by Quinn Avery
She clutched her phone a little tighter. “Are you in some kind of trouble?”
“Yeah…you could say that.”
Eyes closed, she puffed out a little breath. It wasn’t in her skill set to turn down a friend in need.
Bexley hadn’t made the two-plus hour drive to Tijuana since her senior year in high school. Though the rendezvous hadn’t sounded like her cup of tea from the start, Kiersten insisted it was their right of passage to indulge in a wild weekend before graduation. Her best friend had failed to mention a group of their classmates had actually planned the trip, Grayson and his then-girlfriend Amanda Classon included. Bexley was forced to watch her crush drunkenly make out with his future ex-wife for two days straight.
Memories from that weekend came roaring back with painful clarity as Bexley passed the El Chaparral port of entry. Before Grayson got into the tequila that weekend, he’d gone out of his way to show Bexley kindness when everyone else had treated her like a pariah for not wanting to become black-out inebriated. If she knew back then how he’d secretly felt about her, that he reciprocated her feelings, how different would her life be? Would she have stayed in California, and traded NYU for Papaya Springs College? Would she be the one who married Grayson straight out of college instead of Amanda Classon? Could he have convinced her to start a family by now?
Pushing the wayward thoughts from her head, she focused on the reason she was in Mexico. Brewer. She knew very little about the maddeningly handsome biker who came roaring back into her life after ten years. He’d been the quiet kid with questionable hygiene who copied off Bexley’s school work. What was so bad about his home life that he’d dropped out of high school at seventeen to join the military? Why did he live in a motel when he ran a successful mechanic shop? Why was he so interested in spending time with Bexley when youthful model-wannabes swarmed him like bees on honey?
As dusk began to fall, she navigated according to Brewer’s directions, beyond the highway and onto back roads. What could he have possibly gotten himself into? She hoped it wasn’t something criminal. She wasn’t exactly up to speed on international laws. Then again, if anything legal came into question, she could always call Luke. He wasn’t merely a highly intelligent man who was adored by her best friend. He was quickly becoming one of few included in Bexley’s circle of trust.
Once Bexley located the cobalt blue building Brewer had described, she parked her Expedition alongside the curb and held her breath. She’d known better than to bring a handgun into Mexico, but she’d hidden her stun gun beneath the passenger’s seat. Being far from the heart of the city in a menacing neighborhood, the temptation to retrieve the weapon was strong. Everyone who walked by her vehicle gave her a look that made it clear she wasn’t welcome. Even a group of middle school boys walking their bicycles shot deathly scowls that sent chills racing down her limbs.
A full ten minutes passed before she spotted Brewer leaning against the building, lit cigarette pinched between his full lips. She might’ve mistook him for someone else if it weren’t for the distinct illustration of a king’s crown inked on the back of his right hand. He wore a pale pink western style shirt and crisp blue jeans that looked extremely out of character on his impressively toned body, yet still made him attractive. His hair was tucked into a baseball cap, pulled low to his honeyed brown eyes that were normally twinkling with mischief. When they found Bexley, they were filled with indisputable worry. Not only that, but he appeared bone-tired.
He flicked the cigarette onto the sidewalk before sliding into the passenger’s seat, filling Bexley’s vehicle with his unique scent of cigarettes and precariousness. Lips spreading with his signature smirk, he eyed the bodice of her cocktail dress. “You didn’t have to get all dolled up for me, sweetheart.”
Bexley let out a breath of relief. At least he was in one piece. “You said I needed to come here ASAP.”
His dark, thick eyebrows rose. “Did I interrupt a hot date?”
She gave him a sharp look, unwilling to buy his nonchalant attitude. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on? What are you doing here? Why are you dressed like that?”
He removed the baseball hat, allowing unruly brown locks to tumble over the shaved sides of his head. “Trying to blend in as a local.”
“Ah, so you’re delusional. Did your shenanigans down here include a brain injury?”
“Possibly,” he deadpanned, glancing out the window. “I might need some stitches once we’re stateside.”
Her stomach clenched. What the hell was going on? A part of her wanted to hug him. “What happened, Brewer?”
“I’ll tell you everything as soon as we’re out of this hell-hole.” He lifted his chin to the ceiling and leaned back against the headrest. “Just drive.” He closed his eyes and added, “Please.”
Blowing out the long breath she’d planned to use in voicing her objection, Bexley pulled out into the street. Brewer’s eyes remained closed, his breath steady. She could practically feel exhaustion rolling off him as she drove.
A few blocks down the street, she came upon a roadblock. The middle school boys on their bikes. The biggest kid in the group stared directly at Bexley, inviting her to a challenge. With a start, she noticed something clutched in his hands. A crowbar.
“Brewer,” she pleaded, her throat thick. “Wake up.”
Brewer shot up in the passenger’s seat, one hand clutching the dashboard as he assessed the situation. “Don’t suppose they use that for stickball.”
“What do I do?”
He glanced over his shoulder. “Throw it in reverse.”
Without a second of hesitation, Bexley did just that. The SUV rocketed backwards, only stopping when Brewer instructed, “Turn here.”
With a jerk of the steering wheel, they both leaned over as they rounded the corner. It took several blocks before Bexley’s heart resumed a tolerable beat.
She had a sickening feeling the incident was mild compared to what would come next.
2
The moment they were cleared to enter back into California, Brewer fell into a deep sleep. There had been a moment in which border patrol scrutinized Brewer and his ID so closely that Bexley was convinced they knew the reason he was in a hurry to leave. Terrified by the idea of being detained in Mexico, she wanted to kiss the Papaya Springs city limits sign when it came into view among the beam of her vehicle’s headlights.
She was also eager to shake Brewer awake, and demand he tell her everything. He owed it to her, considering she had dropped everything to save him, alienating her family in the process.
Once she pulled up outside Big Dick’s Inn, she finally got her chance. Dozens of red and blue flashing lights cut through the darkness, illuminating the confusion etched in Brewer’s groggy expression. The door to his room was propped open by a sheriff’s deputy, allowing half a dozen more to enter. For what must’ve been the hundredth time, Bexley pondered why someone with a successful business chose to live in a dive motel. Was Brewer running from something?
“That’s a helluva welcoming committee,” Bexley commented. “Imagine the fanfare if you had been gone for more than a couple of days.”
“It doesn’t make sense,” Brewer grumbled, running shaking fingers through his hair. “There’s no way anyone should know what went down in Mexico. Was anyone around when you entered my room for my passport?”
“I can promise you that aside from getting the key to your room from Big Dick, my presence went otherwise unnoticed. All the curtains facing this side were drawn, and the lot was dark.”
“There’s no way Big Dick called the cops. He’s into some sketchy business on the side and wouldn’t want their attention.” He turned to Bexley with an accusing stare. “Did you fill your boyfriend in on my situation?”
Bexley’s teeth clamped together. “Of course not,” she bit out.
Why would he assume she was still with Grayson? Not only did she spend the majority of her free time with Brewer, she hadn’t spoken to Gra
yson in weeks. He’d reached out to her several times, wanting to work things out, but she decided a clean break would be best. Despite their best efforts, their situation would remain static.
Shifting back into drive, she drove on past the motel and threw Brewer a look of annoyance. “I think it’s time you tell me what happened in Mexico.”
“Problem is, I don’t know much.” He produced a crumpled pack of Marlboros from his shirt pocket, absentmindedly tapping it against the palm of his hand. “I woke in some shit-hole outside of Tijuana with a gash in the back of my head, no memory of even intending to leave the country. Last I remember is meeting up with Colt Sawyer by L.A. for a drink. Next thing I knew, I was sprawled on the floor of some abandoned building beside a gun…and a man with a bullet hole between his eyes.”
Bexley’s throat clenched, and her fingers clutched the steering wheel. It was worse than any scenario she had imagined during the long drive down and back. She didn’t think Brewer was the type to kill someone in cold blood. Then again, she knew next to nothing about what he’d done, or where he’d been the past decade aside from the Coast Guard.
She paused to let the information sink in. “He was murdered.” She wet her lips before glancing his way. “Do you think—”
“No,” he snapped, eyebrows scrunching together. “No way. I may be a lot of things, but I’m no murderer.”
“Not even in self-defense?”
He tossed the pack of cigarettes onto her dashboard and let out a long breath. “Guess it’s always a possibility.”
“Did you know the man?”
“Never seen him in my life. He was a local…dressed casual…younger than you and me. In good shape.”
“Did you check his pockets for an ID?”
“Didn’t really want to get caught disturbing a corpse.”
As she turned onto another road, Bexley braced herself for the next question. “Where’s the gun now, Brewer?”
“I wiped it down, stashed it in the wall.”
It eased her mind somewhat to learn she hadn’t helped smuggle a firearm across the border. “Is there any reason there’d be a record of your fingerprints in either Mexico or the US?”
“They might’ve taken ‘em while I was in the service. Can’t remember for sure.”
“If you did fire that gun, there may still be residue on your clothes and hands. We could have it tested…for your state of mind.”
Snorting, he caught her gaze. “Want me to march on down to the sheriff’s, and willingly submit to a test?”
“They have home kits. J.J. may even know of a way to test for GSR without one.”
“Too late. Burned the clothes I was wearing for this getup. Washed my hands several times since.”
Bexley’s frustration was growing by the second. He wasn’t giving her much to work with. “Did anyone see you flee the scene?”
“Just some elderly woman who spoke limited English. When I asked her where I was, she just responded with, ‘a bad place’ and told me to go. I walked for several hours, following backroads north. I wasn’t completely convinced it was the right direction, so I went in search of a main road…hitched a ride with a truck full of factory workers. The guys I sat next to kept to themselves and didn’t acknowledge my presence. By that time, we were only a half hour or so out of Tijuana.”
“Do you have any reason to think someone would try to hurt you?”
“Besides a handful of women pissed off because I don’t do relationships?”
She glanced his way to find him smirking. Normally she found that playful look of his enduring, but in that moment, it was testing her patience. “Brewer, if there’s something you aren’t telling me that could possibly connect you to that man, now’s the time.”
With a low grunt, he retrieved the pack of Marlboros. “I’m not gonna lie to you, Squires. I’ve done some crooked shit over the years, but never anything that would physically harm someone. I guarantee I didn’t have anything to do with that man’s death. I’m well aware my temper can be a problem, but I’d never take things that far.”
“Have you asked Colt Sawyer if he knows what happened that night?”
“Someone took my phone along with my wallet. I don’t know the guy’s number off-hand. I’d pay a visit to the clubhouse, but that doesn’t seem like a wise move, all things considered.” He popped a cigarette between his lips. “Hate to ask you for another favor, but would you mind dropping me somewhere near the beach? I know of a few places where the cops wouldn’t come looking.”
Bexley tapped her fingertips against the steering wheel. “Have you mentioned my name to anyone recently? Maybe told someone at the motel, or club, or your shop that we’ve been meeting up?”
With a chuckle, he rubbed at his chin. “Seems an odd time to ask if we’re a ‘thing’. Are you asking me out?”
Her cheeks burned hot as she shook her head. Is that the direction he assumed they were headed? “If you haven’t, you can stay at my place until this blows over, or at least until we know more.” There was a slight chance someone had spotted them together in recent weeks, but her experiences led her to believe her notoriety hadn’t spread beyond Papaya Springs. And the way Brewer stayed to himself, she didn’t think he was well-known. “It wouldn’t be a problem…I have a spare room.”
Glancing over his shoulder, Brewer’s lips twisted with another teasing smirk. “Your boyfriend seemed pretty convinced I’m the scum of the earth. Sure he’ll allow a sleepover with a wanted criminal?”
A flame of anger ignited in Bexley. “Grayson and I have been done for weeks. Regardless, it still wouldn’t have been his decision. And we don’t have any idea why the sheriff is raiding your place. Maybe something unrelated to your situation went down while you were gone. It’s not like the other occupants at Big Dick’s are model citizens. A number of things could’ve happened.”
He quirked one eyebrow. “You ditched the suit? I’m impressed, Squires.”
Did he even hear what she had said about the sheriff? She shook his comment off with a dismissive flick of her hand. “I’m gonna find a way to get you out of this mess, Brewer.” Fatigue weighed heavily on her shoulders as she veered back toward the interstate. “Just not tonight.”
Bexley snuck out early the next morning while Brewer was still asleep in the guest bedroom. She’d cleaned the wound on his head the night before, and was worried it was deep enough for medical attention. At Brewer’s insistence, however, she’d merely applied super glue to keep it closed. She left a note beside a burner phone and a leftover bagel from breakfast the day before, telling him to check his wound for signs of infection, and to avoid contact with anyone. She also left her direct number at the office, instructing him to call as soon as he was awake.
Once her mind began processing his story, she’d barely caught any sleep. It’d be difficult to conduct a proper investigation without returning to the scene of the crime. Even if Brewer remembered how to get there, she wasn’t going to risk putting him in the hands of the Federales. The idea that the local authorities may already be onto his situation made her uneasy, especially considering her past experiences with Sheriff Blair. He wasn’t the kind of man to be trusted. But the idea that the sheriff may be after Brewer for something else was even more unsettling.
The moment Bexley stepped foot inside the familiar surroundings of Stronghold Investigations, she was alerted to her boss’s presence with the sounds of a barking cough from behind his closed office door. Although J.J. claimed to have humored her several weeks ago by going to see a doctor, she highly doubted they’d written off his condition as a mere cold. She feared there was something serious behind that smoker’s cough, and J.J. had become more important to her than she could put into words.
As it was their secretary’s day off, Bexley started a pot of coffee before firing up her laptop and checking her emails. The first one to catch her eye was from Luke Jacobs with a subject line of ‘Pending Litigation’. Bexley’s heart dropped as she read the c
ontents. A trial had been set for the girls involved in the Kappa Kappa Delta hazing incidents, but the special district attorney had officially declined to press charges related to Bexley’s kidnapping. They didn’t believe they had enough evidence against any one person specifically to form a solid case.
Bexley clicked on the video attachment Luke included in his email. The Papaya Springs mayor stood with a triumphant smile on the courthouse steps, District Attorney Jenkins at his side. With a chill, Bexley was reminded of the time the two men stood outside the sorority house and warned her to back off with her investigation into a pledge who nearly died from alcohol poisoning.
“The fine citizens of Papaya Springs can once again rest easily,” Mayor Hoffman belted out, hands raised at his sides like a preacher on his pulpit. “Despite slanderous allegations made by a confused young woman affiliated with Kappa Kappa Delta, the justice system has proven I’m an innocent man. With my re-election on the horizon, I fear this won’t be the last attempt made by my opponents to smear my name. I can assure you, however, that any further accusations will be thwarted the moment that they’re made, and you can vote for my second term with confidence.”
A bevy of emotions rose from the pit of Bexley’s stomach. They may have removed District Attorney Jenkins from the case because of his daughter’s involvement in the sorority, but someone had clearly bribed his successor into looking the other way. They’d come after Bexley again. She was sure of it. Mayor Hoffman and DA Jenkins weren’t going to stand back and allow her to continue her expose of their beloved residents and their corrupt ways. While she was terrified by the lengths they may go to next, a part of her willed them to try.
“I get knocked down, but I get up again,” she muttered aloud.
“You say something?” J.J. drawled from her doorway, steaming cup of coffee in hand.
Bexley cleared the thickness from her throat and shut her laptop. “Just warming my pipes for the day with a little Chumbawamba.”
