Legacy of Evil

by Sharon Buchbinder

  Tallulah stood in the doorway, her glowing face wreathed in smiles. “They said love at first sight wasn’t real. Now look at you two.”

  Emma rolled her eyes at her friend so hard, she thought they’d snap out of her head. “It’s a sham marriage, for our cover. Didn’t Lucius tell you?”

  “Beautiful is so happy, she’s crying. She wants to know when you’re having the wedding feast and what you’ll be wearing. She wants you to put on the buckskin and elk teeth dress, the one you have in your closet and have been saving for your—”

  “Shut up!” Emma rushed to put her hands over her friend’s mouth. “Do you have to repeat everything she says?”

  Something pulled on her ear.

  “She’s not happy with you,” Tallulah muttered through Emma’s fingers.

  Taking her hand away, Emma said, “We’re going into town, getting rings and other stuff. Need anything?

  Tallulah shook her head and whispered, “You’d better not come back without a ring on your finger.”

  Emma grabbed Bronco’s arm. “C’mon, we’ve got a wedding to plan and some phone calls to make without nosy relatives butting in.”

  “Ready whenever you are.” Bronco led the way out the front door. “Truck or bike?”

  She chuckled. “Sure your butt’s ready for the ride?”

  “Thanks to your yarrow tea, yes.”

  “Then let’s take the bike. I have a helmet in my truck.”

  Amazement crossed his face. “You ride?”

  “I’ve been known to pop a wheelie or two.”

  His eyes narrowed. “You taught Jimmy Two-Toes, didn’t you?”

  “Maybe.” She shrugged. “Not that different from riding a horse—an iron one.”

  He shook his head. “You are one surprise after another.”

  “No. I’m a riddle, wrapped in a mystery—”

  “Inside an enigma,” he finished. “One of my favorite Churchill quotes.”

  “Me, too,” she said snapping her helmet into place and wriggling into a well-worn black leather jacket decorated with fringes and feather patterns. “Now let’s see how she rides.”

  He stared at her a beat too long, his mouth open in an O of surprise.

  Her heart stuttered at the intensity of his unshuttered gaze, and lust sparked between her denim-clad thighs. Get a hold of yourself. “Ride with your mouth open like that, you’re gonna catch a lot of flies.”

  Shaking his head, he pulled his helmet off the back seat. “You want a ride, you’re gonna get a hell of a ride.”

  “Ooo, I’m so afraid.” She shimmied her shoulders. “Bring it.”

  He lifted the helmet. “Okay, fender fluff.”

  She slugged his arm. “Better not call me that undercover.”

  “No, I’ll call you worse. Otherwise, we won’t be believable. Now let me get my lid on, so we can get engaged.” He snapped his helmet, and the engine started with one-kick. “Ready to rock and roll, Ol’ Lady?”

  Snorting at the term of endearment, Emma threw her leg over the passenger seat—what little there was of it—of the rumbling machine. Was it just the vibrations of the growling metal beast that were setting explosions off in her core? Or was it the fact that she had a good reason to wrap her arms around Bronco’s waist and hold on tight. No back rest or sissy bar meant nothing to catch her if he popped a wheelie to prove his point or—

  “Holy sh—” She grabbed onto him for dear life and shrieked with laughter as he pulled a one-eighty and rocketed out of the driveway, onto the asphalt highway, and back into her heart. Dear God, how she loved an inked-up wild man on a bike. As the road hummed beneath their feet and the engine throbbed, she hugged this hard bodied man, put aside worries and fears about the upcoming days, and allowed herself, just this once, to enjoy the ride.

  ****

  Bronco savored how tightly Emma wrapped her arms around him when he surprised her with his bike trick—but she surprise him when she lay her head on his back and continued to hold him tighter than necessary. His heart sputtered like a bike in dire need of a tune-up. Since when did he get this agitated over a woman? Never. He’d seen the effect of undercover work on enough marriages to know not to go down that aisle. The long hours, not knowing where your spouse was, the jealousies when women worked an operation with a male partner. His rule had always been no entanglements.

  Now all he could think about was entanglements—under the sheets, in the shower, and yes, even in a Vegas wedding chapel with an Elvis impersonator. A writer for a bride’s magazine would have a heyday with all his fantasies. No. He had to pull those hormone-laced cobwebs off his brain and clean up his mind. This was strictly business, and he was going to keep it that way. As soon as they got off the bike, he would make sure they were on the same page. No need to have her thinking he was really interested in marrying her.

  He pulled into an upscale mall near the heart of Billings and parked the bike. She dismounted, pulled her helmet off, and shook out her long raven black hair. Laughing, she looked up at him with a wide smile that went up to her eyes and crinkled her face. “I haven’t had that much fun on a bike since I was at Camp Pendleton and dated a guy with the Mongols.”

  “You what?” Just when he thought she couldn’t surprise him anymore, she pulled yet another cat out of the bag. “You dated a one-percenter?”

  “Well, he did have that outlaw patch, but I kinda doubt he killed anyone. Although he did have some especially scary-looking dudes in his club.” She quirked an eyebrow, “Jealous?”

  “No. I was just, er, surprised,” he said attempting to erase the deer-in-the-headlights look he was sure he had on his face. Alongside the Hell’s Angels, the Mongols was one of the most notorious MCs, or Motorcycle Clubs, in the country. That club had a history of drug trafficking, motorcycle theft, and conspiracy to commit murder. The fact that a Mongols MC member shot and killed the President of the Hell’s Angels in 2008 sealed their badass reputation in history forever. “I’m curious—how did that fit with you being a Marine?”

  “Actually, there are a lot of leathernecks in Motorcycle Clubs. When I became a recruiter, the guy who was leaving the position I took invited me to a party at his local club. That’s where I met Danny.” She looked down. “He was cute in a very bad boy way.”

  “He sounds great.” Dammit. Even he knew he sounded jealous. “What happened?”

  “Oh, the usual. Boy meets girl, boy meets another girl, girl meets another boy…”

  “So he dumped you?”

  “Yes,” she said in a low voice. “For a bleached blonde with a bigger bra size and a lower IQ. Also, he didn’t like it when I decked him for calling me ‘my bitch.’”

  “I will make a note of it and promise never to call you that.” He shook his head. “His loss.” And a surge of happiness filled his chest. My gain. “Let’s go find some rings. Nothing too fancy, but just flashy enough so they don’t look like they came out of a gumball machine.”

  “Ah, no secret decoder rings for you, I see.” She grabbed his free hand and dragged him into the entrance. “Come on. I know just the place. Family business, very classy and affordable. I know the owner.”

  “Of course you do. You know everyone in Billings.”

  She flashed him a heart-melting grin. “Not really, I don’t know the out of town students at the university.”

  “Well, maybe you need to rectify that.”

  “Another day.”

  A small midday crowd wandered in and out of stores. Some window shopped, others raced to get to the food court on lunch break. The stone and wood décor, clearly a recent renovation, added a high-class touch to the array of brand name stores. If you needed anything, even a movie, this was the place to go.

  “Enigma Fine Jewelry,” he said when they arrived at the store. “Why am I not surprised?”

  “They call it that because it’s a mystery how they produce all these custom pieces and keep their prices reasonable,” she said pointing at the sale sign. “This
is what we want. Forty-percent off everything works for me.”

  “You know that’s because jewelry is already marked up two-hundred percent, right?”

  “Buzzkill.”

  A distinguished looking gentleman with graying temples and tortoise shell glasses emerged from behind another counter. “May I help you—oh, Emma, it’s you. So good to see you.”

  “Hi Mr. Ernest, this is my fiancé, Brandon.”

  He flinched at the sound of his real name. Why had she done that?

  The older man extended his hand. “Nice to meet you, Brandon.”

  Bronco offered a firm shake in return. “Likewise. My bride-to-be has spoken highly of this store.”

  “We carry a number of Stephanie’s designer handbags and accessories.” He looked at Bronco brightly, his cheeks turning slightly pink as he spoke Stephanie’s name. “I trust you’re familiar with her work?”

  Oh, Steph was a piece of work, all right. He gave a polite smile and nodded. “I’ve heard of it, haven’t had the pleasure of seeing it—”

  “We’re not here for that, Mr. Ernest,” Emma broke in. “We’re in a bit of a hurry. Heading to Vegas for a wedding chapel with an Elvis impersonator. We need a set of wedding bands. Something simple, but appropriate.”

  He touched his chin and looked pensive. “I wonder why Stephanie never mentioned this to me.”

  “Because I didn’t know!” Stephanie flew out of the back room and hugged Emma, lifting her off her feet. “Why didn’t you call me? We can go trousseau shopping together. I’ll be your Maid of Honor. Damn, girl, you caught him!”

  His face hurting with a grin plastered in place, Bronco mentally smacked his head. How did Stephanie show up in time to hear half a conversation and launch herself into the middle of it? The timing was so bad, it was almost ludicrous. Almost.

  Speaking to her cousin in low tones only Stephanie could hear, Emma finally extricated herself and spoke in a louder voice. “We wanted to tell everyone at the same time, back at the hotel. What do you suggest? Your taste is better than mine.”

  Steph waved a hand at Bronco, “Pfft. Your taste is just fine. Look at this man. Gorgeous.”

  She winked at him. “With a dash of danger on the side. Mmm, mmm, mmm.”

  “Steph?” Emma pleaded. “In my lifetime, please?”

  “Okay, forget all those diamonds, emeralds, rubies, and sapphires.” Steph slid a manicured finger across the glass counter, stopped and tapped over a specific set. “Mr. Ernest, could we please see these?”

  “Of course.” He pulled a set of keys out of his pocket and slid open the back of the case. Placing a velvet display board on top of the glass, he set the rings on the black surface. “Exquisite.”

  Stephanie oohed and ahhed and gave a ten minute dissertation on why these rings symbolized the history of this woman and her connection to the land, and the rocky power of this fabulous man. She sounded like she was about to say, “I now pronounce you man and wife.”

  Against his better judgment, Bronco agreed with Stephanie. The Black Hills gold rings with the signature leaves and pink, yellow and white gold were perfect. Twice as wide as the woman’s, the man’s band fit his left hand without any need for adjustment. Her ring needed to be enlarged, something Mr. Ernest said he could do easily in the store, on the spot.

  “Well, honey,” Bronco said squeezing her shoulder and kissing the top of her silken head. “What do you say?”

  “Yes!” She stood on her tiptoes, wrapped her fingers in his hair and pulled him in for a hard, hot kiss. She whispered, “How’s this for a good act?”

  His lips and hips flared with passion, and he pulled her close, pressing against her in a suggestive manner. “Two can play this game,” he whispered and licked her lower lip. Her breath hitched, and her tongue darted into his mouth in response.

  “Oh. My. God. You have got to be kidding me.”

  Bronco unhooked from his faux fiancée. There in the entrance to the store stood a red-faced, out of uniform Tommy Otterlegs, with his fists on his hips. In all his bantam glory, he looked like he was about to dig at the barnyard dirt and pick a fight.

  Otterlegs stomped over to Bronco and poked him on his chest. “You get your hands off this woman, you, you, reprobate!”

  “What a big word for such a little man,” Bronco said pushing Otterlegs stubby finger aside. “Take a hike, my friend.”

  “I’m not your friend, and you’re not about to marry this woman. You aren’t worthy of Emma Horserider.” Otterlegs reached over to pull at her hand. “Emma, please, you’re not using your head. You’re thinking with your—”

  “Tommy!” Emma shook him off. “This is none of your business.”

  “As a sworn officer of the law, it is my business to serve and protect the good people of Billings, Montana.” He puffed up his chest. “I am saving you from a terrible mistake. This man is a criminal.”

  Bronco snorted, “Says who, short stuff?”

  “Says ViCAP, the Violent Criminal Apprehension Program. You have a rap sheet as long as your”—he looked Bronco up and down—“legs.”

  Bronco shook his head slowly. How could he get this stupid little man to shut up? This was supposed to be a quick trip, an in and out of the mall, followed by some digital photos for the document division in D.C. How had everything gone sideways? Running into Stephanie was one thing. She sold her designer duds here. But Otterlegs? “Have you been following us?”

  Otterlegs crossed his arms over his chest. “I have a right—no—an obligation to be aware of suspicious people in my town. You are a person of interest.”

  “So you’re saying there was a crime and you think I have something to do with it?”

  “In a manner of speaking.” Otterlegs bobbed his head. “Yes.”

  “Can you tell me the nature of this crime? Did I steal something—or someone?”

  Otterlegs turned beet red. “You, sir, are a fraud. I know you have a deep secret and a terrible history. I’m the man who is going to reveal you for the con artist that you are. You will not involve this woman in your crimes. I will not allow it.”

  Bronco struggled to keep from laughing. The little twerp had nailed him, he just didn’t know it. Jiminy cricket. Too dangerous to bring into the real story, too loose of a cannon to be trusted, the guy had to be shut down. Bronco stroked the side of his nose with his finger, “Ya know, those are fighting words.”

  The short man put his fists up. “Let’s take this outside, you outlaw.”

  Bronco smiled and peeled Emma’s grip from his bicep, and gave a deep bow. “Rooster McFusspot, at your service. Let us adjourn. “

  He turned and walked right into Stephanie. “Let me handle this one.” She wheeled on Otterlegs. “Listen, Mr. Tommy Otterlegs. If we always got into fights over who we want to love us, I would be a bruised mess.” She towered over the little man by at least eighteen inches and tapped the top of his head. “When we were in high school, you were my heartthrob.”

  Otterlegs visibly blanched. “Steph—”

  “You were so feisty, such a fighter. I love that when you entered the Indian relay races and people gave you crap because you were so small, you not only won, you won three years in a row. I can still see you, shirtless, sweaty, grabbing the horses, becoming one with those stallions—well, I digress.” She fanned herself.

  Otterlegs studied his feet, his hands flexing and unflexing into fists. “He’s a bad guy, Steph.”

  “I get it. You want to protect her.” Steph patted his head. “I wanted to protect you, too. We were best friends, remember? I looked out for you. Kept the other boys from stuffing you into lockers or hanging you on coat hooks—or worse.”

  Tommy ground out, “Stop, please, just stop talking.”

  “When I came out, I told you first. And you, you supported me. Told people to shut up, leave me alone. Even stood up to that jackass on the basketball team—and he was taller than me.” She wiped a tear off her cheek. “I loved you for that, Tommy. You
are a brave, handsome, smart man. I know you can’t ever love me back the way I love you. The point is, we don’t always get what, or who we want. You need to let go, just like I let you go, Tommy. Please.”

  Otterlegs blew out a long hard breath, threw his hands up in the air, and stomped out of the store. Bronco shook his head. “You’re a Twerp Whisperer, Steph. Thanks for defusing the little hand grenade.” Despite his words, however, he didn’t think they’d seen the last of the inquisitive little man.

  Chapter Eleven

  Emma dragged Stephanie into a quiet nook outside the store. “Thanks for doing that. You saved Tommy from losing more than his high school secrets. I need you to keep an eye on him for us. Can you do that?”

  Steph twirled her long hair and narrowed her eyes. “Why? You afraid he’ll follow you to Vegas? Hell, I’ll go with you, be your bodyguard.”

  “Yes. No. You can’t come.” Emma blew out a long breath. “Please, trust me when I tell you this is very important to me.”

  “Honey, a girl’s wedding should be special. An Elvis impersonator? Really? I don’t understand the rush. You know the clan is going to be put out if they can’t throw a big feast for you and Handsome.”

  “If everything goes well, you and the entire Crow Nation can throw a party for us.” Emma grabbed Steph’s hands in hers, “I can’t tell you everything, but trust me when I say it’s critical for Tommy to stay away from us. Use your charms, tackle him if you must, but don’t let that man follow us.”

  “I promise to keep an eye on him,” Steph said. “You’re scaring me. Whatever you are doing, please come home safely—with that lovely beefcake, eye candy of a man.”

  Emma hugged her cousin. “Who knows, maybe Tommy will come around.”

  “GFM—Gay For Me?” Steph shook her head. “That only happens in romance novels, my darling.”

  Arm in arm, Emma and Steph strolled back into the store. Steph made a show of handing her cousin over to Bronco. “When the preacher says, ‘Who gives this woman’ think of me.”