Along Came Merrie (13 page)

When she reached home, Braden’s truck sat in the driveway and lights shone in the kitchen. She walked softly up the steps and over the porch to open the door. She heard Braden on the phone and stopped when he said her name.

“Why can’t you pick Merrie up?” Braden demanded, his tone harsh and slightly confrontational. “Damn it, Leo, you’re driving me up a wall. I can’t be around her—you know that. I don’t know. There’s a room above the barn I can use. I’ll move in there for the time being, give you both a chance to work things out. No. I said no, Leo.” He paused for a moment, as if listening to the person on the other end, then continued, “Yeah, yeah.”

He hung up so she decided it was safe to walk in. Her heart hurt and all she wanted to do was cry. How could the one beautiful night they’d had turn into something so bitter?

The screen door slammed behind her and she put her keys onto the foyer table where she kept them. Braden stepped from the kitchen.

“I was going to come and get you,” he said.

She shrugged. “I’m here now.” She headed to the stairs. “I’m going to shower.”

She hurried upstairs away from him, away from the tension that hung thick in the air. Once inside the bathroom and she had the shower to mask sound, she sat on the toilet and cried.

She couldn’t stay. That much was clear. She was just a girl—no one important—and she refused to be
that
girl, the girl who broke up Braden’s and Leo’s brotherhood. No matter what she felt for them, no matter how much it hurt, she would have to leave. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—ruin their relationship.

As steam from the shower she wasn’t using filled the room, she tried to think about what she was going to do. First and foremost, she needed money. She’d never thought to ask Leo for her wages since she considered working as a way to thank both of them for their help. But she figured he wouldn’t mind either giving or lending her some cash. She also needed to get her driver’s license replaced but decided to wait until she went to Cheyenne.

A wave of sadness swept over her. Already she was missing this house, this ranch—missing Braden and Leo. In the couple of weeks she’d been there, she’d grown to love the land, the view of the mountains and the simple way of life. She had enjoyed cooking in the big kitchen, feeding her men. She thought she’d finally found a home and now she had to leave it.

She should be used to saying goodbye. She’d done it too many times in her life.

Merrie wiped her cheeks. She’d survive. She’d spent her whole life surviving, so she knew moving on wouldn’t kill her. Perhaps one day she’d harden her heart and realize that happily ever after wasn’t in her cards. Girls like her weren’t meant to have the perfect home and the perfect life.

She took a quick shower, mindful of the cast on her wrist then turned the water off. She wrapped a towel around herself, grabbed her clothes and headed into her room. Halfway there, she found Braden’s door open. She couldn’t help but peek. His pillow and blanket were gone, and his closet door stood open. She knew without checking further that Braden had already left for that room above the barn.

She continued to her room and closed the door with a soft click. Then she put on her nightshirt and a pair of clean panties before towel-drying her hair, all the while figuring out how to ask Leo for some cash so she could leave. The sooner the better, so Braden could have his life back.

Chapter Sixteen

Givon’s personal cell phone vibrated at his hip and he reached absently for it, glancing quickly at the caller ID.

“Hey,” he greeted.

“I have an anonymous tip for you,” North told him.

“The whole purpose of anonymity is that I don’t fucking know you,” Givon stated.

North chuckled. “You want this tip or not?”

“Sure.”

“Have you interviewed the Devils yet?”

“No,” Givon said. “I’ve been waiting for this damn Cheyenne detective to call me so I don’t go in blind, but no one’s heard from him.”

“Sounds like there’s a lot going on in your jurisdiction that you don’t know about.”

“Fuck you,” Givon grumbled.

“You wish. Listen, you’ll want to talk to Gray Dog. He’s the president of the Demon Devils.”

“I know who he is. Why him specifically?”

“There’s a rumor he gave the order to burn the car.”

“And how did you happen to get this piece of gossip?”

“Now I can’t reveal my sources, Sheriff. It’s anonymous.”

“And I also know there’s a bitter feud between the Wolves and the Devils. How do I know this isn’t just a pissing contest?”

North snorted. “Come on, Giv. Those assholes moved into our territory. This is Wolf land.”

“Actually, this is my land,” Givon said sharply. “You break the fucking law, North, and I’ll be on your ass like flies on shit. Hear me?”

“I hear you. We’re cool, Sheriff. And the tip is good. Talk to Gray Dog—aptly named. He’s got a long gray beard and he smells like a dog. You can’t miss him.”

The call went dead and Givon slowly replaced his phone. He sat for a moment thinking, contemplating what to do, when he decided to go with his gut. He rose and headed out of his office to Jack’s desk.

The office was large enough that he was able to give each of his deputies a desk. The jail was an extension of the office. There weren’t many crimes committed in Destiny to warrant a bigger jail somewhere else. There was one general cell and a smaller one with actual walls for isolation. Presently, only Jack was in, since Givon had one deputy following up on a robbery and another directing traffic because of a downed light.

“I’m going to interview the Demon Devils,” he told the deputy.

“You want me to go with you?” Jack asked eagerly.

Givon shook his head. “Man the phones. When Sandy gets back, you can head to lunch.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. See you later.”

* * * *

When Givon stepped into the dark interior of the Demon Devil’s bar, he felt twenty pairs of eyes zero in on him and all of them hostile. The two prospects holding court at the door followed him in, standing silent as he looked at each man, showing he wouldn’t be intimidated nor would he back down from anyone. Finally, his gaze landed on the president of the club, Gray Dog, who stood behind the bar with hands spread on the countertop.

“What can I do for you, Sheriff?” Gray Dog boomed through the darkened, hazy interior of bar.

Givon continued forward but kept his hand near his revolver. It was like entering into a nest of vipers and he prepared for any one of them to strike.

“Just here to ask a question or two about a burned-out car that was found at the county line,” Givon replied smoothly. He kept his gaze on Gray Dog’s eyes, to see if he showed any flicker of recognition or response of any kind.

“I don’t own a car,” Gray Dog replied. “In fact, I don’t think anyone here owns a car. Does anyone own a car?”

A chorus of “no” echoed through the room.

“The car belonged to a woman named Merrie Walden. Does that name ring any bells?”

Gray Dog shook his head. “Nope.” Again, he looked around to his men. “Do any of you know this woman?”

And like before, a chorus of negative responses sounded—not that it surprised Givon. Bikers were a tight knit group of people, thick as thieves, which was more than apropos in this situation.

“Well, Sheriff,” Gray Dog said. “Looks like we don’t know nothing, so why don’t you get back to your comfy sheriff’s chair?”

Givon looked around once more. “And you have an alibi for two Friday’s ago?”

“I’ve got about fifty,” he said smugly, gesturing around the room. “I serve the drinks and Friday is one of our busiest nights.”

Givon decided to play a little bluff. “I’ve got a witness who places Merrie Walden here.”

Gray Dog narrowed his eyes. “I’d be mighty interested in meeting this so-called witness because he or she is a lying fuck.”

“You’re just a law-abiding citizen, eh, Mr. Lester?”

“I even pay my taxes, Sheriff.”

“Of course,” Givon murmured. “Well, if you hear of anything, please to let me know.”

“Sure thing,” Gray Dog replied. “You’ll be the first person I think of.”

Givon heard the insincerity in the man’s words and the mocking laughs of the club members just verified the president’s pretense. He nodded, turned on his heel and proceeded toward the door. One of the prospects opened it for him and all but booted him outside as it banged shut behind him.

* * * *

Givon stomped through his office, his boot heels loud on the wooden floor. Jack filled out a report and Sandy worked at her desk. The woman kept his office running with military precision. Occupied with a phone call, she reasoned with someone on the other end of the line so he didn’t wait, just headed into his office and closed the door. As he approached his desk, a few small details seemed out of place. Some papers had been disturbed. A folder lay crooked. He eased into his chair, scanning all around. The side drawer on his desk sat cracked open. Not much, just a little, but it was enough to let Givon know someone had been searching through his stuff.

He opened the drawer and saw that his report notebook was there. He knew exactly what was inside, random notes he’d jotted down after speaking to Braden McClintock and Leo Cloud Dancer.

Givon got up from his desk and marched back into the lobby. Sandy finished her call and Jack looked at him.

“How long have you both been back?” he questioned.

“Um…twenty minutes?” Sandy answered, looking at Jack, who nodded. “As soon as I got back, Jack ran to get a sandwich but he ate at his desk.”

“Did anyone go into my office?”

She shook her head. “Not that I know of. Jack?”

“No,” Jack said quickly. “Why?”

“Someone went through my desk.”

Their eyes widened.

“Wait a minute,” Jack said. “I went to the restroom right before Sandy returned and when I got back, a man was here.”

“What did he want?”

“I don’t know,” he replied. “He seemed high or stupid or something. Said his neighbor killed one of his chickens but that was as far as I got. When I asked the man who he was, he called me a dumb shit and stormed out of here.”

“And you didn’t recognize him?”

Jack shook his head. “I’ve never seen him before. If he was messing around your desk, he was probably looking for money.”

Something about that statement just didn’t sit right with Givon. He didn’t want to believe that his office was corrupt but he couldn’t ignore his gut tightening as he stared at Jack’s innocent baby face.

All he could do was nod as if he believed him, making sure to keep his face blank.

“Okay. If you see him around town, you let me know.”

Damn it!
He hadn’t believed anyone in his office was on the take. But he’d learned over the years to listen to his gut instinct when it started honking like a damn trumpet. He made a mental note to do a more thorough background check on Jack when his phone rang.

“Sheriff Halloran,” he answered.

“Sheriff, this is Detective Clark Christianson,” the man greeted. “I believe you’ve been trying to contact me.”

“Ah, yes,” Givon replied. “I was surprised when I discovered you’d been organizing an investigation in my jurisdiction without the courtesy of a call.”

“Part of the report, Sheriff, is an accusation that your department might not be as law abiding as possible.”

Indignation burned through Givon but he held back on voicing his anger. Then he thought about a way to verify the whereabouts of Merrie Walden.

“Miss Walden was perfectly fine talking with me,” Givon replied blandly.

A slight pause followed.

“You’ve…talked with her?” Detective Christianson asked.

“I did. How else do you think I got your number?”

“I must say, that’s surprising to hear. I was adamant with her and Mr. McClintock to call me if you came by.”

A sliver of satisfaction coursed through him. “Because I might be untrustworthy?”

“To keep her safe.”

“If that’s true, then what are you planning to do with the Demon Devils?”

“Shit,” the detective muttered. “How much do you know?”

“Not everything. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have had to call your captain to hunt you down.”

“Stay out of this, Sheriff, or I’m going to have to place a call to Division of Criminal Investigation. Wouldn’t want the DCI breathing down your neck, would you?”

“Is that a threat, Detective?”

“It’s a reminder that you’re not being portrayed as squeaky clean in this mess, okay?”

He clicked off, leaving Givon obsessing over that last sentence. Why would a detective from Cheyenne call Merrie Walden’s case a
mess
?

Chapter Seventeen

Merrie didn’t know what woke her up later that night, but one minute she slept soundly and the next moment she snapped her eyes open. She lay on her side, facing the window. The wind whipped the branches on the tree by the panes. A storm brewed, evident by the rumbles of thunder rolling across the land.

Perhaps that’s what had woken her. She tried to calm her racing heart, but her nerves vibrated with unease. Something was wrong. She didn’t know what it was—only that something was not right in the house. The glowing clock face showed it was close to two in the morning, so she sat up and listened intently.

Cautiously, she rose and slipped on her pants and slippers before going to the door and easing it open. Her heart thundered heavily, even though she didn’t know why. Something just seemed…off.

Storm clouds occluded the moonlight so she moved cautiously down the hallway, feeling her way along. Part of her felt like a fool for being scared. Then she heard a footstep downstairs and the hair rose on the back of her neck. She hurried to the bathroom since it was closest to the stairs and slipped behind the door. The crack where the door hinged provided her a peephole. It was dark, but a moment later, a shadow crept up the stairs until it reached the top, where it hesitated. It first went to Braden’s bedroom and opened the door. Next, it moved farther down the hall. As it drifted from her line of sight, she quietly tiptoed around the door to the stairs and flew down them, staying as silent as possible. Her hands shook and she breathed so shallowly, she feared she might pass out. The only thing that saved her was the knowledge that if she did faint, then the bad guy upstairs was going to get her.