The Guard's Last Watch (A Bexley Squires Mystery)

by Quinn Avery

  She has no idea, Bexley thought as she stepped over the threshold with Brewer, praying Redding’s paranoia hadn’t provoked him into sleeping with a gun.

  The interior of the farmhouse was a sharp contrast from the outside. They deposited their shoes into a pile by the door and left Nicole in the industrial kitchen, wandering into a living room filled with pristine, modern-style furniture and newly engineered wood floors. Black and white murals of different rock bands in concert plastered several walls, and each room featured subtle decorations in hues of blue. On their way to the open stairway, they walked past an impressive grand piano and an acoustic guitar. The faint odor of weed clung to the air.

  “Maybe Redding has been good to his mom after all,” Brewer whispered to Bexley.

  She shivered when his warm breath tickled her ear. After removing his boots he’d claimed her hand, and she really hoped it was part of the act. “We need to be on high alert,” she whispered back. “He might not like the fact that you’re in his home after six years of radio silence.”

  “I’m not scared of him,” Brewer said with a chuckle.

  “Maybe you should be.”

  The wooden treads creaked and groaned beneath each of their footsteps. The second floor hadn’t been updated like the main level. The hallway was in dire need of paint and new carpet. And it was unusually dark, conjuring more visuals from horror movies.

  Bexley’s heartbeat thrummed in her chest as they neared Redding’s door. She suddenly doubted herself for traveling all that way to confront a man who was afraid and on the run.

  But Brewer didn’t allow her any more time to dwell on her decision. In a blur, he stormed into the room filled with trophies, and plucked a scruffy blonde man from a queen bed by fisting the front of his t-shirt.

  Redding’s eyes popped open and his jaw dropped. The men were nearly equal in height, but Brewer was muscular everywhere while Redding was skin and bones. He was no match for Brewer.

  “Hawk? Wha—”

  With one well-placed punch, Brewer knocked him down to the floor with a loud thud. “Who were we working for?” Brewer bellowed. “Who killed Stinger?”

  The sudden burst of anger unnerved Bexley. As she tried to formulate a plan to intervene, she heard Nicole charging up the stairway, calling her son’s name.

  “Brewer, his mom’s coming,” Bexley warned.

  Again, Brewer grabbed Redding by his t-shirt, this time helping him back to his feet. “Pretend nothing’s wrong, and I won’t tell your mom you’re a lowlife drug dealer.”

  Redding jerked his shirt from Brewer’s fist, chin held high, eyes hard. It’s was anyone’s guess whether or not he’d go along with the idea.

  “Otis!” Nicole panted as she entered the room. “Baby, are you alright?” She eyed the two men closely. “What the hell is going on up here?”

  “He surprised me is all,” Redding replied. His eyes traveled down to her t-shirt. “Put some damn clothes on, woman! No one should see you dressed like that!”

  His mom’s mouth twisted with an unsatisfied scowl as she crossed her arms over her breasts. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Yes!” Redding snapped. “Now please, for the love of God, put something decent on—starting with a bra!”

  “Stop being so dramatic around our guests. Breakfast will be ready in fifteen.” Nicole rolled her eyes in Bexley’s direction and giggled as she vacated the room.

  Redding’s eyes narrowed. “I thought you were dead, Hawk.”

  “Why, because you were told there was a hit out on him?” Bexley asked.

  “Who’re you?” Redding snarled back at her.

  With a flick of her elbow, Bexley nudged the door shut. “I’m the private investigator Brewer hired to find out who planted cocaine in his storage unit,” she snarled back. “I’m not leaving until you tell us who was on the receiving end of those drugs.”

  Redding released a high, nervous laugh. “You think I’m just going to give you a name, sweetheart?”

  Brewer loomed over him, looking ready to throw another punch. “Stinger is dead and I’m pretty sure someone tried to kill me in Mexico. Mugsy told me they quit your fucked-up gig shortly after I did. Why would they come after us now, and not back then?”

  “Because I recently tried to get out, okay!” Redding blurted. “Only they didn’t take kindly to the idea of letting me go when I know too many of their secrets! I guess they saw the rest of you as more loose ends I was leaving behind!”

  Head tilted, Brewer stared at Redding like he was trying to decide if the confession was truthful. “What do you mean you ‘tried’?”

  “Why?” Bexley pressed.

  Redding turned toward a window overlooking one of the empty pastures. “I was recently given a promotion of sorts. A few weeks ago, I came across some information from the higher-ups about shit that went down…regarding the way they do business.” His head hung lower as he continued to speak. “Smuggling drugs was relatively harmless—I wasn’t hurting anyone. We all know junkies will find a way to get a fix whether it’s through me or some other guy.” He reached behind his head, grasping his neck. “But killing innocent people…making some their slaves…man, that’s entirely different. I want nothing to do with that kind of bullshit.” With a remorseful look, he turned back to Brewer. “I didn’t think they’d come after you guys. You gotta believe me, Hawk.”

  “Tell us who ‘they’ are,” Brewer told him. “If they’re as powerful as you say, this won’t end until they’re behind bars.”

  “If I rat them out, they’ll kill us both.” He jerked his head at Bexley. “Her too.”

  “I won’t let them anywhere near her,” Brewer growled protectively, teeth barred.

  Bexley patted Brewer’s shoulder, barely resisting a “down boy.” She lifted her chin at Redding. “What if we could get you into a witness protection program?”

  His eyes rounded. “You could do that?”

  “I know someone who could,” she said, nodding. “This has to stop somewhere, Redding. If you don’t, who knows how many more innocent people will die as long as they’re in business. Can you really live a normal life with those deaths on your conscience? How long do you think you can run before they catch up with you?”

  “I don’t want to be on the run for the rest of my life,” he admitted in a wavering voice. “And I don’t want to see any more of my friends killed.” Tears glistened in his eyes. “What if they come after my family next? My mom…my little sister?”

  “Tell us who’s trafficking the coke,” Brewer said to him. “We’ll make sure they’re put away before they can hurt anyone else.”

  “Whoever you’re running from is human just like the rest of us,” Bexley added. “They can be brought down, no matter how powerful their delusions.”

  A deep sob tore from Redding’s lips. “I’m sorry, Hawk! I had nothing to do with it! You have to believe me! I didn’t know, man! I had no idea what they were planning! I never would’ve agreed to it!”

  Brewer’s eyes muddled with confusion. “Planning with me an’ Stinger?”

  “Not just that, man, I mean with—”

  A loud ping pierced the air.

  There was suddenly a spiderweb pattern in the window with a small hole in the middle.

  Bexley and Brewer silently watched as Redding touched his shoulder.

  It was bleeding.

  How? Bexley wondered. What’s happening?

  Redding’s face paled. “They’re already here,” he whispered.

  “Get down!” Brewer roared, diving toward Bexley. He hooked his arm around her waist and slammed her down to the floor behind the bed with a hard thump. Bexley moaned as a sharp pain radiated through her bones.

  Redding lowered down to their level, collapsing on his backside a mere second before another crack came from the window. That’s when it registered with Bexley that someone was shooting at them. Her brain was trying to protect her by going into shock.

  “How bad is it?
” Redding asked, turning to Brewer. The bleeding had accelerated, covering his entire hand and saturating his white t-shirt.

  Finally coming back to her senses, Bexley swiped a damp bath towel off the floor beside her. “Keep pressure on it,” she told Brewer, placing the towel over Redding’s wound. She reached for her cell phone inside her handbag. “I’m calling an ambulance.”

  “Forget it,” Redding told her. “We can’t get a signal out here. You have to use the landline in the kitchen downstairs. Mom wanted to get rid of the dumb thing, said it made her feel old, but I told her she had to keep it in case of emergencies.” His complexion turned a ghastly white. “Oh shit. Mom.” He tried getting up, but Brewer nudged him back down. “What if they shot her too?”

  Bexley lightly squeezed his forearm. “I’ll check on her—make sure she’s alright.”

  “You stay here, I’ll go,” Brewer offered.

  She shook her head. “Keep applying pressure to his wound. There’s no chance of getting those names from him if he’s dead.” She produced her stun gun from her handbag. “I brought this in my checked bag, just in case. I’ll be okay.”

  As Brewer held her gaze for a beat, Bexley felt something profound wash over her. It was a feeling that went well beyond protection.

  “Be careful,” he pleaded. “There could be more of them in the house.”

  She nodded in understanding. As she crawled toward the door, she was seized with an overwhelming urge to kiss Brewer. He’d let her go without putting up a fight. He truly believed she was capable of saving the day.

  She hoped he was right.

  17

  Bexley crept down the steps in her stockings, sliding her back against the wall and holding her thumb over the trigger on her stun gun. At the rate her heart was pumping blood and rushing through her ears, she was sure its thumping was audible. The bitter smell of charred bacon permeated the air, and smoke clung to the rafters. She could hear it sizzling among the lull of a rock ballad. How long until the fire detectors were triggered? Was Nicole merely a bad cook, and blissfully unaware someone was shooting at her house? Was she hiding? Dead?

  With every step Bexley took closer to the kitchen, a crippling panic began to set in. She wasn’t trained to dodge bullets, or take down a shooter. In fact, the last time someone had fired shots her way, she'd called Cineste’s boyfriend to save her.

  The tension in her chest unfurled a little once she located Redding’s mom, who appeared physically unharmed. The woman cowered on the kitchen’s white tiled floor beneath a row of windows, backside pressed to the lower cabinets, bare legs tucked against her chest, greasy spatula clutched in hand. Above her, three bullet holes pierced the windows, leaving a glittery trail of glass on the countertop.

  It appeared Nicole was seized with fright. With the site of Bexley coming at her, however, her eyes went wild. Bexley held a finger to her lips as she lowered down to the floor and crawled to the stove, turning off the burner. Once she traveled the remaining distance to sit beside Nicole, it felt as if she’d been holding her breath ever since leaving Redding’s room. She released it with a silent pant before turning to Nicole. “Are you okay?”

  The woman’s hazel eyes skipped down to Bexley’s stun gun. “Did you and Hawk lead these animals to my home?”

  Bexley grunted. “You’ll have to ask your son why they’re here.”

  Nicole’s voice tightened when she asked, “Where are the boys?”

  “Otis has been shot.”

  A whimper rose from Nicole’s chest as she clasped her hands over her mouth.

  “I’m convinced he’s going to be okay,” Bexley assured her, “but we need to call an ambulance. Where’s the phone?”

  With a trembling hand, Nicole pointed across the massive kitchen to a home office alcove. Among a laptop and large speakers, Bexley spotted the rotary phone. “Stay here,” she told Nicole before crawling in that direction. Every second that passed when her knees and the palms of her hands hit the cold tile felt like a countdown to her execution. Once tucked away in the alcove, she blindly reached up to the desktop and felt around for the phone.

  A man wearing a semi-transparent mask with holes for his eyes and mouth breached the kitchen entrance. He was dressed in all black from his stocking cap to his boots, and wielded a large pistol.

  “On your feet,” he demanded in a deep, gravelly voice while charging at Nicole.

  “Please don’t hurt me or my son!” she cried. As she reluctantly stood, Bexley realized the man hadn’t noticed her crouched in the alcove behind him.

  “Call your son and his friends!” the man barked. “Get them down here, now!”

  Nicole raised her hands up to the ceiling. “Okay! Okay, I will!”

  As Nicole called her son’s name, Bexley gathered the courage to sneak up behind the man, stun gun aimed at his lower back. She hoped it contained enough wattage to bring the beefcake down. In the same moment she was ready to fire, the man’s ears perked.

  He spun around. Her heart slammed to a standstill as he raised the pistol.

  “Hey, asshole!” Brewer yelled from the kitchen’s threshold. “Get the hell away from her!”

  The man’s head snapped in the other direction, giving Bexley the perfect opportunity to apply the prongs to his jugular. He dropped to the floor with the finesse of a sack of potatoes.

  The deafening sound of large tires spinning on gravel roared from outside. Nicole ran to the window. “We must’ve scared his friends away!”

  Brewer rushed past Bexley, pushing his knee into the man’s back and gathering his hands together. He glanced up at Nicole. “Do you have any rope or large zip ties lying around?”

  “I think my husband kept some in the garage,” she answered, dashing from the room.

  Brewer’s eyes shifted to where Bexley grabbed the house phone. His expression softened. “You alright?”

  While dialing 9-1-1, she answered him with an affirmative smile.

  The arrival of emergency personnel to the Welder acreage was chaotic. A firetruck arrived right before two ambulances. Minutes after that, the driveway filled with half a dozen local PD and sheriff cars with every last light flickering and siren wailing. Nicole was near hysterics once she saw how much blood Otis had lost, and began beating the shooter with a boot.

  The man refused to reveal his identity. Once he was cleared by a set of paramedics, they quickly hauled him off in the back of a police car. Bexley was busy watching the other paramedics load Redding into the ambulance, and lost track of Brewer in the mayhem.

  A tall, fair-haired man wearing a sheriff’s badge approached Bexley. “Miss Squires, I’d like you to come down to the municipal station for a thorough questioning.” He motioned to a white vehicle with SONG COUNTY SHERIFF displayed in large black letters along the side. “You can follow my squad car into town.”

  Bexley balked when noticing Brewer was sitting in the caged backseat. From the awkward angle he leaned forward, she assumed his hands were cuffed behind him. “What’s Brewer doing in there?” she demanded. “Where are you taking him?”

  Glancing over his shoulder, the sheriff tipped his tan cowboy hat back. “Mr. Hawkins willingly provided his name, and informed us there’s a warrant for his arrest in California. He wanted to go in peacefully.”

  Brewer caught her wide-eyed stare and smirked before mouthing the words, “It’s o-kay.”

  “Take it easy on him,” she told the sheriff. “Those absurd charges are directly connected to this shooting. He’s being set up.”

  “That’s for a court of law to decide, ma’am,” he answered. “I’m merely doing my job of executin’ the warrant.”

  Bexley climbed into her rental and followed the entourage of law enforcement cars for ten miles into a little town. Aside from a few dozen simple houses—some appearing long since condemned—the only other buildings consisted of a chain variety store, and a chain gas station.

  Local law enforcement appeared to be in over their heads with the
shooting. Both sheriff deputies and local city officers filled the small building to its limits, buzzing around like bees in a hive while a chorus of phones rang on an endless loop. Bexley doubted the small, sleepy community had ever been forced to deal with any crime more extreme than a juvenile prank involving livestock and a staircase.

  A young, eager-to-accommodate deputy named “Peck” instructed Bexley to wait in the municipal building’s break room since their only interrogation room was already occupied. By the time she was questioned by the sheriff and half a dozen of his deputies, they decided her story matched the statements given by Nicole and Brewer, and told her she was free to leave.

  But she wasn’t going anywhere without Brewer.

  Numerous calls to Grayson and Luke Jacobs went unreturned. She finally spoke with Luke’s secretary to discover he was in trial, and wasn’t expected to be available until early evening. Bexley practically bounced off the plain white walls as she waited to hear of Brewer’s fate. Sometime early afternoon, Deputy Peck brought her a sub sandwich and chips with a bottle of water. She dozed shortly after that with her head propped on her arms over the table.

  She woke to the sound of a sharp knock.

  Her heart seized with the sight of Grayson stepping into the room wearing a crisp suit and tie. Although shocked by his presence—she hadn’t left any details of her predicament in her voicemail—she was grateful to see him. They each grinned and silently met in the middle for a friendly embrace.

  “This is starting to feel like Groundhog’s Day,” he quipped, squeezing her a little harder. “You spend more time in sheriff stations than your own office.”

  Laughter stuck in her throat as she drew back. “What are you doing here?”

  “Lieutenant Baker sent me. I reached out to a few contacts on the flight over, and made arrangements for Welder once he’s out of surgery. As long as he gives us names, we can promise his safety from that point forward.”