by Joanna Wylde
We had a little intervention after that.
Sitting down, I flipped through the local headlines online. There was a new pizza place going in on Sherman Avenue. The public safety levy had passed, but the fund-raising campaign for the Fourth of July fireworks show was behind in their goals. A car had been found in the lake, and human remains were inside—they were in the process of identifying the body, but the cops didn’t suspect foul play. The Post Falls Police Department had gotten a new police dog, and her name was Peaches.
The baby started to kick, and I set down the tablet, rubbing my belly slowly, admiring my diamond solitaire wedding ring set. I hadn’t wanted anything fancy, but Painter insisted I deserved the real deal.
Now that his son was beating the crap out of my kidneys, I sort of had to agree.
“How’s it going in there?” I asked the kid. “You about ready to come out and meet us?”
He kicked me again, harder. Persistent little shit. Rolling onto my side, I closed my eyes, drifting.
Might as well enjoy a nap while I still could.
• • •
The doorbell woke me up.
I blinked rapidly, hearing Painter’s footsteps as he walked over to answer it.
“Can I help you?” he asked, a touch of challenge in his voice. Blinking, I pushed myself up to find a cop at the door. That was enough to wake me up—Duck’s still body flashed through my mind, along with an image of Talia bleeding on his kitchen floor.
“I’m Detective Sam Grebil,” he said. “I’m looking for Melanie Tucker.”
“I’m her husband,” Painter challenged. “Why do you want to talk to her?”
“I can really only talk to Ms. Tucker,” he said, spotting me. I pushed myself up awkwardly, turtled by my big belly.
“I’m Melanie,” I managed to say. “Melanie Brooks, now.”
“Can I come in?”
“What’s it about?”
He sighed. “Ms. Brooks, I may have news about your mother.”
That caught my attention in a big way. It’d been nearly nine years since she’d ditched me and my dad, and I hadn’t heard a thing from her since. I rolled off the couch sideways, struggling to my feet.
“Excuse me?”
“It’s about your mother—I spoke with your father already, but he indicated you aren’t in touch with each other.”
“He’s kind of a bastard,” I said bluntly. “We haven’t talked in years.”
“A car was found in the lake by a recreational diver earlier this week,” Grebil said. “A woman’s remains were found inside. Her body was badly decomposed, but she had Nicole Tucker’s purse and driver’s license in the car with her. The windows were closed, and we found the remains of groceries in the back seat—plastic yogurt cartons, that kind of thing. We’re still investigating, but it looks like she drove off the road, rolling the car into the lake. The underbrush is thick enough through there that nobody noticed the wreck. Did anyone ever file a missing persons report?”
I shook my head slowly, trying to process his words.
“No, she took off,” I said. “I mean, she and my dad, they didn’t get along. He used to hit her sometimes. One day she was just gone—we figured she ran away from him.”
“We’d like to get a DNA sample,” he said, eyeing me with compassion. “So we can positively identify her. Until then we won’t know for sure that it’s your mother, but it’s her car, her ID, and the height is right. I don’t think she ran off and left you, Ms. Brooks—I think she died in an accident.”
I swayed, and Painter put an arm around me, offering his strength.
“I can’t believe that,” I whispered. “She . . . she left.”
Grebil just looked at me, his face tired but compassionate.
“Like I said, we won’t know for sure until we get the DNA.”
“There’s no chance my dad . . . hurt her . . . is there?”
“No evidence for it,” he told me. “At least not yet. We’re still investigating, but there’s no sign of trauma. The medical examiner thinks she probably drowned.”
“Can I see her?”
He coughed, looking uncomfortable.
“Ms. Brooks, her remains are skeletal. I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“I’m a nurse. I’m used to seeing bodies.”
“Not like this,” he said firmly. “Will you allow me to collect a sample?”
Nodding slowly, I stepped aside, letting him into the house. He asked a series of questions about the day my mom left—not that I had much to offer, since it wasn’t like she’d said goodbye—and took a cheek swab. Then he gave me his card and left.
That was it.
The whole interview took less than thirty minutes, yet it changed my whole world. She hadn’t abandoned me—it’d been an accident. Beyond her control. I felt almost dizzy, torn between sadness and a strange sense of comfort that she hadn’t abandoned me.
“How are you?” Painter asked, studying me carefully. We were sitting on the couch and I leaned into him, holding my stomach.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “This is probably going to sound wrong, but I think I’m relieved.”
“Because she didn’t leave you?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I’m not happy she’s dead, of course. But . . . she didn’t ditch me. It was an accident—that changes a lot.”
He rubbed my hair, kissing the top of my head.
“It changes everything.”
We sat there for a while, him playing with my hair and me thinking over what the detective had told me. Then I glanced at the clock and saw what time it was.
“Shit,” I said, sitting up fast. “We’re supposed to be out at the Armory right now. I promised Loni I’d be there by four to collect Izzy. She’s got all the food to organize for the party.”
“I texted her, gave her a heads-up,” Painter told me. “We can skip the party—they’ll understand.”
I considered his words. Did I want to visit with people tonight? Em and Kit were in town . . . and Marie had a car seat she’d offered to lend me. Not only that, I’d promised Dancer I’d give her boys a ride home later so she could stay and party with Bam Bam.
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “We should go. I want to see everyone—be around people.”
“Are you sure?” he asked. “This is a lot to take in. Nobody would blame you.”
“It’s not about them blaming me,” I replied slowly. “But hearing something like this—it’s a lot to process. She was my mom, my family . . . But Loni’s kind of my mom, too. And now we have a new family. Not just you and me and Izzy, but the rest of them. I really think I’d rather be around our people tonight.”
Leaning over, he kissed me.
“All right,” he said. “But if you need some space, let me know.”
I smiled.
“I will. I think I’m fine, though. Really. You’re my family now. I still miss my mom and I always will, but I’ll get through it. And I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
I would be okay. We would be okay.
And we’d live happily ever after.
For real.
AUTHOR’S NOTE: This bonus epilogue takes place in Hallies Falls, on the day following Painter’s confrontation with Marsh in Ellensburg.
BONUS EPILOGUE
TINKER
“Are you sitting down?” My best friend, Carrie, sounded breathless over the phone. “Do you have wine? I have news. Big news.”
My hand halted, wineglass inches from my mouth. Damn, she knew me far too well . . . You’re getting predictable with old age.
“Yes, I’m sitting on the porch with my wine, just like every Sunday afternoon,” I admitted. “Just half a bottle, though. It’s been a shitty week—I’ve earned it. Am I going to need more?”
“Maybe,” she said, her voice far too serious. Uh oh. “You know your sexy tenant? The one who’s been doing all that work around the building, and mowing the lawn without his shirt?�
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“I’m aware,” I replied dryly, taking another sip of wine. “I’m the one who invited you over to watch him with me, remember?”
It wasn’t something I was proud of, but I’d developed quite the weakness for my newest tenant, Cooper Romero. He’d been living in the unit directly behind my house, which fronted one side of the C-shaped apartment building my parents had owned my entire life. He was gorgeous, friendly, nice, and had a girlfriend who was not only hotter than hell, she was probably fifteen years younger than me. Seeing as I pegged him at my own age or slightly older, I obviously wasn’t his type.
Didn’t mean I couldn’t enjoy the view.
“Well, something big happened down in Ellensburg yesterday, at the car show. You know he’s been hanging out with the motorcycle club a lot, right?”
“Yes, I’d noticed,” I said, my voice turning sour. I wasn’t a fan of the club, at least not in recent years. They’d always been a part of the town, but lately they’d gotten out of hand. People were scared of them these days, and with good reason.
“Well, they got in some kind of big fight and tore up a bar. Then the cops arrested all of them. Not just the guys in the club, but anyone with them, and Cooper was right in the thick of it.”
“What?” I asked, sitting up. Cooper didn’t seem like the violent type. I mean, he was big and tough and all that, but he was always so gentle with me. I’d thought the time he was spending with the Nighthawks was just because of his girlfriend, Talia.
Their president was an asshole and a bully, and his sister—the hated girlfriend, and yes, I’m saying that out of petty jealousy—was flat-out mean. She’d caught me staring at him a while back and threatened me. Like, seriously threatened me. With a knife.
Said she’d cut me if I touched her man.
Despite all that, I’d held out hope for Cooper. I mean, he was definitely a biker, but he’d been fantastic about doing work around the place in exchange for reduced rent. Reliable. Friendly, even. We’d had a few dinners together, watched a movie one evening. I’d have thought he was interested in me if Talia wasn’t spending four or five nights a week at his place.
Screwing the skinny little witch was bad enough, but this business of getting arrested . . . that was a bigger deal.
“Guess I didn’t know him as well as I thought,” I admitted, stomach churning. “Although anyone can get caught up in a bar fight. Just because they arrested him doesn’t mean—”
“There were drugs,” she added, and I heard genuine regret in her voice. “Lots of drugs. Meth, apparently. I guess a bunch of the guys were carrying it.”
I coughed. “Meth?”
“Yup,” she said. “They aren’t saying what’ll happen to them, but it’s not good. This might be the end of the club here in Hallies Falls. I wonder if he has drugs in his apartment. You should go check—if he’s dealing, you need him out of there. You can’t trust a guy just because he’s hot and mows the lawn without a shirt.”
Lifting my glass, I chugged it dry. My nose prickled, and I sniffed. Shit, why was this bothering me so much? It wasn’t like I really even knew him.
“Thanks for telling me,” I said. “Guess that’s one fantasy man I can cross off the list.”
“I’m sorry,” she replied. “But it’s for the best. If he’s a bad guy, it’s better to find out now so you can evict his ass. That club has gotten worse and worse, everyone knows it.”
“I can’t evict someone for getting arrested. That’s illegal.”
“It’s a month-to-month lease, right?” she asked. “You don’t need a reason. Just give him thirty days’ notice and get rid of him. You don’t want that kind of trash around your place, Tinker. You’ve got enough on your plate already.”
Carrie was a great friend, but she’d always been bossy, ever since kindergarten. She’d given me the information, which I appreciated, but I also wanted to process it on my own.
“I have to go, Carrie. There’s someone coming, one of the other tenants. I’ll talk to you later.”
Hanging up the phone, I looked across the empty porch toward the equally empty sidewalk, wondering why the news about Cooper bothered me so much.
Had I really been stupid enough to actually fall for him?
Maybe a little bit.
Crap.
Reaching for the wine bottle, I refilled my glass. Should I evict him? It seemed like common sense to get rid of a potential troublemaker, but one of the main reasons I’d left Hallies Falls all of ten minutes after my high school graduation was to get away from the gossips. This town was full of small-minded, judgmental people who wouldn’t hesitate to brand someone for life for one stupid mistake.
No, I wouldn’t evict him.
Cooper had been arrested, but he hadn’t been convicted. Innocent until proven guilty—that’s how I’d approach this. I’d give him the same respect that I wished people had given me.
• • •
It was just after ten that night. I leaned forward into my mirror, rubbing moisturizer on my face and wondering if the tiny lines at the edges of my eyes were bigger than they were yesterday. Of course not, that was ridiculous . . . but I was definitely getting older, no question.
Thirty-six.
Only four years from forty, which meant I’d be officially middle-aged soon. I wasn’t ready to be middle-aged—half the time I hardly felt like an adult. It wasn’t fair. The roar of a motorcycle outside caught my attention, and I walked over to my bedroom’s second-story window to look outside.
There he was—Cooper.
I watched as he backed the bike into the curb, then swung his leg over, glancing toward my house. The outdoor lights he’d installed for me less than a week earlier cast long shadows in the darkness, and I cocked my head. Something was different. I studied him, trying to figure out what it was. He wore his usual leather boots and faded jeans. Dark hair pulled back in a braid, leather vest with . . . Wait. This wasn’t the one he’d been wearing every other time I’d seen him. That one had a Harley Davidson patch on the back, but this looked more like what the Nighthawk Raiders MC wore. Not the same as theirs, but the same style.
I waited for him to walk over to his apartment entrance, a small doorway off the ground floor not far from where he’d parked. Instead he started around the side of the building toward my porch. Crap, he was obviously coming to talk to me, and here I was without any makeup, my hair pulled back in a ponytail, and wearing jammies. Not sexy jammies, either, just a pair of boy shorts and an old T-shirt that’d been washed so many times I’d forgotten its original design.
Downstairs, my doorbell rang.
For an instant, I considered pretending I wasn’t home. Brilliant, Tinker. Your car is parked outside and your lights are on, but I’m sure he won’t notice that you’re hiding. Instead, I grabbed a long, flowing satin robe and pulled it on over my jammies before tying the belt around my waist—it’d always reminded me of something a 1940s movie star would wear. Hopefully it would give me confidence as I faced him.
Would he mention the arrest? Should I? God, how awkward. The bell rang again, and I ran down the stairs, opening the door in a rush.
“Sorry,” I said breathlessly. “I was upstairs, and . . .”
My voice trailed off as I realized something was wrong. Really wrong. Cooper’s face was hard, and his eyes burned with strange intensity. He also seemed bigger somehow, like I was seeing him stand up straight for the first time. This was the man I knew, only different. Still sexy as hell, but with an edge of danger I’d never felt before.
I stared at him, wondering why he was here and hoping to hell he wouldn’t notice that my nipples had just gotten hard. I’d had to start investing in a whole new set of padded T-shirt bras since he’d moved in . . . too bad I wasn’t wearing one right now.
“Hi, it’s a little late—”
“Time to talk, Tinker,” he said bluntly, pushing into the house. He caught my arm, jerking me away from the door before he slammed it shut and locked it
with a decisive click. Then he walked across my mother’s prized front parlor like he owned the place, stopping next to her antique mahogany credenza.
“What’s going on?” I asked. He ignored the question, reaching back behind his vest to pull out a handgun, which he set down on one of Grandma Garrett’s hand-knitted doilies. Then he caught the end of his belt, unhooking the buckle. Wait. Why was he doing that? Talking doesn’t require taking off your belt. Oh, and there was the whole gun thing. That wasn’t exactly comforting either.
I thought about what Carrie had told me. This was a mistake, a huge mistake. I should’ve listened to her, kept my doors locked. So what if he thought I was hiding?
“Cooper, I think—”
“Gage,” he said shortly, whipping the belt out of its loops, freeing a big knife I’d never noticed him wearing before today. He dropped it next to his other weapon.
“Gage?” I asked hesitantly, swallowing. My instincts were screaming at me to make a run for it, except that was crazy. Maybe I didn’t know him very well, but if Cooper wanted to hurt me, he’d had plenty of opportunities before tonight. The back of his vest caught my attention—there was a patch in the center with a skull on it. Above it was another patch that read “Reapers,” and below a third that said “Idaho.”
I knew jack shit about motorcycle clubs, but even I’d heard of the Reapers MC. Fucking hell, what was going on here?
“My name is Gage,” he said, turning and stalking toward me.
“Your name is Gage?” I parroted weakly, taking a step back. “But I saw your ID, with your rental application.”
