“Meaning there’s usually a connection. You know, guy who overcame something is there to support the guy just starting to go through it. I would expect Tom to have recovered from spinal cord damage or to have a loved one who has dealt with injuries similar to Colt’s—some kind of personal experience with paralysis—but I’ve got nothing.”
“Immediate family? Wife? Girlfriend? Did you check all of them?”
“I’m still looking, but he doesn’t have any family I can find thus far. That nurse, however, would like to speak to him. Seems he stopped calling her after Colt’s transfer.”
“Not surprising,” Gage said. “Probably just used her to break the rules. What’s Tom’s address?”
Maverick’s gaze sharpened. “What?”
Gage stood, then leaned down and planted his hands on the desk. “Address,” he said, less of a question this time. “Where do I find Tom Rigby?”
Maverick raised his eyebrows. “You don’t find Tom Rigby. Stay out of it.”
“Stay out of it, hell. This is Riley’s life we’re talking about here.” And Billy’s memorial.
“You’re too close. Back off. I’ll make some phone calls. You—and Riley, I might add—are both wanted by the law. You won’t be able to accomplish a thing if you land behind bars.”
Gage gritted his teeth. “Fine. I’ll stay out of it.”
Maverick sighed and leaned backward, the chair squeaking in protest. “You’re not doing her any favors by getting involved, Lawton.”
Gage took a couple of steps in retreat and raised his hands in mock surrender. “I said I’d stay out of it,” he said, making a far too casual play for the exit.
He was halfway there when Maverick called his name. “Do me a favor?” he asked.
“What?”
“When you find Tom Rigby, should you find he’s got anything to do with what happened to Billy, don’t go killing him.”
Gage hid a smile. “Oh? Why not?”
“The nurse. She just had a little boy. She’d like to tell him he’s a father.”
He paused. No wonder the nurse remembered Tom. Grinning, he looked back at Maverick. “No worries, man. Those may be the last words Tom Rigby ever hears, but you have my word he’ll hear them.”
Chapter Seven
The bed shifted, jolting Riley awake.
“Gage?” She peered across the dark, windowless room until she saw him dragging on his jeans. He hopped on one foot, swearing when he nudged the wall with his wounded shoulder.
“Go back to sleep,” he said. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”
Riley sat, fumbling to free her legs from a tangle of sheets. “Nuh-uh. You’re not leaving me here.” Especially not after the night they’d spent together on the small, squeaky twin bed…not having sex.
After disappearing with Maverick, something changed with Gage. He had just walked into the room and without a word crawled into her bed and pulled her close—a gesture she hadn’t expected after all of the brooding he’d accomplished in the doorway. But rather than question him, she just breathed in his nearness and melted at the feather-light strokes of his fingertips on her face. She’d fallen asleep in his arms, and had no intention of waking in the morning without him, whenever morning was. “What time is it?”
“Early. I’ve got to go see a guy, and I want to catch him before he’s got a chance to get any coffee in him. People don’t tend to lie as well when they’re half asleep.” He paused as she stood. “Get back in bed.”
“No way.” Riley pulled on her jeans without issue, passing him a smug look in the dark. She doubted he saw it, but it felt good anyway. “You’re not going anywhere without me. This whole mess is more my problem than yours.”
He went still. “What makes you think my going to see a guy has anything to do with you?”
She glared, tugging on her shoes without breaking the scowl. “Don’t insult me. You’re not going to do anything until you figure out who did this to your brother.”
Gage moved closer, not stopping until his lips brushed her ear. “What if I’m more interested in figuring out who did this to you?” he asked in a whisper that had her back to thinking about tangled sheets.
Warmth wiggled through her, but it had nothing on the feeling of triumph his words gave her. “Then I guess I’d have to say I told you so,” she said, enjoying the satisfaction of a win as she breezed through the door ahead of him.
Tom Rigby’s last known address led them to a small town called Purvis, which—judging by the signs on the interstate—lay on the prairie about halfway between Maverick’s quadrant on the map and Tehcotah. Gage and Riley beat the sunrise to the county line, then stopped for coffee and donuts at a gas station. Once they were back in the truck, she watched him unfold a map awkwardly. A few choice words flew from his mouth when the corner dipped into the drink propped between this thighs.
“Told you to get a lid,” Riley said, grinning.
He eyed her plastic lid. “I’m a bit old for sippy cups.”
“Ancient, even. Who uses paper maps anymore?”
“Fugitives,” he said, his attention never leaving the map. “Cell phones can be traced.”
“I got the memo, but I can’t believe Maverick doesn’t have a stash of pre-paids.” Limited in her ability to work off nervous energy, she looked to the stained ceiling, wondering how overhead upholstery could possibly get so dirty. Then she made out the watermarks. Perhaps the geriatric truck had a roof leak—left damp, the headliner would attract dirt from the landscape by the bucket load. The truck lacked air-conditioning, so there was no telling how much dust had swirled through the cab in the last few decades.
“He does, and I’ve got one,” Gage said, drawing her from her thoughts. “But I might mention there are only about six roads in this town. Under the circumstances, I think I can handle paper.”
Donut in hand, Riley gestured to the wet corner. “Clearly.”
He responded by plucking what was left of the pastry from her fingers. “Thanks.”
“Hey!” But her protest came too late. The donut disappeared in two quick bites.
She sighed her defeat.
Gage wiped his fingers on his shirt and passed her the map. “We’re here,” he said, pointing. “And we need to be there.” He tapped one of the handful of lines on the page marking their vicinity. “Think you can navigate?”
She rolled her eyes. “I’ll see if I can handle it.”
It felt good, trading insults with Gage. They’d been ripped apart and thrown together again by the worst of circumstances, but in spite of all she’d lost, he gave her a sense of wholeness. She couldn’t deny it, and she no longer wanted to. Her heart had already tugged her in a direction she hadn’t thought possible—one she’d love to examine once they were out of this mess.
But first, they had to find Tom Rigby.
Riley had never heard the man’s name before, which left her plenty curious. While she didn’t claim to know all of Colt’s friends—and was particularly unfamiliar with the guys he knew from the bull riding circuit—she and Colt had been close. If he had a friend who would visit him every day, she felt sure she’d have at least heard the name before. As for the other option—the therapy relationship—it was encouraging to think Colt had support from somewhere, even if Maverick hadn’t been able to make sense of the connection. Riley battled constant guilt over Colt being alone in the world. He may have brought that isolation on himself by banning her from his life, but he had done so because he’d been hurt by her defense of Gage.
Still, Riley was the one defenseless, caught between two impossible choices. Even if she hadn’t loved Gage—even if she didn’t know him—she couldn’t point a finger over something she didn’t know to be true. Colt wanted her to join a witch-hunt. He wanted her to say Gage had been drinking when his truck slammed into her parents’ car, because he had a reputation, even t
hough he quit drinking months before the accident. It was enough for Colt to know Gage used to drink behind the wheel. Riley understood Colt just needed someone to blame, but she wouldn’t ruin Gage’s life to indulge that need. Placing blame wouldn’t help any of them move on. In spite of what the whole world seemed to think, she hadn’t insisted Gage was innocent because she loved him. She’d insisted it because he was.
And because of it, she’d lost her brother.
“You okay over there?” Gage glanced at her, then back to the road.
“Yeah, just thinking. Turn here.” She gestured to the left.
“Got it.” He steered off the main road, coasting down the side street. Although the sunlight grew brighter with each passing moment, it was still early and there were few signs of life aside from the occasional dog lifting its head to watch them pass.
Riley directed Gage through two more turns. “It’s here. Eight-eighteen,” she said when the mailbox came into view.
The single story clapboard home had seen better decades. White paint flaked from its exterior, revealing the dull gray wood beneath. The metal roof was streaked with rust, and the covered front porch held everything from a sofa to what appeared to be a roll of carpet. A row of barren flower pots—one per step—greeted visitors. The shades were drawn, the grass tall.
“You think anyone actually lives there?”
A grin touched Gage’s lips. “Appearances don’t have to mean much. Have you seen my house lately?”
“Have you? Not like you’ve been home to paint the trim, Mr. Body Guard.”
“Are you complaining about my services?”
“Rest assured your services are perfectly adequate,” she said, turning her head before he could see her smile. He’d spend all day stewing over that one, and half the night making her pay for the jab—if she was lucky. That was something to look forward to.
He drove a few doors past Tom Rigby’s before turning the truck around and parking on the side of the road in front of a neighboring house. Several vehicles lined the cramped street. Unless Rigby lived with a guilty conscience or a suspicious mind, he’d be unlikely to notice their beat-up pickup in line with the rest.
Two hours later, the street had emptied, their cover disappearing more with every departing vehicle. Yet Tom Rigby’s house remained still.
“Doesn’t look like anyone is there,” Riley said.
“It’s not even eight o’clock. Maybe he’s not a morning person.”
“I’m beginning to think I’m not either.” She shifted, stretching her legs as much as she could in the confined space, and turned up her coffee cup, hoping for another drop, though she’d long since drained it. When she returned it to the cardboard box that served as a console, she caught Gage staring at her. “What?” she asked.
“Why didn’t I go to jail?”
“What?”
“After the accident. Why wasn’t I arrested?”
“Didn’t we talk about this yesterday? Because it was an accident.”
“Everyone in town swore up and down I was drunk. Why not you?”
“Because you promised me a year and a half ago you were through with drinking. Besides, I was with you half the day and you had your hands all over me, not the bar. You weren’t drinking.”
“You weren’t with me every minute,” he said, fiddling with the steering wheel.
“I’d have tasted it on you. You trying to tell me something, Lawton?”
He shook his head. “You were…with Dawson, so you must know. Why didn’t they charge me?”
With Dawson? If she didn’t know better, she’d swear Gage was jealous. Or rather, she knew he once was. But now? “You blew clean on the BAC. What were they going to do?”
He didn’t say anything, instead focusing a hard stare in the direction of Tom Rigby’s house. After a long moment, he spoke. “I’m sorry for asking, but I can’t live with these questions in my head.”
“What questions?” His tone made her nervous.
“Did you sleep with Dawson to keep me out of jail?”
Her jaw dropped, several seconds passing before she found her voice. “What?”
“Riley—”
Remorse filled his tone, but she wasn’t interested. “Seriously, how much is that like prostitution?” The words flew, hard and angry. “How could you possibly think I’d go to those lengths to keep you out of jail? If I loved you, Gage, why the hell would I sleep with someone else?” The more she said—the more she thought about what he said—the more furious she became. She fought the urge to throw her empty cup at him. “Are you kidding me? Are you seriously asking me this?”
“Riley, I—”
A sharp rapping on the window caused him to snap his mouth shut.
She looked past him to see an elderly woman in a well-worn housecoat, her face pressed close to the glass. Gage and Riley exchanged glances. He rolled down the window.
“Good morning, ma’am,” he said.
“Are you looking for someone?” the old woman asked, peering into the truck. “Don’t think much of strangers sitting on my street. No good comes from folks loitering.”
“No ma’am, it doesn’t. Actually, we are looking for someone. Do you know where we might find your neighbor, Tom Rigby?”
The woman’s wrinkles deepened into a frown. “Is Tommy in some kind of trouble?”
Gage flashed one of those boyish grins Riley loved, and it set her blood to boiling.
The last thing she wanted at that moment was to like him.
“No trouble we know of,” he said. “He’s an old friend of mine, and I hoped to catch up with him this morning. Is that his house over there?” He gestured toward the small white farmhouse.
“Don’t know if I should tell a couple of strangers his business.”
“That’s okay, ma’am. I’m sure he appreciates your consideration for his privacy. Know where we might find him?”
“Try the little store on the corner. There’s some folks there you might be able to talk with.”
“Yes ma’am. Thank you.”
She responded with a dismissive wave of her thin hand, then left, crossing in front of the truck to stand on the grass a few feet from the road.
Riley smiled through the dusty glass, holding the façade until Gage started the truck and pulled away.
He met her glare with a sigh. “What I said didn’t come out right.”
“You think? Why in the world would I have sex with Dawson? Because I loved you? How could you even think that?”
After a long moment, he said, “I hoped you’d move on. Be happy.”
“In one way or another, I lost everyone I loved. Happy wasn’t on the radar.” And if he expected an answer to his question about Dawson, he could forget about it.
They rode in thick silence, the heat of the day already setting fire to the early morning air. Backtracking to the store took just a few minutes, every one of them tense and uncomfortable.
Gage parked at the side of the dirt lot. “Want to wait in the truck?”
She responded by hopping out and slamming the door. By the time she rounded the front end, he was at her side.
“Stop looking so mad,” he said. “I’d rather not give anyone anything to talk about.”
“No worries. Anyone starts to look suspicious, just point. I’ll have sex with them, and everything will be fine.”
If he had an answer to that, he didn’t voice it.
Not that he had a chance. She took off across the parking lot.
He caught up with her just as she was about to pull the door. When it swung open, they weren’t met with the cool rush of air conditioning she expected. Instead, stale air met stale air, the smell of ham and biscuits sending her stomach to rumbling. Four heads swiveled from a breakfast counter just as Gage looped his arm around her waist.
He didn’t need to know how good it felt. She settled into the embrace and tried to convince herself she didn’t enjoy it, but the smile on her face was genuine.
“Good morning, folks. Can I help you?” The woman behind the counter wore her hair pinned at the back, but a few stray tendrils escaped, softening a tired but friendly face.
Riley beat Gage to the punch. “We’ll take a couple of those biscuits if you have them,” she said, gesturing to the closest plate. “And if you have a restroom I could use, I’d sure appreciate it.” A large coffee hadn’t been the best idea for a stakeout. She’d have to remember as much next time she found herself running from the cops.
“Restroom’s right through the door in the back,” the woman said, offering a bright smile.
“Thank you.” Riley leaned close to Gage. “Eat my biscuit and die,” she said in a low voice, pairing the words with a saccharine grin.
He nodded, bemusement lighting his face. It was still there when she glanced in his direction before the door closed.
When she returned less than five minutes later, she had a full breakfast waiting on the counter for her—the ham biscuit she requested plus another biscuit with sausage gravy, two slices of bacon, a pile of steaming scrambled eggs, and grits. Melted butter crept over them in tiny rivulets.
“Thought you might be hungry, sweetie.” Gage said, pulling out a stool for her. “All of your favorites.”
“Thanks, darling. How thoughtful of you.” And smart, not that he needed his ego stroked. A full breakfast gave them a reason to stick around and make small talk with the regulars. Even better, their patronage would likely garner some information, if there was any to be had.
The woman behind the counter—Adele, by the nametag—returned with coffee. “You say you’re looking for someone?”
“Yeah, guy did some volunteer work at a hospital in Tehcotah. We’d like to thank him, if we can find him.”
Adele set the coffee pot down and wiped her hands on a towel. “Does he have a name?”
“Tom Rigby.”
Next to Gage, a man with gray hair sticking out from under his ball cap snorted. “That worthless son of a bitch? He doesn’t have a selfless bone in his body. He wouldn’t volunteer unless he was sentenced to community service—if that.” He shook his head. “Tom don’t do nothing that don’t benefit Tom.”
Forsaken Page 7
