by K. C. Crowne
More silence, and I could tell he was trying to figure out how much to tell me without giving too much away over the phone. “It’s about your girl’s ex. Got some information. And it’s bad. Hurry up and get here.”
He didn’t need to say any more. I grabbed my keys and started into town, pulling into a space at Riley’s several minutes later. The dirt of the parking lot kicked up around my tires as I came to a halt. I didn’t spot Gerald as I stepped in; no one was there but a grizzled bartender polishing glasses behind the bar and a few rough-looking old timers sipping whiskey as they played pool.
I ordered a pitcher and sat down and waited for Gerald to show up. I didn’t have to wait too long. The front doors opened, afternoon light pouring in and illuminating the dusty air of the bar. Gerald locked eyes with me the moment he entered. The guy had a sixth sense for things like that – likely one of the reasons security had been a natural fix for him. He walked toward me, his boots thumping on the wood floor.
Gerald was my cousin, and he sure looked like a Walker. He was tall and built like a tank. His jaw was wide and stubble-dusted, his dark eyes sharp and steely. He wore a cowboy hat, but Gerald didn’t need to take it off for me to know he was shaved down to the nub, military-style.
He was dressed in a white Henley shirt, the light pouring in catching the sliver of his dog tags. He wasn’t as tatted-up as I was, but he had some ink here and there, the insignia for his Marines unit peeking under the rolled-up right sleeve of his shirt, another one – a star from his days as a Texas Ranger- on the other arm. A brown leather messenger bag was slung over his shoulder.
Gerald flicked his chin up in greeting as he approached. He dropped down into the booth silently, with surprising agility for a man as big as him. No doubt a result of his military training.
“Howdy, cousin,” he said, setting the bag on the table before pouring himself a tall beer. “Day treatin’ you alright?”
“Day’s treatin’ me just fine.” He didn’t need to know about everything that’d been on my mind.
Gerald took a long sip of beer, draining nearly half the glass. When he was done, he wiped the foam from his upper lip and let out a satisfied ahh. “Been cravin’ that all damn afternoon,” he announced, turning his attention to the bag. “But I’m sure you’ve got bigger shit on your mind.”
“You’re right about that,” I said. “But damn if it ain’t good to see you, cuz.”
He glanced at me as he undid the gold fasteners of the bag. “Damn good to see you too, cuz. How long’s it been?”
“Too damn long.”
“Sure enough. I love my work, but it don’t exactly make it easy to stay connected.”
He was right about that. Gerald’s job took him all over the globe, working private security for the rich and powerful. He’d drop off the map for weeks, sometimes months at a time.
“I get it. But it’s good to see you all the same.”
He clapped his big hand down on my back, flashing a grin before turning his attention back to the contents of the bag. “Reunions are nice,” he said. “But somethin’ tells me you’re wonderin’ what I’ve got to say.”
“I am.”
He nodded, slipping a thick manila envelope out of the bag. “Our good buddy Kyle Ford Wexler.” Gerald placed the folder in the center of the table, folding his hands over the top of it. “Before I get into it, tell me – what do you know about this guy?”
I shrugged. “Not much. Only that Sam’s fled halfway across the country to get away from him. And that he’s twisted enough to follow her here.”
“That’s it? Sam didn’t say anything else?”
“Nope. She’s been pretty cagey about it, and I didn’t wanna push.”
“I get it – people deserve a right to their secrets. But this guy…” He shook his head. “I’ll quit fuckin’ around and get right to it. Kyle’s dangerous.”
“Dangerous? We already knew he had a screw loose.”
He shook his head. “More than just bitter ex-boyfriend dangerous. This kid’s in the middle of some serious shit. Let me show you.”
He opened the folder, the papers on the top some kind of list. Kyle’s face was in the corner, a younger-looking version of himself. “Kyle Ford Wexler,” he said. “Born November fifth, nineteen-eighty-eight. Mother died of a drug overdose when he was three, father was never in the picture. Kid went into the foster system, but never found his forever home, as they say.”
He turned the paper toward me. “He’s seventeen here, and this is his juvie record. Look at all this shit.” He moved his finger down the list of criminal arrests. “Drug possession, public intoxication, assault and battery, breaking and entering, the list goes on. This kid got up to more shit before his eighteenth birthday than most criminals do their whole lives.”
“Damn,” I muttered. “Just a born trouble-maker.”
Gerald took another sip of his beer. “Troublemaker might be the way to describe it if he cut the shit out once he turned eighteen. But he didn’t – he ramped it up.”
“How?”
He flipped through the remaining papers, nearly all of them arrest records. “When he turned eighteen, he got popped a few more times for drug-related shit, got his first felony before he was old enough to legally drink – not that he waited for that to start boozing if his drunk and disorderlies are any indication.”
“So he’s a fuck up.”
“Sure, you could call him that. But I’ve seen shit like this before – kids that age usually go through the system until they pull one crime too many. They’ll get a three-strikes-you’re-out, or they’ll get busted for something major enough to put them away for a good long while.”
“So where’s he at now?” I asked.
He went to the bottom of the stack of papers, taking out the last one – it was an arrest record, like most of the others. “This is his last arrest.”
I took the paper from his hands and read it. The man in the picture was Kyle, alright, but an older, harder version than the other picture, his eyes narrowed, a smirk on his face, tattoos on his neck.
“It’s for public intoxication. Nothing serious.”
“Nothing serious – got a night in the drunk tank, and that was that. No felony, nothing major that would suggest he was in prison for a long stretch.”
“But this the last of the arrests? What happened? I’m gonna guess he didn’t decide to go straight.”
“Not a chance. The fucker fell off the face of the earth. No arrests, no leases, no nothing.”
“Well, what happened?”
“I poked around, tried to find out what he’d been getting up to, asked a few cops in Portland. Now, there’s no way to know for sure, but it sounds like he started up a little franchise, got some of the shitheads he’d been working with enlisted in an operation with him as the kingpin.”
“Kingpin? Like a fuckin’ gang?”
“More than that – think a small-scale mafia. He figured that the real money was in runnin’ rackets – protection, drugs, weapons. They knew this because a few guys connected to him have been busted for that kind of thing, which suggests he’s at the center leading it all.”
“So this guy went from punk-ass criminal to fucking mastermind?”
“Somethin’ like that. And here’s what you need to find out – what your girl knows about this.”
“You think she knows somethin’ about it?”
He shrugged. “I mean, there are two possible answers – she knows, and she’s lyin’, or Kyle kept her out of the loop. Ask yourself this, cuz – how much do you trust this woman?”
“Completely.”
“You sure about that? I mean, you’ve only known her for a little while. I don’t want to get you paranoid or nothin’, but there’s a not-insignificant chance that she might be lyin’ through her teeth.”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “Not Sam.”
He stared into my eyes a moment, then nodded succinctly. “Glad to hear you trust her.�
�
I tapped the stack of papers. “What about her? You find anything on Sam?”
Gerald shook his head. “Not a thing. I looked into her background, and she’s squeaky-clean. She graduated with a bachelor’s in education from Washington State – with honors, I should add. After that, she started teaching.”
“That’s all in line with what she’s told me,” I said, feeling better.
“Then that’s a good sign.” He checked his watch before stuffing the folder back into his bag. He finished the last of his beer with a mighty pull. “This is a bad scene,” he commented. “And I made a little decision of my own.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“You know that little bed and breakfast in Idylwood? The new one?”
“Yeah, I know the one. Our competition.” I grinned, letting him know I wasn’t serious.
“I had a feeling that whatever’s goin’ on with this Kyle kid, it’s gonna be bad. So, I rented a room for a little while. Might be here in town for a minute or two.”
Astonished, I slapped him on the back. “That right? Well, shit – I appreciate it.”
He nodded. “And I brought some gear in my truck.”
“What kinda gear?”
“Stuff to beef up the security at the ranch. When’s the last time y’all updated any of that shit?”
“Hell, it’s been a while. Years.”
Another nod. “I got some state-of-the-art stuff. There’s new cameras, motion sensors, alarms – the works. And the best part is it’s all wireless. You put it where you want it, turn it on, and install the software on your computer. You can have access to it there.”
“That sounds perfect.”
“How about we finish here, and I come with you to install it? Wouldn’t mind saying hi to the rest of the family while I’m in town.”
“Let’s do it.”
We finished our beers, chatting amiably about nothing important. He regaled me with a story about his last job in his bland, matter of fact voice.
The conversation about Kyle stayed in my mind as we headed back to the ranch. Shit was about to get complicated – I could feel it.
Chapter 20
SAMANTHA
I was beyond glad to have El around. She was a blast and always managed to put a smile on my face. Never a dull moment with her. It was especially helpful on a day like today when I had something heavy on my mind.
“I’m tired,” El announced, dropping into a cross-legged position on the grass. “Is it okay if we go inside?”
We’d been playing by the lake for the last hour or so. The weather was lovely, but over the last couple of hours, thick clouds began to blanket the sky. I glanced up, assessing, and nodded my head. “Yeah, let’s head in. Looks like it might rain.”
She smiled at me as if she’d gotten her second wind. “Or we could play in the rain!”
“I don’t know if your dad would be too thrilled about that.”
“Aw,” she pouted.
“Hey, you want to explain to him why your clothes are all muddy, that’s on you, kiddo.” I stuck out my hand, and she took it. With a little pull, I brought her to her feet.
“What should we do?” she asked as we headed to the main house.
“Hmm, good question. I think we’re technically done with school stuff, so the afternoon’s all ours.”
“Really?” she asked with a smile. “We can do whatever we want?”
“Within reason. No eating ice cream before dinner, if that’s what you were thinking.”
She laughed. “Maybe after.”
“Maybe after.”
I opened the door, and we stepped inside. A few members of the Walker family were around, and I waved as we passed, El doing the same.
“I know!” she exclaimed, her eyes lighting up. “Can we color?”
“I think that’s a great idea,” I said. “You know where some coloring books are?”
She scrunched up her face in thought. “Umm, I think they’re in the library.”
The library – I wondered if I’d be able to even think about that room without remembering it was the place where Chance and I had our first encounter. “Okay, library it is.”
I took her hand and let her lead me down the long, carpeted hallway to the library. “Where’s Daddy?” she asked as we walked. “I wanna see if he wants to color with us.”
“He’s probably too busy, but maybe he can after work.”
“You should call him,” she said. “So we can say hi.”
“Let’s get our coloring going first.”
We stepped into the library, and memories returned of that night with Chance. I thought about the two of us sitting together in front of the roaring fire, how he’d accidentally spilled his coffee on me, how that’d turned into something more.
“Here!” El said, opening a small trunk at the far end of the room. “This is where they are.” She reached in and pulled out a few coloring books, along with a big box of crayons and markers.
“Let’s sit at the table,” I said. “There’s a nice view.”
We sat down, and El quickly had the book and crayons laid out on the table. “Wow,” she said, looking out the window. “It’s pretty.”
She was right about that. The window offered a lovely view of the garden behind the ranch, the hills rolling off into the distance behind it. The clouds were obscuring the setting sun, refracting the rays.
“Why don’t we draw it?” I suggested. “See who can make the prettiest picture!”
“Okay!”
After taking out a couple of blank sheets of paper, the two of us went to work. I used markers, and El used crayons. My drawing was left unfinished; I found myself distracted watching her draw, her adorable face in an expression of concentration. I thought about how I was pregnant with Chance’s child. A little boy or girl, one that would look up at me with loving eyes and call me mommy. Such a feeling of warmth and love moved through me at the thought that I could hardly take it.
I wanted to tell El she was going to have a little brother or sister. Just the idea of it, imagining her sweet face light up at the news, I could hardly wait. But Chance and I had come to an agreement, and one I knew was for the best.
“That’s really pretty, El,” I said, indicating her drawing.
“I think so too. When the sun goes down, it gets really pink, so that’s the color I picked.”
“Good call, kiddo.” She grinned before going back to it. After a little more time, she turned her attention back to me. “Can I have a snack? I’m hungry.”
My stomach growled, and we both giggled. “Sounds like I’m a little hungry too! How about you stay here and draw, and I’ll go get something from the kitchen?”
She nodded, not answering or looking up from her drawing. I mussed her hair before hopping out of my seat. Before I stepped out of the room, I turned back and watched El drawing. I imagined a little boy or girl, my boy or girl, seated next to her, the two of them drawing as El explained the best colors and what thinking had gone into her work. A smile lit my face, one so big it almost hurt my cheeks.
Mama G was in the kitchen, her sleeves rolled up, a blue-and-white-striped apron cinched around her waist. When she spotted me at the doorway, she flashed me a warm, inviting smile.
“Well, if it isn’t the prettiest little teacher I’ve ever seen?”
“Hey, Mama G,” I said with a smile as I entered. “How are you?”
“Just putting the finishing touches on the apple pie I made for dessert tonight.” A few uncooked apple pies were in front of her. The three pies were surrounded by flour on the counter, the crusts done up in an intricate lattice design.
“They look amazing.”
“And they’ll taste amazin’, too. Apples fresh from the little orchard out back. You’ve never had pie like this before.”
My stomach rumbled at the sight.
“I heard that,” she said as she dusted her hands, small puffs of flour spreading into the air around
them. “But don’t you get any funny ideas about dessert before dinner.”
“Don’t worry – I know better. I just came in to get a little snack for El and me.”
Her eyes lit up. “I’ve got just the thing. Hold your horses while I fetch it.” With her usual surprising speed, Mama G zipped over to the big wooden bowl of green apples near the pies. “Apples and homemade peanut butter.”
“Perfect,” I said. “This’ll do the trick.”
“I know it will.” She handed the plate to me with a wink. “See you girls at dinner.”
Plate in hand, I started back to the library. Mama G was on my mind as I went, thinking about how much she loved making food for her family, taking care of them, keeping a close eye on the ranch. Would that be me in a few decades? Would Chance and I start a big family of our own, with property to take care of, grandkids running around as we watched with big smiles on our faces?
The future was uncertain. But I had a good feeling it was going to be bright.
“Alright, El,” I said, opening the library door. “Got something good from Mama G—”
I stopped the moment I crossed the threshold. El was gone. I slowly entered the library, looking around the room as though she might be hidden in some corner. But she wasn’t.
“El? Where are you?”
After placing the plate of apples and peanut butter on the table, the sheets of paper, crayons, and markers still there, I turned and swept my eyes across the library again.
“El? Come on, kiddo – hiding like this isn’t funny. Come on out.” Moments passed with no response. “El? Seriously, this isn’t cool.”
Again, no response. Fear began to spread through my belly.
Come on – it’s no big deal. She probably just went to the bathroom or something. Don’t freak out over nothing.
I sat down, dipping one of the apple slices into a pool of peanut butter and absentmindedly taking a bite. My eyes were on the grandfather clock in the corner, watching the second hands tick away. Five minutes passed, and there was still no sign of Ellie. I decided to look for her and went to the nearest bathroom and knocked on the door.