Jimbo pointed to the open swath next to the lake. He kept it under control with a weed whacker and a mower. “That’s where we set up the grill.”
Miner’s Lake was bigger than a large pond, but you could still see the other shore, covered with the upscale housing developments that were starting to infiltrate the area. In time Jimbo’s land would be worth a small fortune, and I hoped he’d keep it pristine as long as he could and not sell out to the corporations.
“Joe was to the right of the grill. I was over at the table getting the meat ready to throw on the charcoal.”
The grill was a hunkin’ old broiler, not propane like the modern ones, but using old-fashioned briquettes and wood charcoal. Jimbo refused to grill over gas, saying the fumes tainted the taste of the food. It was just one of the quirks that made him all that more loveable.
I parked myself on a long log that had been barked and sanded to make a bench. The sound of gentle ripples cresting against the shore broke rhythmically as they kissed the land. I shaded my eyes and stared at the water. The breeze ruffled it into concentric rings that radiated out, and the sun beat down on the indigo surface. Everything felt in order, nothing out of place.
“Where did the bullet come from?” I asked after a moment.
Jimbo pointed down the path, across to a patch of tall huckleberry and ferns. Shaded by a stand of oak and Douglas fir, the foliage glistened green under the sun, and as I stared at it, I began to feel a chill creep up my spine.
“Okay, let’s go take a look. Lead the way.”
He led me along the path, which had recently been pruned back, probably for the barbecue. Wistfully, I thought of how much fun we would have had, and for a moment, a flare of anger rose up. Why were all our special events marred in one way or another? The week leading up to my birthday had been a nightmare. Even Christmas this past year had felt a little off—with Joe having to work, and with my kids once again angry at their father who had run off on a trip to the Caribbean after Tyra dumped him.
Jimbo pointed to a large bushy vine maple, which was partially obscured by a thriving patch of Scotch broom. “There, that’s where they said he must have been hiding. I meant to cut down the broom two weeks ago, but got distracted. If I had, maybe he wouldn’t have been able to sneak back in there.”
“It’s not your fault,” I murmured, suddenly aware that Jimbo felt some responsibility for Joe’s predicament. “You weren’t the one who was holding the gun, and you didn’t pull the trigger.” I crept forward into the blind. As I stood there, turning so my gaze traveled along the path, I felt a shift in the air and found myself staring at Jimbo and Joe, standing near the grill. But Joe was out of phase, almost invisible. Jimbo stood out loud and clear, but he was superimposed over Joe, like a bad double exposure.
“Huh?” I said, shaking my head. Jimbo kept silent. He’d been around me long enough by now to recognize when I was out on the astral, exploring. I blinked, then looked again, allowing my senses to reach out, to cross time and see just what the shooter had been seeing.
Once again, Jimbo came into view, superimposed over Joe. Joe might as well have been a ghost. I frowned, then remembered something. “Hey, you said that Joe was wearing your shirt, right?”
“Yeah, one of my favorites, too. Anna gave it to me.”
“How often did you wear this shirt? Did a lot of people around town see you in it?” A suspicion was beginning to form in my mind; one that made all too much sense.
He thought for a moment. “I guess I wore it a lot, though it’s a goner now. It got pretty banged up from that bullet, not to mention that the medics cut it off of Joe to see what was going on with his shoulder. Why?”
I turned the words over in my head. “Because when I look at the meadow, the person who stands out is you, not Joe, but you’re standing right where you said Joe was. It’s a fair distance to see a lot of detail. If somebody saw Joe wearing that shirt, they might have thought—”
“That Joe was me,” he said slowly. “Shit, then they might have been taking aim at me?”
I nodded, certain that we were on the right track. “I think that’s what happened. The more we talk about it, the stronger my hunch is. Jimbo, you were the target. Which makes what’s happening with Murray all the more frightening. Whoever’s stalking her might want to get rid of you. So much so that …”
“That he took a chance on killing me, but missed.” Jimbo grunted, stabbing at the ground with his boot. “That puts a whole new spin on things, doesn’t it?”
I nodded. “Yeah, and it means that Joe just got in the way, so you’d better be damned careful out here. Our pervert just might try again.” No matter which way I turned it over in my mind, I came back to the same thought: Jimbo, not Joe, had been the target. Which meant my sweetie wasn’t in any further danger, but it left a big red target on the biker’s forehead.
We headed back to the house where I sprawled on the front step, playing with Roo, while Jimbo silently fiddled with his chopper. After a few minutes, I asked, “Are you going to tell Murray about this?”
He glanced up at me, his eyes dark. “I don’t know,” he said gruffly. “I don’t want to worry her with all that’s gone down the past few days.”
“Yeah, but even you have to admit that the more information she has, the safer you both are.” It occurred to me that Mur hadn’t been all too forthcoming with Jimbo, either—she still hadn’t told him about the ring or the note. At least there’d been no way for her to avoid talking about the bug under her lamp.
He shrugged, then climbed on the chopper. Sugar, as he called her, roared to life. Jimbo leaned back and took her for a spin around the yard while Roo and I watched. All of a sudden, the bike went out of control, and it looked like he was fighting to keep upright. I jumped up, watching in horror as he wrenched the chopper sideways as it raced in a mad frenzy. It skidded, roared again, and tipped, pinning him beneath it. As I dashed over to him, the engine sputtered and died.
“Jimbo, are you all right?” I struggled to push the heavy machine off of him, and after a moment, he shook his head and managed to lever it from below. Another moment and I was bracing it with my weight, holding it upright as he stumbled to his feet, coughing.
“Shit,” he croaked. “Motherfu—” Stopping abruptly, he glanced at me. “Here, let me take that.” He locked the kickstand into place, then stood back, eyeing the bike suspiciously.
“Jimbo—” I fussed, noting the torn jeans and the patch of rough skin where his elbow and upper arm had slid along the driveway. Tiny pebbles were embedded into the skin, and blood dripped in a slow trickle.
“I’m okay—don’t sweat it. I’m fine,” he said, squatting to examine the front of the bike. He moved to the back and looked at another wire. After a moment he whistled. “Well, looky here.”
“What?” I closed my eyes. Whatever it was wasn’t good, and that same creepy energy that I’d felt in Murray’s house now pervaded the yard.
“Somebody’s been screwing with my chain. It’s been loosened. If I’d been on the freeway …” His voice drifted off, leaving the rest unsaid, but both of us knew exactly what would have happened. He would have stood a damned good chance of being killed.
He strode inside and I followed, watching as he grabbed the phone. Punching in a number, he paused, then said, “Trigger, this is Jimbo. Yeah, fine. Listen, can you round up five or six of the boys and bring them down to my place? Remember what I was telling you guys at the meeting last night? Well, it’s for real. I want to do a walk-through, make sure nobody’s camped out around here.” Another pause. Then: “Yeah, like that Bear dude. Half an hour? Sounds good. Thanks.”
As he replaced the receiver, I made a decision. Murray would probably be pissed at me, but things were getting out of hand. “Jimbo, there’s something else that you don’t know. When I was at Murray’s …” I told him about the ring, and the note she’d received at work.
No longer worried about Joe, now I was nose-deep in concern for my
friends. My wedding plans paled in the face of what was going on, and I knew that I couldn’t in good conscience just turn and walk away from this to go on my honeymoon. I knew Joe would feel the same way. Until we had some idea of what was going on, our wedding plans would have to wait.
Seven
THE MINUTE HE heard about the ring and the note, I had no problem convincing Jimbo to call Deacon. While we were waiting, the roar of bikes thundered from down the road and six burly men came riding into the driveway, all in jeans, leather, and dark shades. My heart flipped for a moment, and I had the sudden urge to slip into a halter top and a pair of Daisy Dukes. Oh, yeah. That was me, all right.
The guys waved at me as they fanned out around the yard. By now, I’d been around the enclave enough to know a few of their names, and they’d dubbed me the “weird tea chick.” I wasn’t suburban enough to rate the word “lady,” for which I was grateful—the word conjuring up images of soccer moms, soft pop radio stations, and minivans. I was proud to be Kip and Randa’s mother, but I preferred grunge and my SUV.
Terry-T strode up to Jimbo. They clasped hands. “What’s shakin’, my man?” he said. Terry-T had long wheat-colored hair and facial hair that lingered on the verge of Beards Gone Wild.
Jimbo was about to fill them in when Deacon and Greg pulled into the yard. The boys stared, not unfriendly but solemn and silent. I sidled up to Jimbo’s side and we went over our respective stories. Normally, I didn’t bother telling the cops—other than Murray—when I had a psychic hunch because I knew they couldn’t act on it, but this time it made sense. Common, logical sense. I had the feeling they’d actually consider the idea that Jimbo might have been the target, given everything else that had been happening.
By the time we finished, Deacon was shaking his head. “I don’t mind telling you, I’m worried. We haven’t had someone on the force with a creeper in a long time,” he said.
“Creeper?”
“That’s what the Chief calls it. Occasionally you get a cop who attracts a wacko. A lot of times, it’s somebody they’ve busted; once in a while it’s your everyday, average neurotic who fancies the officer to be their own personal savior. Hero worship bordering on fantasy. But whoever this is, this dude’s escalated the pattern. He’s skipped a few steps.”
“Like what?” I asked. If he was upping the ante, there had to be a reason.
“He’s invaded her house and she still doesn’t know who he is.” Deacon glanced at me. “You might just be right about the shooter. We’ll look into it.”
They inspected the chopper and noted down the damage, then checked out the rest of Jimbo’s vehicles, but could find nothing else out of place. As they headed to their patrol car, they left Jimbo with a caveat to be careful and make sure to lock up his vehicles in the garage.
“You might want to give them a once-over before you ease out on the road, too,” Greg said. “Just to make sure there’s nothing wrong. I don’t want you paranoid, but if somebody’s been tampering with your bike, next time you use your truck, you might want to look under the hood.”
Jimbo frowned. “Why?”
An image flashed in my mind and I knew I’d picked up on what Greg was thinking. As softly as I could, I said, “Explosives. You don’t want to get in a booby-trapped car. Isn’t that right, Greg?”
Greg’s gaze flickered to me and he nodded. “Yeah. Pretty much.” On that note, they pulled out of the driveway.
I sighed. There was nothing more I could do out here, and I had an appointment with the seamstress who was altering Nanna’s wedding dress. My mother had found it in the attic, and it was a vision in ivory lace and satin. It was too big for me—Nanna had been a stout woman—and I wanted a lower neckline, but Janette Armor, who owned the Bridal Veil, had promised that she would work her magic. I only hoped that I hadn’t gained any weight. I’d been stressing a lot the past few days and eating everything in sight.
I gave Jimbo a hug and he swept me up in his arms. “Thanks, O’Brien. You may have just saved my can. If you’re right, at least now I can be on the alert. And I’ll keep a close eye on Anna, so don’t worry your scrawny little butt over that.”
As I headed toward my Mountaineer, escorted by none other than Terry-T himself, I heard Jimbo briefing the guys on what he wanted them to do while patrolling his property.
Terry-T held my door open for me as I scrambled in. I blinked in surprise. “Why thank you, Terry. Keep an eye on him for me, will you?” I nodded Jimbo’s way.
The big galoot grinned. “Sure thing, sweet cheeks. He’s the Man, all right. So, you’re getting married to the paramedic.”
I nodded. “Yeah, supposed to be, if things ever calm down. Why?”
He hemmed and hawed for a moment, then said, “The boys and I wanted to do something to thank you for catching that S.O.B. who killed Clyde and Scar last year, and for what you did for Traci. We’ve been talking about it for a while now, and we’ve come up with a gift for you. But I don’t want to spoil the surprise. When we heard you were coming up here today, I figured why wait. So, a couple of the boys delivered it to your house. By the time you get home, it should be there.”
I blinked again. A present? For me? From the Klickavail bikers’ enclave? Shades of surreal. “I have no idea what to say. You didn’t have to do anything—I’m just glad I could help out.” I broke into a wide grin. “But I do love presents, so thanks, Terry-T. And tell the boys that, whatever it is, I’m sure I’ll love it.”
He slapped the side of my door as he shut it for me. “Yeah, we think you will, too. Okay, gonna go help Jimbo here. Can’t have the Man in trouble, you know?” As he sauntered away from my car, I couldn’t help but think about first impressions, and how very wrong they could be. I’d learned a lot from Jimbo and his buddies, and I hoped I never forgot the lesson.
On the drive home, I wondered what on earth a bunch of bikers could have settled on for a wedding gift. As I pulled into the driveway, the answer became abundantly clear. There stood Joe, Randa, and Kip, big goofy grins on their faces. They were gathered around a beauty of a chopper. A Harley with a passenger seat, painted brilliant emerald green. Oh my God, the boys had given us a motorcycle!
I leaped out of the Mountaineer and raced over, laughing. Joe caught my gaze, his eyes twinkling as he pointed to the side of the chopper. Instead of flames, the words CHINTZ ’N CHINA EXPRESS had been painted in lemon yellow and outlined in black, a perfect contrast against the green. When I could control my laughter, I told them what Terry-T had said.
Joe nodded toward the house. “There’s more.”
“More? That thing is worth a good ten or twenty grand, or would be if it was new.” I knew the boys had refurbished an older bike, which was just fine—a new one would be way too expensive for me to feel comfortable accepting. I also knew that Joe would have a blast with it, and I fully intended to be right there, behind him on the passenger seat.
We trooped up the steps to the porch where I saw two black leather jackets, one in my size, one that would fit Joe. On the back was the enclave’s sigil, and beneath it, the words HONORARY MEMBER.
Grinning like a hyena, I decided that maybe our wedding would go off without a snag after all. And if it didn’t, we could hop aboard the bike and elope.
AS I TOOK a shower, Joe sat on the toilet, talking to me. I told him what I’d figured out. “I don’t think you were the target,” I shouted over the running water, as I lathered rose-scented shampoo into a thick foam. I wasn’t about to go to a fitting for my wedding dress with anything but powder-fresh skin and clean hair.
“You know, that makes sense,” he shouted back. “I can’t imagine who would want me dead. Not even Roy.”
Roy. Yeah, my suspicions about Roy had been alleviated by our talk, but I wasn’t ready to tell Joe about my visit. As it was, I had my doubts that Roy would ever really shape up. Oh, he might actually stick by his word and try to be a better father, but until he could take full responsibility for his addictions, he’d al
ways be blaming someone or something else for his problems.
I rinsed my hair and turned off the water, stepping out of the shower as Joe handed me a towel. “Thanks. I’m worried sick, though. Who could be stalking Murray, and why? And if this psycho’s taking potshots at Jimbo, then he’s serious.”
“How do you know it’s a he?” Joe asked.
“What?” The thought that the stalker might be a woman hadn’t occurred to me. “Usually women stalk men, don’t they? If a woman was stalking Jimbo, wouldn’t she have sent presents to him and shot at Murray?”
“I’m just saying, don’t make any broad generalizations until you know for sure. Who knows? Maybe some woman has fallen for Murray and is angry that she’s with a man? It happens.” Joe smacked me soundly on the butt as I padded over to the vanity and peered at myself in the mirror. I turned around, eyeing him, and he raised one eyebrow. “Ms. O’Brien, would you like to retire to the bedroom?”
“I would indeed, however, I’m going to be late for the fitting of my wedding dress so you’ll have to hold that thought for later. We don’t want to aggravate your injury, either, so maybe we’d better hold off for a day.” I returned to the bedroom, searching for the corset and panties I’d be wearing under the dress. You could never be too careful with special-occasion outfits. Always best to wear the foundation garments you were planning to wear with the dress when you went to have it altered. The wrong bra—especially for someone with boobs my size—could make or break a look.
Joe followed me, stretching out on the bed. “My shoulder’s not what I was planning on using,” he grumbled, but gave me a good-natured grin. “Wow, that’s hot,” he added, as I cinched the ivory bustier a little tighter.
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