“What do you want me to say? You shut me out, Yuma. You say things you think justify it, but in the end you simply shut the door in my face. It hurt me to a point where I don’t even trust myself to be alone.”
He takes a step closer. “I’m so sorry.”
“I believe you are, but I don’t know if I’m strong enough to risk going through that again.”
Yuma
It’s bitter—the taste of remorse.
“Please…”
Her tear-filled eyes look sad but her chin lifts with determination. I understand it—she’s protecting herself—but what kills is that it’s me she protecting herself from.
I close the distance and cup her face in my hands, as I pour everything I’m feeling in the kiss I plant on her lips. At first, I feel her need as strong as mine, as her mouth opens to let me in and her hands fist in the shirt at my chest. Fueled by her kiss my resolve builds, until she pulls back and those fisted hands become flat palms, pushing me away. Reluctantly I let her go.
“I can’t do this,” she whispers, darting by me.
I turn and watch her disappear down the hallway to her bedroom, slamming the door behind her. I have to fight the urge to go after her, but if I push any harder, I’m afraid I’ll do more damage than good. I’m not sure what it’ll take to win her back, but I sure as fuck plan to do just that. Failure is not an option.
I turn off her TV, grab her glass and the pizza box, and stuff both in the fridge. When I turn, I notice two posters lying on the counter with the picture of her friend, Dani. I throw a quick glance down the hallway before grabbing one to take with me. Then I dig into her junk drawer for the pen and notepad I know she keeps there, leave her a note, and turn off the lights, pulling the door shut behind me.
Tucking the poster in my saddlebag, I head back to the clubhouse.
_______________
“Back already?”
I look up to find Trunk standing in the shadows of the clubhouse porch, having a smoke.
“Yeah. It’s gonna take some time.”
He chuckles. “Welcome to the club. Pretty sure every man lucky enough to find a good woman has fucked up once or twice. Hard work to get back in there, but I promise…the payoff will be sweet.”
“So noted.” I point at his cigarette. “Got another one’a those?”
“Picking it up again?” he inquires, handing me his pack and a lighter.
“Not planning to. I thought you’d quit?”
“Keep a pack at the club, brother. Jaimie’d have my hide if I smoked around the house.”
“She still here?” I take a deep drag.
“Left shortly after you did to pick River up from her mom’s. I was just having my last smoke before heading out after her.”
“Glad I caught ya. I’ve got somethin’ to show you.” I quickly walk back to my bike to grab the poster and hand it to him. “You ever see that woman?”
He looks at it closely and shakes his head. “Not ringing any bells. Who’s she?”
“Dani. Friend of Lissie’s, who’s been missin’ for a while.”
“No shit, huh? So this is your plan? Winning brownie points by finding the friend?”
“Can’t hurt. Besides, the girl’s known to hang out with bikers. Figured with some guys from the other clubs here for Momma’s funeral, I could ask around.”
“True.” He takes a last pull on his smoke and grinds it out in the bucket of sand, as he announces, “I should head home.”
“Before you go,” I stop him, remembering the conversation I had earlier with Lisa’s little girl. “I almost forgot, are you still striking out getting background from the two boys? Thomas and Michael?”
“Pretty much. Can’t push too hard, they’re young kids.”
“Right. Don’t know if this helps, but Kiara got into it with Thomas, apparently.” I relay what the little girl told me. “A bit odd for a small kid to say his mama was put in the ground. I know you guys have been looking for answers.”
“It’s more than I’ve been able to get out of him.” He drops a hand on my shoulder. “Look, man, I’m sorry you were kept outta the loop, but—”
“It’s fine,” I cut him off. “I get it. The end justifies and all that.”
“Somethin’ like that. Later, brother.” He starts walking toward his bike.
“Later, Trunk,” I call after him, toss my butt in the bucket, and with the poster under my arm, head inside the clubhouse.
The atmosphere has ratcheted up a notch or two since I left to take Nosh home. It’s noisier, more like some of the parties of old, now that the old man and the kids are gone. I’m sure most of the guys are tanked up good. A few women—mostly hangers-on—have shown up in the meantime and don’t seem too selective or too subtle with their attention. It really is like old times, but what is new is my aversion to it. A quick glance at a half-naked trio on the couch shows a scene I might’ve been tempted to join just last year. I’m surprised Ouray hasn’t put a stop to it. Since he married Luna, he strongly encouraged that kind of partying to take place in one of the rooms at the back of the clubhouse, behind closed doors.
I scan the space and note the largest group is crowded around the bar, but there are a few pockets of people spread around some of the small tables. Ouray is sitting with Wapi at one of them, each staring at the empties in front of them. I aim for them.
“Nosh okay?” I ask Wapi, who was going to keep an eye out, as I pull out a chair.
“Asleep, last time I checked.”
“Thanks for checking, brother.”
“Thought you’d left for the night?” Ouray asks with an eyebrow raised.
“Yeah. Turns out I mighta been a bit optimistic.”
“Takes work, brother.”
“So I’m findin’ out.”
Ouray chuckles until I spread the poster on the table for him to see.
“Who’s that?”
“Lissie’s friend, Danielle Gorman. She’s been missing since January. Girl had a thing for bikers and the last we know she was heading for Durango.”
“Can’t say I know her.”
“Me neither,” Wapi offers.
“Guys! Come over here. Yo, Red!” Ouray calls out before turning to me. “He knows more people than the rest of us combined.”
I know he does. He’s fucked most of them too.
Some of them amble over, Red among them, with Ginger trailing behind.
“Any of you know this girl?” Ouray holds up the poster.
“Nice-lookin’ piece.” My eyes fly to Manny Salinas, who has some redhead with a sour look on her face draped around him.
“Shut the fuck up, Manny,” I bite off. “She’s someone’s fucking best friend.”
The asshole raises his hands in defense and backs away.
“Pretty sure I seen her around,” Red says, and my ears perk up. “Can’t remember where though.”
“Norwood.” I throw a look over my shoulder at Ginger.
“Norwood?”
She nods. “She belongs to the Moab Reds.”
CHAPTER 21
Lissie
“BUCCO! GOT A minute?”
VanDyken and I just got back from a long day of interviews after a morning robbery call at an elementary school. Some yahoos took off with all of the recently acquired, brand-new computers from the library. They timed it so the alarm went off just as Sunday service let out at the Baptist Church next door, and mass at the Catholic Church on the corner across the road. Like every Sunday morning, the entire block was congested with vehicles and our patrol cars took forever to get to the school. By the time they did, the thieves were long gone, blending in with heavy church traffic.
We’re pretty sure there was more than one person involved, in order to carry fifteen new computers out of the building. At least one of them was very familiar with both the school and the neighborhood, seeing as they knew about the recent silent donation of the computers to the school, and they were obviously aware of the gridloc
k on Sunday mornings in this neighborhood.
There is still a long list of people to talk to.
Joe Benedetti is sticking his head out of the conference room the Wildcat Canyon investigation has taken over. I haven’t been in there since I was benched and have to admit I’m a little curious to what is going on.
“Coming.”
Inside Ramirez and Blackfoot look up from where they’re sitting at the large table. Behind them, one wall of the room is covered with plans of the different phases of the development, headshots of the main suspects, of all evidence gathered, and pictures of the victims. I try not to focus on the latter.
“Have a seat, Lissie,” Joe urges from behind me.
I take a chair on the other side of the table beside Tony and lift my eyes to Joe. His face is difficult to read, but he’s definitely not giving me good vibes.
“What’s going on?”
“We got back the forensic anthropology report earlier this week, and two of the bodies—the more skeletonized ones—have been there in excess of seven or eight years. The third one has only been down there between six and twelve months. They haven’t done the full analysis of the soil yet, which will help narrow that timeframe down.”
I’m not quite sure what he’s leading up to, but it’s not giving me a good feeling.
“Okay.”
“The DNA labs on the victims just came back this morning,” he continues. “The lab was also able to withdraw a sufficient sample from the stamps on those postcards you provided for DNA testing, and those results came back as well.” My entire body tenses up in preparation of the news I already know is coming. “I’m sorry, Lissie. The DNA retrieved from the postcards matches the DNA of the third body.”
I manage to nod and push myself up from the table.
“Thank you,” I mumble, moving stiffly to the door.
“Lissie.” I go rigid at Tony’s voice right behind me, and almost lose it right there and then when I feel his warm hand on my shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you.” This time I manage no more than a whisper.
“Go home, Bucco,” Joe orders. “See she gets home, Ramirez.”
I open my mouth to object but Keith speaks up before I get a chance.
“Take her truck. I was gonna run out to grab some food anyway, I’ll swing by to get you.”
“Don’t wanna see you here tomorrow, Lissie,” the chief says sternly.
“But—”
“No arguments. We’ve got things here.”
My eyes start blurring, sitting in the passenger seat of my own truck as Tony drives me home. By the time he pulls into my spot I’m barely hanging on, only nodding when he hands me my keys and says he’ll check in with me later.
It’s not until I enter my apartment and drop down on my loveseat I allow myself tears.
Pain, guilt, anger—the waves of emotion hit me all at once, making it hard to breathe. The pain I feel sharply—like a deep burning in my chest with every breath. I set aside the guilt. It’s useless now, I just lost my chance to make things right. What I focus on instead is anger. At Dani for waiting until it was too late to call for my help. At myself for not trying harder to find her when she disappeared. But mostly I’m angry with the animal who killed her, mutilated her, and put her in that hole.
I shrug off my jacket, toss it over a stool, and snatch the file folder off the counter. First thing I see when I flip it open is the note I slipped in there this morning.
Pizza in fridge. Not giving up.
Yuma’s note, which had been waiting for me, when I rolled out of bed, rumpled, groggy, and not in the best of moods. Reading it lifted my spirits. A little. Now I shove it in the kitchen drawer so I can spread out my journal pages.
I notice some of the pencil marks Yuma left, underlining a few references to Vegas and circling the date I’d scribbled at the top of that particular page. I get my laptop from the bedroom and type ‘Vegas’ and September, 2012, into the search engine. Scrolling through three pages about President Obama visiting, a Justin Bieber show, and a collection of expos and trade shows, before bumping into a reference about Vegas Bikefest on page four.
I lose track of time as I dig up anything I can find on the bike rally: newsletter articles, write-ups, blog entries, and pictures—tons and tons of pictures. I scroll through, hoping to get a glimpse of Dani’s face. Something—anything—I can sink my teeth into.
My eyes are gritty from peering at my laptop’s small screen when I hit on a group picture taken in front of the fountains at the Bellagio. I spot Dani right away, her smile wide. My breath sticks in my throat. She looks so happy and…alive.
Hot tears roll unchecked for my best friend, but I don’t stop scanning the image, zooming in on the face of the man next to her with his arm draped around her in a proprietary manner. I take a screenshot before focusing on the other people in the picture. I’m shocked when I see the familiar face of Red Franklin in the crowd, but my heart stops when I spot the couple right beside him, just steps from my best friend. I recognize the woman, her head thrown back, as Red’s wife, Ginger. Most of her body is blocked by a man with his face buried in her neck.
But I don’t need to see his face to know it’s Yuma.
Yuma
“You son of a bitch!”
I move the phone away from my ear to check the screen. Yup, definitely Lissie calling.
I’m standing in the doorway to my mountain home, looking at the disaster inside.
“What the hell, Babe?”
I managed to get as much information from Ginger as I could about Dani, after she dropped that bombshell last night. She couldn’t tell me much; just that she’d seen the girl around with the Moab Reds over the years.
I’d been ready to saddle up and ride up to Norwood to the Reds’ compound, but Ouray reminded me, in no uncertain terms, of what happened the last time I did something like that. He said he’d make some calls and dig around. Probably smart, he’s a better diplomat and more careful than I am. My style is more of a bull in a china shop, which hasn’t played out so well for me in the past.
I spent most of today dealing with Nosh, who woke up this morning announcing he wanted to give the entire house a new coat of paint. Ouray listened to my concern when I brought it up with him, and he suggested maybe it’s just my father’s way of coping and to let him do what he wants. So this morning, I went and got a few gallons of paint and spent the rest of the day moving furniture out of the way, taping, and we even managed to get the entryway painted.
When one of the boys knocked on the door to let us know dinner was ready, I told Nosh I had plans tonight and would be heading out. I didn’t mention those involved Lissie.
Now it sounds like I may have to rethink things since she’s apparently already pissed off with me.
“You were there. In Vegas,” she snaps, but her voice cracks. “You knew her.”
“What? Wait a min—” But she’s already hung up.
Fuck.
My plan had been to show Lissie my house. My real house, where I haven’t been in about six months. That’s why I went there right after dinner to tidy up a little.
It’s a great log home with an awesome view down the mountain, but it needs a fuckofalot more work inside than I had bargained for. Empty bottles, garbage, dirty dishes, rotting food. The smell is turning my stomach and I quickly step outside and pull the door shut. I have more urgent things to deal with now.
I make it to the Riverside Apartments in record time. Lissie’s truck is parked outside, there is light on inside, but she’s not answering the door when I knock. I try again with the same result. Then I slide my master key in the lock and open her door.
Just the kitchen light is on, but I can see her sitting on the couch, her back to the glow and her face in shadows. When I close the door and move closer, she shifts, pulling her knees up defensively.
“What did you mean I knew her?” I ask, stopping a few feet away. “Your friend?”
&n
bsp; “Found a picture.” Her voice sounds lifeless as she indicates her laptop sitting opened on the kitchen island. “You were with her in Vegas.”
“Yeah, I was there, but—”
“Go look,” she snaps.
Curiosity moves me to the laptop. The screen is dark but when I tap my fingers on the trackpad, an image pops up. I recognize where it is, it takes a second before faces start popping out at me. I do a double take when I spot myself with a much younger Ginger. Jesus.
The last person I notice is the guy with his arm around the missing woman’s shoulders. Fucking Chains. The same man, who a little over a year ago put a bullet in my shoulder, who would’ve killed me if my brothers hadn’t shown up to rescue my ass. The Moab Reds’ vice president, who paid for a multitude of sins with a bullet in his brain. He may be dead, but I still feel the rage for him burn in my gut.
“Fucking Chains.” This time I say it out loud, turning to face Lissie. “His name is Chains and he’s dead. The man with your friend. I was wasted out of my brain in that picture. Fuck, I was wasted out of my brain most of the time. Can’t even remember this picture being taken, let alone who was all in it.” I can see in the eyes she turns to me, I’m getting through to her. “But I may know where to find your friend.”
Immediately her tears well up and spill over as she shakes her head. “I…I already know where she is.”
“You do? Where?”
“The Durango morgue.”
For a moment I’m frozen, unable to process what she’s saying. Then I rush over to her and wedge in beside her, wrapping her in my arms.
“Baby…” I mumble when she does a face-plant in my chest.
We sit like that for a while, her tears soaking straight through my shirt as I mumble soothing nonsense into her hair.
“Sh-she w-was one of the bodies w-we found at the construction site,” she finally says, as she pulls back and immediately hides her face behind her hands. “She must’ve died not long after that call to me. When I came here looking for her, she was already in the ground just a few miles away.”
Edge of Darkness Page 16
