On a Knife's Edge (15 page)

The licorice aroma of rain-pounded sagebrush hung in the
air. Sunshine streamed through the dark clouds, arcing a rainbow across the
sky.

Maneuvering around the puddles, Lynch couldn’t help but
notice how Shasta held herself away from him. Her husband was the
eight-hundred-pound gorilla situated between them. No doubt she regretted what
happened. He didn’t. He couldn’t. He’d never regret being with her.

But he did hate that he hurt her. Hated that he hadn’t been
stronger. That he’d surrendered to temptation and took advantage of her.

Most of all, though, he hated that she was married to
another man.

~*~

W
hile Lynch navigated the
back streets toward the Grab-n-Go, Shasta worked to stay detached. To not dwell
on the erotic experience she shared with Lynch. Impossible when orgasmic
aftershocks continued to ripple through her core.

How could she have cheated on Graham? Yes, she’d been scared
and cold and Lynch had been a beacon of stalwart strength. But that wasn’t an
excuse. And neither was the fact it’d been years since any man touched her.

She squeezed her eyes shut to blot out the memory of his
kisses. Of his hands and mouth on her…in her.

Her chest constricted and she fought to breathe. It felt
like she was drowning. Drowning in a sea of guilt.

Some people might say she had the right to have a normal sex
life, given Graham’s inability to perform. But she was not such a person. Her
husband was the most decent, caring man she knew. In the face of all Graham had
done for her and Wyatt, the least she could do was remain faithful. Apparently
she couldn’t. She swallowed a sob.

In less than ten minutes, Lynch parked his bike across the
road from the convenience store, behind several over-grown juniper bushes. He
kicked down the stand, but kept the engine idling then offered his hand to help
her alight from the Harley.

She took off his helmet and sweat jacket, setting both on
the passenger seat. Lynch kept his gaze straight ahead, his jaw clenched tight.
She removed her hair band, threaded her fingers through the tangled locks and
redid her ponytail.

When he maintained his stony silence, she walked toward the
store.

“I’ll stay here until you get picked up,” he said. “You
gonna call your brother?”

Her stomach rolled. In the aftermath of everything, Dell
learning of her little excursion slipped her mind. He’d find out eventually,
but she could maybe postpone the inevitable.

She didn’t bother turning around. “I’ll call Todd, one of
Dell’s deputies.”

Not waiting for a response, she hot-footed across the road
and pulled open the Grab-n-Go door. The bell chimed as the air conditioning
raised shivers on her skin.

Felix, the owner, paused in restocking candy at the register
when she entered. His eyebrows arched high. “Holy shit, Shasta. You get caught
in that gully washer?”

“Yeah, and I lost my cell. Can I use your phone to call for
a ride?”

He reached behind the counter and handed her the cordless
receiver. “Of course.”

“Thanks.” Shasta moved to the window, her back to Felix,
seeking out Lynch by the bushes. She saw nothing. Todd picked up on the second
ring.

“Hallo?”

“Todd…hi. It’s, uh, Shasta Dupree.”

“Well…hell-oh.” He sounded much too pleased with himself.
“To what do I owe the privilege of this call, on my day off no less?”

“I need a favor.”

Todd’s chuckle crawled over her skin. “Isn’t that
interesting?” he drawled. “
You
needing a favor from
me
. And I bet
I know what your favor is.” He gave another creepy chortle.

And Shasta’s remaining composure splintered. “Oh, for the
love of all that’s holy, Todd,” she hissed. “Can you please, for one bloody,
goddamn minute,
not
be the biggest douche bag on the planet?”

Despite her best efforts, her voice cracked. She willed away
the tears burning her eyes.

“Hey…” Todd’s voice sounded clearly different. “I was just
joking around. What’s wrong?”

She rested her forehead on the glass. “I’m at the Grab-n-Go
on 314. Can you come get me?”

Silence answered her question, then…

“
Jesus Christ
,” Todd exploded. “What the hell are you
doing there? Where the fuck are the goddamn officers assigned to you?”

She fingered the display sign for thirty-weight motor oil.
“Graham had a last minute meeting in Vegas so one drove him to Reno. The other
one went to a birthday party with Wyatt.”

“That doesn’t explain how you ended up out on 314.”

“I went for a run and got caught in the downpour.”

“Are you shitting me? I’m calling the sheriff.”

“
No
, Todd,
please
. I realize what I did was
irresponsible and wrong, but don’t call Dell.”

“He needs to know.”

“And he will. I promise to tell him. Just please…come get
me.”

Todd sighed. “Okay. But tomorrow, I
will
talk to the
sheriff about this. Understand?”

“Yes. Thank you, Todd.”

“See you in a minute.”

Chapter Fourteen

SO
WHERE THE
fuck is she?

I clench my hands to keep from heaving my laptop across the
plane’s cabin. Can’t do that. It’ll just bring the unwanted attention of the
first class attendant. And I've got enough goddamn problems already…like not
knowing Shasta’s whereabouts.

Fuck!

I have access to every manner of surveillance paraphernalia
known to modern man, yet I don’t know where she is. If I hadn’t arranged for
the invalid to go to Vegas, she never would’ve left the house. But I needed the
worthless blob of skin for that stupid impromptu meeting tomorrow. Goddamn it
to hell anyway.

When I saw Shasta leave via the external camera at the rear
of the house, I didn’t think it would be an issue. GPS trackers have always
been installed on her phones. Who knew I’d lose her signal? Now I’m flying at
thirty-five hundred feet and can’t do a fucking thing about it.

The fasten seat belt sign comes on in preparation for our
descent. Shit.

I quickly switch my monitor back to the outside cameras at
the cripple’s house. Still nothing.

My chest squeezes. What if something happened to her? What
if she needs my help and I can’t get to her? She’s my whole world…everything
I've done, I've done for her. For us. What will I do without her?

The attendant tells me to put my computer away. I scowl at
her terse tone. Fucking whore. If she knew who I was, she’d be
much
more
respectful.

I reach to close the lid when a cheery red, two-door Camaro
comes into the picture. I know that car, and it’s owner. But it’s confirmed
when Todd Weedly gets out. As does Shasta.

My heart jumps into my throat at seeing she’s safe. But then
my stomach burns. Just what the
fuck
was Todd doing with her?

The attendant tells me again to power down. I absently nod
while zooming in on Shasta’s face.

Her clothes are disheveled…her cheeks look pale and her eyes
swollen, like she’d been crying. Todd comes around the hood of his car and says
something to her. She smiles. He pulls her into a hug.

I see fucking red.

How
dare
he touch her.

The whore’s back, sounding even more testy about my laptop.
I give her a harsh look then switch off the appliance. But I can’t forget what
I saw.

Todd embracing Shasta. Why was she crying? Had Todd done
something to her? If he did, he was dead.

Oh. My. God.

Did Todd bang her? My thought is not just no, but hell no.
With all the equipment I've got watching Shasta, she can’t tinkle without me
knowing about it.

My pulse stutters.

Except for the past two hours, I had no clue where she was
or what she was doing. Had she been with Todd during that time? Had she fucked
him?

Staring out the plane window, I drum my fingers on my laptop
lid. I might not know what’s been going on between Shasta and the good deputy,
but I do know this…

Todd Weedly must die.

Chapter Fifteen

THAT
NIGHT, LYNCH
rode his Harley seven miles south of Stardust…to Rolo
Pruett’s house.

Flat alfalfa fields stretched out from the single-lane, dirt
road then collided with the steep peaks of the Sierra Mountains. Rolo’s
grandfather had bought the six hundred and forty acre parcel, the best farming
soil in Grant County, back in the 1950’s. The land had long since been sold,
but Rolo still owned a small acreage with a house and barn. The relative
seclusion often came in handy when the Streeters had to deal with…sensitive topics.

Lynch rolled his bike through the gate and cut the engine.
He surveyed the area as he peeled off his gloves while swinging his leg over
the seat. Rolo’s hog sat next to a small compact car in the open garage. After
removing his helmet, Lynch marched up the walk to the ranch-style house. He
paused before knocking.

Since Shasta drove off with Deputy Weedly that afternoon,
Lynch fought to subdue his rage over her attempted kidnapping. Fought and
failed. He visualized his hands around Junkyard’s neck…squeezing. The weasel’s
beady eyes bugging from their sockets.

His vision blurred and he took a breath. Shasta was
safe—that’s what he needed to focus on. He compressed his lips. But if he found
out Rolo was somehow involved in the botched abduction…

Lynch rapped his knuckles on the front door twice. He needed
to keep his shit together and not let his emotions rule because he was about to
attempt the mother of all bluffs.

After a few moments, a gorgeous teen-aged girl dressed in an
over-sized t-shirt and Capri pants opened the door. With her striking black
hair and brown, almond-shaped eyes that harkened back to the family’s Mexican,
Italian ancestry, Lynch assumed this was Rolo’s youngest daughter, Vivian….

He smiled. “Vivi, right?”

Wariness narrowed her gaze and she angled herself behind the
door. “Can I help you?”

“I’m an associate of your father’s. From work.” Early on,
Rolo taught his girls to not question when a “work” associate came to the door.
“Is he around?”

She looked Lynch up and down then called over her shoulder,
“Dad…some guy’s here to see you.” With that, she turned and walked away,
leaving the door open.

Lynch accepted the unspoken invitation and entered the
house. Rolo came in from the kitchen, a dishtowel in his hands.

“Brother.” Rolo’s face split into a wide grin. “What brings
you here? Not that it ain’t great to see you.” He tossed the towel on the
dining table. “Want a beer?”

“No thanks. We need to talk. In your office.”

Rolo’s expression sobered. Without a word, he turned and
headed through the kitchen, past the washer and dryer and down the narrow
hallway at the rear of the house. Lynch followed. In the small, paneled room,
the older man plopped into his padded chair behind the desk while Lynch closed
the door.

Rolo eyed Lynch. “What’s going on, brother?”

Lynch sat in the only other chair in the room, opposite the
president. “Grunge told me about the black market pharms we’ve been escorting
down to Vegas.”

Rolo scowled. “When’d he tell you that?”

“A few days after I got home.” Lynch braced his hands on his
knees. “But we both know there ain’t no pharms in those vans.”

It sounded like Rolo swallowed his tongue. He coughed and
sputtered, shooting upright in his chair, his palms flat on his desk. “What the
hell are you talking about? What else could possibly be in the vans?”

“Don’t play stupid.” Lynch leaned forward. “Since when do
the Streeters traffic in young girls?”

Rolo darted his gaze to the closed office door then to Lynch
then back again to the door as though looking for an escape. There wasn’t one.

The president feigned a chuckle. “You’ve got a wild
imagination, brother, I’ll give you that.”

Lynch drilled Rolo with his stare. “Are you honestly gonna
sit there and
lie
to me?”

Rolo’s chin dropped to his chest as he expelled a long, low
breath. “How’d you find out? Grunge doesn’t know anything. None of our guys
do.”

Easing back, Lynch let out his own quiet sigh of relief.
“But Junkyard’s guys know plenty, don’t they? And some of them tend to run
their mouths. I overheard lots in the past week at the clubhouse.”

“Goddamn it.” Rolo shook his head. “I told Junkyard it was a
matter of time before someone found out about this shit.”

Disbelief veed Lynch’s eyebrows. “That’s all you got to
say?”

“What you want me to say?”

“How about
why
?”

Rolo glanced away. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

The president rifled his gaze back to Lynch. “To what end?
You think you can help?” He scoffed. “No one can help. They’ve got me by the
fucking balls.”

“Who has you by the balls?”

Rolo flattened his lips.

Lynch scooted to the edge of his seat. “Okay, so maybe I
can’t help you, but my lawyer can. She’s—” He bit back the rest of his words
before saying something stupid. He cleared his throat. “She used to work for
the Justice Department and maybe she’s still got connections there. I’ll bet a
dollar for a dime
she
can help. You just need to tell me what’s going
on.”

Rolo’s shoulders deflated like a week old, helium balloon.
He suddenly looked so…old. “Fine.” He blew out another sigh. “It was about five
years ago when my middle girl, Carolyn, got diagnosed with leukemia.”

A chill raced through Lynch. “Jesus, man. I’m sorry.”

A small grin curved up Rolo’s mouth. “She’d been cancer free
for two years now. Going to college down in Vegas. A sophomore.”

“Good for her.”

“Yeah, but it was real tough for a while. The chemo and
radiation made her so sick. She never complained much, though. Then the bills
started piling up.” Rolo’s chuckle held no humor. “With pot getting legalized
in California and online gambling becoming popular, the profits for the club
have been cut by more than seventy percent in the past three years. What little
money we still make on protection is barely enough to feed our families. So me
paying thousands for doctor and hospital bills wasn’t doable. I burned through
my savings then mortgaged my house then the bowling alley. But it wasn’t
enough. We were on the brink of having to forgo any more treatment for Carrie…”

“But?” Lynch prompted.

Rolo shrugged. “Junkyard came to town. He said Stardust was
the perfect location for running guns and smack from Mexico up to the Northwest
and Canada. At the time I thought he was the answer to my prayers. Literally.
He had his own crew and just needed a home base plus the occasional muscle. In
exchange, the club got a fat thirty percent. For basically doing nothing. It
was a no-brainer when I brought the offer to the table. The vote was
unanimous.”

 “Then things changed, right?”

“Right. About a year into the arrangement, things were going
pretty well. Carrie’s blood work looked good and while the brothers weren’t
exactly rolling in money, everyone had enough to live decent. I thought we’d
weathered the worse then Junkyard said he had a new proposition for the
Streeters. One that would be even more lucrative. Not seeing the harm, Flyer
and I met with him.” Rolo rubbed a hand down his face. “That’s when Junkyard
dropped the bomb about what this new proposal would…involve.”

“Trafficking in young girls.”

Rolo nodded. “I looked at Flyer and knew his answer was my
answer. We said no.”

“How’d Junkyard take that?”

“Not well, but Flyer and I stuck to our guns. Hell…even if
we took this idea to the table, we knew it’d get voted down.”

“But that wasn’t the end.”

Rolo slowly shook his head. “Junkyard said his boss wanted
to meet for the chance to convince me to change my mind.”

“Who’s the boss?”

“A complete whack-job named Ian Blackwell.”

Lynch worked to keep his expression neutral. “Whack-job? How
so?”

“The guy’s a total germaphobe. Wears a doctor’s mask, huge
sunglasses and some kind of asinine French hat.”

“So you met with him?”

“Yeah. Rode to Henderson with Junkyard. That’s where he’s
based.”

“Flyer with you?”

“Nah. Blackwell insisted on just me. We get to an industry
park that’s out in the middle of fucking nowhere and ride into a huge, barren
warehouse. It must’ve been a ninety plus degrees in that place. I was sweating
my balls off, and there stands this guy in a long trench coat, mask, sunglasses
and stupid hat.”

“Blackwell?”

“Blackwell. At first I worried I was about get offed, but it
wasn’t me they intended to kill.” Rolo stared into space. “When Blackwell
turned, all the lights in the joint switched on. In the middle of the concrete
floor stood a table, like they use for surgeries, with a naked girl strapped to
it.”

Lynch’s stomach dropped. “Who was she?”

“No clue. She couldn’t have been any older than my Carrie.
God…she looked so fucking scared. That’s when I noticed Bowyer stood to the
side. Sharpening his knife.” Rolo swallowed, the sound echoing in the deadly
quiet office. “Bowyer started with her toes and peeled away her skin one layer
at a time.” He turned blank eyes to Lynch. “They didn’t bother gagging her, I
guess cuz they knew no one would hear her. Her screams were like nothing I’d
ever heard before. So shrill and piercing. Such agony and pain. I never want to
hear that sound again.”

Lynch wiped his sweaty palms on his pant legs as his gut
cramped harder.

Sweet Jesus
.

Rolo shifted his gaze to a spot on the wall. “After I puked
up every meal I’d eaten for a week, Junkyard handed me a manila envelope
containing pictures of Roxie, Carrie and Vivi. Blackwell said if I didn’t go
through with the new deal, the next girl on that table would be one of them.”

Bile splashed up Lynch’s throat.

Oh…sweet, sweet Jesus
.

Forget about being held by the balls. These guys had Rolo by
the throat.

The big man looked back at Lynch. “But I told Blackwell it
wasn’t up to me…that the table had to vote, and no way would the Streeters
choose to be a part of this. We might be criminals, but we had hard limits.
That’s when Junkyard came up with the pharms angle.”

The expanding silence smothered Lynch.

Rolo Pruett was as hard and calloused as any gangbanger.
He’d never be accused of having a moral compass because morality and
criminality didn’t mix. But what he witnessed in that warehouse—and the ominous
threat to his daughters—would test even the most depraved individuals.

Lynch took a breath, hoping to quiet his riotous belly, and
looked at Rolo. “But Flyer didn’t buy the pharmaceutical story.”

“No. When I told him about that girl, he agreed to keep his
mouth shut. Life pretty much went back to normal until…”

“Until?”

“Tre Olsen joined the club.” Rolo blew out another somber
chuckle. “
He
turned out to be a goddamn fed. I must’ve been getting old
because I didn’t see any of the signs till it was too late.”

“What do you mean too late?”

Moisture brightened Rolo’s eyes. “Olsen got Flyer to flip on
the club.”

Lynch’s body tightened. “Flyer didn’t go to Idaho, did he?”

“No.”

Though Lynch knew the answer, he still had to ask the
question. “Was he killed?”

Rolo sat up and gave Lynch a beseeching look. “You hafta
understand, Flyer had turned into a fucking narc, and that couldn’t be allowed.
He needed to go. For the good of the club.”

“You mean for the good of a payout.”

Rolo’s expression transformed into a vicious scowl. “You
think it was about some goddamn payout? The lives of my daughters were at
stake. Are
still
at stake.”

Lynch reigned in his burgeoning temper. “Did the vote at
least go to the table?”

“It couldn’t. It’d lead to too many questions.”

“So you played judge, jury and executioner?”

“Goddamn it.”
Rolo slammed his fist on his desk. “Do
you honestly think I’d willingly allow Flyer to be…” His voice cracked and he
bowed his head. “I tried to reason with Junkyard…he said there was no other
way.” The big man wiped his nose with a sniffle. “I loved Flyer, but it was
either him or my girls,” Rolo said in a quiet, tortured voice. He looked Lynch
square in the eye. “I didn’t have a fucking choice then, and I don’t have one
now.”

Lynch understood family was everything to a man. He’d do
whatever it took to keep his mom safe. Given the grim circumstances, he
couldn’t blame Rolo for his decisions. But Lynch still had a job to do. “What
can you tell me about the scheduled shipment next week?”

A beefy shoulder rolled up. “Nuthin’. Junkyard doesn’t tell
me anything until a few days before. Wait…how do
you
know about it?”

“As I said, Junkyard needs to close ranks with his crew,”
Lynch lied. “Do you know where the girls are being stashed?”

Rolo squinted. “Why you want to know that?”

“I’ll tell Jarvis. Hopefully she can use her federal
connections to stop Blackwell.”

“That won’t stop him. Hell…it’ll just piss him off, and you
don’t want that, trust me.”

Lynch could only stare at the man sitting across from him.
“That’s it? You plan to just keep doing what you’re doing? Keep sacrificing
other people’s daughters to save your own?” He shook his head. “I understand
your predicament, brother, but this is not how the Rolo Pruett I once knew
would act.
That
man would find a way out. If not to save those innocent,
young girls then to avenge Flyer’s murder.”

Rolo scrubbed both hands down his face. “I’m not that man.
Not anymore.”

“Then I’ll be that man. Just tell me where the girls are
being held.”

“
I don’t know
. Like everything else, Junkyard doesn’t
tell me shit.”