by Caroline Lee
But maybe it was time to choose a new loyalty. Loyalty to Pop had never gotten him anything except a longer prison sentence. On the other hand, if Charley really did think he was the mastermind behind this new meth ring, then he might as well stick with Pop’s beliefs, because believing her wasn’t going to get Tristan diddly-squat.
The scenery rolled along, the wind stung his eyes, and Tristan Quarles thought about Charley, and the future, and loyalty.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Hiya, Ms. Easton. What can I do for you?” Bart Bigelow, Riston’s Deputy Sheriff, looked up from behind the desk that faced the door of the small downtown police station. It didn’t have to be large, because Riston was a small town, with a small crime problem, and a small force.
Charley made herself smile. There was a time when someone like Bart would’ve called her “Officer Easton,” but not anymore. And on a day like today, she was almost glad of it.
Her shift at the ranch had just ended, but rather than heading back to her apartment or hanging out with Allan at the office, she’d come here. To talk to Shane about Tristan, to try to explain her gut feeling that Tristan wasn’t the mastermind behind the resurgence of the meth ring in the area…and was a good man. She’d even brought his motorcycle helmet—which she bounced nervously against her thigh—in some vague hope the police might return it to him.
It’s not like she was ever going to see him again. He’d ridden off and left her beside the lake yesterday, and she’d had to radio Tater to come pick her up.
She swallowed down her disappointment. “Hi, Bart. Is Shane around? I have— I’ve got something to tell him.” Best not to explain too much ahead of time.
“Sure, he’s in the meeting room.” Bart jerked his thumb towards the back offices, then leaned forward and lowered his voice. “But it’d probably be better if you came back some other time. He’s been back there with a bunch of other hot shots and the FBI Agent, discussing a big case. I’ve brought ‘em coffee twice already.”
A big case? “You mean the meth ring case?”
He looked surprised she knew about it. “Yeah.” Then he frowned. “Are we allowed to tell civilians about that now?”
“I’m not exactly a civilian, am I?” She was still wearing her security guard uniform and stood a little taller. “I actually came to talk to him about that case. I think…” She hesitated, then took a deep breath and continued, “I have a clue for him.” It’s not disloyal to Tristan to talk about him behind his back. Besides, that man’s loyalties were seriously screwed up anyhow.
Bart narrowed his eyes, but eventually nodded. “Alright, head on back there.”
She nodded firmly in thanks and moved towards the offices. At the door to the big meeting room, she took a deep breath and straightened the front of her uniform shirt. Resettling her gun belt, she gave herself a pep talk. You got this, Easton. Just like reporting to your sergeant back on the force. No big deal. It’s just an FBI agent.
No big deal. Yeah, right.
She pushed open the door to step inside, and immediately froze when a dozen male heads swiveled her way.
A dozen? She silently counted to be sure. This must’ve been a really important case. They were all standing around a large table, covered in papers and laptops and old coffee mugs, and the wall behind them was covered in maps and notes.
“Charley?” Shane sounded incredulous she’d shown up. He pushed his way through the crowd. “What are you doing here?”
What was she doing here? Oh yeah. “I, um…” She cleared her throat and tried again. “I have some new intel for your case.”
While Shane just stared, there came a voice from the back of the room. A voice Charley definitely hadn’t expected.
“What possible value could a security guard bring to this investigation?”
The speaker stepped around a pair of men in plainclothes, and smirked at her.
“Bradley,” she whispered, shocked. What was her brother doing here? And why was he so darn condescending all the time?
“Hello, little sister. Looks like you’re desperate for some excitement, huh?”
Coeur D’Alene was the closest big city. Dad must’ve needed to send some liaison or something, and chose Bradley. Well, why not? After all, the apple didn’t fall far from the tree, and Bradley was good at what he did. Which was sucking up and smirking. Both of which he was doing now.
She forced herself to shrug, to pretend like his words didn’t hurt. “Sheriff Clapper asked me to keep my ear to the ground. After all, the ranch covers more land than the town itself does.” And it’s all mine, she silently finished. The ranch was her responsibility, and she was proud of it. She’d be blistered before she’d let Bradley put that down.
Shane cleared his throat. “And did you hear anything?”
“Yeah.” She took a fortifying breath. “I did.” She’d done more than hear something, but these officers needed to know Tristan was in the area—or at least was until yesterday, when she’d dragged him out into the woods by the lake and confronted him—and that she knew how to reach him.
Shane jerked his head towards the table. “Well, come on. We’ve been going over these numbers, trying to crack the code of when the next drop will be and where.” His wave encompassed most of the men. “I dunno about everyone else, but I’m about to go cross-eyed, and could use some distraction. I’m nominally in charge—just because we’re using Riston as a base, and everyone’s sitting in my meeting room, drinking my coffee, so I’ll do the introductions. Everyone, this is Charley Easton, apparently related to Detective Easton.” He nodded at Bradley, and she was pleased to see Shane seemed unimpressed when he looked at her brother. “Charley used to be on the Coeur D’Alene force, but took a job heading up security over at River’s End Ranch, which—as she said—is not only the largest privately owned chunk of land in this area, but also the town’s largest employer.”
Charley nodded, proud at his description, while he went around the table and called out names faster than she’d ever be able to remember. He finished with Bradley and a handsome man with a nice smile.
“You know your brother, of course” —oh boy, did she ever— “and this is Agent Jack Saunders, the FBI agent I mentioned who requested transfer to this case.”
Remembering that the man had spent some time on the ranch last year, Charley ignored her brother to shake Agent Saunders’ hand. “Nice to meet you, sir.” She placed the motorcycle helmet on the table beside a coffee mug, and made eye contact with as many of the men as possible, nodding firmly. Hoping if she seemed confident enough, they’d assume she had a right to be there.
Bradley, however, was always looking for a way to distract her. “Since when did you start riding a motorcycle, sis?” As if her personal transportation was at all relevant to this discussion.
So she took great pleasure in meeting his eyes and saying, “I didn’t. This isn’t my helmet.”
He frowned, looking more like Dad with each passing minute. “Whose is it then?”
Charley turned slightly, giving Bradley her shoulder, and spoke directly to Agent Saunders. “It belongs to Tristan Quarles.”
As she hoped, her announcement caused a flurry of activity. The officers and agents in the room all began to talk at once, with a few pushing around the table, presumably to try to reach the helmet. Charley kept her chin up and her attention focused on Agent Saunders.
He held up his hand, and the noise and movement died down. “Ms. Easton, perhaps you can explain how you found Tristan Quarles’ helmet.”
“I didn’t find it.” She slowly exhaled. “He left it with me.”
Bradley muttered something unflattering under his breath, but Agent Saunders just raised a brow. “Are you saying that you know where he is? Can you tell us how to find him?” He began to get excited. “Even if you don’t know his base of operations, just having a way to find him would allow us to trace him back to the meth lab.”
Charley opened her mouth to explain that yes, she k
new how to find him, and no, Tristan couldn’t lead them to the meth lab, but her phone buzzed in her pocket, interrupting her. Who could be texting her this time of day? Allan with an emergency at the ranch? She snapped her mouth shut and dug into the back pocket of her uniform pants for the phone.
Tristan’s number blinked up at her from the home screen, and she hurried to unlock the phone. His message was short:
“You’re right. I can help. I’ll tell the cops everything.”
Such a simple message, but she read all the words he hadn’t written. About how he must’ve struggled with his lingering feelings of loyalty to his father, and how he was willing to overcome his deep-seated aversion to the police.
She couldn’t help the smile that bloomed as her fingers flew across the screen. “Where are you?”
His reply was immediate. “At the Riston police station. Wish me luck.”
Luck? He didn’t need luck.
He had her.
Charley grinned wider and looked up to meet Agent Saunders’ eyes. He was irritated with her, that was obvious. Probably because she’d ignored him in favor of her phone.
“Well, Ms. Easton?” he all but growled. “Will you tell us how to track down Tristan Quarles?”
“No,” she quipped as she typed out “Wait a sec” on her phone. “But I can do better.” She grinned at the FBI agent and Shane, completely ignoring her brother. “I’ll be right back.”
Leaving Tristan’s helmet on the table, she slipped out of the room and past Bart at the front desk. She pulled open the front door to the station, and…there he was.
Tristan whirled to face her, and something in his expression told her this hadn’t been an easy decision. Her heart ached for him.
“What are you doing here?” he blurted, and jammed his hands into his pockets in that little sign of hesitation she was coming to love.
But all she said was, “Hopefully, the same thing you are.”
His expression turned pained, and he yanked one hand out of his pocket to run it through his hair. “I’m willing to help.”
Knowing how important that was—to him and to the investigation—Charley stepped up beside him. Trying to let her pride in him shine through her eyes, she smiled up at him. “Thank you,” she said simply.
But the way his shoulders relaxed and his breath whooshed out of his lungs, he appreciated it, and that was enough.
He glanced at the door to the station. “Are they in there? Whoever I need to tell the truth to?”
“Yeah. A lot of them.”
“Hooboy,” he muttered on an exhale, and she understood his fear. After almost a decade in prison, and so much longer distrusting law and order, this was a huge step for him.
Deliberately, she brushed the outside of her fingers against his. Just to let him know that she was there, if he needed her.
To her surprise, he grabbed her hand, clutching it like it was a lifeline. He didn’t look at her—his gaze was still focused on the sign over the station door with an unusual intensity—but he gripped her hand like it was the most important thing in the world. Maybe it was.
“Are you ready?” she asked quietly.
When he didn’t answer, she squeezed his hand. “I’ll be here.” The whole time. Whenever you need me.
He finally turned to look down at her, his eyes wide and his breaths coming in short gasps. “Promise?”
Oh, I promise, Tristan. She wanted to promise so much more than this, but standing beside him while he faced his fear and did the right thing? Yeah, she could do that.
“I promise,” she whispered.
He swallowed, and as she watched, his breaths slowed until he was breathing normally. His panic gone, he nodded and stepped towards the station door. She didn’t let go of his hand.
They stepped inside together, and when he would’ve balked, she pulled him along slightly. She ignored Bart’s curious look, and at the office door, glanced once at Tristan. “Ready?” she asked.
At his terse nod, she pushed open the door and squeezed his hand when the noise rose once more. Shane was looking between them with a shocked expression on his face, and Bradley was sneering down at their clasped hands.
Charley lifted her chin proudly. It might not be exactly professional to hold hands with a suspect in front of her superior officers, but she wasn’t a cop anymore, Tristan wasn’t a suspect—at least, he wouldn’t be—and Bradley might’ve been her older brother and a detective, but he most certainly was not her superior. She raised a brow, daring him to say something.
It was Agent Saunders who spoke though, his hand reaching for the handgun he wore in a shoulder holster. “Easton, what is this?”
“I don’t know, sir—” Bradley started to answer ingratiatingly, but Saunders cut him off.
“Not you, Easton.” He jerked his chin at Charley, his eyes never leaving Tristan. “You.”
It was then that she noticed with a few exceptions—like Shane and Bradley—all of the officers in the room had their hands on their weapons. To them, Tristan was the real threat, and he’d just waltzed into their midst.
She squeezed his hand once more, to let him know she wasn’t going anywhere, before dropping it and stepping forward so that her shoulder blocked him slightly. It was a subtle move, but one designed to show these men—all of them larger and more powerful than she—that they’d have to go through her to get to Tristan.
“He’s not a threat.” She was proud of how she managed to keep her voice steady. She lifted her hands slightly, palms down, away from her body. “Stand down.”
Bradley and one or two others sneered, but Saunders stared at her impassively for a moment. Then his gaze flicked to Tristan and back to her, before giving a single nod and dropping his hand from his weapon. Everyone else in the room seemed to take their cue from him, and Charley breathed a bit easier. Until the FBI agent spoke again.
“Talk, Easton,” he barked, his body language still tense.
She didn’t move away from Tristan, but was determined to let him have his say. “Actually, sir, I’m not the one who has something to say.” She tilted her head slightly, indicating the silent man behind her, only able to wonder what was going through his head at that moment. “Mr. Quarles came today because he has something to tell you.”
The room’s attention shifted to Tristan.
“Is that true, Quarles?” Saunders asked.
There was a noise from behind her which might’ve been Tristan shifting. Then: “Yeah.”
Saunders exchanged an unreadable look with Shane before turning his attention back to Tristan. “What is it?”
“I want my helmet back.”
The agent’s expression clouded with anger as Charley twisted to face Tristan.
“What?” she hissed, but needn’t have bothered. His face had already relaxed into a crooked little grin.
“Sorry.” He shrugged. “I have trouble with authority.”
“Tristan.” She said his name like a warning. She did not just embarrass herself so that he could act like a fool.
“Okay, kidding.” He met Saunders’ eyes. “I’m here to help. Although I do want my helmet back.”
Bradley stepped forward. “The only help you’ll be getting is when we drag you off to prison.”
She felt Tristan stiffen beside her. In fear? Anger? She was about to defend him when Shane did it for her.
“Detective Easton, why don’t you zip it and let him explain?”
Tristan threw Shane a sharp glance, and for the first time, Charley saw the fear he’d been hiding under that crooked grin. Only now that Shane had defended him, that fear slipped to surprise, and then speculation. Finally, Tristan nodded.
“I know you think I’ve got something to do with all this.” He gestured to the maps on the wall. “But I don’t even know what all this is. I didn’t until…” He glanced at Charley. “Yesterday. And I don’t even know the details.”
“She told a suspect about an open investigation?” Bradley’s
incredulous mutter made her want to punch him, but Saunders ignored him.
“What makes you think that we’d believe you, Quarles?”
“Well, I did just stroll in by my own free will.” Which was amazing, all things considered. “I’m willing to help if I can. Answer any questions.”
The men around the table began to murmur to one another, but Saunders held Tristan’s gaze. For his part, Tristan kept his eyes on the agent. Could anyone else see the tension in his jaw, in the way his fists clenched beside him?
Finally, Shane made a noise. It wasn’t quite a grunt, but it got Saunders’ attention. He glanced over, and when Shane jerked his chin towards the table, the agent nodded. “Alright, Quarles. You can start over here.”
They turned back to the table, but shuffled around a bit so there was space for Tristan and Charley. Shane pulled up a document on the laptop and jotted some numbers down in a notebook. Everyone was staring at either him or Tristan, and Charley did her best to tamp down on her nervousness. She brushed the backs of her fingers against his, just to let him know she was here. Supporting him. Trusting him. Proud of him.
“Here.” Shane turned the notebook so Tristan could see the numbers. “This was a drop message. What’s it say?”
Tristan tilted his head slightly. “Um… Route 95, 1:15pm, mile marker 493.”
Charley caught the look Shane sent Saunders, and the agent’s single nod. Riston’s sheriff hurried to jot down another set of numbers. “How about this?”
“Route 2, east of Bonner’s Ferry. Mile marker 71, 10:42am.”
Saunders grunted. “Well, you were the delivery boy, weren’t you?”
“No,” Tristan shot back before Charley could defend him. “I was the pickup man. I dunno what happened to the delivery boy.”
Nodding slowly, Saunders raked Tristan with a speculative gaze. “I just meant that it would makes sense that you’d know the code. We never broke it, because we know of only a few of the drops to match with the messages. These two combinations—and the times and locations that they apparently represent—match two drops that we know of. Care to explain?” He shifted the notebook closer to Tristan.