by Beth Ciotta
“We’ll slow down,” Bella said.
“You’re not the one behind the wheel,” Ryan needlessly pointed out. He stared down at Angel who’d yet to give him the time of day. “Is there a problem, Mrs. Drake?”
Yikes, Bella thought. Ryan was being formal, too. And still Angel avoided eye contact. Instead she rooted in her purse. “I guess you need to see my driver’s license.”
“I know who you are.”
There was a tension-filled pause and a really weird feeling as Ryan kept his rapt attention on Angel. He only had eyes for her and she had eyes for anything but him.
Bella’s gaze ping-ponged between the two. Uh…
“If you’re upset about something,” Ryan said gently, “you shouldn’t be driving.”
“I’m not upset,” Angel said while jamming her ID back into her wallet. “I’m fine.”
“What about you?”
Bella started, realizing Ryan was addressing her. Knowing he had to be referring to their phone discussion the night before. The discussion about Savage. “Fine,” she said, snapping to attention with a stupid smile because, yeah, this was weird.
“So you’re both fine,” he said.
They both nodded.
“Let’s keep it that way. I’ll be good and pissed if you wrap this car around a pole,” Ryan said, and then he was gone.
Bella blinked as Angel put the car in gear and pulled back onto the road. Three seconds later she broke the tense silence. “Georgie said she thinks Lacey’s filing for divorce this time. Which means Ryan will be free which means—”
“Forget it.”
Bella smiled the rest of the way to work.
* * *
Life wasn’t perfect. Not her life for sure. But Bella figured she was better off than most people and that counted for a lot.
She’d shown for work only two minutes late and she’d pushed through the day with the enthusiasm of a naïve newbie. Without regard to budget cuts, she’d organized programs that would benefit the young folk of Nowhere and emailed them to her boss. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.
Then she’d moved into the stacks, determined to reorganize the juvenile section in a way that would tempt more young readers. As she worked, the evening’s venture—to organize and coordinate a new home for the Funland memorabilia—was never far from Bella’s mind. She’d do anything to alleviate the stress in Savage’s life and she knew those photos were stressful.
She was immersed in a new fiction display when Carson rounded the corner.
“I need to speak with you,” he said.
Every muscle in her formerly relaxed body tensed. “I’m working.”
“It’s important.”
Bella sighed. “Okay.” She didn’t want to engage in an uncomfortable discussion in the library. She didn’t want to engage in a confrontation at all. But the man looked positively stricken. She couldn’t ignore him.
Bella waited until they were outside and seated on a memorial bench before she spoke again. “What is it?”
“I don’t want to upset you, but there’s something you need to know about your new boyfriend.”
Bella clasped her hands in her lap and bolstered her spine. Here comes the part where he claims to be the better man. Given his arrogance, financial resources, and the grudge he no doubt held against Savage for “stealing his woman”, she assumed he’d hired a private detective to dig up dirt on the competition. He probably knew by now that Savage had been an undercover cop. He probably knew about that special task force. She fully expected Carson to bring up the fact that Savage had mixed with seedy, dangerous people—gang members, mobsters, drug dealers—
and therefore he’d led a tainted life. That he wasn’t good enough for her. Rich enough for her. Social enough—
“He’s dangerous.”
She hadn’t expected that.
“I assume you know Savage was an undercover detective, but did you know he had anger management issues? That he was recently accused of police brutality?”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Ask him.”
“How did you—”
“He has a history of incidents. Excessive force. Verbal intimidation. Even though he wasn’t charged with brutality, he was advised to seek psychiatric counseling.” Carson loosened his tie, dabbed his brow. Although the sprawling branches of the nearby cottonwood provided shade from the blazing sun, humidity lingered in the wake of the storm.
Meanwhile Bella shook off a shiver. “If Joe wasn’t charged, then chances are he was wrongly accused.”
“Leave it to you to look on the positive side. That’s one of the things I love about you, but in this case optimism is a mistake. It happened, Bella.”
“But—”
“The victim was a criminal and the police twisted the account to cover for one of their own. It happens all the time. And it wasn’t the first time Savage lost his cool. For God’s sake, one of his own teammates asked to be reassigned after Savage almost beat that man to death.”
Bella shook her head. “That can’t be right.”
“A Detective Valerie Petrie. Look her up.”
Val. And yet the woman was adamant that Savage attend her daughter’s wedding? Every fiber of Bella’s body screamed that Carson’s story was a fabricated crock. “I don’t know where you got your information—”
“A trusted source.” Carson angled in and draped his arm behind her. He was in protector mode, yet Bella felt attacked. “You heard how he threatened me at the festival,” he pressed on.
“He didn’t—”
“He’s lived in Nowhere for over a month and hasn’t made a single friend. Rides around on that motorcycle with a scowl on his face. You claim I’m not the man you imagined me to be. I can guaran-damn-tee Savage isn’t the man you imagine him to be. He slithered under your skin like the snake he is, lured you into his lair. You’re living at the mercy of his temper, Bella. He resigned from the force, rather than seek help for his anger issues. He’s a walking bomb. Anything could set him off. If you do or say the wrong thing—”
“He’d never hurt me.”
“Maybe not. But what if he hurts someone else? Do you really want to live in constant fear, wondering when he’ll snap? Because with his history, trust me, it will happen again.”
Bella realized suddenly that she was trembling. Not with fear, but with anger. Carson was accusing her of having the same poor judgment with Savage as she’d had with him. Granted, both relationships had evolved at lightning speed, but that’s where the similarity ended. Objectively, she knew the picture was fuzzy, but her heart defined the difference.
“You don’t know what he’s seen,” she said in Savage’s defense. “What he’s lived through. He has good reason to be angry with the world.”
Carson’s eyebrows shot to his hairline. “You’re making excuses for violence?”
“I’m standing up for a good man.” Bella pushed off the bench without a second thought. “And walking away from a spiteful one.”
* * *
By the time mid-afternoon hit, Joe had already put in a full day’s work.
As agreed, Archie drove over and together, he and Joe, inspected and took stock of every inch of Rootin’ Tootin’ Funland.
“You can save some of it,” Archie said. “But most of it’s too damaged or, heck, too antiquated. Mike was overly sentimental. Held on to a bunch of this stuff for too long. Outdated. Under maintained. Between the elements and the march of time, Funland is pretty much a wasteland. Sorry, son. But in my opinion you’d do better to gut this place and start from scratch. That’s if you want to rebuild at all.”
And that was the million dollar question.
Before this morning, Joe had been dead set against the notion. Now he was on the fence. He still couldn’t see past his personal issues, but that was no longer forefront in his mind. The biggest deterrent was logistics. Financing, designing, building, inspection, insurance, employees, security. Even if he got passed
all that, the park—which would only be a moneymaker five to six months out of the year—would still be vulnerable to the region’s seasonal weather. Tornadoes, electrical storms, flash floods, blizzards. No matter how Joe spun it, the project reeked of failure.
He thanked Archie for his time, not committing to the fate of Funland. Gutting the park would be the wisest choice, but the issue of whether or not to rebuild in some fashion promised to haunt Joe as surely as an unsolved case. He knew he’d be spending the next few days, obsessing over every variant. As jaded as he was, he didn’t have it in him to turn his back on his one magical summer. His uncle’s dream wasn’t his dream, but somehow they were entwined.
That thought lingered in the back of his mind as the day played out and other projects came to light. Tank dropped by to discuss a possible business arrangement, something that extended beyond referrals. Would Joe be willing to work in Tank’s garage providing customized art on a need-be basis? Although after touring Joe’s studio and his extensive, specific equipment, Tank reconsidered his initial offer. Unlike a lot of businesses in the area Tank’s Automotive Repair was thriving. Maybe it was time to branch out, he said. Maybe they could partner somehow. Again, Joe hadn’t committed one way or the other. They simply agreed to think more on the possibilities.
While Tank was preparing to leave, Zeke and his friend Jimbo showed up. Zeke in his dusty, but durable Suburban. Jimbo in a dented, twenty-year-old Jeep. This had been his mother’s vehicle? After learning the car was meant for Bella, Tank offered to look it over, ultimately verifying Zeke’s former declaration. The car was an eye sore, but in decent working order.
When Zeke and Jimbo asked for a tour of the studio, Joe didn’t know how to refuse. So he invited them inside, offered them beers, and stood by while they checked out his gear and art. Like Tank, they were impressed and, if nothing else, Joe figured business would pick up based on their word-of-mouth referrals. A trade-off for allowing the three men to invade his sanctuary.
After they rolled out, Joe settled in to take another crack at the storm chaser logo. “This is good,” Zeke had said, “but I’m not wowed. No offense.” Joe hadn’t taken offense because he wasn’t wowed either. His first efforts had been too cliché. He flipped his sketchpad to a clean page, drinking more beer, contemplating new ideas, and admitting that he’d almost enjoyed the company of Tank, Zeke, and Jimbo. Would he feel the same after enduring an invasion of the Inseparables later this evening?
His cell rang and he answered assuming it was Bella.
It was Val. “Thank you for not allowing me to roll to voice mail.”
Joe knew that tone. “What’s wrong?”
“Let me preface this by saying, she’ll recover. Now take a deep breath and let me get this out.”
“Is it Mitzi?”
“No. God, no. Mitzi’s fine. It’s Sasha Underwood.”
One of the girls they’d rescued from the sex trafficking ring. She’d been brutalized, mentally and physically, and still she’d had the guts to feed Joe important and damning information about one of the pimps. The bastard Joe had ultimately pounded. “What happened?”
“She was beaten,” Val said. “Found broken and bleeding and—brace yourself—unconscious on your old doorstep. A note was duct-taped to her shirt. It read: Payback #1.”
The pencil Joe had been holding snapped in half.
“Are you breathing?” Val asked.
“Yeah.” At least he hadn’t punched anything.
“It has to be the work of Pratt,” she said.
Leonard Pratt. Known to his girls as Leo-the Lion. Known to Joe as the vicious bastard who’d had the gall to brag about some of his more twisted deeds. And worse, to detail the retribution he’d dish out when he found out which of his “bitches” had turned. At some point, Pratt had threatened Joe, too, and, against Val’s warning, Joe had removed Pratt’s cuffs, inviting the gangbanger to take his best shot. Joe barely remembered that part. A red haze had burned its way up from his toes, engulfing his mind and spirit. Knowing that Pratt had been party to murdering at least one of the girls, but aware the task force lacked damning evidence… Something inside Joe had snapped. Suddenly Pratt represented, not only his own sins, but all the injustice in the world.
By the grace of fate, Val had been the only other person in the room when Joe had gone batshit crazy on Pratt. Deaf to her orders to back off, oblivious to her efforts to physically restrain him, she’d had to tase Joe to stop the beating. That incident had been a turning point in Joe’s life. No going back. No moving forward. Not as he was.
“How did he get to Sasha?” Joe asked.
“We’re working on that.”
“What hospital is she in?”
“Mercy. Don’t call her. She can’t talk.”
“Still unconscious?”
“No, but her jaw’s wired shut.”
“Son of a—”
“We’re on this, Joe. You’re off the team. Off the force. Trust us to do our job.”
“Surprised I didn’t get this call from the chief.”
“You’re on his radar, but considering your history, he didn’t want to risk a visit from the Avenging Angel.”
Joe grunted at that.
“I’m calling because I knew you’d want to know about Sasha. I didn’t want you to learn about it from the news. Also… I’m worried about you. Remember Pratt’s last taunt. He said you’d pay for what you did to him. Threatened you and any woman you cared about. He started with Sasha.”
Every nerve in Joe’s body knotted, anger sparked along his spine. “You could be next.”
“I can take care of myself and besides, I don’t think he’d be that stupid. He’ll go for another innocent.”
Bella’s sweet face flashed in Joe’s mind. The monster rattled its cage.
“Joe, that person who called sniffing for details regarding your present circumstance. What if it was one of Pratt’s henchmen? I don’t think Pratt’s arm would reach to Nebraska, but… The person you mentioned you were bringing to Mitzi’s wedding. Is it a woman? Do you care about her? I don’t want to ring any false warning bells, but maybe you should take some precautions. And maybe, no definitely, don’t come back for the wedding. Stay put and let us do our job.”
He was already out the studio door and stalking toward the house. “I’ll be there by tomorrow latest.”
“Dammit, Savage.”
“I have some arrangements to make then I’ll be heading out. I’ll check in with you later. Thanks for the heads up, Val.” He disconnected before she could argue, though she’d no doubt call back or send a pleading text. Joe blew over the warped porch while keeping a promise. He called Sheriff Ryan McClure.
The man answered mid-ring. “What’s wrong?”
Chapter Twenty-Four
After Carson’s visit, it was next to impossible to concentrate on work, but that’s exactly what Bella did. It was far better than dwelling on his awful accusations and definitely better than reflecting on her phone conversation with Ryan. Even though she had a computer at her fingertips all day, she resisted the urge to research Little Lamb Lost. She did not need to know graphic details to empathize with Savage’s plight. She could imagine. And she imagined, after dealing with the dredge of humanity non-stop for several years, any good soul could snap. Not that she believed Carson’s brutality crap. He’d probably say or do anything to make Savage look bad in her eyes. Bottom line, Carson hated to lose. In spite of his golden boy reputation, she knew for a fact, he hadn’t always played nice to get to where he was today.
Determined to keep her mind occupied, Bella organized the juvenile non-fiction shelves. Specifically those books catalogued in the 300s. Her heart kicked when she came upon Beauty and the Beast—a story that could almost apply to her and Savage. Not the traditional version so much, but certainly one of the more modern retellings. She’d even called him a monster during their first confrontation. Other than that, similarities were minor. She ticked them off in her mind
discounting them at first but then embellishing the plot points for fun and distraction. If she was inclined, she could easily spin a story off of the classic—so many others had. She even had a title for a romantic adult version.
Bella and the Biker.
Ha!
Not that she intended to pursue that idea. No. Her passion was tied to another project. A tale solely based on her imaginings and laced with a hint of personal experience.
Pendragonites.
Ever since Savage had championed that story, since the moment he’d gifted her with his sketch of Sir Driscoll, those characters, that tale had consumed her creative soul. More than ever she was convinced ID.com was right and Joe Savage was her dream partner. She’d never felt more alive, more inspired, more enchanted.
An hour before closing time Savage called to say he was picking her up after work. He didn’t give her a chance to argue. Just stated the fact and hung up.
Huh.
She called Angel to let her know. Then Bella spent the next fifty-five minutes mentally rehearsing an awkward confession. Avoidance, in this case, was not only cowardly, but cruel. Savage deserved to know the filth Carson had spewed. Whether it was true or not, and she was betting not, he needed to prepare for some nasty gossip should the Golden Boy of Dawes County flap his pretty boy lips and she was fairly sure he would do just that. Of course, if she enlightened Savage regarding Carson’s tale of brutality, she’d have to admit she knew about Operation Little Lamb Lost.
By the time five-o-clock rolled around, Bella was sick with dread. How would Joe feel knowing she’d snooped behind his back? Angry? Betrayed? Would he open up about his troubles or lock down even more? How would he react to Carson’s interference?
She loped down the front steps of the library, mentally reciting her new mantra. I’m fierce. I’m fierce. I’m fierce.
Any hope of buying more time to tweak her confession via a bike ride was shot to smithereens when she spied Savage waiting beside his truck.
Rats.
Her heart pounded partly because he looked so intense. She’d never gone for intense before, but she sure went for Savage. Although she didn’t look forward to being cooped up in the cab with him—just the two of them—for the next several minutes. Holding silent until they reached Funland would be weird and awkward and putting off the inevitable.