by Lynda Bailey
“Excellent,” Graham said. “I know I’ll rest easier knowing my family is safe.”
Dell nodded. “It’s settled then. I’ll have—”
She slapped her hands on the chair armrests, and three sets of male eyes landed on her. “You’re all being ridiculous. It’s ludicrous to think I’m in danger.”
Dell squinted. “What makes you so certain?”
“Because—” She stopped herself before saying Lynch would never hurt me.
If that come out of her mouth, it would lead to a bevy of questions. Questions she did not want to answer.
She’d hadn’t breathed a word to another living soul about her connection to Lynch, and she wasn’t going to now. Biting her lip, she pressed her fingers to her temples. She pulled in a slow breath. “When would this all have to start.”
“Immediately.” Dell went back to scrawling on his pad.
“But I have a spa date with Melissa in Reno this afternoon.”
“Cancel it.” Dell didn’t even bother looking up.
Her jaw dropped. “I will not cancel. We’ve waited over three months for an opening.”
Dell nailed her with a hard look. “Again, I don’t care. You’re not going anywhere without a police escort. Period.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake. Lynch is on the other side of the state. Even if he drives a hundred miles an hour, he won’t get here until late this afternoon. There’s absolutely no reason for me to cancel my plans.”
Graham took her hand. “Please do this. For me.”
She couldn’t say no to the stark plea in his eyes. Her shoulders drooped. “Fine. I’ll cancel.”
Dell threw his hands in the air. “Hallelujah.”
She rounded on her brother. “But the only one assigned to me and Wyatt will be you.”
“Why?”
She gave him her most wicked smile. “Because I intend to make your life miserable for your overprotective, Neanderthal attitude. I’m not helpless, you know. I can take care of myself.”
Graham kissed the back of her hand and smiled. “We know, honey. Believe me. But that doesn’t mean we don’t worry about you.”
She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Apology accepted. Now if you’ll excuse me.” She stood.
Her brother sat taller. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“Home, to cancel my spa date and take a shower. Unless you want me ripening up the air in your stationhouse.”
Dell reached for his phone. “Fine. I can’t go with you, but Todd can.”
Todd? Ugh. She crossed her arms. “No.”
Her brother’s eyes ballooned. “No? You just agreed this was necessary.”
“I also just made the point that Lynch isn’t within five hundred miles of Stardust. I think I’ll be safe showering in my own home.”
“But Callan isn’t your only threat. The Streeters could come after you.”
“They haven’t in the last seven years. Why would they suddenly target me now?”
“Because Lynch is being released,” Graham offered. “Sometimes it takes a catalyst like that to motivate them for revenge.
Shasta looked at Adam, who’d been abnormally quiet. His intent stare knotted her stomach. She toughened her posture. “Does anyone else know Lynch is getting out?”
He shrugged. The small movement reminded her of a rattlesnake shedding its skin. “Doubtful. I only received a call once Callan’s lawyer knew I couldn’t block his release. I doubt she’d risk telling a lot of people for fear the news would leak and they’d lose the element of surprise.”
“In other words I should be fine.”
“Should be doesn’t mean you will be,” Dell rebutted.
She shook her head. “You’re not winning this argument, big brother. I’m going home—alone. But I’ll be back in time for you…” She pointed her finger at Dell. “…to buy me lunch. A number four from Hopkins Deli, no mayo and extra pickles.” She placed her hand on Graham’s shoulder. “Call me when you get to Vegas?”
“Of course.” He maneuvered his chair toward the door. “I’ll walk you out. My taxi should arrive any time now.”
Nodding, she looked over her shoulder at Dell. “Guess I’ll see you later.”
“Count on that, sis,” he grumbled.
She glanced at the district attorney, barely suppressing another shudder. “Adam.”
“Shasta.”
The way he said her name scurried more icky goose bumps over her skin. She wasted no time escaping the stationhouse with Graham.
The handicap van was indeed waiting for her husband and once he was safely aboard, she waved and watched as it exited the parking lot. Once in the sanctuary of her car, she called Melissa and begged off the planned activity. Her friend sounded disappointed, but accepting. Shasta then inhaled a breath and texted 411 to Mark “Hez” Hernandez.
Hez had been Lynch’s best friend since they were kids, and once Lynch went to prison, he became her confidant. But she hadn’t had any contact with Hez in over two years. Her cheeks heated at the memory of what drunken mess she’d been that last time…
She shoved the image away and stared at the blank screen. What if Hez had a different number? How would she get in touch with him? She only had a small window of time before needing to be back at the station…
The answer came when her phone buzzed with the message on my way.
She tossed her phone in the passenger seat and turned the ignition key, wondering what Hez thought of her contacting him after all this time. Well, that couldn’t be helped.
He needed to know Lynch was getting out of prison before it was too late.
Chapter Four
SHIT. SHIT. SHIT.
I can’t believe my phone beeped with the message she’s just sent the 411 text…the code for her Streeter buddy, Hez, to meet her. I knew I should’ve killed that bastard when I had the chance. If he lays one finger on her, I’ll…
It’s been over two years since Shasta met with Hez. Two years of me being stupidly complacent. No doubt the news of Callan’s release prompted this rendezvous—that reality only fuels the anger pounding through my blood.
I know marriage to the “invalid” has been hard. She’s so young and beautiful, she deserves a husband who can satisfy all her needs. But soon enough when she’ll get everything that coming to her. She’ll get me. She just needs to stay patient—and celibate. I’ll be supremely disappointed if she doesn’t.
I slammed my sedan to a stop, the sound of gravel spewing beneath the tires, but I don’t worry about attracting attention because no one’s around. I get out and head for the house. I’m so furious, the door key drops from my hand.
Once inside, I march past the sheet-covered furniture and into the back bedroom with the blackout curtains, ignoring the vile memories this place always elicits. I flip on the overhead light then sit at the lone desk and chair. I turn on my laptop and wait impatiently for it to boot up.
Sudden panic grips my chest. How long has it been since I last checked the equipment? The nanny cam in Callan’s trailer is most likely still operational, but what about the camouflaged hotspot boosters on the light poles between here and there? What if the wind storm last month jarred the wiring? It’d only take one misalignment to send the signal in the wrong fucking direction.
Holding my breath, I stare at the blackened screen. Then, slowly, the interior of the shitty Winnebago comes into focus. Relief has me almost creaming my pants. Now I just have to wait to see what happens next.
I don’t have to wait long as the door bangs open. Shasta walks in, with Hez right behind her.
He pivots her around and into a hug. My head practically explodes.
“It’s been a long time, beautiful,” he says. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Shasta moves away and my blood pressure lessens. “We need to talk.”
Hez leans against the kitchen counter. “Okay. What’s up?”
She crosses her arms. “Lynch is being released from pri
son this afternoon.”
Jolting upright, Hez’s mouth drops open. “No shit?”
“No shit.”
“How did that happen?”
“Some fancy lawyer took on his case and got him a new trial.” She glances away, her lips pressed together. “Thought you should know.”
Hez runs a hand down his face. “Yeah. Thanks.”
“Could you please collect my things?” she asks, her voice so quiet I almost don’t hear it. “I’d do it myself, but I hafta get back to the stationhouse. I’m under some stupid lockdown.”
Hez’s eyebrows pop up. “How come?”
“Everyone thinks I’m in danger because Lynch is getting out.” She shakes her head. “So will you get my stuff?”
“Of course. Text me a list and I’ll put it all in a box. Where should I leave it?”
“Um…out behind the garage at the house. There’s a bunch of other junk there so it shouldn’t be noticeable if I don’t get to it right away.”
“I’ll take care of it today. The box’ll be there in the morning.”
She shifted. “Thanks.”
Hez moves from the counter. “You’re welcome.” He pulls her into a loose hug and I grip the desk edges, the tension building behind my eyes again. He releases her and kisses her cheek. “Promise you’ll take care of yourself. Okay, beautiful?”
She smiles. “I promise.”
I don’t relax my posture until the trailer stands empty. Then slowly…ever so slowly…my body unwinds. I take a breath and unclench my grasp on the desk, but I’m far from calm.
If only Dell had died seven years ago when I shot him, Callan wouldn’t be getting out of prison. No…he’d be on death row, or better—dead. It’s more than what he deserves. What either of them deserve.
God…I hate both of them, but especially Callan. I didn’t realize the extent of his corruptive effect on Shasta until it was too late. Until he’d stolen her from me. Stolen my son—because Wyatt should have been mine. But he’s not, and it’s because of that fucker.
Now I have to exterminate Callan and her brother all over again—along with the kid…Callan’s kid.
I know eliminating Wyatt will hurt Shasta, but it can’t be helped. All vestiges of that bastard’s influence on her life must be eradicated. I’ll make it up to her, though. I’ll give her more sons.
Better sons.
Long ago, I knew Shasta belonged to me. And no one would keep me from having her—not even her father. That hunting accident ten years ago? Daddy dearest never should have claimed I wasn’t good enough for his daughter. Imagine that…me not good enough.
When Shasta should have turned to me for comfort and support, she turned to her brother—and Callan. I needed to get rid of them. Too bad they didn’t have the decency to die.
I stare into space. I’ve allowed myself to become distracted these past few years, building then maintaining my business relationship with Fuentes. I took my eye off of what’s truly important…her. Maybe it’s time to retire. To take her away. Far away.
The more I contemplate this, the more excited I become, and my dick responds in kind. I undo my pants, slip my hand inside and fist my cock.
Yes…
Since Callan’s out, the timing could work to my benefit. I made him my patsy before, I can make him one again.
My erection hardens. God…sometimes I’m too brilliant for my own good. I’ll tie up the loose ends here in Stardust while ensuring Callan takes the fall. Only this time around, he will get the death penalty. As will Shasta’s brother—and poor, little Wyatt.
The thought of justice finally being served on Callan fills me with schoolboy glee and I pump my hand faster. I close my eyes and picture Shasta kneeling before me, naked. I finger the tip of my dick, imagining I’m tracing it along her lips before I feed it inside her mouth. All the way. Until I touch the back of her throat. Her eyes water as she gazes up at me, adoration written on her face…
Very soon she’ll be mine and mine alone.
Once and for all.
Chapter Five
LYNCH MARCHED ACROSS the lower exercise yard, Officer Morgan right at his elbow.
Nearby convicts paused in their workout routines to stare. The weight of their gazes pricked Lynch’s skin. He focused on placing one foot in front of the other to keep from tripping. He still couldn’t fathom he was actually being released.
Since the visit from Jarvis and Newman three days ago, Lynch half expected to get shanked in the shower. He definitely didn’t expect to be making this walk. The only way he figured he’d leave this place would be feet first.
In the control room, the checkout procedure passed in a blur. He stood where told and signed on dotted lines. Garbled words filled his ears. Morgan ushered him through a set of mechanical doors, and Lynch found himself in the building’s lobby.
He blinked at the sunshine streaming through the glass of the barless windows. This sunlight seemed different than what it had been just moments ago in the yard. This seemed brighter. Cleaner. Freer.
Morgan pulled open the front door and waited for Lynch to step over the sill.
Seventy feet of dirt lay before Lynch. No Man’s Land. He never thought he’d live to see it from this angle.
“Let’s go, Callan,” Morgan prodded. “Up to the red line.”
The red line was at the base of Tower One, and where Lynch stopped. Morgan handed the documents to the tower officer who verified everything one last time.
On the other side of the wire mesh fence, Jarvis and Newman loitered next to a sedan. Newman sported a gray polo shirt and black pants while Jarvis wore a light-colored blouse and khaki slacks with her hair down. Both agents wore sunglasses, but stared in his direction.
Lynch kept his eyes straight, his face devoid of expression. Sweat trickled down his back and beaded on his upper lip. Finally, the immense steel gate rumbled open.
Commanding his legs to move forward, soon the fifteen-foot tall, electrified fence stood behind Lynch. Stars clouded his vision. He hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath—probably since he exited his cell.
He inhaled slowly, savoring his first taste of non-incarcerated air in seven long years.
Free.
The word reverberated through Lynch’s head. He was free.
Or was he? The reason behind his release crashed down on him. He had to inform on the Streeters. His crew. His brothers. His gut soured at that thought.
It’s like the old saying went…freedom was never free. Seemed like he’d substituted one prison for another—minus the bars.
A car door opened. “Come on,” Jarvis said. “We’ve got a long drive ahead of us.”
Lynch grasped the backseat passenger handle and slid into the upholstered seat. A fake pine scent itched his nose. He buckled his seatbelt. Newman sat in front of him with Jarvis behind the wheel.
Newman twisted around to look at him, two flip-style phones in his hand, one black and the other silver. The agent held out the silver. “This is a burner and it doesn’t leave your person. It’s got GPS so we’ll have a fix on you at all times.”
Lynch took it. “GPS? As in military tracking shit?”
Newman’s mouth kicked up. “As in military tracking shit.”
With a shrug, Lynch wormed it into the back pocket of his Levis.
“Jarvis and I also have burners,” Newman continued. “The numbers are programmed into your phone. When we call, we’ll ask for Darren. If it’s not safe to talk just say you’ve got the wrong number then get back to us within thirty minutes. Do not, under any circumstances, call anyone but Jarvis or myself on that phone.” He handed over the black one. “This one’s for general use.”
Lynch rolled his eyes. “Two phones? Tracking me? Is this cloak and dagger shit really necessary?” He turned the second phone over in his hand.
“In a word, yes,” Jarvis replied. “I’ve been working to bring down Blackwell and Fuentes’s human trafficking operation for over five years. When
Jerry—Agent Olsen—got into the Streeters, it looked like the opening we’d been waiting for. But it wasn’t, and a good man paid the ultimate price. This time I’m not leaving anything to chance, especially something preventable like our burner phones getting traced.”
Lynch chuckled. “Secret spy shit. I suppose the entire FBI’s on speed dial too, huh?”
Jarvis and Newman shared a look, but said nothing.
Distrust narrowed Lynch’s eyes. “What?”
Jarvis squirmed in her seat. “No one from the Reno office knows anything about this op.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because the last time we got within striking distance of Blackwell and Fuentes, we walked into a trap. We believe they have a person or persons inside the bureau.”
Lynch sat forward. “So what happens if things go wrong?”
“They won’t,” Jarvis asserted. “They can’t.”
“But what if they do?” he persisted. “I’ve got my mom to consider in all this.”
Newman torqued around in his seat again. “If you think you’ve been compromised, or if there’s an emergency of any kind, text 411 to either me or Jarvis.”
“Then what?”
“Then we’ll deal with the situation,” Jarvis replied.
“Deal with the situation?” Lynch repeated. “Christ. Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
Newman arched an eyebrow. “Would it have made a difference?”
Lynch sat back and popped his tight neck muscles, directing his gaze out the window. Flyer’s murder needed to be avenged, so no, it wouldn’t have made any difference. “Just the three of us doing this thing? Great.”
“I said no one local knows anything,” Jarvis said. “But both Portland and Sacramento offices have been fully briefed and will be ready to move at a moment’s notice should there be any trouble. We’ll just have to…improvise until they arrive.”
Lynch shook his head. “Whatever. When will we get to Stardust?”
“About six.”
Newman glanced at Lynch over his shoulder. “You should maybe call your mom. She doesn’t know you’re out.”
