“Don’t fucking move.”
The figure pushing open my door has one foot inside when he freezes in his tracks at the sound of my voice.
“The fuck are you standing there for? Move out of the way.”
Yuma’s voice startles me.
I haven’t seen him since he stood at my door quite unexpectedly a couple of days ago. He’d looked lost and haunted, and I instinctively recognized the precariously faint line separating hard-fought sobriety from the dangerous slip back into a bottle. So I let him in.
“The gun aimed at me says different, brother,” the guy at the end of my barrel rumbles casually.
Jesus. I blow out a breath and lower my gun.
“Better.”
I take in the man in front of me. Large, dark, and a bit on the husky side, with part of a tattoo snaking out of the top of his leather cut, along his neck, and disappearing in the hairline of his buzz cut behind his ear. Brother. One of the Arrow’s Edge members.
“Tse, man. Move out of the way.” Yuma appears behind him, his eyes locking on me right away. “Shit. Didn’t know you were home, Lissie. Your truck isn’t here.”
I will my heart rate back to an acceptable level as I walk through my apartment to the kitchen, dropping my gun on the counter.
“Dropped it off for an oil change last night,” I explain, setting about making a pot of coffee. “I’m off this morning.”
Behind me I hear movement. When I turn around, the new guy is standing in the middle of my living room and Yuma is stalking toward me.
“You wanna put some clothes on?” he says in a low voice, his eyes trailing down my body. I’m hardly indecent, wearing men’s boxer shorts and an oversized tee.
“Not on my account,” Tse comments with a provocative grin.
“Fuck off,” Yuma grumbles, blocking the guy’s view while crowding me. “Clothes,” he repeats impatiently.
“I’m wearing clothes,” I snap, annoyed.
“Don’t mind me,” Tse announces, pulling out a stool and sitting down. “I’ll just sit here and enjoy the show.”
“Please…”
The plea is reflected in Yuma’s eyes and I realize this may be about more than him being a bossy jerk. I nod sharply and without a look at his friend, I slip down the hall and into the bedroom.
When I get back to the kitchen, dressed appropriately and my hair no longer a bird’s nest, Yuma is pulling mugs from the cupboard.
“Was hoping to finish up your apartment today,” he says, pouring coffee and handing out mugs like he’s the one living here.
“That’s fine. Once my truck is ready, I have some running around to do anyway. I’ll stay out of your way.” I turn to the rough-looking biker sitting at my counter and stick out my hand, which he takes in his big paw. “I’m Lissie. Sorry about earlier.”
“Tse,” he rumbles with that almost lascivious grin. “And don’t apologize. Haven’t been that turned on in a long time.”
Yuma unexpectedly hauls out and slaps the guy upside his head, only making him grin wider.
“Fuckin’ drink up and let’s get started.” Tse winks at me and tosses back his coffee when Yuma turns back to me. “We’ll tackle the small window in the bathroom first. Leave the sliding doors last.”
“Whatever works.”
I pull my laundry basket out of the bathroom so they can move around, which leads to actually doing the laundry. It takes them less time to install that window than it does me to pull my first load from the dryer. My phone rings just as they’re starting to pull the trim off the doorframe.
“Truck’s ready. We had to put new brake pads on, though.”
“What do you mean, you had to put brake pads on? I brought it in for an oil change.”
It’s not the first time a mechanic’s trying to pull a fast one on me, and I won’t stand for it. They see what they think is a hapless woman and con them into expenses that aren’t necessary.
I notice Yuma walking up, throwing an inquisitive glance my way. I give a brief shake of my head and turn away.
“Standard to check the brakes, ma’am.”
“Bullshit. Even if it was, and even if it needed new pads, you had no right to do any work I didn’t authorize beforehand.”
The patronizing chuckle on the other side works like a red flag on a bull.
“Ma’am, we can’t have you driving an unsafe vehicle.”
Instead of answering, I end the call and shove my phone in my pocket, moving to the front door. Behind me I hear Yuma saying something to Tse, but I don’t know what until I notice him following me out of the apartment.
“Hold up. I’ll take you.”
I start to tell him he doesn’t need to when I realize I have no transportation. I nod instead, but when I see him walk toward his bike I have second thoughts.
“On that?”
“Yup,” he states, lifting up the seat and pulling out a helmet. He fits it over my head, fastens the strap under my chin, and swings his leg over the bike before holding out a hand.
“You coming?”
I take his hand and put my foot on a peg he indicates. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t just a little bit excited climbing on behind him. I rest my hands loosely on his shoulders, but he moves them to his stomach, pulling my arms around him so I’m flush against him.
“Hold on,” he says over his shoulder, before he starts the engine.
I feel the vibrations under me, which isn’t exactly an unpleasant feeling. I’m a bit tense when he first pulls out on the road, but soon relax into the ride. It’s not until he pulls up to the auto shop and parks beside my truck that my anger resurfaces.
Inside the open bay, the owner I just talked to on the phone wipes his hands on a cloth as he watches me dismount. I quickly take off the helmet, and hand it to Yuma.
“Thanks for the ride,” I tell him, before turning and walking at a decent clip toward the garage.
I’ve taken just a few steps when I hear Yuma’s footfalls behind me.
Yuma
Like hell I’m going to leave her here and drive off.
I understood enough from her side of the conversation to know that some douche mechanic is trying to pull a fast one on her. She didn’t exactly sound like she needed help handling him, but there’s a reason I took her here on the bike, wearing my cut. I won’t have to say a damn thing. If the guy has half a brain cell, he’ll think twice about giving her a hard time.
“Ma’am?”
Even though the smug asshole is probably six two or three, Lissie stretches to her full length and squares her shoulders, making it clear she is not to be intimidated.
“Ma’am me one more time and I’ll have you singing soprano in the Durango Choral Society before you can blink.” That takes the wind out of his sails. “I would like the keys to my truck.”
“You can have them,” he snaps back, clearly not down for the count yet. “As soon as you pay for the work done. Fourteen hundred and twenty-seven dollars, including parts, labor, and tax.”
“You may want to try that again. I brought the truck in for an oil change. That’s what I’ll be paying for and not a penny more.”
The idiot snorts at her.
“Sorry, darlin’, no can do.”
Then he throws me a lopsided grin, clearly misreading my silence as weakness. I take an inadvertent step toward him but as if sensing me, Lissie sticks out a hand to hold me back.
“The name is Detective Bucco.” I watch with some satisfaction as he flinches at that information. “I’m with the Durango Police Department, and I strongly suggest you fetch my keys. Otherwise, I might be motivated to throw a pile of charges at you, just to see which ones are gonna stick. That should be fun, right, Yuma?” she asks me, but her eyes never leave the bastard.
“I’d be amused.”
“Fuck me,” he mumbles, turning on his heel. He grabs a set of keys off the tack board on the wall and tosses them at Lissie, who smartly plucks them one-handedly from the air.
“I still have to pay,” she announces.
“On the house,” he counters; a calculating glint in his eyes, but the woman has more smarts than that.
“I’m paying for my oil change,” she insists, walking past him into the small office off to the side and I head back to lean on my bike, waiting there.
A few minutes later she reappears, slipping her credit card in her back pocket.
“All done?” I straighten up when she approaches.
“Yup.”
“He didn’t give you any more trouble?”
She turns a wide grin on me. “Nah. Nothing I couldn’t handle.”
“No doubt about that.” I swing my leg over the bike and start the engine.
She tilts her head to the side and regards me through narrowed eyes. “Then why didn’t you leave?”
“And miss that dressing-down?”
She shakes her head as she makes her way to the truck, but can’t quite hide the smile. She opens the driver’s door and looks at me.
“Can I bring you back something for lunch?”
“You don’t need—” I don’t get very far.
“I know. I’m picking up a sub for me. Got a favorite?”
I try to stare her down, but I only last a few seconds when she raises her eyebrows and bulges her eyes, making me laugh. She’s cute as fuck.
“Roast beef.”
“And your handsome friend?”
“He doesn’t eat,” I grumble, to her great amusement.
“Two roast beef subs it is.”
With a big grin, she climbs behind the wheel of her truck and I watch her drive off before exiting the parking lot.
Not sure what I was looking for from Lissie Bucco when I knocked on her door the other day, but whatever it was, she seemed to sense what I needed. I keep looking for excuses to avoid dealing with my unhealthy interest in her, but then the next moment I’m seeking her out again.
Can’t remember the last time I was this hung up on a woman.
Fuck, who am I kidding?
I can’t remember much of anything prior to my stint in Denver. All I know is a lot of the women I encountered wanted something from me. Either my dick, a permanent spot on the back of my bike, or something else they thought I could give them. I never lied—not that it’s a redeeming factor—and was always clear on what I was willing to share. Basically my dick and a couple of drinks, tops. Didn’t mean some of them didn’t try for more.
That’s the reason I started partying with couples. No risk there. At least not for me. They had something missing that I could provide, without it being anything more than it was. No messy feelings.
It worked until I got sober, then I lost my appetite for random sex.
Unfortunately, I have a feeling sex with Detective Lissie Bucco would be anything but casual.
Shit.
I find Tse stretched out on Lissie’s loveseat—his legs dangling off one end—watching a rerun of Live PD on TV.
“What the fuck, man?” I slap his boots. “Get your shit-kickers off her couch.”
“Couch? This ain’t more than a club chair with an inflated ego.” He grudgingly pushes himself up. “Need to get that girl some decent furniture.”
“She’s not a girl.”
“No need to tell me that, I’ve got eyes.” I grab the remote and aim it at the TV. “Hang on,” he says, holding up a hand. “Been checking out this chick.” He points at the TV where the camera is pointed at a pretty blonde police officer searching a suspect. “God, that’s hot. Seen her take down a guy, then his girlfriend who’s twice her size, all the while with their fuckin’ dog growling and circling her. She’s badass.” I turn the thing off. “Bet Lissie can kick some ass too. Shit, I’d volunteer for her to pat me down.”
“Yes, she can, and over your dead body,” I warn him, looking over at the sliders to the balcony. “Why is that door still in the frame?”
“Brother, even I can’t manage that thing on my own. All the trim’s down. It’ll take the two of us a second.”
He’s right, it doesn’t take long for us to carry it out to the dumpster and haul up the new doors.
Tse is out on the balcony having a smoke and I’m filling the gaps with foam, when Lissie walks in with a couple of bags. He immediately makes his way inside. Asshole.
“I hope water’s okay?” she asks, setting the bags on the counter and pulling out a few bottles.
“A beer’d be better,” Tse blurts out, peeking into the other bag.
I’m about to ream him a new one when Lissie coolly responds, “Sorry, no alcohol in my apartment.”
“Shit,” he swears, chuckling. “You’re doin’ that for him?” He cocks a thumb in my direction.
“No. I’m doing it for me,” she says defiantly, looking straight at him.
Tse’s eyes dart from her to me and back again.
“Fuck me. Match made in heaven.”
“Shut up and eat, asshole,” I grumble, as Lissie hands him a sub, before handing me one. “Thanks, Babe.”
It slips out and earns me a long hard look, but just when I think she’s going to call me on it, she grabs a water bottle, slips it in the bag with her sub, and walks toward the front door.
“Lock up when you leave,” she says over her shoulder. “I’ve gotta go. Just got called into work. See you later.”
“Thanks for lunch, gorgeous!” Tse calls after her, drowning out my own more moderate, “See you later.”
“Fuckin’ A, roast beef,” he mumbles around about two inches of the sub in his mouth. “She even knows what I like.”
“She got me my favorite, you moron,” I grouch, taking a bite.
CHAPTER 6
Lissie
WHEN I WALK into the open office—dubbed ‘the bullpen’— at the station, I can tell there’ve been some developments, judging by the tension in the room.
I drop my lunch on my desk and stick my head over the partition separating my desk from Blackfoot’s.
“What did I miss?”
He lifts his head from the file he was studying and leans back in his chair.
“You’ve probably heard about that big case involving a group of nationalist militants we had last year?”
“The FBI raid on the training facility in Moab? That one?”
I’d heard about it when I was still in New Mexico. The case drew quite a bit of airtime, and in the months following lots was written about it. It’s actually how I learned about the local MC. One of the articles mentioned a couple of the boys found at the ANL training facility in Moab had found a home in Durango. Specifically with the Arrow’s Edge MC. It caused me to dig into the club a little deeper. Get as much background as I could.
Thinking about my ulterior motive for requesting the transfer to Durango a couple of months ago comes with a pang of guilt, but history has taught me to keep things close to my chest, until I have facts to back up my suspicions.
“That’s it. Lunatics creating some kind of Aryan nation. Anyway, remember that list of project investors we dug up a few days ago? Ramirez asked Greene, the IT guy from the FBI, to see what he could find out since he has better resources. This morning he sent over some interesting info.”
He hands me a copy of an email listing each of the five major investors, followed by some background. I study the list that has two names with little in way of background. One is a company by the name of Red Mesa Holdings, and the other appears to be a private investor, Victor Nowak. The name rings a bell.
“Nowak? Why does his name seem familiar?”
“Probably because he is a media mogul. He owns about seventy-five percent of newspapers, radio, and TV stations in twelve states.”
“I remember now. He bought up a local TV station in Albuquerque a few years ago. Didn’t go over too well at the time, some outsider taking control of local media.”
“Nowak’s been doing that for the past fifteen years. Came out of nowhere. Greene is digging hard and ran into a connection betw
een Nowak and the American National League. In the past five years, he has apparently invested millions of dollars into the organization.”
“Still, why would a media mogul want to invest money in a subdivision development on the outskirts of Durango?” It doesn’t really make sense to me.
“That’s the big question. It’s what we’re trying to figure out.”
“Can I keep this copy?” I wave the email.
“It’s yours.”
“Anything you want me to focus on?”
“Actually, I was hoping you could focus on that Albuquerque acquisition? Put out some feelers? We’re looking for anything the ANL might be tied to.”
Not what I was hoping for. I get why he’s asking, he figures I still have connections there, and I do, but none who’d be thrilled to hear from me.
“Sure,” I agree grudgingly and sit down at my desk.
Taking a bite of my lunch, I scan the email and notice the second name that popped out at me.
“What about the other one? Red Mesa Holdings?” I ask around a mouthful of my sub.
“Ramirez is looking into that one,” Keith says from behind the partition separating our desks.
“Gotcha.”
I fire up my computer and one-handedly type in searches for Nowak, ANL, and Albuquerque, while finishing my sandwich. As I’m scanning my screen, one name pops out at me, turning lunch into a heavy brick in my stomach.
Clive Cole.
Now I know why the acquisition of ABQ News by Nowak popped up in my head. I remember Clive getting some flack from his editor when he wrote an article on the subject that wasn’t exactly flattering to either Nowak or to ABQ for selling out.
Clive and I had been dating off and on at the time. It was me who didn’t want to move beyond that. Mostly because my father staunchly supported Clive in his pursuit to make ours a permanent arrangement. I was content with the status quo, and—I have to give it to Clive—he hung in for a while. At least until I decided to rock the boat and stand up for myself. That’s when, along with my father and brothers, Clive distanced himself.
It had been simmering for months, the innuendos, the ‘accidental’ touches, the requests for me to stay late to discuss an investigation. Until one night, I was asked to drop off a file at my captain’s house. He told me to close the door so his cat couldn’t escape, but the moment I did, his pants were around his ankles.
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