I fired off a quick text to let Yuma know when I was on my way home as agreed, and from what my nose registers, he didn’t waste any time.
“What are you cooking?” I ask, dropping my purse on the couch on my way to the kitchen. Yuma is chopping vegetables in big chunks.
He snakes out an arm and pulls me to his side, bending his head down for a thorough kiss. I don’t hesitate dropping the bag from Durango Joe’s on the counter and wrapping my arms around his neck. I realize I missed this—him—the past couple of days. Unreal how quickly I’ve become addicted to his touch. Just for a moment, I wonder if I should be worried, but his kiss quickly erases any misgivings.
“Bacon-wrapped meatloaf and roasted veggies,” he says when he finally lets me up for air. “What in there?” He indicates the paper bag with pastries.
“Dessert.”
“Already had plans for dessert,” he mumbles, pulling the elastic from my hair as he shoves his face in my neck. “You smell good.” His beard tickles and I pull up my shoulder.
“This food smells amazing. When’s dinner?”
“Unfortunately, just twenty minutes. Not enough time to do what I want to. Why don’t you get into something more comfortable,” he suggests before following it up with an eyebrow wiggle. “Something with easy access.”
“You’re incorrigible,” I admonish him, but do it grinning wide. “I’ll be right back.”
My head is still in the clouds when I walk into my bedroom and it takes me a second to register what I’m looking at.
Yuma
I listen for a reaction, but when the silence stretches for more than just a few minutes, I quickly finish up the veggies, dump them on an oiled baking sheet, and shove them in the oven.
Cautiously I follow her into the bedroom, where I find her sitting on the edge of the bed, and I’m not sure how to interpret the expression on her face. It’s either she’s pissed and she’s trying really hard not to blow up, or she’s shocked and struggling with another emotion. I’m leaning toward pissed, since I took that into consideration when I went shopping for a bed today.
I’m not an idiot, I got advice from Lisa, who was more than willing to give me a woman’s perspective on what kind of bed to get. Good thing too, because if up to me, I would’ve picked the first, sturdiest bed I bumped into. Lisa had given me the thumbs-up when I sent her a picture of the solid frame I chose.
“You bought me a bed.”
I lean a shoulder against the doorpost and shrug.
“Told ya I would.”
“I thought you were joking.”
“Do you like it?”
She reaches out and runs her hand along the metal, geometric pattern on the headboard.
“It’s beautiful. You got new covers too.”
“I did.”
I’m still not sure what reaction this is because her mouth is tight, but her eyes look wet. Pushing away from the post, I move to sit beside her on the bed. The moment I reach for her though, she takes off like a shot, only to return with her purse a moment later.
“How much?” she asks, digging through the bag and coming up with a checkbook.
“What are you talking about?”
“The bed, how much was it?”
“Put that shit away,” I tell her, getting annoyed.
“I can tell it wasn’t cheap, Yuma. Let me pay you back.”
“Put it away, Lissie.”
“Look…” She puts a hand on my arm. “I really appreciate it, it’s beautiful, but I can’t expect you to pay for it.”
“Why the fuck not?”
“Because it wouldn’t be right. I’m sure building management doesn’t pay that well.”
As pissed as I was starting to get minutes ago, I burst out laughing at her comment. She looks on in shock.
“You’re cute. You know that?” I finally manage, pulling her down beside me. “The Riverside is only one of the club’s businesses. Each brother gets a cut of club revenue, Babe. All of the revenue. Appreciate your concern, but I’m not hurtin’ for money.”
“So…you choose to live in that small apartment?” She seems genuinely perplexed.
“I have a house,” I confess. “Haven’t been able to bring myself to go there in months.”
“Why?”
I look into her earnest eyes and don’t hesitate answering. “It probably still reeks like a brewery. Before I hit rock bottom, I’d holed up there for months. Fuck, I didn’t exactly leave the place in a good state.”
“I get that.”
“I know you do.”
“It still doesn’t explain why you need to buy me a bed,” she persists and I chuckle as I stand, pulling her up with me.
“Plan to spend a lot of time there.” I wrap my arms around her. “Call it self-interest.”
Of course when I bend down to kiss her, the oven beeps.
“Saved by the bell,” she teases, and I press my lips to her smiling mouth.
“Get changed. I’ll get food ready and I’ll have dessert in bed after.”
I reluctantly let go of her and head for the kitchen when she calls out.
“Thanks for the bed, Yuma.”
“You’re welcome, Lissie.”
Five minutes later, when I have places set and the food out on the island, she walks into the kitchen, wearing soft, flowy lounge pants and a T-shirt of the same material. I do note the lack of bra and try to stay focused on dinner.
That turns out to be not so easy, since Lissie moans her appreciation with every bite.
“I’m stuffed,” she complains when she shoves her empty plate away from her. “That was so good. You may be in trouble, I could get used to being fed like this.”
I get up to take our plates to the sink when there’s a knock at the door.
“I’ve got it,” Lissie says, already moving.
“I’m so sorry to interrupt,” I hear Lisa say from the front door. “I didn’t know where to bring her.”
I turn to find her and Kiara standing in the doorway, the little girl is crying and Lisa looks rattled.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, joining them.
“I have to take Ezrah to the hospital.” She steps aside to show Ezrah sitting on the steps cradling his head in his hands. “We just got home and he tripped running up the steps. Busted his head. Can you keep an eye on—”
“Come here, sweetheart.” Lissie pulls the little girl in her arms. To Lisa she says, “Go. We’ve got things here.”
“I’m driving you,” I announce.
“I’m okay,” Lisa starts protesting but is quickly shut down.
“He’s driving.”
I bite off a grin at the bossy tone in Lissie’s voice. Her neighbor doesn’t argue more and nods once before heading back outside.
“I’ll be back,” I promise Lissie, dropping a quick kiss on her mouth.
Ezrah is surprisingly stoic, given the deep gash over his eyebrow, which is bleeding profusely.
“You okay, bud?”
“I’m good,” he grits out bravely, sitting between his nana and me up front in my truck.
“Almost there. Gonna take a few stitches,” I caution him.
“Ain’t the first time.”
I catch Lisa’s eyes over his head. She’s carefully blanked her face, but her eyes show concern. It occurs to me she has spent many years looking after those kids under horrible circumstances with no one at her back. That’s changed. She’s part of Arrow’s Edge now.
At the hospital I drive straight to the emergency room entrance and let them out. Then I go find a parking spot. Before going in, I quickly call the clubhouse. Brick answers.
“I’m at the hospital with Lisa and Ezrah”
“What the fuck for?” he barks.
“Kid took a tumble and busted his head on the stairs. May only need stitches, but who the fuck knows. You wanna let Ouray know?”
“On it.”
I hear the line go dead and head inside after them.
They�
�re in the waiting room, which is luckily not that busy, and I sit down on the other side of the boy. The wait is not that long, maybe twenty minutes, when Ezrah’s name is called.
“I’ll wait here,” I tell Lisa.
The nurse leads them down the hall. When they pass the desk, the person behind it calls Lisa over. Ezrah disappears through the door at the end.
I can’t hear what is being said, but I recognize distress on Lisa’s face. I make my way over.
“What’s going on?”
Lisa keeps her eyes on the desk and mumbles under her breath.
“I don’t have insurance, so they want a credit card.” I’m already reaching for my wallet when she takes a shaky breath in and adds, “I don’t have one of those either.”
“Go with your boy, I’ve got this.”
A hand lands on my shoulder and Brick steps up.
“I’ll take it from here,” he rumbles, slapping a credit card on the desk before turning to Lisa. “Go to the boy. I’ll wait for ya out here.”
CHAPTER 12
Yuma
LISSIE TURNS HER head when I walk into the apartment and immediately puts a finger to her lips. When I move closer I can see Kiara snuggled up to her on the loveseat, fast asleep.
“How’s Ezrah?” she whispers.
“Still at the hospital.”
When Kiara stirs, I bend down and pick her up, carrying her straight to the bedroom. She curls up on her side as soon as I pull the covers over her. Not exactly what I had in mind for that bed tonight, but it is what it is. There’s no extra bed in the other bedroom.
“She okay?”
Lissie is in the kitchen, pulling her ever-present tea from the fridge.
“Still sleeping. Left the door open a crack, in case she wakes up.”
“Good. She cried herself to sleep and I was afraid to move.” She hands me a glass of tea. “So how come you’re back? Does Ezrah have to stay?”
“Not sure yet. I called the club to let them know and Brick showed up. He all but kicked my ass out of the hospital.”
“Brick?” She looks surprised.
“Yup. Came in and waved me off. He’ll call when he knows more.”
“I hope Ezrah’s okay. Be tough on Lisa if she has a kid in the hospital or sick at home. It’s just her with those two kids.”
I got the sense Lisa is not nearly as alone as she may think she is, but I keep it to myself.
It’s about ten when my phone finally rings. I’m almost relieved. I’ve had Lissie snuggled up to me, but every time I tried to cop a feel she shut me down because of Kiara sleeping down the hall. The movie playing on TV was some chick flick so that was hardly enough to distract me.
“Brick,” I answer after checking the screen on my phone.
“It’s Lisa, actually.”
“Hey, Lisa. How’s he doing?”
“Stitched up and pissed he doesn’t get to go home tonight. Swelling’s pretty bad and they wanna keep an eye on him for a bit.”
“He’ll get over it.”
She chuckles. “Right. How’s my girl doing?”
“Zonked out in Lissie’s bed. Don’t worry ‘bout her. We’ve got her.” I look over at Lissie as I’m talking and she nods.
“You sure?”
“Positive. Brick looking after you?” I chuckle when her answer is a displeased grunt.
“Can I talk to her?” Lissie asks, holding her hand out and I give her the phone.
As she settles back with the phone to her ear, I head to the kitchen. Listening with half an ear to her side of the conversation, I get myself a late-night snack of leftover meatloaf, which is even better cold.
Lissie joins me in the kitchen, putting my phone on the counter.
“You’re eating that cold?”
“It’s good. Try.” I break off a chunk and feed it to her.
A mistake. I know it when she closes her eyes and makes those little moan sounds, which make me think of her naked and spread out in bed while I taste my favorite type of late-night snack. Unfortunately, with a five-year-old currently occupying the bed I had big plans for tonight, there will be none of that.
“I should head down,” I announce when she tries to stifle a yawn as I pull her into my arms.
“You don’t have to.” Her little pout is cute. “The bed is big enough.”
“Babe, not gonna share a bed with a five-year-old.”
“Probably wise,” she reluctantly agrees.
“Had plans for that bed.”
“Figured as much.” She grins, wrapping her arms around my neck. “I’m sorry your plans are spoiled once again.”
I shrug. “They say abstinence is good for the soul. Fuckin’ hope it’s true ‘cause I can tell ya—it’s hell on the body.”
Lissie
“Hello?”
I quickly slip out of the room, leaving the little girl asleep in bed.
“Bucco.” All I hear are sirens in the background until Ramirez speaks. “We’ve got a situation and it’s all hands on deck. Need you here.”
I’d gone to bed after Yuma left last night and when I couldn’t fall asleep, took my file on Dani out of the nightstand and started flipping through it. I’d been meaning to do that for a while now. Aside from a few old snapshots, it holds three postcards she sent me, and an impressive stack of journal notes I’d made over the years pertaining to my old friend. I was so sure somewhere in those notes was a reference to the Mesa Riders, but I couldn’t find it.
Less than ten minutes later, Yuma answers the door of his apartment, looking rumpled, sleepy, and all kinds of delicious in a pair of barely buttoned jeans and naked torso. I’m instantly distracted by the gorgeously tattooed chest with sparse hair filling in as it narrows down to the V of his fly.
His low growl snaps me out of my fascination and my eyes pop up to meet his tortured ones.
“Not making this easy on me, Babe,” he complains, shamelessly adjusting himself.
“Sorry,” I mumble, before giving him the reason for appearing on his doorstep at three in the morning. “I hate to do this to you, but I have to get to a scene and—”
“Kiara,” he finishes, walking back in his apartment. “Give me a sec.”
Seconds later he comes back in view, and I almost groan as he covers that yummy chest with a T-shirt.
“Go,” he says, while putting a hand along the side of my neck as he leans in for a brush of lips. “I’ve got this.”
“I owe you.”
There’s only a twitch behind his facial hair, but his blue eyes twinkle.
“Like the sound of that, Lissie.”
My grin only lasts as long as it takes for the reason for my middle of the night excursion to resurface.
Ramirez is waiting for me at a murder scene on Florida Road. The victim happens to be one of the guys on our witness list. Scott Clarkson was a laborer for Pro Concrete and one of the two club members Red Franklin put in place on the Wildcat Canyon project. This is not going to go over well. Blackfoot immediately took off to check on the welfare of the second Mesa Rider, Marty Spengler, who is renting a trailer in Hesperus.
A neighbor in the apartment building had come home after a late shift, and noticed Clarkson’s front door open. When he stuck his head inside and called the guy’s name, the first thing he saw was someone at the far end of the hallway running to the back of the apartment. Then he noticed a boot sticking out of the kitchen. When he went to check it out, he found Clarkson dead. Whoever else had been there took off through the sliding doors to the small patio.
This apartment building is lower budget than most of the places in and around Durango. Some of the exterior is in poor repair and I notice garbage piling out of a large bin on the far side of the building.
I’m stopped by a uniformed officer I don’t recognize as I pull into the parking lot and have to flash my badge to get through.
It’s not hard to find Ramirez, who is standing in the door opening of a main floor apartment.
; “Bucco. Good. Doc Carter’s on her way, but I want to do a quick walk-through with you before she gets here.”
One of the crime techs hands me a pair of gloves and some hospital booties so I don’t contaminate the crime scene. I take a deep breath in through my nose, which isn’t too smart, because I can already smell the sweet, metallic scent of blood. Mouth breathing it is, I remind myself as I follow Ramirez down the narrow hallway to where he steps over a stretched leg jutting out of the doorway.
I thought our first victim at the construction site was bad, but this one is infinitely worse. The amount of blood is unreal, the thick, cloying smell triggering my easy gag reflex.
What is left of the once clearly fit man on the floor isn’t pretty.
Other than his legs—one sticking out in the hallway and the other bent at the knee—the rest of his body is covered in blood.
“First impression?” Ramirez asks, and I purse my lips, blowing out the breath I’ve held since walking in.
“He was tortured,” I force out, trying to focus on individual parts instead of the whole. “Hands look crushed. Superficial cuts up his forearms, shallow stab wounds in the abdomen. Severe beating around the face. His neck, it looks like it was cut twice.”
“You’re good,” Meredith Carter’s voice sounds behind me. “The top cut was a threat, the bottom one did the real damage.”
She steps around me and bends down beside the body, but the moment she starts manipulating the victim; I’m done. With my hand covering my mouth, I stumble out of the apartment and don’t stop until I get to the safe haven of my truck in the parking lot, puking out my guts as I hang onto the gate. Thank God I backed it in against the foliage bordering the lot.
“You okay?”
Shit.
I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and straighten up to find Tony looking at me with concern.
“Lissie?”
“I’m good. Gets to me every so often, but I’ll be fine.”
“Sure?”
“Positive. Let’s get back in there.” I start walking back to the building without waiting for an answer. “He was looking for something,” I suggest, as Tony falls into step beside me. “Or someone.”
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