Ruined: (McIntyre Security Bodyguard Series - Book 6)

by April Wilson

  The door to Jake’s room opens, and he walks out, dressed as usual in unrelenting black, his black hair freshly trimmed short. He looks like he’s ready to rumble.

  He meets us at the SUV with a huge grin on his face. “I trust you both slept well last night.”

  Oh, shit. He heard us. As I slide into the back seat beside Cooper, my face heats up. “I told you he could hear us,” I hiss. “The walls are paper thin.”

  Cooper shrugs. “I told you, I’m sure he’s heard worse.”

  Jake slides behind the driver’s wheel. “Yes, I’ve heard a lot worse. So, where to?” he says as he guns the engine.

  “To the diner,” Cooper says. “Let’s get some breakfast and see what the morning paper has to say.”

  * * *

  Cooper was right about the diner—it’s the main pulse point of this town. When we step inside, the place is packed this morning, and the noise level is so high it’s hard to hear anything. There are morning papers strewn across the counter and the tables, and groups of diners are all talking over each other, some of them arguing.

  Cooper leads the way, me behind him, and Jake last. We take our place at the back of the line of folks waiting to be seated. Immediately, a hush falls over the place as everyone—even the servers—stops what they’re doing to turn and stare at us. Shit.

  The hostess from yesterday—June—approaches us with a stack of menus cradled in her arms. “It might be best if you find somewhere else to eat today,” she says to Cooper in a hushed voice. She glances back nervously at the seated diners who are blatantly watching us. “Everyone’s talking about the article in the paper, and there’s a lot of speculation going on, none of it good.”

  “I figured as much,” he says. “Thanks for the warnin’, but we’ll stay.”

  Cooper’s southern drawl has resurfaced again. I’ve noticed it comes and goes, depending on the situation. Right now, it’s back in full force.

  June shakes her head in dismay, letting us know what she thinks about the decision. “You’ll have to wait for a table.”

  “That’s fine,” he says.

  While we’re waiting to be seated, I surreptitiously scan the dining room, noticing how many people are on their phones, keying in text messages as they pretend not to look at us. More than a few phones are pointed in our direction, and I’m sure they’re taking pictures. We’ll probably end up plastered all over social media.

  June finally returns about fifteen minutes later when we’re first in line. “I’ve got a table open, over there. If you want a booth, you’ll have to wait.”

  “The table’s fine,” Cooper says.

  We follow her across the dining room to our designated table at the far side of the room. On the way, Jake snags a discarded copy of the morning’s paper and begins reading, a scowl on his face.

  June lays three menus on the table. “Your server will be out in a minute.”

  As she heads back to the hostess’s station, Cooper and Jake stake out their seats, each with a strategic view of the restaurant, the door, and the street. They both sit with their backs to the wall, facing the diners and the front door. I’m left taking either of the two remaining chairs, neither of which offers me a very good vantage point. Apparently, I’m ceding to the old guys today. I choose the chair across from Cooper, the one that faces the kitchen. It might come in handy if the cook tries to throw waffles at us.

  A middle-aged brunette hurries to our table carrying three glasses of ice water, which she sets down rather hard, sloshing water over the rims. “Sorry.” She tosses three straws onto the table. “Do ya’ll know what you want?”

  We each order the breakfast special and coffee, and she practically races back to the kitchen.

  Cooper seems perfectly relaxed, and Jake’s still reading the front page of the newspaper. I can just make out the giant headline sprawled across the top of the page. 40 YEAR OLD MURDER FINALLY SOLVED?

  Damn. She really did it. The editor printed Cooper’s story. I never doubted his story for a second, but I’m kind of surprised the editor wasn’t a little more skeptical. Cooper made some very damning accusations about prominent men in this town. That’s not going to go over easy. They’re not just going to roll over and confess to the authorities.

  After he finishes reading the article, Jake hands the paper to Cooper. “It’s all there, verbatim.”

  Cooper skims the article, then hands it to me.

  Sure enough, she printed Cooper’s story practically word-for-word, just as he told it to her. Thank goodness for digital recorders. The few parts she added, mostly related to the impact of his story on this town, were well thought-out. She clearly took him seriously, which I think was rather gutsy on her part.

  Our server brings a pot of coffee to our table and pours three cups. “There’s cream and sugar on the table, fellas.”

  “Thanks,” Cooper says, as the woman scurries away.

  The once-hushed diners have all gone back to their conversations, and every once in a while, I catch Cooper’s name, or the names of the three men he’s accused of murder.

  I can feel their eyes on the back of my head, burning into me. There’s a lot of skepticism in this room. Hell, there’s a lot of thinly veiled hostility in this room—I can see it on their faces. They’re probably wondering who the hell this Daniel Cooper is, to be coming into their community and stirring up shit. All it would take is a spark to set them off.

  As I glance around the room, I notice several of the men speaking furtively into their phones. I’m afraid it’s only a matter of time now before things get truly uncomfortable.

  A woman Cooper’s age—mid-fifties—walks up to our table, looking right at him. “Danny Cooper, is that you?” She sounds incredulous.

  “Yeah, it’s me.” He studies her for a moment, his brow furrowing. “You’re Dana, right?”

  She nods. “Dana Martinez. I went to school with Cody—we were friends.” Nervously, she twists her hands. “We always sat beside each other in homeroom. Is the story in the paper true? Did those men kill Cody?”

  Cooper nods. “Yes, ma’am. They did.”

  “What’s going to happen to them now?”

  Cooper shrugs. “I guess that’s up to the authorities. I’m curious to find that out myself.”

  She frowns. “But Billy Monroe is the sheriff here. And Judd’s a judge. How can there possibly be a fair investigation?”

  Our food arrives then, and the woman leaves us alone to eat. Cooper and Jake are both hyper-vigilant, as if they’re expecting trouble.

  I can tell the instant Cooper goes on high alert. His gaze snaps to attention at a spot somewhere behind me, toward the entrance.

  A moment later, the door to the diner crashes open, and the folks standing near the door scatter. I turn to look and there’s a man scanning the dining room. When he spots Cooper, he comes barreling right for us. His face is flushed a deep red—unnaturally so—and his eyes, which are locked on Cooper, are overly bright and hard as diamonds.

  Cooper stands, his hands on his hips, looking implacable, and the locomotive comes to a screeching halt.

  “You!” the red-faced man yells, jabbing his finger in Cooper’s direction. “How dare you fucking come into our town and spew your filthy lies?”

  Jake rises to his imposing height, making as if to move toward Cooper, but Cooper raises a hand and holds him off.

  This guy is trashed. Damn, it’s not even nine o’clock in the morning, and he’s hammered. I can smell the liquor rolling off him. Well, that answers that question. I was wondering if this was the sheriff, the judge, or the alcoholic football coach. I’m going with the alcoholic.

  The coach—Stevens, I think is his name—spins around in a wobbly circle to address everyone in the diner. “Lies! God-damned filthy lies!” he rages. Then he turns back, getting right up in Cooper’s face. “No one’s going to listen to your filthy lies, you damned pervert! Get the hell out of this town and go back to whatever rock you were living under
!”

  Cooper stares at Stevens, not moving a muscle. Jake looks like he’s more than ready to take this drunken fool out—he’s just waiting for a signal from Cooper. But Cooper stands his ground, glaring at Stevens.

  “Are you proud of yourself, Roger?” Cooper says. “For beating a harmless teenage boy senseless and throwing him in the Sweetwater River to drown?”

  Stevens’s flushed face screws up and his mouth opens, but all he can do is sputter. A sudden hush falls over the room as the occupants wait to hear what he has to say. Even the kitchen staff has stopped what they’re doing to crowd around the counter for a front-row view.

  Stevens glances briefly at Jake, then he turns his hard gaze on me and smiles with deliberate calculation. I can see the wheels turning in his head as he contemplates his next move. Shit, Cooper was right. I’m Cooper’s weakness. Stevens is afraid of the man Cooper is today, so he’s turning his sights on me.

  “And I suppose this is your newest boy toy?” Stevens points his fat finger at me. His voice is thick, and his words are slurred. He turns to glare at Cooper, swaying on his feet. “You get off on perverting young men, don’t you, you filthy animal!”

  The coach is average height, with a beer belly that won’t quit, and he’s wearing a track suit that’s a size too small. He looks like he’s just coming off a bender, with his dirty blond hair hanging in his face, and his blue eyes bloodshot and slightly unfocused.

  Stevens turns back to me. “And you! You’re disgusting, letting him defile your body. Someone needs to set you straight, boy.”

  The instant Stevens takes a step in my direction, Cooper and Jake both act. Jake moves in front of me just as Cooper intercepts Stevens, blocking his path to me. “If you touch one hair on his head, I’ll kill you.”

  Stevens hesitates, clearly recognizing that Cooper’s serious. I hear sirens in the distance, and I’m relieved the local authorities are on their way. Cooper doesn’t make threats lightly, and the last thing I want is for him to end up in a local jail cell for having committed murder.

  “Oh, dear God,” says one of the diners, a middle-aged man who jumps to his feet as he reads something on his phone. “Judge Franklin was found dead in his office this morning. He… shot himself.”

  For a second, everyone goes silent as the news sinks in. But the quiet is shattered by the screech of sirens right outside the diner. The room erupts into chaos, voices raised in unison, when two deputies storm into the restaurant looking like they’re ready to crack some skulls.

  “Quiet down!” one of them yells as the other one lays his hand on the handle of his holstered firearm.

  Everyone in the diner grows quiet, watching in anticipation. I get a bad feeling when the two deputies approach our table, their gazes jumping between Cooper and Stevens. Now both deputies have their hands on their firearms.

  “Coach, you need to leave,” says one of the deputies, taking me completely by surprise. I’d expected them to target Cooper as he’s an outsider. But no, their attention is focused on Stevens. “Otherwise, we’ll have to take you in.”

  The deputies, both of whom look to be in their thirties, are close enough now that I can read their name tags. One of them is Williams, the other Turner. Williams is the one doing the talking.

  “Take me in for what?” Stevens says.

  “Disorderly conduct.”

  “Me?” Stevens points at Cooper. “Arrest him for indecency! He’s a fucking homo-sexual!” With a wave of his shaky hand, he indicates the three of us. “They’re all a bunch of degenerates! Arrest them!”

  Stevens lunges for me, trying to by-pass Cooper. Cooper snags him in a choke-hold, forcibly restraining him, and cutting off his airflow in the process.

  “Let him go, sir,” Deputy Williams says to Cooper. “We’ll handle this.”

  Cooper releases Stevens and hands him over to Deputy Williams, who slaps handcuffs on the coach’s wrists.

  As the two deputies march Stevens out of the restaurant, Jenny Murphy comes in the diner and heads right for our table. She drops down into the spare chair, breathless. She brushes her blonde hair back as she looks us over. “Are you guys okay?”

  “We’re fine,” I say, when neither Cooper nor Jake responds. At least I hope that’s true. Cooper still looks fit to be tied. If those deputies hadn’t hauled Stevens off to jail, Cooper would have exacted his own form of justice, which would probably have landed him in jail.

  Jenny looks at Cooper, her expression tight. “Judd Franklin committed suicide this morning, not long after the paper came out. He reportedly left a suicide note confessing to his part in the killing of Cody Martin.” She leans closer to us, lowering her voice. “Rumor has it, he said he’d been haunted all of his life over what happened to you and Cody, and that he couldn’t live with the guilt any longer. He said that, as a judge, he was sworn to uphold justice. He said he was a hypocrite, and he couldn’t bear it any longer. Now I haven’t seen it for myself, but it sounds like his suicide note corroborates everything you said in your story. He confessed, Danny.”

  Cooper sits motionless. “Even back then, Judd wasn’t the instigator. He followed Billy around like a puppy and did whatever Billy said. Billy and Roger were the true bullies.”

  “Roger won’t be in jail for long,” Jenny says. “They’ll keep him there until he sobers up, and then they’ll let him go. It’s the same thing every time he goes off the deep end.”

  Our server brings Jenny a glass of ice water. “Can I get you somethin’, Miss Jenny?”

  Jenny reaches for the glass and drains half of it in one go. “No. Nothing for me, thanks.” She sets the glass down and faces Cooper. “Roger Stevens was placed on administrative leave this morning at the high school, pending an investigation. So was Billy Monroe. Danny, it’s not safe for you to be here. I’m afraid both Roger and Billy will be gunning for you. And in Billy’s case, I mean that literally. The man’s armed to the teeth.”

  Cooper’s gaze shifts to Jake, and then to me. “We’ll leave when we’re good and ready,” he says. “I appreciate the warning, Jenny, but I know firsthand what these two are capable of. We’ll leave when I know justice will be done, and not a minute sooner.”

  Chapter 10

  Cooper

  Just as Jenny leaves to return to the newspaper office to wait for more news, our server brings us our breakfasts. We eat in silence, monitoring the temperature of the room. We’re still getting plenty of odd looks, if not downright hostile stares, but no one else approaches us.

  Sam’s awfully quiet, and I don’t blame him. Just as I feared, Stevens focused his ire on Sam, thinking that was the quickest way to get under my skin. Stevens was right.

  After we finish eating, Jake settles our bill, and we all head out to the SUV, which is parked a block away from the diner. There’s a handwritten note tucked underneath one of the windshield wiper blades. Jake retrieves it, reads it, then hands it to me.

  I’m going to fucking kill you. You should have stayed gone.

  Just as I’m about to shove the note into my pocket, Sam grabs it and reads it.

  “Any idea who wrote it?” Jake says, as he unlocks the vehicle doors with the key fob.

  “I’m pretty sure I can guess,” I say, taking the note back from Mr. Hot Head and sticking it in my pocket. We might need it for evidence.

  I open the rear door and motion for Sam to get in the vehicle. When I join him in the back seat, he gives me a pleased smile. He wouldn’t be so happy, though, if he knew I was seriously thinking about sending him home on a commercial flight. I don’t mind risking my own neck to get justice for Cody, but I sure as hell mind risking his.

  I know Sam can take care of himself. He’s a former Army Ranger, for God’s sake. Yes, he’s coming off some pretty serious injuries, but he’s still capable. He’s not Superman, though. He’s not invincible, especially if his opponent is armed and dangerous, which we have to assume that Billy Monroe is. Probably Roger Stevens, too. I’m honestly not sure whi
ch one of them is worse—Billy or Roger. Maybe Roger, because the alcohol adds a degree of unpredictability. Roger’s always been an angry drunk, even back in school. But Billy…he’s a snake in the grass.

  “Where to?” Jake asks, catching my gaze in the rear-view mirror.

  I’m tempted to tell him to take us back to the motel, where we can hunker down and wait this out. I want to know what’s going to happen now that the newspaper has run the story. There’s no statute of limitations on murder. I’m waiting for murder charges to be brought against Billy and Roger. And now, with Judd’s reported death-bed confession, the case against the other two men is bolstered.

  “Let’s go to the Sweetwater River Bridge and pay our respects,” Sam says, reaching for my hand and linking our fingers. He tugs on my hand. “Come on. You need closure.”

  The thought of returning to that bridge makes me sick. Two young boys were terrorized on that bridge. One of them died there. And I feel guilty for being the one who survived. Maybe Sam’s right. Maybe I do need closure.

  Jake’s watching me patiently through the rearview mirror, waiting for some direction. I nod. “We might as well.”

  I lay our joined hands on my thigh and look at Sam. His brown eyes are glittering, and he looks ready for a fight. He’s fearless, and that’s what worries me. He’s not invincible, no matter if he thinks he is.

  * * *

  Fifteen minutes later, Jake parks the Escalade on the shoulder of the road, just a few yards from the bridge. The three of us get out and walk the small incline onto the two-lane bridge, which spans the broad Sweetwater River. As usual, in early spring, the water is high and fast, rushing past downed trees that line the muddy banks. The river is about a hundred yards wide, and it’s a challenge to swim on a good day. When the river is swollen like this, fair to bursting at the seams, it’s a bear.

  We stand at the railing in the middle of the bridge and gaze down at the churning water.

  “It’s about a thirty-foot drop,” I say, watching the water rush by.