The second half Layne watched with Rocky at his side, snuggled into him with both arms around his middle, her head most of the time resting on his shoulder. With Fullerton calling the plays, Jasper seeing the ball and Tripp taking turns with Seth, the ‘dogs won twenty-one to three.
* * * * *
With a variety of other parents, fans, Colt, Cal, Keira, Heather, Dave, Spike, Ernie and Rocky, Layne waited after the game to watch the boys load up in the bus.
When they filed out, Cosgrove was not among them.
When his boys came into view, Layne saw this time Tripp was crowding Jasper and Jasper was crowding Seth. His sons were supposed to go to their mother’s that night after pizza on the town, it was the beginning of her week. But Jasper had heard Layne’s invitation and he’d talk to Seth about taking Layne up on it if he got the vibe that Seth wouldn’t be safe at home. Therefore, Layne wondered where he’d put another body in his house. He should have bought one of the four bedroom floorplans.
When Tripp saw him, he waved, though he was clearly learning cool, his wave was a flick of a hand. Jasper noticed his brother and his eyes came to Layne and, king of cool, he jerked up his chin but no more except another chin jerk to Keira before they hustled into the bus.
“Is he going to be okay, Mr. Layne?” He heard Keira ask and his eyes dropped to see she was staring at the bus looking worried.
“Yeah, Keira, he’ll be fine,” Layne answered, she looked up at him and she didn’t seem any less worried.
So she turned to Cal. “Joe, if Jasper isn’t up to pizza, can he come over to our house and watch a movie?”
Proving Layne’s earlier theory correct, Cal didn’t hesitate to reply, “Sure, honey.”
Keira leaned into him and whispered, “Thanks,” as her eyes went back to the bus, Cal’s arm curled around her shoulders and he pulled her closer.
“You good?” Cal asked him and Layne nodded.
He was good because Rocky was leaned into him the same way and had been since they took their places outside the locker rooms. This meant he could deal even though his sons had survived another game time drama and Gabby was standing alone twenty feet away, no Stew, and when she wasn’t craning her neck to look for her boys, she was staring at Layne and Rocky. Layne felt this was progress considering she was staring and not glaring.
Layne forced his mind off Gabrielle and his eyes went to Colt. “Roc’s gonna see what she can do for Meghan.”
Colt nodded and he looked at Rocky. “Cool, Rocky, thanks. Sean will appreciate that.”
She smiled up at him but didn’t reply and it was then that Layne realized that the game was over, the latest drama was over, his kids were likely gone for the night, Rocky was likely done with her period and therefore it was time to go home.
“We’re outta here,” Layne mumbled and led Rocky away.
They got a variety of good-byes and Layne a clap on the shoulder from Dave as they stopped at him so Rocky could give her Dad’s cheek a kiss and then they walked away.
They were nearing the Suburban when Layne heard the pipes. His head turned and he saw Ryker sitting a Harley, bald head open to the elements, leather biker jacket undoubtedly covering another tank top. When Layne’s eyes hit him, the pipes roared for a second which Layne decided was Ryker’s way of telling him he wanted a chat.
Layne stopped Rocky and dug into his pocket for the keys.
He handed them to her and ordered, “Open it up and climb in, honey. You’re cold, turn her on. Yeah? I’ll be right back.” Her eyes shot up to him and she opened her mouth to speak but he got there before she did. “Not now, sweetcheeks. That’s Ryker on the bike. Just get in the truck.”
She looked over her shoulder at Ryker, back at him, nodded and then again got on her toes to give him a mouth touch before she swiftly walked to the SUV.
Layne walked to the bike.
He stopped at Ryker’s side noticing Ryker’s eyes had followed Rocky and not Layne.
“Eyes on me,” Layne demanded, keeping his voice as low as he could and still be heard over the pipes and Ryker looked at him.
“That your woman?” he asked.
“Yep,” Layne answered.
“Jesus, sport, traded up, didn’t you?” His eyes slid back to Layne’s truck before they came again to Layne. “Way up.”
Layne didn’t have time for this. Rocky was feeling affectionate and her guard was down. He had other, better things to do.
“You got somethin’ for me?” Layne prompted.
“Jumped the fence,” Ryker stated, talking at the same time studying Layne. “Didn’t hesitate, he clipped his boy and you were over the fence. Saw your face as you sprinted up to that mess, thought you were gonna lay that motherfucker out.” He gave Layne a head-to-toe to head again and went on. “That look on your face, sport, figure I underestimated you.”
“Did you call me over to flatter me, Ryker? ‘Cause, as you can see, I got another date and she’s prettier than you,” Layne told him and Ryker grinned.
“In a hurry?” Ryker asked, Layne didn’t respond so Ryker’s grin got bigger and uglier. “I’d be in a hurry, that piece was in my truck waitin’ on me to take her home.”
Layne turned to leave, muttering, “A waste of my fuckin’ time.”
“Sport,” Ryker called, Layne looked at him and Ryker went on. “Action. Stew. Tonight.”
Fuck. That was what Layne was worried he’d say.
“When?”
“Meet me at the bar at eleven o’clock.”
Shit. That would give him just enough time to drop Rocky off, grab his camera and get to the bar and he’d still be late.
“Just tell me when and where. I’ll take care of it.”
“Comin’ with,” Ryker stated.
“No, you aren’t. I work alone.”
“This ain’t a one man deal.”
“Since when?”
“Since Stew’s workin’ with a crew tonight, bro, and, you get tagged, you’ll need backup. Colt can’t back you on this without makin’ a lotta arrests and where’s that gonna get your ex?”
Fuck! This was not getting any better.
“I can take care of myself,” Layne told Ryker.
“’Spect you can, but I know this crew, the smarter move would be to go in with backup.” Layne knew he was right, in any uncertain situation it was smarter to go in with backup. That didn’t mean he wanted Ryker to be that backup. “You got a permit to carry concealed or you don’t, don’t give a fuck, you come carryin’, yeah?” Ryker continued.
“I can see you’re eager to pop someone’s cherry, Ryker, so I hate to tell you this isn’t my first time.”
Ryker grinned again. “Bummed bro.”
“Can you explain why you’re all of a sudden my BFF?” Layne asked, not about to walk into the bar he met Ryker in at eleven o’clock at night to meet Ryker, a guy he did not know, he did not trust and he wasn’t sure he liked.
“Thought you were gonna lay that motherfucker out,” was Ryker’s explanation.
Layne didn’t feel that was enough of an explanation so he prompted, “And?”
“And that motherfucker thought you were gonna lay him out too.”
Layne crossed his arms on his chest and repeated, “And?”
Ryker watched him a full five beats then leaned in. “And I know, by that look on your face, you didn’t have two bleachers full of people, kids on two football teams, coaches, refs and your woman lookin’ on, you woulda laid that motherfucker out, no hesitation, no holdin’ back. That guy would be breathin’ through a tube just about now. Am I right?”
He was right.
Layne stayed silent.
“Not even your kid this time,” Ryker went on.
Layne remained silent.
“You got control and you understand my vision of justice,” he leaned back and smiled his ugly smile, “my kind of partner.”
“Great,” Layne muttered and Ryker added an ugly laugh to his ugly smile.
&nbs
p; Then he said, “Eleven,” and shot off on his bike.
Layne watched him go before he whispered, “Fuck.”
Chapter Fourteen
Scared of the Dark
Layne let Rocky into the house and Blondie assaulted them both at the same time.
Rocky took control and forced the dog into the kitchen with her hands and legs, giving Blondie scratches behind the ears as she did it.
Layne saw a note on the island and didn’t pick it up to read it seeing as the big black scrawl could be read from across a room.
“Out,” was all Devin had written.
Layne smiled at the note as he moved to the sliding glass door, disarmed the alarm which was always set for doors and windows since the dog would trip it if they used the sensors in the house. He pulled out the steel rod at the door and slid it open. Blondie immediately lost interest in Rocky and raced out the door.
“Tell me again why, when you’re working, I shouldn’t just sleep at home?” Layne heard Rocky ask, Layne slid the door to and turned to her.
They’d had this conversation in the car. He thought he’d convinced her. Clearly, Rocky remained unconvinced.
“Because enough people in town saw what went down tonight which means that most the rest of the town will hear about it before sun up tomorrow. After that shit went down with me and Jasper involved, they’d expect my woman to show her support, not sleep in her own bed,” Layne reiterated the point he’d made on the way home.
Again, he knew this was lame.
And again, she appeared to be buying it, if hesitantly.
She bit her lip, let it go then remarked, “But my car is at my house, they won’t know.”
Layne thought about Natalie and then he thought about Natalie’s big mouth.
“They’ll know,” he replied.
She visibly got nervous and cried, “Layne! They aren’t watching that closely!”
He shook his head. “You’re wrong, baby.”
She stared at him. He held her stare.
Then he said softly, “Get ready for bed, Roc.”
“Layne –”
“Bed, sweetcheeks, I’ve got to go.”
She stared at him some more. Then she bought it and Layne knew this because she sighed, loudly and heavily, and strutted to the stairs and up them.
Layne watched until she rounded the top and disappeared then he followed.
By the time he got up the stairs, Rocky had vanished into his room. Layne turned on the light over his desk and grabbed a digital camera from a drawer. He checked the battery and memory card then grabbed an extra one of both. He opened the drawer with the key to one of the cabinets in the unit taped to the bottom, yanked it off, unlocked the cabinet and took off his leather jacket, swinging it around the back of the chair. He pulled the shoulder holster with the .22 out, checked its load and hooked it around his shoulders. Then he pulled the holster with the .38 out and clipped it to his belt. Devin had taught him you could never be too careful and one part of careful equaled firepower. Since Devin taught him that, Layne had learned that Devin was right and life had proved that Layne was lucky to have learned it prior to learning it the hard way.
Layne locked the cabinet, replaced the key, shrugged his coat on, dropped the battery and memory card in his pocket and walked into the bedroom.
Rocky was moving out of the bathroom wearing his tee.
Layne didn’t hesitate. It was preview time. She was getting her guard back up and his job was to tear it right down.
He got in her space, wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her to his body.
She tipped her head back and put her hands on his chest. “Layne.”
His other hand went into her ponytail, he tagged the holder, slid it out and tossed it across the room toward his dresser where it skidded across the top and over the back to disappear, probably forever, or until he moved.
A good place for it to be.
“Layne!” Rocky snapped and shoved at his shoulders.
He looked down at her, her hair around her face and shoulders, her eyes igniting. Then he bunched her hair in his palm as he cupped the back of her head, tilted it to the side and his mouth came down on hers. She’d opened it, possibly to snap his name again, which was not a good move.
Layne took advantage, slid his tongue right inside her sweet mouth and he kissed her, deep, wet, hard and for a very long time. It had been a few days, he needed his fix. So he took it and kissed her long enough that he was losing his motivation for this mission; long enough that her fingers had curled around the edges of his jacket and she was holding on and holding him to her.
He thought that should just about do it. For now.
He lifted his head and saw her eyes were unfocused, gazing up at him.
She was off-balance, guard down, perfect.
He lifted his hand to cup her jaw and ran his thumb along her cheekbone as he whispered, “Sleep tight, sweetcheeks.”
His thumb moved to her lips so he felt as well as heard her breathy, “Okay.”
He grinned at her, turned and left the room, grabbing his camera before he went down the stairs. He let Blondie in, secured the door, set the alarm and headed out of his house.
When Layne arrived at the bar he saw Ryker wasn’t in the mood to have a drink and socialize. He was standing outside the front door, shoulders and the sole of one boot to the wall, biker jacket opened and Layne was right, another black tank was stretched across his massive chest. He was enjoying a smoke but flicked it in a wide arc when he saw the Suburban swing into the lot. He pushed away from the wall and Layne slid the truck to a halt in front of the doors.
Layne looked at the clock on his dash as Ryker folded his huge frame into the passenger seat and it was eleven oh seven.
Ryker slammed the door and instantly reached between his legs to push the seat back the two centimeters it had to give and then he adjusted the seatback so it was nearly in full on recline as if he was preparing to cruise with his homies.
“You’re late,” Ryker noted on a grunt once he’d settled in and Layne accelerated to turn around in the lot.
“Needed time to say goodnight to my woman,” Layne replied.
“I’ll accept that excuse,” Ryker muttered.
It was nuts but Layne couldn’t help it. He was beginning to like this guy.
As Layne drove, Ryker gave him directions and he also gave him information. They hit the storage units in Speedway and Layne knew instantly why this was the pay point. Easy to get to at the same time off the beaten track, neighborhood not close and also not great and the lighting was shit which meant rent on the units was either low or the people who rented there were stupid. No one around to hear or see and the light was so dim, if someone was around, they couldn’t be sure what they were seeing.
Layne cut the lights, parked behind a unit, they got out and Ryker guided them to their position.
When Ryker exited his SUV, Layne had noted he had a .45 shoved in the back of his jeans and he wasn’t hiding the huge-ass knife clipped to his belt. He might be beginning to like Ryker but he still didn’t trust him so he kept to Ryker’s back.
Ryker didn’t seem to mind.
The temperature had dropped and the bitter wind had not died down. It was fucking freezing, he was in Speedway, in the dark, with a man he didn’t trust who was a little nuts, crouching beside a big garbage container and Rocky’s soft, warm body was at home, in his tee, in his bed.
Definitely he needed a new job.
They waited twenty minutes and conversation was scarce, as in non-existent, which meant it was a long twenty minutes. Then the guy walked up.
Five foot six, maybe seven, slight, he had half a head of hair, the top so bald it shone in the dim lights lighting the storage unit. Wearing a navy windbreaker that probably wasn’t doing shit to break the wind. Company logo on the chest. Chinos. Visibly nervous. Layne pegged him as I.T. or an accountant. Probably I.T.
Looking at the guy, Layne hoped he had the
money. He needed Stew out of his sons’ and Gabby’s lives but he didn’t want to watch Stew working this guy over. He didn’t particularly want to watch Stew working anyone over but especially not this guy.
Stew and his crew of three arrived ten minutes later, the guy was wired by the time they got there and the minute he saw them, he became jittery.
Shit, he didn’t have the money.
Layne assessed the scene. Stew did not need a crew to deal with this guy. Especially not this crew of thugs. He brought one because he was an asshole.
Layne lifted the camera, quickly and expertly adjusted the telephoto and started shooting.
Stew no sooner made it to him than the guy handed over an envelope. Stew took it, bent his head to it, thumbed through what was inside, handed it to a lackey at his back and then turned and hammered the guy, fist to cheekbone.
There it was. The envelope was light.
Layne shoved back the instinct to move in and kept taking shots as Stew whaled on him with his fists until he was down and then kicked him in the ribs with his boot four times after he was down. The guy was curled in a ball on the pavement, whining, loudly and shrilly, “It’s all I’ve got!” when Stew stopped, bent over, said something to the guy that Layne couldn’t hear, his finger in his face, he lifted up, kicked him one more time and then stood over the guy, staring down.
It was at that point when Layne would understand why Ryker said Stew had a special flair.
The guy was down, cowed and beaten, bleeding from the face and likely had one or more broken ribs. The message had been delivered and, by the look of him, the guy would talk his grandma into selling her plasma so the next payment wouldn’t be light.
Stew still pulled a gun out of his jeans and drilled a round in the prone man’s thigh. The guy cried out in agony and curled into himself deeper, cradling his thigh.
Flesh wound, it’d bleed like a motherfucker and hurt worse, but it was way over the top.
Then Stew kicked him again, this time in the spine, turned, jerked his head at his crew and they all disappeared.
Layne tensed to move toward the guy but Ryker curled a meaty hand around Layne’s shoulder.
“Focus, bro,” he whispered. “Tonight you’re a hero for your boys, not this guy. Let’s go. Baranski’s not done.”
Golden Trail (The 'Burg Series) Page 30