Set the Dark on Fire

by Jill Sorenson

  Laughter bubbled up from within, tearing through her chest. “What you just went through? Are you serious?”

  “A few hours ago, I saw Bull Ryan facedown on the ground with his scalp hanging to the side like a loose toupee,” he said in a low, furious voice. “And last night I dreamed—” He broke off with another curse, raking a hand through his hair.

  She stared at him in wonder. “Dreamed what?”

  “That you were dead,” he bit out. “I dreamed you were dead.”

  Judging by his reaction to seeing her in the hospital bed, the idea of her dying disturbed him greatly. She frowned, worried that her brother would hear rumors about the incident and have the same reaction. “I should call Dylan at school,” she murmured, reaching for the phone beside the bed.

  “Don’t bother. He’s not there.”

  Her stomach clenched with dread. “Where is he?”

  “I don’t know. I sent Garrett out looking for him.”

  “Why?”

  After a moment’s hesitation, he leveled with her. “Because his application for employment was in Bull’s hand.”

  She felt the blood drain from her face. “He just started working there yesterday. It doesn’t mean anything.”

  “Maybe not,” Luke agreed.

  “I have to get out of here,” she said, pulling the oxygen tube away from her nose. “I have to go find him.”

  “Stop.” He reached out and stilled her hand. “What did the doctor say?”

  She glared at him. “That I’m fine.”

  “Then why haven’t you been discharged?”

  “Because some patients have a delayed reaction to rattlesnake venom,” she said, lying back against the pillows. “Symptoms can develop up to eight hours later.”

  He held her gaze. “Promise me you’ll stay here. I’ll go after Dylan.”

  Tears flooded her eyes, but she nodded, feeling defeated.

  “Tell me what happened with the snake.”

  Brushing the hair away from her forehead with trembling fingers, she told him about the strange box with the rattler inside.

  “You could have been killed.” His voice was tight.

  “I admit I was careless, opening a rattling box, but—”

  “Someone tried to kill you.”

  “No,” she protested. “I get drop-offs sometimes. People mistake a wildlife preserve for an animal rescue. It’s irresponsible, of course, to leave a rattlesnake in an unmarked container, especially one without proper ventilation—”

  “You could have died, and you’re worried about the goddamned snake!”

  She flinched at his vehemence.

  “Where’s the box? Did you bring it?”

  Shaking her head, she said, “It’s still at Dark Canyon.”

  “And the snake?”

  “In a safe place,” she hedged.

  He nodded, but his mouth had this hard look about it. It was the way a man held his face before he threw a punch. “I’m going to find whoever did this.”

  She felt a shiver of unease. “Find Dylan first.”

  22

  Luke met up with Clay on his way out to the lobby. He wanted to go straight to Dark Canyon and tear the place apart looking for clues, but he had a missing Dylan Phillips to deal with and a loan shark to interview.

  “False alarm,” he said as they walked toward the exit together. “Guess it was a dry bite.”

  Clay recognized the term and relaxed his shoulders. “Hardly anyone dies from a real bite these days, anyhow. Not with treatment.”

  “Someone left the snake in an unmarked box on her doorstep at Dark Canyon.”

  “Son of a bitch,” he muttered. “What kind of idiot would do that?”

  “It couldn’t have been Jesse,” Luke admitted grudgingly. “He was locked up all night, and the box wasn’t there when we—” He broke off, feeling heat creep up his neck. “It wasn’t there last night.”

  Clay smirked, guessing what they’d been up to. “Jesse might not want to see Shay with another man, but he wouldn’t deliberately try to hurt her.”

  Luke didn’t bother to dispute him. It seemed as though the people of Tenaja Falls had difficulty believing any of its residents were capable of wrongdoing, and that attitude was real sweet, but not particularly helpful to his investigation. “What about these guys at Wild Rivers? Are they harmless, too?”

  Clay was optimistic, not naïve. “No, they aren’t. But I expect you already know that.”

  Luke’s response was noncommittal. Moses Rivers, the man behind the casino chain, had a dangerous reputation. If some of his bookies had roughed up Bull Ryan, Rivers would know about it. He also had ties to Sin City. “I doubt Rivers had anything to do with the hit on me,” he said, thinking aloud. “His holdings are all outside of Vegas.”

  Clay shrugged. “If you want to talk to him, he’s been hanging out in Pala, keeping his eye on construction.”

  “Call the casino and let Rivers know we’re coming,” Luke said.

  “I’ll follow you over there,” he added, getting into his truck. Before he started the engine, he picked up his radio. “Deputy Snell, come back.”

  Garrett didn’t always answer, but this time he did. “Snell here, over.”

  “What’s the status on our BOLO?” He’d put out a “be on the lookout” alert for Dylan this morning.

  “Nothing yet. I checked his house and the Martinez place.”

  Luke asked him to drive by the basketball courts and signed off, growing increasingly frustrated with the lack of progress, wishing he could be a dozen places at once. He didn’t want to leave Shay alone and unprotected, and he didn’t trust Garrett at all.

  “There’s way too much going on in this town,” he muttered to himself, looking forward to some hard-won monotony.

  Luke had never been to the Wild Rivers Casino at Pala Reservation. Construction had started about ten years ago, well after his last visit with his father. He met Clay outside, near the wide automated doors. As they walked in together, all of Luke’s thoughts were washed away by casino madness. The garble of voices and whir of slot machines, once music to his ears, now sounded like unnecessary noise.

  The lights were too bright, the cigarette smoke too thick. Underneath that, there was a faint metallic odor, the smell of spent coins, stale sweat, and desperation.

  He blinked a few times, ignoring the sensory overload and letting the superfluous details fade into the background, an old Vegas trick that didn’t come as easily as it once had. A stunning, dark-haired woman came forward to greet them. Her voice was cool and impersonal, but not unpleasant. “Sheriff Meza? I’m Willow Rivers.”

  He shook her slender hand, noting that she had the figure of a showgirl, encased in a slim-fitting skirt and elegant silk blouse. With her perfect makeup, flawless skin, and seductive smile, she was a very pretty package, but one that left him cold.

  Luke pictured Shay’s flyaway hair and casual style, her frankness and transparency. Every thought, every emotion was reflected on her face. The woman before him didn’t appear to have emotions.

  “Deputy Trujillo,” she said, nodding as if they’d met before.

  “Clay,” he corrected, shaking her hand.

  She led them toward the elevators, making small talk with Clay as they rode up to her father’s apartments. Although Willow Rivers reminded him of a Miss USA contestant, with her smooth responses and carefully crafted persona, he couldn’t say he disliked her.

  Her presence obviously made Clay uncomfortable, however, and he resisted her attempts to put him at ease. Wielding hospitality like a weapon, she seated them in a plush office inside a penthouse suite and poured them each cold drinks. Her blouse gaped open a little as she placed Clay’s drink before him, but he averted his gaze.

  “He’ll be with you in a moment,” she said, leaving the room in a swish of long hair and a whisper of silk.

  “You seem nervous,” Luke said to Clay, hiding a smile.

  “She freaks me out,” h
e admitted under his breath, taking a sip of his 7-Up. “If her father asked her to, she’d probably offer complimentary blow jobs.”

  Luke almost choked on his own drink. He was still trying to recover when Moses Rivers strode into the room. How a lovely creature like Willow could have sprung from this man’s loins was a complete mystery. He was a large, intimidating-looking brute with harsh features, clubbed-back hair, and severely pockmarked skin.

  “Do you want anything, Daddy?” Willow asked. Her affection for him seemed genuine, unlike the rest of her. “A cold drink?”

  When he looked at his daughter, Moses’ face went from ugly to merely homely. “No thanks.”

  Smiling, she shut the door.

  Moses’ placid expression disappeared. “Sheriff Meza now, is it? How is your health?”

  Luke knew the man was referring to his brush with death in Vegas. “My health has always been excellent,” he said, hoping Rivers hadn’t heard Clay’s last comment. “But I can’t say the same for everyone in Tenaja Falls.”

  “I heard about Bull,” Moses said, his eyes flat. “It’s a shame.”

  Luke shouldn’t have been surprised. This man had friends in very high places, and they kept him well informed. “When did you last see him?”

  “Last week. Friday.”

  “Did you argue?”

  “Nothing to argue about. Everything on the site has been running smoothly.”

  “Do you know anyone who would want to make trouble for him?”

  He leaned back in his chair. “No.”

  “What about his son Jesse? Does he owe you money?”

  He folded his hands on top of his desk. “My finances are confidential. If you want to look into them, I suggest you obtain a warrant.”

  “I’ll do that,” Luke promised, although he doubted he could get one. Rivers was powerful, connected, and filthy rich. Worse, he was meticulous. Anything illegal this man had done would be buried so deep a hundred investigators couldn’t find it.

  Rivers studied him cannily. “Do you have family here, Sheriff Meza?”

  Luke disliked the question, but in an interview situation, sometimes a little give-and-take was unavoidable. “My father lives in Pala.”

  “Lawrence Meza? Is that him?”

  “Yes.”

  His brows lifted. “I didn’t know he had a son.”

  Luke stared back at Rivers in uneasy silence, wondering how well the two men knew each other. His father had actually tried to contact Luke about a year ago. Apparently, he’d quit drinking and wanted to make amends. He’d called and left a message less than a week after Leticia’s funeral. A lonely affair Luke had paid for, and attended, all by himself.

  Luke had never called back. It was too late to repair a relationship that had never really existed. Wasn’t it?

  “We don’t see each other very often,” he murmured. The understatement of his life. He shrugged off the subject, aware that Rivers was enjoying his discomfort. “Did you know Yesenia Montes?”

  Something in his dark eyes flickered. “We were acquainted.”

  “How so?”

  “The usual way a man who looks like me would be acquainted with a woman who is paid for her time.”

  Well. That was clear enough. “When did you see her last?”

  “I don’t remember the exact date. Perhaps you should ask your deputy.”

  Luke tensed. “Deputy Snell? Why?”

  “He was with her the last time I saw her. And he frequently gave her rides to and from the casino.” His pockmarked face stretched into an unpleasant smile. “In his squad car.”

  Dylan sat up and looked around, momentarily disoriented by his surroundings. This wasn’t his bedroom. It was Angel’s.

  And she wasn’t here.

  “Fuck,” he groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. He couldn’t believe he’d fallen asleep. What a lame move.

  Shaking off the grogginess, he got up and went to the bathroom, catching a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror over the sink while he took a piss.

  Did he look different?

  He turned his head to one side and examined the line of his jaw, as if losing his virginity might have resulted in the sudden growth of a full beard. Nope. Looking down, he noted that nothing else had changed, either.

  But he smiled to himself, puffing out his chest as he zipped up his pants. He felt pretty manly. He just wished he’d been able to make it good for Angel. Maybe he could talk her into letting him try again.

  Wildly excited by the prospect, he cleaned up a little and took a swig of her mouthwash before he left the bathroom. As he looked around for his T-shirt, finding it draped over the only chair, it occurred to him that something was missing.

  Her room was … empty.

  Pulse racing, he pulled his shirt over his head and opened her clothes armoire, the only large piece of furniture in the room. There was nothing in it. No clothes, no miscellaneous junk, no extra blankets. And no guitar.

  He couldn’t believe his eyes, although the evidence was right there in front of him. Angel Martinez had moved out while he was sleeping. And she’d taken everything she owned, so it wasn’t as if she’d gone on a short vacation.

  Whirling around, he searched the room for signs of her. On the top of her desk, there was a single sheet of paper. He snatched it up and began to read.

  Dylan,

  I’m so sorry leave this way. Pleaz dont regret been with me. I’m glad it happend.

  I wish I cloud stay but I cant. Goodby.

  Angel

  “I wish I cloud stay?” he sputtered, staring at the words incredulously. She’d written him a kiss-off letter, and she didn’t even know how to spell the word goodbye.

  This was total bullshit.

  Muttering a string of curses, he grabbed his backpack and flew out the door, not bothering to shut it behind him. A quick check through the windows of the main house confirmed that she’d really left.

  Not just left. She’d run away.

  In that moment, Dylan hated her with a passion. More than he hated his mom, whose death he’d mourned bitterly. More than he hated his dad, whose absence Dylan felt acutely. More than he hated Shay, whose abandonment had destroyed him.

  It seemed as though Angel had slept with him before she left on purpose, just to make certain he was crushed.

  He’d lost his virginity, and now he’d been royally fucked.

  Smashing her letter in his hand, he shoved it into his front pocket. There was only one place she could have gone if she was planning on hightailing it out of town.

  The bus station.

  Dylan had hitched a ride from Palomar High to Calle Remolino and he’d have to do it again to get back to the main drag. Shay didn’t like him getting into cars with strangers, but hitching was an accepted mode of transportation in Tenaja Falls. He knew the dangers and only stuck his thumb out for certain types of drivers. Perhaps it was a stereotype, but he’d discovered that Mexican people were often friendly and generous, and didn’t associate any stigma with offering someone a ride.

  The last person he wanted to get picked up by was Garrett Snell, so Dylan kept his head low as he jogged by the side of the road. Adrenaline propelled him all the way to the nearest cross street, and catching a lift from there was easy.

  He stuck his thumb out at the first jalopy. It pulled to a stop a few feet away, music blaring from the open windows, its inhabitants weighing down the chassis.

  “A dónde vas?” the driver asked.

  “Al estación de autobuses.”

  “Súbate.”

  Dylan hopped in, as ordered, nodding hello at the other passengers. The sound of Cumbia filled his ears, pleasant and upbeat, with its carnival bass line and lively accordion. The music didn’t assuage his anger, but it affected his outlook, and by the time they arrived he was no longer sure what he would say to Angel if he found her.

  Frowning, he dug out a dollar and some change for the driver.

  He accepted it easily. “
No tienes equipaje.”

  “No,” he agreed, looking down at his empty hands. He didn’t have any luggage. “Estoy buscando a mi chica,” he explained. I’m looking for my girl.

  The men nodded to each other in understanding. “Buena suerte.” Good luck.

  “Grácias,” he muttered, getting out and waving good-bye. The little car took off again, leaving a cloud of dust and a lingering tune in its wake.

  There was only one bus parked in front of the station, an exhaust-coated contraption with “Sunset Tours” written beneath the windows. Passengers were boarding, stowing their belongings in the storage area along the side.

  Angel was last in line, carefully stashing her prized guitar and one sturdy duffel bag.

  His heart leapt into his throat and he could only stare at her, assaulted by memories of her on top of him, underneath him, around him. As if sensing his perusal, she looked up, her eyes meeting his, and the moment stretched into an eternity.

  He knew then that her voice would haunt him more than anything else. Years from now, he might forget how her body responded to his or how her skin felt beneath his hands, but he would never forget the sound of her voice, husky-sweet, like a hot summer night.

  “Dylan,” she said in a ragged whisper.

  The driver began to close the baggage compartment. “Bus leaves in two minutes, miss.”

  She nodded, hesitating another moment before she approached him. “Please don’t tell my dad,” she begged.

  He glanced at the bus again, seeing now that the small sign above the front window said “Las Vegas.”

  She twisted her hands together. “I’m going to call him as soon as I get settled, but I don’t want him to worry …”

  “Why are you going there?”

  “To look for work.”

  “What kind of work?”

  She tore her gaze from his, her mouth thinning. And then he knew. He knew why she was going and why she’d kept it a secret.

  The outrage and confusion he’d felt upon reading her rejection letter came back with a vengeance, flooding his system. “What the hell was that this morning?” he asked, lowering his voice. “Practice?”

  Her eyes filled with hurt. “Don’t,” she said. “Don’t make it cheap.”