Under the Gun

by Kelsey Browning

  “Never sounded this loud at home. Must be echoing off of the wooden floors, but yes.” She laughed. “Didn’t miss that while I was living here.”

  Maggie stopped her before she entered the room. “You really want to do this?”

  “No, but I have to,” Sera said, and Maggie tucked in behind her as they opened the door.

  It creaked, but Marcus didn’t miss a beat. In. Out. He could practically suck the wallpaper right off the wall.

  They searched in all the normal spots where a man offloaded his daily detritus. Top of the dresser. Bedside drawer. In his dopp kit. Sera even dropped to the floor and lifted the bed’s dust ruffle. Nothing.

  Maggie patted down his pants that lay over the valet in the corner.

  Sera motioned for Maggie to meet her in the hall.

  “This is weird. Why does a man hide his keys?”

  “That is odd,” Maggie said. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “I don’t want you to say anything, but I need your help one more time. Maggie, go get your crowbar.”

  Back outside, they stood at the back of Marcus’s rental car and Maggie stared at the trunk and swallowed. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

  “I have to know.”

  “But this is a Maserati.”

  “He took out the insurance on it. The company will be compensated for any damage we do.”

  “I want to go on record stating I told you this was a mistake.”

  Sera pretended to take out a pen and write Maggie’s statement on her palm. “Noted.”

  Still, Maggie hesitated, holding the crowbar several inches from the trunk’s lock. “Are you sure?”

  The not knowing was about to break every one of Sera’s nerves. “Positive.”

  Maggie sucked in a breath that expanded her bustline and wedged the crowbar in the space beneath the lock. “One, two, three.” One decent push with her weight behind it, and the trunk lid swung open. She ran her hand under the metal. “Barely a scratch. They might not even notice.”

  “You’re amazing,” Sera gushed.

  But whatever Marcus had stashed in there was covered with a canvas tarp wrapped over and under, like you’d roll a body. It even had curves like a woman’s breasts and hips.

  Sera froze. It reminded her too much of the time she was locked in a trunk and forced to ride all the way to Hilton Head. She’d climbed in herself and for a good reason, but she’d been so carsick, she’d imbibed gallons of ginger tea the week after that fiasco. Her stomach flipped now, not wanting any part of the memory either.

  “You want me to look?” Maggie asked.

  “I’ll do it.” After all, if she was strong enough to suspect and accuse her husband, she had to be strong enough to follow through. With one yank, she pulled back the tarp.

  “Oh,” Maggie breathed.

  Oh was right. Not only was the trunk not crammed with guns. It held three guitars—one Gibson, one Taylor, and one Martin. Since Finn had learned to play at the age of eight, Sera knew her acoustic guitars.

  “Sera, what are you doing?” Marcus’s voice came from beyond the raised trunk.

  Maggie sidled close and tried to hide the crowbar between her leg and Sera’s, but it was futile.

  Marcus was already standing close and staring at what Maggie held in her hand. How in the world had he gotten dressed and downstairs so quickly? “Did you two break into my car?” When he lifted his gaze to Sera’s, it communicated confusion, but more than that, his expression was full of hurt. “Why would you do that?”

  “Well, you see,” Maggie babbled, “it was my fault, I mentioned to Sera that I needed—”

  Sera cut her off. “I thought the stolen guns might be in your trunk.”

  “You thought that crook Charlie stole them and then stashed them right here at Summer Hav…” He trailed off. His mouth took on the line it did when he was negotiating with a particularly stubborn or egotistical actor. That was Marcus’s no-bullshit look. “You thought I took those damn guns?”

  Sera regretted it. She did. Every bit of it, but she’d had to follow the lead. That was the process.

  “Well, you wouldn’t let me drive the car and then you’ve been disappearing without much explanation. Then I saw you digging around in the trunk, and you seemed edgy about me seeing whatever was in there.”

  “How much explanation did you give me when you hopped in that damn van and took off?” Marcus’s words were clipped and cold, chilling Sera down the center of her bones.

  “I told you I needed time and—”

  He held out a hand palm up. “You know what? I don’t want to talk about that now. It was bad enough when you were convinced Brad had something to do with the missing guns. But now you’re looking at me? My God, Sera, what have I ever done to make you trust me so little?” His low laugh was rough and edged with razor-sharp desolation. “I’ve been a fool. I thought we could still make it work, never for a minute doubted we could find our way. I didn’t realize that what I should’ve doubted was your love.”

  He pushed a button on the door handle and the doors unlocked.

  Maggie whipped around to look at Sera, who simply gulped. She watched her husband jab another button inside the car and take off, spitting gravel and dirt all over them.

  “We deserved that,” Maggie moaned.

  “No, you don’t deserve anything. I’m the one he’s mad at and rightfully so.” Sera sat down on the ground. “I just humiliated him in front of you.”

  “But why does he have a trunkful of guitars?”

  “I have no idea,” Sera said. “Marcus and I always laughed that Finn must’ve been blessed by a musical fairy godmother because Marcus couldn’t carry a tune in a contractor’s bucket.”

  “That’s a good memory. Hang on to it.”

  Why had she ever considered Marcus would have Abby Ruth’s guns? He’d never owned one in his life. All this tension between them had gotten in her head and made her think crazy thoughts.

  This fiasco certainly proved she could still hurt him horribly.

  Oh, God. What had she done? “I love him and I don’t think I want to lose him.”

  * * *

  After an hour-long struggle over which darn shirt to wear, Abby Ruth showed up at the Atlanta Highway Diner for her dinner with Red in a deep purple Western shirt with tiny white pearl snaps tucked into her smallest pair of blue jeans, which still hung too loose on her.

  She’d simply picked the darkest shirt in her closet to fit her mood, at least that’s what she’d thought an hour ago when she dressed. Now, her nerves zinged because she realized she was wearing Red’s favorite color. She’d convinced herself that her standard white blouse hadn’t felt right tonight because the thought of the radiation she was facing made her feel like she was glowing.

  Truth was, her mind had subliminally wanted Red to know she still remembered. Remembered everything about them and their past.

  That’s a dangerous game. One I’m not ready to play.

  Her choice of clothing was an innocent mistake, and if Red’s ego made him think it was for him, too bad.

  Things should be simple here. If there was ever a man who didn’t like to make a public scene, it was Red. And although she’d promised herself there’d be no more secrets from the other gals, meeting up with Red was not part of that promise. No…this needed to be kept quiet. Just like it had been for all these years.

  When she walked inside the diner, Red was already seated at a table waiting on her. Instead of a jacket and tie, now he wore jeans and a golf shirt a few shades lighter than hers.

  Great. We look like a cutesy couple in our matching shirts. She cursed herself all the way over to the table.

  Red’s eyes seemed to sear her skin with every step she made toward him. He had a few years on her, but he still looked good. Of course, she’d seen him on TV and in magazines since they parted ways. His baseball career had been iconic, so there’d been no way to avoid catching a glimpse of him from time to time
. But after he walked out on her, she’d asked to be taken off the Astros games.

  But she’d be lying if she didn’t admit to herself that she could still recite every one of his stats. Lifetime ERA of 3.19, 3.09 FIP, and over 5,700 strikeouts. Or had it been 5,900?

  He stood as she approached the table. Ever the gentleman. “Thanks for coming.”

  “You didn’t give me much of a choice.”

  Red laughed and pulled out her chair for her to sit. “I happen to know firsthand that no one makes Abby Ruth Cady do anything she doesn’t want to.”

  She forced herself to smile as she gripped the edge of the table.

  Red reached across and pulled her hands under his. “Do you believe me, that I tried to call you…after Linda passed?”

  “I have no reason to doubt you’re telling the truth, but I don’t know why you called after all those years.”

  “Ours wasn’t the kind of relationship a man forgets,” he said softly.

  “We didn’t have a relationship. We had a fling.”

  “What we had wasn’t a fling. It was way less than what we deserved, but it was a relationship. I loved you, Ru. After Linda’s death, I called the newspaper and they said you were on extended leave. I left a message but never heard from you. The next time I tried, they told me you’d retired and left town.”

  Yeah, after the newspaper management had put her out to pasture, there’d been no reason to communicate with her old employer. But even if she had, she wouldn’t have returned Red’s calls.

  “When I couldn’t track you down, it hurt.”

  “Yeah, well, you hurt me all those years ago.”

  That seemed to stun him into silence. Why had she let her true feelings come out? Being this close to him was pushing her off-kilter. And the smell of his cologne—all leather and swagger—although unfamiliar, still made her a little dizzy.

  “I’ve missed you.”

  “Don’t.”

  “This could be our time.”

  “That moment passed decades ago. Are we going to order dinner or not? The meatloaf is good.”

  “I already ordered the special.”

  Just like the old days. He’d always done that. Ordered whatever was on special without asking. Back then, she’d loved it. Enjoyed feeling taken care of for a few minutes. Now, it felt like an intrusion into her world. “Of course you did.”

  Abby Ruth fiddled with the sugar packets on the table, and her mind took a spin back to the diner she and Red used to eat at in the Montrose area of Houston.

  The white sugar packets there had always stood out against the red-flecked tabletops.

  Red had been Jenny’s age at the time. Prime of his career. They met often in public, watching themselves to ensure they gave the illusion of a professional relationship.

  But when they rendezvoused later at the condo overlooking Hermann Park, all manners were tossed like a rookie cowboy off a rank bull in a matter of seconds.

  They dreamed of a life together, building a family, something he’d never done with his wife.

  One night, Red made love to her in a way that was hungry and unforgettable. He was desperate for her touch, and she knew how much he loved her. After, as they lay side-by-side in the sheltering king-size bed, Abby Ruth drummed up her courage. “I have something to tell you.”

  Although they’d been careful, she was pregnant. He wanted children so badly, so she knew tonight would be the beginning their new life together. Why else would he have lost control the way he had? New heights. New beginnings.

  “I need to tell you something first,” he said, his voice low and serious. “Linda’s MS is worse. Abby Ruth, she needs me. You and I can’t do this anymore.”

  Although her heart was crushed, she knew he was right. His wife couldn’t take care of herself. She needed Red more than Abby Ruth and her unborn child did.

  And Red didn’t need to know that in less than seven months there’d be a forever reminder of their love. That was something she would handle herself.

  Black and white as newsprint.

  Without more words between them, Red rose from the bed, dressed, and left. The door to the condo clicked shut behind him with a finality that made it clear their relationship was truly over.

  She’d never again set foot back inside that condo.

  Had he held onto it long after?

  Did he still own it?

  She’d kept her key, placed it in her gun safe in Texas. When she hit the road, she’d slipped it inside the case with her Destroyer Carbine. Now they were both missing.

  Between her fingers, the sugar packet split from her fiddling. The grains scattered all over the table like tiny white tears.

  “Are you okay?” Red asked gently.

  Her own tears pressed behind her eyes. “I’m fine.”

  He shifted his chair closer to her and wrapped an arm around the back of hers, then tugged her into a hug. “Us bumping in to one another. It was meant to happen.” He leaned in and pressed his lips to hers.

  The warmth of his touch was familiar, and the softness of his kiss still held authority over her even after all this time.

  No!

  She pushed away. “Stop. What the hell are you doing? We don’t know each other anymore. And we’re out in public.”

  “So?”

  “So we know better.”

  “Those days are over. We’re free to be together.”

  “No. We’re not.” Abby Ruth snatched a napkin and scrubbed at her lips as she jumped to her feet, sending her chair screeching across the linoleum.

  People all over the diner turned to look, and Abby Ruth caught sight of Jenny rushing toward the table. Of all the people to run into.

  “Mom, what’s wrong?”

  “Mom?” Red repeated.

  “What are you doing here, Jenny?” Abby Ruth tried to keep the blind panic from making her voice wobble, which made her question come out harsher than she’d intended.

  Jenny stepped back. “Sorry. I was here to pick up takeout for Grayson and me since Teague is working late. I saw you jump up from the table.” She glanced at Red and back at Abby Ruth. “You look upset. What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” Abby Ruth rushed to say. “Well, that’s not true. Suddenly, I’m feeling awfully sick to my stomach.” Lord, she was rambling, and if she didn’t get the heck out of here soon, she would be a puddle of memories and confusion right here on the diner floor.

  Red came to his feet. “I’ll be happy to drive you home—”

  “That’s sweet of you, Mr. Jensen, but I’ll take her back to Summer Haven,” Jenny said and took a few steps toward the door. “C’mon, Mom.”

  “She’s your daughter?” he said so quietly there was no way—please, God—Jenny could’ve heard.

  Abby Ruth couldn’t look at him. She simply turned and walked toward the diner’s door, but she could almost hear the blocks begin to tumble.

  Because when he asked that question, something shrewd registered in his eyes. Which scared the bejesus out of her because Red Jensen had always been a good one with stats.

  Chapter 21

  In Lil’s mind, there was no better time than first thing in the morning to shift gears. Right now I can’t solve Sera’s or Abby Ruth’s problems, but I can get to the bottom of this gun stuff. And since it all started here at Summer Haven, it makes sense for me to take the lead.

  She walked outside where Maggie, Sera, and Abby Ruth were all dressed and sitting on the porch. Just as she expected, the tension was vibrating out here.

  “We have to go back to the mausoleum,” she announced.

  “Why?” Maggie asked.

  “First, because we can’t abandon an angel with a broken wing. It’s wrong and I’m sure Sera’s karma would not take a liking to it. Plus, I’ve been thinking about the guard recognizing Charlie’s picture. Something is telling me we’ve missed an important connection or clue.”

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea.” Maggie pushed her thick bangs b
ack from her face with agitation. “What if that security guard catches us again? We’re going to be in trouble.”

  Sera shook her head as she looked over her tie-dyed cheaters at the rest of them. “She’s got a point. It sounds risky to me too.”

  “We won’t get caught.” Lil smiled, confident in her plan. “I’m certain of it.”

  “How can you be so sure?” Maggie’s worry wrinkle creased between her eyes.

  “We’ll go in broad daylight,” Lil explained. “Hiding in plain sight works best.” One more tip she’d picked up listening to the women in Walter Stiles. Prison had turned out to be a handy education. “Security shouldn’t be so tight during the day.”

  “I don’t know,” Sera said.

  “Fine. I can go by myself.” Lil turned and headed for the steps, praying they’d line up behind her like baby ducks and follow along.

  When they did, her breath whooshed out in relief.

  Abby Ruth’s toe tapped as fast as a dog’s tail at a Sunday cookout. But then she thankfully strode ahead of Lil. “Let’s at least take my truck. I don’t think Sera’s van is very inconspicuous.”

  “Good point.” Lil had a feeling Abby Ruth’s request had more to do with her preference for being in the driver’s seat, but the reason didn’t matter. “Works for me.”

  “Wait up. I’ll be there in a minute.” Maggie jogged over to the carriage house where she kept her tools. “I have to get something if I’m going to work miracles on angels.”

  They piled into Abby Ruth’s truck, and before Lil knew it, they were pulling into the mausoleum parking lot. No services were in progress, and the grounds were quiet.

  Once they were inside, Lil led the girls directly to the basement level where Maggie had assaulted the Michael statue. Lil stepped into the alcove and for the first time read the names etched into the monuments. “Oh my goodness gracious.”

  “What’s wrong, Lil?” Abby Ruth followed her line of sight toward the wall.

  “When we hid here the other night, I didn’t even notice it.”

  “What?”

  “This is Rosemary Myrtle’s family area.” She looked around the alcove and pondered. “Strange, wouldn’t you expect such a cultured family to be on one of the upper floors?”