On a Knife's Edge

by Lynda Bailey

  After another tense moment, the VP eased away as a smile curved up his mouth. A mean, threatening smile. “Sorry, man Grunge is right. We are brothers. Let me buy you a drink as an apology. Go grab some new glasses, will ya Grunge?”

  “Uh…” Grunge seemed unsure if he should leave. “Okay.”

  Junkyard settled into the chair Lynch vacated while Bowyer took up Grunge’s.

  Lynch extracted his Harley key. “Thanks, but I gotta get going. Lawyer shit.”

  Junkyard nodded. “Speaking of shit, what you wanna do about Albright taking you in?”

  “What can we do?”

  “Oh…all kinds of things.”

  Lynch tugged his ear. “You know, if anything happens to Albright, I’ll be the first one the cops come looking for.”

  “What’s the matter?” Bowyer mocked. “Scared you’ll end up back in the joint? Wuss.”

  Lynch snorted. “Spoken like someone who doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about.”

  Bowyer pulled back his lips, baring his teeth. He stood, but Grunge returned with fresh glasses and Junkyard rested his hand on Bowyer’s arm. The pit bull sat down.

  Junkyard poured a shot. “There’s more than one way to get back at the sheriff.” He lifted his glass and glared at Lynch over the rim. “But don’t worry your pretty head. You just go off and have fun with your lawyer. We’ll take care of everything.”

  A shiver chased up Lynch’s spine at the menacing tone, but he turned and left, a lead ball of dread settling in his gut. He needed to tell Jarvis and Newman about Junkyard’s threat to Albright so they could warn the good sheriff. Lynch didn’t know what the VP planned to do, but he knew it wouldn’t be at all pleasant.

  Chapter Ten

  SHASTA PAUSED AS the words and numbers blurred before her eyes.

  Since her brother and husband continued to be paranoid about her safety, her part-time job had turned fulltime. But on an average day, she barely had enough clerical work at the stationhouse to keep her busy. So her darling brother had “volunteered” her to input years of handwritten police files into the new computer database. The work made tedium sound thrilling. But at least it was work versus doing nothing. Because, like it or not, she was stuck here for the foreseeable future. And she did not like it one bit.

  She stretched her neck then went back to her mundane chore.

  “Mrs. Dupree?”

  The female voice brought up Shasta’s head, and her insides chilled. Lynch’s lawyer. Dressed in beige pants and a white blouse with just the right hint of lipstick and blush, she looked elegant yet professional.

  Shasta sat straighter, painfully aware of her drab t-shirt and lack of makeup. “Yes?”

  The woman smiled, but the amiable gesture didn’t reach her green eyes, and extended her hand. “Emma Jarvis. I’m representing Lynch Callan in his bid for a new trial.”

  Shasta shook her hand, unsure if she should admit she already knew Ms. Jarvis, and her mission in Stardust. “How can I help you?”

  “Is there somewhere we can talk?”

  “Um…sure.” Shasta pushed away from her desk. “We can use the conference room—”

  “What the hell is going on?”

  Her brother’s voice pivoted her. “Oh…Dell…this is—”

  “I know who she is.” He shifted his weight, trying not to lean on his cane, and aimed a glare at Jarvis. “What do you want?”

  The corners of the lawyer’s eyes squinted slightly. “To ask Mrs. Dupree a few questions on behalf of my client.”

  “My sister doesn’t know anything about your client.” Contempt dripped from Dell’s words.

  Jarvis arched one perfect eyebrow. “I’d like to decide that for myself, if you don’t mind, Sheriff.”

  “I do mind. Counselor.” The last word sounded like a sneer. “You’re not asking my sister anything unless Adam Murphy is present.”

  “This isn’t a deposition so it’s not necessary to involve DA Murphy.”

  “I beg to differ. My sister isn’t talking to you without legal counsel.”

  Jarvis’s expression hardened. She placed her black briefcase on the desk with a thud. “All right. I had hoped to keep things off the record, but if not, I’ll arrange for a court stenographer to be in attendance. That way everything will be official, and on the record.”

  Animosity zinged between Dell and Lynch’s lawyer like static electricity. Shasta gripped her brother’s arm. “Adam said she wanted to talk to me so let’s just get it over with. Okay?”

  He slid his gaze to her then back to the attorney. “Not without me in the room with you.”

  Jarvis gave a tight smile. “Fine. That way, I can interview you after your sister.”

  Shasta led the way to the conference room. She took a seat, with Dell beside her. Jarvis sat across from them.

  Several edgy moments passed while Jarvis retrieved a file, a legal pad and a pen from her briefcase. After slipping on black-framed glasses, she peered at Shasta over the rim, her hand poised over the paper. “Mrs. Dupree, do you know my client, Lynch Callan?”

  Shasta’s heart dropped into her stomach. How to answer that question with Dell sitting right next to her? She twisted her wedding band with a hopefully casual shrug. “I know of him.”

  Jarvis’s mouth twitched. “Let me rephrase the question. Have you ever met my client, Lynch Callan?”

  The hawkish glint in the other woman’s eyes indicated she already knew the answer. Shasta weighed the option of lying. As Jarvis said, this wasn’t a deposition so she wouldn’t face any perjury charges. But if Lynch had already told his lawyer about their…relationship…things could get sticky if she lied, especially with her brother present. She swallowed the tightness in her throat. “Yes. We’ve met.”

  Dell whipped his head around to stare at her. “What? When?”

  Jarvis saved Shasta the embarrassment of having to reply. “Sheriff, please.” The attorney frowned. “I’ll ask the questions.” She redirected her gaze to Shasta. “What were the circumstances of you meeting my client?”

  “He…uh…helped me out of a…situation. Once.”

  “And the particulars of this…situation?”

  Shasta wet her lips. “I don’t see how any of that can be helpful.”

  “I’ll be the judge of what’s relevant to my client’s case. Now when did you two meet?”

  Shasta twined her fingers. She didn’t understand how her meeting Lynch could be of any use to Jarvis. But if the chance existed that it could help, she had to go for it, Dell’s reaction be damned…

  “It was about seven years ago.” She studied her hands in her lap, feeling her brother’s hot stare boring into her. “I was still in high school at the time.”

  Silence ballooned in the room.

  “And, Mrs. Dupree?” Jarvis prompted.

  Shasta blew out a breath. “And I got into a minor traffic accident.” She boosted her shoulder. “Your client helped me.”

  Jarvis scribbled on the pad. “Were you injured in this accident?”

  “Oh, no nothing like that.” Shasta heaved another sigh. “I backed into his motorcycle with my brother’s truck,” she blurted.

  “You what?”

  Shasta flinched at Dell’s shout. She turned to him. “It happened a long time ago. Just a couple of months after Daddy died. You remember what a mess I was then.” She covered her brother’s hand with hers. “It was Ditch Day my junior year. You’d grounded me from my car and I retaliated by taking your truck. I accidentally backed it into Lynch…I mean…” She glanced at Jarvis who seemed enthralled with the story. “…your client’s motorcycle.”

  She looked back at Dell, but he stared at the table, the muscle in his cheek repeatedly popping. She tightened her hold on his hand. “Please say something.”

  His gaze snared hers. “I remember that day. My truck was found on the far east side of town. You took it?”

  She briefly closed her eyes with a small nod.

  “But th
e window and steering column were busted. Did you do that too?”

  “No. That was Lynch. Since I took your spare key, he said you needed to be…convinced someone stole it.”

  Dell’s mouth hung open. “Why that motherfu—”

  “Why did my client help you, Mrs. Dupree?” Amusement tinged Jarvis’s voice. “Did he know you were the sheriff’s sister?”

  “Oh yeah. He knew.” Shasta rolled her lips together. “He said he wished he could’ve seen Dell’s face when he realized his truck was gone. Making sure he never found out who took it would be the next best thing.” She gripped her brother’s hand with both of hers. “Please don’t be mad. Like I said, it happened a long time ago.”

  Shaking his head, he scoffed a small laugh.

  “After that initial meeting, Mrs. Dupree,” Jarvis said. “Were there any other occasions when you met my client?”

  Shasta held the lawyer’s gaze and willed starch into her spine. No way would she reveal—in front of her brother—how much her world changed that fateful day. How she stopped being so reckless because of Lynch’s friendship. How he altered her perspective on everything from school to her father’s death. How he helped her gain control over herself and her emotions. How she fell in love with him.

  Dell could never know the truth because if he did, it wouldn’t take long before he realized the truth about Wyatt. And she wouldn’t risk that. “No.”

  Jarvis cocked one eyebrow and Shasta held her breath. If Lynch had confessed all to his attorney, she prayed the good lawyer wouldn’t out her. That she understood the dire consequences if she did…

  Stars swam in Shasta’s vision, but she didn’t look away.

  Finally Jarvis nodded once and closed the folder. “Thank you for your time, Mrs. Dupree. I won’t keep you any longer.” She handed a business card to Shasta. “If I have any other questions, I’ll be in touch.”

  Shasta slowly released the air in her lungs and fought to keep from slumping in relief. Somehow she managed to stand on watery legs and walk from the conference room, leaving Dell to be interviewed next. At her desk, she sank into her chair and studied Jarvis’s business card.

  The simple yet graceful design mirrored the attorney. Emma Jarvis seemed like an excellent lawyer—a good thing. Lynch would need a first-rate one to clear his name. And it probably wasn’t a bad idea for Shasta to know a high-quality lawyer too. For what, she didn’t know. But she slipped the business card into her wallet anyway, then resumed her task of entering the police files into the computer.

  *

  At two in the afternoon, Lynch sat hunched over a cup of coffee in the back booth of the local diner, waiting for his “lawyer.”

  Immediately after leaving the clubhouse that morning, he texted her about needing to meet. Funny thing, Jarvis pushed him off until now. He lifted the warm brew to his lips. After all her bullshit pressure, he would’ve thought she’d be more interested in what he had to say. Guess not.

  The bell over the door tinkled. He looked up, hoping to see Jarvis, but an elderly couple walked to the counter and sat. He exhaled an irritated sigh and switched his gaze out the window.

  Mert’s Diner stood at the far end of Main Street and across from Stardust’s only park. Since it was mid-afternoon on a workday, no one took advantage of the nice day other than a few moms with young kids in strollers. That’s why the man in the business suit reading a newspaper caught his attention.

  He looked familiar, but it took a moment for Lynch to recognize him. Adam Murphy. Why would the DA be sitting alone on a park bench at this time of day? Some kind of weird stress relief therapy?

  The answer came when Sam Newman ambled up and parked his ass at the opposite end of the bench. A few moments later, Murphy folded the paper and placed it on the bench. He then stood and sauntered off.

  Lynch sipped more coffee and watched as Newman rose, scooped up the paper and headed in the opposite direction.

  Not a very clandestine handoff. But then how many people would actually take notice? A small town like Stardust didn’t fit the profile for a lot of cloak and dagger shit. Still, he wondered what Murphy had passed to Newman…

  His musings were interrupted when Jarvis slid into the seat across from him. He set his cup down. “Glad you could make it, counselor.”

  She frowned as she put on her glasses.

  The waitress stopped at their booth. “What can I get you?” she asked Jarvis.

  Jarvis pulled a pad of paper and a pen from her bag. “Coffee with cream please.”

  The waitress nodded while warming up the contents of Lynch’s mug and walked away.

  He rested his arm on the back of the seat. “Where’s Newman?”

  “Reno. Been there the past couple of days.”

  Lynch glanced back out the window to the now empty bench. Had Jarvis seen Newman? Did she know he’d met with Murphy? Was something going on that they weren’t telling him? Suspicion danced along his neck.

  “So, Callan, tell me what you found out.”

  Clearing his throat, he

  eased forward. Despite his misgivings the agents might not be on the up-and-up about everything, they were still his best bet for finding out the truth about Flyer’s murder, and ultimately for helping his crew. “I’m not sure, but something’s definitely hinky with the Streeters.” He paused as the waitress placed a cup and saucer in front of Jarvis and poured coffee into it. Again alone with Jarvis, he canted closer to the agent. “I went to the clubhouse and spent some time with Grunge, the treasurer. It appears that there’s been a huge influx of money into the club.”

  “What makes you say that?” she jotted on the paper.

  “There’s all this new, fancy furniture and primo booze. Real top-shelf shit. There’s also a butt-load of new members…all brought in curtsey of Junkyard Taylor.”

  Jarvis squinted. “Is that all you’ve got? A few new bodies and some liquor and furniture?” Shaking her head, she pulled off her glasses.

  “No, that’s not all I got. I was also given a wad of cash that wouldn’t choke a horse, but it’d do damage to a Great Dane.”

  “How much?”

  “Three grand.”

  Jarvis tapped her pen. “And that’s not a typical payout for the Streeters?”

  Lynch scoffed. “Are you kidding? You and Newman had it right—we’re a nickel and dime outfit. Or at least we used to be. A couple of times a year we’d get a big score selling weed in the Bay area that would tie us over, but nothing that would dole out three thousand to a brother just getting released from prison.”

  Interest sparkled in Jarvis’s eyes. “Did this Grunge say where the money was coming from?”

  “Black market pharmaceuticals.”

  “Pharmaceuticals?”

  Lynch nodded. “Supposedly Junkyard has an inside guy at a drug company in Vancouver. The story is, he and a couple of his guys go pick up the drugs—using vans—then escort the vehicles to Reno. Some of the brothers then usher the vans to Vegas where yet another crew takes over and takes the cargo south of the border.”

  “And you’re thinking those vans don’t contain drugs, but young girls?”

  “Makes sense, right?”

  “Yes, it does. How often do these shipments happen?”

  “Usually a couple of times a month.”

  “When’s the next one?”

  “I don’t know. Only Rolo and Junkyard know the when, where and route until the night before.”

  She stared at him over the rim of her glasses. “Rolo Pruett? Guess this means your friend is involved after all.”

  “Not necessarily. Rolo could be as duped as anyone else.”

  She shook her head. “All this money, and no one questions where it’s coming from? Do they all honestly believe it’s from the illegal distribution of pharmaceuticals?”

  “Look…my guys are blue-collar. Living payout to payout trying to provide for their families. With this kind of money on the line, they’re not gonna ask a lot of quest
ions.”

  “Or none at all.” Jarvis sighed. “What else can you tell me?”

  “Junkyard also has his hand in the gun and heroin trade. That might be the connection to Fuentes. And he was pretty pissed that Grunge told me all this shit.”

  Silence swallowed the next few moments as Jarvis finished her notes. “All right.” She removed her glasses. “I’m leaving tomorrow for a couple of weeks in DC, and here’s what I need from you…find out when the next shipment is, the route and the number of people in the escort.”

  He cocked his head. “That’s all you need from me?” He barely contained his laugh. “Counselor, there’s no way I’m gonna find out any of that info.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because Junkyard doesn’t trusts me. A feeling that’s mutual.”

  “Find a way around that.”

  “And how would I do that?”

  “Be creative. Put that criminal mind of yours to work. I expect results by the time I get back.” She gave him a hard stare. “Just remember, a lot of young girls—and your mother—are depending on you.”

  He bit back a scathing retort as she scooted from the booth. He reached out his hand to stop her. “There’s one more thing…”

  She paused, an eyebrow raised.

  “I think Junkyard plans to retaliate against the sheriff for hauling me in earlier this week.

  “Retaliate how?”

  “Dunno. But you might wanna give him a heads up.”

  She nodded. “I’ll have Newman handle it…thanks.”

  With that, his lawyer walked out.

  *

  Two days later, on Friday afternoon, Lynch eyed the cue ball up behind the eleven. “Corner pocket.” He drew back his stick and smacked the white ball. It collided with the eleven, but at an angle. The red-striped globe bounced off the rail and careened to the center of the table. He bowed his head. “Shit.”

  Mick laughed. “How could you miss such an easy shot, brother? You must not have had much practice time while you were inside.”

  Lynch uncurled his body then picked up his beer. “Not in the least.”

  Mick examined the table while chalking his stick. “You’ll be back to your pool-sharking self in no time, I’m sure. In the meantime, though…” He indicated the four ball. “Four in the side pocket.” The purple orb sailed in. “I intend to take full advantage.” Grinning, Mick straightened and re-chalked his stick.