I picked myself up so I could look her in the eyes. “You’ll never have to, you hear me? I’m yours. And we’re going to fix everything so you can stay.”
Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes, but she smiled, nodding. “Okay.”
“Okay.”
I leaned in and kissed her, soft this time. We were going to fix things. I wasn’t sure how, but I was a Bodine. We were nothing if not stubborn bastards. I was going to find a way, for her, and for us. She was mine now, and no one was ever going to take her away from me.
27
MAYA
I woke slowly, coming awake with a deep, cleansing breath. It felt like I was floating—enjoying the lake on a lazy summer day. But I wasn’t surrounded by warm water. Instead, I drifted in relaxed bliss on Gibson’s sheets. I was tucked up next to him, my back to his front, his arm around my waist. His chest moved against me with his soft breathing, and his skin was warm against mine.
Still feeling a little loopy and sex-drunk, I nestled into him. He tightened his arm around me, a contented moan rumbling in his throat.
This man loved me.
He’d said it, his voice husky in my ear. I hoped the memory of those words never faded. I wanted to be a hundred years old and still able to recall his deep voice, whispering the most beautiful thing I’d ever heard.
I loved him right back. I didn’t care what other people were going to think. Whether it seemed too fast to fall in love. I didn’t believe in those kinds of rules anyway. Quincy and Henna had taught me that. They’d always told me that I needed to find my own path—live my life on my terms. Hell, they’d eloped after knowing each other for a weekend, and they were one of the happiest couples I’d ever known.
Gibson Bodine was mine, and I was his. And that was all there was to it.
The problem of my father, and my real identity, had taken on new meaning overnight. The danger hadn’t gone anywhere. I couldn’t stay here if he was free. He’d find out the truth about who I was, sooner rather than later.
Convincing Bootleg I was Maya Davis had been a temporary plan. I was convinced Fanny Sue knew who I was. And if one person did, others would too. It was only a matter of time before people looked closely enough to see me. Saw past my scar and my altered nose. Past my tattoos and dyed hair. They’d see the girl they’d lost. They’d see Callie.
And going back to my life as Maya wasn’t an option. I’d liked a lot of things about that life. It had felt exciting, but still safe. Working with musicians—songwriting, helping them find their power or their peace or their confidence again—was fulfilling. I was good at what I did, and the people I worked with appreciated me. There was value in that.
But proud as I was for having built a life for myself, given where I’d come from, this was what I really wanted. Home. Family. The man I loved sleeping beside me, his arm tucked around my body. I wanted Gibson and I wanted him forever.
And it scared the shit out of me to think the Kendalls could take it all away. That the people who should have loved me could hurt me all over again.
Gibson had said we’d fix things so I could stay, and I’d felt his sincerity. Heard the determination in his voice. I’d have to trust that we’d find a way.
“Morning, love,” he said, his voice rough with sleep. He nuzzled his face in my hair and kissed my head. “How do you feel?”
“Amazing.” I closed my eyes and took another deep breath. I was pleasantly sore between my legs, my body still sated. “How about you?”
He curled in around me, hugging me with his whole body. “So fucking good.”
We relaxed in bed for a little while. But life didn’t stop because we’d fallen in love. Cash needed food and attention. Gibson had work to do, so I brought Cash inside and made us coffee and breakfast while he showered. He rough-housed with Cash a little, crouching down to pet his tummy, then kissed me goodbye in the kitchen before heading over to his workshop.
It was so easy to imagine this being our normal. Our forever. Sharing coffee in the morning. Kissing him goodbye. Hearing the muffled sounds of his tools in the building next door.
Living a life with him.
Oliver called shortly after I’d showered and dressed. He’d been talking with Saraya Lin, an artist I’d worked with before. She was writing songs for a new album, but running into trouble. It didn’t sound like a full-blown emergency requiring a Maya-intervention. So after I took Cash outside, I got her on a Skype call.
I propped up my phone on the table in front of the couch and borrowed Gibson’s guitar so I could strum out the melodies she was working with. Cash wedged himself behind my back for a snuggly nap.
Saraya was off to a good start, but she’d hit a creative wall. With probing questions, I coaxed the truth out of her. She’d lost her favorite grandma a few months back and she was still recovering from the loss. But instead of reaching into her grief and using it to fuel her creativity, she’d been trying to push it away. To separate her emotions from her songwriting. Her usual sound wasn’t heavy or mournful. She was known for her upbeat, vibrant music, and she didn’t know how these dark emotions fit.
I encouraged her to try writing a fresh song and let her love of her late grandma be the inspiration. She didn’t have to delve into the darkness of her loss to find inspiration and meaning. She could draw on the good things. On love and happy memories.
Hours later, with my phone about to run out of battery, and Cash constantly licking my face, we had a song. A soft, beautiful, heartfelt song that made Saraya sound like the musical angel she was. It still needed work, but I knew she could handle it. And if she kept that up—allowing her true emotions to meld with her creativity—she’d be just fine.
Gibson came inside smelling of wood stain. He smiled and went into the kitchen to wash his hands, then got down on the floor to snuggle Cash. It was so cute, it made my ovaries ache. He got up again and came back with two glasses of water.
I took one gratefully and gulped down half of it. “Thank you. I didn’t realize how thirsty I was.”
“You all right?”
“Just worn out. I was on a call for most of the day, working with Saraya Lin. She’s a singer and songwriter with Attalon.”
His brow furrowed. “I’ve heard of her. Was she having trouble with something?”
“Yeah, but I think we broke through her wall.”
“So they don’t need you to go to…”
“She’s in Nashville, and no. Besides, Oliver knows I need time. I told him I’m dealing with some big personal things.”
He nodded and took a drink of water. “Is your boss still asking you about me?”
“About your record deal?” I asked. “No, he knows you’re not interested. You’re not interested, right?”
“No.”
“I’m not asking this to push you, I’m just curious. Why not?”
He glanced away for a moment. “That’s just not me. I like playing in little bars like we do now. But if it was something bigger, I don’t think it would be the same anymore. And I don’t want that kind of life.”
I smiled at him. “I know you don’t.”
“So, you worked with her without going anywhere.”
“Saraya? Yeah, why?”
“I’m just wondering if that means you could still do your job but stay in one place, at least some of the time.”
“I think I’ll have options going forward. I didn’t travel so much because I had to, necessarily. I wanted to. I was always bugging Oliver to send me somewhere new as soon as I finished every project.”
He rubbed his chin, his brow furrowing again. “I wouldn’t hate traveling sometimes.”
God, he was adorable. “No?”
“As long as I was here enough to take care of my clients. And we’d have to think about Cash.”
“So, you’re saying if I traveled less, you could come with me.”
“I ain’t saying I’d go on some world tour with a bunch of fucking head-up-their-asses rock stars. But
if you need to travel to keep doing what you love, I think we can make it work.”
My tummy tingled at this newfound and unexpected sense of contentment. “Are we sitting here planning out our future?”
One corner of his mouth lifted. “I reckon we are. I told you, you’re mine now. I meant it.”
There was nothing I wanted more in this world than to be his. But the shadow of my past still lurked, threatening to enshroud us in darkness.
“You know we have bigger things than my job to deal with. There are other ways I can make a living. But I can’t stay with you if…” I trailed off. I didn’t need to say it. We both knew.
“I’ve been thinking about that. The sheriff can only do so much until he can get the attention of someone with the right pull. Jayme’s looked into things, but she’s a lawyer, not a detective. We both know this thing is at a standstill until someone comes up with real evidence against the judge.”
I nodded. That certainly summed it up.
“So we get some fucking evidence,” he said.
Swallowing back the prickle of fear that tried to invade my thoughts, I nodded again. “Okay. But what?”
“I’ve been thinking about that, too. Seems like the first place to look is that forensics lab. Maybe proving the judge was responsible for that false report would be enough to get the right people looking at him. Jayme couldn’t reach the lab tech, but a phone call’s easy to ignore.”
“True. What do you suggest?”
“A little visit.” He shifted, making his broad shoulders and chest flex. “He won’t ignore me.”
“How do we find him? Wait, let me guess. You’ve thought about that, too.”
“You got that right, sweetheart,” he said. “I already got his name from Jayme and put Leah Mae on the case. If he uses social media, she’ll find him. It’s like her fucking superpower. That, and getting my brother to quit being a mute.”
* * *
Gibson had been right—Leah Mae’s social media skills did seem on par with a superpower. The lab tech, Darren Covington, lived in upstate New York, not far from where the body had been found. He was currently on medical leave, and his social media accounts had been locked down. No recent posts or photos to be found.
But a couple of days later, she found him, tagged in a photo with a friend. It showed him posing in front of a shiny new black Tesla with a buddy, both giving a thumbs-up sign. And the post had a GPS tag. It had been taken at a hotel a couple of towns over. It wasn’t a guarantee we’d find him there, but it gave us a place to start.
Gibs cleared his schedule for the next day and we left early, before the sun was up. We had a heck of a lot of driving ahead of us, so we took my rental car. It was easier on gas. Shelby and Jonah had happily taken Cash.
It was almost surreal to be on this road with him. Thirteen years ago, his father had driven me along this same route.
Shuddering, I watched the scenery go by. That blank space in my memory was still hazy. Like I was looking through thick mist, not quite able to see what lay beyond, but well aware that something was there.
I wasn’t sure if I wanted to see.
We located the hotel easily. It was nice, bordering on fancy, with a pool and overpriced room service. I’d been in places like it hundreds of times.
And in the parking lot—a shiny new black Tesla.
We parked in the lot and pulled out our phones, pretending to look at them, as if we were just a couple of people distracted by the screens in our hands.
“I did something like this once,” Gibson said.
“What, a stakeout?”
“That’s a better term for it, I guess. I kinda stalked Abbie Gilbert, trying to find out if she was you.”
“Did you, really?”
“I knew in my gut she wasn’t,” he said. “Her whole story was such bullshit. But that wasn’t why I knew.”
“Then how did you know?”
He glanced at me. “I knew if you were alive and you could come back, you’d come see me. Even if it wasn’t first. I knew you wouldn’t reappear and then never show up in Bootleg, looking for me.”
“You’re right.”
“But I still went looking for her. Needed to see her with my own eyes.”
And now Abbie Gilbert was dead. The thought sent a chill down my spine.
A young guy came out of a side entrance and went straight for the Tesla. It was Darren Covington. A second later, Gibson was out of the car.
I scrambled out and followed Gibson. He intercepted Darren in front of his car.
“You Darren?” Gibson asked, his voice casual.
Darren stopped in his tracks, his forehead tightening. “Who are you?”
Gibson strolled up to him, his easygoing gait somehow more intimidating than an open threat would have been. He put his arm around Darren’s shoulders. “I’m your new best friend. And we’re going to have a little chat.”
“What the fuck’s going on here?” Darren asked, his eyes widening.
“Let me see if I can make this easy,” Gibson said, his expression friendly. “You’re going to talk to us and you’re going to tell us the truth. We clear?”
“Are you threatening me?” Darren asked. “I’ll call the police.”
“Go right ahead,” Gibson said. “I’m sure the police would love to see this nice, new car of yours. How did you afford that beauty, Darren? Do lab technicians make that kind of money?”
Darren didn’t answer.
“And does your boss know you’re living it up at this swanky hotel? You seem awfully healthy for a guy on medical leave.”
“Fuck,” Darren muttered.
“Yep, I’d say so,” Gibson said, his voice going low. “Let’s unfuck some of this situation, shall we?”
Darren reluctantly led us back to his hotel room. The king-sized bed had been made—housekeeping had obviously been here already—and a glass door behind a mostly-closed curtain led to a balcony. I peeked into the bathroom. Beige tile, neatly folded white towels, and a large soaking tub. A terrycloth robe hung on a hook.
Gibson’s face was stony as he performed a sweep of the room before he nodded for me to sit at the small desk. He looked at Darren and pointed to the bed. “Sit.”
Darren lowered himself onto the edge, his face tense with fear. “Are you going to hurt me?”
“Depends.” Gibson’s stance was relaxed, his arms crossed loosely over his chest. But anyone with half a brain could see the tension he kept coiled inside.
“Depends on what?”
Gibson absently pressed his thumb against his middle finger, cracking the knuckle with a pop. “On whether you tell me what I want to know. And whether I think you’re lying. See, Darren, I don’t like it when people bullshit me. It’s a waste of my time and that just pisses me the fuck off.”
I watched Darren swallow hard, some of the color draining from his face. His eyes flicked to me a few times, as if he were trying to decide why I was here. I just stared back. I wasn’t going to let Gibson actually hurt the guy, but I could tell it wasn’t going to be necessary. I’d seen too many people on the brink of losing it. I knew what it looked like when someone was about to crack.
“What do you want to know?” Darren asked, his voice shaky.
“You signed off on a forensics report that identified the remains of a young girl recently,” Gibson said. “I want you to tell me about that.”
Another hard swallow from Darren. “My job was to determine the identity of the remains using dental records. I found a match.”
“Did you, though?” Gibson asked.
A sheen of sweat broke out on Darren’s forehead. “Yes.”
Gibson cracked another knuckle. “Stop wasting my time, Darren. It’s starting to piss me off.”
Darren’s eyes darted around wildly. “Look, it was a lot of money, okay. I had student loans up the ass. Who wouldn’t have taken it?”
“Huh,” Gibson said. Another knuckle crack. “Enough money to pay off your lo
ans and buy you an expensive new car? Did they put you up in this hotel, too?”
“I’m supposed to lay low for a while. And come on, man, that’s my dream car. You aren’t going to smash it up or something, are you?”
“I wasn’t, but now I might,” Gibson said. “Who paid you off?”
“I don’t know his name,” Darren said. Gibson’s gaze snapped to him and Darren flinched. “I swear. He never told me who he was. He showed up at my house after work one day and offered me money to fake the report. I said no at first, but it was a lot of money, and those loans were killing me.”
Gibson pulled his phone out of his back pocket. Wordlessly, he tapped on the screen a few times, then held it out to show Darren. “Was it that guy?”
I could see the recognition in Darren’s expression even before he nodded.
“Yeah, that looks like him.”
Gibson pocketed his phone, then crouched in front of Darren, leveling him with a piercing glare. “You caused a big problem when you did that. And the people who paid you won’t hesitate to get rid of you to keep you quiet.”
Darren’s face lost another shade of color. I wondered if he’d pass out. Or maybe piss himself. “What do you want from me? I don’t have the money. I paid off my loans and bought the car and—”
“Shut your pie hole.” Gibson stood. “Like I said, you’re going to help us unfuck this. And when it’s over, you might even get to keep that car of yours.”
“I don’t understand. What do you want me to do?”
“You said you need to lay low for a while?” Gibson asked.
Darren nodded.
The corner of Gibson’s mouth hooked in the barest hint of a grin. “I have just the place.”
28
GIBSON
Leaning against Nicolette’s bar, I chewed on a toothpick. My water sat near my elbow. The Lookout wouldn’t get busy until after five. For now, it was me and a bunch of members of Bootleg’s only biker gang, the Dirt Hogs. They weren’t so much a gang as a group of balding, gray-haired old-timers who wore matching leather vests when they occasionally went out riding. They usually drank over at the Still while their wives played bingo on Tuesday nights. But this afternoon, half a dozen of them had gathered here, taking up a table nearby.
Highball Rush: Bootleg Springs Book 6 Page 21
