Conflict of Interest (The Walker Five Book 1)

by Marie Johnston

  A red engine rolled in and firemen jumped out. Dillon was as relieved to see them as he was to hear the sirens of another engine on the way.

  Once they had their massive hoses going full force, Dillon finally stepped back.

  The other set of sirens didn’t belong to a fire engine, but an ambulance.

  “What are they doing here?” Dillon asked the young cop. He wasn’t going anywhere.

  “Standard procedure. All three departments respond to fires.”

  Dillon nodded numbly, collapsing on the steps of his porch. Whatever Deputy What’s-his-name asked him, he answered. The EMTs hung out next to them. An older no-nonsense EMT interrogated him. Dillon brushed her concerns off. If his skin was beet red from the heat, he didn’t care, he wasn’t leaving.

  Brock’s pickup skidded into the yard, parking by the ambulance. He got out, his mouth open in disbelief. Dillon knew exactly how he felt, what was running through his mind. How? Why? How much were we going to lose? And again—how?

  “Wha—” Brock couldn’t finish, swinging back to stare at the crumbling shop.

  It was Brock’s turn to get interrogated by the deputy. Brock’s presence was reassuring, but the deputy could distract Dillon as long as he needed. Dillon’s headspace wasn’t ready to deal with his cousins’ reactions.

  Aaron arrived next, then Travis. The only no-show was Cash and Dillon wasn’t surprised. Their drama didn’t have any place around the high emotions of the fire.

  The firemen stayed until daybreak brightened the sky, until no more embers flared. They stomped around, ensuring that was the end of it. The fireman Dillon had seen ordering the others around beckoned the deputy over.

  Dillon got up to follow but was ordered to sit tight.

  Asshole. He sat back down and pressed his fingertips to his throbbing temples.

  “What the hell happened?” Aaron asked.

  “I heard the shop’s fire alarm going off.” His dad had been so proud of that thing, had installed it himself. It was an industrial alarm loud enough to wake the dead. It was the headache icing on his brain.

  Travis squatted down, staring him dead in the eye. “Are you drunk?”

  Dillon scowled back. “No.” Not anymore.

  “Where were you when you heard the alarms?” Aaron sounded like the officer when he’d interrogated Dillon.

  “Asleep on the couch. Now back off.”

  “Where’s Elle?” Brock asked.

  “Went home last night,” Dillon mumbled.

  Travis rose to his feet, his attention never leaving him. “Were you asleep on the couch, or passed out on it?”

  Dillon stood, refusing to be ganged up on by his cousins. “If I was passed out, I wouldn’t have woken up when the alarms went off!”

  “How long had they been going off?” Aaron folded his arms on his chest, his face tight with anger. “How long did the fire burn freely before you woke up?”

  “I woke up with the alarms!”

  “How high were the flames by the time you got out here, Dillon?” Travis asked. Dillon and Travis glowered at each other until Travis nodded. “Thought so.”

  “Did Elle break up with you, is that why you were drinking?” Brock spoke quietly, like he was afraid of the answer.

  “No. She was just pissed about my fight with Cash and went home.”

  “Are you sure that’s all she was upset about?” Travis was so aggravatingly calm. “I heard her take your keys from you.”

  “Do you want to tell my why you and Michelle were fighting? No. Because it’s none of my business, correct?”

  Travis spoke evenly. “My argument with Michelle didn’t make me drink until I passed out and let our shop burn down.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Exactly. I’m going home to my fiancée, who didn’t leave me because I’m a drunk, sad idiot who starts shit at a family get-together.”

  Travis spun and walked away. Dillon lunged for him. Aaron and Brock grabbed him by the arms. The deputy saw the altercation and started for them, but Dillon backed off until the cop’s attention went back to the fireman.

  “This is what you’re going to do.” Aaron’s vice grip around his arm enraged him, but Dillon didn’t physically react. Didn’t need to be hauled away in cuffs on top of everything else tonight. “You’re going to sleep it off and we’ll finish up with Deputy Olson.”

  “Do you think I can go in and sleep after this?” The pounding in his head was getting worse anyway.

  “You can’t stay out here and cause a fight,” Brock replied.

  “Quit making this all my fault.”

  “Take responsibility for what is.” Brock let him go and waved him off in disgust as he stomped away.

  Aaron leveled Dillon with the sternest look he’d ever seen. Usually Dillon was the one who doled out that look.

  “Go inside. Clean yourself up.” Aaron followed Brock.

  The demolished shop provided the backdrop to where his cousins were in discussion with Deputy Olson. Through the jagged holes in the walls, blackened, sooty equipment sat still smoking. How much had survived the heat, there’d be no telling for days.

  He glanced down at himself. Still in his clothes from yesterday, he smelled like a bonfire and ached like he’d been through the burn pit. He trudged inside and stripped right inside the door. Considering whether to keep his pants and shirt seemed insignificant, but at the moment, it was all he controlled in his world. He dumped his clothing in the washing machine.

  On his way to the bathroom, the mess of scattered beer cans greeted him from next to the couch. Ugh, that was a lot of cans. He couldn’t face cleaning them up, not yet. He’d feel better after a shower.

  When the bathroom light flicked on, he groaned. Squinting into the mirror, bloodshot slits peered back. He was dirty, smelly, and in too rough a shape to deal with the shit going on in his life.

  A sharp knock on the bathroom door startled him.

  “Yeah?”

  “Deputy Olson talked to the firemen,” Brock said through the door. “They said the fire marshal needs to inspect the shop, but it looks like arson.”

  Dillon closed his eyes and let his head fall back. Arson. Not only had he slept through the fire, but through someone setting the fire. If the arsonist had targeted his home, he might not have gotten out alive.

  “So get some rest,” Brock continued. “I mean it. When you get up, we’ll have a meeting. I’ll let you know what the Deputy needs from us.”

  “Okay.”

  His cousins picked up what Dillon’s hung-over ass couldn’t. When had their roles reversed? Dillon had been the one they’d all depended on to put out figurative fires, and tonight he’d been useless.

  When he climbed into the shower, he stood under the spray, staring at the floor. He’d lost Elle over three beers.

  You’ve had five…

  He cupped his hands to collect water and splashed it on his face.

  There were another eight cans lying on the floor in his living room.

  He’d been an insensitive jerk. She’d opened up to him about her upbringing and he knew she hadn’t scratched the surface with how much she’d been through. But he’d stubbornly decided he knew what was best, that everyone around him was wrong, and he’d drunk. Then almost fought Cash.

  He leaned against the shower stall and let the water rain down on him.

  God, he missed his best friend. He closed his eyes and saw that building blow, with Cash still inside.

  He’d never known fear like that. And the awful guilt.

  The thing between him and Cash festered, and again, Dillon hadn’t listened to Elle.

  He’d lost her. Lost Cash. And lost his shop and the all the equipment inside.

  Standing here didn’t get them back. Just proved how useless he’d become.

  Dillon finished his shower, dried off, and collapsed on his bed.

  Staring at the ceiling, his mind wouldn’t shut down. He was supposed to be waking up to the most beauti
ful woman he’d ever met. Instead, he was alone in his bed. His cousins were outside thinking he was becoming a lost cause.

  He’d sleep. Then he’d get his life in order.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Elle’s client wrapped up his diatribe about never being able to smoke weed again.

  “Clinton, most addicts don’t think it’s fair to not be able to have the substance they’re addicted to again.”

  “I know, but not even once in a while?” He fell quiet and she didn’t respond. “Is everything going okay, Elle? You seem…”

  Tired? Crabby? Depressed? Lonely? Pick one Clinton, you wouldn’t be wrong. “I’m doing well, Clinton, thanks for asking.” She steered the conversation back to what he could do to keep himself from having a toke, which in Clinton’s case always led to a hit of the harder stuff.

  When he left, Elle heaved a sigh of relief. It was only Monday, but at least the workday was d-o-n-e. She’d spent Sunday in tears, or trying not to cry around her dad. He’d sensed something was wrong, but no matter how subtly he’d probed, she’d never opened up. Burdening her dad with the breakup wasn’t in his best interest and she’d always dealt with her problems on her own.

  But for the first time in a very long time, she’d wanted to. For a moment on Sunday night, when her dad had sat on a chair next to her to ask what was wrong, she’d flashed back to the months after her mom had abandoned them. Her dad hadn’t crawled back into the bottle right away and he’d done his damnedest to see Elle through the turmoil.

  God, the two of them. What a pair. What they’d been through together. Their life had changed more than once, but they were still weathering it together. But she doubted she’d ever lose that feeling, the constant, simmering anxiety, that he’d revert to his old coping mechanisms.

  Heading home had wiped out any emotional stability she’d maintained at her dad’s. The multitude of texts that decreased in coherency she’d received Saturday night proved she’d done the right thing. She thought a full workday of helping addicts would reinforce her decision. Her heart didn’t agree with either line of thinking, and Elle suspected her brain disagreed, too.

  Betsy knocked on her door and entered before Elle answered. “OMG, I heard about what happened at Dillon’s place. Were you out there when it happened?”

  Elle spun in her chair, a frown on her face. Her heart stuttered at the idea Dillon might be hurt. “No, what happened?”

  Confused, Betsy elaborated. “The shop? Burned down?”

  Elle eyes grew wide. “Dillon’s shop burned down?”

  “You didn’t know?”

  “We, uh…aren’t seeing each other anymore.” Watching her hands twist together, Elle avoided Betsy’s incredulous gaze.

  “Whaaat?” She sat down, scooting her chair closer. “I’m so sorry.”

  “I should’ve known it wouldn’t work. I mean, I knew. We met because he was my client, after all.”

  Betsy canted her head, her expression curious. “He wasn’t taking his problem seriously?”

  Grateful her friend understood enough that Elle didn’t have to spell it out, she nodded. Tears popped into her eyes. She hastily wiped them away. Before she knew it, she was pressed into Betsy’s ample bosom for a bear hug.

  Elle was caught between I need to get the hell out of here and I really appreciate the comfort and want to stay awhile, but Betsy released her before she had to decide.

  “Dillon Walker’s a good guy. He made you happy. Even when I didn’t know you two were together, I noticed a difference in you.” Betsy paused, choosing her words. “If he were to find recovery, would you give him a chance?”

  Elle dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. “I-I—” She shook her head. “No. I promised myself for years, I’d never be with someone with an addiction.” Like my dad.

  “I understand.” Betsy sat back in the chair. “You’ve never met my husband, but he and I met in a recovery group. Dillon reminds me a lot of him when we were younger.”

  Elle’s hand dropped to her lap. Betsy’s confession floored her—and wasn’t making her feel better.

  “He was into meth.”

  Elle’s brows shot up.

  “So was I.”

  Her mouth dropped open. She could maybe envision Betsy into alcohol, but hardcore drugs…?

  Betsy chuckled. “I know, I know. Group isn’t where we should be making love connections. We’d both been in recovery for a while before we clicked. It happens.” Her mouth quirked. “I don’t tell many people that, but hey, some things in life lead us toward counseling.”

  “Why did you tell me?”

  Betsy sighed. “I don’t want you to throw away a good thing because you’re afraid. Give Dillon some time.”

  “Thank you for the advice.” The slight edge in Elle’s voice signaled the end of the conversation.

  “Take care, Elle,” Betsy said before she left.

  Elle stared at her computer until the screen went to sleep.

  Dammit, Betsy. She’d only known the vivacious woman since she’d started working, but Betsy was one of the most stable people she knew. And her family was beautiful. Elle hadn’t met them, but Betsy brought in a new story every day, and her desk was a clutter of kid drawings and photographs.

  Meth addicts. If they could work for a happy-ever-after, maybe… No, she couldn’t deviate. It was her heart and her life she protected.

  ***

  Dillon checked the time. “I need to get going, Gram.”

  He had to make it to Fargo in time for a meeting. The previous week, he’d gone to a Fargo AA meeting even with the arson situation, especially with the arson.

  “They’re no closer to finding out who set the fire?” Grandma Agnes asked.

  “Nothing. It’s been a month and we’re no closer to knowing.” They’d lost the big tractor. The smaller tractor and other attachments needed a lot of TLC, but it was cheaper than buying. He’d saved a ton of the tools, but it would be expensive replacing the rest.

  “The guys and I are still cleaning up so we can build a new shop and set up all the security cameras.” They had two cheap models aimed on the salvaged equipment and his house. “I don’t get it. It’s like a phantom’s haunting me.”

  And Dillon didn’t know when he’d strike next.

  She rocked in her chair with a thousand-yard stare out the window. “I used to feel that way, too, out there.” She chortled. “It’s why I married your grandpa so quickly after—” Her smile died.

  “After what, Gram?”

  “Hmm? A shame the police have no idea.”

  “Tell me about it.” Dillon stood. “I’m bringing Chinese next week for our lunch date. Be hungry.”

  “I’ll be the envy of the low-sodium crowd.” She rose to give him a kiss. “You look good, Dillon. And I’m sorry about Elle.”

  “Me, too.” He returned her kiss.

  The drive to Fargo was relaxing. Before, it used to drive him crazy. Now, it gave him time to think, and he thought he needed a new girl in his life. Maybe more than one.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Five weeks had gone by. Elle’s insides were no longer twisted in knots, just numb like her mind. Her routine never wavered. She went to work, ran errands, got groceries, visited her dad. Stayed far away from the nursing home part of the building so she wouldn’t run into Grandma Agnes.

  Tonight greeted her with a slight change in her nightly activities. She returned the gas nozzle to the pump. She’d paid at the pump, but it was Friday night. What the hell. A perusal of the goodies available inside might reveal something that had to come home with her.

  Drifting down the coolers, she found nothing that sounded irresistible. She turned into the chocolate aisle. Gigantic bricks of milky goodness lined the top. Squatting down she tried to find something that wouldn’t burn a whole weekend’s worth of calories. Once the aquatic center opened, she’d swim an hour then tackle one of those monsters.

  “I can’t wait for you to meet her, Mama.” A fa
miliar voice drifted over the shelves. Elle froze, praying Dillon didn’t turn down her aisle. “She’ll meet you at the door, and you’ll fall in love like I did.”

  Dillon had found someone new? Suddenly, candy held no appeal.

  “Go ahead and make yourself at home. See you in a bit, Mama.”

  Elle stayed down. If she stood, she might be noticed.

  “Elle?”

  Damn. Rising, she strove to sound unaffected by what she’d heard. “Dillon.” She tried to smile. No success, it was like her facial muscles had atrophied.

  He glanced around, but no one was nearby. “I’ve been meaning to call you. I wanted to apologize.” He shifted his gaze away, clearing his throat. “I’m sorry about how I acted.”

  Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Same ball cap, work boots, navy-blue sweatshirt. His blue eyes were clear and contrite, his hair freshly trimmed. For the new girl?

  Civil. She could be civil until she collapsed in a puddle of tears at home. “I was sorry to hear about your shop.” There. That was a good start.

  His face clouded, his jaw tightened. “Yeah, it was pretty bad. But we’re recovering. I’m back out in the field, trying to plant when the weather allows.”

  She missed the easy talk about his life’s blood. She missed him.

  A lot.

  “Elle?”

  He’d asked her a question? “What?”

  He flashed her an easy smile. “I asked if you had anything fun planned for the weekend. My mom’s coming down. I’m trying to talk her out of filling my freezer.”

  “Are you cooking then?” Or is the new girl doing it for you?

  He shrugged. “A little more than I used to. Besides, it’s getting nicer out. Grilling season.”

  Aaand there was the splash in the face back to reality. Events from the last grilling party soured her mood, reminding her of what it’d cost her.

  Sensing the change between them, he held up a case of mineral water. “I’d better get going and meet Mama. It was nice seeing you, Elle.”

  This time, she succeeded at plastering on a smile. “Same here. Have a good weekend, Dillon.”

  He turned, then pivoted back. “Can I call you sometime?”