Free Dead in the Rose City: A Dean Drake Mystery by R. Barri Flowers

death in the family. Probably with good reason. She got
back in her car and drove off. I followed her, convinced she would
lead me to Jessie Wylson.
    Wherever The Worm may have been hiding, he
had covered his tracks well. Terri seemed to be leading me on a
guided tour of the city. That came to an abrupt halt when a diesel
truck crossed the intersection between her car and mine. For
whatever reason, the driver seemed to get stuck between first and
second gear. By the time he got moving again, Terri was nowhere in
sight.
    “Damn!” I shouted, smoke coming out of my
ears. I may have come the closest I’d been to apprehending Jessie
Wylson and I’d lost my golden opportunity. It seemed as if I was
back to square one. Unsure where to go from here, I went to my
office.
    * * *
    I thought about updating my computer file on
Jessie The Worm Wylson as I parked in the garage adjacent to my
building.
    No sooner had I left the car and stepped into
the oil-stained path between cars, when the sound of an engine
revving pounded in my ears like a drum roll. Before I realized it,
a fast moving car was headed right for me, as if sizing me up by
radar.
    I had only enough time to recognize the
driver as the man I was looking for, before diving out of the way
at the last second. I fired a few rounds at the car—a dark green or
blue Pontiac—as it screeched away, the bullets hitting nothing but
air. A license plate number might have helped, except The Worm
forgot to replace the back plate on what was most likely a stolen
car.
    Jessie Wylson was getting scared and
desperate. I was close enough to make him come to me. I sensed it
was only a matter of time now before I zoomed in once and for all
on the drug-dealing fugitive known as The Worm.
     

CHAPTER TWELVE
     
    Entering my apartment, I heard a noise coming
from the bedroom. I drew my gun immediately and pointed it at the
door, which was partially ajar.
    Had The Worm actually come looking for me
here? Or were Vincente and his thugs back for more? I sighed, took
small steps, and kicked the door open, prepared to blast to
smithereens the first thing that showed any signs of life.
    “Don’t shoot!” the voice pleaded
hysterically.
    It definitely wasn’t Jessie Wylson’s voice.
Nor Ben Vincente’s or his bookends. But the voice was recognizable.
It was a woman ’ s voice.
    My eyes took in Catherine Ashley Sinclair.
She was sitting cross-legged on the dresser, wearing my maroon
satin robe and, apparently, nothing else. Her long, sunshine hair
straddled her shoulders in wet, curly locks. A frightened gaze
seemed fixated on the gun currently aimed at her.
    “What the hell are you doing here?” Anger
gave way to numbness.
    “I had to see you.” She looked at me
innocuously with those mesmerizing eyes.
    “How did you get in?” I lowered the gun, but
still kept it handy.
    She got off the dresser and padded over to me
on her tiptoes. “I told the superintendent I was your half
sister.”
    My left brow lifted in abashment and
disbelief. “And he believed you?”
    Her lashes fluttered provocatively. “Why
shouldn’t he? I can be very persuasive when I want to be.”
    I didn’t doubt that for a moment. Nor could I
deny the fact that standing so close to her made it hard to
concentrate, much less want to kick her ass out of there. She
smelled fresh and unnaturally sweet. That wasn’t enough, though—not
this time.
    I put my gun away, but kept my guard up.
“What kind of game are you playing, lady?” My eyes latched warily
onto her.
    Catherine ran her fingers sinuously through
her slicked back hair. “I want to rehire you, D.J.,” she uttered in
an almost pathetic whisper.
    “For what?” The words popped out of my mouth
like they were blocking my vocal chords. “To see who’s the biggest
damned idiot—me or your husband?”
    My reaction may have been a bit theatrical,
but was definitely warranted. Also, I had a bad feeling that her
presence could only mean trouble for me down the