It’d have to be.
“We’ll head back to Seattle for the time being. I need a few things before we come back.”
“You got it.”
As Angelo and Grace drove away, he couldn’t escape the feeling at the back of his neck that he was on the precipice of something big, something that he could never walk away from again. He suppressed a shudder.
Maybe that’s what had driven Hicks.
Angelo understood the drive, the passion for success and the subsequent frustration of failure.
Waylon’s face flashed in his memory and his foot pressed harder on the gas pedal.
This time around failure wasn’t an option.
There would be justice.
Chapter 9
Mya yawned and rubbed the fatigue from her eyes. Tonight was her turn on night shift and she was feeling the time pass slowly.
Iris walked up and handed her a steaming cup of coffee, which she accepted gratefully.
“How’d you know my caboose was dragging?” she asked, sipping at the coffee. She curled her hands around the cup, warming her fingers. “At least it’s quiet.”
Iris arched her brows. “Let’s not tempt fate, shall we? I’d rather pass an uneventful evening than one filled with patients. Or, actually, I’d rather spend the evening snuggled in my bed next to that sexy brother of yours.”
“Ack. Yes, he is my brother. Spare me the details of your love life, please. I’m tickled that you two finally found your way to one another but honestly, beyond that, I could live in blissful ignorance.”
“Suit yourself,” Iris said, grinning from above her own cup. Her eyes lost their mirth as she broached a different subject. “So how are you doing? I heard about Porter.”
Mya made a slight sound of annoyance. Damn, the reservation was small. She should have expected the news would travel fast. She managed a shrug. “We’re moving in different directions…it’s probably for the best.”
“It seems rather sudden,” Iris prompted, but Mya wasn’t willing to take the bait. She tried harder. “I mean, it can’t be complete coincidence that the minute Angelo shows up on the reservation, you suddenly have cold feet with Porter.”
Mya tried to smother the flare of irritation; she knew Iris was only being honest, one of the traits she usually valued in her best friend. Tonight, not so much. She thought of lying, but in the end, Mya was pragmatic about things. Iris was bound to discover the truth so why delay the inevitable? She answered with a sigh, “What do you want me to say? If I say it had nothing to do with Angelo, chances are you won’t believe me. If I say it had something to do with the man, then I’ll get a lecture on how I should be moving on with a great guy like Porter. Either way, it’s a lose-lose situation and one I have no interest in pursuing.”
“So what I’m hearing you say is that you want me to back out of your business so you can figure things out on your own.”
She smiled. “Yes, not in so many words but…yeah.”
Iris returned a rueful smile. “I’ll give it a whirl. I’ve never been good at minding my own business so I can’t say I’ll be successful, but…I’ll try. Okay?” At Mya’s nod, she added, more apologetically, “I worry. You’re always taking such good care of everyone else but when it comes to yourself, you shortchange the one who matters the most. You were there for me unreservedly during my ordeal…I want to be there for you, too.”
Unbidden tears sprang to Mya’s eyes at Iris’s mention of her “ordeal,” which happened to be a brutal rape a year and a half ago, but she nodded and rushed to assure Iris because she didn’t want her to think she was deliberately shutting her out. She just needed a little time to figure out where her head was. Or more specifically, her heart. “I love you, Iris, and I appreciate your offer. I know I always have you. And that means the world to me. I have a lot to sort out and, really, it’s not fair to Porter to drag him through my messes in the hope that I might feel differently about the man when my head is finally on straight.”
“I understand.” Iris shrugged, admitting, “For what it’s worth…I never really thought you were a good fit together.”
“Oh, really? Then why the heavy matchmaking?”
Iris drained her cup and tossed it in the trash. “Because I hated the idea of you being hung up on Angelo and I knew if nothing else, Porter would make a great husband and father. Something we both know Angelo would not.”
Iris left Mya with that final statement and it rang in Mya’s ears. It was hard not to remember when she’d found out she was pregnant. Even harder to forget how she’d been devastated to discover the baby had died.
A lingering sadness threatened to pull her under but she shook it off as the sound of commotion in the front lobby drew her attention. Shouts and, it seemed, drunken hollering filled the quiet hum of the urgent care.
Looked like the lull was over.
Mya followed the sound of crashing carts and drunken blustering and found Darrick “Laughing Dog” Willets doing his level best to destroy her emergency room.
Two male nurses struggled to hold him down while Iris slipped in a wet spot that looked suspiciously like urine, swearing as her rear connected with the tiled floor. Mya suspected a darkened patch down Darrick’s soiled pants would confirm her suspicion. She pulled on latex gloves and jumped into the fray.
“What’s going on?” she asked one of the nurses as they grunted in their effort to restrain Darrick in a bed.
“He was wandering in the street and was hit by a car. He might have internal bleeding,” Ivan said from between gritted teeth while his buddy Carl tied one arm down. “He’s drunk as a skunk and a mean one at that.”
Darrick wasn’t usually a mean drunk. She’d known him his entire life. In fact, he’d been Waylon Tucker’s best friend. He’d taken Waylon’s death pretty hard and hadn’t been the same since. Because of that, Mya had always treated him with kindness, though she couldn’t say the rest of the tribe agreed with her. Most only saw a worthless drunk who more often than not wet himself when he passed out and generally caused a nuisance.
“Darrick,” she said to him in a calm voice while he thrashed, spittle flying from his lips as he raved about things she couldn’t discern. The man wasn’t well on a good day: the extreme and persistent alcohol abuse had not only pickled his liver but his mind as well. “You need to be still so I can see if you’re all right.” Her voice, familiar enough to slide past the layers of alcohol haze, settled him, but he continued to strain against the restraints. She checked his pupils while Ivan checked his pulse and blood pressure. “Can you tell me what happened?”
“He’s dead,” he slurred. “Dead. I saw him fall into the water! Blood everywhere…washed away…gone forever. It’s my fault!”
She steeled herself against the sadness that came when she thought of Waylon. “Waylon died a long time ago and it wasn’t your fault, Darrick,” she assured him in a soothing tone while Iris put an IV in. Darrick groaned when the needle entered his arm but at least he’d stopped yelling at the top of his lungs. Still, he mumbled under his breath—things she couldn’t quite catch. “Darrick, I’m going to check you for injuries. You were struck by a car. Do you remember what happened?”
“I saw him. Need to talk to him,” he managed on a groan. “It’s my fault. All my fault. I need to tell him…”
“No broken bones but he’s pretty scraped up. Go ahead and give him a light sedative so he can rest. The alcohol probably saved his life. He didn’t tense up, just flopped onto the ground. I’d like to keep him for observation overnight.”
“Poor Darrick,” Iris murmured, rubbing her sore behind with a mild scowl. “Who knew he was going to end up like this?” She frowned slightly as she put the medicine into the IV. “I wonder what got him riled up? He hasn’t gotten this sloppy drunk in a long time. The ghosts must be riding him pretty hard.”
Mya nodded, trying to see the boy he used to be instead of the broken shell he’d become. His teeth were nearly rotted out of his hea
d and his alcohol abuse had caused a terrible bleeding ulcer on top of the damage done to his liver. And, in spite of her warnings, he continued to drink himself to death, as if he welcomed the end and hoped to hasten it. Mya attributed his condition to Waylon’s death. The two had been peas in a pod as kids.
“I don’t know, maybe he happened to realize the anniversary of Waylon’s death is only a few weeks away. But then, I doubt Darrick is fully aware of what day it is most times. Honestly, I’m amazed he hasn’t died yet.” Mya felt bad admitting it, but it was the truth. The man was defying the natural order of things. One might say he had a guardian spirit watching over him, but then you’d have to wonder why a guardian spirit would allow him to torture himself the way he did.
“Do you think Darrick happened to catch Angelo in town? Seeing Waylon’s brother might be enough to trigger something.”
“Maybe. I doubt it, though. Angelo wasn’t on the rez long enough.” She sighed, noting with quiet relief that the sedative had knocked Darrick out. “It’s likely random. The poor man is being eaten alive by something that none of us can fathom. It’s sad.”
Iris agreed, adding wistfully, “Makes you wonder how different things might’ve been if Waylon hadn’t died.”
Mya swallowed a sudden lump in her throat. “Yeah.” Waylon’s death had been the cataclysm for so much in all their lives. Such sorrow… Mya shook off the grip of sadness and forced a smile. “Keep an eye on him. The alcohol level might work adversely with the sedative. I don’t want him going under and not being able to come back out in the morning. Maybe tomorrow we can ask him some questions, if not, we should send him up to the mental health ward in Forks for evaluation.”
Mya left Darrick in capable hands and headed for the break room for some fresh coffee. She’d need a kick in the pants to get through the rest of the night.
Darrick’s dreams were filled with disjointed images from the past blending with the present, until there was nothing but a nightmarish miasma of warped reality.
He heard Waylon’s laughter, felt the sunshine on his bare shoulders, and knew the contentment of a teenage boy enjoying life. They’d caught a bucket full of craw-fish and had grand plans to boil them up later that night at Waylon’s place. This felt good…filled with happiness and joy.
Until Waylon’s laughter was cut short, replaced by a sick gurgle and that horrifying splash. And Waylon was gone.
But then Waylon was back. Only now his friend was clearly dead, his normally robust skin pale and gray from the cold water of the Hoh and his eyes dull and lifeless, yet he stared at Darrick with accusation.
“Why’d you kill me?” Waylon asked, his watery voice slapping against Darrick like a sodden washcloth against a rock. “Why, brother?”
Darrick struggled against the hold the dream had on him, but the dream refused to let go. Suddenly Waylon reached for him, clamping down on his arm with a deathly cold grip, a dead man’s grin on his face. Darrick struggled, screaming without sound. “Nooo!”
His heart rate tripled dangerously, threatening cardiac arrest, but he couldn’t pull free from his best friend’s hold and Waylon continued to drag him closer to the water’s edge.
“Join me, brother. It’s only right.”
“I’m sorry!” He pleaded with Waylon but the frigid Hoh lapped at his sneakered feet, closing over the tops of his shoes. Cold water bit into his skin as he sank in the silt of the riverbank, losing traction as Waylon tugged him farther. “I loved you like a brother!” he screamed, fighting to keep his head above water.
Darrick lost Waylon’s reply as the water closed over their heads.
And suddenly, darkness replaced everything.
Blessed darkness.
Chapter 10
Angelo returned to the reservation a few days later with enough provisions to hole up in his grandfather’s home for as long as needed to solve the Hicks case. Grace was going to join him in a day or so, giving him time to take care of some personal business.
He hadn’t thought it necessary, but Grace had disagreed, and once she got something into her head there was no hope of getting it out without a court order.
But as he’d finished unpacking, returning some semblance of livability to the old cabin, he realized perhaps Grace had been right.
There was one person on the reservation who’d been with him during that time when Waylon was killed— Mya—and he knew he’d have to talk to her.
He’d thought he could handle being around her in a professional capacity, but he’d been wrong.
Cool, efficient and utterly breathtaking, Mya had grown into the woman he’d known she would, and while he accepted that he’d given up the right to notice a long time ago, he couldn’t stop the pain that followed.
He remembered every moment they’d ever spent together in blinding detail, but he’d held on to the hope that perhaps with time he’d added embellishments that certainly couldn’t hold up against the reality.
Surely her hair hadn’t been like black cornsilk sliding through his fingers, her eyes like twin gems of onyx.
But seeing her again…he realized with sinking clarity his memory had been flawless when it came to Mya Jonson.
Angelo pushed his hand through his hair and moved to the room he’d shared with Waylon.
Papa had left it as it was when Waylon had died, and since he’d split soon after Papa had died, the room appeared suspended in time. Posters of their favorite things—motorbikes captured in midair, muscle cars and, of course, a few hot girls smiled from faded paper. He wandered without purpose. He wasn’t usually such a masochist but he felt compelled to face what he’d run away from—if only to prove to himself that he could handle this case without losing his objectivity.
By all rights, he ought to hand the case over.
But he knew there was no way in hell that was going to happen.
Grace knew that, too. She was a good partner. She’d support him for as long as she could.
He went to the scarred desk, saw the bent tin cup they’d kept odds and ends in—pencils, a few paper clips and pennies, and opened the drawers. The smell of aged wood and simpler times tickled his nose. Finding it empty, he closed the drawers and leaned against the desk.
Something black scurried across the hardwood planks of the floor. He sighed. It would take more than a few sweeps of the broom to get this place truly livable. Thank God he wasn’t staying that long.
Mya had just woken from her nap after the night shift when she heard a car come up her drive. She grabbed a sweatshirt and pulled it over her thin chemise and then jerked on some old sweatpants.
She glanced out her window and when she didn’t recognize the car she frowned, ignoring the shiver of apprehension that followed. She didn’t get many visitors aside from Sundance and Iris and she knew neither would show up after she’d worked the night shift and was likely sleeping. So that meant whoever was coming up the drive didn’t necessarily know her personally. Mya glanced down at the baseball bat she kept by the front door, reassured by its presence. After the serial rapist had attacked Iris in her home, Mya couldn’t help the twinge of anxiety at unannounced visitors and, although she couldn’t see herself getting a gun, she did have the presence of mind to know that some kind of self-defense was smart.
It wasn’t long before a short rap on the front door caused her to jump. With a gulp of air, she opened the door, but not the chain lock. She wasn’t prepared to see Angelo standing there.
“Can I talk to you?” he asked, looking intensely uncomfortable. “It’s important.”
The irrational side of her urged her to shut the door and tell him she’d long since stopped being his confidante, but she couldn’t bring herself to actually do that. For one, it would be rude; second, she was curious about what would prompt Angelo to seek her out. Still, she wasn’t keen on spending alone time with the man, either, if even to satisfy that curiosity. “I’m pretty tired,” she said, grudgingly sliding open the chain. “Make it quick, please.”
“No time for niceties, I see,” he said with a hard smile that only flirted with the impression of being courteous. She closed the door behind him and walked briskly to the living room, hating that he was behind her and she couldn’t help but wonder if he was looking at her butt. Worse, perhaps, was the idea that he wasn’t looking at her butt.
Annoyed with herself, she replied coolly, “I can’t imagine what we have to talk about, Angelo. I think we said all that needed to be said the day you left.” Left me weeping, alone and abandoned. A hot rush of remembered humiliation accosted her cheeks and she lifted her chin, daring him to make a comment. She wasn’t that sad, broken-hearted girl any longer. She’d long since stopped wetting her pillow with tears for Angelo. And if that odd yearning in her chest thrummed with melancholy sadness it wasn’t because she still loved him— Great Spirit help her if she were that stupid—it was just an ache born of sacrifice and responsibility. Nothing more. “So let’s get this over with,” she snapped.
His expression was one of sharp disagreement but he gave away nothing. Whatever was going on behind those eyes, he didn’t betray it. She wore hostility like body armor but a faint sad smile threatened as she thought how wide the gap had stretched between them. There was a time when she’d known by the flick of his gaze the bend of his thoughts. She shifted in her baggy sweatpants, overly aware of how grubby and shabby she appeared. So what? Why should I care what he thinks of the way I’m dressed? She flattened her lips in irritation—whether at herself or him she wasn’t sure—and waited for him to get on with whatever mission had brought him there.
Angelo drew a deep breath as if not sure how to begin. In the end, he went with the direct approach, which was much more like him anyway. He’d never been one to dance around an issue. “It’s like this…the case I’ve been assigned—”
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