Fighting For Carly

by Deanndra Hall

  Ross chuckled. “Well, he didn’t find anything there!”

  “Your mama’s worried sick. Thinks something’s happened to you. You should call her.”

  “I will. What about Cullen?” If the guy had harassed his brother, Ross decided he’d find the bastard and beat the ever-lovin’ shit out of him.

  “Nope. He hasn’t seen or heard anything. Neither has your dad. This guy is trying to go through women. I think he realizes if he comes to some of us, he’ll get his ass kicked.”

  “Probably. Thanks, Devil. I appreciate it.”

  “You’re welcome. Call me if you need anything. You feeling okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fucking sick of this cane, but otherwise, I’m doing okay. Better, actually. It still hurts some, but not as bad.”

  “Good. Well, take care of yourself. If I hear anything else, I’ll let you know.”

  “Will do, and thanks again. Night.” Ross ended the call and sat there, fuming. That dickhead Eric had hired a private detective to investigate him! Well, he sure as hell wouldn’t find anything, and that would probably make Eric even madder. Not Ross’s problem. After thinking about it, he decided he wouldn’t tell Carly just yet, but he’d definitely tell Tank and Michael. They both needed to know.

  He’d just gotten up from his seat and was thinking about making a sandwich when there was a knock at the door. Before he could turn back toward it, it turned to pounding, and he knew what that meant, so he set his phone up to record. Throwing open the door, he grinned. “Eric! To what do I owe this pleasure?”

  “Get out of my way. Get out of my wife’s life, and get out of town.”

  “Dramatic much? I’m not going anywhere, cocksucker, so get that right out of your teeny-tiny head.”

  “I know all about you, SEE-musss Ross McEvers.”

  “For an educated man, you’re pretty fucking stupid. That’s SHAY-muss, idiot. And what exactly do you know about me, other than the fact that I have a first name you can’t pronounce worth a shit?”

  “I know all about you and your ex-girlfriend.”

  Something deep in Ross’s belly started to boil. “That’s my late girlfriend, and it’s pretty damn low to dishonor the dead just to try to hurt someone. But, of course, sounds just like something you’d do, you little turd.”

  “Oh, I have so much more on you, McEvers. So. Much. More.”

  “Well, you’d better lay it out or it’ll be obvious that you’ve got diddly shit.”

  “You have no idea what I’m capable of, McEvers. Get out now while you can.”

  “What you’re capable of? You send one more person to harass anybody I know in my hometown and I’m going to show you what I’m capable of. You are not prepared for that shit storm, buddy. Not at all.”

  “Oooo, I’m so scared of you!” Eric barked with a laugh. It was supposed to sound maniacal, Ross guessed, but it sounded sadly pathetic.

  “Get out of here. Now. And don’t come back.” Ross slammed the door in his face, and Eric pounded on it a couple of times before he walked away.

  That’s it. I’ve had enough. He thought about the structure of the criminal justice departments in Kentucky, then got online and started digging. In ten minutes, he had a telephone number. Sure, he couldn’t call it until Monday, but that was okay.

  He’d make that call and start the ball rolling. He couldn’t wait to see what would happen after that.

  Chapter 10

  “I’ve got to go over to Michael’s and get some of my stuff. I’ll be back in about an hour,” Ross told Carly.

  “Want me to come with you?”

  “Nah. It’s your day off, babe. Relax. I won’t be gone long. Want me to pick up something for dinner?”

  “Sure! Anything will be fine, as long as I’m eating it with you.”

  He walked straight back to the sofa, bent down, and kissed her before he returned to the front door. “Be back shortly. Love you.”

  “Love you too.”

  He climbed in the truck, wondering if he should do it. Everything had been quiet, and it was pretty nice. Thing was, he knew it was only a matter of time before Eric started in again. The sheriff had held to his word and been decent ever since he’d talked to Carly that night. But Eric? The guy was a loose cannon, and there was no way of knowing when he’d go off again.

  So he pulled into a church parking lot, pulled out his phone, and called the number he’d stored in it. It was answered with a chipper, “Texas Attorney General’s office.”

  “Could I please speak to a member of the Criminal Investigative Division?”

  “Certainly, sir. Just one moment.” There was no hold music, just a clicking sound, and Ross waited.

  “Criminal Investigative Division, Derrick Miller speaking.”

  “Agent Miller, my name is Ross McEvers. I’m from Kentucky, but I’m staying in Texas for the time being, and I’ve run into a problem.”

  “Sir, your first course of action is to contact local law enforcement.”

  “Yes, sir, I realize that, but the local law enforcement is the problem.”

  “I see. So please, tell me what’s going on and let me see if I can figure out who you need to talk to.”

  Five minutes and several thousand words later, Ross finished. “So who would you recommend I speak with, sir?”

  “You called the right place. I’ve got all the information, and I’m going to look into this and call you back. Sounds to me like the sheriff isn’t the real problem here.”

  “No, sir, he’s not. It’s the county attorney.”

  “I’ll be back in touch in forty-eight hours, and I’ve got your email address too. Will that work?” Agent Miller asked.

  “Right now, any help is welcome. I look forward to hearing from you.”

  He wasn’t telling Carly what he’d done. He wasn’t telling anybody what he’d done. Unless the department decided to pick up the investigation, he wasn’t telling a soul.

  All he had left at Michael’s were some clothes, and it only took him a few minutes to get those rounded up. He left Michael a note.

  I’ve taken all my stuff to Carly’s. If she kicks me out of bed, I’ll be back!

  He drew a smiley face at the end and dropped it on the kitchen table, then headed to his truck. On the way back, he picked up some stuff to make tacos before going to the house.

  When he got there, she was napping on the bed, so Ross kicked off his shoes and lay down beside her. When he reached for her, she rolled into his arms and curled up against him. His whole world was right when he held her that way. It was all he’d ever wanted.

  At around ten the next morning, he opened his email and took a look. Sure enough, there was an email from Agent Miller, so he opened it.

  Thank you for calling yesterday. I have a few questions. Please call me at your earliest convenience. Thanks.

  The call would have to wait until Carly went to work. He helped her around the house, fooled around a bit—quickies on the sofa were the best!—and kissed her goodbye. As soon as her cruiser disappeared down the street, he called the number and punched in Agent Miller’s extension. “Derrick Miller.”

  “Agent Miller, this is Ross McEvers. I got your email.”

  “Yes, Mr. McEvers. I’ve got a few questions. Can you confirm Mr. Cross’s date of birth and Social Security number?”

  “No. I don’t have that information, but I can try to get it.”

  “Do you know where he lived before he moved to Bandera County?”

  “No, sir. I don’t, but again, I’m sure I can get that information.”

  “I’m about to send you a picture. Please delete it after you’ve looked at it. It’s coming to you … right … now.”

  Ross’s email notification pinged, so he pulled the phone from his ear, opened it, and looked at the email. “Okay. Got it. What am I looking at?”

  “You should have a picture.”

  “I do. Who’s that?”

  “What do you mean, who’s that?”
/>   “Who’s that guy?”

  “That’s Eric Cross.”

  Ross pulled the phone far, far away from his face, then up close, before holding it up to his ear again. “Nope. That’s not Eric Cross.”

  “That’s why I need that information. That man in the photo?”

  Ross was confused. “Yeah?”

  “Sir, that man has been dead for ten years. Can you get Mr. Cross’s information for me and get back to me ASAP?”

  “I certainly can, sir. No problem. I’m on it. Thank you, Agent Miller.”

  “You’re welcome, sir. Have a nice afternoon.”

  Nice afternoon my ass. Something was wrong—very, very wrong. Ross ran straight to the bedroom and threw open the closet. There were boxes on the upper shelves, and he started pulling them down. One box was old pictures, really, really old pictures, like of Carly when she was a child. The next box was just papers, like old bills and that sort of thing. The third one was …

  Tax returns. Exactly what he needed. Flipping back through them, it took him no time to find Eric’s Social Security number. He paged back a few more to make sure the number was the same on all of them, and it was. Now for the birthdate.

  That was harder. He prowled through a lot more stuff, but he never found it. Giving up wasn’t an option, but he was running out of places to look when he decided to call Tank. His number was on a sheet of contacts on the refrigerator door, and he answered it on the second ring. “Got a car on the rack. What’s up?”

  “What’s Eric’s birthdate? Do you know?”

  “Um, not right off hand, but I know it’s sometime in January.”

  “And how old is he?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  “What are you up to, Ross?”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ll tell you when I can, okay?”

  “Uh, okay.”

  “Thanks.” Ross sat and thought. Where would someone’s birthday show up? Was there a place where you always had to give your birthdate when you went there?

  Yes. He grabbed the second box and kept going through it, all the old bills and old notices, until he found something that looked promising. It was medical records from five years back, and when he opened the folder, he found exactly what he was looking for.

  Looked like Eric had some kind of minor surgery five years prior, and on the form, just like always, was his date of birth. If only he had fingerprints for the guy, but that was something he definitely couldn’t ask Anderson for. The info he had would have to do. Prowling a little more, he found a few pictures, and among them was a picture of Carly and Eric at some kind of party. He’d send that to Agent Miller too.

  He composed his email, put the information in, scanned the pic and included it, and waited. An hour passed, and then two, and then three. It was almost time for the CID office to close when his phone rang. “Hello?”

  “Mr. McEvers? It’s Agent Miller.”

  “Yes, sir! Did you get the information?”

  “Yes, sir, I did.” Silence fell on the phone for a few seconds before Miller said, “Sir, the information you gave me? That was for the man whose picture I sent to you. Like I said before, he’s been dead for years.”

  “Then who is this guy?”

  “I have no idea, sir, but we’re forwarding this information to the FBI’s San Antonio field office. Someone from there will be contacting you shortly, I’m sure.”

  “Thank you! Thank you. I appreciate all your help, sir. I really do. Thanks so much.” Ross was excited. They were getting somewhere!

  “You’re quite welcome, sir. Take care.” The phone went dead and Ross stood there, unable to think. The man they knew as Eric Cross was someone else entirely. He could barely wait to hear from the FBI office.

  Ross sat back down on the sofa and took a deep breath. They were one step closer to getting rid of Eric Cross or whoever he was. He didn’t know how soon it would be, but he could most definitely wait if it meant that asshole would be gone from their lives forever.

  Something bothered him, something from earlier, and he went back to the bedroom and the boxes on the shelf. Pulling them down one after another, he found it, sat on the bed, and opened it.

  It was the box of pictures. He rifled through it and found all kinds of photos. There were pictures of Carly as a child. Some had Carly, Tank, and another little girl in them—had to be Bree. Carly with a pony, and she was wearing a little cowboy hat and chaps. She was holding a little dog in another one, a big smile on her face. Many were birthday party pictures, and they were from quite a few different ages. Another batch was a teenage Carly, all long arms and legs and tiny boobs. That made him laugh. A couple of them were from when she was a little older, and holy tabasco, she was hot, not as hot as the grown-up Carly, but still pretty fucking hot.

  One more pass in the box and there they were. Carly was wearing a beautiful white gown, and her veil was almost floor length. Another, before the wedding, and she was on the arm of … Pops? That was odd. There were pictures of her and her bridesmaids—one of which had to be Bree because they looked so much alike—and pictures of the church. Was that her mother? If so, she had to look a lot like her dad, because she and her mom sure didn’t favor. Then he found one of the groomsmen, and Tank was in that picture. He did look like their mother. He wasn’t the best man, though. Who was that guy?

  Ross took a very, very close look and scowled. Fucking Chuck Anderson. Why didn’t that surprise Ross? He couldn’t tell how long ago that had all been, but it looked like it hadn’t been a long time. Had Anderson known him before he came to Bandera County? And if so, what was their connection?

  The pictures of the two of them together were the last ones, and something struck Ross. In every picture, Carly looked happy. But Eric? He looked … Ross wasn’t sure how to describe it. Pensive? Smug? There was one thing he knew for sure.

  The guy didn’t look happy, and that didn’t make sense. Any man who had a chance to marry Carly, well, that was one very, very lucky guy. He sure looked less than thrilled in the photos, and Ross couldn’t justify that. The next pic was later on, and it was the reverse—Carly looked miserable, and Eric looked like the cat that ate the canary. Something was very wrong with the whole thing.

  And he hoped somebody from the FBI could figure out what that was.

  They lay there in the dark bedroom, only the nightlight from the cracked-open bathroom door offering a little illumination. Every pass of his tongue over her wetness had offered him a sweetness he’d never known before, not just from the taste of her juices, but from the moans and sighs with which he was rewarded. Every touch, every taste, every kiss, every sigh, he cherished them and held them in his heart. No woman had ever affected him the way she did, and he wanted more. He could only hope she felt the same way about him.

  Her finger drifted down his cheek and he turned to suck it into his mouth. That made her laugh. “So,” she said as she relaxed into his side, “tell me about Kentucky. Tell me about your family.”

  “Ahhh, Kentucky. You’ve never been there?”

  “No.”

  “Well, let’s see … The part where I live is in the foothills of the Appalachians.”

  “Same mountain range as the Great Smoky Mountains, right?”

  “Yep. It’s beautiful, really. Lots of trees, lots of limestone and shale, lots of rivers and lakes. It’s also really, really poor. There’s not a lot of industry, and the people aren’t very well-educated. I mean, the school systems are fine. It’s just that they don’t place a lot of importance on education. They’re too busy trying to get by. Teen pregnancy touches almost every family, and drug use is rampant. Oxycodone, mostly, but now heroin too, and still a lot of meth. As first responders, we all carry NARCAN in our bags. Intranasal delivery.”

  “Yeah, they’re telling us we should start carrying it in our cruisers.”

  “Not a bad idea. The opioid epidemic in our area has drifted into the hopeless range. All we ca
n try to do is keep the overdosers alive and pray nobody else gets hold of their stash. We can’t keep physicians. They keep getting popped for illegal prescribing or over-prescribing. Some of them come there to make money that way, but a lot of them just don’t understand how bad the problem is. They fall prey to patients who doctor shop and lie to get what they want. All the physicians are now in the KASPER system, so they get caught if they’re fucking up. As a result, sometimes we have to drive fifty miles to get to a doctor’s office, and all the clinics are gone. It’s a real problem.”

  “That’s so sad. So what about your family?”

  “My dad’s the technical coordinator for a big grocery chain. If some piece of equipment isn’t working, or the computer system is down, he’s the one who gets a call. It’s a twenty-four/seven job, but he loves it. Makes good money too. Mom works at a nursing home. My brother is the success story of the family—he’s a chiropractor. He does really well because a lot of people go to him, since there’s no doctor there. My sister and her husband own a burger joint in town and do okay with that.”

  “You’re the oldest?”

  “Nope. Youngest. My sister’s the oldest.”

  “Awww. Baby boy.”

  “Yeah. My mom was seventeen when my sister was born. Dad was twenty. These days, he’d go to jail for messing with an underage girl, but back then, that was just kinda expected. Nobody thought anything about it. Then my brother came along two years later. After that, they weren’t supposed to be able to have any more kids, and—oops!—there I was. She was always so proud of me because I did good in school and in sports. And then I told them I wanted to be a firefighter. She ‘bout lost her shit.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s dangerous. Begged, pleaded, threatened. Told me her son would never do that to them. But after my dad and I helped that family, there was no going back.”

  “You said you and Lindsey were in college. What were you majoring in?”

  “Hadn’t declared a major. I was kinda thinking of information sciences or something so I could work at a hospital. That seemed like a good idea at the time.” Even though he’d moved on, talking about all of that always wore him out, and he wanted desperately to change the subject. “So, what about your family? I mean, I know Tank. Talk about a good guy, that brother of yours is the salt of the earth.”