Redemption River

by Lindsay Cross

  Hunter knew that was how the mission would end up, him getting in with Evie to get the intel. But knowing and doing were two totally different monsters. The first he could handle, the second made his gut clench.

  “I agree. We’ve played with our dicks long enough. Either we move soon or we lose the weapons and the evidence to put this asshole away for life.” Jared said.

  Fucking hell. If Hunter had possessed any doubt about Captain Grey’s intentions to use him, he’d just lost them.

  “Hunter, it’s time. Evangeline Videl is our best resource. If you can turn her to give up Carvant, we can hopefully complete this mission with little risk.” The Captain ordered.

  Evangeline Videl.

  Every muscle in Hunter’s body clenched. His jaws locked down. If he could step back from his own body, he knew he’d be able to see his own instinctive physical reactions to her name. Evie. He’d hallucinated about her after being shot. Now every member of his team knew he was still hung up on his hometown sweetie. And that she’d betrayed him with Marcus fucking Carvant.

  If the look on Captain Grey’s face counted for anything, so did he.

  Hunter dragged a hand through his buzz-cut hair. “Evie helped Marcus move his political career forward. Her dad was sheriff of Mercy for years, so he had an established reputation. Her position in the community was solid. His connection to her ensured his election.” The words were as bitter now as they had been then. When he’d caught them together. Hunter shook off the memory.

  Still raw. Still painful.

  “Do you think you can turn her?” Captain Grey said.

  The Evie he remembered was sweet. Innocent. Loving. Kind. But that was the pretend Evie. The one who cared about animals and volunteered at the Methodist church. The one who had stolen his heart.

  The real Evie used people to get what she wanted.

  Power. Money. Position.

  “Based on experience,” Hunter swallowed past the foreign lump forming in his throat, “A hundred grand would be a strong motivator for someone like her. But I can do it. I will do it.”

  Captain Grey nodded, taking Hunter at his word. His instincts were almost as notorious as the Captain’s interrogation skills.

  “Hunter, Ranger, I know you grew up with these people, but the MRG is the enemy. We will operate with the assumption they know where the weapons are and what they’re for. Hoyt, I want you on twenty-four hour surveillance. Jared, I want you on Carvant. He doesn’t take a shit without me knowing. Hunter and Ranger, you’ll work it from the MRG side. Use whatever means you have to get in and get the weapons. The last thing this nation can afford is for Al Seriq to get his hands on that many A-Rs.”

  “Roger,” Hunter answered.

  Captain Grey clicked off the monitors and the screens filled with grainy images of Al Seriq and his followers. Hoyt clicked away at his keyboards until images of the Videl family lined the bottom screens. Maxine. C.W. Evangeline.

  Evie. His lungs locked. Dammit. But Hunter had enough training to control his reactions. His thoughts. His actions. Remember the end game. Remember Al Seriq. Remember Shane.

  Even so, the picture on the bottom right monitor seemed to fill his every pore. A candid shot of Evie, surrounded by people, laughing. Her long, blonde hair loose and straight. Her blue eyes sparkling. She looked so innocent.

  Hunter clenched his fist in the loose material of his black tactical pants. The memory of Evie in Marcus’s arms, his mouth covering her lips, slammed through the barrier Hunter had erected all those years ago.

  Innocent, his ass. Evangeline Videl was as innocent as a black widow on the prowl.

  Only now, it wasn’t a young man’s heart at stake, it was the entire United States.

  4

  Evie crossed her arms in front of her chest and bulldozed through the throng of overheated dancers crowding the dance floor of her bar, her empty serving tray held tight to her side. The Wharf sat perched over the Mississippi River, whose waters were now swollen to capacity thanks to weeks worth of unrelenting rain. But the threat of a flood was no deterrent on a weekend night for the residents of Mercy, Mississippi.

  One couple spun left, the next spun right, and she countered each, moving like a puzzle piece searching for its place.

  Evie almost started to move with the sway and rhythm of the music, but then the dancers tightened around her, cinching an invisible noose around her throat, cutting off her oxygen. Suddenly she remembered to feel out of place, remembered her choking fear of tight spaces.

  Tiny, a six-foot, two-hundred-pound biker, staggered into her path and jabbed her in the side, knocking her off center. Evie crashed into a couple two-stepping before his meaty paw wrapped around her arm and righted her.

  “Watch it.” The stout liquor on his breath could have flattened a brick wall. She tried to suck in some air, but the stench made her gag. Tiny stumbled forward, heading for the back porch, but the space he created was quickly filled by three more couples. Evie’s heart set off on a race to see how fast it could make her pass out. Her lungs locked. The familiar talons of claustrophobia wrapped around her shoulders, sinking its claws deep.

  Evie lifted her nose high, sucked in a combination of oxygen and cigarette smoke, and came down choking. Shit. Dumb idea. Breathe. Just breathe. Newborn babies could breathe. Freaking chickens could breathe, and they were the dumbest animals on the planet. But Evangeline Videl, wimp extraordinaire, could not get enough air.

  Bright multi-colored lights danced before her eyes. Escape. The exit sign flashed bright red on the other side of the bar, taunting her. What good would that do her? She was co-owner of The Wharf and head bartender. She couldn’t leave. She needed to get behind the bar. Her shield. Her protection.

  She forced one leg forward, then another, only to be blocked by more dancers.

  She wasn’t going to make it. Her rainbow-colored floaters started to fade to black. Then a soft hand encircled her wrist and maneuvered her out of the crush. Evie looked up to see Cheri pushing patrons aside, her bright red hair swishing behind her. “Move it or lose it. We got drinks to serve.”

  Evie clung to Cheri like a toddler holding on to her momma. She hadn’t shaken the fear yet, but she was grateful to be following in the path of a real-life bulldozer. Showing weakness wasn’t necessarily a death sentence here, but it could just as easily become a permanent description. And everyone who spent time at this place had seen evidence of it in Evie.

  Cheri slammed the half-door of the bar behind them and let loose. “Shit, girl, you gotta figure somethin’ out, cause whatever you’re doing ain’t workin’.”

  “Hey, are you going to fix me another drink sometime today?” Both women turned to look at the overweight ass in need of a shave sitting across from them at the bar.

  “We got a full house, Bill. You see all those people out there? You ain’t the only one in here tonight. Now if you know of a better place to drink on a Friday night, you’re welcome to it.” Cheri gave redheads their fierce reputation.

  She turned those flashing gold eyes of hers back to Evie. “Look, you need to…”

  “I know. I’m working on it.” Evie gave her friend her best impression of an I’m-going-to-make-it smile. Cheri’s frown clearly indicated what she thought of her posturing.

  But Cheri did the best-friend thing and patted her on the arm. “Okay. Why don’t you let me handle the floor and you handle the bar?”

  Bless her heart. Restraining the urge to hug her, Evie nodded. Cheri strode back out into the crowd, her rolling hips hinting at hostility.

  Bill’s gaze snapped from Cheri’s retreating backside to Evie’s face. He lifted his head and opened his mouth, but Evie held up a hand. Cheri was right. The Wharf was the only bar in fifty miles. If he was that hard up, let him drive. She needed a minute to stuff her irrational emotions back into their titanium-plated lock box.

  She gripped the cool edge of the stainless-steel sink and took a deep breath. She took in the familiar scenery, looki
ng for comfort like an alcoholic looked for a bottle.

  Stuffed deer heads dotted the walls. A few squirrels and raccoons were mounted on shiny wooden plaques. A black bear stood tall in the far corner, a beer nestled nicely between its outstretched paws and an unlit cigarette dangling from its lips. PETA would say it was inhumane, but she didn’t have to worry. PETA didn’t come to places like Mercy, Mississippi. No one did if they could help it.

  If only she could get the hell out of The Wharf and go home. She could crawl under the covers and go back to sleep. She could lock her doors and keep out everyone and everything…maybe even her past.

  She banged a fist on the inside of the sink, the pain in her hand matching the tightness in her chest. Damn Marcus Carvant for making her like this. Afraid of people. Afraid of life. Of herself.

  Evie splashed cold water on her face to snap herself out of the pity party of her life. Pouting wouldn’t pay the bills. She dried her face on the hand towel, super glued on a smile, and turned to the first customer she saw.

  “Can I help you?” Evie asked.

  “Marcus, you were to this creature?” a beauty-queen brunette said, twining a pale arm around the man at her side.

  “Now, Colette, you know I’ve always had a heart for charity.”

  Evie’s smile froze like instant concrete, rough and uneven. Thor could have dropped down from Asgaard, hammer in hand, and failed to put a dent in her expression.

  Marcus Carvant, her tormenter, her abuser, her ex, approached, resplendent in a crisp button-up, his slim fingers trailing up and down the arm of his companion. So smug with his sideways grin and raised blond brows. His cold grey eyes. It had taken her over a year to figure out smiles didn’t always mean happiness.

  He was a predator.

  Not one of those hulking, obvious predators. More like a water moccasin hanging from a tree limb above your boat. Waiting until just the right moment to plop down, leaving you with no means of escape. Trapped. Helpless. Terrified. All you could do was watch the snake coil and prepare to strike.

  Her hands trembled, and she reached down to grab a beer from the cooler. She needed to figure a way to get him out of here.

  Colette’s red lips turned down in a pout, and she stroked a manicured nail down his clean-shaven face. “You do have a soft heart for those less fortunate.”

  Evie had a brief flash of diving over the bar and tackling Colette to the floor. Of course, she wasn’t the real enemy.

  “Now, darling.” Marcus took Colette’s hand in his limp one, raising it to thin lips.

  Evie swallowed the gorge rising in her throat.

  She focused on the woman’s purple nails. A few years ago, Evie wouldn’t have left the house without her Tickled Pink polish gleaming. Now she was lucky if her nails weren’t cracked, chipped, and caked with stale beer.

  “She did dress better than this with me.” Marcus’s grey eyes traveled the length of Evie’s body. His lip pulled up with just the barest hint of a sneer.

  The woman before her was perfect. Statuesque. Just what Marcus longed for, his own perfect Stepford wife.

  Evie glanced down at her loose, torn jeans and long-sleeved T-shirt. Her tight, revealing dresses had been the first part of her Marcus uniform to go. She shook her head. Get it together. “What do you want?”

  “My sweet Evangeline, I need to speak with your mother. Is Maxine in?”

  Evie stiffened. He was the only person who ever used her full first name. The scar on her side burned.

  If he was looking for her mom, it could only lead to bad things.

  “She’s not here.” She glanced to her left, praying her mom stayed in the back office. Maxine ran the books along with the bar. She was here as often as Evie, but she kept to the back of the house. Plus she had to make the books look legit, and that took a little more time now that they weren’t.

  Filtering in the ‘extra’ revenue brought in by the MRG took finesse. And Evie couldn’t think of anyone better equipped to skirt the law than the wife of an ex-sheriff.

  Marcus raised his head, regarding her down his thin nose. “Really? My man said she was just here.”

  “Your man? You mean your rent-a-cop?” Evie swallowed, fear choking her windpipe despite her bold words.

  Marcus turned to his date. “Colette, you need to go to the restroom. Your mascara is smudged.”

  Colette gasped and all but ran to the bathroom. Marcus turned back to Evie, the polite façade slipping.

  “I thought a personal meeting was in order, since you were so rude to the sheriff. You might need a reminder of what happens to people who don’t follow orders.”

  Evie barely restrained her tremble. Barely. She inhaled, deep, slow. Tried to calm her heart before it exploded in her chest. “I think we all know what happens to people you disagree with.”

  Marcus’s smile stayed fixed in place. Perfect. Deadly. “You know, but I think you need to remember. For instance, I remember what happened to your father after you left. How he finally got caught dealing drugs and using his badge to cover his mess. Too bad that drug dealer had to kill him.”

  Evie’s racing heart stopped cold. The scorching heat from the packed bar turned to ice around her.

  “It would be awful if something like that happened to your mother,” Marcus continued. He reached across the bar and wrapped his long slender fingers around her wrist, then yanked her forward. His Armani cologne invaded her nostrils, chocking off her already dwindling air supply. “We wouldn’t want that, now would we?”

  Evie stood frozen, her limbs locked in horror. She’d worked so hard to block out the memory of her father’s set-up. His murder. She’d always suspected Marcus was involved, but this confirmed it.

  “Are you threatening my mother?” Evie forced the words through her clenched lips.

  Marcus pulled her closer, choking her with his scent. “I would never threaten someone. That’s illegal. I am simply reminding you of the importance of manners. A thoughtful woman would give my offer more consideration before turning it down.” His gaze held her hostage. “A thoughtful woman would remember to take care of her loved ones.”

  Evie sucked in a breath, unable to force herself to breathe normally. Marcus released her wrist, all but throwing her backwards.

  “A thoughtful woman would offer her ex-fiancé a drink.”

  Thoughtful. One of Marcus’s favorite teaching points. Or, as she remembered, his favorite excuse to cause pain. And here he was. In her bar. The man who’d already stolen her father was threatening what family she had left, not to mention her entire existence.

  But she’d grown a little bit of backbone after gathering the courage to leave him. And that backbone stiffened with anger. Evie reached below the bar and pulled open the small refrigerator at her feet.

  “You want a beer?” Evie held up their cheapest, daring to edge forward and hold the drink within smelling distance. The bastard before her shuddered and pulled back. Evie couldn’t restrain her smirk. The likes of Marcus Carvant didn’t touch cheap beer. “I’ll take a Peroni.”

  “Do you have a wine list?” Colette reappeared, her make-up now spotless, and perched on a barstool. She made as little contact with the pleather as possible, all the while petting her boyfriend. Evie didn’t bother telling her not to worry. He was the last creature on this planet she wanted to be near.

  “I’m sorry. You must be lost. We ain’t got none of that highfalutin’ stuff.” Evie cleared her throat, laying it on as thick as sweet Southern honey. “And we ain’t got that beer, neither.”

  Colette pulled back, probably afraid of being infected with white trash.

  Marcus looked pissed. He didn’t yell, but Evie could see the hardening around his eyes, the tightening of his lips. Tension roiled off him like air off hot cement. She took a step back.

  He smiled and her stomach sank. He knew. He could sniff out fear like a bloodhound trailing a scent.

  He took Colette’s hand and stood. “Come, dear, I’ll take you
to Greenville. This barbaric dump doesn’t have what we’re looking for.” Colette turned to leave, but Marcus’s grip on her arm stopped her. He stared hard at Evie.

  “Tell your mother I have every intention of finishing our conversation. With her, or with you. Whichever she prefers.” His gaze burned holes into her brain and she felt herself nodding against her will. Her gaze followed the back of his grey blazer until the glass door banged shut behind him.

  She grabbed the sink again and forced her hands to open and close, attempting to get some blood flow to her numb fingers. Anger returned along with her circulation. Her brain decided to function again and all the thoughts of what she would have said to him, how she should have put him in his place, bombarded her. Oh, how she wanted to embarrass him and take away his public golden-boy façade, even if it meant showing everyone the marks he had left on her body.

  And yet she had stood there listening to his insults. And she’d done nothing. Absolutely nothing.

  So much for the stack of personal growth books on her coffee table at home. Apparently Oprah knew a lot about relationships, but she’d missed the chapter on confronting assholes.

  5

  “Girl fight!” The music stopped, plunging the bar into silence.

  Then Evie heard it. First a shatter. Definitely a beer bottle. Next a scream. Definitely a woman. A crash—definitely a table. Tables that cost over a hundred dollars each. Crap. Not tonight.

  Several people whipped out their cell phones and started snapping pictures, the flash on their cameras like an invasion of lightning bugs. Bill glanced over his shoulder, then turned back to the beer Evie had finally served to him, the commotion only warranting a grunt.

  John Redman, an anorexic version of Bill, said, “You know, I heard Mike’s Market lost a lawsuit to some chick toting stolen beer in her coat pockets. One of ‘em popped out of her pocket, busted on the floor, and she slipped and got cut. Somebody took a picture of her bustin’ her ass and she got herself a new Cadillac.”