Owner of a Lonely Heart (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Karen Mercury

  Crispin sat up slowly, grinning to beat the band, wiping off his face with his bare forearm. He looked Bettina levelly in the eye. “Nice afternoon cocktail.”

  Taos commented, “A Slippery Nipple.”

  “More like a Screaming Orgasm.” Crispin looked to Taos for approval, and the two men high-fived each other.

  “Never heard of a Screaming Orgasm drink,” said Taos.

  “Vodka and amaretto,” said Crispin. “I’ve heard them all in Vice.”

  “Seriously?” Bettina gaped at the men. “You’re going to sit here making an Eiffel Tower over my body? Good Lord. What a bunch of twatwaffles.”

  Using the room divider for support, she clambered ungracefully to her feet, swiping up her panties, jeans, and bra on the way. She knew she wasn’t the picture of refined dignity as she stalked off to the trailer bathroom.

  “Never heard of an Eiffel Tower either,” said Taos. “Does she taste as good as she looks? You’re the man for the muff diving! Why’d I have a picture of you as a kind of goody two shoes?”

  “Because I’m a sheriff?”

  Bettina’s jeans felt lighter than air without the weight of her gun belt. Crispin must have placed it somewhere. The flimsy trailer walls afforded her the unusual ability to eavesdrop on two men discussing post-coital sex. She strained to hear every word.

  “Now will you take a beer?”

  “Sure. I’m not on duty.”

  “Since you live here, when are you on duty and when are you off?”

  Crispin snorted. “I’m basically always on, but one beer’s all right. Lone Star? Never tried it. Do you do this often? A ménage a trois?”

  “A ménage a what? Oh, you mean a little of the old three-six-nine?”

  “Three-six-nine? What—”

  “Yeah, I’m used to it. There sometimes weren’t enough women to go around in my club and we were all so close, so sometimes we’d share.”

  “And there was never a problem, when one bloke liked the girl too much to share?”

  “Oh, sure. We’d just fight it out amongst ourselves.”

  Bettina’s pride was stoked at Crispin’s reference to jealousy. She had hooked her bra in back and was looking at herself in the mirror. I’ve just had sex with two men at the same time. Two carved, buff hunks. Do I look any different? She had to think that she did. She looked more desirable.

  “Well,” Crispin was saying, “I guess we can do that when the time comes. I’m not going to let you fuck her, for instance.”

  “Oh yeah? We’ll just see about that. Whoever gets up on it first with a rubber wins.”

  “You think it’s that simple? Where are you from, Texas? Oh, that’s right, sorry.”

  “Hey, no dissing on Texas! I guess she can just suck my cock every day for the next twelve months, how does that sound?”

  There was a sound outside, a metallic creak. It was the sound of someone of at least two hundred pounds stepping onto Taos’s front stairs.

  Bettina burst from the bathroom with her fingers to her lips in the universal “shut the fuck up” gesture while pointing furiously at the front door. Crispin immediately got the picture and drew his pistol. His other arm reached blindly behind him to feel for her gun belt, which he handed to her.

  They both had their fingers on their triggers and were advancing toward the door cautiously. Bettina only had to nod at Crispin and they instantly split up, one flanking each side of the door, listening. When a motorcycle engine started up down in the street Bettina snatched the door handle open and stepped out, gun barrel pointed at the sound.

  Just in time to see a Harley streak off around the bend in the road.

  And, oddly enough, Taos was shouting, “Don’t shoot!” He was so close behind her he practically clung to her.

  Bettina turned, holstering her weapon, to see Crispin also on the landing doing the same. They both looked at Taos quizzically.

  Bettina cocked her head. “Seriously, Taos? That asshole had a Texas plate. Are you sure you really want me to hold my fire?”

  Crispin grabbed Taos by the bicep and shoved him. “Get inside.”

  “Wait.” Taos whisked away something that was tacked to his doorframe. He stumbled blindly inside, eyes riveted to the envelope.

  Bettina grabbed it from him. “That’s evidence.”

  Fire blazed in Taos’s eyes. “It’s also mine! Give it back!”

  She looked at Crispin. “He’s acting mighty protective of some assassin who may have been sent here by Sirius to murder him.”

  “Yes,” said Crispin suspiciously. “What’s up with that? Open the envelope, Bettina.”

  “Don’t ruin it!” cried Taos. “I mean, you’ll want to dust it for fingerprints, won’t you?”

  “Yes,” admitted Bettina. “And we can easily discount yours and mine, which leaves only one set. What the fuck?”

  The only thing in the envelope was a comic strip cut out of a newspaper. Zippy was the name of the strip, and it depicted a bald, pointy-headed clown playing the ukulele. The caption said, “Zippy does his interpretation of Black Sabbath’s ‘Paranoid’ accompanying himself on the ukulele.”

  “What the fuck?” Crispin said, too, looking over her shoulder. “There’s nothing else in the envelope?”

  “No.” Bettina turned over the strip. Handwritten in between two paragraphs of a weather report were the words “Mesquite BBQ.” “Does this make any sense to you, Taos? Crispin, why do we have the feeling he’s about to say no?”

  “No,” said Taos, gingerly easing the strip from Bettina’s fingers. “Why would some minion of Sirius leave a comic strip on my door?”

  Bettina frowned at her lover. “Does that Zippy clown make any sense to you?”

  “Of course not,” Crispin answered for him.

  “Of course not,” echoed Taos. “I’ve never seen this clown in my life.”

  “You know we’re going to have to move you now,” said Bettina. “Your safety has been compromised. We’ve got a few safe houses in the Vegas suburbs that aren’t in use at the moment.”

  Taos instantly raged. “I’m not going to any fucking Vegas safe house! I’ve got—I’ve got—my fucking life is here, Bettina! I’ve got my job, my casino, my house, my dog—”

  “All of which are more important than your life, Taos?” Bettina whipped her cell from its cradle on her gun belt and hit the speed dial for her partner, Park Bechtel.

  “No, don’t!” cried Taos, just as Crispin also cried, “No, don’t!”

  Bettina hit the END button and looked at the two men.

  Crispin was the first with an explanation. “Why doesn’t he stay with me? He’s much closer to town, and people know we’re friends. We work out together.”

  “That’s just it,” said Bettina. “People know you’re friends. This biker asshole could just ask around, ask at the surf shop or the Toolbox, pretend he’s a friend of Taos’s, have someone say he’s staying with you.”

  Crispin said, “And I’m armed. You can’t protect him twenty-four-seven if he’s in some stupid safe house.”

  “Yes I can. I can sleep there.”

  “What if you’re called away? Come stay at my ranch house along with Taos. Oh, and Friendly, of course. I’ve got a couple of mutts myself.”

  “Cool,” said Taos, completely affable now. “Which brings up a point. Why can’t I carry a weapon? I don’t have any federal charges against me.”

  “Why not?” agreed Crispin, also completely charming.

  “Wait, wait!” yelled Bettina, holding up her hands. “Staying with the local sheriff, packing a gun, all of this is non-regulation. I’m liable to get my ass handed to me on a platter.”

  Taos turned his angelic puppy dog eyes on her. “You’ve got to admit, Bettina,” he said softly. “It all sounds much safer.”

  Bettina sighed deeply and reached for her shirt. “All right. But you’re handing me that comic as evidence.”

  “It’s okay.” Taos gave her the piece of newspaper.
“I don’t need it anymore.”

  Bettina looked at the comic with fresh eyes. The pinheaded clown sang, “People think that I’m in pain because I’m found in Lichtenstein.” What was the meaning of it?

  Bettina still had her suspicions. But they were just vague, and she was faced with two begging, smoking hot men. What could she do?

  Chapter Ten

  It wasn’t until Crispin bent down to set the two bowls of dog food onto his back deck that he noticed Taos’s bike was gone.

  Crispin had woken up alone. Nothing strange about that. There hadn’t been a repeat performance of the scene in Taos’s trailer. Everyone was on edge, and Bettina had left around ten o’clock the night before. Something about her brother needing her for something, and being in trouble again. Crispin didn’t want to push anything with her. She was his first real “girlfriend” since his divorce, and he wanted to proceed slowly.

  Protecting Taos was their foremost task. Once Taos gave his testimony at trial and Sirius was sentenced, Taos would have to fully commit to his new life, and couldn’t be watched over night and day. By then the casino remodel would be finished, and Taos Hopewell, gaming tycoon, would be fully reborn.

  Taos slept in one of the spare rooms. Crispin had four bedrooms and had only gotten around to fixing up one of them for his little son, with pathetic results. Holly always had some damned excuse when it came time for Crispin to bring the boy here for a few days. As a result, the little bed was even sadder because it had only been slept in a few times. It was kind of nice to have another presence in the house, and Taos even claimed to like horses.

  Another bedroom was dedicated to his computer and ranch business, and of course he did some law enforcing in there, preferring the ranch to the office in town. So when Crispin woke at the butt crack of dawn as usual and smoothed his hand over the mattress next to him, he wasn’t surprised to find no one there. And since Taos’s bedroom door was shut, he assumed the biker was sleeping in. Bikers probably did that.

  But when he noticed the bike missing, Crispin straightened up and shot like a bullet to Taos’s bedroom.

  No one.

  Bedclothes on the double bed were rumpled, slept in. But the room—and the entire house—had that inexorable, creeping, heavy feeling of being utterly empty.

  Pivoting on one foot, Crispin looked around. The suitcase was still there. Taos’s second favorite black leather jacket was there. Just not his first favorite.

  “Friendly!” Crispin jogged back to the door that led to the deck and called for the Great Pyrenees. Taos had been feeding Friendly a different sort of kibble than the one Crispin preferred, so Crispin hadn’t looked for the big, fluffy dog. Relief washed over him when the pup came running, and Crispin swiped his bowl from the deck.

  “What the fuck,” he muttered. The surf shop was closed today. It was only the day before yesterday the strange cartoon had been posted on his door by a biker from Texas. Taos knew better than to go out unescorted.

  Maybe he’s only going to the store. Crispin set down the bowl of dog food as his other thumb punched Taos’s speed dial. It went directly to voice mail. Now why am I not surprised? He left a voice mail for Abel Jones, the Brothers of Discipline’s secretary. Crispin had some of those guys on speed dial, too, in the event something like this happened. He actually got Byron Boxleitner, club treasurer, Taos of course being president. Byron hadn’t heard from Taos since before the comic strip incident. Crispin, having many years in the field of dealing with liars, believed Byron. His manner and voice were too sincere.

  During all of this, Crispin raced around throwing on clothes. Now he transferred his cell to his jeans pocket so he could keep walking and dressing as he finally, woefully, speed-dialed Bettina. If she were in her office he could expect no less than a professional demeanor from her, and that’s what he got.

  “Inspector Crenshaw.”

  “Taos is gone.” He had decided he’d just lead off with that bit of information. No sense in asking how her day was going. “I woke up and his bike’s gone. Friendly and his suitcase are here, though. His club brothers haven’t seen him since before we did. His phone goes straight to voice mail.”

  “Okay. What about his toothbrush? Taos might be a massive slob but he’d never leave home for any length of time without his toothbrush.”

  “Good idea. Let me check. I know I saw it yesterday morning on the bathroom sink. It was red. Here. No toothbrush. Toothbrush gone. What else can you think of?”

  “Think, Bettina. Think! Okay, what about his little camera? When he goes on long runs he likes to take photos of the desert and shit like that. I know for a fact he took that to your ranch from his trailer.”

  “Good idea. Listen, I can put a BOLO out on his bike. You want me to do that?”

  “Could you? Meanwhile, of course we can drive around Rescue, check the usual haunts.”

  “That’s where I was headed,” said Crispin, throwing back the cover to Taos’s suitcase. He rooted around through the casino manager’s briefs and socks, finding no camera. He did unfold some papers. The rules of privacy didn’t apply when a protected witness went missing. “No camera,” he said vaguely, to cover up the fact that he was reading something else.

  It was an Offer to Purchase Real Estate form. What the hell…

  Bettina sounded like she was gathering her belongings, too. “Okay, the camera missing means he’s gone some distance on a run. Let’s not panic. Maybe he just needed to blow off steam. Maybe he hasn’t completely gone off the reservation.”

  “While knowing he’s being followed?” The form said that Taos B. Hopewell had made an offer of a hundred and thirty-nine thousand dollars for some historic brick home out Mormon Mesa. Crispin knew the home. It was a rock-sided two story house built in 1901 sitting on about ten acres. Where was Taos getting all the money? He had blown his Texas wad on the casino.

  Crispin could hear Bettina’s heavy office door slam shut, echoing for several seconds behind her. “Well, he’d better have a damned good fucking reason for this,” Bettina snapped. “I noticed awhile back he set up a Facebook account and I never pried into it. Well, that’s about to change. I’m texting Skyler as we speak to go ahead and gain access to it.”

  “I’ll meet you at Taos’s house at ten,” said Crispin as a way of hanging up.

  He knew if he kept talking to Bettina, he’d blab about the house purchase. And she was already steamed enough at Taos. It was Taos’s business to tell her about the house.

  * * * *

  The half an hour run to Mesquite gave Taos much-needed time to think, anyway. The past few months he’d been overwhelmed with sensory data and his brain bucket felt about to explode. There was nothing better for that than the open road and bugs in his teeth.

  He’d never been involved in a threesome like this. The ones with his brothers were one night stands, hookups, girls who were back warmers. It took months, years even, for a woman to graduate to full “old lady” status in their club. As a result, not many of them had old ladies. So prior to Naomi’s trek through the club’s arduous fire to earn her status, Tim Hartley had played the field in bed with many anonymous women.

  He had told Crispin that there had been fights over bedmates. Truth was, Tim Hartley hadn’t been involved in any of them. He just hadn’t cared enough to fight over any trim. However, he’d watched plenty of other guys go to bat over some chick. He’d seen a brother smash one of those industrial-size metal coffeemakers over another guy’s head to get him to back off from a gal. A couple had been knifed.

  Not Tim—Taos Hopewell. Not until now. He knew that if Crispin pressed the issue, Taos would lock horns with him to win Bettina. So far, Crispin had gone along with their little three-way idea. Taos was surprised. The buttoned-down sheriff wasn’t a likely candidate for a triad like that. Crispin wasn’t even a one night stand sort of guy, much less an enthusiastic open marriage participant.

  But it seemed like the only option for right now. Crispin was a stand-up guy
. If he wasn’t a lawmaker, Taos could have seen him being a welcome addition to the Rabid Raiders. He was cultured and intelligent, but hot enough to make tea. Taos just didn’t know if his deep-seated insecurity could tolerate watching that sinewy, buff guy actually fuck the woman he was in love with.

  Yes, love. Taos had been slowly admitting it to himself. I’m in love with Inspector Crenshaw. Was Crispin equally as in love? Taos knew, with supreme egomania, that only his love could reign. Bettina would notice. Eventually she’d lose interest in the buff lawman. The allure of a bad boy biker couldn’t be underestimated. Taos had won women he couldn’t care less about, time and time again. Why shouldn’t he win a woman he was actually in love with?

  It scared him, love. That day in the warehouse with Naomi would be seared eternally in part of his brain. Taos knew there was no God if He could allow something like that to happen. But lately he’d been lightening up. Maybe God was hanging somewhere around the fringes. Maybe He had heard Taos’s cries in the middle of the night and sent him Bettina. She was literally his guardian angel. How much more symbolic could it get?

  But rather than feel protected by her, Taos yearned to be her protector. He admired her kick-ass, take-no-prisoners attitude. But in the bedroom, Taos was the man. Always had been, always would be. And Bettina let him. Bettina seemed to delight in being submissive to Taos. Her sweet little open, honest face when she was on her knees beneath him was enough to wrench his heart.

  And somehow, Crispin watching them, or even participating, seemed to clinch the deal. So far, Taos had avoided rampant jealousy. Even when Crispin brought Bettina to what was apparently not his first successful, resounding climax, Taos hadn’t burned up too badly with envy. So for the time being, it was working to everyone’s advantage, and Bettina certainly got twice the pleasure.

  Excitement built as Taos neared Mesquite. Only Bettina had seen Delano’s Harley Dyna Super Glide hog as he peeled away from Taos’s trailer the other day. It had been months since Taos had laid eyes on his best friend’s bike, and its presence when he rounded the A-framed roof of the Thai restaurant was a sight for sore eyes.