Authors: Lynda Bailey
Her brother recovered enough to point to the glass. “Nothing
that bastard doesn’t deserve.”
She leaned forward, unable to believe the words coming from
his mouth. “Deserve? Did you just say he
deserves
this treatment?”
One of Dell’s buddies piped up, “You know he does, Shasta.”
She cut her gaze to him. “Am I talking to you, Allen? No?
Then be quiet. In fact, get out.” She waved her arms. “All of you. Get the hell
outta here.”
After a moment of shocked silence, the mob quickly backed
out of the viewing room. Shasta slammed the door shut then turned.
A thunderous cloud had settled on her brother’s face. “Just
who do you think you are?”
“I’m your sister,” Shasta shot back, “and apparently the
only one in this room with a working brain.” She tunneled her fingers through
her hair and spun away, a growl snagging in her throat. “Jesus, Dell. Is this
why you’ve been on patrol? So you could pick Lynch up and treat him like your
personal freak show? How could you?”
“Are you actually defending that fucker? After what he did
to me?”
“So
this
is your answer? Petty revenge?”
“It’s not petty.”
“Then you admit you went looking for payback. Do you have
any idea how stupid this is?”
“I did it to send a message.”
“Really?” She cocked a hip. “What message? That you’re an
idiot?”
He glowered. “That he’d better not mess with me or my
family.” Dell sliced his gaze to the man behind the glass. “Because if he does,
this will only be the beginning of the shit storm I’ll cause him.”
She blew out a harsh sigh. “You need to get him his clothes
and release him.”
“No.”
Shasta’s mouth dropped open. She stared at her brother, but
it was like looking at a stranger. She knew Dell was bitter about the past, but
the extent of his vitriol staggered her. To abuse his office and authority this
way was
not
how her brother would act. She whipped out her cell. “I’ll
call the local newspaper and TV stations.”
“And tell them what?” he goaded.
She narrowed her eyes. “That the sheriff of Grant County is
trampling on someone’s civil rights.”
Dell’s expression melted into anger. He grabbed for her
phone then wobbled, caught off balance because of his cane. She easily evaded
his grasp.
“No one will believe a convicted criminal over a sheriff,”
her brother stated.
“Not even with the support of that sheriff’s sister?”
His stare turned icy. “You wouldn’t…”
“I would—and will—unless you release him.
Now
.”
“You’d side…with him?” He jabbed his finger at the glass.
“Instead of your own brother?”
“If my brother’s acting like a total douche, yes. If he’s
thrown all his ethics and morals of the sheriff’s position—
a position our
father held
—into a dung heap, yes.” She knew it was a low blow to bring up
their dad, but she didn’t care. She shook her head with a sigh. “Christ,
Dell…you could lose your job. Think about the repercussions to your career. To
Dad’s legacy. You need to let him go.”
Dell adjusted his stance. “And if I refuse?”
She waved her phone in the air. “Then I’ll call the press.
Either release Lynch or be prepared to be on the six o’clock news. Your
choice.”
A wound look flitted over her brother’s face, then he
glared. “I don’t believe you’d do that.”
“Believe it.”
He flattened his lips and pivoted to the door.
“And Dell…”
“What?” he ground out not bothering to look at her.
“Get the heat back on.”
Spine straight, he limped out, closing the door harder than
necessary. Once alone, Shasta focused her attention on Lynch. She stepped
forward and lightly touched her fingertips to the mirrored glass.
Tears burned her eyes. He looked thinner. Thinner, yet
bigger. More rawboned. Sinewy.
Powerful.
The chairs had been removed from the room and he stood
behind the bolted-down table, head high and wrists handcuffed. He cupped his
genitals with both hands and glared at the mirror. Apparently he hadn’t lost
any volume
down
there
.
He could’ve turned his back to garner a small measure of
privacy, but that wasn’t Lynch’s way. To hell with the world, that was his
motto.
His shaggy ash blond hair had lost the sun-streaked
highlights she remembered from so long ago. And the scraggly beard covering his
cleft chin looked darker than his hair. His collarbone jutted across his upper
chest like some kind of weird, tribal piercing while his broad shoulders seemed
broader or maybe it was because his waist appeared more narrow.
He carried the same tattoos…his mom’s name, in a large
cursive font embellished the front of his neck and a black Celtic cross—with a
green shamrock in the middle—decorated his left shoulder. Another Celtic symbol
adorned his left upper chest area while the Streeter tat…a snake slithering
through the eyes of a skull…dominated his right shoulder with the words
Learn
Through Pain
scrawled on that same forearm. And she knew a picture of
Gabriel kneeling beside a crumbling cross inked his entire back.
He looked so different, yet so much like he had seven years
ago. Especially his eyes. Those smoky blue eyes were the same. Still
mesmerizing. The same eyes as his son…
Sudden flashes of Lynch’s smile—of his kiss and
touch—bombarded Shasta. Of her body twined with his. Joined with his.
Her cheeks burned at the vivid memories…and her innocence at
having fallen in love with a Streeter. She’d been innocent and so very dumb. He
was a gangster. A criminal. And she could never share a life with a criminal…
Todd entered the interview room, a bundle of clothes in his
hands, interrupting her unruly thoughts. A gentle whirling indicated the
furnace was back on. Shasta waited long enough to see the deputy unlocked the
handcuffs on Lynch’s wrists before turning away. She wiped the moisture from
her cheeks, inhaled a breath and walked into the squad room.
Everything appeared normal. No superfluous people. Just a
typical afternoon. Dell sat hunched over his desk. In the break room, she put
away the supplies, keeping a diligent eye out on the interview room door.
Soon, a woman Shasta didn’t recognize, wearing form-fitting
slacks, a white turtleneck and short denim jacket, marched into the Dell’s
office. By the woman’s emphatic gesturing and finger pointing, Shasta figured
she was upset about something. Her brother simply sat there, his face like
granite.
The woman snatched up a leather garment—Lynch’s motorcycle
cut—and stormed from the office, and immediately into the interview room. She
emerged again, Lynch right behind her, his Streeter jacket gripped in his hand.
Despite his t-shirt being untucked, Shasta could tell his jeans rode low on his
hips.
His angry gaze swept the squad room. She quickly ducked
behind the door, her heart in her throat. Had he seen her? It made no sense to
hide. In a small town like Stardust, they were bound to run into each other at
some point. Still, she’d prefer that point not be today. A moment later, she
peeked back around and watched the duo head for the entrance.
Just before he exited, Lynch threw on his cut. A defiant
gesture considering gang colors and garments were prohibited in the
stationhouse.
The woman placed her palm on the center of Lynch’s back, and
a wave of possessiveness scorched through Shasta.
Who the hell was she? Lynch’s girlfriend? But how could he
have girlfriend…he’d been in prison for the last seven years.
Maybe she was a convict bunny. Someone with a fetish for
inmates. Maybe she and Lynch had started out as pen pals then moved onto to
pals…with conjugal benefits.
Shasta pulled herself up short. She had no right to feel
jealous of Lynch and another woman. Yet she did. A lot.
And that bothered her even more….
Chapter Seven
THE
NEXT MORNING
, after dropping Wyatt off at school, Shasta drove to the
stationhouse, Dell in the passenger seat. Without the six-year-old’s constant
chatter, the quiet in the small car thudded against her eardrums.
She and Dell hadn’t exchanged three words since yesterday
afternoon. The last time she had defied him she’d been in high school...on Ditch
Day when he’d grounded her from going to Lake Tahoe with her friends. While she
hated being at odds with her brother, she refused to apologize. If anyone
should say he was sorry, it was Dell. And fat chance of that happening.
But squabbling with Dell accounted for only part of Shasta’s
pensiveness. She’d checked behind the detached garage last night, as well as
that morning, unable to locate the box of personal items Hez said he’d gather
for her.
Not that there was anything of value. Just junk. Trinkets
Lynch had given her or silly mementos she’d accumulated all those years ago.
She’d stashed everything at Lynch’s trailer because she didn’t want either
Graham or Wyatt stumbling across them. Now, with Lynch getting out, she didn’t
want him knowing she’d been at his place. Somehow that prospect made her
feel…wild, like she had been as a teenager. And she wasn’t wild anymore.
She texted Hez before getting into the shower, but had yet
to hear back. Once she got to work, she’d text him again. She pulled into
Dell’s parking space and killed the engine. Her cell twittered with a new
message. But it wasn’t from Hez. She typed a quick reply then unclipped her
seatbelt.
“Who was that?” Dell asked.
She didn’t bother looking at him as she reached into the
backseat to grab her purse. “Graham.”
“Everything okay?”
“Everything’s grand. Graham finished his business early and
will be home tomorrow.” She got out then waited while Dell clumsily exited the
car before hitting the door lock and turning.
“Dell!”
The shout turned them both.
Adam marched forward, stopping inches from her brother’s
face. Agitation billowed off the normally disciplined DA. “Just what the
hell
did you do?”
Dell leaned on his cane, his expression guarded. “What are
you talking about?”
“What am I talking about?” Adam parroted. “I talking about
the fact that after I spend all-goddamn-day yesterday in federal court in Reno
trying to get Callan back behind bars, I return to my office to find a myriad
of messages from Emma Jarvis.”
“Who’s Emma Jarvis?” Shasta asked.
Adam dissected her with a disdainful look. “Callan’s
lawyer.” He returned his glare to Dell. “She’s threatening a lawsuit for
illegally hauling in Callan then detaining him for over three hours without
notifying her.”
So the woman’s his lawyer…
Shasta figured she should squelch her relief. Just because
the Jarvis woman was Lynch’s lawyer didn’t mean they weren’t involved. Though
that constituted an ethical no-no, didn’t it?
Dell puffed out his chest. “I had cause to bring him in.”
“Really? And what cause did you have for putting him on
display—naked?”
The starch evaporated from Dell’s stance. “Shit. She told
you about that?”
Adam snorted. “If she had, would you be standing here now?
Or would your sorry ass be out of a job and facing serious misconduct charges?”
Dell frowned. “Then how’d you know?”
“You didn’t exactly keep it a secret. Parading half the town
through the interview room.” Adam shook his head. “What in God’s name were you
thinking to pull such a dick stunt?”
Dell brushed a glimpse at Shasta, saying nothing.
The DA eyeballed her then glowered at her brother. “I get
that you want justice. Vengeance even. But not this way, understand?”
Dell sighed with a nod. “Yeah, I understand. Won’t happen
again.”
“See that it doesn’t,” Adam snapped. “I've worked too long
and too hard to have you fuck things up now.”
Dell’s eyebrows shot up. “What things?”
A flush stained Adam’s neck. “Nothing I’m at liberty to
discuss. But when I can, you’ll be the first one I…brief.” He turned then
pivoted back. “Oh, and one more thing, Jarvis wants to interview both of you
along with Graham for her investigation.”
Alarm stiffened Shasta’s posture. “Why me?”
Her stomach curdled under Adam’s scrutiny. “Don’t know.
Don’t care. Just give her your cooperation.” He cut his gaze to Dell. “Both of
you.”
Shasta watched the DA stomped off.
I wonder what things Adam can’t discuss.
“I wonder that too.”
She jumped a foot at her brother’s voice in her ear. She
hadn’t realized she’d spoken out loud.
Dell stared after Adam. “But what bugs me even more is why
Callan’s lawyer didn’t rat me out completely about yesterday.”
“Maybe because Lynch never told her the whole truth about
what happened.”
Dell grunted. “Oh, he told her all right.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“Because it fits the pattern for a lowlife like him, and his
lowlife attorney.” Dell limped up the sidewalk.
She fell into step beside him. “What do you mean, the
pattern?”
“They think they’ve got information on me that’ll turn into
some kind of a payday for them.”
“Uh, they
do
have information on you. And, according
to Adam, half the town knows it.”
He paused in opening the entrance door to direct his most
withering stare at her. “Thanks for the reminder.”
She breezed past him. “You’re welcome.”
~*~
L
ynch folded then placed clothing
in his duffle.
“But why do you hafta leave?” his mother asked yet again.
She paced the garage bedroom, wringing her hands. “You can’t let that asshole
sheriff run you out.”
“He’s not, Ma. I swear.” He ducked into the small bathroom
to gather up his toothpaste, toothbrush and deodorant. He didn’t want his mom
dealing with any fallout from his run-in with the sheriff—especially if he
revealed the truth about what actually happened. But he didn’t need any payback
on Albright. It wouldn’t restore his dignity. He’d probably only lose more of
it. And the repercussions could land hard on his mom. He walked back into the
bedroom and dropped the toiletries into his bag. “I just think I should stay at
my trailer. It’ll mean less heat for you.”
“Harrumph.” His mother plopped onto the bed. “I ain’t
worried about any heat.” She plucked at the frayed quilt. “It’s just been
so…quiet around here since…”
“Flyer left?” he finished gently, checking his Glock then
tucking it into his waistband.
Still focused on the quilt thread, she nodded.
Lynch eased onto the mattress beside her. “Did you notice
anything…strange about Flyer’s behavior before he…left?”
Her posture stiffened. “You mean other than him being a
cheating, two-timing bastard?” Her shoulders stooped again. “No. But…”
“But?”
“He just seemed damned…depressed the six, eight months
before he left. Disappointed somehow. Other times, he was so pissed, I thought
he’d go on a statewide shooting spree.”
A sad smile lifted Lynch’s lips. Flyer did have one
hellacious temper.
“And secretive,” his mom continued, staring into space.
“Good God, the man acted worse than a Cold War spy. Mysterious as shit and
seriously neurotic about me.”
“What’d you mean, neurotic about you?”
“He didn’t want me going to the salon by myself or working
late. At the time, I thought it sweet…him showing how much he loved me. Then he
just…left.” Her voice hitched and she bowed her head.
Lynch wrapped an arm around his mother’s quaking shoulders
and hugged her tight. His heart broke. Flyer hadn’t left. He’d been taken.
“What can you tell me about Tre Olsen?”
She sat upright with a sniffle. “He and Flyer got real
tight. I think that’s the reason Tre and Junkyard were sent up to Idaho.” She
wagged her head. “Only Junkyard came back, though. Tre rolled his bike under a
semi on the ride home. Such a shame to have lost him like that.”
Not a shame, but murder. Same as Flyer…
“Ma, what you think of Junkyard and Bowyer?”
Her lips twisted in a smirk. “As an old lady for twenty plus
years, it’s not my place to judge club members. Especially the officers.”
“But you must have an opinion.”
“‘Course I do.”
He gave her an expectant look.
“Well…Junkyard’s smart and oilier than a greased hog.
Bowyer’s just flat crazy. I don’t trust either of them. And I don’t think Rolo does
either.”
That surprised Lynch. “If that’s true, then why the fuck is
Junkyard the VP?”
“You’ll hafta ask Rolo. What I can say is Rolo’s taken up
where Flyer left off being all kinds of paranoid about my safety.”
Everything inside Lynch stilled. “Why’s that, Ma?”
“Again you’ll hafta ask him. In my opinion it’s just stupid
old men turning into stupid old
worrywart
women.” She stared at his
duffle. “Isn’t there anything I can say that’ll get you to stay here? Nobody’s
been at that trailer since you went inside. It’s probably nothing but a
shit-hole mess. I bet raccoons won’t even live in it.”
Forcing a chuckle, he kissed her cheek. “Okay, Ma. You win.
I’ll stay.”
Her eyes lit up. “Really?”
He stood and started removing the items from his bag.
“Really.”
If Flyer, then Rolo, thought his mom was in danger, then she
must have been.
Which meant she most likely still was.
~*~
O
nce he’d safety deposited
his mom at her salon, Lynch rode to the outskirts of Stardust.
He had every intention of keeping his word and staying with
her, but he also wanted to see for himself just what kind of a “shit-hole mess”
his trailer was. Situated on the very edge of Bureau of Land Management land,
there weren’t any utilities because he squatted on federal property. But he had
a gas powered generator for electricity which made the fifth-wheel livable.
However, with it vacant for so long, he could only imagine the disaster that
awaited him. Raccoons no doubt would be the least of his worries.
Yet checking the status of his trailer was only part of his
reasoning for going there. The other part—the bigger part—had to do with the
momentary glimpse he’d gotten of Shasta the previous day, at the sheriff’s
office. And with the feelings seven years behind bars should’ve killed, but
didn’t.
Feelings of belonging…and love.
He’d never considered Shasta a piece of ass. Some girl to
fuck then forget. No. Shasta Donahue Albright was anything but forgettable. Her
daring, smart-mouthed, impulsive, yet romantic ways impressed the hell out of
him. She’d been the best damn thing to ever come into his life.
Spending time with her was as easy as breathing, and just as
vital. She taught him to laugh more and judge less. Her boundless zest for
adventure astonished him. As did her bravery. She never hesitated to call him
on his bullshit, notwithstanding his reputation as a known criminal. She made
him want to be a better man.
A better man for her.
He’d even begun to naïvely think they could have a future
together. That he could leave the Streeters and be accepted into her world of
law and order. God, he’d been such a fool.
Still he wanted…no
needed
…to go where he and Shasta
had rendezvoused. Where they’d found the privacy to share their deepest dreams,
their worst fears, their first kiss—and more.
Lynch understood he couldn’t go back. No one could. But
maybe, just maybe, he could recapture an inkling of the innocence he’d once
felt with Shasta.
If only for a moment.
He slowed his motorcycle to maneuver around the potholes on
the dirt road leading to his trailer. A mix of Ponderosa and juniper pine trees
rose up on either side of him. The brisk, clean morning air filled his lungs.
He rounded the last bend and eased to a stop. There sat his house on wheels…in
all its peckerwood glory.
While it needed a hard power washing and a major clearing of
the slew of gigantic sagebrush which reached halfway up the siding, the
thirty-foot trailer actually appeared in fairly decent shape. Confusion
narrowed his eyes. How was that possible?
Considering the amount of time he’d been away, the place
should have been a pile of debris. Unease tightened his gut. Had someone taken
up residence in his place? Been squatting on his squat? Because no way, after
being vacant for seven years, should his fifth wheel look this good.
He cruised to the far side of the trailer, cut the engine
and swung his leg over the seat. He removed his helmet and gloves, slipped his
hand under his jacket to grasp the Glock grip, then circled back around,
surveying the area.
The surrounding foliage looked much denser than he
remembered, but the birds twittered their carefree songs. Maybe nothing was
wrong. Maybe his stint in prison had made him overly cautious. But he’d learned
in prison not to disregard his gut. If you did, you ended up dead.
He edged to the trailer door and reached down behind the
cinderblock step for his hide-a-key rock. He’d just extracted the key when the
low rumbling sound of an approaching Harley had him ducking back next to his
bike.
Flat against the aluminum, he peered under the trailer nose,
and tightened his hold on his gun. Who the fuck followed him? Junkyard? Bowyer?
Had his arrangement with the FBI been discovered?
The answer came as Hez steered into view, the tangle of his
dreadlocks sticking out from under his half helmet. With a sigh of relief,
Lynch emerged. Hez pulled to an abrupt halt, surprise plainly written on his
face despite his sunglasses.
Lynch ambled over and slid his handgun back into his
waistband. “What are you doing here, bro? You talk to my mom?”
Hez took an inordinate amount of time removing his glasses.
“Uh…no. But when you weren’t at her place or the clubhouse, I figured you’d be
here. Thought you were staying with her.”