Going Home (Nugget Romance 1)

by Stacy Finz

  “Homicide’s the word, kid. But keep this on the QT until personnel calls. I just wanted to give you advance notice. So act surprised.”

  “No problem,” Rhys said. “And hey, thanks for this. You made my day.” Lieutenant at one of the largest homicide departments in the country. Hot damn!

  When he got off the phone, Jake popped his head inside Rhys’s office. “What did Houston want?”

  Rhys chuckled. “What are you, stalking my calls? Come in and shut the door.” He waited for Jake to take a seat. “It’s not official yet, but I’m getting promoted to lieutenant.”

  “Well, how ’bout that!” Jake said. “Congratulations.”

  “And get this. They’re sending me to homicide.”

  “That’s a big deal. Usually they send you to patrol to get your feet wet. Houston must love your ass.”

  Rhys shrugged. “I don’t know about that.” But he’d worked hard, putting in extra hours, taking lousy shifts, making plenty of collars.

  “You sure you want to leave this gig?” Jake asked.

  “I wanted to talk to you about that.” Rhys got up, sat on the corner of his desk, and kept his voice low. “You should go for this job. I like what we’ve done here so far with getting the rigs, trying to keep the sheriff out of our backyard. I’d hate to see some outsider come in and screw it up, use it as a good-old-cop’s club to retire. If Nugget still likes me when I leave, I could put in a good word for you. But with your experience, you won’t need my endorsement.” And after Sandy Addison got done with him, Jake might not want it.

  “I wasn’t really looking for a job that involved a lot of politics,” Jake said. “That’s one of the reasons I left LAPD. Too much jockeying for position. But I’ll think about it. It would be better to be chief than working for an asshole.”

  Rhys chuckled. Guess Jake didn’t think he was an asshole. Good to know.

  “I’m gonna grab a bite. Hold down the fort till I get back, wouldya?” he said, and grabbed his jacket. He’d stroll over to the Ponderosa. Maybe Maddy would be there.

  Owen was sitting on a stool eating a tuna melt when he walked in.

  “Figured you for a Bun Boy kind of guy,” Rhys said, and grabbed the seat next to him.

  “Every now and then a man likes to change it up. And Tater makes a good sandwich.”

  “I suppose we could use a few more restaurants in town.”

  Owen shrugged. “Hell, with your girlfriend’s inn going up, this place is turning into a regular metropolis.”

  Mariah came over to take Rhys’s order. “Hi, Chief.”

  “How you doing, Mariah? I’ll have what Owen’s having.”

  “Coming right up.” She moved down the bar to yell the order into the kitchen.

  Rhys swiveled on the chair. “You probably know this town better than anyone, Owen. What’s your take on how the vote’ll go?”

  “On the inn?” Owen took another bite of his sandwich and made Rhys wait while he chewed. “I’d say at this point it could go either way. Those Addisons hold some sway. But your girl ain’t no lightweight. She’s managed to swing some over to her side. I hear she’s organizing some sort of job fair. Planning to hire folks right on the spot.”

  Maddy hadn’t told him anything about it, but then again he hadn’t seen hide nor hair of her in the last two days. “That so?”

  “Yep. My guess is that it’ll rile Sandy Addison up good. The woman already walks around like she’s got a firecracker up her ass.”

  Rhys had to stifle a snicker. It wouldn’t do any good having the police chief take sides. “Just as long as everyone keeps it legal.”

  “And what about you and Maddy?” Owen asked.

  “What about us?”

  Owen rolled his eyes. “Everyone in town knows you’re hot for the girl and she’s divorcing her skirt-chasing husband.”

  Ah, small-town life. Rhys had almost forgotten what it felt like. “Yeah. Well, if you know so much, how does it end?”

  Owen hopped off his stool. “In the movies: The boy gets the girl and the girl gets the inn. In real life?” Owen shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.” He shoved a couple of bills under his empty plate. “I got to get back to cutting hair.”

  At the eleventh hour Maddy had to bail on Dave. Today was war.

  A Deep Throat source had warned Mariah that at noon, the Addisons planned to picket the inn. Supposedly there were at least eighty protesters and they’d hired the Nugget High School marching band.

  Nate had been notified and was on his way. Job applications had been printed. Tables had been set up inside the inn. And signs had been posted across town, letting everyone know that the Lumber Baron was officially hiring.

  Word traveled fast because applicants from as far away as Sier-raville had already started lining up outside the inn’s gates. Thank goodness it was a nice day for it. Most of the snow had melted from the big storm and the sun shined. Maddy walked the floor until she thought she’d wear the soles of her shoes bare, nervous that they’d mess up the timing. The plan was to start the interviews the minute the demonstrators arrived.

  She looked out over the crowd of people and mumbled, “The only thing standing between you and an hourly wage is Sandy Addison and the Nugget City Council.”

  Occasionally, she and Sophie would pop outside to hand out application forms to newcomers and answer questions. At eleven forty-five, just as Nate arrived, Maddy stepped out onto the veranda with a bullhorn in her hand.

  “Attention, everyone,” she said, her voice amplified loud enough to be heard across the square. “In fifteen minutes we’ll open the doors for interviews, starting with the first five applicants. I promise there will be no hiring decisions until we’ve talked with every last one of you. But in order to expedite the process, we ask that you have your applications filled out and your identification ready. Thanks for coming and good luck to all of you.”

  “Impressive,” Nate said, trying to count heads.

  On the other side of the square, the Addisons and their group began assembling.

  Maddy had hoped that once word got out about the job fair the Addisons would have cancelled their demonstration. But it looked like they didn’t plan to surrender.

  Rhys came up the walkway wearing his uniform. He probably thought looking official would help keep the peace. “Hey,” he said.

  “Hey, yourself.” This was the first time she’d seen him since their non-breakup—because, how, really, can you break up when you’re not even a couple? Just a booty call. Yet, she still felt like her heart was coming out of her chest. She tried to smile and look like he wasn’t affecting her. “We got a good crowd.”

  “Yeah, and on short notice.” He seemed a little surprised—and worried.

  “You gonna be okay?” He tilted his head toward the approaching protestors.

  “Of course,” she said, with as much bravado as she could muster. All day she’d had a stomachache thinking about the pending confrontation.

  “They have a permit, so it’s all legal.”

  “I figured as much.”

  “Try to keep the peace, okay?” She couldn’t see his eyes behind the aviators, but in his tone she detected a subtle warning.

  “We’re just conducting a job fair. That’s all.”

  “Yeah, right.” She saw a hint of a grin before he walked away.

  Nate cornered her when she got inside. “You think Dave’s going to fight you for the house now?” he asked, taking away the bullhorn she’d been gripping like a lethal weapon.

  “What was I supposed to do? Drop everything and drive four hours in the middle of this?” She gazed out at the cluster of demonstrators who’d claimed a strip of land across from the line of job hopefuls. The band played Pink Floyd’s “Comfortably Numb.”

  Sophie tapped on her watch. “It’s time. Let’s do it.”

  They opened the doors of the inn and Nate waved in the first five. Maddy had organized it so that each interviewee got an audience with b
oth her and Nate. They put the applications of the candidates they liked in a binder and the others in a box.

  The Baker’s Dozen came bearing sustenance, and the women all wore T-shirts with a picture of the Lumber Baron.

  “Pam had them made,” Amanda said. “Aren’t they cute?”

  Between interviews, Maddy peered outside the window to check out the scene. Rhys had evidently posted Wyatt and Jake in front of the inn to keep tempers from flaring. As she hoped, the job candidates had become immediately territorial about the inn and their future employment prospects.

  Some of them, probably in an attempt to razz the demonstrators, danced on the sidewalk to the music of the marching band. According to rumor, at least two of the protestors had jumped ship to join the job-fair crowd when they heard the Lumber Baron offered full benefits and a 401k savings plan.

  After two hours, the band split for another gig in Graeagle, and the demonstrators, whose chants and rallying cries were then drowned out by the heckling of the inn’s prospective employees, gave up in frustration.

  Maddy and Nate won this round. But in three days, the Nugget City Council would decide who gained the ultimate victory.

  In the meantime, the line of still-to-be-interviewed candidates stretched farther down the block than when they had started. By the end of the day, Maddy suffered from dry mouth and her neck and shoulders killed from sitting in a straight-back chair for hours on end.

  “How many left?” she asked Nate, letting out a loud yawn.

  “That was our last one.”

  “Boy, do I want to soak in a hot bath,” she said, rubbing her aching muscles. “You staying at Sophie and Mariah’s?”

  “Yeah. I thought we could have an early dinner together. Tomorrow I’m heading back to San Francisco first thing in the morning. In fact, I’ve got to get gas before the Nugget Gas and Go closes—whoever heard of a gas station shutting down at five and not opening until nine?”

  “The guy who owns it is really old, Nate. He’s trying to sell the station, but no one wants to buy it. I feel so bad for him that I half wish I could buy it just so he can relax.”

  She rotated her neck. “How ’bout I go home, take a shower, and meet you at the Ponderosa at six?”

  “Sounds good. Want me to lock up?”

  “I’ll do it. I’ve got it down to a fifteen-minute routine. Go get gas before it’s too late. If I’m not in the restaurant before you, order me one of those Negronis you like.”

  “Okay.” Nate grabbed his jacket and on his way out, paused at the door. “Hey, Mad, you done good today.”

  She looked up from folding the last of the card tables. “We’re in it to win it.”

  “We sure are.” The door clicked behind him.

  Maddy carried the box of cast-off applications to her office. On her way back she collected the water pitchers she’d stacked on the mantel and headed to the kitchen. She stood over the sink washing glasses when someone knocked on the back door. Peering out the window she suspected the man standing on the stoop was a straggler who still wanted a shot at an interview.

  She opened the door. “I’m sorry, we’ve finished for the evening. But if you’d like to leave your—”

  Before she could finish her sentence, he shoved her back inside the kitchen and flipped the dead bolt, forcing her against the wall. “We alone?”

  Her eyes slid down to where he held her throat and her knees buckled.

  “Don’t lie to me, bitch. Don’t you fucking lie to me.” He pressed against her larynx and she struggled to breathe.

  She pulled at his arms, gulping for air, until he loosened his grip. “What do you want?” she asked in a scratchy voice she barely recognized.

  “I want my stuff.” He put his face so close to hers that his putrid breath nearly made her puke. His teeth were rotten, his eyes glazed, and his face was covered in sores.

  She tried to stay calm while her eyes darted around the room looking for a possible weapon. “My purse is in the other room. Just take it and go.”

  He yanked her hair. “Show me.”

  She led him into the parlor where they’d held the interviews, praying that someone would see her through the windows and send in the cavalry.

  “Where’s my go, bitch?”

  She didn’t know what he was talking about or what his “go” was. She had never seen him before in her life. He was obviously high as a kite and had mistaken her for someone else. But now didn’t seem like a good time to quibble.

  “You got it somewhere in the house?” He pulled so hard on her ponytail she felt her scalp ripping.

  “I don’t know what it is,” she cried. “If it’s money you want, I can get it. I just need to go to the bank. I’ll come right back.”

  “Do you think I’m stupid?” He slammed her against the wall and that’s when fear the likes of which she’d never known hit her. He’s going to really, really hurt me, maybe even murder me.

  He found her bag, emptied it on the floor, and combed through her wallet. “Twenty fucking bucks. That’s all you have, bitch?” He threw the wallet against the fireplace and turned on her with feral eyes. “You wanna live, give me my shit back.”

  Oh, God, focus, Maddy. Think of something. “I’m new here. Just tell me what it is and I’ll find it for you. I promise.”

  He cackled, his flying spittle landing on her skin, making her want to scrub herself raw. “The barrels that used to be in your basement. . . the equipment.”

  Now she knew. This was the man who’d attacked Colin, the man who’d set up the meth lab in her inn. “I don’t have it, but I could write you a check for the value.”

  His hand snaked out so fast she didn’t see it coming before it cracked her across the face. And then he reached inside his jacket and pressed a knife against her throat.

  The lights at the inn were still on and Rhys decided to stroll over. All day he’d resisted the urge to visit Maddy while she conducted her interviews. He missed her, but didn’t want to send mixed messages. It was better to go cold turkey. Prolonging any kind of relationship would only make it worse when it came time for him to leave.

  At least the job fair had gone off without a hitch. Honestly, he’d had some concerns that team Addison might come to blows with team Breyer. But it looked as though the protestors had left with their tails between their legs. Now Rhys could take off his damn uniform.

  He was halfway to the inn when his hackles went up. He could see two people through one of the windows and although he couldn’t make them out, something about the way they were standing was off. Like they were locked together, performing a peculiar slow dance.

  It might be nothing, but he reached for his Glock. Rhys took a detour around the back of the inn. He found the kitchen door locked. With the butt of his gun he knocked out a pane of glass and reached for the latch.

  If it turned out he had an overactive imagination, he’d make the repairs himself. But something seemed wrong—a sort of heaviness in the air. A stillness. A pall. Rhys registered the empty pitchers in the sink, when a groaning noise sent him on full-blown alert.

  Slipping quietly from the kitchen, he went from room to room, crouching along the walls. The sun had set, casting eerie shadows over the empty mansion while he wended his way toward the source of the sound.

  When he got to the front room he saw some son of a bitch putting Maddy in a hostage hold, the edge of a knife hovering dangerously close to her carotid artery.

  Rhys drew on him, staring down the sight of his 9mm, blood rushing to his ears. He couldn’t look at Maddy. If he saw her fear, he’d lose it. He needed to focus. He needed to stay in control. Bear with me, baby. Bear with me.

  If the bastard so much as hurt one hair on her head . . . “Police! Put the knife down!”

  “I’ll slash her throat, you come any closer.” The man swayed a little off-balance and Rhys could tell he was stoned out of his mind.

  Rhys clenched his teeth, never wavering, never taking his eyes off the tar
get. “This is your last warning. Drop the knife.”

  “Fuck you.” The man let out a high-pitched giggle, leaning a little to the right.

  That’s all Rhys needed for a clean shot.

  He squeezed the trigger and the man staggered back, dropped the knife as he crumpled to the ground. Blood oozed from a small hole in his head. Rhys kicked the weapon away and checked his wrist for a pulse.

  He couldn’t find one—just a scorpion tattoo on the back of his hand.

  He reached for Maddy who stood stock-still in shock. She tottered and he held her upright. “Don’t faint on me, sugar.”

  “I’m okay,” she said, her voice so hoarse Rhys could barely make out what she’d said. “Is he . . . ?”

  “Yeah,” Rhys said, immediately checking her from head to toe. “Did he hurt you?”

  She shook her head. “I was so scared, Rhys. Those were his drugs in the basement and he wanted them back.”

  He brushed hair away from her eyes and felt his gorge rise when he saw the bruises on her face and throat. “He hit you?”

  “If you hadn’t come when you did . . .” She looked at the dead man lying on her polished wooden floor. “Oh, God, I don’t think I’ll ever stop feeling that knife against my throat.

  “Rhys,” she said in a whisper. “I want to go home.”

  He stiffened. Where was home? San Francisco? “Wherever you want to go, Maddy. I’ll take you.”

  She leaned on him for stability and he felt a shiver go through her. “You’ll stay with me, right? In the trailer?”

  Rhys let out the breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding. “For as long as you want.” He pulled off his jacket, so he could wrap it around her shoulders, and pulled out his cell phone.

  “Jake, I’m at the Lumber Baron.” He paused briefly to steady himself. “Come get my weapon—and send a coroner’s van.”

  Chapter 23

  Everywhere Maddy went the next morning someone was talking about the shooting. If she didn’t know better she’d think the good folks of Nugget were bloodthirsty. Especially that Portia Cane, who at the Ponderosa had taken particular pleasure in telling the story—as if she’d been there herself.