by Cara McKenna
His shoulders hitched with a silent laugh.
“What?”
His smile was broad and strangely humble. “Thanks for even coming back to town with me.”
With me. He only meant for coming back to help with all the craziness, of course. Not like they’d become something together, in that hotel room.
She shrugged. “More exciting than anything I’ve got waiting for me back in Portland.”
He looked down, then reached for her hand. Her heart hammered as he took it, his bare fingers rough and cold, the leather hugging his palm warm from gripping the bar. He gave her a little squeeze. “Thanks for tonight, too.”
And thank goodness she had the light at her back. She had to be glowing bright pink with pleasure. “You, too. We both needed that, I think.”
He held her gaze, lips parting a breath before he actually spoke. “I’m not used to still wanting a woman this bad, after what we just did together.”
“Oh. Sorry.” So not sorry at all.
“You be careful, or I just might make a habit of you, at least until you escape back home.”
Unsure how to reply aside from blushing madly with self-satisfaction, she decided to leave while she still had the upper hand. She stepped back, fingers slipping from his.
“Ride safe.”
He rested his hand on his thigh, fingertips rubbing idly. “Sweet dreams.”
She smirked at that and turned away, felt his eyes on her ass the whole rest of the way to the Churches’ front porch. She didn’t need to steal a look over her shoulder to know he was still watching as she shut the door behind her. His gaze lingered like a stroking hand.
When the lock clicked shut, she leaned against the wood and released a long, ragged breath, eyes shutting, and her muttered, “Goddamn” dissipating in the empty hall.
Forget his mother’s spooky prophesizing. It was the two of them she just couldn’t begin to make sense of.
Chapter 20
Vince rose early and hit the shower.
He swore he could still smell Kim on his skin, and it made him sad to soap up. Made him wish he didn’t have all this drama to get on top of, so he could just lie in bed all morning, replaying last night . . . Now that was how you ended a dry spell. To hell with lying in bed, actually. If he didn’t have shit to get done, he’d be raising dust, booking it to the Churches’, waking that poor girl up for another round.
His dick went warm and heavy at that, but he ignored it aside from a slick of suds. Later. She had to turn her work in to Sunnyside this morning, anyhow. And Vince might be on a leave of absence from Petroch, but there was plenty of shit that needed doing. The fun stuff had to wait.
The primary goal of the moment was for Kim to ID those men. That, or finding proof of what Alex had seen. Then there was that niggling question of Welch and his seeming Evidence-B-Gone kit. Vince fumed to wonder if the man had tricked him with his little professionalism act, pretending to care about what Alex had seen.
Lots to do. They needed all hands on deck, and for that they needed Casey on a reliable bike. Vince had gotten the Fat Boy tuned up, but the cruiser’s bars and tires needed swapping if an impromptu off-road getaway was going to be an option, and the antilocks had to go.
Once he was toweled and dressed, Vince checked on his mother and found her asleep. Nita would be here by seven, so that was under control. Not wanting to wake their mom with the knocking, Vince stole into his brother’s room. Casey was sprawled across his childhood bed in his shorts, the twin mattress looking like a joke beneath his grown-up body.
“Hey.”
Nothing.
He poked Casey’s shoulder. “Wake up, motherfucker.”
A petulant moan—just like teenage Casey, only an octave lower. “What?”
“Get up. We got a big day.”
Casey pushed to sitting and rubbed his face. “Big day?”
“Need your help in the garage.”
“With wh—”
“And later you’re going on that little mission with Miah. Just get some pants on and be ready when the coffee’s brewed.”
He left, shutting the door on his brother’s swearing.
Wonder of wonders, by the time Nita arrived and Vince had filled the Thermos, Casey was lacing his boots. A bitter part of Vince had to wonder if the real incentive was a ready excuse to vacate before their mother rose.
Whatever the reason, take it. Ridiculous that Casey still clung to the belief that they didn’t share a father. He’d inherited their dad’s cowardice as plainly as he had their mother’s red hair.
“Take care,” Vince told Nita, and kissed her warm cheek. “Call if there’re any upsets.”
“You two be good.”
Casey laughed at that. “You say that like we ever gave you a reason to doubt it.” He kissed her cheek as well, answered by a whap on the arm.
“Helmets,” she called as the screen door swung shut behind them.
With the standard “Yeah, yeah” singsong, they headed for the bikes.
“Quick stop at Benji’s,” Vince said as they strapped the brain buckets on.
“Kinda early, isn’t it?”
“Gotta talk to Raina.” And he ended the convo with a flare of throttle.
Benji’s wouldn’t open until two, but Raina was usually up early. The girl slept maybe four hours a night, as far as Vince could tell. He often rode by the bar on his way out to Petroch and spotted her tidying up the front lot and stoop.
Not this morning, though. They parked, and Vince told his brother, “Sit tight.”
“How is it you manage to be so bossy before the caffeine’s even kicked in?”
“Five minutes.” Vince dismounted.
“I’ll come. Who knows—she might be in her nightie.” Casey stood, but Vince sat him back down with a rough push on his shoulder. “Jeez.”
“Got a weird favor to ask the woman. Last thing I need is your color commentary.”
Vince headed around back, slipping between Raina’s dad’s old pickup and her even-older bike—she’d been favoring the former, lately. Vince hadn’t seen her little red Super Cub out from under that cover in ages . . . not since she and Miah had split, probably. It’d been a gift, and practically an engagement ring to judge by the love Miah had put into fixing it up. Romance—what a mess.
Vince had been carrying a key to Benji’s for years now, from way back when her dad had first gotten sick. Vince had volunteered to keep an eye on the place when the man’s treatment kept them away overnight, and she’d never asked for it back. She lived in the apartment above the bar, and Vince rang the outside bell before letting himself into the back room. When he heard her moving around one floor above, he shouted, “It’s just me.”
From the stairs came footsteps and a muffled, “Grossier?” A lock clicked and the stairwell door swung in. “Bit early for a drink. Even for you.”
“Came to see you, actually, if you’re decent.”
She was decent—decent for Raina, anyhow. Which, if you had designs on the girl, was less decent and more fan-fucking-tastic. Her sleep getup put the short in shorts, her top a tangle of lacey straps and black cotton. Barefoot. Hair twisted into a wavy bunch at the top of her head. Funny, though. All she really looked like to Vince just now was his best friend’s ex.
“What’s up?” she asked, crossing her arms and leaning against the stairwell’s jamb.
Not eager to spit out the real favor he was after, Vince decided to build up to it. “Can I borrow your helmet? For Kim.”
“Yeah, sure. God knows when the last time I rode was. It’s hanging in the junk room next to the office.”
“Thanks . . . Also, do you speak Spanish?”
“Not really, no.”
“You’re half Mexican.”
“You ever met my mom?” she asked dryly.
“No.”
“Well, me neither. Funny how I never picked it up.”
“Okay, forget I asked. Just would’ve been useful, if I ever wa
nted to get nosy, talking to the guys who’re working construction on the Eclipse.”
Her expression darkened. “Ah. Miah swung by last night. Said your little girlfriend heard something.”
He nodded. “Is it too much to hope, to ask if you still think I’m crazy?”
“Not too much, no . . . But I’d prefer to hear it from Kim.”
“I’m sure we’ll be by.”
“I’ll look forward to it. We done here?”
Damn, how to broach the real reason he’d come . . .
“Spit it out, Vince.”
Blunt it is. “You know that Welch guy?”
“You know I do. What about him?”
“Saw you and him eye-fucking the other night.”
“Christ. If Miah sent you—”
“Nope. I’ve come to see what your intentions are with that prick.”
Her dark brows rose. “My intentions?”
“Yup.”
“My intentions are to one day discover evidence he’s warm-blooded. How I might go about that, I haven’t decided.”
Evidence? Now how was that for a segue? “You open to suggestions?”
“Get where you’re heading with this, Grossier. My coffee’s going cold.”
“I don’t trust him—but before you think I’m trying to protect you, listen. Kim saw him the other morning, acting shady.” He gave her the gist of the bleach situation, clued her in a bit more to what Kim had overheard at the site. “Quite possibly unrelated, but I’d love to know what he’s doing in that room of his.”
She looked skeptical . . . but behind that, curious. “Sounds a bit fucked . . . So you’re telling me, stay away from him? Or keep an eye on him?”
“I’m telling you, we want to know what he’s up to. And if you had any interest in . . . You know.”
“No, I don’t think I do know.”
“If you were planning on getting with him, or . . .”
She laughed. “You want me to fuck some intel out of him? Be your little undercover lady-spy?”
“Not necessarily. But if he comes by Benji’s and you feel like maybe getting him wasted. And chatty. Or if you happened to wind up in his motel room some night . . .”
She blinked at him, annoyance blooming wide. “Is that my role, then? And who exactly will you boys be fucking in the back of the Mystery Machine?”
“If you’re not interested, forget it. I’ll get Casey inside his room, somehow. Just figured you might stand a chance at getting the guy to talk.”
She made a thoughtful face, telling Vince everything he needed to know, really. But he kept his mouth shut.
“What do you want me to find out?” she asked slowly.
“What he needs with a gallon of bleach, chiefly. And all the better if you get it on tape. I’m gonna see about borrowing a wire this afternoon.”
“Oh, this gets funner and funner.”
“Just humor me, okay? I’ll call you later about whether or not I can even get my hands on one.”
She nodded once, faking boredom. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Knew I could count on you.”
“Spare me the rim job, Vince.” And she shut the stairwell door on him.
Vince grabbed the helmet and locked up, then found Casey in the front lot, frowning at his smartphone as if it had called their mom a rude word.
“Raina’s in,” Vince told him. “Partway in, anyhow.”
“In what?”
“That shit Kim saw at the motel—Welch and his cleaning supplies.”
“Oh, right. Too bad—I’d been looking forward to giving my picks a little exercise.”
“We’ll leave Welch in her hands for now, focus on checking out the sites. What’s up?” he added, nodding at Casey’s phone.
“Just this woman . . .”
“’Course. Why did I even ask.” He got his helmet back on and slipped his arm through the strap of Raina’s borrowed one.
“How come I always attract the crazy ones?” Casey asked barely a minute later, once they’d cruised into the spot’s front lot.
“I couldn’t begin to guess.” Vince got off his bike and unlocked the right-hand bay door, hauled it up.
“You think it’s weird,” Casey said slowly, tailing Vince inside, “if you’re messing around with a chick for three weeks, and all she wants to do is blow you? Like, that’s all.”
“I think it’s weird you’re bitching about it.”
“No, really. That’s weird, right? I can’t get her to do anything else. Making out and blow jobs. Period.”
“She into it?”
“Oh yeah. No issue there.”
“You get her clothes off? She definitely a chick?”
Casey went pale, thinking long and hard about it. “Wait—yes. Definitely a chick.”
“Maybe she’s a fundie Christian,” Vince offered, getting the work area organized. “Saving herself or some shit.”
“Fuck, that’s all I need.”
“At least you know you haven’t knocked her up.”
“Amen. Now if I could just get her to quit texting me ten times a day.”
Casey’s dysfunctional love life kept them talking for a good hour as they swapped out the Fat Boy’s tires and strategized over its brakes. Felt good, like the old days.
“Exactly what are me and Miah looking for this afternoon?” Casey asked.
“Not entirely sure. Anything shady, out near the foothills. See if any foremen give you disproportionate shit for nosing around. Oh and you’re swinging by John Dancer’s, to see if he’s got a wire. In case Raina finds herself in the company of an especially talkative Duncan Welch.”
“What, to use as evidence?”
“Yeah.”
Casey shook his head. “No good. One-party consent doesn’t fly in Nevada. One of twelve states where recording a private conversation’s only legally admissible if everyone involved knows about it.”
“Do I even want to ask how you know that?”
His brother smiled. “Thank me one day, when you find yourself on the winning side of that law.”
“I’ll thank you now—wasn’t exactly looking forward to owing Dancer another goddamn favor.” He pulled out his phone and tapped a text to Raina: You’re off the hook on recording. Wire’s a no-go.
He looked up to find his brother deep in thought. “You know what she could do, instead?”
Vince raised a brow.
“Sex tape,” Casey said, nodding sagely.
“Sex tape?”
“Yeah, man. Any red-blooded man would consent to that.”
“Which rules out Welch.”
Casey snorted. “Anyhow, just an idea.”
“I don’t see Raina taking that suggestion well. But if you feel like getting yourself punched, by all means—run it past her.”
They were taking a break around eleven when Casey’s eyes went round, aimed somewhere beyond Vince’s shoulder. Vince turned, finding that young waitress from the diner in the open door, all short skirt, bare legs, polka-dot canvas sneakers.
She waved meekly, looking embarrassed.
Vince strolled to the front. Casey hung back, but Vince knew his brother’s attention would naturally be on the pretty stranger. Too young. Back off.
“Morning,” Vince said. “Abilene, right?”
“Yeah,” she said, “And you’re Vincent Grossier? I should know that by now, the number of times I’ve poured your coffee. But I don’t think you ever actually said.”
He nodded and offered his hand. “Vince is fine.”
She shook it with her tiny, soft one. Jesus, how old was this girl? Could she even drink? And he could already guess why she was here. Because of a whole lot of nothing good.
“Sorry to just show up like this, but I saw your motorcycle out front, and the door was open . . .”
“What can I do for you? You got a bike that needs servicing?”
She smiled nervously. “No, no. I um . . . I’m sorry. I feel bad even coming here.�
�� She dropped her voice with a sidelong glance in Casey’s direction, nearly whispering. “You know a guy called James Ware?”
“Sure. I did time with him a few years ago, downstate. We worked in the machine shop together. He got out a few months ahead of me.”
“He’s back in, actually,” she said, cheeks growing pink. Again she glanced to where Casey was surely watching from. “But we were . . . You know. We met earlier this year. Dated a little. I’m, um . . .”
“You need a favor?” Vince asked. “A loan?”
Her nod was barely visible. “A loan, yeah. He mentioned to me before he went in, if I ever needed anything, to ask you.”
“How much?”
She opened her cheap purse, pulling out a few folded papers. “Four hundred.”
Vince’s brows rose. “That’s a lot, for a girl your age. How old are you, anyhow?”
“Twenty-four.”
He half believed it. “You in trouble, Abilene?”
“Sort of.”
“Is somebody riding you for money?”
She blinked. “Oh. No, no, nothing like that. It’s a medical thing. I um . . . James and I . . .” She looked real awkward a moment, then covertly touched her belly.
“Ah.” Shit. “And you need help getting that taken care of.”
Her eyes went round as silver dollars. “What? No.” She clutched her middle for real, like Vince was planning to do the job himself. “No, I’m keeping it,” she murmured. “It’s for the bill from an OB appointment. I didn’t sign up for insurance. Sure wish I had now.”
“Sorry. My bad. Congratulations, then.” Oh yeah, that was apt. Exactly what the world needed—James Ware Jr. The guy wasn’t a drop off a steep cliff, but he was sure as hell a downhill prospect. A sweet girl like Abilene could do better. Miles better. “And sure, I can help you out with that.”
“How much is the interest or whatever?”
Vince shook his head. “I don’t do that kind of shit. I help my friends out, they knock a little business my way, run the odd errand. Don’t you worry about it. If I need to collect, I’ll take it up with James.”
But Abilene looked far from relieved.
“What?” Vince asked. “Your man’s good for it. I’ve dealt with him before.”