Murders on the Edge

*** Book 2 in the 'Adventures in World Peace' Series ***

Harley Black and Jim Bond are at it again, this time as coworkers in a tiny New Mexico border town. The town goes crazy at times, and everyone loses their inhibitions. Since the mortuary doubles as the town brothel, and the rate of heart attacks has increased, the funeral director is overloaded with work. It's up to Harley and Jim to find out what's going on.

Excerpt

A loud clang jarred me, making me fall out of bed and onto the floor, landing on my rear. At least there was soft padding there. Jim was still asleep, in our bed at his house in southern Arizona.

I stood up and climbed back into bed. "Jim," I whispered, hitting his chest.

He rolled over the other way. "What? We just got married and already you're nagging me?"

I turned him back over and covered his mouth with my hand. "Someone's in the kitchen."

He kept his eyes closed. "Is Dinah there?" he asked through my hand over his mouth.

He was referencing an old song about Dinah in the kitchen. I was surprised he could remember it, considering it was written before both of us were born, like in the early 1800s. I seemed to be remembering a lot of trivia these days, since I'd been hiding out with not much else to do in my downtime.

I shook Jim's arm. "No, silly. Wake up. I heard a loud noise in the kitchen." At least I thought it was the kitchen, down the hall. It sounded like some pots and pans clanging together.

Jim got up and ran his hand through his hair. "I'm never allowed to sleep, am I?"

"Nope."

Another noise made us both stare toward the door. We each grabbed our guns on the nightstands on both sides of our bed and pulled on some clothes. Someone had made a big mistake coming to the Bond house. Department of Homeland Security agents didn't take too kindly to criminals, and since we were now both agents, they were in for a double whammy, especially on our wedding night.

Needless to say, it had been a long six months of waiting to get married. Nothing had gone as planned. We didn't get married until the day before, on the way from New York to Arizona by way of Las Vegas.

While Jim stood next to me at the opened door, I ducked my head out to see if anyone was in the hallway of the one-story home.

Jim yanked at my tank top. "What are you wearing?" he whispered.

"A shirt." I tugged at his chest hair. "What are you wearing?"

"Nothing, but I'm not a woman."

I raked my eyes down over him with a grin. "Nope, and I couldn't be happier."

He shook his head. "If whoever is out there sees you without a bra, they're going to ogle over you."

"And I'll be a diversion." I looked down at my body. "Besides, I'm not that big chested, so they may not even notice."

He kept staring at my chest. "Oh, they'll notice."

I covered it with my arm. "I'm cold. So sue me."

He blew out a big breath. "Someone said they had to have the air conditioning on, even though it's October."

"It's hot," I whispered.

He ignored me and stuck his head into the hallway. A small door shut somewhere in the house. "Follow me," he said.

I did as told by my superior agent, who was also my husband, and followed him. He went into the kitchen, where every pot and pan in the place lay on the brick red tile floor, making walking a little tough. At least the kitchen light was on. The clock on the wall read almost six in the morning, or just about sunrise.

Jim pointed toward a cabinet, where the door was slightly ajar.

"Coyotes?" I whispered.

He shook his head and put his finger to his lips. He gave me some sort of unspoken direction, which I didn't understand, but acted like I did. He inched closer to the cabinet where all the pots and pans had been stored.

When he knelt at the hinge-side of the open cabinet door, I came around the other side. He lifted one finger, then the second, and when he got to the third, the door opened, pushing Jim down. A man fell on top of him, speaking a stream of Spanish.

Jim tried to grab the gun that had been pushed out of his hand, while inching out from under the man. "Get off me."

"Stop moving," I said to the man in Spanish, holding my gun steady.

The man sat up and looked back at me, raising his hands over his head. "Don't hurt me," he said in Spanish.

"Can you get off me?" Jim asked. At least he knew Spanish, too. He was more multi-lingual than I was, even though I'd been an interpreter for various languages at the United Nations.

"Sure." The man moved slightly, but was in obvious pain, grabbing his side.

Jim slid out from under him and grabbed his gun. "Why are you here?"

"I had to run away. They're after me, and I have to tell someone in the United States."

"Are you from Mexico?" I asked the man.

"Sí. I know some men who are terrorists and have to get a message to the president. I know you can do it, too." He winced and leaned over to the cabinets, still holding his side. I looked down and saw a huge bloodstain covering his shirt. "I'm not armed," he said. "But need to see your president. It's a matter of life and death."

Jim reached over and lifted the man's shirt. "I'm a doctor. Let me see what happened."

"It's too late for me, but save my son." He looked at Jim. "Save my son." His eyes focused on me, and I could see the sadness there. His face paled as his head banged against the cabinet door. "Señora Bonita."

"Thanks," I said. "I can't remember the last time any man told me I was a pretty lady." I shot Jim a dirty look, but he ignored me.

The man fell backward, laboring for breath.

"Hang in there." Jim studied the wound. "It's not good, but I can call an ambulance."

"Señora Bonita," he said to Jim in a weak voice.

"I'm not really a pretty lady, but hey, whatever floats your boat." He looked up at me. "I think he's hallucinating."

The man made some weird sounds then went silent. Jim felt for his pulse, but it was too late. He tried CPR, but no luck. "He's dead," Jim said.

"I can see that." I walked over to the phone and laid my gun on the table, but before I could even lift the receiver, a shot rang out. I ducked, grabbed my gun, and aimed it into the hallway between the kitchen and the bedroom. It was a shame it was an open floor plan, because there was more than one way in and out of the kitchen, central to the one-story building.