by Cynthia Eden
“Right.” Luke drummed his fingers on the sticky table top. Got the first name, just need the last. “And where can we find old Kyle? We need to clear up a few things with him.”
A toss of her hair. Really blond hair. So blond it kind of hurt the eyes. “Hell if I know. Bastard split town right after…” Her lips trembled. The crack showed in her shell then. Pain. “He cut out a few weeks after we buried Saundra.”
“Kyle—right.” Luke gave a nod. “His last name was—”
“West,” Donna snapped out. “And if he knows what’s good for him, he ain’t never comin’ back.”
“Guess you didn’t like him much.” Luke figured that was a big understatement. “Wanna tell us why?”
One shoulder lifted in a hard shrug. “He screwed around on Saundra. She caught the jerk with his pants down.…”
Now he had a feeling she meant that literally.
“That man was her life. She stayed in this shithole for him…”
So Donna wasn’t exactly loving Gatlin, either.
“—and when she found out what he was really like, she planned to split as soon as she could. She was almost there.” A sad shake of her head. “Two more weeks, and she would have been long gone.”
Instead she was just dead.
“She didn’t get out, he did.” Monica tilted her head back and studied Donna with steady blue eyes. “Doesn’t really sound fair, does it?”
“Hell, no, it—”
“Donna!” The bartender’s voice roared across the room. “Table six needs a refill!”
She jerked her head. “On it.” Her tongue swiped over those too pink lips. “You think—you think Kyle had anything to do with Saundra’s death?”
“Is there anyone else who might have wanted to hurt her?” Luke asked softly, not really answering.
“No. Saundra—she was good. Class, you know? Never said a bad thing about anybody. She didn’t deserve what she got.”
“Most people don’t,” Monica murmured.
Donna stared down at her. “Find the bastard who hurt her, would you? Maybe I’ll sleep better then.” She spun away, blond hair fluttering.
“I doubt you will.” Monica pushed away the beer she’d never tasted. “It doesn’t usually help.”
But Donna was already at the bar getting more drinks, flashing a big smile at the bald bartender, and acting like she didn’t have a care in the world.
But Luke had heard the quaver in her voice. Donna did care.
Luke leaned toward Monica. “There wasn’t a mention of this ex-boyfriend in the file.”
“There should have been. The guy would have been at the top of my suspect list.”
His, too. Sometimes, the people you loved the most could be the ones who hurt you. Very, very badly.
He sure as hell knew that lesson.
“I’m going to step outside and call Sam,” Monica said as she rose, brushing back the midnight hair that skimmed her cheeks. “Let’s see what she can find out about this Kyle West.”
If anyone could find the guy’s deep dark secrets online, Luke figured it would be Samantha.
“Try to keep your eyes off Donna’s chest while I’m gone, okay?”
He blinked. Wow. What was that? Jealousy? “Baby, you don’t have to worry.” Donna wasn’t the one he wanted. Only Monica.
Her lips parted, and he saw a flash of surprise in her eyes. She hadn’t meant to say that. Ah, maybe that façade was falling away. His lips rose in a half-smile as she spun away from him and hurried away.
Damn, but he loved to watch her leave. Well, loved to watch that ass anyway. That sway was so nice. He’d take that view over any view of Donna every day of the week.
Monica pulled out her cell phone and tilted her head down. Probably already briefing Hyde. She always seemed to be checking in with him. After a moment, she vanished in the huddle of bodies.
He reached for his beer. Long day. Shit-tasting alcohol, but really, a beggar couldn’t choose.
The lip of the beer bottle touched his mouth, and he heard the shatter of breaking glass. The thud of flesh hitting flesh.
Monica.
He was on his feet in an instant, charging through the crowd. Another night flashed through his mind. Another bar. Another…
A woman screamed. Not Monica.
He shoved through a swarm of bodies and saw a redhead on the floor, her skirt twisted under her. Blood trickled from her lip.
“Fuckin’ cheatin’ whore!” A guy staggered, slipped, then lunged for her. “I’ll make you so…”
Luke tackled him. He slammed the drunk into the nearest table and felt the wood splinter and crash beneath them.
The man’s elbow clipped Luke hard, right under the eye, and the bastard roared as he twisted and rolled.
He was a big one. Tall, thick with fat and muscle, and the guy was a fighter.
Big and Meaty swung a ham-sized fist at Luke’s face. Definitely a fighter.
Luke dodged, then kicked out of the tangle of wood and limbs. He jumped to his feet and raised his arms. “Look, buddy, you don’t want to do this, I’m a—”
A snarl. A long, low, barely human snarl, then the drunk attacked.
Luke struck out, catching the guy in the jaw. His turn. Hard and fast. The dude staggered a bit, but didn’t go down.
The woman started sobbing, then she lunged for Luke. “Leave him alone!”
Leave him alone?
Christ.
He tried to shake her off, even as the bull got ready for another attack.
The guy came at him, slamming his fist into Luke’s gut while the woman held on with all her strength. Doesn’t pay to be a boy scout.
He kicked the bastard right in the groin.
“Fuck!” The guy’s high scream. The bigger they are, the harder they—
The woman dug her nails into Luke’s back. “Dammit, I’m with the FBI, you can’t—”
The bull was back on his feet. Breathing hard and balling his hands into fists. Not standing fully, probably couldn’t.
Catcalls came from the crowd. Some cheers.
No help. Of course not.
“Shouldn’t have got between Charlie and Lynn.…”
“Poor bastard.”
Luke figured he was the poor bastard in question. Great. He shook off the redhead and tried one more time to reach for his ID.
But Charlie took a swing at him.
Luke swung right back. His fist connected, Charlie’s didn’t, and the guy staggered.
What does it take to get this guy down?
“Aahhhh!” Great. Now the woman was screaming and charging him and—
“Freeze!” Monica’s shout, full of icy rage. “FBI. Don’t even think of taking another step.”
And for her, both Charlie and Lynn stilled. Their eyes widened. Their shoulders sagged.
Luke brushed off the bits of broken glass that clung to his arms. Not real sure where the glass came from.
He took his time crossing to her side. She was armed, her gun out and aimed.
“Call the sheriff,” she barked at the bartender. “These two have just assaulted a federal agent.”
“Wh-what?” Charlie shoved a hand through his thinning hair. “He ain’t no—he didn’t say—”
Oh, for fuck’s sake. Luke bent down and scooped up the ID that had been knocked from his fingers. “FBI, asshole.”
Monica looked at him. Shook her head. “Two minutes,” she muttered when he drew close, and she didn’t lower her gun. “I was gone for two minutes.”
He licked his lip, tasted blood, and said, “Helluva lot can go down in two minutes.”
That eye would be black soon. Monica stood at the bar, watching as Luke lifted a rag filled with ice and pressed it to his already darkening left eye.
Her gaze skated across the room, to the redhead with the torn shirt that the sheriff was leading out of the bar. Monica sighed. “You’re always trying to save the ladies.” His M.O. As long as she’d known him, the
guy had carried this rescue complex.
He turned toward her, sending droplets of water flying from his makeshift icepack. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She lifted her brows. “It means every time you see a woman that you think is in trouble, you jump in—”
“He hit her.”
“She’s not going to press charges against him.” The woman kept calling good old Charlie’s name and saying everything had been a mistake. Maybe her face had mistakenly gotten in the way of Charlie’s fist.
Luke’s Adam’s apple clicked as he swallowed. “She damn well should. If she doesn’t get away from him, he’ll kill her one day.” Grim certainty.
And something else. Pain. An old echo. Personal. Her head tilted. “Luke? There something going on here?”
He lowered the ice. “Fucking makes me sick. Every time I see a guy punching a woman.”
She touched him and felt the steel of his muscles beneath the flesh. This wasn’t about Charlie Donalds and Lynn Front. This was personal.
“They don’t leave.” His fingers clenched around the sodden rag. “Why the hell don’t they ever just leave ’em?”
She forgot the sheriff, the crowd, and the country music that made her temples ache. “Who are you talking about?”
He’d never told her about his family. Okay, she’d never asked. Because she hadn’t wanted to share her own screwed up past. When you were just hooking up for sex, you didn’t have to share. And you weren’t supposed to care.
Why did he make her break the rules?
“No one. I’m not talking about any damn one.” He tossed the rag onto the counter. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
She took a breath and hesitated. More was there, boiling beneath the surface, about to break right through that razor-thin control.
“We’ve got to head back to Jasper.” His hand pressed lightly against his stomach, and she was pretty sure he muttered “Sonofabitch.”
Getting hit by Charlie had to be like getting hit by a bus. If Luke was hurt like this, Lynn wouldn’t survive many more “mistakes.”
They left the bar. There wasn’t any more information to be had there, anyway. While Luke had iced his eye, she’d talked to the bartender and another waitress. Both had given her the same story about Saundra. A great lady. Lots of friends, but with a dick of an ex-boyfriend.
Outside, gravel crunched as a deputy’s cruiser pulled away.
“You sent them off together?” Luke demanded. Headlights cut across the bar’s parking lot.
Martin spun toward him. “She’s not gonna press charges. She never does.”
“Screw that. The whole bar saw what happened. There is no way…”
“The witnesses say you didn’t identify yourself, Agent Dante. That you attacked first.”
What? Monica’s gaze shot toward the star-dotted sky. Great. Just great.
“She was on the floor, bleeding, and he was getting ready to go at her again. So, hell, yes, I went in to stop him.”
Just like Luke. She glanced at him. Saving the world, one woman at a time.
“I can’t find anyone who actually saw Charlie hit her.” Martin crossed his arms and stared down Luke. “And they both say she slipped and hit her chin on the table.”
“Bullshit.”
“Ah, Luke…” They could use a bit of tact with the local authorities.
“No, no—he knows this is bullshit, and he’s not doing a damn thing about it! That woman is his punching bag—”
“From what I hear, that woman jumped you, Dante.”
Yeah, she had. Monica’s jaw had dropped when she’d walked back inside and seen the woman going for Luke’s back.
“He’s got her brainwashed,” Luke said. “She thinks she deserves the crap he’s giving her, and she’s staying with him because he’s her man, and—”
“Luke.” Monica put her hand on his chest and felt the tension tightening his body. “Take a breath.” They hadn’t come to Gatlin for this. He had to stay focused.
“I don’t need a breath.”
“Box it up,” she told him, making her own voice clipped. “We’re working a case here, Dante.”
His eyes flashed at her. Fire there.
“I thought ya’ll already got the information on the Swain girl.” The sheriff’s voice came on a slow roll. “What you doin’ out here at Gatorbait?”
Monica kept her hand on Luke’s chest. The fire in his eyes was contained. For now. “We were talking to friends of the victim.”
“Huh.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Sheriff, why didn’t the name Kyle West come up in the reports?”
“Don’t know, ma’am. That was before—”
“Before you transferred here. Right.” She licked her lips. “And the former sheriff? Patterson had a heart attack, didn’t he?”
“Yes, ma’am. Henry, bless him, passed away in September.” Not long after Saundra’s death and real close to Kyle’s disappearance from the county.
Things could never be easy.
“Well, thanks for your help, Sheriff.” She dropped her hand. “Looks like we’ll be heading out of Gatlin.”
His eyes were on her, studying way too closely. “And did you find what you were looking for?”
“I think we did.” But she’d found more. Memories that she didn’t want. “Let’s get out of here,” she said to Luke. He was all but vibrating against her. That rage might kick free soon, and she’d hate for him to be close to the sheriff when it did.
She headed for their vehicle. Heard the thud of his steps behind her. This little trip hadn’t been…
“Now I remember.” Martin called out, and her blood froze.
She stilled at his words, and the darkness that always surrounded her seemed to grow thicker. Monica took a quick breath before glancing back at him. Deliberately, she didn’t let her eyes stray to Luke.
“Remember what?” Clear and cold.
He gave a nod. “Kyle West. Seems I recall hearing about him… he was the sheriff’s nephew.”
Now she did risk a glance at Luke and saw the understanding in his eyes. Sometimes, even law enforcement looked the other way when it was family.
“Something else you should know, Dante.” The sheriff’s words were thicker now. “I don’t like this shit with Lynn any more than you do.”
She caught the tightening of Luke’s jaw. “Oh, really?”
“Hell, yeah. Lynn—she’s my sister.” He stalked toward them. His voice lowered when he said, “And I’ll be damned if I let her wind up in a grave.”
Family.
Yeah, sheriffs, agents, the cops on the beat—they could all break the rules for family. Especially when death came calling.
“Then you better make sure she stays the hell away from Charlie,” Luke ordered, “because that’s where he’s gonna put her.”
The two men’s stares locked. Then the sheriff gave a hard nod. “I’m workin’ on it.”
Family. Just how far would you go to protect family?
How far had Sheriff Patterson gone? “Tell me, Sheriff,” Monica said. “Are there any other members of Kyle’s family in town?”
He spat on the ground. “Just one. May Walker. Lives up on Grimes, past the fork that leads to the right.”
“Somebody lives here? We’re sure about that?” Luke asked, eyeing the dilapidated house on Grimes Street.
She could understand his disbelief. The house didn’t exactly look inviting. Darkness from within, two windows boarded up, and an overgrown lawn with thick, twisting trees that seemed to surround the rundown house.
“Don’t you take so much as another step or I’ll shoot you!”
Monica stiffened at the yell. A woman’s voice, coming thickly from the darkness of the porch. And, ah, yes, she could see the barrel of a shotgun. “We don’t mean you any harm.”
“Get off my property! Been robbed twice this week. Fool sheriff won’t help me; I’m helping myself! You’re not takin’ anything, so—”
“We’re not here to rob you,” Luke told her, his voice carrying easily. “We’re FBI agents, ma’am. We need to ask you some questions about your nephew, Kyle West.”
Silence.
Then, “What the hell you doin’ comin’ out here so late? Tryin’ to give an old woman a heart attack?”
“Uh, no—”
“Show me your ID!”
Carefully, Monica reached for her badge. Luke’s movements mirrored hers. Wood creaked, and a small figure of a woman with a bun of gray-streaked black hair eased down the steps. She still had a tight grip on her shotgun.
She squinted. “Can’t see shit.”
Good to know when that shotgun was so close.
After a moment, she dropped her gun. “If you’re robbers, you’re the loudest damn robbers I ever heard.”
“We’re not robbers,” Luke began.
She grunted. “Agents from the FBI.” She whistled. “And you lookin’ for Kyle, huh? You not gonna find him here.”
“We heard he left town,” Monica said.
“Yeah, yeah.” She rocked forward a little bit. “After Saundra—sweet little Saundra—he took off.” Her head turned a little bit to the right.
“And do you know where he went?”
May turned away. “Ya’ll come inside. I want to see them IDs in the light.”
They followed her in, and the steps creaked beneath them, a rough groan of sound.
The inside of May’s house was packed with old boxes, piled high, nearly touching the ceiling. There were old newspapers and dolls—lots of porcelain dolls with wide, black eyes.
Not any room to sit on the couch. It was covered with books.
But there was plenty of light, and May took her time looking at their IDs. Finally, she said, “Don’t know where Kyle went.”
“No idea at all?” Luke pressed.
“You get in a fight? What the hell happened to your eye?”
His shoulders lifted in a small shrug. “A fist that didn’t agree with me.” His gaze held hers, an intent look. “Ma’am, do you have any idea where Kyle is right now?”
She hesitated, and then her already narrow lips thinned even more. “Maybe out West. Used to talk about goin’ to California to try and find his dad.”