Burning Ache

by Adrienne Giordano

  Didn’t he know it? “That’s part of what I need help with. My phone rings all day long.”

  “Your business is growing, that’s good.”

  “It is growing, but it’s not the clients calling. It’s you guys. Either calling or texting. All day long.”

  “We don’t call you all day.”

  Careful. If he didn’t approach this rationally, it would end up with them at war. He took a second, lined up his thoughts. Then he slid his phone from his front pocket and held it up. “You guys don’t realize it, but you do. The proof is right here.” He lowered the phone, dropping it on the counter. “Usually what happens is one of you calls. If I don’t return the call in a few minutes, then you guys start calling each other wondering where I am and it’s a domino effect. My phone blows up and I have to return everyone’s calls. Mags, that’s a lot of friggin’ calls. I can’t take it anymore. I need some…space, I guess.”

  Maggie narrowed her eyes, studying him while she processed his words.

  “Don’t scream at me,” he said.

  “I won’t. I’m just…stunned. I didn’t realize we did that, but I can see it. I mean, it’s not intentional. We just start calling around to see if anyone knows where you are.”

  “I know it comes from a good place. That’s why I’ve never said anything. I didn’t want to sound like a douche complaining because my family cared about me. I’ve hit my limit, though.” He whipped off a smile. “You’ll love this. I need your help.”

  “What do you need me to do?”

  Bam. Just that simple. No sarcasm. No extended harassment or teasing. Dang, this turned out to be way easier than he thought. “Talk to everyone for me. Please. Just come up with a system that gives me space, but satisfies you all. I promise I’ll call back that day, but I might be in the middle of something, so unless it’s an emergency, don’t hunt me down.”

  His sister nodded. One solid jerk of her head. “How about we agree that you don’t have to call back until after your work is done?”

  “Unless it’s an emergency.”

  “Right.”

  “Yeah. That works.”

  She swiped her hands together. “Easy. I’ll take care of it today. And I’m sorry. I honestly didn’t realize.”

  “It’s okay. I should have said something sooner.”

  “Eh. I could see why it would be hard. No worries, little brother, I’m on it.” She turned back to the sink, rinsed out her mug, and shoved it in the dishwasher. “But, listen, none of this is why I came here. I heard about your friend Clay. I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do?”

  Now this topic, he’d openly discuss. “The FBI called this morning. They found my messages on his phone. They wanna talk to me.”

  Maggie’s eyebrows hiked nearly to her hairline. “Not without a lawyer you won’t.”

  “I stalled. Told them about my NDA and that I had to talk to my lawyer.”

  “Good. That criminal guy Jonah knows is excellent.” She whipped her phone from her back pocket. “I’ll get his number for you.”

  Good old, Mags. He reached over, folded his hand over hers. “It’s okay. I’ll take care of it.”

  She peered up at him, all wide-eyed and wounded. “You’re sure?”

  A few weeks ago—heck, a few days ago—he would have made some snarky comment about her butting out. In turn, she’d have responded that he should be grateful she cared, yada, yada. Round and round they’d go until one of them walked away pissed off and yelling.

  Now, he’d take a different approach.

  Women like Maggie and Roni were problem-solvers. In short, they needed to be fixing shit. Why it took him so long to figure that out about his sister was a mystery, but he suspected one Roni Fenwick had something to do with it.

  He smiled at Maggie. “Some things I need to do myself. This is most definitely one of them. I do appreciate you wanting to help, though.”

  She angled her head, narrowing her eyes in dramatic fashion. “Who are you and what have you done with my brother?”

  With that, he gave her a playful shove. “There are limits to this newfound patience.”

  “Too much?”

  He held up his thumb and index finger, pinching them close. “Little bit. Now go. Let me talk to Roni. See if I can clean up my mess.”

  * * *

  The drive up the mountain gave Way time to suck in fresh air and clear his mind. In no particular hurry, he ignored the gray pickup passing on the left of the straightaway. Looked like a woman driving, but it was hard to tell with the baseball cap.

  Either way, passing on a mountain road wasn’t exactly brilliance at work. Everybody was in a hurry. Go ahead, dumbass.

  Normally on a sunny Sunday morning he’d hop on his bike and take a long ride, stopping for lunch at some dive bar along the way.

  Today? Minus one well-loved motorcycle and unwilling to risk the second, he drove his Tahoe along the curving road leading to his sister and Jay’s place. In his mind, the place was a mansion. Ten thousand square feet with decks and oversized windows on all sides giving kick-ass views from any spot.

  Way didn’t envy a lot, but when it came to his sister’s new residence, yeah, he sure envied that view.

  He slowed down, maneuvered through the hairpin turn, and lowered his visor when glaring sun blinded him.

  Warm rays shined down and—shit—he missed that damned bike. The years he’d spent searching for parts, perfecting the engine and handlebars, ticked through his memory. Sent a surge of fresh anger streaming.

  Dwelling on it wouldn’t help. Besides, Shep had already promised to help him retrieve as much of it as they could. How they’d do that Way had no idea. He’d leave it to his mountain-climbing brother to figure out.

  Up ahead the gray pickup had pulled into an emergency area on the side of the road, hazards blinking.

  What the hell? The woman had blown right past him and now sat, possibly disabled.

  With all the crazy bullshit he’d dealt with this week, he should drive on by. Call Maggie and tell her to send a deputy up to handle it.

  Café owner.

  There was the old guy from Guam, flashing in his mind. No matter what Roni had said, despite it making a lot of sense, when it came down to it, Way had let that old man down.

  The distance between Way and the pickup narrowed.

  Call Maggie.

  But he was right here. And it was a woman, he thought, driving.

  What if she needed medical attention? Having a seizure or something. By the time an ambulance got all the way up here, she’d be dead.

  “Son of a bitch.”

  He couldn’t do it. Couldn’t drive by and risk something happening to the driver.

  Easing to a stop behind the truck, he grabbed his .45 from the steering column holster that kept his weapon in reach at all times. Damned handy, that.

  He might be playing good Samaritan, but after the week he’d had? No risks. If whoever drove the pickup intended to set him up, Way wouldn’t make it easy.

  Before exiting the Tahoe, he grabbed his extra holster from the glove box and secured it to his waistband, draping his T-shirt over it. If this was a woman in distress, freaking her out by approaching with a weapon wasn’t exactly neighborly.

  He shot Maggie a text, letting her know there was a disabled vehicle on the road and to send a deputy ASAP.

  If it turned out to be a false alarm, he’d text her again, but for now, he had shit to do and couldn’t get too caught up here.

  Keeping his gaze on the driver’s side door, he tucked his phone in his front pocket and strode toward the truck, hands at the ready.

  “Hello?” he called.

  No response.

  Through the back window he spotted short hair under a black baseball cap. The truck dwarfed the driver. Woman. Had to be.

  She rested her head against the rear glass of the cab. Sleeping? If so, she was crazier than he’d originally thought when she’d passed him on the road.

 
He approached the driver’s side. The window had been lowered. Any other day, it wouldn’t have struck him as odd. Today? After his friend being shot and his fight with Roni, nothing seemed ordinary.

  And that bugged him enough to send an icy stab straight up his neck.

  “Ma’am?” Another two steps and he’d be at the door. No movement from the driver.

  What the fuck?

  Something’s off.

  He angled sideways in front of the door. “Ma’am?”

  No response. His pulse ratcheted up, the buh-bum-buh-bum whooshing in his ears.

  Paranoid. That’s what he was. And damned tired from the late night with Roni.

  Relax, dude.

  He inhaled through his nose, let the cool mountain air refocus him.

  "Ma’am, are you all right?”

  Finally she moved, turning her head toward him. Holy shit.

  Bernadette Andrews sat in the pickup, her short hair covered by the baseball cap. She looked different now. Gone was the ethereal quality he remembered. The eyes. Something had changed. The laser-sharp blue had turned stormy. Feral.

  He shook his head, focused on the woman behind the wheel and what the hell might be going on.

  “Bernadette?”

  Her arm came up.

  Gun.

  Shit.

  Way lunged sideways. Boom! She fired off a round, the bullet whizzing past him.

  He dropped, his body hitting the hard pavement with a thwack. He rolled under the truck. Exhaust pipe heat blasted down on him and the engine clunked into gear.

  Shit.

  Inches above his face, the driveshaft whirled as he worked his gun from his holster and reached up. Boom. He fired through the floorboard.

  Bernadette’s piercing scream cracked the quiet morning air. Another clunk sounded and then—nothing. Zero movement.

  Did the bullet connect? Was she injured?

  Dead?

  The driver’s side door popped open—definitely not dead—and two small sneaker clad feet hit the pavement. Another cry—the whine of an injured animal—scraped at Way’s nerves and Bernadette dropped to one knee. The woman peered at him under the truck, baring her teeth.

  Feral.

  “I’ll kill you,” she said, as if she were reciting a shopping list.

  She aimed the gun.

  Boom!

  The round exploded inches from Way’s face and ricocheted off the pavement sending bits of hot oil-soaked concrete skittering into his mouth. He spat them out, hoping to hell he hadn’t lost any teeth in the mix.

  Beyond Bernadette’s shoulder, an SUV with glossy black wheels came around the curve. Hell no. He didn’t need his sister’s superstar boyfriend driving into this goatfuck.

  He shifted the gun to his left hand. Twenty yards away, the Rover slid sideways and halted, the horn blaring.

  Bernadette rolled to her side—boom—and fired at the Rover.

  Go.

  Way’s heart banged against his chest wall, the pounding bringing him to focus. Take her out. He fired. The gunpowder’s familiar smell of burnt plastic rose and he inhaled, let it snap him back to his training.

  Bernadette wailed again and reached back, grabbing her ass cheek. Got her.

  A dark patch soaked one side of her jeans.

  But, Jesus, for a wounded woman, she wouldn’t stop. Adrenaline. She scrambled to her knees.

  He peeked at the Rover and no.

  No.

  Roni kicked the door open, leaping out, gun in hand. Using the door for cover, she fired at Bernadette. Boom. Boom-boom.

  Way took aim at one of Berndatte’s ankles, pulled the trigger and…click.

  Jammed. Goddamnit.

  He racked the slide and cleared the jam.

  Boom, boom, boom. Bullets flew from Bernadette’s gun, the sound bouncing off rock and echoing.

  At the Rover, Roni’s piercing swear reached him. Way whipped his head around. She flapped her hand. Shot? Too far away to see blood. Maybe grazed.

  He scanned the ground. Roni’s gun had skittered beyond the cover of the Range Rover’s door, landing near the side of the road. Out of her reach.

  If she tried to retrieve it, Bernadette would plug her full of holes.

  She’d better not move. “Stay there!”

  Bernadette peeked under the truck, checking on him, and Roni charged toward the front of the pickup. Of course. Damned stubborn woman. Why should she listen to him?

  The truck suddenly sagged. Bernadette. Crawling back into the pickup.

  Go. He scooted to the passenger side, slid out from under the truck and hopped up at the window just as Bernadette slammed a fresh magazine into her gun.

  He raised his weapon, but Bernadette was quicker.

  Way ducked.

  Boom. Glass shattered and shards blew out over his head.

  Move.

  He duckwalked to the rear of the truck. Rising, he did a quick peek. Bernadette lunged from the cab, firing off two rounds in Roni’s direction. She spun back and—duck—blasted another round at Way.

  Shit.

  The bullet careened off the truck bed. Metal chips and paint flew, smacking into Way’s forehead. Warmth oozed near his eyebrow and his eye stung. He closed his eyes, opened them to a kaleidoscope of red.

  Dammit. Bernadette would be on him in seconds. He wiped his eyes, trying to clear the blood. No good.

  He wiped again. And blinked. Better.

  At least until the barrel of a gun pressed against his temple. “You’re done.”

  Bernadette’s breath was hot on his ear. Way’s mind exploded, sending blasts of panic, one after another, firing into his bloodstream, making his head pound as he gritted his teeth.

  And waited for the bullet to rip into him.

  “Bernadette!”

  Roni’s voice.

  Thunk.

  Way flinched at what had to be the sound of something hard connecting with Bernadette’s skull. The gun barrel fell away and Way spun, ready to pounce. Roni stood with a large hunk of rock in one hand. He peered down to where an open gash on Bernadette’s head chugged, covering her short grayish blond hair with oily blood.

  The rock. Roni must have whacked her with it. Fearless woman.

  My girl.

  Sirens wailed, stabbing at Way’s already fried nerves. He spun, found Maggie’s cruiser bearing down on them. The car came to a screeching halt as the door flew open and Mags jumped out, drawing down on them. All in seemingly fluid motion.

  For all the grief he gave his sister, she was damned good at her job.

  Way put his hands up. “We’re fine.”

  “What the hell’s happening?”

  He glanced down at Bernadette and blew out a hard breath. “I think we found our shooter.”

  24

  Roni sat on the back step of the open ambulance, sunlight blazing down on her, while Cash Kingston wrapped her bleeding hand. Behind her, another medic jotted notes on a clipboard.

  “You’re lucky it only grazed you,” Cash said.

  Truer words didn’t exist. Particularly if it had been one of the frangible bullets they’d been chasing.

  At the time, she’d lost her head, seeing only Way’s empty SUV and Bernadette Ambrose on the ground firing under a pickup.

  Presumably at Way.

  Something had snapped in Roni’s brain, obliterating any sense of reason. With her training, she should have known better. But Way needed help. If making herself a target was the cost of saving his life, she had no problem doing it.

  Lord, when had she ever gone that far for someone?

  Beyond Cash, a second ambulance carrying Bernadette pulled away.

  So many questions. Was Bernadette their serial killer? The one shooting people with Way’s deadly bullets? Given her connections to all the players, it could very well be, but none of it made sense.

  “I don’t understand,” Roni muttered.

  "Honey,” Cash said, “welcome to the club. I can’t figure out half th
e shit I’ve seen.”

  Given his job, Roni didn’t doubt it.

  Beyond Cash, Way strode toward her with Maggie in tow. Between his quick steps and his glaring, Roni didn’t need to be a genius to figure out he wasn’t happy.

  “Roni,” he said, his tone sharp enough to carve cement. “What the hell were you thinking?”

  Cash secured the last of the medical tape and offered her a movie-star-worthy smile. “My brother. Always a charmer.” He straightened up, angling back to Way. “Dude, take it down a notch.”

  “Fuck off, Cash. Do you even know what she did?”

  Alrighty. Apparently Way had no fear when it came to his older brother. Was it wrong that she found it a little, well, hot?

  Cash looked back at her with arched eyebrows. She shrugged. “He’s right. I stepped into the open to draw her fire. I must have flinched, because there’s no way that bullet should have missed me.”

  He shook his head and sighed. “In that case, his beef with you is legit. Women are just straight-up crazy sometimes.”

  With that, he turned away, facing the storm known as Way Kingston. “Go easy on her. She was trying to save your ass.”

  Way halted. Just…bam. Who knew it was that easy to deter him?

  Cash stepped aside, giving Roni a helping hand up from her seat on the back of the ambulance. “Thanks, Cash.”

  “You’re welcome. I’ll put together some stuff for you to take care of the wound.” He jerked his head at Way and Maggie. “Good luck with these two.”

  Maggie edged around Way, holding one arm to block him. “Before anyone starts yelling, are you all right?”

  Had to love Maggie. Roni nodded. “I’m good. It’s just a graze.” She gestured to Jay’s SUV. “Did it get hit?”

  “Two shots to the door.”

  “Oh, ouch. I’m so sorry.”

  Maggie waved the apology off. “Don’t you dare apologize. You just saved my brother’s life. Besides, Jay won’t care. Knowing him, he’ll buy another one.”

  Way propped his hands on his hips. “What the hell were you doing here?” he said to Roni.

  “I didn’t like the way we left things. I was literally pulling out of the gate when Maggie called me. She said she heard shots.”

  “Come again?”