Or just get the hell out of here and go home.
Nope. Better to face a room full of hateful people than to get into a standoff with her stubborn sister. Nic could hang here for a few hours, then go home. Hopefully by that time Cassy would be asleep, or long gone. Yeah, that was wishful thinking on the leaving part.
Steeling herself for the first confrontation, she strode to the nearest open seat at the bar, making it there without being accosted. Nic settled on the stool and braced her arms on the polished wood bar. The butt of her Glock pinched her right side; she wasn’t unprotected. But she was living in a state that allowed concealed carry, and any number of these people could be armed.
A sardonic smile played across her mouth. Who in their right mind would level down with her after she took out a man with a sniper shot?
The flash of a white bar towel caught Nic’s attention, and she lifted her head. Patrick Keegan’s expectant expression asked what he didn’t voice.
“Hi, Patrick. I’ll just have a ginger ale.”
“You look like you could use some food, Nic.” Patrick reached under the counter to open a small fridge.
“Maybe here in a bit.” The small amount of the enchilada she’d eaten was making her already tense stomach hurt more.
He poured the ginger ale in a glass. “Want to start a tab?”
“That’s fine.” Nic took the offered glass and napkin. “Thanks.”
Gripping the edge of the bar, Patrick tilted his head to the side and gazed at her. “Lots of people are talking about what you had to do yesterday.”
“They can shove where it don’t shine, too.” Nic saluted him with her glass and gulped the fizzy soda.
“I don’t think I’ve heard you sound so bitter before.”
“You barely know me. How would you know when I sound bitter or not?”
He leaned forward, a secretive smile gracing his full, pink lips. “I might be young, but people say I have an old soul. When you come in here, you’re usually in good spirits, and not once tonight have you teased me about my ‘pretty boy’ hairstyle.”
His smile was infectious. Nic scratched her forehead, trying to control her twitching lips and not grin. Someone at the other end of the bar called for Patrick.
He glanced that way, then placed a hand on her arm. “Ignore the busybodies and the old biddies who just want to make themselves feel better about themselves. We do what we have to do for the greater good.” He gave her a wink and went to serve the waiting patron.
She stared at her haggard reflection in the mirror, then sipped more of the soft drink. God, a smooth whiskey would taste good right now. But she’d promised herself it had to end. No more liquor. She closed her eyes as she gulped more ginger ale. She couldn’t take Aiden’s path. The glass thunked against the bar. Nic opened her eyes and stared into the pale yellow liquid. He’d failed. She wouldn’t.
“Well, shit. Patrick, I didn’t know you allowed trigger-happy killers in here.”
Chapter Seven
Nic’s grip around the glass tightened, making a squeak. Clenching her jaw, she slid her gaze toward Doug Walker. He stood with his hands on his hips, his right hand hooked over his off-duty pistol. Right behind him was another cousin of his and Dusty’s. They both looked lit and ready to cause hell.
“Shove off, Walker.”
Her coworker slapped a hand on the bar next to her. Nic expected it, tensed her body in anticipation of it, but she still flinched at the crack of flesh against wood. Every nerve in her body screamed to grab her gun and put him down. Protect herself and the innocents.
“I’ve lived in this town all my life.” Walker’s soured breath rolled over her. “My family helped build this place out of nothing.” He leaned closer. “You’re the outsider, Rivers. You shove off.”
He was drunk and slow. And that worked in her favor.
Nic rotated on the barstool to face Walker. Her gaze flicked behind him to his cousin, who was unsteady on his feet. If she got into it with another deputy off-duty, the town council would have Hamilton’s head and force him to sack Nic.
And she didn’t give a damn.
“Last warning,” she said.
A twisted grin appeared. “Or you’ll do what?”
From the opposite side of the bar, someone’s hand grabbed a fistful of Walker’s hair and slammed his head down on the bar. Nic jerked back, startled that the deed she’d planned wasn’t done by her own hand. She looked to her left and inwardly groaned at the sight of O’Hanlon holding Walker’s head against the bar.
He barked at the other man to leave, and Walker’s cousin bolted for the door as fast as his inebriated body could move.
Nic became aware of the lack of voices in the pub. She glanced at the mirror, glimpsing the piercing gazes. Irritation clawed at her nerves. How dare they eavesdrop. This was going to be all over town by 9:00 a.m. tomorrow, and if there was repeat with the gossipmongers from past experiences, Nic would be painted as the instigator in this situation. That thought inflamed her anger.
“Doug, I warned you after your fourth beer that if you stirred up trouble in my mam’s place, you’d have me to deal with.”
“I haven’t done anything.”
“Yet. Be glad it was me who slammed your face into the bar and not Nic.”
Walker squirmed. “What are you talkin’ ’bout?”
O’Hanlon leaned over Walker’s ear and spoke so only he and Nic could hear. “You know there’s a reason why the sheriff had her take that shot. Right now, she’s loaded for bear. I just saved you the agony of having to visit the ER tonight with a bullet in your leg and being out of work for weeks.”
Nic heard Walker swallow above the sound of the music.
With a final shove, O’Hanlon released Nic’s coworker. Quickly, the other man thrust himself upright. His eyes darted to Nic then back to O’Hanlon. Adjusting his clothing, Walker backed away, about-faced, and exited the pub.
“Fun’s over, folks. Enjoy your specials.”
Everyone returned to their food.
Nic had a few seconds to relax before O’Hanlon pointed at her and then a backroom door to her left where he headed. Gathering her drink glass, she slid off the stool and followed him inside the pub office. O’Hanlon shut the door behind her.
Being hyper-vigilant was a curse. She was too aware of every movement he made as he shifted around her to sit on the corner of the desk and the musky scent of male and fried food that clung to him. Nic tossed back the rest of the ginger ale. She wasn’t drunk this time, and her body was reacting to him the same way it had last night. Being a sex-deprived female was another damn curse.
“What are you doing, Nic?”
“Walker was the one—”
“I ain’t talking about Doug. We all know he’s a horse’s arse. What are you doing here? I believe you were told to lay low until this thing blows over.”
She rolled the glass in her hand, staring at the bottom and wishing it had something stronger in it. Suddenly, it disappeared from her grasp. O’Hanlon set the glass down on the desk with a clunk and resumed his spot on the corner. “Are you asking to have your career cut short because you can’t follow a few direct orders?”
“I never asked to be the one to shoot Dusty. Damn it, O’Hanlon, he killed his wife. What the hell was I supposed to do? Let him kill the kids, too?” She pointed at the door. “None of these backwoods rednecks gives a damn about that li’l piece of information.”
“And why do you let it bother you that they don’t?”
She staggered at his question. Why did she care? She didn’t. Deflect.
“It makes my job easier if they aren’t hanging around like vultures, waiting for me to give them a reason to tear into my flesh.”
The penetrating stare he gave her warned he wasn’t buying her line.
“How long have you lived here, O’Hanlon?”
He crossed his arms over his thick chest, straining the sleeves of his brown T-shirt. Nic’s mouth went dry a
t the sight. She ground her molars together to squelch the desire burning a path through her body.
“Long enough to know that these people are good folks and they haven’t dealt with the kinds of things you have. When they want answers, they’re used to getting it straight. What happened yesterday with Dusty bothers them.”
“So, they take it out on me?”
His features tightened for nearly ten seconds. Slowly, the lines around his mouth smoothed. “Nic, how do you think the residents of a big city, say, like Chicago, would react to what you did?”
She sighed. Cupping the back of her neck, she massaged the tense muscles. “Somewhat the same way, but the likelihood of them personally knowing the victim would be exceptionally lower.”
“True. And the incident would blow over in a few days. That’s not true here.” He lowered his arms and braced his hands on his knees. “Folks here remember things their grandparents told them about as if it happened to them personally. But they’re a forgiving lot, if you don’t make matters worse.”
She wanted to roll her eyes. She’d done nothing wrong in coming here tonight. Walker was the one pushing for a fight.
“What do you want from me, O’Hanlon?”
The way he stared at her gave Nic the strong impression he had something on his mind that involved using their mouths for something other than chatting. Bumps covered her exposed skin at the thought of his hard lips pressed to hers.
“Go home.” His command jolted her. O’Hanlon stood, moving closer to her. “Stay away from any place that sells liquor. Hell, stay out of town. Just go home.”
Like earlier today, having him so close unnerved her. Backing to the door for a hasty escape, she paused. “What about my tab?”
“It was one ginger ale. I’m sure I can handle it.”
“And if Walker is waiting for me in the lot?”
“I already sent Patrick to check. If Doug’s waiting, he’ll let me know.”
“You just think of everything, don’t you, O’Hanlon?”
He smiled. “Better to be prepared than sorry.”
Where had she heard that line of bullshit before? Oh, yeah, The General.
Scowling at the reminder, Nic turned and exited the office, all sexual thoughts of O’Hanlon and her together systematically locked down.
She left the Killdeer Pub without a backward glance and stalked to her vehicle. Another face-off with Cassy waited for her back at the house.
Oh, goodie.
Chapter Eight
Despite her best attempt, the next morning Nic didn’t rise early enough to beat her sister out of bed. Fresh coffee and something Nic hadn’t smelled in ages—chocolate-chip pancakes—filled her bedroom with their tantalizing aromas. She lifted her face from the pillows, and, turning to rest her cheek on one, she inhaled the scents, letting the few good memories from her youth flow forward.
Emma, Cassy’s mother and Nic’s stepmother, always made chocolate-chip pancakes the first Sunday of the month and on the girls’ birthdays, or if Nic had an especially difficult time with The General. Toward the end, before Nic joined the Marine Corps, there had been many difficult days. She’d given up on ever eating her sole comfort food again.
Until now.
Pushing her body up and off the bed, Nic pulled on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. She snagged a ponytail holder off her dresser and padded out into the kitchen, wrapping her hair in a messy bun.
Judging by her sister’s shorts and sweat-stained, gray T-shirt, Cassy must have taken a run this morning. She turned from the stove and froze, a plate of pancakes in her hand.
“Hungry?” she asked.
“What are you doing?”
Cassy set the plate on the island counter. “Making breakfast.”
Nic’s irritation increased by a notch. “No, this isn’t just making breakfast. You’re trying to butter me up for something.”
“Oh, for the love of God.” Cassy’s arms went up in the air in surrender. “For once, would you can the suspicious act and just accept that not everyone is out to get something from you?”
“Who told you? Who told you what happened? And how the hell did you find me?” With each question, Nic stalked closer to the island until she was squaring off with Cassy.
A dark expression masked Cassy’s features as her eyes narrowed. She looked so much like Emma until she got mad, and then The General’s genes poured through.
“When are you going to accept that you need help? You don’t have to live with whatever is eating away at your mind, Nic.”
“You’re too old and too jaded to be that naïve, sister.” Nic about-faced and headed for her room.
“And you’re too damn bullheaded. Just like Pop.”
Skidding to a halt, Nic whipped around and rushed the counter. “Don’t ever”—she slammed her hands on the top—“compare me to that man.”
The lone reaction she got out of her sister was raised eyebrows. Snarling, Nic vacated the kitchen. To hell with Cassy. If she wanted to waste her time around here, fine. Nic yanked a clean uniform out of the closet and quickly dressed. With her duty belt settled in place around her waist, she slipped into the bathroom to scrub her teeth. She’d grab something to eat at the diner or the bakery down the street from the department, if they didn’t turn her out for being a “trigger-happy killer.”
She left the house without a backward glance at her sister and climbed into the Jeep. Sunglasses in place to ward off the rising sun, she turned to back out of the drive, catching a glimpse of Cassy in the living-room window. Gunning the engine, Nic sped around the turnabout and then rammed the shift into drive. Gravel spewed from under the tires as she left.
To hell with her.
• • •
Con removed his sunglasses upon entering the sheriff’s department and hooked them by an earpiece in his front shirt pocket. Nic’s desk was unoccupied. Disappointment coiled through him, only to be quickly banished by relief. If she wasn’t here it made his pending conversation with Shane about her less awkward.
On the other hand, Doug Walker’s desk was occupied. There was a bruise on the right side of Walker’s face.
Satisfaction made Con grin; then it was gone. He headed straight for Shane’s office and, giving the door a quick rap, entered. “Hey.”
“Con.” Shane rocked back in his chair. “Do I owe the pleasure of your visit as an explanation to what happened to my deputy last night?”
“Partly.” Con nodded at the door. “May I?” Given the go-ahead, he closed it and took a chair across from the man he’d known since high school. Relaxed, Con interlocked his fingers and cradled his head. “My explanation for Deputy Walker: He was warned to behave in my mam’s place of business. He chose to ignore that warning, and I had to deal with him accordingly.”
Shane’s mouth twitched. He sighed and bobbed his head. “Didn’t know Maura hired you to be her bouncer.”
“Most customers know better. She gets the occasional unruly visitor who doesn’t care, and I deal with it. I’d rather it be me than dragging in your crew to break it up.”
“Makes sense. What’s the other part?”
After sending Nic home last night, Con spent the rest of his time in the Killdeer Pub mulling over what to do about her decline into a dark hole. His brief conversation with Cassy after she arrived confirmed what he feared: Nic was suffering from PTSD, and no one knew what was causing it. He still didn’t have a solid plan when he left the pub last night. He slept on it—if two hours of uninterrupted sleep laced with dreams of Nic counted—and decided it was time to let the cat out of the bag. At least to Shane. Throw the ball in her boss’s court and let him decide what to do next.
But now that he sat here, Con wasn’t sure this was the best course, either.
He scratched his head then dropped his hands in his lap. “Did Doug tell you why I had to bang some sense into him?”
“Something about Rivers. He wasn’t too clear on that reason. Seems he and his cousin were drun
k enough to ‘forget’ pieces of what happened.”
That gave Con some wiggle room. He’d take this conversation as far as he could without ruining Nic’s career.
“Doug was picking a fight he couldn’t win. Sounds like he’s none too happy that Deputy Rivers had to put a stop to his cousin’s murderous tirade. And, honestly, Shane, there are people in this town who are asking why you allowed her to do it.”
“They’re asking because the big city media put a rotten spin on what happened. I heard what Dusty was saying. I know what he wanted to do. Rivers was our best shot at stopping him before he killed his kids.”
Con narrowed his eyes. He’d been so focused on Nic and her situation that he never stopped to read Shane’s account on the incident. “Does she know what he said?”
With a shake of his head, Shane bent forward and rested his arms on his desktop. “Con, something wasn’t right with what Dusty was spouting. I asked Doc Drummond to run a tox screen on Dusty and Seth Moore, too. He’s got to send the panels to DCI. It could take a while for the results to come back.”
Iowa’s Department of Criminal Investigation could get backed up, even for a small agency. Places like Eider and McIntire County didn’t have the resources that DCI had to do the forensic testing, and for Shane to send something to the lab in Ankeny meant he suspected foul play.
“What are you not saying?”
“After you found Moore’s suicide note, I knew something was up. All that talk about atoning for sin and such was the same BS Dusty was spewing. He was so drunk I couldn’t fully make out what he was saying, though I did record each conversation until he had enough. Dusty said he had to cleanse his family of sin. I don’t know what the hell that was supposed to mean.”
“Did you tell him you had a sniper ready to shoot him?” Con asked.
“Yes, and he didn’t give a damn. Con,” Shane said in his serious sheriff’s voice, “I discussed this development with your chief, and he agreed to let you work with my department on these. Officially, I’m handing over the lead to you; I’ll handle the public side of it.”
Atonement Page 6
