On a Knife's Edge

by Lynda Bailey

  Awareness tightened Lynch’s skin. Once he got back to town, would he see her? He disliked how his pulse skipped at the prospect…a slim prospect. Shasta might not still live in the miniscule town of Stardust, though the thought of big brother Dell allowing her to leave seemed remote. Then there was the fact he’d been accused of trying to kill her brother. She could very well hate him, as she should.

  But none of that mattered. The past needed to stay in the past. The only thing that mattered was finding out who murdered Flyer.

  Jarvis stood. “I’ll see about getting you into administrative segregation until you’re released.”

  Lynch’s stomach knotted. Ad Seg…he couldn’t go into Ad Seg. He had obligations and debts to deal with before getting out…starting with warning Oscar about Beck. “Nobody said anything about me going into segregation.”

  She picked up her briefcase. “It’ll be several days before I can make this deal happen and we can’t risk your life by putting you back into the general population.”

  “But putting me in segregation will risk my life.”

  Her brow wrinkled. “That makes no sense.”

  “Not to you, but it makes perfect sense to me, and to every other convict. No one’s been to see me since I got here and now suddenly my lawyer…” He mimed quotation marks in the air. “…pays me a visit and then I’m put in protective custody?” He shook his head with a humorless chuckle. “There’ll be a torpedo gunning for me before supper tonight. Ad Seg or no Ad Seg.”

  “That’s preposterous.”

  He hitched his shoulder. “That’s prison.”

  She paused then shook her head. “It’s too dangerous. I won’t endanger this operation on a hunch.”

  “It’s not a hunch. It’s reality. But…” He stood and nodded to Morgan who moved to the door. “…it’s your decision. Too bad I won’t be around to tell you I told you so.”

  Jarvis huffed a breath. “All right. Fine. You go back to your cell, but,” she jabbed her finger at him, “so help me God, Callan, you end up dead, and I’ll kill you.”

  Lynch exited the room, a grin on his face. “I’ll keep that in mind, counselor.”

  Chapter Three

  WITH THE WIND cooling the sweat on her skin, Shasta Albright Dupree ran.

  She often claimed she loved running because she needed the exercise and it gave her time alone to think. But the truth was she ran for the simple, sheer joy of it.

  The isolated desert landscape of her favorite trail passed in blurry focus. The crisp spring air burned her lungs as her footfalls against the hard-packed dirt reverberated up her legs, through her torso and into her head. Her fanny pack bounced rhythmically against her hip. Nothing compared to a good, long run. It rejuvenated her soul. Granted her freedom—if only for a short period. The restrictions of being a mom and wife could be smothering at times.

  It wasn’t that she didn’t dearly love her six-year-old son, Wyatt, because she did. She’d give her life for him. And then there was Graham, her husband, a truly awesome guy.

  She’d known Graham her whole life, seeing he was her dad’s best friend. He’d been the DA when her dad held the sheriff job. For over twenty years, they doled out their brand of law and order justice, with her father the law and Graham the order…

  And when her world had careened dangerously out of control, Graham stayed right by her side. He’d been her rock. Her savior. Plus, he loved Wyatt like he was his own…

  Shasta couldn’t ask for a better life. She had a roof over her head, food in the fridge, a great kid and devoted husband. If not for the car accident shortly after their wedding, which left Graham paralyzed from the waist down, everything would be perfect.

  Disgusted with her selfish thoughts, she raced up a sagebrush covered hill. She needed to stop complaining, even to herself. She should be grateful for what she had. Because she had a lot.

  Her hands shook as her legs protested the uphill strain. But rather than decreasing her pace, she tripled her effort. By the time she reached the top, her brain was thankfully blank.

  She danced in a circle, fist-pumping her hands overhead…her version of Rocky scaling the museum steps. She giggled at her silly antic.

  A loud whinny halted her jubilance. She crouched low then scampered to the side of a boulder and peered into the ravine on her right. A small herd of wild mustangs grazed about sixty feet away. A roan-colored stallion stood watch over three mares, two of which looked pregnant. The stallion’s ears jutted forward, his eyes wide. He pranced, his snout in the air trying to smell her location.

  She immediately skulked along the rock surface until upwind of the herd. She peeked into the gulch again, glad she hadn’t spooked the horses.

  They were magnificent—so regal in their wildness. She extracted her cell phone from her pack, her lips curving upward. Wyatt would love a picture of them.

  Sadness nicked her heart and her smile dipped. Seeing the wild horses reminded Shasta of her late father. Dad had nicknamed her “Mustang Filly” because growing up she’d been wild. No rule existed she didn’t relish breaking, or at least bending. A tough position for the sheriff to be in, constantly defending his errant daughter’s behavior. But Shasta’s bond with her father had always been special, especially after cancer took her mom when she was nine. With older brother, Dell, off at college, that left the two rebel Albrights alone in Stardust.

  Despite her transgressions—of which there had been many—her dad never came down on her too hard. He empathized with her defiant streak. With her need to be unfettered. Free, just like the mustangs.

  Then, seven months after her sixteenth birthday, a hunting accident took him as well…

  Shaking off the weepy memories, she zoomed in for a close-up of the stallion—when the sudden trill of her phone sent the herd galloping away through the gully.

  Crap.

  She checked the caller ID and frowned.

  Dell. Double crap.

  Her brother—and boss—had lousy timing, ruining what would have been an epic shot. Why was he calling anyway? Today was her day off. Maybe no one at the sheriff’s department could find the coffee filters.

  She snickered at that thought, and sent Sheriff Dell Albright straight to voicemail then pocketed her phone. She swiped damp hair off her forehead and stood, gazing at the dust cloud left in the herd’s hasty retreat. Maybe she could track them. Get another chance for a picture.

  She started down the hill. With a bottle of water and a granola bar in her pack, she could easily stay out for the next hour or two. Another chime of her phone indicated she had a text. From Dell—naturally.

  Where r u? Not running alone in the desert—again?!?NOT SAFE!!

  Shasta rolled her eyes. Her brother—the mother hen. She considered ignoring him, but knew that wouldn’t end well. He’d probably call on the National Guard to comb the desert for her. She typed back…

  What’s up? Today’s Fri, u no.

  I no what day it is. He added a frowning face. Adam called. Needs to meet.

  A shiver of revulsion traversed up Shasta’s spine. She’d rather pet a scorpion than spend any time with the smarmy district attorney, Adam Murphy. She despised the lecherous looks he directed her way—when no one else was watching of course. She typed on her keyboard.

  What does he want?

  Dunno, but says it’s important…when can you b here?

  An hour, maybe sooner

  Make it sooner. And B CAREFUL.

  Shasta shook her head. What did Dell expect would happen? There wasn’t another soul around for miles. Besides, she could take care of herself.

  She slipped her phone back into her fanny pack and looked wistfully at where the mustangs had disappeared before reversing direction. She started an easy jog back to her car. So much for having a day to herself.

  *

  At just before eleven, Shasta walked into the stationhouse. It’d taken her longer to return to town than she originally thought. She just hoped Dell hadn’t ha
d a complete conniption fit.

  A quiet squad room greeted her. Nothing unusual about that. Stardust was hardly a big crime-riddled city. She waved to the dispatcher, Joan, who sat crocheting at her desk, a headset balanced on her graying hair, then spied Dell in his window-lined office, talking with Adam—and Graham. Confusion knitted her forehead.

  Graham should be on his way to Reno to catch the one o’clock flight to Vegas for a week-long business trip. Irritation tightened her shoulders. If her idiotic brother had called her husband because she was a little late, she’d have his hide. She headed for the office when Todd Weedly intercepted her between a narrow row of desks.

  “Looks like someone needs a shower,” he drawled, his gaze raking her from head to foot.

  Shasta pulled to an abrupt stop, somehow managing not to scowl. The deputy, like Adam, made her skin crawl with his lewd looks and thinly veiled innuendos. While neither man ever said or did anything blatantly inappropriate, each time she came within twenty feet of them, she had to fight to keep from hurling. She needed a shower all right, but it wasn’t because of her run.

  She pasted on a smile. While she didn’t like Todd, Dell did. Her brother hired him after all. “Yeah. Went for a run.”

  Todd hitched a hip on a desk, which made his leather gun holster creak, and nodded, his gaze fastened to her chest. She shifted, grateful she’d zipped her jacket up to her neck. “Anyway, I gotta go. Dell’s waiting.”

  The deputy didn’t move one iota while she sidled around him, careful not to touch his pant leg. She felt his stare on her as she hustled to her brother’s office.

  Dell saw her approach and his expression darkened. He pushed to his feet then grabbed his cane, which was never far away, and limped to the door. Any annoyance Shasta felt toward him dissipated. While her brother might be the biggest pain on the planet, she never doubted he loved her and worried about her. After all, he’d taken care of her since she was sixteen…

  He opened the door. “Where the hell have you been? You said an hour or less.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.” She breezed past him, bussing a kiss to his whiskered cheek. She then bent over Graham’s wheelchair to do the same with his clean shaven one.

  Her husband’s powerful arms and shoulders bulged the seams of his polo shirt. He worked his upper body like a weightlifter to compensate for his lack of lower body strength. The dash of silver at his temples and his meticulously trimmed salt and pepper goatee were the only signs he was nearly thirty years her senior. She gazed into his pale blue eyes. “Shouldn’t you be at the airport?”

  “Yes, but when Adam called and said he had something important to tell us, I changed my flight to two-thirty.”

  “So my brother didn’t contact you?”

  His lips lifted in a weary smile. “Not this time.”

  Concern wiggled through her chest. “You feeling okay, honey? You look tired.”

  He patted her hand. “I’m fine. Got the start of a migraine is all. But don’t worry,” he added when she opened her mouth. “I took a pain pill and will sleep on the plane. I’ll be right as rain once I land in Vegas.”

  She bit her lower lip. “Maybe you shouldn’t go.”

  “Nonsense. It’s just a headache.”

  “That can lead to blackouts. Maybe you should—”

  “Shasta. Honey. Enough. All right? I said I was fine.”

  With a huff, she straightened and took her usual position behind his wheelchair, but Adam jumped to his feet.

  “Here,” he said. “You probably should sit down.”

  Her eyes widened. Adam being chivalrous? Not his standard MO. But he moved to lean against the wall, his arms and ankles crossed. Suspicion tap danced across her neck. Adam offers up his chair without casting even one covert leer her way.

  She tentatively perched her butt on the seat. “What’s going on?”

  Dell shuffled back behind his desk and sat heavily in his chair. “Yeah, counselor. Everyone’s here now, so spill whatever this important news is.”

  Adam uncurled his stance with a cough. “I got a call this morning and wanted to tell you all myself.”

  Graham scrunched his eyebrows together. “Tell us what?”

  The DA huffed a breath and shoved his hands into his pant pockets. “Lynch Callan is being released.”

  Shasta felt like she was being held underwater. No sound. No air. Stars danced in front of her eyes. She knew she needed to breathe, but her constricted lungs refused to work.

  Lynch Callan—the man serving twenty-five years to life for trying to kill Dell and Wyatt’s biological dad—was being released from prison? She sat in stunned silence while conflicting emotions bombarded her.

  Joy hopscotched through her chest because she’d never believed Lynch guilty of trying to kill her brother in the first place. Just as quickly, though, dread clutched her heart. Had Lynch somehow found out about Wyatt? No, that wasn’t possible. While everyone in Stardust assumed Graham to be the daddy, nobody knew the truth about Wyatt’s parentage, not even her own husband. The singular saving grace about her having a firebrand reputation as a teenager was that her pregnancy shocked no one. Truth was, she’d only ever been with one man.

  Thank God Wyatt inherited her dark brown hair. She prayed it didn’t lighten too much when he got older. Wyatt also had blue eyes, same as Graham. Except her son’s eyes bordered on the hypnotic—like Lynch’s.

  Finally guilt feasted on her conscience. If she hadn’t been so rebellious, so damn reckless when she was younger, Lynch might not have ever gone to prison—and Dell might not now be reliant on a cane to move, not to mention Graham being imprisoned in a wheelchair…

  “Released?” Dell exploded from his chair then quickly grabbed the desk for balance. “How the fuck did that happen? He’s not eligible for parole for at least another fifteen years.”

  Adam gusted another sigh. “He’s not being paroled. A hotshot lawyer from the attorney general’s office took an interest in his case. She petitioned a federal judge, and Callan’s been granted a new trial. He’s being released pending that trial.”

  “Jesus Christ.” Dell spun away, and nearly toppled over. He gripped his tall chair back and inhaled a noisy breath. Anger vibrated his entire body.

  Graham tilted forward as much as the restrictions of his wheelchair would allow. “Adam, what steps are you taking to keep Callan behind bars?”

  “Unfortunately, there aren’t any steps I can take at the moment.”

  Dell turned around, his face an ugly, purplish red. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “It means I found out about the situation just before coming here to tell you. But I believe this deal has been in the works for several days.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “Because Callan is getting out…this afternoon.”

  Dell’s eyes bugged. “This…afternoon?”

  Adam glanced away with a nod, rubbing his neck. “Look, I understand this news is upsetting—”

  “Upsetting?” Dell mocked. “I’m way past upset. Have you forgotten that bastard tried to kill me? He shot me. In the back.”

  Adam glowered. “I’ve forgotten nothing.”

  “Then keep that fucker locked up.”

  “There’s only so much power I have in this—”

  “What about petitioning for a stay?” Graham interjected.

  Adam tore his angry gaze from Dell. “I plan to file with the Ninth District Court on Monday, but that’s not going to keep Callan from getting out today.”

  Graham pursed his lips. “At least it’s a start. The thing to focus on is what to do once Callan is actually back in town.”

  For the first time since Adam dropped the bombshell, Shasta piped up. “What do you mean?”

  “What I mean, hon, is that we can’t dismiss the possibility of Callan seeking retribution for his incarceration.”

  “Retribution? Against whom?”

  “Well, me for one. His was the last case I prosecuted bef
ore…” His voice drifted off.

  She reached over and grasped his hand. Graham hated any reference to his dreadful accident. He flexed his fingers around hers with a small smile then released his grip. She settled for resting her palm on his forearm. “Do you really think he’ll come after you?”

  “It makes sense to me.”

  “And to me,” Adam concurred. He looked at Dell. “What about assigning Graham police protection?”

  “That won’t be necessary,” her husband said. “I’ll be in Vegas until next week. Hopefully you’ll get that stay and Callan’s taste of freedom will be brief. If not, we can discuss a security detail once I’m home. However, in my absence, Shasta and Wyatt will need one.”

  She jolted upright. “What? Me?”

  Adam nodded. “Good point.”

  “I agree,” Dell said. “I’ll check the roster and assign someone to watch her.”

  “But why do I need protection?” Her voice sounded shrill in her ears.

  Dell stared at her. “Because you’re my sister.”

  “And my wife,” Graham added.

  Shasta looked from one to the other. “So?”

  Graham tilted his head. “So, Dell and I are the two people most responsible for Callan going to prison. That potentially puts you in a dangerous situation.”

  “But…” Shasta frantically searched for a counter argument. “Having a deputy follow me around all the time would cost a lot of money.” She glanced at Dell. “Wouldn’t it?”

  His expression hardened. “I don’t care about the cost. You’re my sister. And I don’t want that bastard within five miles of you, or Wyatt.”

  “I may be able to help defer the expense,” Adam offered. “I’ll make a few calls when I get back to my office.”

  “And she should probably be at the stationhouse when not at home,” Graham said. “Don’t you think, Dell?”

  “Yes I do.” Dell scribbled on a notepad. “And there’ll be no more jogging in the desert alone. And if she’s not here, and if Wyatt’s not in school, the two of them will be in lockdown at the house.”

  Dread welled in Shasta’s chest, cutting off her voice. She couldn’t go into lockdown. Be a prisoner in her own home. Unable to go out. Go running…