Sugar and Sin Bundle

by Stacey Joy Netzel

  She released his shirt and stepped away, crossing her arms over her chest. “I did what I had to do.”

  “For your job.”

  “Yes! For my job.”

  “Makes me wonder.”

  Plopping down on the chair, she leaned over and gripped her head in her hands. “About what?” Exhaustion roughened her voice.

  “About whether you’re just doing your job right now.”

  “Rémi,” she groaned.

  “What? It makes sense. You have sex with me, pretend to be my girlfriend. Make me love you. I smooth the path for your SQ native squad. In return you get me a job on your team. From your point of view, it’s a win-win situation, isn’t it?”

  She looked up at him, her eyes swimming with tears. “How can you say that? I’d never do that to you.”

  “Why not? It’s exactly what you did to Nitro.”

  “That was different. I liked you even before I knew about the task force.”

  He braced his forearm against the window, letting the coolness of the glass calm the fire in his gut. “I knew you loved the SQ, Alyssa. But I had no idea you were willing to go this far to get your squad.”

  “I’m not using you.”

  “No?” He turned and lifted a brow. “Sweetheart, you’ve been using me since the day we met.” She followed his movements as he walked to the door. “Ellie’s wake starts at eight tonight. Martha wants you there. Unless of course, she and Ellie were also just part of the act.”

  Chaz knocked on Pete’s door and surveyed his surroundings. How a man kept his house and yard said a lot about him. The peeling paint, warped floorboards and overgrown weeds said Pete didn’t give a flying fuck about anyone or anything. Chaz would have written him off a long time ago if it weren’t for the Guardian flag draped across the man’s living room window. The Guardians and their cause were the only things Pete believed in.

  Pete opened the door, looking like he’d just rolled out of bed. Chaz pushed past him and stepped inside. The house was small, dark, and reeked like a bar after all the patrons had left. “Open a fucking window, man.”

  Corey stumbled into the hallway. “Hey, Chaz.” Sweat stained the armpits of his T-shirt, and crumbs—several days’ worth, probably—were glued to the front of his jeans.

  “Did the well dry up? Go take a shower. You smell like week-old shit.”

  “Uh, yeah. Sorry.” The kid’s face reddened and he headed down the hall to the bathroom.

  Entering the living room, Chaz stopped dead. Apparently someone had been having fun trying out the harvest. Pete ran around him. “Let me clean up a little,” he said, emptying a huge ashtray into an empty pizza box. Like Chaz hadn’t already seen the half-dozen roaches mixed in with the cigarette butts.

  While Pete finished clearing out the empty beer cans and chip bags, Chaz dropped onto the couch and planted his feet on the scarred coffee table. “Looks like you guys have been getting along well.”

  “Are you kidding? The kid’s been crying about his dead bitch since he got here. The only time he shuts up is when he passes out.”

  Corey had heart and cared about people. It was more than Chaz could say about Pete. But the man took orders well, and that single redeeming quality had saved his life more than once. Without a word, Chaz pointed to the window. Pete rolled his eyes, but opened it anyways.

  A breeze brought in fresh air. Chaz breathed in deeply before slipping the Smith & Wesson SW99 out from under his shirt. He racked the slide and aimed the gun at the back of Pete’s head. “Give me one good reason I should let you live.”

  Pete froze with his hands up. “Can I turn around?”

  “Sure, you should see your death coming.” Slowly, Pete pivoted until they were face to face. Chaz was pleased to see sweat breaking out on the man’s forehead.

  “What’s this about, Chaz?”

  “What the fuck do you think it’s about?”

  “The whore has more lives than a cat.”

  Chaz shot to his feet. Did Pete think he was a fucking bleeding heart? “I don’t give a shit how many lives she has. You were supposed to kill her.” He brought the SW99 to Pete’s temple. “You. Fucked. Up.”

  “So, I’ll try again.”

  A brutal laugh tore from his chest. Pete’s already feeble IQ had just taken a swan dive. Somehow, Chaz had surrounded himself with morons. “You think it’s that simple, eh?” He flipped the gun and backhanded Pete with the grip. Pete’s head whipped to the side and he fell to his knees. Chaz kicked him in the ribs before stepping back. “The SQ’s finally wised up. She’s got protection now.”

  “I should have gunned her down.”

  “But somehow you thought a Vipers-style car bomb would be a better idea. Why? Did you think The Carver would be so impressed he’d invite you join his little club?”

  “Fuck that. I’m a Guardian.”

  “No one bought your pathetic imitation. Vipers don’t fail. And neither do true Guardians.”

  “Come on, Chaz. Give me another chance.”

  “There is no other chance. The Carver called. He got orders from Lalonde.”

  Admiration played on the man’s face. “The Ripper’s still calling the shots from prison?”

  “He’s pissed that the cunt who locked him up is fucking up another deal for his boys. And he’s holding us responsible.”

  “What does he want?”

  “Revenge. We’ve got 48 hours to kill Sergeant Alyssa Morgan or the Vipers are backing out of the deal.”

  “She won’t get away from me again.”

  Pure hate welled up in his chest. He stepped closer and kicked Pete under his ugly chin. With any luck, he’d have a few broken teeth to match his broken soul. “You won’t do a fucking thing, got that? I’ll take care of the bitch myself.” His plans for the Guardians and Blackriver First Nation were too important to leave in the hands of an imbecile.

  A noise in the hall drew his attention. He shoved the SW99 behind his back. Head down, Corey strolled into the living room and plopped onto on a chair. When Pete sniffed at the blood dripping from his nose, Corey snapped his head up. His loud gasp broke the silence. “What happened? Did you guys fight?”

  Chaz smiled and crossed the room to squeeze the kid’s shoulder. “Nah, just a little misunderstanding.”

  “Uh, okay.” He tore his gaze from Pete and turned to Chaz. “Ellie’s wake is tonight. I want to go.”

  “No.”

  His knees began to bounce. “Come on, Chaz. I need to say goodbye.”

  Keeping the gun hidden, Chaz sat on the couch where he could keep an eye on Pete, who warily watched him back. “I get it, kid, but Rémi and his bitch are going to be there.”

  Corey’s fists came down on his thighs. “What the fuck? She gets to go, but I don’t?”

  Chaz raised his hands. “Hey, don’t blame me. Chief Nichols told me this morning. Martha wants her there.”

  “I don’t care if she’s there or not. I don’t care if the entire Canadian army is there.” His voice cracked. “I just want to say goodbye to my girlfriend.”

  Was there anyway this could work to his advantage? No. He had everything figured out and the kid was good bait. “I know you cared about Ellie, son. But would she want you to show up at her wake and cause a scene? The SQ bitch will arrest you on sight, funeral or not.”

  Doubling over as though he’d been kicked in the stomach, Corey groaned and scrubbed his eyes. “I hate this. I fucking hate this.”

  “Give it a few more days. Once things calm down, you can go home.” He pulled a paper bag out of the left pocket of his cargo pants and tossed it on the coffee table. “In the meantime, I’ve got a job for you.”

  The bag slid to a stop in front of Corey. “What’s this?”

  “The bath salts. Pete will mix up the samples and tonight you’re going to hand them out at the skatepark in town. Keep track of what you give to who and how much is in each joint. We’ve only got a couple days to find the right mix and deliver it to t
he Vipers.”

  Corey gripped the bag and shook it. “Ellie died because of this shit. If the white town kids start dropping dead, don’t you think the SQ will investigate? They’ll have so much manpower on the case, it won’t take them a day to figure out I was the source.”

  Yeah. And that was the beauty of the plan and the reason he’d been extra careful not to get his fingerprints on anything. If the drug cocktail proved deadly, Corey would go down for it. Chaz shrugged. “Just make sure you don’t give it to anyone with asthma.”

  “Yeah, thanks for the advice.” The kid’s lip curled up, and Chaz almost wanted to applaud the show of spunk. It was exactly the sort of thing he looked for in a new Guardian. Too bad Corey’s spirit was weak. His gaze landed on Pete. His lips were cut and swollen, his right eye barely a slit. He’d cleaned away most of the blood with his T-shirt, enough to show the dark bruises forming on the side of his face.

  Only one of the three people in this room would survive the next few days, and it wouldn’t be either of the two drug-addled idiots in front of him.

  CHAPTER 21

  Alyssa strode up the pathway to the Longhouse, a band of pain cinching her forehead. Great, another tension headache. Little wonder. Not only did she have to face Martha—a woman who’d become her friend and whose daughter she’d been unable to save—and a room full of people who considered her an enemy simply because of the color of her skin, she also had to face Rémi. His hurt expression when he’d left her motel room had shredded her heart.

  She paused on the walkway. I can’t do this. Maybe she should just turn around and go back to the motel. Martha would understand. But then she remembered Rémi’s parting words. They weren’t true, and she wouldn’t give him any reason to believe otherwise.

  Inhaling deeply, she pulled open the eastern door as she’d been instructed and stepped inside. At the far end of the room, Ellie’s body was laid out, her feet pointing west. Two chairs were placed on either side of the body and several rows of seats filled the rest of the room.

  Rémi, his grandfather, and two other men had congregated in front of the body, quietly conferring while the rest of the mourners had gathered near the eastern door. From the jumping muscle in Rémi’s jaw, he’d seen her arrive, but he didn’t look her way. She was almost shocked at how devastated she felt, at how easily he could wound her. The pressure in her skull worsened. She’d give anything for an ibuprofen, but it wouldn’t do anything for the pain in her heart.

  Spotting Martha, she edged her way through the crowd. Martha’s face lit up despite the tears clouding her eyes, and she pulled Alyssa into a big hug. “I know this can’t be easy for you, but thank you so much for coming.”

  At least someone was glad she was here. “I wish I could do more for you.”

  “You will, Alyssa. I know you’ll catch the bastards who did this to my baby.”

  Resolve tightened her spine. She gave Martha’s shoulders a squeeze and stepped back. “You can count on it.” She’d done it for Andy—she’d do it again for Ellie and Martha.

  Chief Whitedeer raised his hands. “Everyone, please have a seat.” He and Rémi took their places on opposite sides of the body.

  Uncertain where to go or what to do, Alyssa headed for the back row where she’d be a lot less visible. A hand shot out and gripped her elbow. Tommy. The frown on his dark face made the breath catch in her throat. Was he going to kick her out? She glanced at Rémi, but his head was bent as he spoke to the man seated beside him. “Martha invited me,” she blurted out.

  “Come sit with me.”

  He hated her. Considered her an enemy. Why would he want to be anywhere near her? Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Damn.

  She followed him to the end of the third row. After they’d settled in their seats, he leaned close and whispered, “Most of the ceremony is in our native language. Rémi asked me to translate for you.”

  At least Rémi had given her a thought. “Thanks.”

  He twisted around, scanning the room. “Where’s your bodyguard?”

  “In his car. I didn’t think an armed officer in uniform would go over too well with this crowd.”

  “With Rémi and all the Defenders in the room, you’ve got nothing to worry about.” Remorse twisted in her gut. Tommy didn’t hate her. He was actually concerned for her safety.

  Chief Whitedeer stood up and began speaking. The words in the tribe’s native tongue washed over her, their cadence soothing.

  Tommy whispered, “Ellie was from the Wolf clan. So, Rémi and Marcel, who are also Wolves, represent the bereaved clan. Grandfather, who is from the Bear clan, and Jim, who is from the Turtle clan, represent the clear-minded clans. A representative of the clear-minded clans speaks first.”

  “What’s he saying? It sounds beautiful.”

  “Grandfather is very eloquent, that’s why he’s often chosen to speak at funerals and other ceremonies. He’s telling the story of the Iroquois nation’s first experience with death.”

  When Chief Whitedeer grew silent, Rémi stepped in front of the plain coffin and started speaking. “He’s repeating the story Raksótha just told, adding in a few enhancements here and there.” After several minutes, Rémi ended his story. He bowed his head and lowered his gaze. Several people sniffed loudly.

  “What’s he saying now?” she asked, when Rémi spoke again.

  Tommy translated. “We acknowledge your words, but our minds are still on the floor. Maybe if you retell the story again tomorrow, it might work.”

  Chief Whitedeer made a slight up-down motion with his chin, then turned to face the coffin. Tommy said, “He’s addressing the spirit to let it know what has transpired and what will be done tomorrow.” Several people gathered their belongings and, after briefly speaking with Martha, left the Longhouse.

  “So is it over?”

  He chuckled softly. “No one told you this is an all-night gig?”

  “No, but I figured it was likely when Rémi called it a wake. Why did some people leave?”

  “This part is for those closest to the departed or to the family of the departed. All of us are here either because Martha asked us to be, or because we are needed for the rest of the ceremony.”

  A woman sitting near the front of the room rose. Alyssa inhaled sharply when she recognized the face from a photo in the SQ file on the Guardians. She jerked her head in the woman’s direction. “That’s Sarah, Chaz’s wife, right?” When Tommy nodded, Alyssa shot a look at Martha. Her eyes were closed. “I can’t imagine there’s any love lost between them.”

  “They have their differences, but all that is left at the door to the Longhouse. Sarah teaches at the high school. Ellie was one of her students.”

  Alyssa craned her neck to scan the faces behind her. “I don’t see Chaz.”

  He swore under his breath. “To Chaz, Martha is a traitor. She’s working for a foreign government and, therefore, is not Haudenosaunee, not a citizen of the Iroquois Confederacy.”

  “But this is Ellie’s funeral.”

  “Yeah. But in accord with Longhouse beliefs, Chaz is one hundred percent anti-drug. In his opinion, Ellie died because she did not live up to the tenets of the Longhouse.”

  Tommy was certainly a fount of information tonight. “If he’s so against drugs, why did he let Corey hang around him so much? Was he trying to counsel him like Rémi was?”

  He snorted. “Chaz doesn’t help anyone unless there’s something in it for him.”

  “What could Corey possibly have that Chaz wants?”

  Tommy raised his eyebrows. “Makes you wonder.”

  No kidding. Despite the last few weeks working with Rémi and meeting with various groups on the reserve, Chaz remained an enigma. If she was going to have her own squad policing Blackriver—and that was starting to look like a huge if—she needed to figure out what made him tick. What did the Guardians really want? She’d expected a whole lot of resistance from him, but she hadn’t even seen him since that day in the pa
rking lot.

  Sarah took position near the wall, a small drum looped around her shoulders. Several other men and women joined her. Sarah tapped out a beat and began to sing, her voice clear, the melody sad. The others harmonized with her, their only instrument rattlehorns.

  As they sang, the other mourners rearranged the chairs in a half circle. Tommy tugged on her arm and led her to a seat. Martha handed Rémi a bag, which he emptied in the middle of the circle. Several dozen socks fell to the floor in a pile. Out of his pocket, he took a large marble and buried his hands in the pile.

  Alyssa leaned close to Tommy. “What’s he doing?”

  “This is part of a game. The socks are all Ellie’s. Rémi is putting a marble in one of them. The singers will keep repeating the same verse as we each take turns extracting a sock from the pile with a stick. When someone finds the sock with the marble, the singers will end the verse and begin the next one.”

  She frowned. “What’s the point?”

  He grinned. “Don’t try to find a deeper meaning. It’s only to keep everyone awake.”

  Rémi handed the stick to Martha, then glanced around for an empty seat. Alyssa held her breath. The seat to her right was the only empty one, unless he chose to sit beyond the half circle. He plopped down beside her, avoiding eye contact. Tommy reached behind her and clapped Rémi on the shoulder. “Great job, cuz. You get better each time I hear you.”

  She cleared her throat. “Yeah, uh, it sounded real nice.”

  Hearing Tommy choke on a laugh, she elbowed him in the ribs. Rémi finally looked her way. Their gazes met and locked.

  “Thanks, Tommy,” Rémi said. His angry eyes burned into hers, relaying all the words he wanted to say but couldn’t given the circumstances. Behind the aggression though, she glimpsed hurt. She searched his face for any hint of softness. Hurt and anger, she could deal with, but, oh God, please don’t let him have fallen out of love with her.

  Her all-consuming need for revenge had cost her a lot: her family, her friends, any possibility of a normal life. She’d destroyed relationships and people. She’d given up her dreams, her morals, even her self-respect.