Army Ranger Redemption (4 page)

“Any news?” He pointed to her menu. “You done with that?”

She slid it across to him. “Autopsy this morning, but I haven’t heard anything.”

The bartender dropped another menu in front of Scarlett. “Are you two ordering lunch?”

“I am. Give me a minute.” Jim ran his finger down the menu and looked at her over the top. “Burgers any good here?”

“You’re asking the wrong person. I’m a vegetarian.”

He peered down the bar. “They seem popular.”

When the bartender returned, Jim ordered a burger and fries, and she stuck to the vegetarian chili, her go-to meal at Sutter’s.

“Anything to drink?”

They both ordered water.

When the bartender placed their glasses in front of them, Scarlett followed a bead of moisture running down the outside of her glass with her fingertip. “I wanted to ask you if you were okay after...after your fall last night.”

His jaw hardened and a muscle ticked in the corner of his mouth. “The darkness, the excitement, threw me off balance. I usually don’t trip over my own feet, believe it or not. Spent enough time in physical therapy to avoid that.”

“What happened to your leg?” Taking a sip of water, she avoided his gaze. Would he lash out? Refuse to answer her?

“It broke in a few places and never healed properly.”

Okay, so he’d just be vague about it.

“Ouch. Sounds painful. I suppose it happened when you were...over there.”

“Uh-huh.” He gestured to the bartender. “Can you bring me some ketchup when you get a chance, please?”

She didn’t need a brick wall to fall on her to get the hint. Personal stuff—off-limits. “I sure hope the sheriff’s department can find out who this guy is and what happened to him—and if he had some kind of beef with his killer.”

“I’m sure they’ll be able to ID him soon, and most likely it wasn’t a random hit. You still need to upgrade the security on your place. Even if you believe you’re safe in Timberline, you might want to do a better job protecting your...art.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Did I detect a little sarcasm in your tone?”

“What? Not at all.” He rolled his water glass between his hands. “I like it.”

“The landscape art.”

“That, too, but the other stuff...” He shook his head. “Crazy intense.”

A warm glow settled in her belly. Usually she didn’t care what people thought about her art. She created her work from a personal, imaginative space inside her brain, and if she didn’t give expression to those thoughts, her head would explode. It had just been a side bonus that other people, including the art critics, had appreciated her abstract art and paid top dollar for it.

The fact that a man like Jim liked it, got it, made her feel like he got her, that he saw her.

She wanted to get him, too. She felt like she could if he’d let her.

“Veggie chili and Sutter’s burger.” The bartender dipped beneath the bar and gave them each a silverware setting wrapped in a cloth napkin.

Jim proceeded to drench everything in ketchup.

She pointed a spoon at his fries. “Have some fries with your ketchup.”

One corner of his mouth lifted, which was about the closest thing she’d seen to a smile from him.

“One of my many quirks.” He bit off the end of a French fry and asked, “Where do you live when you’re not spilling your guts on a canvas in Timberline?”

“San Francisco. I have a small place in the city that I share with another artist. When he’s gone, I’m usually there and when I’m here, he’s in the city.”

“Boyfriend?” He took a big bite of his burger.

“What? The artist?” She slipped a spoonful of chili in her mouth to hide her smile, happy that he’d been concerned enough to ask. “Marco is not my boyfriend.”

“I was gonna say, tough to have a relationship with someone you hardly see.”

“Tough to have a relationship with another artist. Marco and I had a thing once, but it was exhausting—and not in a good way.” She winked at him.

He raised one eyebrow and took another bite of his burger.

She zigzagged her spoon through the hot surface of her chili and watched the steam curl up. How had he gotten her to open up while he remained aloof and closemouthed?

“And you? Are you going to settle in Timberline or do you have a home somewhere else?”

“I don’t have a home, and I sure as hell don’t plan to stay in Timberline.”

“Are you here to sell your father’s place? I’m sure you know, ever since Evergreen Software moved in, housing prices have shot up.”

“I’ll probably sell it. Nothing but bad memories attached to the place.”

He offered nothing more. Where had he been since being discharged from the army? What was he doing in Timberline? And why did he have the same tattoo as a murder victim?

Jim dragged a napkin across his mouth and tapped her arm. “Incoming.”

She jerked her head to the side. “It’s Sheriff Musgrove. I guess he’s feeling better.”

“Is he new?”

“He’s new and lazy. More interested in fund-raising, but he’s been keeping a low profile lately, since he was good friends with Jordan Young.”

“Well, he’s making a beeline for us, so maybe he has some news from homicide.”

As the sheriff made a few stops on his way, Scarlett leaned close to Jim and whispered, “Does it look like everyone is reassured at what he’s telling them? Because I’m pretty sure they’re asking him about the murder.”

“Nobody’s screaming and fainting.”

Musgrove finally made it to them and positioned himself between their two bar stools. “Trouble just seems to follow you around, doesn’t it, Ms. Easton?”

“Me and you both.” Scarlett pushed away her bowl. “This is Jim Kennedy. He was with me last night when I stumbled across the body.”

The two men shook hands and Jim asked, “News about the murder?”

“Yeah, which is why I came over here when one of the deputies said he saw Ms. Easton at the bar. The fact that you’re here, too, is convenient, since I don’t have to go out to your place.”

“What’s the news?”

Musgrove smiled and waved at the bartender. “We identified the victim.”

Scarlett slid a glance at Jim. “Who is he?”

“Name’s Jeff Kelly, goes by the name of Rusty. He’s fifty-one years old and a member of the Lords of Chaos motorcycle gang.”

“Club.”

“Excuse me?” Musgrove cocked his head, his eyebrows colliding over his nose.

“They prefer to be called a club—the Lords of Chaos Motorcycle Club.”

“And how exactly do you know that, Kennedy?”

“Because I was a member—and I knew Rusty.”

Chapter Five

Scarlett grabbed the edge of the bar—
LC
. So, those letters stood for Lords of Chaos. She vaguely remembered a bunch of motorcycle-riding tough guys hanging around town, usually with Jim’s father and brother. She never realized they were an actual motorcycle gang and that Jim had belonged to it. That explained the tattoo. Explained a lot of other things.

At least he’d owned up to it, but why’d he wait? Why didn’t he mention the tattoo earlier, even if he didn’t recognize Rusty?

Musgrove must’ve had the same thought since he fished in his front pocket and asked, “You didn’t recognize him last night?”

Jim shrugged. “It was dark. It’s been over ten years since I last saw him.”

“Have you seen any other members of the...club since you’ve been back in Timberline?”

“Look, Musgrove. If you want to question me further, can we do it more formally at the station?” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “We’re attracting attention.”

“Technically, it’s not even our case anymore, but I’ll give your name to Deputy Collins. He’s heading up the investigation for the county’s homicide division.”

“You do that.” Jim grabbed a cocktail napkin and a pen and wrote out his phone number. “Have him give me a call. I can’t tell him much. I didn’t even realize Rusty was still here. As far as I know, the club doesn’t operate in this area anymore.”

Musgrove hunched forward. “Is it true the Lords of Chaos were involved in the drug trade here in Timberline?”

“Didn’t know much about their business, didn’t want to know. I was a teenager and got out when I could.”

Musgrove tugged on his earlobe. “Didn’t Gary Binder hang out with the club?”

“Gary?” Jim pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. “Nah, kind of a hanger-on. I heard he died in a hit-and-run accident recently.”

“We’ve never found the driver.” Musgrove shrugged. “Me? I figured it for an accident, but did you have any contact with Binder since returning?”

Jim spread his hands. “Dead before I arrived.”

“All right then, Kennedy.” Musgrove stuffed the napkin with Jim’s number into his pocket. “I think Deputy Unger already gave your number to Collins. He’ll probably want to talk to you at some point once I tell him you knew Kelly.”

“I’m not going anywhere for a while.”

Musgrove saluted and walked back through the dining room, glad-handing when he could. When he walked out the front door, Scarlett turned to Jim. “That’s why you have the tattoo.”

Jim choked on his water. “How do you know about that?”

“When you...fell last night, your shirt hiked up in the back. I saw it then, and I had seen the same tattoo, or at least the same letters, on the neck of the dead man.”

“Thought about getting it removed a few times, but it reminds me where I came from and what I have to battle.”

She swirled the ice in her water glass. “Is that why you joined the army? To get away from your family?”

“One reason.”

“So why’d you come back here?”

“Settle my dad’s stuff.”

“Liar. We found a dead body together. You can tell me the truth.”

He rubbed his knuckles against his sexy stubble. “I came across a news story online about those kidnappings a few months ago. It brought back some...memories.”

Not very good memories from the look in his dark, haunted eyes.

“Sounds like you’d rather forget those memories. Why torture yourself by coming back?”

His lips twisted and he smacked the bar as he emitted a noise that sounded suspiciously like a laugh.

“What’s funny about that?”

“I wouldn’t call being in Timberline and remembering fond times with my old man and my older brother torture—miserable, but not torture.”

“Figure of speech, I guess.” She waved at the bartender for the check. “Timberline still has a lot of secrets.”

“That’s because the mystery of the Timberline Trio was never solved.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the dining room. “It doesn’t affect the newcomers with their shiny tech jobs and their shiny cars in their shiny homes. But for those of us who were kids here at the time, I think it left its imprint.”

“I think you’re right.”

The bartender dropped two separate checks for them. Jim reached for her check at the same time she did.

“Lunch is on me.”

As his warm hand curled around hers, a shock flashed through her body and a sharp pain knifed the back of her skull. She squeezed her eyes closed and fought off the visions before they engulfed her.

“Scarlett. What’s wrong?”

Her eyelids flew open. Jim’s face, etched with worry, was inches from hers. She’d felt electricity from his touch last night, but nothing like this. This had gone beyond the pleasant sensations of attraction and connection she’d experienced before.

She’d dived straight into his psyche and had been overwhelmed by terror and darkness. His terror and darkness? What had his father done to him?

His nostrils flared as he saw something in her eyes. “What just happened?”

“I—I got dizzy for a minute.” She slipped her hand from beneath his. “I’m okay, and you really don’t have to buy me lunch.”

“I absolutely have to buy you lunch now, since it seems as if my touch made you sick to your stomach.” He pulled out a few bills from his wallet and put the ketchup bottle on top of the checks and the money.

She gave a halfhearted laugh. “It wasn’t that, probably just low blood sugar.”

“Do you need something else to drink? A soda? Orange juice?”

His narrowed eyes told her he wasn’t buying any of it, but she could at least make good on the pretense.

“Some orange juice is probably just what I need.”

When the bartender placed the tall, skinny bar glass full of orange juice in front of her, she downed it. “Ahh, that’s better.”

“Did you have a chance to call someone about the security measures I suggested?”

“No time yet. Spoke to the deputies this morning, went out to visit my granny and then came into town to pick up few things for her.”

“I’m going to that hardware store in the new shopping center out by Evergreen Software. I can pick up a few locks and window rods for you.”

“If you don’t mind.” She snatched a couple of twenties from her wallet. “Use this and let me know if I owe you more.”

He stuffed the money in his pocket. “I can drop by later to set things up for you.”

“I work during the daylight hours, so catch me when the sun goes down.”

They walked out of Sutter’s together with several pairs of eyes following them. Word must’ve gotten around that they’d found Rusty’s body. She preferred keeping a low profile when she was in town working, but she’d been the center of attention on her last visit and this one was shaping up to be the same.

“Thanks for lunch and for offering to get my locks.”

“No problem.” He lifted a helmet from the backrest of his Harley and straddled the bike. “Thanks for not ratting out my tattoo to the cops.”

She parted her lips and then stepped back as he revved the noisy engine of the bike. Of course, he’d realized she had kept that from the sheriff’s deputies since she’d admitted she saw the tattoo on Rusty’s neck and then had seen a replica on Jim’s back.

He revved the Harley’s engine again, and then peeled away from the shoulder of the road.

Sighing, she ran her fingers through her hair and tucked the bag of yarn beneath one arm. Time to put Rusty Kelly and Jim Kennedy out of her head and get back to work.

Rusty? That was easy. Jim? That presented a whole different kind of problem.

* * *

J
IM
LOCKED
HIS
helmet against his bike and grabbed a basket on his way into the hardware store.

Why had Scarlett kept quiet about his tattoo? When she saw it on his back, she must’ve realized he’d lied to the cops about knowing the dead man, or at least lied about knowing something about him. Had she believed his story about not seeing Rusty’s tattoo? Had Musgrove believed his story about not recognizing Rusty last night?

He didn’t even know why he’d lied. Habit? He’d lied so much over the past few years of his life he didn’t even know the truth anymore.

He steered his basket down the home security aisle and looked over some sensor lights and cameras. He’d been planning to make a few improvements to Slick’s cabin, but security hadn’t been one of them—until Rusty turned up dead last night.

Who’d murdered him and why? Could be a barroom fight or some kind of deal gone wrong. But why here in Timberline? As far as he knew, the Lords of Chaos didn’t operate in this area anymore, and Rusty didn’t have family nearby.

He dropped a few items in his basket and wandered a few aisles over to have a look at the dead bolts. While he was reading the back of a package, a man bumped his arm reaching for a bin of locks.

“Sorry, bro.” The man swore and smacked him on the back. “Jim Kennedy. J.T.”

Jim’s muscles tensed as he drew back. He didn’t like people touching him when he didn’t see it coming. He really didn’t like surprises, and he didn’t like being called by his nickname.

The man beside him grinned, his yellowed teeth peeking through a heavy beard. “You don’t remember me? It’s Chewy. I ran with your old man back in the day.”

Jim squeezed the plastic packaging in his hands until the sides cut into his fingers. What the hell was this, some kind of LOC reunion?

He remembered Chewy—mean SOB with a short-fuse temper, used to smack his woman around.

“Chewy. Yeah, I remember you.”

“So the army took your sorry ass, huh?” Chewy had dropped the big paw he’d proffered in a shake when Jim ignored it. “Heard you were some hotshot ranger, a sniper. You always were a good shot, son.”

“Tell me, Chewy. Are the Lords of Chaos running a club in Timberline again? You heard about Rusty, right?”

Chewy blinked his small, flat eyes. “Rusty? Haven’t seen that fat SOB in a couple of months. What happened to him?”

Jim thought he might be able to catch Chewy in a lie since the sheriff’s department hadn’t released the identity of the dead body yet. Chewy was as dumb as a box of rocks, but not that dumb.

Jim lifted one shoulder. “Just that he’s back in town, too. Saw him the other day.”

“I’ll be damned. Old Rusty. I’ll have to look him up.”

“You’re staying in town?”

“For a while. Had some good times here.” He ran his fingers through his graying beard. “Sorry about Slick. That was a tough break. If any of the Lords had been with him that night, whoever killed him would’ve been dead meat.”

“Yeah. Gotta go.” Jim tossed two dead bolts into his basket and rolled away.

Should he bring up Chewy’s appearance in town when Deputy Collins questioned him about Rusty? Chewy would clam up or run if the cops came down on him...and Jim just might need the old biker for information.

Jim finished shopping for Scarlett’s items, as well as his own, and then secured them in the saddlebags on his bike. He checked the time on his phone. Scarlett would still be working.

He headed for Slick’s place—his own now. His brother Dax had dropped off the face of the earth since his release from prison. Jim planned to sell it and all of his dad’s bikes once he finished his business in Timberline. He’d never feel at home in that cabin.

He rode his motorcycle to the front door and parked it. Standing by the bike, he sorted Scarlett’s stuff into one bag and his in the other. Then he crammed her items back into his saddlebag.

Slick’s motorcycles had been in the detached garage for years after his death and nobody had touched them, but nobody had known they were there. Once Jim started advertising them for sale, the cat would be out of the bag and he needed to beef up security.

He’d start with the sensor lights. He dumped his purchases on the kitchen table and then bagged up the pieces he needed for the sensor system.

With the bag under his arm, he trudged down the gravel path to the garage. He dug his key ring from his pocket as he reached the double doors.

“Damn.” He kicked the door with his boot.

Too late. Someone had broken off the padlock that held the two doors together.

He loosened the broken lock, letting it fall to the ground. Using his T-shirt to avoid leaving fingerprints, he flicked up the latch and nudged the door open with his foot.

He yanked the chain to turn on the overhead lights and released a sigh. Slick’s five Harleys were all where he’d left them when he’d checked them out his first day back.

He entered the garage and scanned the walls, his gaze skimming over the two shotguns mounted in racks and a collection of fishing poles and tackle.

Nothing jumped out at him. Slick had kept plenty of tools in here and God knows what else. He hadn’t done an inventory when he’d been in here before. He didn’t care if someone robbed Slick blind and Slick wouldn’t mind now.

Only the bikes mattered to Jim.

He wandered toward the shotguns and ran a hand down the long barrel of one. That’s one thing he owed the old man. Slick had taught him to shoot—and he’d been a crack shot right from the get-go.

He spent the next few hours setting up the sensor lights on the outside of the garage and fixing the padlock latch. He’d have to think of a better way to lock these doors, and he should probably file a report with the sheriff’s department.

He peered at the sky as he returned to the house. The cloud cover hid the setting sun, but it had to be dusk and Scarlett would be done working. Should he bring something more than her locks? Dinner?

At least he knew she hadn’t cooled off toward him because of his clumsy fall. His tattoo had freaked her out. Had she believed his story about not seeing Rusty’s tattoo or recognizing him in the dark? He wouldn’t have believed that lame explanation.

He finished showering and dried off in front of the mirror. Turning his back to the mirror and twisting his head over his shoulder, he could just make out the tail end of the tattoo on his back—the tattoo that ended in the letters
LC
.

Maybe he should’ve gotten the damned thing removed. At least it had caused some fear among his captors.