Cabin 12

by Freya Barker

  “Because I want you to look into that one quietly. Not sure if it has anything to do with this, but I can’t have it shoved under the rug again when I’ve already lost two guys.”

  “All right, what if it does turn out relevant? I won’t keep anything quiet then, you know I won’t.”

  “I know, which is why I’m asking you. Look, I’ve gotta go. No emails on this, and to answer your question, if the incident turns out to be relevant, it’s about fucking time the lid came off. If not, then it’s up to your office what to do with what you find.” He ends the call before I can respond.

  A little pissed, but mostly intrigued, I immediately sign into the police department’s reports and start looking through 2013. It doesn’t take long for me to find it.

  I’m just about to start reading when Bella calls me for breakfast.

  “This stuff has some serious bite,” I comment, my mouth full of huevos rancheros.

  “Too hot for you?” Bella tosses me a teasing grin.

  “I can take any heat you dish out, Squirt,” I shoot back with a wink, which has her return a dramatic roll of her eyes.

  Breakfast is interrupted by the ringing of my phone. Ryan’s name pops up on the screen. Bella sees it too and raises an eyebrow in question.

  “Morning.”

  “Ditto. How is she?”

  I look at Bella, who has a storm brewing on her face. “Sitting right beside me with a face like thunder,” I tell him bluntly.

  Ryan chuckles. “Better then,” he deduces.

  “Getting there, but why don’t I hand you over to her, you can ask her yourself?”

  Bella almost snatches the phone from my hand, and proceeds to tear a strip off her partner, while I turn my attention back to my plate.

  Bella

  “I’m not a child, you know. I’m more than capable of speaking for myself, so if you want to know how I am, fucking ask me.”

  From the corner of my eye, I see Jasper grin around his fork. I’ll get to him later.

  “I don’t need to ask now,” Ryan answers, an annoying smile in his voice. “I can tell just by listening to you.”

  “Quit being a smartass, Ryan. I’m not in the mood.”

  “Aunt Flo coming for a visit?”

  I grind my teeth, my partner has a finely honed sixth sense for PMS, which he claims is imperative for survival in his family. He has a sister, a wife, and two teenage daughters. I think it was the second month I was riding with him that he asked me if I was on my period. I almost slugged him, but he explained, being a man, he couldn’t be held accountable for pissing me off, if he didn’t have fair warning. He actually keeps a calendar on his phone. Weird for sure, however, as I’ve found out since, he’s one of the few people who actually doesn’t piss me off. Guess it’s working for him.

  “You know damn well she is,” I bite off.

  “Good, then by the time you’re scheduled to come back to work, she’ll be good and gone.”

  “What do you mean by the time I’m scheduled to come back? I’m good to go now.”

  “Bella,” Jasper growls beside me, but I wave him off and take my call to the living room.

  “You’re bored. That doesn’t mean you’re ready to come back. You should know the difference. Have you seen someone yet?”

  I throw an accusing glare at Jasper, who just shrugs and shoves another forkful in his mouth. “I see you two have been talking behind my back.” I don’t bother softening my scathing tone. I’m allergic to being managed.

  “If you mean, have your boyfriend and I stayed in touch after sitting by your bedside, watching you withdraw from life before our eyes? Then yes, we’ve been fucking talking behind your back. Not because we don’t trust you, but because we care and are affected by what is happening to you.”

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” I return, trying to deflect. It sounds petty—even to my own ears. I know Ryan doesn’t patronize, nor would he say anything derogatory about me, and neither would Jasper. I don’t know a whole lot, but I know that. I’m not being fair to either of them.

  “Coulda fooled me,” Ryan says casually. “Has he been there every night since Wednesday? Sleeping in your bed?”

  “I don’t see how that is—”

  “Has he, Gomez?”

  “I guess,” I give in meekly, having been put in my place.

  “Then he’s your boyfriend. Get over it, he seems like a stand-up guy.”

  “He found me a therapist in Aztec. Took me to see him yesterday.”

  “See?” Ryan comes right back, hammering his point home. “A good guy. Not a douchewipe like Scott with the limp dick, or that other creep back in Farmington. Good things can happen to you, Gomez. You just have to believe it.”

  I’ve got nothing to say to that, so I don’t. Jasper looks at me curiously and I give him an embarrassed little smile.

  “I should get going. The girls are waiting for me in the car. Going to see the in-laws; pray for my soul, theirs are beyond saving.”

  When Ryan ends the call and I drop my phone on the table, I look up to find Jasper crooking a finger at me.

  “Come here, Bella,” he prompts when I don’t move right away.

  “What?” The attitude is moot, since my feet are already heading in his direction. I walk straight up between his knees and into his arms, pressing my nose in the hollow of his neck. He smells good.

  “Want to go on a date with me?”

  “A what?” I tip my head back to look at him.

  “A date,” he grins. “We kind of jumped over that part, and I wouldn’t be much of a boyfriend if I didn’t take you out at least once. Tell me something you’ve always wanted to do but never got around to?”

  “Vegas?” It flies out without much thought. It’s true, I’ve always wanted to experience Vegas, but it’s not something you do on your own.

  “That’s a vacation, I’m talking something around town. Something we could do on the spur of the moment. We’ll save Vegas for after this case is resolved. Why don’t you think about it? Fuck.” His eyes are focused somewhere behind me when he curses. “We’ve got company.”

  I hear the sound of a key turning the lock and swing around to see the front door open.

  Fuck indeed.

  A GODDAMN INVASION, that’s what this is.

  I should never have given my mother the spare key she insisted on. I could’ve prevented myself a scene just like this.

  “Isabella, maybe you should put some clothes on?” is the first thing out of my mother’s mouth, as her critical eyes scan first me—and then the rigid form of Jasper behind me—including his arm which is anchored around my waist. I’m still prancing around in my nightie, and he never bothered putting on a shirt.

  Papa steps inside behind her, toting a suitcase, the sight of which has my stomach ball up in a sudden cramp. His eyebrows shoot up when he sees us. I can only imagine the picture we make, half-naked.

  “Be right back,” I mumble, wiggling my way out of Jasper’s hold, I grab his hand, pulling him behind me into the bedroom.

  “This is a nightmare,” I hiss, closing the door behind us.

  “I’m guessing you should’ve answered her calls,” Jasper comments dryly, yanking a shirt from his overnight bag and pulling it over his head.

  I freeze with only one leg in my yoga pants.

  “You think that would’ve made a difference? You don’t know my mother, she’s relentless. Where are you going?” I ask in a panic when he reaches for the door.

  “Get dressed, Squirt. I’m going to say hello to your parents.”

  Before I have a chance to warn him about the viper pit he’s about to step into, he closes the door firmly behind him. I struggle into my pants, grab the first shirt I find, and yank a brush through my tangled hair. No more than two minutes, and already I can hear raised voices.

  When I rush into the kitchen, I find Jasper calmly making coffee. My parents, however, are nose to nose in my living room.

  “She’s my ba
by, a mother can sense when there’s trouble,” Ma hisses at my father, who does his own version of the eye roll.

  “She’s clearly not a baby. I told you to knock first when we saw the truck parked out there, but you just couldn’t help yourself. Isabella is a grown woman.”

  “She needs me,” Ma insists.

  “She looks like she’s doing just fine without you, Carmella.”

  I feel Jasper step up behind me, his hand comes to rest on my hip and his warm breath brushes my cheek.

  “Want me to grab the hose? Just say the word.” I bite down on a chuckle at his whispered words, as my parents battle it out in my living room—at my expense.

  “Coffee?”

  Jasper’s offer draws their attention, and in the next moment, I find myself folded in Mama’s arms, pressed against her chest. She’s is tall, much taller than my five two, even taller than Papa. Texas-born, and yet more Mexican than most Mexican mothers I know. It’s all about the food and the nurturing—those two go hand in hand—but it’s also about attempting to control the whole family. That’s something Papa usually lets her get away with, but clearly not today. He may look like a pushover, but he may well be the only match for my mother.

  “Ma,” I plead, trying to untangle myself. “I can’t breathe.”

  She lets me go, but then sets her sights on Jasper.

  “Does Damian know you play with his baby sister?”

  “Ma!”

  “Carmella!” Papa and I exclaim at the same time.

  “It’s okay,” Jasper says calmly, throwing a wink in my direction before turning to Ma. “He will, although, I have a feeling it may not come as a complete surprise. Bella and I together may be a new development, but we weren’t exactly strangers before. I’m pretty sure this was bound to happen at some point, circumstances just sped up the timeline.”

  “Circumstances?”

  “Ma!” I try again, and this time she turns to me.

  “What circumstances, Bella? I call, you sound horrible. You say you’re under the weather, but I hear these things about shootings, and all I can think is my baby is out there. You won’t talk to me. What are you not telling me?”

  My eyes shoot over to Jasper for rescue, but all he does is walk over, tuck me to his side, and give my shoulder an encouraging squeeze. I have a choice, I can play it off as work-related stress—but that will only enforce her position that I should find something more suitable to do—or I admit to my problem.”

  “I’m on medication for depression, Ma.”

  Her response is almost funny, it’s so predictable. Her eyes shoot immediately over my shoulder to Jasper, and I know she’s worried what he might think.

  “Everyone feels a little blue now and then. Nothing a good meal and a mother’s love can’t fix,” she comments with a fake little smile, more to him than to me.

  “This isn’t something you can fix with your chili rellenos or a hug, Mama. I struggle every day, and what makes it worse is not being able to talk about it because it shames the family.”

  Her eyes shoot to me and I’m surprised to see both shock and fear, when I was expecting anger and disappointment. “Isabella, you can always talk to me.”

  “Really? Because I’ve tried and you end up brushing it off; telling me I have to get thicker skin, make better choices. You say I should trust you to know what’s best for me—but, Mama—you’ve never once trusted me. None of you have.”

  Jasper

  “Greene.”

  Of course my phone has to buzz, right in the middle of a showdown between Bella and her mother. I try to surreptitiously fish it from my pocket to check the caller, but Mr. Gomez catches me.

  “Take it. I’ve got these two,” he mumbles from the side of his mouth.

  “Be right back,” I whisper in Bella’s ear, as I release my hold on her, but I doubt she even hears me. Her dad takes a step closer, and his calm nod assures me she’ll be fine, as I step outside on the front porch to take Luna’s call.

  “I may have a lead,” she gets right to the point. “A small shooting range up in the mountains, just north of town. Off Junction Creek Road. It’s on the property of the Arrow’s Edge MC.”

  From what I understand, the motorcycle club has been around for a few decades, and mostly keeps a low profile. I know Damian looked in on them when he took over the La Plata County office, but the last run-in those guys had with the law predates the legalization of pot in 2012. You see the guys sometimes, they own a few businesses in town they check in on, all legal as far as I know. From what I gather, most of them are veterans who had trouble adjusting to civilian life.

  “Take Dylan?” I suggest.

  “Max has soccer practice.”

  “Shit.”

  Normally Luna doesn’t need anyone holding her hand, and I know she resents having to call in for back up, but MCs are a brotherhood. A men’s club. They can be testy when law enforcement comes knocking, let alone in the form of a woman no bigger than a sprite.

  “Sorry, Jas.”

  “No, you made the right call. You at the office?”

  “I am.”

  “Give me twenty minutes and I’ll swing by to pick you up.”

  “Sure thing.”

  Inside, the mood has shifted some. I find Bella and her mother on the couch, deep in conversation, while her dad keeps a close eye from the kitchen, where he’s doing the dishes. I walk over to him.

  “I’ve gotta run out. We’ve got this case—”

  “I know, the cop shootings. Go. Carmella came prepared to stay a while if she was needed. No holding that woman back when she has her mind set on something. We’ll stick around. You go get that pendejo off the streets.”

  “About Damian—” Again, the older man stops me, raising his hand as he shakes his head.

  “You sort whatever needs sorting with my son when he gets home from his honeymoon. It’s not our business.”

  “Much appreciated.”

  I offer my hand, which he clasps tightly, pulling me toward him.

  “Told you my youngest is a handful. Glad to see you’re made of stern stuff.”

  CHAPTER 13

  JASPER

  “It’ll be the first left.”

  I follow Luna’s directions and drive through thick trees, up a winding dirt road that’s got to be hell in winter. When we round the last bend, the trees open up to a large clearing with several buildings. The eight foot high, chain-link fence surrounding it looks out of place in the natural setting.

  I drive up to the gate, which is opened by a rough-looking kid, with a red bandana tied around long greasy hair and a huge gun hanging off his skinny hips in an open holster. Some modern-day Billy the Kid wannabe.

  “What do you want?” he asks me when I roll down my window, but I let Luna answer.

  “Special Agent Luna Roosberg,” she says, flashing her badge. “I spoke to someone at the shooting range earlier, who said I should talk to Ouray.”

  “Chief don’t talk to Feds. ’Specially skinny bitch Feds. We ain’t got nothin’ to say to you.”

  I’m this close to reaching out the window and grabbing his scrawny little neck, but I manage keep a lid on it.

  “We’re investigating the recent murder of two police officers, we’d like to ask him some questions.”

  “Only good cop is a dead cop,” the punk says, with a grin I want to permanently engrave on his face with my fist.

  “Enough.” The deep baritone comes from behind the kid, where a man who looks like he’s a couple of years older than me walks up. Gray threads his beard and the short buzz on his head, and his face looks weathered by the road. The guy is solid, built like a bull, with a set of shoulders that strain the seams of his shirt.

  “But, Chief—”

  “Momma needs help with the propane, Rowtag. Now.”

  The man never raises his voice but his words clearly command respect. The kid skulks off to the larger of the buildings.

  “Ouray.” I shake the hand he s
ticks through the window. He merely nods at Luna, with a mumbled, “Ma’am,” and I have to bite down a grin when I hear her growl beside me.

  I introduce us both and he shows us where to park. He leads us inside the main building and through what looks a bit like an American Legion hall: a cavernous space with a large American flag on the wall behind the bar, mismatched tables and chairs, and a couple of old couches. The handful of people inside watch with open curiosity as we pass.

  “Sit.” He waves at a couple of chairs in front of the desk in, what I assume is, his office at the end of a hallway.

  I glance over at Luna, who is sending off agitated vibes. Her eyes are slits as she watches Ouray move behind the desk and sit down in the old leather office chair. He pays her no mind whatsoever and keeps his focus on me.

  “You’ve got questions for me.”

  “Actually, I do,” Luna speaks up, and the man ever so slowly turns his head to her, one eyebrow raised. I just sit back and cross my arms. This should be interesting.

  “That so?” There is no mistaking the mocking tone, and for a moment, it looks like I’ll have to stop Luna from flying across the desk, but she reels it in, taking a deep breath.

  “We’re investigating the shooting—”

  “Of two cops—I know.”

  “We understand you operate a shooting range?”

  Ouray leans forward, planting his elbows on his desk. “Is that a fuckin’ question? ‘Cause we’ll be here for hours if you don’t get on with why you’re here.”

  I’m tempted to jump in before this goes off the rails, but Luna is able to shake it off.

  “The shooter is a good shot. Accurate. Every nine millimeter strikes target. It’s possible he practiced with a suppressor at some point.”

  “Nine millimeter? Fuck. Hang on.” He gets up, walks to the door, and sticks his head in the hallway. “Momma! Nosh here yet?” Something is yelled back, but I can’t quite make it out.

  He sits back down when an old man—at least seventy—walks in, barely glances our way, and leans against the wall, his eyes on Ouray, who surprises me when he starts signing with lightning speed. The two engage in a silent conversation that’s starting to wear on my nerves.