Highball Rush: Bootleg Springs Book 6

by Kingsley, Claire

  “Need something else, Gibs?” Nicolette asked.

  “Nope.”

  She gave me a short nod. “I need to run into the back. Don’t hit anyone while I’m gone.”

  I scowled at her. Of course, that was probably a fair warning. I’d hit a lot of people in this bar.

  I glanced at the time. Where the hell were my brothers?

  “Something’s gotta give,” one of the old-timers said, his voice rising. “We can’t keep living like this.”

  “Wendell ain’t lyin’.”

  “God’s honest truth.”

  “I ain’t built for this.”

  “Well, what are we gonna do about it?” Wendell asked.

  Old Jefferson Waverly stood. I had no idea how old he was, but his back was still straight, even if his flannel hung off his now-thin frame. “We take a stand.”

  I was bored enough to want to know what they were talking about. “Take a stand about what?”

  “Our women,” Marvin Lloyd said, shoving a finger in the air like a politician making a speech. “We ain’t takin’ this no more.”

  I shifted the toothpick to the other side of my mouth. “What’d y’all’s wives do now?”

  “We ain’t getting a moment’s peace,” Marvin said. “It’s nothing but lovemaking, every single day. Why, I’ve had my willy wet more in the last couple of weeks than I have in the last twenty years.”

  Pulling the toothpick out of my mouth, I tried not to gag. “Jesus. Sorry I asked.”

  “A young’un like you wouldn’t understand,” Old Jefferson said, shaking his head. “I don’t know how they expect us to keep up with their raging appetites.”

  “Are y’all cracked? I know y’all’s wives. You’re telling me they’re chasing y’all around for—” I stopped before I said it.

  “For the sex,” Marvin hissed out in a loud whisper.

  I had no idea what was going on with the elderly of Bootleg, but I decided I did not want to know more. “Good luck with that,” I said, turning my back on them.

  They kept up their griping. Made a shudder run down my back. Luckily for me, the door opened, and my brothers finally walked in.

  “What took y’all so long?”

  Bowie started cuffing the sleeves of his button-down shirt. “I had a meeting. You know, the job I have with a schedule I have to keep.”

  Jameson didn’t offer a reason for being late. He slid onto the stool next to me and rubbed his eyes.

  “What’s wrong with you?” I asked.

  “Tired.”

  Jonah didn’t look much better. Which was odd, because he was usually the healthy, energetic one. But he was sporting some dark circles under his eyes.

  Come to think of it, Bowie didn’t look so hot, either.

  “Did y’all get drunk last night?” I asked. “You look like hell.”

  They all glanced at each other, a mix of surprise and confusion crossing their faces.

  Bowie pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know about these guys, but it’s Cassidy. She’s been wearing me out.”

  “You too?” Jonah asked, and Bowie’s face snapped to his. “I mean, that sucks.”

  They both looked at Jameson.

  “I ain’t saying shit,” he said.

  “Wait, is this some kind of weird Bootleg thing I don’t know about?” Jonah asked. “But why would Shelby be in on it? She’s not from here.”

  “What the fuck are y’all talking about?” I asked. “I have important business.”

  Bowie glanced around, like he was worried about who might overhear. But none of the Dirt Hogs behind us could hear worth a damn. “Cassidy’s sex drive has been through the roof lately. She wants it multiple times a day. At first, I thought I’d won the damn lottery. But now I’m fucking exhausted.”

  “It is some weird Bootleg thing,” Jonah said, his eyes wide. “Shelby’s the same. She can’t get enough.”

  “Really?” Bowie asked.

  “Leah Mae, too,” Jameson grumbled, pulling down the bill of his cap. “Truth be told, I didn’t know a man could come that many times in a single week.”

  “Wait, wasn’t George complaining about the same thing?” Jonah asked.

  Devlin pushed the door open and came in, looking rumpled. His dark circles rivaled Jonah’s.

  “Scarlett too?” Jameson asked.

  “Insatiable sex drive?” Jonah added.

  Devlin took a seat at the bar, his eyebrows knitting together. “How do you know that?”

  “No one’s watching y’all,” Bowie said, scowling. “We’re in the same boat. Seems it’s all of ’em.”

  “You bunch of pansy-asses,” I said. “Y’all show up late, then you want to sit around and bitch about getting too much sex?”

  “Clearly you’re either not sleeping with Maya, or whatever’s happening to the rest of our girls ain’t hit her yet,” Bowie said. “Trust me, Gibs. You have no idea.”

  People sometimes said Bootleg was a strange place, and I usually disagreed. I’d lived here my whole life—couldn’t quite imagine living anywhere else—so our shenanigans generally seemed normal. But this? My brothers, and the Dirt Hogs, all talking about their women suddenly running them ragged with out-of-control sex drives? That was fucking weird.

  “Maybe it’s something in the water,” Bowie said.

  I gave the water Nicolette had given me the side-eye. “Hey Nic, you back there?”

  Nicolette poked her head out of the kitchen. “What?”

  “You been putting something in the drinks that makes women horny?”

  “Good lord, Gibson,” Bowie said. “Shut your damn mouth.”

  “But has she, though?” Jameson asked, lifting his head.

  Nicolette looked at me like I’d just told her she should stop serving blackberry moonshine. “No. I don’t think there is such a thing.”

  Bowie scrubbed his hands up and down his face. “Okay, Gibs. Why are we here? I need to get home and see if I can catch a nap before Cass gets off work.”

  It was my turn to glance around, but the Dirt Hogs had all fallen asleep in their chairs. Old Jefferson let out a quiet snore.

  Still, I lowered my voice. “I found the lab technician.”

  That got their attention. Jameson sat up, Devlin leaned forward, and Bowie and Jonah both asked, “What?” at the same time.

  “The guy who matched the dental records,” I said. “Someone paid him to fake the results.”

  “The judge?” Bowie asked.

  “Not directly. But it was the guy who showed up in town, asking me questions. The one she said worked for the judge.” I still didn’t want to say her name out loud in public.

  “Holy shit,” Jonah said.

  “Do you have proof?” Devlin asked. “Will he talk?”

  “Oh, he’ll talk.” I stuck the toothpick back in my mouth.

  Devlin narrowed his eyes at me. “Gibson, you can’t—”

  The door opened again, spilling sunlight into the dim bar. Cassidy pulled off her aviators, looking mighty official in her uniform. I figured it didn’t matter if she was dressed for work. She was a cop either way, so I wasn’t going to worry about whether she’d get too official on me. Scarlett wore a Bodine Home Services t-shirt knotted at the waist. Her jeans were dirty at the knees and she still wore her tool belt.

  Both girls made beelines for their significant others. Cassidy draped her arms around Bowie’s shoulders and whispered something in his ear. He patted her hand, looking like he might be willing to chew his own arm off to get away. Scarlett was… Scarlett, which meant she lacked subtlety.

  “Hey, baby,” she said, sidling up to Devlin and putting her hand in his lap. I couldn’t see what she was doing, and I didn’t want to know.

  “For fuck’s sake, y’all,” I said. “Can we focus? I got the forensics guy.”

  Cassidy stood up straight, suddenly all business. All cop. “What did you say?”

  I repeated what I’d just told my brothers. Scarlett di
dn’t stop pawing at Devlin.

  “He’ll talk?” Cassidy asked, eying me warily. “What’d you do to him?”

  I pushed the toothpick around my mouth again. “We just had a conversation.”

  “Uh-huh.” Cass crossed her arms.

  “He’s fine,” Scarlett said. “We made him very comfortable at the Red House last night.”

  Cassidy’s eyes moved from me to Scarlett, then back again. “You knew about this? Please tell me you didn’t kidnap the lab technician.”

  “I didn’t kidnap the lab technician.”

  “Well…” Scarlett said, drawing out the word.

  I shot her a glare. “It ain’t kidnapping if he comes willingly.”

  “Oh my god,” Cassidy said. “What is wrong with you two? You can’t kidnap someone and hold them hostage.”

  I rolled my eyes. “He ain’t a hostage, Cass. And Scarlett wasn’t even there.”

  “Did he come here of his own accord?” she asked.

  “Mostly.”

  Her eyes went icy and I knew I was skirting the edge of serious trouble. Cass was scary when she went cold like that. “Mostly? Gibson Bodine, if you make me arrest you for abduction and unlawful imprisonment, I swear to god—”

  “Calm down, Cass,” Scarlett said, interrupting her tirade. “I talked to him. Gibs didn’t lay a finger on him. Probably gave him a good scare, but by the time they got to town late last night, he was on our side. We’re hiding him from you know who.”

  “You know who?” Cassidy asked. “What is this, Harry Potter?”

  “Well, I ain’t saying it right here,” Scarlett said. “Just like I ain’t saying the other thing.”

  I put a hand up. I didn’t need those two getting in an argument about what we could and couldn’t say in public. One of them was liable to say Callie’s name by accident. Empty bar or not, I didn’t want to do anything to risk her safety. “Okay, we get it. We still have to keep this quiet. This kid will tell the truth, especially if your dad can get him some kind of immunity or something. Keep him out of trouble for taking the bribe.”

  “Poor guy is pretty damn scared,” Scarlett said with a laugh. Her face got serious. “Dev, maybe I should bake him some cookies.”

  “Don’t cook,” we all said in unison.

  Scarlett glared at me, like I was the only one who’d said it. “Fine. I’ll buy some. But just because he’s an almost-hostage doesn’t mean I can’t be neighborly.”

  Cassidy closed her eyes in exasperation. “Don’t call him an almost-hostage, Scar.”

  “Guest, then,” Scarlett said. “I thought you’d be a lot more excited. This is a big break in the case.”

  “Possibly, but if y’all do something illegal, I don’t care how big of a break it is, it won’t help us,” Cassidy said.

  “This will help us because the kid’s gonna talk,” I said, my voice rising. I was tired of going round and round about this. “He told me the truth, and he’ll tell the sheriff. With his statement, maybe your dad can finally get the attention of the feds. Get someone on this case who can take the fucker down.”

  “I’ll talk to Dad,” Cassidy said. “But I don’t know if it’ll be enough if the judge isn’t the one who bribed him.”

  “I thought we weren’t saying who it was out loud,” Scarlett said.

  “Shut up, Scar,” I snapped. “Maybe the judge didn’t, but the guy who did works for him.”

  “Can you prove that?” she asked and kept talking before I could argue. “Gibson, I know. I want to take that sorry son of a bitch down as much as anyone.”

  “Do you?” I asked, my temper a thin twig ready to snap at the slightest pressure. “Because all I’m hearing from you is a lot of shit about what we can’t do and what won’t work. And here I am, driving to fucking New York because law enforcement can’t even do its damn job.”

  Bowie stood. “Watch it, Gibs.”

  “No, fuck that. We know the truth, and that piece of shit is going to get away with it. You know what’s worse? She can’t even live her life. What would y’all do if you had to pack up and leave, huh? Where would you go? What would you do when life got hard and you needed your family and friends around to make it fucking bearable, but you couldn’t go home?”

  I stopped shouting and the bar went silent except for the soft snores of the Dirt Hogs. Clenching my hands into fists, I looked down at the floor. My knuckles ached with the desire to hit something. I wanted the pain of it reverberating up my arm. I wanted to taste blood. But I wasn’t about to haul off and sucker-punch one of my brothers. Even I wasn’t that much of a dick.

  “We’re trying to help, Gibs,” Cassidy said, her voice quiet.

  “It ain’t enough,” I ground out through my teeth. “If she has to run again, I’m going with her. You hear me? She goes, I go. I just want y’all to know that.”

  Without waiting for anyone to reply, I stomped out the door.

  29

  MAYA

  I stared at the blank page in my journal. There were songs inside me, trying to get out. I could feel it. How many times had I coaxed the words or melodies out of someone else when they were doing this very thing? A few questions, a little conversation, sometimes a glass of whiskey or a bottle of wine, and they’d push aside whatever it was that blocked them. Their creativity would break free, and they’d find a way to work through whatever had been holding them back.

  So why couldn’t I do the same for myself?

  I’d tried. I’d used my own tricks on myself. Written down the questions I might have asked, had I been talking to a client. Tried to answer them. I’d meditated on it, done juice cleanses, and used crystals to realign my energy. I’d taught other people to crochet because I’d learned to do it myself, hoping busy hands would help free my mind.

  Nothing worked. The words never came out right.

  The fact that my creativity had felt blocked before I’d come back to Bootleg Springs made sense now. Callie had been locked up too tight. I knew there were things in my past that needed to come out. Pain I needed to face. The logical part of me—the Maya part—understood that.

  But there was something back there I couldn’t reach. Something in that box in my mind. Even here, in the safe comfort of Gibson’s house, I shrank back from it. Flinching like there was a demon inside with claws and sharp teeth. If I let it out, it would rip me to shreds.

  I heard the rumble of Gibson’s truck outside, so I shut the journal, shaking off the unsettling images. Cash jumped up and ran for the door, his tail wagging.

  Gibs had gone to talk to his brothers about Darren Covington. So far, we’d only told Scarlett, because we’d needed a place for him to stay last night. She’d been more than willing to put him up in one of her cabins for the time being.

  Leaving him there alone did mean he was a flight risk. But I didn’t think he’d go anywhere. At first, it had been Gibson’s intimidation that had swayed him into coming with us. But I’d talked to him on the long drive back to Bootleg. I hadn’t told him who I was—not yet—but I’d told him enough to make him realize he’d gotten into bed with some very bad people. And he seemed to be too worried about his own hide to question who I might be.

  He was foolish—he’d taken a large bribe and blown through most of it already—but he wasn’t completely stupid. He knew the sort of people willing to bribe a lab tech to falsely identify a body were not upstanding citizens of the law. He wanted a way out.

  I’d told him we couldn’t promise him anything. But if he helped us, we’d do what we could.

  The door burst open and Gibson barreled his way in, like a hot wind blowing off desert sand. Without looking at me, he stalked into the kitchen and threw open the refrigerator, only to slam it again a few seconds later. Cash ran around his feet, but Gibson ignored him.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “Nothing.”

  Rage was coming off him like sparks, crackling in the air. I got up but kept distance between us, like I was approaching a
wounded animal in the wild. Cash seemed to sense trouble. He backed up and sat.

  “What happened?” I asked, my voice calm but not overly soothing. I didn’t want him to think I was trying to calm him down. “Did Darren leave?”

  “No.”

  “Then what—”

  “It ain’t enough. We have the guy who told the goddamn world that body was you, and they’re saying it might not be enough. What the fuck do we have to do?”

  “I don’t know. We keep looking. Keep digging.”

  “And then what?” He spun around. “That bastard has been getting away with shit for years. Decades, even. The truth doesn’t matter, we both know that. That’s why you ran. Because even back then, you knew it was fucking pointless.”

  “I ran because I was a terrified child.”

  He grunted something I couldn’t make out and stalked past me, clenching his fists. His heavy footsteps pounded against the floor and a few seconds later, the back door slammed shut.

  I glanced at Cash and his head tilted to the side. “Yeah, Daddy’s upset. It’s okay, buddy. Just go lie down. I’ll talk to him.”

  Cash was either the smartest dog in the universe, or he just wanted to get back to his nap. He trotted over to his bed and lay down. I pushed the sleeves of my flannel shirt up to my elbows and followed Gibson.

  He stood with his hands on the porch railing, his back to me. His shoulders were bunched up tight and I could practically see the anger seeping from his pores.

  “So we give up, is that it?” I was done with this temper tantrum. “One thing doesn’t go the way we thought it would and it’s over?”

  He didn’t turn around and his voice was dangerously low. “That’s not what I said.”

  “Maybe not, but that’s what I’m hearing in everything you aren’t saying. I know you’re frustrated. I know you’re scared.” I paused, giving him an opportunity to argue with that, but he didn’t. “I am, too. But we knew the sheriff wasn’t going to issue an arrest warrant based on Darren’s statement. It’s just the first step.”