Sandra Brown - Play Dirty

But he still had a fight on his hands. The man was stunned and staggering but not downed. He ducked his head and lunged toward Rodarte. The detective got a knee up in time to catch the man beneath his chin and practically shoved it up his nostrils. Rodarte heard teeth clack together and figured that some of them had broken. With a grunt of pain, the man fell to the earthen floor.

Rodarte, his momentary fear now replaced by anger, grabbed the flashlight and shone it down, directly into the man’s face. It was swarthy, broad, the features flat. The eyes blinking against the beam of light were inky black. They widened marginally when they saw the barrel of Rodarte’s pistol aimed directly at them.

“Hola, Man-u-el-o.”

The man showed a flicker of surprise.

“Yeah, I know your name. We’ve got a mutual friend. Griff Burkett.”

At that, Ruiz rattled off a barrage of Spanish.

“Shut up!” Rodarte barked. Ruiz fell silent. “I’m not interested in anything you have to say. Anyhow, you should save your strength for the job you’ve got coming up.”

Reaching down, he grabbed the man’s shirtfront and hauled him to his feet. “See that shovel over there?” He directed the flashlight’s beam at the pile of tools he’d spotted earlier. “Get it.” Ruiz just stood there looking at him vacantly. “Don’t pull that no comprendo bullshit on me.” He hefted the pistol and clearly enunciated, “Go and get the fucking shovel.”

Ruiz’s obsidian eyes glittered in the flashlight’s beam, but he did as he was told. “Don’t even think of trying to clobber me with it,” Rodarte said when Ruiz turned with the shovel’s handle gripped in both hands. “I’ll shoot you right now if you do.”

He motioned for Ruiz to go ahead of him through the barn door. Rodarte followed at a cautious distance, the nine-millimeter aimed at the man’s spine.

The eastern horizon was turning gray. “Get a move on, Manuelo.” Planting his foot against the other man’s buttocks, Rodarte pushed him hard enough to cause him to stumble and fall.

Ruiz rolled over onto his back and glared up at Rodarte in a way that made the detective glad he had a gun trained on him. “We’ll see how feisty you’re feeling after you’ve put that shovel to good use.” Ruiz looked at the shovel, then back at Rodarte, seeming puzzled. “What?” Rodarte asked around a chuckle. “You didn’t expect me to dig your grave, did you?”

LAURA STARED BACK AT THE TWO PEOPLE STARING AT HER.

She could smell the plumeria blossoms of Ellie Miller’s wilting lei. The odor was heavy and sweet. “You just returned from vacation?” she asked.

Ellie replied. “We got into DFW a half hour early. Around four-thirty.”

“I’m sorry you had to come back after a long flight to find a stranger in your bed.” She gave a soft, humorless laugh. “Like the three bears. How was your flight?”

Ellie crossed to Laura and took her hand. “You’re the one who’s had a rough night. How’re you feeling?”

“I’ll be all right.”

“Sure you will. But right now it’s bad. Cramping?”

“Hmm.”

“I know. I went through this four times.”

“I’m sorry.”

Ellie shrugged philosophically. “Wasn’t meant to be.” She patted Laura’s hand. “I’ll get you something for those cramps.”

She went out, leaving Laura alone with Coach Joe Miller. He was an intimidating presence. He stared at her, his expression judgmental. Yet he also seemed curious about her, in spite of himself.

“I’m sorry about your baby.” He nodded toward the door through which his wife had passed. “Ellie shrugs it off, but her heart broke each time.”

“I’m sure it did.”

“You’re sure it was Griff’s baby?”

“No question. My husband was incapable.”

“Sterile?”

“Incapable,” she repeated.

“Huh.” He digested that, then asked, “Is that why you took up with Griff?”

Before she could answer, Ellie returned carrying a bottle of ibuprofen and a glass of water. “Take two.”

Laura had already sworn off analgesics that pregnant women were advised not to take. Swallowing the capsules was a painful reminder that the precaution was no longer necessary.

“What are you doing?”

That from Ellie, whose voice was sharp, imperious, and directed toward her husband, who had picked up the telephone on the desk.

“Calling the police.”

“You’re going to sic the police on that boy?”

“He’s not a boy, Ellie. He’s a man. He has to be held accountable.”

“Please, don’t call Rodarte,” Laura said. “He’s Griff’s sworn enemy.”

“Because he’s a homicide detective and Griff is a…a…”

“See?” Ellie said, planting her fists on her narrow hips. “You can’t even bring yourself to say it because you know it isn’t true.”

“If it’s not true, why’s he running?” Coach asked. “Why doesn’t he turn himself in?”

Ellie, having no answer, looked helplessly toward Laura, who implored Coach to hang up the phone. “Please don’t make that call. At least not until I’ve told you about Griff and me. And Foster. All of it. Please, Mr. Miller.”

He considered her for several moments, then reluctantly replaced the phone and folded his thick arms across his barrel chest. “Well?”

She began with the day Foster first told her of his plan and left nothing out except the most intimate details of the four times she and Griff had been together.

“I never heard anything so outlandish,” Coach said. “You’re telling me that your husband paid Griff to…to do that?”

“Regrettably, I went along, for reasons that are too complex to explain now. After I learned I was pregnant, I didn’t expect ever to see Griff again.”

While she was listening to Laura’s story, Ellie’s eyes had turned moist. “How did you feel about that? About never seeing Griff again?”

Laura hesitated, then said, “I was conflicted. And because I was, I would never have allowed myself to see him again.”

Ellie nodded, understanding.

“I would have stayed with my husband forever,” Laura continued. “Rearing the child as his, exactly as he wanted.”

“So what made it all go south?” Coach asked. “Let me guess. Griff.”

“Actually, Foster. I blame myself for not seeing how severe his OCD had become. I think I didn’t want to see it. Anyway, it, coupled with the accident, had changed him. He was no longer the Foster I fell in love with. I hoped a baby would bring that Foster back.

“In any case, I was committed to our marriage and our life together. If he hadn’t attempted to kill Griff, I would be with him tonight. And Griff wouldn’t be a fugitive.” She divided a look between them. “I swear everything I’ve told you is the truth.”

She had no doubt that Ellie believed her. Coach was gnawing the inside of his cheek, apparently unconvinced. Suddenly he turned and picked up the telephone.

“Joe, didn’t you hear a single word she’s said?”

“There’s nothing wrong with my ears, Ellie.”

“Then how can you-”

“Because I know Griff,” he said. “He’s always looked out for number one. He’s never given a damn about anyone except himself. You, me, his teammates. Nobody.”

“You’re wrong,” Laura said.

“He may have been a little selfish before,” Ellie said. “But he’s different now. I saw the change in him when he was here. And if you weren’t so damn stubborn, Joe Miller, you’d-”

“Mr. Miller, please,” Laura said. “You’ll regret-”

“I’m calling the police.” He shouted it over their chorused protests, slicing his hand through the air. “Now that’s all there is to it.”