by Nico Rosso
They passed her property line and angled up the hill toward her home. With each yard forward, each second of silence she and Ty shared, the trust continued to build back. He’d owned his words from before and she believed what he told her now.
At the house, the flatbed was just finished chaining Ty’s car down. Ty collected the paperwork, shook the driver’s hand and didn’t even watch as the car was taken away. Before unloading the truck, he walked the perimeter of the house with her, both scanning high into the orchard. They paused every few yards, listening. There was the sound of Toro’s tail wagging against her leg, and some birds in the evening breeze. No danger for now. She was able to take the time to taste the salt air, but knew she had to stay ready.
Back at the truck, they hauled out the tools and supplies from the hardware store. Ty carried them to the bedroom as she fed Toro his dinner. Her ears still rang in the quiet. Tension rose in her as she climbed the stairs. Seeing Ty in the bedroom instead of streaking bullets helped shape the space anew.
He was already sweeping up glass, shattered wood and bullet casings and dumping them into a plastic bucket. His calm, smooth movements were almost hypnotic. She moved deeper into the room and he bumped his hip against hers. Her body woke up with the simple contact, reminding her of what this place had meant to her and Ty not long ago. He carefully picked out the shards of glass that remained in the frames. “Once we get this cleaned up, we’ll replace the panes.”
She stripped the bed down to the mattress and balled everything up. Toro came upstairs but didn’t cross the threshold. He watched with a curious tilt to his head as Ty cut glass to size and tacked it into place. She remade the bed with fresh linens and edged around Toro to get the pillows off the guest bed downstairs.
When she returned, the front window in the bedroom was finished and she looked at the black panes reflecting her and Ty next to each other. A few hours ago, he was below that window, a bullet away from death. “We’re not doing enough.” The words were hot in her throat.
Ty seemed confused. “We decided at the hardware store that framing the new wood in could wait.”
“We should be going after the Hanley Group.” She paced through her room, stopping to inspect the gashes across the ceiling. “Look what they did here.” If she’d known what Hebert and Innes had planned for her, the meeting at their offices would’ve gone very differently.
“Right now, what we’re doing is taking away their power.” Ty picked up a spent shell from the corner of the room and tossed it in the bucket. “They shoot at you, and we erase it.” He placed his phone on a small side table. “When Vincent and Stephanie dig up something we can use, we move.”
“How long?” Her muscles ached.
“Too long, believe me.” He went to her, placed his hands on her shoulders. “But when we hit them, it’ll leave a mark.” Spoken like a lethal vow.
She fed on his determination and tried to release the frustrated tension that yearned to lash out at the men who attacked her. “I’m tired of reacting.”
He tipped his head from side to side, stretching his neck like a boxer. “I feel you.”
She put her hand on his and lifted it to her lips for a kiss. His knuckles tasted like wood. His eyes warmed, and she knew that whatever was next, she wasn’t alone. She released her hold and turned back to the work before them. He’d been right. Making the holes in the walls disappear with spackle was surprisingly calming. Each radiating crack she found was filled and smoothed over with meticulous care. The house was healing.
Ty brought a ladder from the storage room off the kitchen and worked on the ceiling. He asked, “Where’s the pistol?”
The question was so casual she couldn’t tell if he was joking. “Is this some kind of police detective trick, making me feel guilty when I haven’t done anything?”
“Your rifle, it’s a .44 Magnum, right?” It leaned against the wall next to the bed. Ty still wore his gun. “Was it your dad’s?”
“My mom’s. Dad got it for her.” She still couldn’t figure out where this was heading.
“If he bought a rifle in .44, it was probably because he had a pistol in that caliber.” He came down from the ladder, moved it and climbed again to spackle another area.
“The rifle was always in the trunk downstairs, so the pistol would be...up here.” The bedroom seemed a little less familiar. The drawers of the antique dresser and bedside tables had long transitioned to only her things. She went to the closet and searched along the shelf, especially where the box of shells had been, but knew that her parents’ things had been donated or stored in other places ages ago.
Ty continued working on the ceiling. “Any drawers that are heavier than they should be, or stick when they open?” She approached the dark wood dresser as if for the first time, rather than a piece she always remembered being in her life. The top left drawer persistently squeaked on the wood rails. She dragged it open now and peered inside. Of course it was her pantie drawer. Ty stared down into it with a grin on his face. “False bottom.”
She mocked affront. “I beg your pardon.” And wiggled a little for him. Pulling the drawer farther out, she removed the pile of underwear and placed it on top of the dresser. Knocking on the bottom of the drawer revealed an unusually hollow sound. “You’ve got to be...” A small cutout in the side of the bottom allowed the wood to be lifted up. Underneath was a shining black revolver with a short barrel and walnut grips. She lifted it away from the old towel that surrounded it. “Madre mía.” It was very heavy. And loaded, she discovered when she swung the cylinder open.
Ty let out a low whistle and descended the ladder to look at the weapon as she held it. “Hand cannon.”
She closed the cylinder with a solid snap. Her father’s hands had been rough from years of work in the orchard. But he’d been a gentle man who took time to care for his family. His care was revealed in the shining finish of the pistol. It had been used, but put away clean. He’d been the last one to place it in the drawer before she’d retrieved it. She whispered to Ty, “You keep revealing the secrets of this house to me.”
“I hope they’re not burdens.” He was quiet as well as they stood with the artifact of her past.
The thought rolled through her mind. An old pistol rested in her hand, found in a time when she might actually need it. Her home was the founding place for a vigilante group, born from protecting people just like her. The surprises didn’t weigh on her. “No, they’re...what I need to find.” She placed the pistol in the drawer of her bedside table.
At the dresser, she replaced the false bottom and started scooping her panties back into the drawer. Ty stood at her shoulder, an indecent smile on his lips. “I can help with this.” Seeing his broad hands on her intimate underwear sent a sudden heat down her chest and between her legs. Before she could act on it, his cell phone buzzed and he went to the side table to check it. “What the hell?” he muttered.
The urge to get the pistol out of the bedside table shook her. “Bad news?”
“Not good.” He focused on his phone. “Word from Vincent. The wounded men were transferred to another hospital, out of this jurisdiction. They lawyered up without a word. These sons of bitches are going to disappear without a trace.” He clenched his jaw. “Someone’s overlording this.” A potent energy radiated from him. “The local PD didn’t put up a fight.” His arm flexed so hard she thought he’d crush his phone. “How does Captain Phelps spend his money?”
“Never seen anything too grandiose.” Neither he nor his wife shopped at her store, but she saw the woman at the supermarket from time to time with an ordinary basketful.
“His parents still alive?” Ty waited for the answer, as if setting a trap.
She knew what he’d caught. “They just moved to a house in the new development.”
“Guilt money,” he growled. “Tomorrow.” Ty’s eyes shone like a predator, and she was more than ready to
go on that hunt. “We go after Captain Phelps.”
Chapter Fourteen
Mariana woke up to the sound of gunfire. It rang in her ears, but the bedroom was silent. The windows that Ty had fixed were intact and the holes she’d patched disappeared on the dark walls. Ty whispered like smoke, “You’re okay, baby.”
“Sorry if I woke you.” She felt the vestiges of the dream shock its way out of her legs.
“I was already up.” He was a shadow, but warm, and with enough mass to shift the sheets and blankets toward him. She tugged to rearrange and he helped get her sorted. When they were finished, he rested his arm across her hips. “Don’t know what time it is.”
The sky outside was scraped gray, with a few sparkling stars. “Before five.”
“Did your parents teach you how to work that rifle?” His words swirled around her, and she wasn’t convinced she’d woken from the dream.
“Yeah. No soda can was safe.” She turned to look at Ty, just seeing an edge of light in his eyes. “Pete took me to the police range a couple times.”
“Can you handle a pistol?” Edges emerged in his voice.
“A little.” Fear from the dream spread under her skin again.
“I know you can.” His arm tightened and he drew himself closer to her side. “You held your own in a fight that would’ve frozen a lot of people.” She curled her body into his, breathing with his slow pace. He kissed her cheek and whispered in her ear.
She woke with the sunrise, hearing his word instead of gunfire. “Warrior.” Of course he was already up, checking over his phone. He gave her a smile and a kiss before leaving the bed to get dressed. The fixes from the night before on the walls were subtle scars in the daylight. Fresh wood in the windows and a new coat of paint in the bedroom, the evidence of the violence would be erased.
Ty adjusted his pistol on his belt and pocketed his phone. “No new word.”
Standing and stretching revealed several bruises across her body. “Did you sleep at all?”
“A minute.” Yet he still had a sharp edge in his eyes. By the time she dressed and used the bathroom, he was already downstairs. He called up to her. “Want me to put together some breakfast?”
She hesitated before walking downstairs. “Do I need the pistol?”
There was a pause, and then he asked, “For breakfast?”
“For today.” For whatever was coming as they finally took the fight off her land.
“Leave the pistol.”
She came downstairs with Toro, who gazed at her for breakfast as soon as she reached the kitchen. Ty stood at the island, poised. She fed her dog and assessed what she and Ty could eat. “Let’s drive through. I was in a bad mood when I put away the groceries and probably broke every egg.”
Ty’s face grew serious. “I owe you those groceries and a whole lot more.”
“Keep doing what you’re doing.” She smoothed her hand down his chest. “And we’ll call it even.”
A sly smile lit up his face. “Then I’ll never stop.” He tipped his head toward the front of the house. “Come on, let’s go stake out the police.”
“Sexy.” She pulled out her keys and led the way to her truck. The bubble of laughter Ty had evoked dissolved in her as she drove off her property. Instead of just defending herself, she was striking out. It was what she wanted, and she had no idea what kind of risks she was just about to take.
* * *
“THEY’RE GOING TO give you a badge after this.” Ty sipped bitter coffee from a paper cup. Their breakfast had been finished, the sandwich wrappers stuffed into the fast-food bag they’d come in. Mariana had parked her truck a block away from the police station, among a group of other pickups and cars at the edge of an outdoor farmers market. He focused on the front doors of the station. Small town. No activity. “Police work 101. Sitting.”
She shifted uneasily behind the steering wheel. “I’d rather be moving.” It was how he preferred to picture her—walking among her trees.
“That’s the challenge.” He flexed his legs to keep the blood active. “Can’t get so settled that you’re not ready to jump.” A woman approached the glass doors at the front of the low cinder block building.
Mariana shook her head. “Sandy from the city permit office.”
Ty’s phone buzzed and he picked it up from the center console to see a message from Stephanie. He read it for Mariana. “‘The charities Innes donated to are fronts. All of their employees are purchased identities. Still no word on who the money trickles down to.’”
“He’s paying for those bastards to kill me.” A breath shuddered through her.
“They tried.” The work of erasing that trauma from her bedroom wasn’t done. And he knew it would take much more than spackle and paint to get Mariana back on stable footing. “He can spend as much money as he wants. They’ll keep failing.”
She perked up when a maroon SUV parked near the front of the police station. “It’s too clean. Dust and the marine layer gets on everyone around here.” A glance at the other cars proved she was right. Even the compact town-only cars had a coating of dull dust on their paint. The door to the SUV swung open.
Ty readied his phone. “Call me and get set to move.” Mariana dialed his number and he picked up, opening the line between them. A white man in a light-colored suit emerged from the SUV. His face was too far away to distinguish, but his shoes shone as clean as his ride.
Mariana squinted toward the man with the dark hair. “I don’t recognize him.”
“Go.” Ty tapped her thigh with the side of his fist. She sprang from the truck, obviously ready to move. Weaving quickly through the other parked cars, she crossed the street and turned toward the police station. The man in the light suit didn’t notice her as he stepped into the station. Her pace slowed once on the sidewalk. She slipped her phone into the pocket of her work jacket. Ty put his phone to his ear and listened to the rustle of the fabric and her muttering something to herself in Spanish. Anything to keep herself calm. He understood, keeping his eyes on her while using his elbow to double-check the pistol on his belt.
She disappeared into the police station. His legs coiled, ready to chase after her. Voices came through the open line to her phone. First Mariana greeting someone, then a woman, probably the desk sergeant, replying. No one else spoke. The man in the light suit must’ve already passed through the front.
Mariana asked, “Can I talk to Captain Phelps for a second? I’d love to get a rundown of what we know after yesterday.” The desk sergeant’s reply was garbled, but the tone was apologetic. “In a meeting?” Mariana cued Ty perfectly. The man with the too-clean shoes was seeing the captain. “Maybe I could wait.”
Ty didn’t need to hear the reply. He slipped out of the truck and headed toward the station. Pressure tightened in him and his heart started to hurry. He played the opening hook to an old-school hip-hop song over and over in his head until the rhythm helped loosen him.
He hung up and stowed his phone and pulled out his badge wallet before swinging through the front door of the station. Mariana sat at a bank of institutional chairs off to one side of the main desk. She stood when he entered and casually put her phone away in her jacket.
The desk sergeant was a woman in her forties with curly red hair pulled back in a ponytail. “How can I help you?” Ty led with his ID, which she scrutinized. “Detective.” She tipped her head in a small salute. Her gaze bounced between Ty and Mariana as she put all the pieces together. He was sure that the shootout was big news at the station.
Ty pocketed his wallet. “I was informed that our suspects from yesterday were transferred to a different hospital and I need to talk to whoever signed off on that.”
The sergeant shuffled some paperwork and clicked on her computer. “I’m sure I don’t know the specifics of that. But the captain might be able to point you in the right direction. L
et me run this by him after he’s cleared a couple of meetings.” She looked up as Mariana walked to Ty’s side. “Can you leave a contact number, or would you like to wait?”
Ty stared at the heavy doors that led to the rest of the station. “I’m going to wait.” He and Mariana returned to the chairs at the side of the room, but he did not sit. The sergeant typed on her computer, stealing glances their way. He’d seen that the news of the suspects’ transfer had been a surprise to her, though the widening of her eyes had been subtle. The corruption at this station was localized.
Mariana murmured, “The suit was already gone by the time I got in and the sergeant didn’t seem too happy.”
He whispered back. “She’s usually the most informed person in the building. It’s got to be killing her to be out of the loop.”
The doors to the back opened and Ty poised ready. Mariana balanced on the balls of her feet next to him. But it was only the woman from the city permit office. She organized paperwork into her shoulder bag and waved to the sergeant as she breezed past her desk and out of the station. Mariana visibly relaxed. Ty couldn’t.
A second later, the doors opened again. The man in the light suit strutted out, face stern but smug. Ty’s pulse quickened as he recognized him. The man’s stride broke when Ty stepped forward, announcing, “I know you.” Charlie Dennis. San Francisco “businessman.” Racketeer. One of the strong arms of the Seventh Syndicate, a crime organization infecting the West Coast and beyond.
Charlie pulled up and eyed Ty. They’d done this dance before in Ty’s precinct and the courthouse halls. “You’re a pleasant surprise.”
The pieces were falling into place. The Hanley Group didn’t have the muscle to lean on Mariana, so they got the Seventh to do it for them. Once that organization was involved, they dug in deep and corrupted everything they touched. “It’s never a pleasure, Charlie.” Ty wanted to put a fist in the self-satisfied smile on the man’s face. “Charlie Dennis,” he told the sergeant. “In case he didn’t check in.”
