so the gate was open. He pulled the bike into the street and headed down the hill.

The first stop was a place he knew in Hollywood, a shop on a side street that specialized in custom paint jobs, Bill's Precision Auto Painting. Johnnie left Amy outside with the bike and went in to question the owner, Bill Meadows, a longtime acquaintance.

Bill shook his head at the photo Johnnie showed him on his cell phone. "Wish I could help but the work doesn't ring any bells. I know a couple of other places you might try."

Johnnie thanked him and headed back outside.

"Any luck?" Amy asked as he climbed onto the seat in front of her.

"Bill gave me a few more places to look. Shops that do the quality painting done in the photo. We're just getting started."

They'd be riding the bike most of the day. Through her face mask, Johnnie caught Amy's grin.

She had figured the motorcycle ride would be great. She loved speed and she loved Johnnie and the combination was potent. He was wearing a black leather jacket over the gun in his shoulder holster. Though it was early July, it was a perfect day, sunny, not too hot, not too cold.

Amy was going to miss the California weather when she went back home.

Home. Back to Grand Rapids. She tightened her hold around Johnnie's waist, pressed her cheek against his broad back. As he leaned into a turn, she told herself not to think about leaving, that the only important thing right now was finding the people who wanted her sister dead.

The hours ticked past. The afternoon was waning when they pulled up in front of the fourth body shop on their list which, like the last one, was in a less than respectable neighborhood. The buildings along the street were run-down, some of the windows broken. Papers and trash filled the gutters, and loud rap music boomed from a car parked nearby with a man inside and the windows rolled down.

"Come on. I'm taking you with me this time."

Amy didn't argue, just pulled her helmet off and tucked it under her arm as he led her toward a building made of corrugated steel with the name Custom Paint and Airbrus.h.i.+ng on the sign above the door.

Just inside, she stopped next to Johnnie, her nose wrinkling at the acrid smell of paint and thinner in the air. On the concrete floor, two cars, a van and two motorcycles were in the process of being painted. The picture on the side of the van was spectacular, a desert scene with ghosts hovering in a purple sky above. Ghost Rider was the name scrolled beneath the painting.

"Hey, Johnnie!"

He looked over at the skinny black man walking toward him, his kinky hair graying at the temple. He wore a paint smock over a pair of worn, faded jeans. "How you doin', man?"

"Lavon! Hey, good to see you, man, I didn't know you worked here."

"Are you kiddin'? I'm in charge round here. The rest of 'em just amateurs."

Johnnie smiled. "You do the van?"

"Course I did."

"It's wonderful," Amy said, swinging Lavon's attention to her.

"This your lady?"

Johnnie looked down at her, a warm, possessive gleam in his eyes. "She's mine, yeah. Amy this is Lavon Jeffers. He's one of the best artists in the business."

"You do beautiful work," Amy said, smiling up at him.

"Thanks. Always nice to be appreciated." He turned back to Johnnie. "So what you need done, man? Your car? Put a nice design on the hood, make it look real special. Or maybe your bike. That baby could use a little somethin' to spice it up. How 'bout some orange flames on the tank, or maybe a fire-breathin' dragon?"

Johnnie just smiled. "Actually, I'm here on business." He pulled his phone out of his pocket and flashed the photo of Henley's tank showing the silver skulls on the blue background. "I'm looking for the guy who did the work on this. Quality is way above average. I'd say the design is unique. Any idea who might have done it?"

Lavon studied the picture, his thick eyebrows drawing together. "He ain't in any trouble, is he?"

"No, nothing like that. I'm just hoping he might be able to help me with a little information."

"I didn't do it, but I know who did. That's him right over there."

Johnnie turned and so did Amy. "That's my son, Darius." He grinned. "Got him followin' in his old man's footsteps." He turned and called to the young man working on one of the motorcycles, painting designs on the tank in red and gold. "Hey, boy, come over here a minute. I want you to meet some friends of mine."

In his mid-twenties, Darius Jeffers was taller than his dad and even skinnier. He wiped his hands on a rag, tossed it on the counter and ambled over. Lavon made introductions, Darius stuck out his hand and the men shook.

Darius turned to Amy. "It's nice to meet you," he said.

"Nice meeting you, too," Amy said.

Johnnie showed Darius the photo on his cell. "You do this work?"

Darius nodded. "I painted it."

"Who for?"

He flicked a glance at his dad, who nodded.

"Guy named Wes Henley."

"What can you tell me about him?"

Darius shrugged. "Not much. I did some work for a friend of his, fella named d.i.c.kie Talbot. Talbot recommended me. I showed Henley some of my work and I got the job."

Johnnie was frowning. "d.i.c.kie Talbot. Why do I know that name?"

Lavon answered. "He's a punka.s.s from down in Orange County. Mid-level drug dealer, fancies himself a real player. Makes plenty of money, pretty well-connected, I hear. Likes his toys, pays us to make 'em look special."

"Yeah, now I remember him. Anything else?" Johnnie asked.

Lavon shook his head. "I ain't seen neither of them in a while."