The Bribe: Calamity Montana - Book 1

by Nash, Willa

Busted. I didn’t bother pretending that I had been staring anywhere but at his ass. I simply shrugged, closed the hatch on the Rover and got behind the wheel.

  He’s just a hot guy.

  He’s just another hot guy.

  My name is Jade Morgan and Duke Evans is just another hot guy.

  I’d keep reminding myself, over and over, until it sank in.

  And eventually Lucy Ross would disappear. Hopefully along with this attraction to the local sheriff.

  Chapter Four

  Duke

  I parked in front of Lucy’s house and pinched the bridge of my nose. Fuck, it had been a long day. Too much had happened since I’d bumped into Lucy at the grocery store and what I really wanted to do was go home, take a hot shower and drink a beer. Put today behind me. But since I didn’t have her phone number and wasn’t the type of guy to no-show, here I was, sitting in my truck, trying to summon the energy to go inside and interrogate a country music star in hiding.

  It was six thirty—I hated being late but it had been unavoidable. Hopefully the pizza in the passenger seat would buy me some grace. I took one more breath, the smell of crust and cheese and garlic filling the truck, then hopped out and trudged up Lucy’s porch. Before I could hit the bell, the door opened and there she was.

  Lucy’s face was a welcome sight. One look and my bones didn’t feel quite as weary. My legs weren’t so tired and hard to move. One look and some of the heavy in my heart faded away.

  Her black hair was piled in a knot on the top of her head. Her eyes were lined and dusted with shadow, making the green orbs appear bigger. Her cheeks were blushed and her lips glossed. I’d kill for a smile at the moment, a real smile like those she’d given me in Yellowstone. Just a little sunshine to break through the gloom of a dark damn day.

  But I didn’t get a smile. Instead her expression grew wary as she eyed the pizza box. “Sheriff.”

  “Ms. Ross. Hope you like pepperoni.”

  “Um . . . I didn’t realize this was a dinner meeting.”

  I eased past her as she opened the door wider. I didn’t bother waiting for her to take the lead as I walked straight through the living room to the kitchen, setting the box on the island and flipping open the top for a slice.

  The first bite, I swallowed so fast the flavor barely had a chance to graze my taste buds. The second and third, I took the time to chew. And by the time I finished that first piece, I began to feel human again.

  “Would you like a plate?” Lucy asked, whipping open a cupboard and yanking out two. Then she slammed the door closed and smacked the plates on the island, shooting me a scowl.

  “Sorry.” My mother would have strangled me for that display of missing manners. “I didn’t get lunch today.”

  “Busy spending your bribe money already? Or was it a slammed Monday at the local speed trap?”

  I bit my tongue about the money comment and matched her sarcastic tone. “No, I man the speed trap on Sundays.”

  The corner of her mouth quirked but she didn’t give me a smile. “What happened?”

  “There was an accident outside of town.” Just mentioning it was sobering. The mental image of what I’d seen today chased away my appetite.

  Tomorrow morning, it would be reported in the weekly newspaper, but I suspected the details—most of which were probably inaccurate—were already riding the Calamity gossip wave.

  “Oh.” The edge in Lucy’s voice disappeared, replaced with genuine concern. “I’m sorry. Was anyone hurt?”

  I rubbed the back of my neck. “Yeah.”

  It was tourist season, which meant more traffic through the area. Until fall came, there were three out-of-state cars for every local on the highways. Typically, the tourists were responsible for the accidents. I didn’t hold any prejudice toward them, it was just the way the stats fell. They outnumbered us.

  But today’s accident was the fault of a Calamity man. He’d been texting—we’d found his phone on the floor of his smashed car. He’d drifted into the opposite lane of the highway and collided head-on with a family on their way to Yellowstone.

  Two kids were in the hospital with scrapes and cuts. Their father was in critical condition. Their mother had a concussion and two broken legs. The guy who’d been texting was a single guy who worked construction.

  I’d pronounced him dead at the scene.

  “Are you all right?” Lucy asked.

  “Yep.” I forced a small smile. “Just drained.”

  “Want to talk about it?”

  “There’s not much I can say until it’s released to the public.”

  “Is everyone okay?”

  “No.”

  Understanding crossed her gaze followed by a lance of pain. She gulped. “Was it anyone you knew?”

  “I knew him. Not well, but I knew him.”

  He’d been from Bozeman, the nearest town of any size, about two hours away. After we’d cleared the scene, sending four people to the hospital, one body to the morgue and two cars to the scrapyard, I’d gone to the station to make the tough phone calls. I’d notified the authorities in Bozeman so they could tell the man’s next of kin. Then I’d called my buddy Kase to tell him that one of his employees had died.

  I blew out a deep breath. “One of my deputies was first on the scene. He’s only been on the force for six months. Twenty-one years old. I’m expecting his resignation tomorrow. That wasn’t a sight I could stomach, let alone the kid.”

  “Is there anyone who can help? Like a therapist or something?”

  “We’ve got a good therapist in town. I called her before I came here. But still . . . it won’t be the last disaster my deputy sees if he sticks with the force. He’s got to decide if he can push through the nightmares. But I wouldn’t blame him if he turned in his badge.”

  Today’s scene had been gruesome. The man who’d died had been nearly unrecognizable. I could still hear the mother’s screams ringing in my ears as we’d helped her out of their minivan. And those kids . . . I’d never forget the terror on their faces. Never.

  Grayson, my deputy, had vomited at the scene. Once the last ambulance had driven away, he’d had a complete breakdown and been inconsolable.

  “Death isn’t easy to see,” Lucy said in a way that made it clear she’d seen it firsthand too. “I’m sorry for your deputy. And for you.”

  “Thanks. I care about my team a lot. Wish there was a way to keep the shit away from them, but it’s the nature of the job.”

  There was such kindness, such empathy in her green eyes, I wanted to cry myself. Instead, I cleared my throat and grabbed another slice of pizza. Why had I just unloaded that on her? Shame on me. She didn’t need to bear my burdens. This was the woman who’d offered me money to keep a secret and make a speeding ticket disappear. A woman who, I suspected, wouldn’t be in Calamity for long.

  I took a bite of my pizza, remembering why I was here. “Let’s change the subject. Why are you in Calamity, Ms. Ross?”

  She cringed. “Jade. Please. Or Lucy. Anything but Ms. Ross.”

  “All right. Lucy it is.” Though I’d hoped to keep it at Ms. Ross to reinforce some distance. And because I couldn’t call her Jade, not when I knew it was a lie.

  “Should we sit down?” She cast her gaze toward the dining room.

  “Sure.” I nodded and followed her with my plate in one hand and the pizza box in the other.

  We sat at the table, facing one another, and ate in silence. The room was bright and airy, even if the table was slightly too big. The window at our side overlooked the expanse of property behind the farmhouse. It wasn’t quite as stunning a view as from the front, but it wasn’t ugly either.

  “Do you know much about this house?” I asked.

  This wasn’t the conversation we needed to have, but the urgency to push Lucy for information was gone. I’d analyze it later, along with the fact that if it was anyone else sitting across from me, I probably would have come out here and rescheduled this meeting. But at the moment
, I just wanted to sit and talk and think about anything other than the accident.

  “Not really.”

  “It was owned by a widow. Everyone in town always called her Widow Ashleigh so even though Kerrigan owns the farmhouse, you’ll probably hear it called Widow Ashleigh’s place. She was a nice lady. Drove this huge boat of a Cadillac. Black and shiny, you couldn’t miss it when she rolled through town. Mostly because she drove about five miles per hour, no matter where she was going.”

  “You’re telling me this so I’ll drive like Widow Ashleigh?”

  “Yes.” I chuckled. “She passed about five years ago. This house has been basically empty since. The longest anyone has lived here since has been six months.”

  “You say that like it’s cursed.”

  “Might be.”

  She blinked, studying my face, then relaxed when she realized I was joking. “Trying to scare me away, Sheriff?”

  “Tell you what. I’ll drop the Ms. Ross if you drop the Sheriff and call me Duke.”

  “I like calling you Sheriff.” She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest, the slice of pizza on her plate forgotten. “Reminds me exactly who you are.”

  And I knew exactly who she was too.

  Lucy arched an eyebrow, signaling she was ready for me to get on with the real inquisition. Her internal defenses were raised, her body rigid.

  The idle talk was over.

  “Why are you here?” I asked.

  “It was time for a change.”

  “Try again. I’m not the kind of guy who likes vague answers.”

  Her stare hardened. “Doesn’t my one hundred thousand dollars buy me some anonymity?”

  “No, it does not.”

  “But—”

  “None.” My tone brooked no argument. “Talk.”

  That was the second time since I’d arrived and the third time today she’d mentioned the bribe. It was pissing me the fuck off and I was tempted to set the record straight about how this was really going to play out, but the moment Lucy didn’t have to tell me what was going on, she’d find an excuse to clam up.

  She needed to think her identity here was on the line, and I’d swallow the truth until I got the full story.

  “You bought the magazine,” she said. “What did it tell you?”

  “I didn’t read it.” I had no faith that a tabloid would include anything but speculation.

  “Really?” She stared at me like I’d grown a goiter on my neck. Why was it such a surprise that I’d skip the magazine? That I’d actually ask the source instead of swallowing someone else’s interpretation of the truth?

  “You’re stalling, Lucy. What’s going on?”

  She shifted her gaze to the windows, looking into the distance. “I quit.”

  “Quit what?”

  “What does anyone quit? Their job.”

  Lucy was a famous performer. She had the kind of life little girls dreamed of. “You expect me to believe you walked away?”

  Her eyes shot to mine. They flashed angry, then her shoulders dropped and the annoyance in her gaze morphed into something much more like sorrow. Regret. “No, not really. People don’t walk away when they’re at the top of their game.”

  Which meant something horrible must have happened to drive her away. What the hell had happened in Nashville? Maybe I should have read that magazine after all. “Then why?”

  “Reasons.”

  Reasons. This woman was stubborn as hell and obviously had practice avoiding questions, probably from dealing with the press. I simply stayed quiet, waiting. Because I was stubborn as hell too.

  “Creative freedom is one,” she finally said. “I’m sure you can understand the concept of handcuffs.”

  “I can.”

  “Well, I’ve been wearing shackles for years and they’re uncomfortable. But I’ve got a 360 deal with my label, Sunsound Music Group, which means they own me. They own my sound. My future. My brand.” She rolled her eyes. “And I don’t want to be owned by anyone. Not anymore.”

  “Okay. That’s one reason.” Not the real reason, but a reason. Disagreement with your record label didn’t seem like enough motivation to give up a singing career. Maybe backtrack or change, but like she said, people at the top didn’t walk away. Something else had sent her running to Montana. “What’s another?”

  “I can’t live in Nashville. My manager, my agent, my publicist, my producer and a hundred other people are probably furious and freaking out, but I left anyway.”

  Clearly, this move had been on impulse. Once she came to realize that small-town Montana life didn’t hold a fraction of the excitement she’d had in the spotlight, she’d race her fancy Rover straight out of town.

  “And now your plan is to live in Calamity as Jade Morgan,” I said.

  “Yes. That is my plan.”

  “You’ll go back.”

  “No, I won’t.”

  “Bullshit.” I scoffed. “I’m not sure how you’re going to pull off this fake persona, because you are truly a terrible liar.”

  Her nostrils flared. “I can’t tell the future, Sheriff. Today, the answer is no, I’m not going back. Maybe it will change one day, but for now, you’re going to have to deal with the fact that I’m staying.”

  “Who knows you’re here?”

  “Everly.”

  “And?”

  “Everly.”

  She’d only told one person? What about those hundreds of other people? Interesting. If that was true, her disappearance had a higher chance of success, but not by much. Eventually, people would get curious about who was living in Widow Ashleigh’s farmhouse. “What about Kerrigan? How’d you rent this place?”

  “I found her ad and called her. We talked for a while and I told her that I didn’t believe in credit cards or checking accounts. I offered to pay her rental price plus ten percent if we could forgo the application and reference check and I paid cash every month.”

  I grumbled. I’d have to have a discussion with Kerrigan about background checks and being paid under the table. That was a good way to land yourself with a criminal for a tenant. Kerrigan had to know there was a story here. Maybe she’d even suspected Jade Morgan was a fake. But clearly, she was keeping her mouth shut. Besides me, Kerrigan might be the only person in Calamity capable of keeping a secret.

  Lucy’s story explained how she’d come here, but not why. I opened my mouth to ask more about Nashville, but before I could dive in, she spoke first.

  “Why’d you pick Calamity, Duke?”

  “Why do you care?”

  “You’ve asked most of the questions so far. Humor me.”

  Humor her? Didn’t she realize I had been humoring her? I’d given her the chance to tell me her story rather than research and find it out myself. But there was hesitancy in her eyes, like this innocent question was a test that she expected me to somehow fail.

  I didn’t fail.

  “My family has vacationed here for as long as I can remember,” I said. “When I was a kid, we’d come here and stay for a week in the summers. My parents stumbled upon it before I or my sister was born, and it just became our place. My dad is a cop in Wyoming, same town where I grew up. It would have been strange for us to work together, we both knew that, so when it came time for me to search for a job, Calamity was the obvious choice.”

  Mom and Dad’s trips were usually to Bozeman, but they still loved Calamity as much as ever. They’d come four to five times a year to visit me and the friends they’d made here over time.

  “Do you see your parents often?” she asked.

  “They were here a couple of weeks ago to visit. My dad is talking about retiring in the next few years, and I suspect they’ll move to Montana to be closer to me and my sister.”

  “Do you have other siblings? Or just one sister?”

  “Are these questions your way of dodging mine?”

  A smile tugged at her mouth. “Yep.”

  Honesty was a good look on her.
“Just one sister. She’s five years younger. Lives in Bozeman with her husband and two dogs. They’re expecting a baby around Christmas.”

  She opened her mouth to ask another question, but I cut her off. “How about I ask you the same question? Why Calamity?”

  “I liked the name. I have a thing for names.”

  “That’s it?”

  Lucy shrugged. “More or less.”

  I’d been getting more or less with this woman and it was wearing thin. “Let’s cut to the chase. What happened in Nashville?”

  Lucy held my stare and didn’t speak a word.

  “Ms. Ross.”

  “Sheriff Evans.”

  Christ, that stubborn streak ran bone deep. “You’re going to have to tell me eventually.”

  “Maybe. But—”

  “Not tonight, right?” I was getting the same shutdown I had the last time I’d been at the farmhouse. And I didn’t have the energy to argue.

  I stood from the table, taking the box of pizza and my plate. The latter was placed in the sink. The former, I closed and put in her fridge.

  “You don’t want to take that home?” Lucy asked, joining me in the kitchen.

  “You keep it.” I had a box from two nights ago in my fridge. “I assume you’re avoiding public places. Now you don’t need to go out for pizza.”

  “Thanks.” She nodded, taking her plate to the sink. She rinsed hers, then repeated the process with mine, putting them in the dishwasher.

  It was impossible not to stare as she moved. A few strands of hair dangled down her neck, tickling her poised, straight shoulder blades. Had I ever noticed a woman’s shoulders before?

  Not that I could recall. But Lucy’s were the perfect size and since she stood at the perfect height, I imagined holding on to those blades, gripping them tight for a long, slow kiss.

  Should have kissed her. I really should have kissed her in Yellowstone. Just once.

  Lucy turned to face me and lifted her chin. I was beginning to enjoy that defiant little gesture. “Anything else, Sheriff?”

  “I thought we agreed to drop the formalities, Ms. Ross.”

  Her lips pursed into a thin line. “I’ll escort you out.”