Protector - Laurel Dewey [98]
Jane was dumbstruck. “What about my job? I still have a job. Right?”
“Right now, this is your job.”
Jane tried to let the information soak in. “Okay, so, let me get this straight. You’re gonna . . . what? Find some house in some town and I’m gonna take her there and we’re gonna lay low? Is that what I’m hearing?”
“I’ll need to work out more specifics with the DA, but that’s it in a nutshell.”
“For how long?”
“Not sure. I want you to keep this strictly confidential. Just you and me and the DA will know where you’re staying. Don’t tell your brother or your father or Chris.”
“I can deal with Mike and my dad, but what in the hell am I supposed to tell Chris? He’s going to go ballistic if he thinks I’m showboating his case.”
“I will tell him the same thing that I tell everyone else who’s involved in the case. As of this moment, you and the kid are underground. For the child’s protection, they’ll have to understand—Chris included.”
“How in the hell are you gonna make this happen, boss?”
“I’ll pull some strings and we’ll make it a special request direct from the DA’s office. It might take a couple days to clear it through the channels upstairs, but it will get done. My advice to you right now is to go home. Emily has twenty-four hour, armed protection. Get some rest. See your brother. See your dad, too. You may be gone for awhile.”
For a change, Jane took Weyler’s advice. She went home and slept for twelve hours. It was past 1:30 p.m. when Jane woke up on Sunday. She’d left several messages on Mike’s answering machine, each one becoming more and more insistent that he return her calls. He’d been spending most Saturday nights at her place and Sunday was typically relegated to nursing their dual hangovers and watching whatever sport dominated the TV. Jane had to assume that Mike had tied one on and was passed out somewhere in the vicinity of the toilet.
Jane’s sense of duty reared its predicable head. By five o’ clock, she was headed over to Mike’s brick bungalow located five miles across town. There was no sign of her brother’s pickup truck on the street. She figured it was parked at whatever bar he visited the night before and she would spend the remaining part of her Sunday tracking it down. Jane was just about to leave when Mike drove up, wedging his truck in a space behind her Mustang. She got out of her car just as Mike and a pretty, blond, long-haired woman got out of his truck.
“Hey, Janie!” Mike said with a happy sound to his voice.
“Hi,” Jane responded, restrained and distrustful.
“Janie, this is Lisa.” Mike turned to Lisa. “I’ve been telling Lisa all about you and how you solve murders and everything.”
“Is that right?” Jane said, eyeing Lisa up and down.
Lisa moved closer to Jane. She was an attractive girl, neatly dressed in a modest white cotton top and pink skirt that skimmed her knees. Her straight blond hair was pulled back on the side with two barrettes. Jane noticed her shoes—a pair of espadrilles that matched her pink skirt. Lisa had a clear sparkle in her blue eyes and a sweet smile. Okay, Jane thought. What’s the catch? Mike’s choice in women had always proved tenuous at best. Usually, Jane could spot the weak link within less than a minute of meeting them. But this one was tricky. Jane wondered if her recent emotional upheaval was overriding her “bullshit radar” with Lisa.
“It’s so nice to meet you, Jane,” Lisa said, extending her hand. Jane hesitated before shaking Lisa’s hand with the enthusiasm one would bestow on one’s executioner. “Mike speaks highly of you.”
“Uh-huh,” was all Jane could manage.
“You know,” Lisa continued, “it’s ironic about you being a detective. My older brother, Jeff, is a private investigator. It’s nothing too exciting, just fraud cases and husbands cheating on wives—”
“Her brother used to be a bounty hunter!” Mike interjected. “Isn’t that cool?”
“He blew out his knee taking down too many outlaws so he had to settle for a more sedate form of law enforcement. I bet you and he would have lots to talk about!”
Jane observed