by Devney Perry
Who was Draven Slater? Presley spoke about him with such reverence and love, but he was a criminal. In the movie, we were showing him as a criminal. He’d been arrested for murder and according to my research and Ann’s storyline, it hadn’t been the first time Draven had been in handcuffs.
The newspaper hadn’t mentioned too much about Draven’s motorcycle club, which made the entire thing suspicious. But since the reporter and owner of the newspaper had the last name Slater, that hadn’t been a shock. Bryce Slater was Dash’s wife, Draven’s daughter-in-law. She’d written clean, informative news for the Tribune. She’d covered Draven’s trial fairly. Marcus’s too. There was just a big hole when it came to the Tin Gypsies. Any references were vague and dismissive.
The key dynamic in the film, besides Marcus’s own internal conflict, was the battle between Marcus and Draven. The plot centered around their old rivalry. Draven’s past crimes had been embellished slightly from his rap sheet, and Marcus’s inability to keep him in a jail cell would be the catalyst for his breaking point.
There was no way to know, but I had a hunch we were closer to the truth than even we’d realized.
I was hungry for details, not because it would change the movie, but for myself. The former cop in me wanted answers. I wanted to know more about these people, and I wanted to know more about Presley.
I stood from the motel’s bed and grabbed my phone. I’d been staying at the Evergreen since I’d returned to Montana and my time here was about over. The room was clean, but the shower was too short for a guy my size and the queen-sized bed wasn’t big enough. I needed room to sprawl. Come tomorrow, I’d have a space of my own and a decent bed.
The morning sun warmed my face as I stepped outside, sunglasses and keys in hand. I wasn’t shooting today. Cameron and the crew were doing setup for a night scene, so I had a while before my call time.
My plan was to talk to Presley and hopefully work the doubts out of my head, but before I went to the garage, I was heading to the police station.
I’d meant to swing by last week, but shooting had been busy. This morning I was making time to see the place where Marcus had worked. I wanted to introduce myself to the chief, the guy who’d arrested Marcus, and get a read on him.
The motel’s parking lot was nearly empty as I left, everyone else having left before six this morning. We were rotating out cast members to keep location time at a minimum.
Last week, we’d shot a few outdoor scenes so Cameron could get his rugged look. One had been of Marcus as a young cop, patrolling town and helping an elderly woman change a tire at the end of his shift. Another had been of Marcus taking his wife out to dinner. They were scenes to lay a foundation, to show Marcus had been a good man.
Despite Presley’s hatred toward him, I needed to believe he’d been a moral man once. That one horrific act didn’t erase the good he’d done. The good I’d assumed he’d done.
Tonight, we were shooting a scene at Marcus’s home. He—me—would be on his couch in his living room, sitting alone and drinking a glass of tequila. His wife, played by a nice actress I hadn’t met before, would come in and kiss his forehead good night. She’d exit the shot with the tails of her nightgown floating over the carpet. And when she was gone, Marcus would cringe. He’d wait, sipping his drink, until he was sure she was asleep. Then he’d call Amina.
He’d smile and relax, because he was on the phone with the love of his life.
Tomorrow night’s shoot would be one of ten depicting the night Marcus had been arrested for Amina’s murder. Then the actress playing his wife would fly out and a new set of characters would fly in.
The only constant through the movie was me. I was in every scene.
It would be grueling, and sleep would be scarce. What I should be doing during my free time was resting and running lines, but until I had some answers, I wouldn’t be able to concentrate.
I didn’t need my GPS to navigate the streets of Clifton Forge any longer and the police station was easy enough to find along the river. I parked beside a cruiser, hopped out and jogged up the steps to the front door. The cement radiated heat, even this early, and I was glad I wouldn’t have to stand under the scorching sun in full makeup.
The lobby of the station was as expected, plain and beige. I walked up to the officer stationed behind a glass window. “Morning. I was wondering if the chief was in.”
“I’ll check.” He pointed to the row of chairs along the wall.
I took a seat, balancing my elbows on my knees as I waited. The officer hadn’t asked me for my name. I guess he hadn’t needed it.
Five minutes later, a door opened with a loud click and a tall man about my height and size walked out wearing a navy uniform shirt, jeans and cowboy boots. “Shaw Valance?”
“Chief?” I stood and met him in the middle of the room.
He shook my hand. “Luke Rosen.”
“Nice to meet you. Sorry to just drop by.”
“No problem.” He waved for me to follow him. “Come on back.”
The smell of coffee, leather and aftershave filled my nose as we entered the station’s bullpen. Cluttered desks. Empty chairs. It was familiar and comforting, and while a part of me longed for the past, another part of me was glad I didn’t have to walk into this every day.
There were only two officers in the bullpen, one man and one woman. Both were wearing shirts like Luke’s, but they had on the coordinating pants with guns and badges hanging from their belts. They stopped talking when I passed their desks, so I lifted a hand and waved. They nodded.
“Coffee?” Luke asked as he crossed the threshold to his office.
“No thanks.” I stepped in so he could close the door behind me.
“So, Shaw”—he took his chair behind his desk—“what can I do for you?”
“I just wanted to introduce myself,” I said as I sat down. “And I wanted to see the station.”
“Is it what you expected?”
“You’ve got a nice setup,” I answered. “Was this his office? Marcus’s?”
“It was.”
The beige walls were dotted with certificates and pictures. There was a window behind Luke’s chair that gave him a view to the river, rolling and glittering under the sun. The leaves of the trees outside danced in the gentle breeze.
Had Marcus sat in that chair each morning after the murder, knowing he hadn’t deserved the badge on his hip? Or had he compartmentalized Amina so completely that he’d justified his actions?
I was planning on playing him a little bit of both. He’d kept working. After the murder, he’d done his job as chief and he’d done it well. But he had to have known that he was a hypocrite. There had to have been some moments of self-loathing. He must have had some reservations, putting on his shirt each morning.
“You worked for Marcus, right?”
Luke nodded. “Since my first year on the force. I grew up here. Went to the academy and came home.”
“What was he like?”
“Why do you want to know?” Luke leaned forward.
“Because I want to make sure I do this movie right.” It was part of the reason.
“He was a good cop. Until he wasn’t. He was a good man. Until he wasn’t.”
“Were there signs?”
Luke narrowed his gaze. “Are you asking me if I knew my boss was a murderer but didn’t do anything about it?”
“No.” I held up my hands. “No blame here. I’m just curious.”
“Why?”
“Because I was a cop. Graduated community college and went right into the academy. I served on the force for five years before I quit. I’ve known good cops and bad. I guess I’m just . . . I’m trying to understand. I don’t want to glorify Marcus.” I was stealing Presley’s words.
“Good. He doesn’t deserve glory. He killed a woman and used his position to pin it on an innocent man. I think that explains it all.”
“I guess it does.”
I looked around the
room again, taking in the personal touches. There was a picture of Luke fishing on the river. Another of him in uniform, standing between an older couple I assumed were his parents. And then one of him standing on a ridge, overlooking a mountain valley.
This guy had the life that would have been mine if not for the school bus incident.
“You feel like getting a beer?” I blurted. Where the hell had that come from, Valance?
“A beer?”
“Yeah,” I said as the idea sunk in. “I miss the force. I miss the stories. And I bet you have some good ones.”
“To go in your movie?”
I shook my head. “Just to talk. Promise. The truth is, I miss being a cop. I miss the camaraderie. And it’s hard for me to keep in touch with the guys I used to work with in California.”
The guys from my former SWAT team didn’t want to risk being caught on camera. I didn’t blame them. Most of them preferred quiet lives when not on the clock. Most didn’t have social media accounts, because exposing themselves meant putting their families at risk.
Even though I hadn’t been on the team anymore, they’d done their best to include me in summer barbeques, but after about a year, I’d stopped going. I hadn’t fit into that life anymore. With travel, my schedule was unpredictable, and we’d drifted apart.
But I missed it. I missed them.
“What do you say?” I asked. “I’ll buy you a beer and you can let me live vicariously through you for an hour.”
Luke gave me a sideways glance.
“I’m serious.” I chuckled, raising my right hand. “Honest. I just feel like talking about cop stuff with a cop and knowing we aren’t going to get caught on camera.”
He studied me for a long moment, then nodded. “All right.”
“Thanks.” I stood and fished my wallet out of my pocket. I took out a business card for Valance Pictures, flipped it over and scribbled my private number on the back with one of his pens. “How about we meet Friday at The Betsy? I haven’t been there yet.”
“Six?” Luke took the card.
“Sounds great.” I shook his hand again, then let myself out of his office.
Luke followed me out, escorting me to the lobby. He waved, I waved, and then I was outside, driving to the one place I couldn’t seem to stay away from.
The Clifton Forge Garage.
The parking lot was full of cars, more than I’d expected for a Monday morning. There were cars in each of the bays and three parked in a waiting line. My normal spot was taken by a black Yukon beside what I’d determined was Presley’s white Jeep.
She was on the phone when I walked inside the office and caught me from the corner of her eye. “We have an o-opening—” She faltered, blinking twice before focusing on the phone conversation. “We have an opening at three o’clock. Okay, great. See you then.”
“Hi,” I said as she hung up.
“Hi.” It wasn’t a warm welcome, but it wasn’t her icy glare. Improvement.
“Pres—” A woman came out of an office and stopped mid-step when she spotted me. Her dark hair fell down her shoulders as she eyed me up and down with pretty brown eyes. Then her mouth turned up, not in a smile, but a cunning grin. “Shaw Valance.”
“Bryce Slater.” I’d seen her picture and read her bio on the Tribune’s website while I’d been researching.
“Here to check on your bike?” Her shrewd gaze reminded me of other reporters in LA, the ones who made me think through my words carefully. Bryce knew I wasn’t really here about the bike.
“Sure.”
“Dash is—”
A small body collided with her legs, cutting her off. Then another little boy appeared on her other side. Both kids were dressed in bright swim trunks and coordinating rash guards. They had flip-flops on their feet.
“Mommy, can we have a sucker?” the older boy asked. The s came out as th, the word thucker. He looked to be about three, the same age as one of my nieces.
“Not before swimming lessons,” Bryce said.
“Pwease,” he begged.
“Sorry.” She ruffled his hair and bent to pick up the smaller boy, who had wrapped himself around her calf like a monkey. “These are my boys. Xander.” She glanced to the older boy, then bounced the other on her hip. “And this is Zeke.”
“Hey, guys.” I crouched to greet Xander, then held out my fist for a knuckle bump. He hesitated, then wacked his fist against mine. “Nice. How old are you, Xander?”
He held up three fingers.
“Three? I have a niece named Brittany and she’s three too. But you’re taller than she is.” He gave me a shy smile as I stood and winked at Zeke. “And how old are you?”
He buried his face in Bryce’s neck but kept one eye on me.
“He’s two,” Bryce answered.
“I have another niece who’s two. And then a whole line of them. Four, five, six, seven, eight and nine.”
“Eight nieces?”
“That’s right. Each one a year apart, give or take a few months. No nephews. The girls all belong to my three sisters.”
Bryce grinned. “That’s a lot of girls.”
“Family reunions in about ten years are going to be interesting.” I chuckled. “I’ve got to admit, I feel like I know you. I’ve spent the better part of the past weekend reading a lot of your articles from the newspaper.”
She hummed. “And?”
“Let’s just say, I’m glad you run the Clifton Forge Tribune and don’t work at a magazine in California. I have enough trouble with the reporters and paparazzi there. Someone like you would eat me alive.”
She laughed. “Hollywood isn’t my thing, but thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
“It was nice to meet you, Shaw. We’ve got to get going.”
“We’re going thwimming,” Xander declared as Zeke squirmed to get down.
“Let’s say goodbye to Daddy.” Bryce took Zeke’s hand as Xander bolted through the door.
There was one customer in the waiting room but none out front, leaving Presley and me alone. When I turned, her assessing stare was waiting.
I assumed my usual chair. “I heard what you said last week.”
“Good.” She met my gaze, giving me her full attention. There was something different about her today. Her guard was still up, but the fortress wall wasn’t ten feet thick or twenty feet high.
“I’m trying to do the right thing, and I think we are. But you’re right, I wasn’t here during that time so I’m asking for dinner.”
She blinked. “Dinner?”
“I want to take you out.”
“Out? Like . . . on a date?” Her last word was tortured.
What was so bad about dinner with me? I ate with a fork. I chewed with my mouth closed. And I’d been told my company was rather charming.
Maybe I wasn’t making progress after all. No woman in history had rebuked me like Presley, not even the girls in high school, when I’d gone through my awkward phase at fourteen.
“I didn’t say date,” I corrected. “I said dinner.”
“And I say no.”
“Why not? It’ll give us a chance to get to know one another. You can tell me about what happened. I can tell you about the movie.”
“We don’t need to go out for dinner to discuss either of those topics.”
“Come on. Why not?”
Her gaze narrowed. “You don’t even know my last name.”
“What’s your last name?”
“Marks.” That wall was coming down, inch by inch.
“Okay.” I grinned. “Presley Marks, would you go to dinner with me?”
“This sounds more and more like a date. And my answer is still no.”
“But you still haven’t given me a good reason.”
She shrugged. “I think you’re ugly.”
My laughter filled the room. Christ. When had a woman called me ugly? Even that hadn’t happened at fourteen. “Liar.”
The corner of her mouth t
witched. “I can’t be seen around town with you.”
“What? I’m a good guy. I’m even having a beer with your chief of police on Friday at The Betsy.”
“You? At The Betsy? You might scuff those fancy boots. Or is this you trying to be authentic?”
I leaned forward, holding her stare. “I’m not afraid of getting dirty.”
The word sent a zing between us. My mind jumped to her black T-shirt and how quickly I could peel it off to find out if that red bra was underneath.
Presley’s cheeks turned pink and her eyes darted to my mouth before she turned away and cleared her throat.
“So what do you say? Dinner? I’ll tell you all about the movie. You can tell me where I’m fucking it up.”
“No.” She shook her head. “No dinner. But we can discuss it here.”
“When?” I grumbled, trying not to take this as a complete loss.
“Friday. The office is quiet on Friday afternoons.”
I nodded. “Then Friday afternoon it is.”
Chapter Six
Presley
Two people were whispering in the ice cream aisle. Maybe it had nothing to do with me, but I abandoned my quest for chocolate chip cookie dough and turned the other way.
This was not my day.
Today had been long, and I didn’t have the courage to suffer through gossip with my chin held high.
The garage had been packed. I’d come in, expecting a nice steady stream of Tuesday oil changes, and it had become chaos. Tyler had called in sick. Leo had decided this particular Tuesday wasn’t one he’d felt like working. He and Dash had gotten into a fight over the phone. And we’d had more walk-ins in one morning than we’d had combined for the past two weeks.
But as Draven had taught me, we didn’t turn walk-ins away.
So the guys had hustled. I had hustled, grateful that Shaw hadn’t stopped in for one of his random visits, and by the time I’d left at six o’clock, I’d just wanted some ice cream.
But there was no way I was waiting for those people to stop talking about me. Okay, maybe they weren’t talking about me, but maybe they were. I wasn’t risking it.