Lay It Down

by Cara McKenna

  “That’s crazy . . . But I love you, too. And I’m not leaving here.”

  He kissed her temple. “I might just hold you to that.”

  Chapter 27

  Two weeks later

  Vince cracked his neck and wiped his brow, glaring at the ancient orange Datsun Bluebird parked in the center of the garage, its hood propped. He and Miah had grease up to their elbows and a few new scars between them, yet very little to show for the effort.

  “Try it again,” he called to Kim, who was sitting in the driver’s seat with the door open. The engine gave a sad gasp at her prompting, then thumped back into its coma.

  “This is hopeless,” Miah said, peeling off his gloves and heading to the minifridge for a beer. “You sure this heap didn’t come with a Do Not Resuscitate bumper sticker?”

  “It’s what she wants,” Vince said, and shot Kim a look of fake irritation.

  “Of course it’s what I want,” she told them. “Look at it! It’s the best car ever.”

  The little coupe was a clattering hunk of midseventies regrettability, but she’d fallen in love the second she’d spotted it at the scrap yard. Ugliest mutt in the pound, and now Vince got to bring the poor beast back from the dead. Kim had been documenting the project with her camera, so openly infatuated with the heap, it made him smile. She’d only ever owned one car, she’d said—given to her by her dad when she first got her license. Some hyper-reliable, respectable new sedan with zero personality. The Bluebird represented something to her, he thought. Choice, maybe. Defiance.

  It was kind of cool to know a woman well enough to be able to guess shit like that about her.

  He eyed her as he headed to grab a beer for himself, knowing the next couple weeks’ headache would be totally worth it, if it made her happy. Plus, with Tremblay locked up and awaiting trial, and some answers in place regarding Alex, Vince was over the fucking moon to find his problems suddenly as small and tangible as an engine block.

  There was a little TV perched on top of a filing cabinet in the corner, and they’d had it on pretty much constantly since the arrest, awaiting updates—them and everybody else in town. The scandal made the news every damn day—morning, noon, and evening installments—but the headlines had stagnated in time. Tremblay had confessed to being complicit in the cover-up of whatever gruesomeness had gone down in that mine, but the bones themselves had yet to be located. He denied any active involvement in the body burning or in Alex Dunn’s accident. Kim had given her statement, of course, and she’d do so again once the trial got under way, but that on its own wasn’t likely to pin Alex’s death on Tremblay. But the feds had run forensics on Alex’s crashed cruiser, and the rumor mill had it sounding shady—something suspicious to do with impact velocity. The details were sketchy and classified for now, but Vince had faith they’d prove it was murder. Plus, sooner or later, Levins would be found, and maybe sell his coconspirator out in exchange for a more lenient sentence.

  In his body, in his blood, Vince wanted to wrap his hands around Tremblay’s throat and choke the life out of the man. He wanted that so bad, his fingers curled at the thought of it.

  In his brain and in his heart, however . . . he had his mom to stay out of prison for. He had Kim, too, who didn’t rely on him, but whose smile and voice and body had him craving long-term freedom above the hot immediacy of revenge. Miah had told him, “You fuck up and flip your shit, everybody loses, and it doesn’t do Alex a good goddamn.” So Vince had made a little mantra of that, and he did his best to let his brain bully his instincts into submission on this one.

  The car door slammed, and Kim met Vince at the fridge, accepting the beer can he handed her. Cracking it open, she informed him, “You’re going to look very manly in my passenger seat.”

  “Only way I’m riding in that thing is if I’m too drunk to realize it’s happening.”

  “I’ll be sure to get photographic evidence, then.”

  Miah hopped himself up onto the workbench beside Raina, who’d been flipping through a tattoo magazine for the past hour. The pair of them had been different lately, Vince thought, eyeing the two-inch space between their hips. Twenty bucks said they’d fallen off the self-control wagon in the midst of the recent drama and started fucking again. That wouldn’t end well.

  “How come Case didn’t come to church?” Raina asked, meaning their little Sunday afternoon congregation here in the spot.

  “He’s with our mom,” Vince said blandly, keeping his feelings out of his voice. Because truth be told, Casey’s increased involvement had him hopeful to the point of disbelief. “Turns out they can both watch poker tournaments for hours at a time. Should be by soon, though, once Nita’s back with groceries.”

  How long his brother would ultimately stick around, well, that remained to be seen. But for whatever reason, the kid seemed likely to linger. He’d left for three days shortly after Tremblay’s arrest, claiming he needed to fetch a few things from his place in West Texas and fulfill a “contract.” Christ knew what that meant. Vince had worried maybe he’d skip town, nervous about the investigation, but shock of shocks, he’d come back. Vince wasn’t foolish enough to think Casey would take over as their mom’s live-in guardian anytime soon—that was too much to hope for. But every time Vince took Kim to check out apartments around Fortuity, he couldn’t help but imagine it was the two of them planning to move in together. Too crazy, and way too soon. But awful nice to think about.

  Kim had also skipped town for a few days, flying to Portland to get her loose ends tied up, once the feds had given her the okay. Up north, she’d packed all of her stuff into a moving container and had it delivered to Fortuity, and Vince wasn’t sure he’d ever felt so much in one moment, watching that truck pull up. For now, her furniture and other things were hanging out here in the spot, waiting until the day she found a place.

  Vince’s world felt settled again, for the first time in a long time—since way before Alex’s passing. Since the casino had been announced, perhaps. Construction was frozen until the investigation wrapped up, but Sunnyside had made some big statement to the residents of Fortuity last week about how they were still dedicated to the project and intended to see it through. Time would tell if the corruption at Virgin River ended with Levins or if the rot went straight to the core.

  No matter who built it, the Eclipse would change this town beyond recognition, but Vince’s bitterness about that fact had faded. Wanting everything to stay the same forever was praying for stagnation. Since Kim had walked into his life, going back to his old MO, living selfishly, scouting for the nearest good-enough-for-tonight girl . . . it all sounded exhausting. And empty. And a touch lonely. If he ever felt himself getting misty for that old freedom, he’d just take a good look at whatever train wreck of a romance his brother was tangled in and thank his lucky stars he didn’t have to deal with that shit anymore.

  Speak of the devil—a rumble outside announced Casey’s arrival, and the kid came striding through the open bay door moments later.

  “What’s up, motherfuckers?” He gave Vince’s back a slap and caught the can Miah tossed him.

  “How’s Mom?” Vince asked.

  His brother shrugged. “Not bad. How’s the lost cause looking?” He nodded to the car.

  “Hey.” Kim glared at him. “Why is everyone so mean to my car?”

  “Because it’s horrible,” Casey said, cracking his beer open. “Satan’s hatchback.”

  She gaped at him. “You take that back. People used to say redheads were the devil’s spawn, you know.”

  “That’s our mother you’re talking about.” Casey waved a finger between him and Vince.

  “Let’s leave the moms and cars out of it,” Vince said. “Enjoy a nice, low-key, drama-free afternoon for a ch—”

  “Whoa, whoa,” Miah said, cutting through the chatter. “Shut up a sec.” He hopped off the workbench and jogged to the TV, cranking the volume.

  Vince walked over, curious—a news bulletin had interru
pted the football game, the pretty Latina weekend anchor looking seriously into the camera.

  “Breaking news coming to us live from the county jail in Fortuity, where disgraced former sheriff Charles Tremblay was apparently found shot to death in his cell.”

  “The fuck?” Casey muttered, and Raina shushed him.

  “We’re told that Tremblay’s body was discovered early this morning by a detention deputy arriving for her shift. The weapon has not been confirmed, but the two gunshot wounds do not appear to be self-inflicted. The estimated time of death was approximately three a.m., and the detention officer on duty at the time of the shooting was found locked in the adjacent cell, badly beaten but expected to survive.”

  A suck of breath and an, “Oh God,” from Kim.

  “No word yet on suspects, though Tremblay’s alleged criminal accomplice, construction foreman David Levins of Mesquite-based Virgin River Contracting, remains at large.”

  Vince shook his head. “Hundred bucks says I get questioned.” Though it wasn’t a worry—Kim or Casey could attest that he’d been home all night.

  “No information has been shared yet regarding what security cameras may have captured,” said the anchor over a generic shot of the exterior of the county jail. Then she recapped the scandal at the heart of it all—what Tremblay had been arrested for, and the question marks now surrounding Alex’s death.

  “In a statement issued through his attorney, the former sheriff had claimed that the cover-up was motivated by a desire to keep the casino development on schedule. He stated he’d been concerned that an investigation into what he believed was a casualty of the illegal drug trade might stall or endanger the project, potentially robbing the town of a much-needed economic boon. Fortuity’s mayor, Jim Dooley, had this to say about that statement.”

  The shot jumped to a plump, shiny-faced Dooley, standing behind a podium and wearing his trademark ivory bolo tie and tan Stetson, blinking against the flashes. The press conference had happened the day after Tremblay’s arrest, and the clips had been broadcast so many times in the past two weeks, Vince knew the sound bite by heart.

  “While I respect Mr. Tremblay’s dedication to the development,” Dooley had said gravely, “no one could possibly defend his choices. He was appointed to the highest position in the organization charged with upholding the law in this county, and failing to report evidence of a serious crime is inexcusable, no matter the circumstances.”

  The anchor looked stern. “The mayor has yet to make any remarks following this morning’s shocking turn of events. Charles Tremblay had also been linked to the possible murder of Brush County deputy Alex Dunn, who died last month in an apparent drunk driving accident. That death is now under federal investigation. No word yet on the possible involvement of other employees of Virgin River Contracting in either of these scandals, though we’re told that a company-wide investigation is under way. Later this afternoon, KBCN will go live inside the Brush County Sheriff’s Department headquarters, where the acting sheriff is expected to make a statement.”

  Once the bulletin concluded and the football resumed, Miah was the first to speak. “Holy shit.”

  Vince nodded. That about summed it up.

  “Oh my God,” Kim said softly.

  Vince stepped close and put his arm around her. “It’s nothing for you to worry about. There’s nothing you heard that didn’t come out already—there’s no reason anyone would have to want to keep you quiet.”

  “What if Levins shot him?”

  “It’s possible,” Miah said. “They haven’t found those bones yet, or pinpointed a likely missing person. Maybe Tremblay knew who the victim was, and Levins didn’t want it getting out.”

  “If Levins was smart,” Vince said, “he’d stay in his hiding place, as far from Fortuity as he can possibly get.”

  Kim shook her head. “We’re talking about men who may have burned a human body in a trash barrel. Who plotted and executed the murder of a good man. There’s no place for logic, trying to imagine what drove either of them.”

  Vince rubbed his face. “When is this shit gonna fucking end already?”

  Casey looked around at everyone. “Maybe there’s a bigger reason we all wound up back together like this.”

  Vince eyed him. “Finding out the truth about Alex wasn’t big enough for you?”

  “You know what I mean. The drama’s not going to end here, tied up with a shiny bow. And fucked as all this bull with Tremblay’s been, without him the Sheriff’s Department’s a hot mess.”

  “The feds are on it,” Miah said.

  “Sure—for the front-page shit, the stuff we know for sure. Finding Levins and the bones and all that, and proving Alex was murdered.”

  “Figuring out if the corruption at Virgin River stopped with Levins or not,” Kim added.

  Casey nodded. “Who knows how deep this goes.” His look was pointed, but only Vince and Kim could read it—what their mother had said, in her prediction. Beyond Kim’s role, and beyond the bones. She must stay, or all is lost . . . for all of us. It was too much to explain to Miah and Raina just now, but Vince really couldn’t keep the secret for much longer.

  “You’re talking about forming a club,” he said to Casey.

  His brother crossed his arms, looking uncharacteristically dire. “I am. Shit’s gotten serious around here, and there’s no telling where it stops.”

  And beyond the casino, there were other concerns. Vince thought of folks like Abilene. That girl had a big secret and an ex with a nasty temper who was due to get paroled soon—exactly the kind of shit that the BCSD was going to be too busy to give adequate attention to. There’d be plenty of cracks around here for people like Abilene to fall through, if nobody was looking out for them.

  “Okay,” Vince told his brother. “I’m game. But you spent the past decade avoiding this town. What makes you want to stick around now?”

  Casey looked a touch cagey at that, but Vince knew his brother well enough to translate. If it made Case nervous, it was emotional, and genuine. That red dust had snuck back under his skin, somehow.

  “Whatever the reason,” Vince said, “I’ll take it. I’m in.” He looked to Miah and Raina. “How about you two?”

  Raina shrugged. “Long as this isn’t the kind of club where I have to let everybody fuck me, or spend all my time sewing patches on your matching jackets, sure. Frankly, I’m as uneasy about the future of Fortuity as anybody.”

  Vince nodded. She could play the cool, unaffected woman all day long, but he knew she was as worried as he was about how the town would be changing in the coming months.

  Vince turned to Miah. “You?”

  Miah’s hands were on his hips, and he was staring at the ground. He sighed heavily, and Vince braced himself for a regretful decline. The man had plenty on his plate already, running the ranch; plus, he didn’t know a thing about what Vince’s mom had predicted. But Miah surprised him, nodding grimly. “’Course.”

  Vince could sense Kim watching him, as though awaiting her turn to be asked if she was in. He wasn’t ready to go there just yet, and avoided her gaze. The prospect of her getting involved again made his skin crawl . . . But if she was sticking around town, and sticking by him, he couldn’t keep her sheltered forever.

  “You sure about the no-matching-jackets thing?” Casey asked Raina, breaking the tension. “‘Desert Dogs,’ in massive red letters? Big old snarly Rottweiler’s head? Badass.”

  She smirked. “I call president.”

  “Jesus, we ought to go ahead and invite Welch to join us,” Vince joked darkly. “Sounds like he could be at a loose end soon.” Though Welch had gotten his lip stitched and his busted tooth fixed, he was in hot water with Sunnyside for all the extracurricular shit he’d gotten up to on Vince’s behalf. Not fired, but the man was on some kind of corporate probation. Vince owed him big—well beyond the dry-cleaning bill to get the blood out of his designer pants.

  “I’d better head to the bar,” Raina
said, grabbing her bag from the workbench. “People are going to need an early drink.”

  True enough. And Benji’s was Fortuity’s switchboard—hell, its Facebook—the place where folks would be congregating to discuss and spread the breaking news.

  “I’ll drive you,” Miah told her, already heading for the sink to dump his beer and scrub his hands. Casey was on their heels.

  “We’ll be over,” Vince said with a glance at Kim. “Right after I lock up and touch base with Nita.”

  Once the others were gone, he turned to Kim, his chest heavy and achy.

  “I’d so, so hoped I was done looking over my shoulder,” she said, her eyes on the painted concrete floor and her head shaking faintly.

  He wrapped her in his arms. “Me, too. But try not to panic. It’s real likely they’ll catch whoever did this. County jail’s bound to be full of cameras.”

  She sighed deeply, the breath hitching with a little sob.

  “What?” he asked, stroking her hair.

  “You’re going to send me away again.”

  He froze. Those logistics hadn’t even occurred to him yet. Was that best?

  “You can’t make me go,” she said, muffled words that warmed his throat.

  And in truth, he didn’t want her to go. Here he could keep an eye on her, whereas if she were back in Portland, he’d be worried sick every minute of the day, knowing what he did about how he felt for her. And not knowing so much about exactly who was behind all this, and what motivated them, and whether or not Kim might be on their radar. The crimes were the authorities’ problems to solve now, but Kim remained his concern. And his lover—the woman whose body and voice and touch he missed like oxygen when she wasn’t near, and to whom he’d gotten so attached these past few weeks that saying good-bye was simply not an option anymore.

  “I want you here,” he told her, and kissed the top of her head. “And I don’t want you leaving my sight.” His sight, or Miah’s, or Casey’s. Not for a minute, not until they had more answers.