Edge of Darkness

by Barker, Freya

  “Until the neighbor showed up.”

  “Right. So given the guy beelined it out of here, it’s possible he may not have found what he was looking for.”

  “Maybe we can. Let’s go look.”

  We spend a few hours going over every inch of that apartment after Doc Carter takes the body to the morgue. The only things we find of any interest are the pieces of a smashed cell phone on the floor in the corner of the kitchen.

  “Still no SIM card?” Ramirez wants to know and I shake my head. It’s the only part of the phone we haven’t been able to recover, and the one that contains the information.

  “Maybe the guy took it with him?”

  “Let’s make absolutely sure and move the fridge,” he says.

  The two of us pull it away from the wall and I squeeze into the narrow space we create.

  “Give the man a cigar.” I hold out the SIM card to Ramirez.

  “Want an evidence envelope?” one of the crime scene techs asks him.

  “Yeah, but we’re sending this to the FBI lab.”

  The sun is up when we walk out of the building.

  “I’m gonna take this to the station and sign it into evidence.” Tony holds up the plastic tub with evidence bags. “Do you want to stop at home and freshen up while I do that?”

  “Sure you don’t mind? I’ll be half an hour ,tops.”

  “Go. You’ll feel better.”

  Growing up, all I heard was girls don’t have the stomach for real police work. At my first murder scene, I’d upchucked my dinner to great hilarity of my brothers and father, who took every opportunity to remind me of my ‘weak stomach.’ So I made sure I never showed any weakness again in public. I just dealt with the aftermath at home, usually by drinking myself numb.

  In the few months I’ve been here, I’ve been shown more kindness and thoughtfulness than all my years in Albuquerque. Tony’s suggestion alone is proof of that.

  The first thing I notice when I walk into my apartment is Yuma’s feet hanging over the armrest of my loveseat, and I immediately feel guilty. Easing my shoes off, I tiptoe straight down the hallway to the bedroom, where Kiara is also still asleep, her little body starfished in my new bed. I quietly collect clean clothes and take them with me into the bathroom.

  Under the hot stream of water in the shower I let go of the inevitable flood of tears I so carefully guard.

  Yuma

  I heard her come in and sneak by me into the bedroom.

  Assuming she’s going back to bed to catch a few more hours of sleep, I close my eyes trying to do the same. Then I hear the shower turn on and a minute or two later the distinct sound of muffled sobs.

  I’m off the couch in a flash and first check the bedroom to make sure it’s not Kiara who woke up scared, but the little girl is still asleep. Then I turn to the bathroom.

  She’s sitting on the floor behind the enclosure, her hunched silhouette visible through the frosted glass. I’m stripped in seconds and open the door, step in, and crouch down in front of her. She doesn’t even look up, so I sit my ass on the tile floor and pull her huddled body on my lap. She lifts her head just long enough to shove her face in my neck.

  “I’m sorry,” she finally mumbles against my skin. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “I was awake. What happened?” I brush the wet streaks of hair out of her face.

  “Bad scene. I…I don’t do well with…bodies.”

  I almost suggest she might be better off in a different profession but catch myself.

  “Does this happen every time?” I ask instead.

  “Pretty much,” she mumbles, getting to her feet. “You’d think I’d be used to it by now.”

  She turns off the water and steps out of the shower, and I try not to get distracted by the water dripping down the globes of her full ass. She hands me a towel when I climb out of the shower. I take it and grab her hand to pull her close.

  “I’ve gotta go back to the station,” she says, bracing her hands against my chest. “I just came home to clean up.”

  I kiss her anyway.

  “You get ready, Babe. I’ll go make some coffee.”

  I shrug into my clothes and try to sneak out through the bedroom when Kiara suddenly sits up in bed.

  “Where’s Ezrah?”

  “Your nana is still at the hospital with Ezrah, but they should be home today.” I cross my fingers that doesn’t turn out to be a lie. I walk over to the bed and lift her on my hip. “How come you don’t like pancakes?”

  “I like pancakes,” she corrects me right away, as I carry her down the hallway to the kitchen, where I set her on a stool.

  “Are you sure? I could swear you didn’t like them. I was going to make you oatmeal for breakfast instead”

  “Yuck. Oatmeal tastes like cardboard.” She demonstratively makes a face and sticks out her tongue.

  “You haven’t tasted my oatmeal yet, it’s the best. Better than chocolate cake.”

  “I like chocolate cake.”

  By the time Lissie walks into the kitchen, I have a travel mug waiting and am pouring batter in the pan.

  “Mr. Yuma is making pancakes!”

  “That sounds delicious.” Lissie smiles at her. “But I am late for work, do you think you could save me one or two for later?”

  The little girl nods her head. “I will.”

  CHAPTER 13

  Yuma

  IF I NEVER see another episode of Dora the Explorer again it’ll be too soon.

  By the time Lisa comes to pick Kiara up, I’ve sat through at least half a dozen of them.

  “Nana!” The little girl jumps up from the couch and comes running. “Where’s Ezrah?”

  “He’s at home.” Lisa gives the girl a quick hug before turning to me. “Thank you.”

  “No problem. Lissie was called in on a new case, so Kiara and I hung out this morning.”

  “Appreciate it.” She turns to the little girl. “What do you say, girl?”

  “Thank you, Mr. Yuma,” Kiara politely says. “I like your pancakes.” Then she darts out the door.

  “The boy okay?”

  “Crankier than normal but he’ll survive, even if I don’t,” she grumbles before setting out after her granddaughter.

  I close the door and pull out my phone to shoot Lissie a quick message.

  Me: Ezrah’s home. He’s fine.

  I immediately get a response.

  Lissie: Excellent. Thank you for jumping in.

  Me: No problem. C U later.

  It takes me a few minutes to straighten up her apartment. As I make my way downstairs to my own place, I can’t help notice Brick’s truck parked in front of the building. Looks like Lisa and the kids are in good hands.

  _______________

  “Rally in Santa Fe this weekend. You gonna ride? We’re leaving tomorrow at noon.”

  I stopped by the club, hoping I could have a word with Trunk, but he’s busy with one of the boys. Ouray finds me sitting in the kitchen, having a coffee by myself while I wait. He walks over to the coffeepot and pours himself one before he sits across from me.

  The question is not as easy to answer and Ouray knows it. I haven’t been out to a rally since last year. Talk about temptation. I used to love them, mainly because it meant partying and pussy, which is exactly why I’ve been avoiding them.

  I knew eventually this question was coming. I’m supposed to be the MC’s sergeant at arms, but that’s been in name only. Paco has carried out my responsibilities for years, and all I did was ride in the spot he should’ve had all along.

  “You wanted to see me?” Trunk comes lumbering into the kitchen.

  “Do you have a few minutes?”

  “Sure. Let me grab a coffee.”

  While Trunk sees to that, I turn my attention back on Ouray. “Can I get back to you on the ride?”

  “Sure.” His voice is even, but I can read disappointment on his face.

  I follow Trunk to his office and sit down across fro
m him.

  “You doing okay?” he asks, right off the bat.

  “Not bad.”

  “Keeping up with AA meetings?” Trunk isn’t known for mincing words. He’s a child psychologist but even with the boys he’s a straight shooter.

  It’s on my tongue to spout excuses, but I don’t really have any.

  “No,” I tell him honestly.

  “I get it’s not your thing, but there’s a purpose to those meetings.”

  “I’ve been seeing someone.”

  “Brother…I know. No one missed that lip-lock you put her in out there in the clubhouse. Surprised the fuck out of me; let me tell you. Unless we’re not talking about Detective Bucco?”

  “Yes, we’re fucking talking about her,” I bristle, annoyed at his implication, which he apparently finds funny.

  “Keep your shorts on. I’m just trying to get the lay of the land here.” He sits back and tents his fingers. “And I’m trying to figure out what seeing someone has to do with you not hitting up regular meetings.”

  “She’s easy to talk to,” I explain. “Not judgmental.”

  “I’m glad, but you know as well as I do that probably only lasts as long as things keep going well. Can’t expect her to understand the dark sides of addiction. The cravings, the stumbles, the pitfalls.”

  “She fuckin’ understands better than you.”

  Trunk’s eyebrows shoot up. “Yeah? How’s that?”

  “She’s been sober for close to a year.”

  “Shee-it. Really, brother?” He rubs his hands over his bald head. “Big risk. She trips up, she could take you right with her.”

  “She’s not gonna trip.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “She’s not gonna fucking trip,” I reiterate. “She’s much stronger than I am.”

  Even as the words are still forming, I know it’s the truth. This morning proved it. Would’ve been easy for her to numb the effects of a grisly case with a drink, but she didn’t. Instead she took the impact on the chin and went right back to work. I don’t know if I’d have that strength.

  Trunk seems to think on that for a bit.

  “Then what brings you here?” he finally asks.

  “Two things.” If I didn’t believe this talk would be completely confidential I wouldn’t dream of sharing what I know about Lissie, but I trust Trunk. I tell him what I know about her.

  “She’s a complex woman and I don’t wanna fuck this up,” I come clean.

  “Why do you think you will?” he doesn’t hesitate asking.

  “Jesus, Trunk. Have you met me?” I scoff. “Don’t think there’s anything I haven’t fucked up in my life.”

  “Little hard on yourself, aren’t you?”

  “Isn’t that the point? Accountability?”

  “Accountability is. Self-flagellation is not, it’s more destructive than the addiction itself.”

  It takes me a minute to take that in.

  He’s right; there’s a difference between taking responsibility and cutting yourself down at the knees. Which is something that’s become second nature. Not sure how the fuck to change that.

  “Look, I hear you, man. When I met Jaimie, I had the same kinda fucked-up ideas. She was too good for me…I didn’t deserve her…”

  “So what changed?”

  He grins at me. Used to Trunk’s normally gruff expression, the grin looks almost menacing.

  “Nothing,” he says, his face turning serious. “I’m still nowhere near good enough for her, and I sure as fuck still don’t deserve her, but I’ve discovered it doesn’t matter. Jaimie fell for me warts and all. Only difference is, I’ve learned not to question it.”

  “Really fucking helpful,” I grumble.

  “You want advice? Here it is: be whoever the fuck you are. If she’s willing to spend time with you, she clearly already thinks you’re worth it. Now, what was the second thing?”

  “The club,” I tell him.

  By the time I walk out of his office, Trunk has provided me with the perspective I was looking for. Bolstered, I head straight across the hallway where I find Ouray in his office.

  “Yes,” I finally answer him, as I walk in the door. “I’ll ride with you, but not at your flank.” It’s customary for the VP and sergeant in arms to ride on either side of the president’s rear wheel.

  “Why the fuck not?” he barks.

  “Because…” I take off my cut and with the letter opener I grab off his desk, rip the stitches attaching the patch to my vest.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  “I’m riding behind, with my brothers. This…” I wave the patch in front of him. “…belongs to Paco. Always has and you know it.”

  Lissie

  It’s almost midnight by the time I finally walk in my door.

  We’ve been going nonstop since I got to the office at seven thirty this morning, starting with a sit-down with the FBI in our offices. Those guys took the SIM card to work on, see what information they could pull off. They would also send an agent to the Mesa Riders’ compound in Moab for notifications.

  We were able to get a positive ID on Clarkson through his tattoos. Thankfully Ramirez volunteered to attend the autopsy while I headed out to the offices of Pro Concrete with Blackfoot.

  Keith had struck out at the other man’s trailer and found it empty. Red Franklin’s second man, Marty Spengler, was missing and we were keeping our fingers crossed the guy would show up at his club instead of dead somewhere.

  The manager we spoke to at the contractor’s office was able to tell us that Clarkson and Spengler had been working on a job near Farmington since the Durango site was shut down, but work there had been completed earlier in the week. Right now the crew was waiting at home for the next contract.

  We left with a list of names we started going down right away, since most of them appeared to be local. The only guy we weren’t able to talk to was the foreman. His neighbor informed us he had a family emergency, and he and his wife had left for Nebraska the day before.

  The last few hours I spent back at the office until I fell asleep at my desk and Ramirez, who stayed as well, sent me home.

  I don’t even bother turning lights on and head straight for the bedroom, where I barely manage to set my alarm and plug my phone in to charge before I fall face-first on my new bed.

  _______________

  I’m still groggy, and in a rush to get out of the door, when I spot the piece of paper on the floor by the front door.

  CALL ME WHEN YOU GET IN.

  Shit.

  Last time I had contact with Yuma was around dinnertime when I sent him a message, letting him know it would be a late night.

  I pull the door shut behind me, and head down the stairs, but instead of going for my truck, I stop in front of Yuma’s apartment. I feel bad I missed his note last night, and I really want to see him before work swallows me up again, but at the same time I don’t want to wake him up.

  Before I have a chance to make a decision, his door opens. Much like the last time, his chest is bare and his jeans barely done up.

  “Hey…” I manage, when he grabs my hand, pulls me inside, and holds me tight while kissing me silent.

  “You didn’t call,” he rumbles when he lets me up for air.

  “I missed your note last night. I was so tired.”

  He brushes a strand of hair behind my ear as his eyes roam my face.

  “Are you takin’ care of yourself?”

  “I am.” When he raises a questioning eyebrow I add, “The best I can. The guy who was killed? He’s connected to the Wildcat Canyon site as well. This case is breaking wide open. It’s going to be crazy busy for a while.”

  “Too bad. Was hoping you could come to Santa Fe with me for a rally this weekend.”

  “A rally? Like a bike rally? As in me on the back of your bike?”

  He chuckles at my excited rambling. “Yeah, Babe, on the back of my bike.”

  “It kills me, but I ca
n’t. Any other time I would’ve jumped at the chance, but—”

  His mouth descends—cutting me off mid-sentence—and my insides melt when he kisses me sweetly.

  “No need to explain. That spot on the back of my bike is yours. We’ll get you on there sometime soon.”

  I grin big. Never knew I could get excited about the prospect, I always considered riding on the back of a motorcycle Dani’s thing. Thinking of Dani, I should probably talk to Yuma about her. See if he knows anything.

  “I wish I had time—there are a few things I’d like to talk to you about—but I’m gonna be late for my meeting if I don’t hustle.”

  “Got a few things to discuss with you myself, but it can wait until after I’m back and you’ve caught your guy. I’m not in a hurry.”

  There’s a host of emotions, behind those gorgeous eyes of his, I wish I had time to explore. Instead I lift up on my toes and press my lips to his.

  “Have fun and ride safe, okay?”

  “I will.”

  “And let me know when you get there?”

  “Sure thing.”

  “I may not be able to message you back right away, but I will as soon as I can.”

  “Babe, you’re gonna be late.”

  “I know.”

  I lift my lips for another kiss, this one deep and delicious, giving me time to explore his chest with my hands. When I brush my thumbs over his nipples, he growls deep in his throat and pulls back.

  “Killing me here.”

  I grin up at him and mouth “Sorry.”

  “Sure you are,” he teases, grinning back.

  “I’m glad I stopped by, James.”

  His eyes darken when I use his real name.

  “As am I, Beautiful. As am I.”

  I can’t remember the last time I drove to work in the middle of a murder investigation wearing a smile that wouldn’t go away.

  Probably never.

  CHAPTER 14

  Yuma

  IT FEELS GOOD, riding with the guys again.

  I would’ve preferred having Lissie sitting behind me, her arms around my waist, but I’m hoping that day will come.