Free Moving_Violations by Christina M. Brashear Page A

blonde hulk had been one of the best-damned detectives in Nashville until he came upon a few dirty cops, and a drug deal. One of the cops had been his fiancée, the other her lover.
    “Now what the hell’s going on?” Jackson leaned forward, watching his friend expectantly. “And don’t bother to tell me you don’t know anything.”
    Jacob shook his head. “I don’t have anything concrete yet,” he told him. “But that sweet thing plying her wares in the house seems to be after the same thing, but different agenda. I think she’s a journalist, but I can’t be sure. She swears she’s a lawyer. And there’s some damned strange movement around the camping area outside of Jericho, up around Sid Carter’s place. I just haven’t been able to get away from Sweet Thing long enough to check it out.”
    The camping area in question was a government deal, but privately run. It was set back from the main road, the camping spots situated for privacy. Through the summer, RV’s of every shape and size made use of it.
    “In the camping area?” Jackson asked him quietly.
    “No.” Jacob shook his head. “Back along the mountain there are some damned hideaways easily accessible to a SUV or four-wheel drive. The caves run for miles, and it would make a hell of a hiding place. But you’d have to know where to go looking.”
    Jackson grimaced.
    “Have you seen anyone out that way?”
    Jacob scratched his cheek thoughtfully. “Seen some strangers, a few Middle Eastern types about a month back, then they just disappeared. A week later Miss Hot Pants shows up and we’ve been going around and around ever since. So far, I don’t know shit.
    I just suspect.” Which was damned near the same thing.
    “And you didn’t get hold of me for what reason?” Jackson arched a brow with mocking patience. Son of a bitch was getting too damned reclusive.
    “Because I wasn’t sure,” Jacob explained mockingly.
    “That wouldn’t have stopped you before, Jake,” he bit out. “What the hell’s going on in these mountains, anyway? You used to call me weekly.”
    “Yeah, I did.” Jacob nodded, watching him carefully. “Then last time I called you sent that fuck-up Martin out to take a statement. Figured you’d done had enough of me.”
    Jackson didn’t bother to hide his surprise.
    “This would have been when?” he snapped. “I’ve never sent Martin out here, Jake.”
    Jake grimaced. “I wondered about that. Fact is, I left a message while you were out one day that I needed to talk to you about a patch I had found. Next thing I know, Martin is on my doorstep threatenin’ to arrest me for growing it. I played real casual, waited a day or two and went to check it out again. It was gone.”
    Jackson was silent. He had received no messages that Jacob had called, no memo, no nothing.
    40
    Moving Violations
    “Who took the message?” he asked, his voice soft.
    Jacob shrugged. “I’m not sure who took it. Said it was Bryan, but didn’t sound much like Bryan. Too old, I thought. But who the hell knows?”
    Jackson knew it wasn’t Bryan. If there was one person on the force he knew wouldn’t lie to him, then it was Bryan.
    “I have a report that a terrorist was picked up not too long ago, and claimed to have spent some time around here hiding. If we have terrorists using our mountains, Jacob, then no one is safe, anywhere.”
    Jacob tapped the fingers of his left hand on the armrest of his seat. He gazed out across the valley, his eyes narrowed, his expression hard.
    “You think Whittaker has a game going with those bastards?” he asked Jackson, his voice hard and cold.
    “I think it’s possible,” Jackson sighed. “Think you could check the area for me anytime soon?” Jackson glanced toward the house, wondering where Jake’s bit of fluff had gone off to. “If I start nosing around, it could scare them off. I want to know what the hell’s going on and who’s behind it.”
    Jacob grinned. “Yeah, I’ll ditch her