Gypsy King

by Devney Perry

  “It’s not scheduled yet.”

  “I know. I want him locked up. I want him off the streets and away from the world. Maybe then I can forget. I get so angry and . . .” As she trailed off, her free hand fisted on the table, her knuckles white. “I want to see her grave. Did you know we buried Mom in Montana?”

  “Um, no. I didn’t.” I hadn’t kept up on Amina’s funeral arrangements. The obituary I’d included in the paper had been vague on the topic, stating the family was having private services in Denver. I’d assumed those services had included the burial.

  “She wanted to be buried in Clifton Forge. Let me tell you, that was a shock to learn from her will. But I think she wanted to be by her parents again.”

  “So you were in Clifton Forge?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “I couldn’t go. I wasn’t ready to face it yet. I went to Montana to pack up her personal items and get her house on the market. But that was as close as I could get. I wasn’t ready to be in that town where she was . . . you know. But I’m going there next week.”

  “You’re coming to Clifton Forge?” My eyes widened.

  She nodded. “I want to see it for myself. The funeral home sent me a picture of her gravesite and the mockup of her tombstone but it’s not the same. So I’m making a fast trip out of it next Sunday. Get in and get out. I don’t want to risk running into him.”

  Yes, seeing Draven would be bad. “If you need company, I’d be happy to go with you.”

  “Thanks, Bryce.” She looked at me with her kind, brown eyes and that pang of familiarity hit again. “I might take you up on that.”

  “Please do.” In our short time together, I’d become strangely loyal to Genevieve. If I could help by standing at her side while she visited her mother’s grave, I would.

  Not for my story. For this woman who already felt like a friend.

  I’d meant what I’d told Genevieve. I’d write something special for Amina. I’d include the cookie recipe. Maybe that would appease some guilt for unexpectedly showing up at her doorstep.

  Genevieve took her empty glass to the sink to rinse it out. I stood and brought mine over too, handing it to her. “Can I ask you another question?”

  “Sure.” She laughed. “For a reporter, you haven’t asked many.”

  “I was just warming up.” I winked. “Did your mom have anyone else she was close to? A best friend? Or a boyfriend? Others who’d want to talk about her for the story.”

  She blew out a long breath. “Mom was dating a guy. Lee.”

  I froze, ready to soak up every word about the boyfriend. “Lee.”

  “Lee.” She said his name with a curled lip. “In all my life, Mom didn’t date. Not once. But she was different lately. Quieter. And I can’t help but think it was because of him.”

  “Were they serious?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. That’s the crazy part. She acted differently but never talked about him. The only reason I even knew about him was because I flew to Bozeman to surprise her one weekend and she had to call Lee and cancel plans. Whenever I’d ask about him, she’d brush it off. Say it was casual. But if you knew Mom, you’d know nothing about her was casual. She held people tight. Her friendships lasted decades.”

  “So you didn’t know him?”

  She shook her head. “No, we never met. I didn’t even know his last name.”

  And there went my lead. “Maybe she was worried you wouldn’t like him.”

  “Yeah. That’s what I think too. It was weird for me, her having another person in her life. Mom was good at sensing when I was uncomfortable. I just couldn’t picture her with a boyfriend.” She looked over her shoulder from the sink. The light from the window caught in her eyes, making them glow.

  Gah! What was it about her eyes?

  “What else can you tell me about her?” I asked. “Something nice you’d like to have other people know.”

  “Her smile was always full on. All wide, white teeth. It was like she didn’t know how to give a half smile.” The pain in Genevieve’s smile came back along with a sheen of tears. “She was beautiful.”

  “I’d be honored to write that about her. Do you have any pictures? I’d love to include some of your favorites.”

  “I’d like that.”

  For the next hour, I sat beside Genevieve on her couch as she went through plastic tubs of old pictures and mementos from her childhood. They’d all been at Amina’s house, and though she’d packed them up and brought them to Colorado, she confessed to not having the courage to have gone through them yet.

  “Thanks for sitting with me.” She fit the lid on the last box. “I’m sure this was more crazy than you were expecting when you came here. Sorry.”

  “Don’t be.” I put my hand over hers. “I’m glad I could be here.”

  The truth was, the longer I sat with Genevieve, the more I liked her. She told story after story about her mother as we looked at old pictures. Ones from road trips the two of them had taken. Photos of a few special camping trips in the Colorado mountains.

  Genevieve had told me about how Amina would always give a few dollars to a homeless man begging on a corner, even though as a single mother, she hadn’t had much extra to spare. She’d taught Genevieve to be strong, never quit and to live an honest life.

  After hearing it all, I knew my accusations in the garage that Amina could have been in on the setup with Draven were off base. Amina hadn’t been a deceiver.

  And she’d raised a lovely daughter.

  In every photo, Amina’s bright, smiling face was present. When she stood by her daughter, the two were always touching—a hand hold, an arm over the shoulder, one leaning on the other. Their bond was special and seeing it through the pictures made me more determined to tell Amina’s story.

  For mother.

  And daughter.

  Amina deserved to be remembered for more than her death.

  “This was actually perfect,” I told Genevieve. “I feel like I know your mom now. I hope my story can do her memory justice. May I ask one more question, off the record?”

  “Sure.” She pivoted on the couch, giving me her attention.

  “In all these photos, it was mostly just the two of you.” Even as a baby, the photos had been of only Amina and Genevieve. There’d been the occasional friend or neighbor included, but the vast majority of the photos were of mother and daughter. “What about your father?”

  “Mom never talked about him. Never.” Her shoulders fell. “I’d ask. She’d say he was a nice man but not a part of my life. She always said he was a mistake but that he gave her the best gift in the world. And you know, I didn’t push. I was good with that answer because I had her. She was enough.”

  “I can see that.”

  “Except now that she’s gone, I wish I knew who he was. If he’s even still alive. It would be nice to know if I had another parent out there.”

  My gut was screaming that Amina’s secrecy about her daughter’s lineage and the secret boyfriend were not a coincidence. Could this mystery boyfriend be Genevieve’s father?

  “Did she ever tell you his name?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “No.”

  If Genevieve’s father was the boyfriend, it would explain everything. Why Amina didn’t want Genevieve to meet Lee. Why she hid him from everyone. Because she wasn’t ready to introduce father and daughter.

  My mind was racing, wondering how this man fit into the picture. Was he the killer? Would he try and contact Genevieve now? Did he even know he had a daughter?

  More questions flew through my mind when Genevieve destroyed my theories with a single sentence. “Mom didn’t tell me his name, only that people called him Prez.”

  Prez. Where had I heard that name before? No, not a name. A nickname.

  Prez.

  My racing mind screeched to a halt.

  We’re with you, Prez.

  In our meeting in the garage, Emmett had said that to Draven. He’d called Draven Pr
ez.

  I looked at Genevieve, focusing on her eyes. I knew those eyes. Like Draven had given his brown hair to his son.

  He’d given those brown eyes to his daughter.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Dash

  “Another one, Dash?”

  I swirled the last swallow of beer around the bottom of my pint glass. “Yeah. Thanks, Paul.”

  As he went to get my Guinness—dark, like my mood—I looked around the crowded bar. It was a busy night at The Betsy with locals out enjoying a hot summer Saturday night. People bumped into each other as they milled around the room and shouted out conversations over the loud music. Emmett and Leo were at the pool table. They each had a woman hanging off their elbow.

  Emmett caught my eye and motioned me over to play. There was a third woman roaming by the pool table who’d been eye-fucking me all night.

  I shook my head and faced forward, staring at the wall of liquor bottles across from me as Paul set down my fresh beer. One gulp and it was half gone because drunk was good. The only way I was going to enjoy tonight was if I got hammered.

  Goddamn it, Bryce. This was her fault. She’d ruined Saturdays for me.

  She’d been on my mind often over the past couple of weeks. At the garage, I’d be working on an oil change and wonder what she was doing. I’d fall asleep at night, missing the touch of her skin. I came to town early on Sundays and Wednesdays to grab a paper from the grocery store the minute they opened.

  Her articles were the only ones I read. Each time, I expected to see something about me, Dad or the Gypsies on the front page, but I guess we weren’t big news anymore. Still, I’d read every word she’d written, needing that connection.

  Last night, I’d been so hungry after work, I’d almost gone to her house. I’d been tempted to wait on her porch until she got home. Flash her a smile and beg her to cook me dinner. Except we’d ended things, so I’d gone home to peanut butter and jelly instead.

  I’d forget about her soon enough, right? It was better for us to go our separate ways.

  Or it should have been.

  Until she’d ruined Saturdays. Until she’d ruined The Betsy.

  The only comfortable stool in the bar was this stool, the same one she’d been on the day I’d found her here. The Betsy was normally a place I’d come to hang out with other people. Be social. Only everyone here irritated me. They weren’t as much fun to talk to as I’d remembered, not when compared to talking with Bryce. And there wasn’t a woman in the room who held any allure.

  I chugged the rest of my beer and waved at Paul for a refill. One swift nod and thirty seconds later, I had a fresh Guinness. His fast service almost made up for the fact that I’d caught him eyeing Bryce’s tits.

  “What are you doing over here?” Leo slapped his hand over my shoulder, pushing himself between me and the guy sitting on my right. He turned backward, a smile on his face as he scanned the bar. He winked at a woman walking by. Gave a table in the corner a chin jerk.

  That used to be me. The king of this bar. This was my happy place.

  Then Bryce ruined it all with her sexy smile and shiny hair. She’d ruined me.

  I slugged down my entire beer with three huge gulps and let out a burp. “Paul.” I smacked my hand on the bar. “Whiskey this time.”

  “You’re in a shit mood,” Leo muttered. “Come on over and play a game. I’ll let you beat me.”

  “Pass.”

  “Brother.” Leo angled his shoulder into me to speak low. “Cheer up. Take home the blond in the corner. She’ll make you feel better. Or at least let her suck you off in the bathroom.”

  “Not interested.” The only woman whose lips belonged wrapped around my cock was a beautiful reporter.

  “I give up on you.” Leo frowned, then waved Paul over. “Don’t cut him off. I’ll make sure he gets home.”

  The beer was going right to my head, thank fuck, and I nodded to Leo. “Thanks.”

  “Hey, Dash.” A delicate hand slid up my thigh and I spun away from Leo to see the blond who’d been in the corner. “How’s it going? Haven’t seen you around for a couple weeks.”

  “It’s good.” I dropped a hand over hers before it could reach my zipper. “You?”

  The blond didn’t get a chance to answer.

  A hand fisted the back of my T-shirt, pulling it tight across my neck. Before I could turn and see who it was, that hand gave a hard yank and I flew backward off the stool. If not for Leo’s quick reflexes, I’d be sprawled on my ass on the dirty bar floor.

  I found my balance, righting myself, and stood to face the person who was about to get his ass kicked. But the face I met was not one I’d be punching. “Bryce, what—”

  “Goddamn you.” Her hands slammed into my chest, shoving me back against the stool.

  Leo kept his grip on my arm so I wouldn’t fall. Or maybe he’d thought I’d go after her.

  I wasn’t a fan of being pushed around, but damn, I was glad to see her. Bryce’s face was full of rage, her cheeks red and eyes blazing. She was a furious knockout.

  Surging forward, I ignored the anger rolling off her in waves and wrapped my arms around her, crushing her to my chest.

  “Get your damn hands off me.” She pushed and squirmed, trying to break free.

  But I held her tighter, burying my nose in her hair. It smelled like sugar, overpowering the stale beer on the floor and secondhand smoke wafting in from the front door.

  “Dash,” she snapped, the sound muffled in my chest. “Let me go, you asshole.”

  “Miss me?” I chuckled. The smile on my face hurt from not using it lately. “I gotta say, babe, I really like that you’re jealous.”

  “Jealous?” She froze in my arms. “You think I care about the blond? Fuck her brains out for all I care.”

  “Huh?” I let her go. “Fuck her brains out?”

  I’d given her just enough space for her to wind up and slap me across the face. Smack.

  What the fuck was happening right now?

  “You’re a lying bastard,” she seethed. “You might have fooled me twice but it will never happen again. I’m not playing your game anymore. No matter what it takes, I’m going to do everything in my power to bring you all to your knees.” With that, she spun and stormed out of the bar.

  I blinked twice, dazed as the eyes around the room all landed on me. Bringing a hand up, I rubbed at the cheek she’d likely turned red. Then I looked over my shoulder at Leo. “Did that just happen?”

  “Damn.” He was staring at the door, a huge grin spread over his face. “She’s a firecracker, that one. If you don’t marry her, I will.”

  “Go to hell.” I flipped him off, then bolted for the door. “Bryce!”

  The parking lot was packed. There were cars and bikes everywhere. And no sign of Bryce, until the flash of headlights caught my eye in the distance.

  I took off, sprinting for the one and only exit from the lot. It wasn’t easy after the beer, but I pushed my legs hard, my boots pounding on the cracked asphalt. I made it just in time to stand in the middle of the road as Bryce’s Audi came skidding to a halt inches from my knees.

  She rolled down her window. “Move.”

  “No.” I planted both hands on the hood. “What was that about?”

  “Seriously? Don’t play dumb.”

  “Help me out here, babe. I’m drunk. You came in there and I was just so happy to see you. Then you tossed out a bunch of shit that made my head spin. I just did a dead sprint and I’m pretty sure my heart might explode. If I collapse, don’t run me over.”

  “This isn’t a joke!” she screamed. Her frustration filled the night air. When she swiped at a tear, my heart clenched. “You lied to me. Again. And I fucking fell for it.”

  My stomach knotted. Something bad had happened. Something serious. And I hadn’t a clue what it could be other than the yearbook picture. But that wasn’t a big enough deal for this reaction, was it?

  “Come out and talk to me.” I held u
p my hands, retreating from the car. “Please.”

  She kept her hands on the wheel, her eyes drifting to her rearview mirror. Ten seconds passed and I was certain she was debating running me over. But finally, she dropped her chin and put the car in park.

  She stepped out, wearing a pair of tight jeans and heels. Her gray blouse was wrinkled, like she’d slept in it or been wearing it since dawn.

  I stayed back as she leaned on the car, crossing her arms. “Why did you lie?”

  “I didn’t lie to you.” Unless. Shit. The yearbook photo. Had Bryce figured out that Mom and Amina had been best friends?

  “There’s another one right there.” She rolled her eyes. “Drop the act.”

  “Woman, what are you on?”

  “She looks like you. It took me a minute to figure it out, but you have the same hair and the same nose.”

  “Who?” How many drinks had Paul given me? Because she wasn’t making any sense. Was she talking about Mom? I didn’t have Mom’s hair. I had Dad’s. “Who are you talking about?”

  “Your sister.”

  My sister? “I don’t have a sister.”

  “This is a waste of time.” She spun away from the car, going for the handle. “All I’m going to get are more lies.”

  With a burst of speed, I ran to her side, trapping her against the car before she could open the door. Any buzz I’d had inside was gone. The truth in her voice sobered me right up.

  What the hell had she found?

  “I don’t have a sister,” I repeated.

  She twisted and I let her have enough room to turn. Her face was hard, pure stone one second. Then the anger disappeared. It fell away as her eyes got wide and a hand came up to her mouth. “Oh my God,” she whispered. “You didn’t know.”

  “Know what?” I demanded. “What did you do?”

  She gulped. “I went to see Amina’s daughter in Denver. I flew out this morning and just got back. I talked to her for hours. About her mom and her childhood. And . . .”

  “Keep going,” I growled when she paused.

  “I asked about her father, but she didn’t know anything about him. All Amina had told her was that he was called Prez. I think . . . I’m fairly certain that Draven is her father. She’s your sister.”