by Lynda Bailey
Lynch snapped his gaze to the agent. “You didn’t tell her?”
“We couldn’t chance the news leaking,” Jarvis responded. “It might have jeopardized your release. I did, however, call DA Murphy this morning, but only because I’m required to notify the local authorities.”
“DA Murphy? You mean Adam Murphy? How long’s he been DA?”
“Since about six or seven years ago when Graham Dupree got into a car accident and ended up paralyzed from the waist down.”
“No shit?”
“No shit,” Newman replied. “Because he’s permanently confined to a wheelchair, Dupree didn’t think he could continue as the district attorney. Murphy stepped in and has been the DA ever since.”
“Huh…” Lynch again stared out the window, not sure how he felt about Dupree being paralyzed. Maybe he should revel in the justice that the man who prosecuted him and sent him to prison now had to deal with his own personal imprisonment. One with wheels. But the best Lynch would muster was mild interest.
“And speaking of Dupree…”
Lynch looked at Jarvis’s reflection in the rearview mirror. Even wearing sunglasses, he felt her sharp gaze.
“I want to make something perfectly clear, Callan. Your job is to find out who Blackwell is and help nail Fuentes.”
Her terse tone flared his anger. “I know my job.”
“See that you don’t forget it.” Her mouth stretched into a thin line. “You are not to go rogue and try to exact revenge on Dupree.”
Lynch narrowed his eyes. “Relax, counselor. The former DA has nothing to fear from me.”
“Or his family,” she added. “You’re to leave his family alone as well.”
He redirected his stare out his window. “Or his family…not that I remember Dupree having any family.”
“Well, he does. He married the sheriff’s sister.”
Lynch’s insides went cold and he whipped his gaze back around. “Shasta?”
Jarvis’s posture snapped to attention. “You know her?”
Lynch schooled his expression. In the last seven years, he learned not to react to news, whether good or bad. If an inmate discovered a weakness, the consequences could be deadly. “I know of her. Everyone in Stardust does. She’s an Albright after all.” He hitched his shoulder. “I’m just surprised she married Dupree. That guy’s old enough to be her father.” He flipped opened his phone. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to call my mom.”
He punched in the memorized number, but his thoughts were on Shasta.
She was married to Graham Dupree, a man in a wheelchair.
He didn’t begrudge her finding someone to share her life with—and he certainly never expected her to wait for him because he was never suppose to get out of prison—but Graham Dupree? That didn’t fit with the carefree spirit he once knew.
The ringing of his mom’s phone yanked his thoughts from his former girlfriend. It rang four times before she answered.
“Yeah?”
The prick of tears burned his eyes at the husky timbre of her voice. Up to now, he hadn’t truly believed he’d ever see her again. He coughed. “Ah…hi Mom.”
A long silence met his salutation.
“Lynch?”
Her voice sounded so tiny, he could barely hear it.
“Yeah…Ma. It’s me.”
“Oh my God…Lynch?”
Her joyful shriek echoed in his head as the corners of his mouth lifted. “How ya doin’?”
“How am I doing?” Her tone changed dramatically. She no longer sounded happy, but pissed. “What the fuck kind of question is that? Why the hell are you calling me? Oh my God…are you in trouble? Hurt? What’s going on?”
“It’s okay, Ma. Really. I’m…uh…out.”
“Out? What do you mean you’re out? Out of where?”
“Prison.”
Another pregnant pause. “What did you do?” she hissed. “Did you escape? Are you on the run?”
He laughed. “No, Ma. I didn’t escape.”
“Then what the hell is going on?”
“It’s kinda a long story—”
“Good thing I’ve got lots of time for you to explain it,” she shot back.
Lynch blew out a breath. “Okay, okay. I had a visit from a lawyer this week—”
“Lawyer? What lawyer? Since when do you have a lawyer?”
He grinned wider at her rapid-fire questions. “Do you want me to explain or not?”
“Fine,” she huffed. “Explain.”
“Anyway she came to see me and—”
“She? So this lawyer’s a woman?”
“Yeah.” He stared at Jarvis’s semi profile. “She’s a woman.” The agent pursed her lips. “And she petitioned for a new trial. I’m out until then.”
“Really, honey?”
He swallowed the sudden thickness in his throat. “Really.”
“Oh my God…” She wept into the phone.
Lynch stared hard at the back of Newman’s seat to keep from breaking down too.
His mom sniffled loudly. “So you’re coming home?”
“Yeah. We should be pulling in about six.”
“Who’s driving you?”
“My, uh…” He coughed. “Lawyer.”
“You say you’ll be home around six?”
“Give or take.”
“Then I’m calling everyone. We’re gonna have one hell-raising, welcome-home party for you!”
“Ma, that’s not necessary—”
“The hell it’s not. My baby boy’s coming home. If that isn’t cause for a celebration, I don’t know what is.” Paper rustled on the line. She had to be making one of her famous lists. “Bring your lawyer, honey. I want to thank the person responsible for getting you out.”
“I really don’t want—”
“You never should’ve been convicted.” Anger dripped from her words. “Fucking small town with its fucking small-minded people. You were innocent. Fucking bastards railroaded you.”
The conviction in her voice warmed his chest. “Thanks, Ma.”
“So, your lady lawyer. Is she pretty?”
His mom dragged out pretty so it sounded like two words instead of one. Jarvis, pretty? No. Certainly good looking though. For a fed. Lynch gazed out the passenger window to the looming hills bordering both sides of the highway. “Guess some might think so.”
“And would you be one who thinks so?”
He shook his head with a subdued chuckle. Leave it to his mom to tease him. The line suddenly crackled then went dead. “Hey, Ma…you there? Hello?”
“Lynch? Honey? Can you hear me?”
“Yeah, but I’m about to lose the signal so I guess I should hang up.” He didn’t want to. He wanted to keep talking to her all the way to Stardust just to hear her voice. Emotions pressed against his ribcage. God…he’d missed her. “I’ll, uh, see you in a little while, okay?”
Another sob echoed in his ear. “Okay, honey. See you soon. I love you, Lynch.”
“I love…” He cleared his throat. “Love you too, Mom.”
He disconnected the call then pressed his thumb and forefinger to his eyes with a shaky breath.
“Hey.” Using the rearview mirror, Jarvis stared at him. “You okay?”
Lynch straightened with a nod. “Fine. My mom’s having a party tonight and wants you to come.”
“That’s nice of her,” Newman said, “but we’ll pass.”
A smile played at Lynch’s mouth. “A word to the wise, Agent Newman. It’s not a good idea to tell my mother no. That has a tendency to piss her off. And that’s something you really don’t want to do.” He settled into his seat and closed his eyes. “Wake me when we get there.”
*
Five hours later, Lynch woke with a king-sized kink in his neck. Despite the pain, he couldn’t remember sleeping so well or so hard while sitting upright. Of course not having to keep one eye open like he did in prison helped. He yawned loudly.
Newman glance
d over his shoulder. “Good, you’re awake. We’re coming to Stardust city limits.”
Lynch stared at the unfamiliar scenery surrounded by the all-too-familiar Sierra Mountains. “Is this Route 314?”
“Yes,” Jarvis replied.
“When it go from two lanes to four?”
She smirked. “When you were in prison.”
They passed the sign welcoming people to Stardust, Nevada, population ten thousand and twelve.
Ten thousand? When Lynch went inside, barely four thousand people lived here. Gas stations and fast food places dotted the side of the road. A subdivision, with expensive looking houses, occupied the field where he and his buddies used to play baseball. And instead of the stand of old-growth oak trees, a huge industrial park stretched out almost to the base of the nearest mountain. He remembered carving his and Shasta’s initials in one massive trunk…
Everything had changed. The reality of all that he’d missed hit him hard. But what the hell did he expect? For Stardust to remain in a time warp where nothing changed? He certainly hadn’t.
A very different person rode into Stardust than who left seven years ago. A smarter person, for sure, and a more cautious one.
And a narc.
The car’s GPS navigated them through Stardust. Soon, the neighborhoods became more recognizable. Lynch’s pulse increased and his gut contracted when Jarvis made the final turn onto his mom’s street.
Cars and Harleys lined the narrow avenue, with a conspicuous spot vacant right in front of the white and beige, single-story, clapboard house. Jarvis eased into the space and killed the engine.
Heavy metal music and raucous laughter spilled from the residence. At least this looked—and sounded—the same. Lynch climbed out, barely noticing his stiff muscles from hours of riding in a car. He gazed at his childhood home. Jarvis and Newman joined him.
Jarvis nudged his shoulder. “Remember to stick to the story about your release. No one can suspect anything else. Got it?”
“Got it.”
Lynch licked his suddenly dry lips and led the way up the tiered front walk. The evening breeze raised the hairs on his skin. His heart thumped in time to the bass guitar. A fluttery sensation filled his stomach when he gripped the door knob and twisted.
Half a dozen older versions of Streeter members, some with old ladies he remembered, some he didn’t, stared at him from beneath a Welcome Home banner that stretched across the living room wall. Someone switched off the stereo. The resulting silence crashed down on Lynch.
Then a swarm descended on him.
Amid whoops and cheers, arms clasped him while hands slapped his back. Smiling and nodding, he accepted the boisterous welcomes when a shriek all but shattered his eardrums.
“Lynch!” A petite woman with short, frosted brown hair rushed forward and launched herself at him, nearly strangling him in the process. “You’re home…oh thank God. Thank God. Thank God. Thank God.”
He returned his mother’s hug as the faint fragrance of her citrusy perfume filled his senses. He buried his face in her shoulder, blinking furiously at the sting in his eyes. His chest squeezed. When had she had gotten so small?
She pulled back and took firm possession of his hand. Tears ran down her cheeks as her soft blue eyes searched his face, like she couldn’t believe he was there. He couldn’t believe it either. Her gaze slipped to Jarvis. He’d forgotten the agent stood beside him.
He moved to the side. “Uh, Mom, these my…attorney.”
Jarvis extended her hand. “Emma Jarvis. It’s a pleasure to meet you Mrs. Callan.”
His mother shook it. “I’ve never been a Mrs., so call me Edie.”
Jarvis smiled. “All right…Edie. And this is my associate,” she indicted Newman who filled the doorway, “Sam Newman.”
The agent nodded. “Ma’am.”
Edie peered down her nose at him. Tough to do when you’re five foot three and staring up at a man six foot plus, but Lynch’s mom managed it just fine.
She huffed. “I’m no more a ma’am than I am a Mrs.” She gave his “attorney” an appraising perusal. “You don’t look like a stuffy a lawyer type.”
Jarvis laughed, an inviting tinkle which didn’t sound the least bit forced. “I assure you I am a lawyer, Edie, though hopefully not the stuffy type. And Sam’s a private investigator who’ll help ferret out the truth about your son’s case.”
Lynch fought to keep his mouth from dropping open at the smoothness with which Jarvis lied.
“Good.” His mother nodded once. “I’m glad someone finally realized my son’s innocent of those charges.” She turned a critical eye to Lynch. “Did they feed you in the last seven years?” Her palms rested on either side of his waist. “Look at this…you’re no bigger around than a rail.”
With a grimace, he shooed her hands away. “Ma,” he protested. “Don’t fuss.”
“Don’t fuss?” She planted her fists on her hips. “Don’t fuss? I’m your mother, Lynch Abraham Callan. I’ll fuss any time I please.”
“Ah listen to the boy, Edie,” a voice boomed. “And don’t fuss.”
Lynch would know the owner of that voice anywhere. He turned, and Rolo Pruett, the barrel-chested president of the Streeters, strode from the kitchen. Always a stout man, the seams of Rolo’s cut jacket were stretched tighter than usual across his increased girth.
With his easy smile, big belly, white bushy beard and hairline that reached the top of his head, Rolo resembled a kindly Santa Claus. But anyone who underestimated him would regret that fatal mistake because under that loveable façade beat the heart of a ruthless gang leader.
Rolo enclosed Lynch in a manly bear hug. “Welcome home, brother,” he whispered.
More tears gathered in Lynch’s eyes, but he collected his wits and smacked the other man’s back then stepped away.
Rolo offered his hand to Jarvis. “Rolo Pruett.”
Jarvis’s smile remained frozen as she shook it. “Emma Jarvis. And Sam Newman.”
After shaking Newman’s hand, Rolo draped his arm around Lynch’s shoulders. “We can’t thank you enough for bringing our boy home. There’s a keg out back and burgers on the grill. We’d be honored to have you stay for dinner.”
“Thank you,” Jarvis said, “but it’s been a long day and—”
“Have you eaten?” Edie asked.
“No, however—”
“It’s settled.” His mom commandeered Jarvis and Newman’s wrists. “You’re staying.” She marched them toward the kitchen. “This is a party, goddamn it. So we’re gonna have fun.”
Lynch smiled. Those poor agents…they never saw his mom coming. He turned to Rolo, but caught a glimpse of unruly, blond dreadlocks and scruffy beard. The lump in his throat increased as his composure again threatened to crack.
Hez lingered in the hallway.
Rolo followed his gaze and moved back. Hez came forward.
Always taller and thicker than Lynch, Hez looked even more so now. He grinned that lopsided grin of his and playfully punched Lynch’s arm. “How’s it going? Gotten laid lately?”
Lynch laughed and a tear ran down his cheek. “More often than you.” He swiped a hand across his eyes with a sniffle. “Jesus, you’re uglier than I remember.”
Hez’s face crumpled, and he clutched Lynch in a fierce hug. “God…it’s so good to see you, man,” he croaked.
“You too, brother,” Lynch mumbled into his shoulder. “You too.”
Hez eased away and brushed his thumbs across Lynch’s wet cheeks. “Fuck…I need a beer.”
Lynch choked out a half chuckle, half sob. “I need a whole fucking keg.”
Rolo slung an arm over each of their shoulders. “Let’s go take care of that.” He ushered them through the kitchen and into the back yard.
An extra-long table, surrounded with a mishmash of lawn chairs and covered with a red and white checkered tablecloth, dominated the grass while a keg sat on the edge of the patio. The charred aroma of cooking meat saturate
d the air, whetting Lynch’s appetite. Charlotte and Dawn, two old ladies who’d been with the Streeters since before he was born, manned the barbeques. Past the “ques” were card tables laden with every salad and side dish known to man.
And desserts. Good God, the desserts.
His mom hadn’t relinquished control of either Jarvis or Newman and they patiently stood by as she introduced them to everyone. A small smile touched his lips. He’d given the agents fair warning his mom didn’t take no for an answer.
Another horde of well-wishers swamped Lynch, with more embraces and a few cheek kisses. Rolo filled plastic cups from the tap. He handed one to Lynch and Hez then lifted his own in the air. “A toast!” the president bellowed.
Other cups rose.
Rolo looked at Lynch. “To coming home.”
A chorus of “coming home” echoed. Lynch drained his glass in two gulps. God, he’d forgotten how good beer tasted. Since he hadn’t eaten since lunch, the alcohol hit his system with a splash. He wiped the foam off his lip and held his empty out to Rolo. Chuckling, the president poured him another.
Lynch looked around the yard. It looked…smaller somehow. Smaller and different. Yet the same. Just like Stardust.
He coughed the heaviness from his throat. “Where’s Flyer?”
It killed him to ask, knowing the answer, but to not question the absence of the VP would cause suspicion. And Jarvis instructed him to act normally.
Rolo’s cheerful bearing dipped. He handed a fresh beer to Lynch. “Flyer…he, ah…left us, son.”
“Left? Left to go where?”
Rolo rubbed the side of his nose. “He needed to go…ah…to Idaho to visit his pops.”
“Or so he claimed.” Bitterness rang in Hez’s voice.
Lynch cocked his head. “I don’t understand. What happened?”
Hez turned away, his mouth in a tight line, and swallowed more beer. Lynch looked at Rolo.
The president blew out a breath. “It was maybe a month after Flyer left when he sent a text to your ma. Said he’d been seeing someone else. For months. That they went to Idaho together and that he…wasn’t coming back.”
Lynch pretended outrage. “What the fuck?”
“That’s right,” Hez spat out. “A goddamn Dear John text…you believe that shit? Fucking bastard. It tore your momma up bad, man. Real bad.”
