Relentless River: Men of Mercy, Book 10

by Lindsay Cross

  As if summoned by the devil himself, C.W. stumbled through the kitchen doors, nearly taking Lainey down before he managed an off-balance sidestep, bounced into the refrigerator and miraculously righted himself just before he hit the floor. Somehow in the entire mad dance, he managed to keep his half-full cup from spilling and planted his feet in a triumphant stance. “There girl, don’t be standing in doorways. Coulda straight up taken you down if I hadn’t been so quick on my feet.”

  Lainey clutched the stainless steel table a few feet away, any color in her face completely drained. “I’m sorry –”

  Cheri butted in, pointing her knife directly at the previously absent bar owner. “She might not have been standing in the doorway if she wasn’t too exhausted to walk a little bit further. Where the hell have you been? Do you see all those people out there?”

  C.W. took a slow sip of what Cheri knew was ninety-percent whiskey and ten percent Coke, from his pale green plastic cup while somehow managing to look dignified with the practiced move despite the fact he was dressed in Army Surplus-r-Us camo from neck to toe.

  “What do you mean I ain’t been here? I’ve been out back.” C.W. jutted out his chin, the movement making his stiff, gray beard poke out a couple inches from his chest.

  Cheri dropped the butcher knife on the stainless steel table, its clatter blasting through the room. “What you mean is, you’ve been out back toking it up with Squirrel again, while me and Lainey worked ourselves nearly to death.”

  “It’s my God-given right to smoke if I want. I was held in ’Nam for over a year in that POW camp.”

  “I’m not talking about your bad habits tonight. I need you to work.” Cheri yanked the last fish out of the orange five-gallon bucket near her feet and lopped its head off with one smooth swing.

  “That’s what I’ve been doin’. Me and Squirrel been out back serving his home brew. Lainey ain’t even had to come out there, not once.” C.W. held his cup up in salute and took a gulp. “Can’t help but have a little sip.”

  Cheri rolled her eyes. If that gulp was a sip, then the community swimming pool was the Pacific Ocean. “Well you’re here now. You can help with orders while Lainey takes care of the bar. I ranI’ve run out of fresh fish, so I’m cooking the frozen chicken strips in the freezer.” And only a few hours until she could shut the place down and lock the doors.

  “Now, girl, y’all look like you got it handled real good in here. Don’t want to be stepping on your feminine rights or nothing.” C.W. raised his fist in the air in a mock salute. “’Sides I helped out inside last night. Remember?”

  Cheri advanced on him a couple of steps, knife raised. “So far the men are the only ones who haven’t shown up to work tonight. This girl power is about to run out.”

  C.W.‘s small, almost beady black eyes widened a fraction in his weathered face. “And what about old Squirrel out back? He’s only been here about a year. He don’t know these folks like I do.” Squirrel was a true mountain man, straight out of the Tennessee hills. He’d moved to Mercy to be with his adopted daughter, Sparrow, when she’d married Jared Crowe, another Special Forces team member here in town.

  He now lived in a trailer out behind Jared and Sparrow’s house, which happened to be right next to C.W.’s trailer. She could only imagine what the old men cooked up in their kitchens when they thought no one was looking.

  “I wouldn’t care if Squirrel couldn’t speak English, we need someone else inside.”

  “Yep. That’s what I came in to tell ya.” C.W. took another sip which resembled a gulp. “Joe showed up. Looks like a brick ran into his face, but he’s in there now.” C.W. hooked a thumb over his shoulder and hatched a smile.

  “Really?” Lainey asked, her voice hopeful.

  “Yes, ma’am. Now you two got some help, I’ll see to the folks out back.” He went to the door, shoved it wide and stepped out. “Holler if you need anything else.”

  Cheri watched, mouth open, as the door swung back and forth, empty. The old coot had straight up abandoned them again. What the fuck?

  Lainey cleared her throat. “He really does think he’s helping.”

  “I’m gonna kill him.” Cheri advanced, fully intent on carrying out her threat. This was C.W.’s bar. At least a third of it any way. Not Cheri’s. Not Lainey’s. Not Joe’s.

  Lainey stepped in front of her. “I can’t let you do it. You’d regret it tomorrow, trust me.”

  “Oh, no I won’t. Not one little bit.” Cheri made to step around her, and Lainey flung out her arms and sidestepped, keeping in front of her.

  “You can’t. You’ve got to cook.”

  “I just ran out of fish. Kitchen’s closed,” Cheri said.

  “They’ll go nuts out there if I tell them we’re out of C.W.’s famous fried catfish.”

  “Look.” Cheri pointed to the empty bucket behind her. “No more food. I’m covered in fish guts. You’re wrung out like a wet rag. And C.W.’s out there partying like he’s Willie Nelson.”

  “You said you’ve got chicken strips.” Lainey held firm, her narrow shoulders slung back.

  “Sure do, and C.W. can fry ’em.” Cheri tried to move Lainey out of her way, but she clung to the doorframe with surprising strength.

  “You really think he can operate the fryer without burning this place down?”

  Cheri narrowed her gaze. Lainey didn’t budge from her desperate position at the door. C.W. would more than likely forget he was cooking and wander out into the bar—or he’d invite half the patrons into the kitchen to keep him company while he worked. Neither situation would work in their favor.

  “Fine. But I’m not breaking out the frozen chicken. Let everyone know this is last call for the kitchen. I’ll finish this last batch of fish, then I’m coming out to help at the bar so Joe can do bouncer duty.”

  “Whatever you say, boss.” Lainey ducked out the door without a backwards glance, leaving Cheri to stare at the empty doorway for the second time that night, contemplating going back on her word and marching out back to give C.W. a piece of her mind.

  The fryer timer went off. Cheri went to the stove and lifted the fish from the pit of hot grease, propping the wire basket on the rim behind the stove to cool. A few more hours. She could do it. One more batch of fish. A few drinks. And an empty bed waiting at home…

  The doors swung open again, and in marched Maxine Videl. C.W.’s daughter, and Evie’s mother, towered in five-inch patent leather platforms, black tights, which fit like spandex gloves, and a leopard print top. “Hey honey, C.W. said you were in here. I’m just dropping by to remind you the quarterly statements are due this week to the accountant. I’ll need you to get them to me tomorrow.” Maxine quickly scanned the room. “Where’s Lamont?”

  “Um, he’s still recovering from last night.” Not. His ass was so grass when she got ahold of him. She’d completely forgotten about the books.

  “Poor thing. You know, now that you mention it, I saw his bike in Ginger’s driveway. She better be taking good care of our boy.” Maxine looked down and adjusted her more than abundant cleavage.

  Cheri saw straight up red. Lamont had left her high and dry to pork Ginger after he’d told her he’d break it off.

  “You okay, hon?”

  She blinked Maxine back into focus. No, she wasn’t okay. Exhaustion weighed down on her shoulders like Niagara Falls and all she wanted to do was go home, take a long shower and crawl in bed. She’d slept in the most uncomfortable hospital chair last night. Her back hurt; her feet hurt; hell, even her hair hurt.

  But more than that, she’d been half worried Lamont was dead in a ditch somewhere, and he’d been screwing his married girlfriend. Now the books, which she hadn’t looked at in a month, needed reconciling.

  The fryer timer buzzed, and the exhaust fan kicked on. Cheri blindly lifted the basket of fries from the grease and hit the off switch. Her head started pounding right along with the music. Maxine had promoted her to manager a few months ago, and she was already s
crewing it up.

  “Ok, I’m staying. Hold on a sec while I go tell Hank. I knew you needed more help than this.”

  “What? Wait! I… No, Maxine. You don’t need to do that. I’ve got it under control. I promise.” Cheri pasted on her best fake-it-or-die smile. “I just spaced a sec. I stayed at the hospital last night with Lamont. You go on with Hank. Lainey and Joe are here. And C.W. can help if we get too busy.” She almost choked on the last part.

  Maxine crossed the kitchen to Cheri and patted her on the shoulder. “I’ve always liked you. You’ve got what it takes to make it. I couldn’t be happier with my decision to turn over running my bar to you.”

  The sting of tears caught her off guard. Cheri quickly blinked them back and turned to the table of fish guts before Maxine noticed. She could do this. She could. “I won’t let you down.”

  13

  At midnight, Cheri hunkered over a small desk littered with receipts, papers and a box of Styrofoam to-go cups perched precariously on the corner. The floor didn’t look any better. She’d managed to clear out a path from the door to the chair through the stacks of papers lining the floor, dotted with boxes of receipts piled so high she’d rather scale Mt. Everest than try and organize.

  She’d tried to call Lamont all night, but he hadn’t answered or returned her texts, leaving Cheri sweating her ass off in the kitchen and then serving at the bar. Lainey had looked like an overcooked spaghetti noodle when she’d finally dragged herself home.

  Visions of Lamont partying with Ginger danced in her head. No matter what girl he’d hooked up with in the past, Lamont had never left her hanging like this. Never. And even though she told herself she was just angry, she was starting to worry.

  Cheri snapped the yellow no. 2 pencil clutched in her hand, dropping the pieces on the floor. She’d promised Lamont they’d find a way out with Dupree, but she couldn’t even organize her office—how could she outsmart a drug dealer?

  What did a million dollars even look like?

  How could she have been so blind to not notice Lamont laundering or drug running or whatever the hell he did for Dupree? Maybe he owed someone. Maybe Dupree had forced him. That had to be the answer.

  Where could that kind of money have gone? It wasn’t like it just disappeared into thin air, but she had all of zilch to go on except the tidbit Lamont had told her last night before Bo barged in demanding to know why they were lying on the floor and what exactly they were trying to hide from him. If it hadn’t been for Lamont’s nurse, Dolly, who had to be distantly related to Adolf Hitler, Bo would have stayed and grilled them both.

  Too bad visiting hours had been way past over, even for the Sheriff. Dolly had bought them a brief reprieve, but Cheri knew it wouldn’t be long before Bo showed up to question Lamont. The man was predictable.

  She was actually surprised he hadn’t showed up demanding she answer his questions and pretend like they hadn’t hooked up. As if she could forget the way his lips felt on her. The rawness when she’d let go and the intense orgasm from the touch of his hand.

  Her tumultuous emotions scattered like the papers around her. Paperwork – she had to get done tonight. She didn’t have the time or energy to think about Bo Lawson. She grabbed the nearest receipt and the numbers blurred. How could she concentrate now?

  ‘Let us run with endurance the race that is set before us.’

  Jesus Christ. She was quoting scripture in her mind.

  Cheri dropped to her knees, searching for the lost pencil before her subconscious could rear its self-righteous head again. She just had to concentrate. Put things in order of importance. Fix the books. Line up someone to cover the bar. Find a million dollars before Bo found out and before a crazy drug dealer killed Lamont…

  “You do like to keep your stuff organized.”

  Cheri jumped, banged her head on the desk and fell back on her ass. Bo, dressed once more in his sinfully sexy uniform, lounged casually against the door. Why couldn’t he have a triple-decker paunch and a receding hairline?

  She’d needed more time to form up her defenses and lick her wounds after his rejection last night.

  For the briefest instant, she considered confessing everything to Bo and begging him to solve the problem, but she discarded the idea just as fast. Lamont would be a suspect. Even though she knew he wasn’t capable of committing a violent crime, the law was the law. And when it came to graying the lines, Bo Lawson only saw black and white.

  Which was what made him such a good sheriff – he stuck to the letter of the law, and he had a nose for guilt like a damn bloodhound.

  Which put a serious dent in her plans, because when she got within ten feet of the man, she couldn’t think straight, let alone hide her cousin and his drug deal. If Bo got one whiff, she’d have no hope of concealing the truth.

  “Why are you here?” She crawled up in the chair and gave Bo her back, hunching over the desk to hide her expression.

  “Didn’t get much sleep last night, huh?”

  She attempted to hold the pieces of pencil together, but it kept falling apart. Just like her life. After the third attempt, she grabbed the roll of tape and wrapped the center about ten times, tears blurring her vision again. If she couldn’t even hold a pencil, how was she supposed to save her family? “I don’t know where Lamont is.”

  Bo’s hand covered hers. “Come here.” He didn’t wait for her to protest, he pulled her from the chair, wrapped her in his arms, and she let it all go.

  “I’m…I’m sorry.”

  “You’ve had a long couple of days. Let it out. I’ll stand here all day if you need me to.” Bo rubbed slow circles down her back and then up between her shoulder blades, his movements so gentle.

  Why was she standing here crying on Bo’s cold shoulder?

  At what point had she become so desperate? Screw it; right now she didn’t care. Bo’s corded arms felt like heaven.

  When she cut ties with her father, she’d cut ties with everyone back home, surgically slicing out every relationship from her past to create her new identity. She’d felt like she had to start over, to get out from underneath the suffocating rule of her father. Maybe Lamont had thought she’d leave him too if she found out about Dupree.

  Dammit. No matter how desperate or prideful or whatever the hell Lamont wanted to call his decision, she couldn’t allow his choices, however stupid, to destroy their family.

  And she couldn’t allow her feelings for Bo to get in her way.

  “Cheri…” Bo hesitated and then pulled her so tight she could feel his heart thudding against her cheek. She inhaled deeply, memorizing his scent before leaning back to wipe her eyes.

  “Sorry. I think I’m just tired.”

  Bo held her at arm’s length, his blue eyes seeing more than she wanted. Surely, he couldn’t know about Dupree yet.

  “I got a call from Stan Burnell today. He can’t get a hold of Ginger.”

  “So?”

  “So, everyone in this town knows Lamont’s been warming her bed for a while now.”

  “Lamont dates lots of women.” She faced the desk, pretending to shuffle papers into order.

  “Lamont dates anything with two legs and a nice ass, but he has a thing for Ginger Burnell. You know it. I know it. The whole town knows it. Which means her husband knows it, too.” Bo lifted the mended pencil and fell into her chair, sprawling back so his legs took up the majority of her office’s real estate and leaving her to either step between his outstretched legs or hop up on the desk. Both were terrible choices.

  “Stan Burnell could care less who’s in Ginger’s bed.”

  “Yeah, but husbands have a knack for losing their cool when they walk in on another man doing the deed with his wife, whether he really cares or not. Turns into a possession game.”

  Cheri opted to stand between his legs; it gave her a much better angle to glare at him. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because I know how much you care about your cousin. Ginger’s bad news,
so is her husband.” Bo shrugged, tapping the tip of the pencil on her desk as he continued to study her every move. “I went to her house today to check on her, and the place was empty.”

  “And?”

  “Lamont’s bike is parked out front. If Ginger doesn’t turn up in forty-eight hours, guess who has to start a missing person investigation?” Bo reeled her onto his lap, and she let him, distractedly wondering where her cousin was.

  “You really think she’s missing?”

  “No. I think she’s with Lamont and her husband is booking it home as we speak.” Bo scooted her closer and nuzzled her neck. He started pressing little butterfly kisses down her throat, over to the dip in her shoulder, zapping her brain waves as he went.

  Cheri tilted her head to give him better access. Bo suckled the back of her neck, lips wide, and it was all she could do to stay in his lap. She needed to get up, put some distance between them so she could think.

  “Now where do you think you’re going?” He caged her in place, her back to his chest, his lips next to her ear. Of which, he took full advantage by drawing her earlobe between his lips. A hiss of pleasure escaped her.

  “I have to work. Quarterly tax report due. You should go.”

  Bo splayed a hand wide on her chest to lock her in place, and with the other, he ruffled through some of her receipts. “You call this an office? I thought someone had raided the place.”

  Cheri glanced around with an unapologetic shrug. “Nope. I’ve got my own system.”

  Which she liked to call System Zero. The title explained itself.

  “This isn’t a system. You can’t shove receipts in boxes and wiggle your nose and voilà! Everything is perfect.”

  Neat, polished Sheriff Lawson ate, drank and breathed order. Just like his perfectionist uniform. “Don’t you ever wear anything besides that uniform?”

  “I’ll take it off if you don’t like it.”

  Instantaneous heat flooded her entire body. Bo in his uniform was sexy, but out of it? Mind blown.

  She’d been waiting for this offer all year, imagining all the taut lines of muscles cording his chest and arms and how she would lick her way around each one. “Um…”