Burning Ache

by Adrienne Giordano

  Ha. Good luck there.

  Roni twisted around, the pressure of the seatbelt tugging on her. She gripped it, gave it a good yank for maneuvering room, then peered at Way over the seat. “You know what she’s doing. She’s dropping me off first so she can grill you about why we were together.”

  “Of course I know that.”

  “I do not like people talking about me when I’m not around. It involves me. I should be included.”

  The pressure of the seatbelt irritated her—or maybe it was the situation. Roni turned front again and stared out the windshield into the darkness while the tension in the car nearly strangled her.

  “Fine,” Maggie said, her voice a little too snappy for Roni’s taste. “Let’s talk. What’s going on with you two? And don’t try to deny it. I’ve got a county to oversee and you two are up to something.”

  * * *

  Maggie took the next turn a little too hard and momentum shifted Way left. After years of driving this mountain, his sister knew it well enough that he didn’t worry about her crashing. But she was keyed up right now and that, mixed with blackness and an unforgiving mountain, didn’t necessarily make for comfort.

  “Mags, all due respect, take it easy. It’s been a long night.”

  She hit a straightaway and gave him another second of hard eye contact via the rearview. His sister had questions.

  Lots of them.

  And he might or might not answer them. Time would tell.

  Way shut up and focused on the back of Roni’s head. If they were smart, they’d all get some sleep and discuss this in the morning.

  On his best day, his family’s meddling taxed him. Never mind after someone nearly knocked him off a mountain.

  “Waylon,” Maggie said, “start talking.”

  “About?”

  “Please. Don’t be an ass. You almost got yourself killed tonight. And worse, you brought Roni along for the ride. Literally.”

  Roni put up a hand. “Oh, now, hold on, Maggie.”

  Mags? Hold on? Please. That was the dead last thing she’d do.

  “I will not hold on. My brother—a gunsmith—called me two days ago with questions regarding the type of bullet used in a murder.” Maggie took another glance at him in the rearview, then went back to the road. She ripped through a hairpin turn, cutting it way too close to the gravel edge.

  Jesus, she might kill them yet. “Maggie, slow down.”

  She eased off the accelerator. “Since when are you, of all people, afraid of fast driving? Or maybe you’re changing the subject, because God forbid Waylon Kingston should have to explain himself.”

  Yep. Here we go.

  Except she lifted one hand from the wheel and waved it off. “Forget it. I’m not fighting with you about that. This is a police matter and I’m a cop. I ask questions. Deal with it.”

  A police matter. This thing was starting to unravel, and the one thing he didn’t want was Maggie involved. And yet, here they were with her square in the middle. He owed her at least a partial explanation. “So, ask your questions.”

  “Fine. Let me tell you how this looks. My friend, who works for the CIA, shows up unannounced inquiring about a gang shooting that may or may not be connected to the unsolved murder of a colleague. A few days later, my brother, who builds and modifies weapons and ammunition for a living, asks me questions regarding yet another murder committed with the same frangible bullets. Now we’ve had two more murders committed with highly specialized bullets that, in the whole of my career, I’ve never seen. And both murders were in fairly close proximity to my county and you, the ammunition expert.”

  Hidden in darkness, Way flinched. When she laid it out that way, it did look bad.

  He leaned forward. “You came to me first, remember? You asked my advice. Why shouldn’t I be curious about that second shooting? I’m a gun guy.”

  “Gang members slaughter each other all the time and you never asked. It’s been driving me crazy since you called me, but heaven help me if I ask you about it. You’ll just jump on me about butting into your business. As if I’m not allowed to be concerned about my brother. Well, guess what? Too fucking bad.”

  Oh, wow. His sister dropping an f bomb.

  “I want to know,” she ranted, “why you care about these shootings. If it’s idle curiosity, fine, I’d be thrilled. But if it’s more, you better tell me right now so I can help you.”

  To that, he had no answer. Other than the obvious one…that he was indirectly involved in the whole godforsaken mess.

  Roni swung around and faced him.

  “We should tell her.”

  It took every bit of his control to stay silent. Why in hell would he want to tell her? From the beginning, he’d wanted to avoid getting Maggie involved. Bad enough there was some twisted connection with a member of her task force. An extremely dead one.

  Throw in the CIA and he had a class-A shitshow on his hands.

  Mags navigated the last of the switchbacks leading down the mountain. “Now we’re getting somewhere. Tell me what?”

  When they stayed silent, Maggie eased the car to a stop at a stop sign and shot them both an I-will-hurt-you look. “That’s how we’re doing this? Fine. Allow me to be direct.” Her foot still on the brake, she angled back to face Way. “Tell me you didn’t build these bullets.”

  Which he couldn’t do. Not if the agency could be lying about the test bullets.

  Roni swung back and, even in the dark, he saw the desperation in her wide eyes. She didn’t like keeping information from her friend.

  He loved the loyalty, hated forcing her to choose.

  “We have to tell her,” Roni said. “Please.”

  We.

  Not you.

  With the shit hitting the fan, Roni Fenwick, CIA employee, stepped up to help take the heat.

  He peered back at his sister’s tight-lipped expression that could have been hurt, worry, or anger. Maybe all.

  He’d wanted to shield her from this when, in fact, he probably should have done the exact fucking opposite.

  Damn. Way to royally screw the whole thing up.

  He held up two hands. “Okay. But you have to listen. Let me finish and then you can ask questions.”

  He paused for a few seconds and waited for her to nod. Jesus. Maggie silent? He couldn’t believe it. They’d see how long it lasted.

  “The short of it is,” he said, “I designed a frangible bullet that the CIA has been testing.”

  Her mouth fell open. “The CIA? Oh, my God. Let me pull over so I can focus.”

  She hit the gas again, drove half a block to the now-closed convenience store, and pulled into the empty lot, choosing the first parking space. His sister, had to love her. She had the whole damned lot to herself and made sure to pull into a spot. After shifting to park, she unbuckled her seat belt and spun sideways.

  “Okay. Go ahead. The CIA.”

  “When you came to me with the autopsy photos from that first gang shooting, I, well, I lost my shit a little bit. I mean, how often do you see an acid-filled bullet? Not to mention one that looks a whole lot like one I designed. Anyway, I sent the agency an initial batch over the summer. They asked for some tweaks, which I made. I then sent another batch. They have one hundred total.”

  She raised her hand. “Can I ask a question? Just for clarification?”

  Good old Mags. “Go ahead.”

  “It’s the obvious one—”

  “According to the agency,” Roni said, “they still have them all.”

  Maggie faced her, cocking her head one way, then the other. “Oh my God. That’s why you’re here.”

  18

  Shame, in the form of bile, crawled up Roni’s throat. She’d known Maggie would eventually figure out she’d been used. By her supposed friend. Roni had hoped it would be after the case wrapped and she could explain how secrecy was a matter of national importance. That the CIA could have been compromised, yada, yada.

  None of that happened and a
ny rational explanation, in Roni’s mind, fell flat.

  “Before you get mad—”

  “Oh, I’m already there. You misled me.”

  No sense denying it. “I did. I tried to avoid it.”

  “That’s what you’re going with? Don’t patronize me.”

  “I’m not. Honestly. I’ve been conflicted about your involvement from the beginning. I thought if I could get you to introduce me to Way, that would be the end of it. That I could keep you out of it.”

  “She’s telling the truth,” Way said. “She didn’t want to mix you up in this. Neither of us did. This involves the agency’s head of science and development and the associate deputy director of administration. They’re guys with connections. None of us want to fuck with them.”

  Maggie faced Roni. “The associate deputy director is your boss, isn’t he?”

  “He’s a couple levels above me, but yes. When the first murder occurred he came to me, along with Don Harding from science and development. Asked me to use my friendship with you to investigate Way. They think he sold the design to someone else. That he’s double-dipping.”

  “He wouldn’t do that.” Maggie looked at him over the seat. “Tell me you signed an NDA.”

  “Yeah. I’m clean as a whistle.”

  “Then where are these bullets coming from?”

  They took the next ten minutes to bring Maggie up to speed. As they talked, her ever-efficient friend jotted notes on a dome-light-illuminated notepad she’d pulled from her glove box.

  When Way finished, Maggie checked her notes. “You’re sure the agency has all one hundred bullets accounted for.”

  “As far as I can tell.”

  “And it’s not as if the CIA has never lied.”

  “Maggie—”

  Mags pointed at Roni. “You’re not innocent in all this. Not by a long shot. The two of you have been running around doing your little investigation—an investigation within my county”—she jabbed her finger into her own chest—“that includes information about a task force I created. And you didn’t even bother to tell me? Are you kidding me? Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t be royally pissed at both of you.”

  Behind her, the swish of clothing drew her gaze. Way shifting around in his seat. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.”

  What a night. Lord, Roni had blown this. Risked one of the few relationships she truly never wanted to be without. She had to say something, anything, to knock Maggie’s rage to a ten rather than a forty.

  But she was right. About all of it. Roni let out a sigh, rubbed both hands over her face and let them drop. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

  “That makes two of us,” Way added.

  Maggie cocked her head, cupped a hand over her ear. “Come again? Way, did you really just apologize?”

  “I know you’re pissed.”

  “Pissed? What I am is worse than that. I’m disappointed, Waylon. Roni is one thing. She had a job to do. I get that. But you’re my brother. You should have come to me!”

  “He couldn’t.”

  They both swung to Roni, who, as tough as she was, considered staying out of the family squabble. But her role had contributed to this mess.

  “Roni,” Maggie said, “I’m talking to my brother.”

  “I know. But this involves me. And, all due respect, Mags, if you’d listen for two minutes, he’d tell you he didn’t want to involve you because he knew it would be a conflict for you. Plus, he was worried about you.”

  “Worried about me? Why?”

  “He’s dealing with the CIA. Do you think they give a crap about collateral damage? If it meant national security, they’d take both of you out.”

  He reached over the seat and touched Roni’s shoulder. Which only drew his sister’s stunned gaze.

  “Roni,” he said, “we’re good here. You don’t need to—”

  “Yes, I do. This is partially my fault, and I won’t sit here and let her tear into you.”

  Maggie’s mouth dropped open and the car filled with an awkward silence that made Roni’s skin itch.

  “The two of you,” Way said. “Shut it. Mags, we screwed up. We’re both sorry, but believe me, it was in your best interest. You and I? We don’t always agree, but you’re my sister and I’ll be goddamned if I’m going to put you in harm’s way. I don’t care if you are the sheriff.”

  His sister held his stare for a solid ten seconds that could have been ten minutes. Formidable. That was Maggie.

  She finally broke eye contact and shook her head.

  “Damn you, Waylon.”

  “I am sorry,” he said. “If it means keeping you safe, I’d lie to you ten times over.”

  After a prolonged and intense study of the convenience store sign, she waved a hand. “You’re a pain in the rear, but apology accepted.”

  Roni leaned back and rested her head against the seat. “I promise you, I’d never intentionally do anything—anything—to jeopardize our friendship. God knows, not many people can put up with me. I can’t risk losing the ones who can. When I was assigned this case, I wanted to get you out of it while we determined if Way was double-dealing.” She stole a glance at him. “Now I know he’s not. Together, we’re trying to figure this out.”

  Maggie puckered her lips. “The two of you are enough to kill me.”

  When they both snickered, Maggie hit them with another of her deadly stares. “I’m not kidding. I almost lost my brother and my friend in one swoop. If you’re not going to be careful for yourselves, do it for the people who care about you.”

  People who care. The words wrapped around Roni, gave her a sense of inclusion she didn’t often feel. With that, came guilt. And, wow, she could live without that. But…they had deceived Maggie. Straight up kept her out of the loop. And Steele Ridge’s sheriff hated not being briefed.

  “Message received,” Way said. He glanced at Roni. “Right?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Still, clearly agitated, Maggie pointed at Roni. “Are you carrying?”

  “Not currently. I have my personal sidearm locked in a lockbox at Mrs. Tasky’s.”

  “Start carrying it.”

  “You know I will. Besides, I’m in no hurry to piss you off again by defying you.”

  Way barked out a laugh. “Not so tough now, are you?”

  “Everyone’s a smart mouth,” Maggie muttered.

  Roni smiled. “Right now I’m a scared smart mouth. You’ve never yelled at me. You’re kind of a badass.”

  “Well, this badass wants to know who the hell was driving that car. After what you’ve just told me, I’m afraid it wasn’t a drunk teenager.”

  * * *

  After being dropped off at Mrs. Tasky’s, Roni headed to her suite. This entire assignment had been one cluster after another. She wasn’t even sure it was fair to Mrs. Tasky to have Roni under her roof.

  Someone had tried to kill her. Her or Way, maybe both. What if the killer came here, where Mrs. Tasky, a bystander, might get hurt?

  Roni sat on the edge of her bed, ran her hands through her long hair and tugged to release the tension.

  “I don’t know what to do,” she muttered.

  Certainly not the first time that had occurred, but at the moment, she felt more alone than ever.

  She couldn’t stay here, though. Couldn’t bring danger to this house.

  Her phone buzzed and rattled against the bedside table. A text.

  After the last few hours, who knew what this could be? She scooped it up, spotted Way’s name.

  Of course he’d reach out now. At the exact moment when she felt alone.

  Vulnerable.

  And, for the first time, all too willing to give in to it.

  Damn him.

  She tapped on the message.

  You okay? I’m here if you need something.

  Alone, confused, and wondering who the hell tried to run them off a mountain, she had a slew of emotions churning inside her. And now he
sends her a text asking if she’s okay?

  No. Totally not okay.

  Desperate to move, to do something, she got to her feet and paced the barely fifteen by fifteen room. Too confining. That’s what this was.

  What a night. Death had never scared her. Before this week anyway. Now? After spending time with Maggie’s family, being welcomed into their home and witnessing the small-town workings of Steele Ridge, her life played in her mind like a bad B movie.

  She had nothing. No family, no home.

  No roots.

  Worse, she’d spent a good chunk of her life ignoring that fact. Until tonight when some psycho thought it a good idea to run her and Way off the road. Now, her lack of connections came into sharp focus. If the psycho had succeeded, if she’d died on that mountain, who’d bury her? Would anyone even mourn her?

  No roots.

  And being alone, pacing in her suite, was a giant exclamation point on the fact.

  Start over. That’s all she needed to do. Maybe take a chance. Open up to the possibility that she could have her own home and family.

  So what if she had no roots? She’d grow her own.

  She reached the far wall and spun around, completing another lap. If she was in her apartment, she’d head down to the gym. Run a couple of miles on the treadmill, pound the heavy bag, battering it with kicks and punches. A good physical workout always helped clear her mind.

  Except, no gym at Mrs. Tasky’s.

  She glanced down at Way’s message again. He’d almost been killed tonight and he was checking on her? What about what he needed? Or wanted?

  If the kisses they’d shared were any indication, she might know one thing he wanted. Physical attraction, she was sure, would never be a problem. She wanted more than lust, though. She needed rock-solid support. A man who’d stand by her and give her…

  Hope.

  Something to believe in.

  Ignoring Way’s message, she scooped up her phone, wallet, and keys and headed for the door.

  * * *

  What am I doing?

  Even as Roni pulled into Way’s driveway, the question lingered. She’d been sent to Steele Ridge to do a job. An important job.