Dirty Sexy Secret (Green County Book 1) (19 page)

T
here is a part of me—a pretty sizable part—that wants to drag Archer back into my room and fuck him senseless, just to shut Eli up after that nonsense.

Another part of me wants to call Nora and tell her not to believe a word Eli says.

Both are throwbacks to when I was in high school and Eli was the annoying big brother who dragged me into more trouble than he managed to drag me out of.

And neither part is something I can indulge in right now. I swallow hard and pull out my phone. It buzzed again, while I was eating with Archer, and I’m not so stupid to think it’s anyone but Michael.

I’m right. It’s a picture this time, and my fingers creak, too tight, on the casing of the phone.

Gabe is sitting in the same chair. His shirt’s been cut away, and there are burns on his chest that weren’t there in the last picture.

But he’s glaring. His honey gold eyes still bright with fury and indignation.

That helps, for some reason.

Unknown: Two hours. The lake.

I glance at the timestamp. Shit.

I’ve got just enough time to get my shit together and make a phone call before I need to leave. I make the call.

“What’d need, baby girl?” a low drawl answers, and I smirk.

How the hell a redneck tech head ended up in Boston working as a busboy in a dive bar?

God’s little mysteries, I suppose.

“Hey Jase. Need you to dig for me,” I say. Because it’s been almost six months since I vanished from Boston, and I never explained to Jase. I didn’t need to. If he was curious, there’s very little the hacker couldn’t find out. So there’s literally no reason for me to waste time with apologies and explanations.

“Personal or for a story?”

I smirk, a little. “Both.”

He laughs, and I hear the clatter of keys as he brings his computer to life. Vaguely, I wonder how drunk he is.

A world class hacker and programmer he might be, but the boy spends so much time drunk it’s a wonder he can find his way out of a paper bag much less the NSA’s database.

“Detective out of Topeka. Scarlett Materson.” I spell it out for him, and he whistles.

“How much you want?” He asks.

“Everything.” I murmur, and there’s a breath of hesitation. A quiet demand for more information. I sigh. “She hurt my family, Jase.”

“You’ll have it by morning.”

“Need it sooner than that. And, I need you to find out what the fuck happened to her when she left the force. Pay attention to whose paying her.”

Jase is laughing now. “Damn, Hazel, I’ve fucking missed you.”

I smirk. He always did love a challenge. “Do me a favor? Dig into Morningstar, too. Time’s important, ok?”

“Gimme a couple hours,” he says, and hangs up without a goodbye.

My smile fades as I lower the phone and drop it in my purse as I scoop up my keys.

At least someone is happy with me today.

I
t occurs to me, as I twist the wheel and turn onto a small, dirt road, that this is one of the stupider things I’ve done.

I feel like the girl in a horror movie that you yell at as she wanders into the basement alone, like some kind of fucking idiot.

Except, I know there’s a killer waiting, and it’s not a basement—it’s a lake that I used to spend my summers swimming with Archer and Eli. It’s where I lost my virginity, the year after Archer ran off to the Marines.

It’s where Gabe and I would sit and smoke, while Eli made out with Jess and I dreamed about getting the fuck out of the County.

Later, Aidan and Colt would join us here. Remi brooding nearby like an overgrown emo giant.

And now.

Fuck
. I huff out a breath, and stare at the shoreline.

They had to pick a place like this. In the middle of fucking nowhere. No one knew where I was. And so full of memories that it’s hard to keep a grip on what I’m doing here.

John is standing on a small pier, where we’d fish and dive off, and lay sprawled out, staring at the stars.

A girl is sitting on the edge, her feet dangling in the water.

Michael is leaning against the rail next to her, ignoring me entirely.

I wonder where the fuck they left Gabe and how they can be so confident that he’ll be there, when they return.

Then I remember that Michael and John murdered four people in cold blood less than forty-eight hours ago.

If they want to hold one reclusive, eccentric baker, it wouldn’t be terribly difficult.

John shifts, and I let out my breath. Shove the door open and climb out of my truck.

“You’re late,” he calls, and I glance at my watch.

“I’m not, actually,” I say, angry suddenly.

“Your pet cops were at the farmhouse a long time, Hazel. Should we be concerned?”

“I’m fucking here. Alone. If anyone gets to be concerned, it’s me,” I snap.

John snarls, jerking forward and a cool feminine voice splits the air. “Enough, John. Leave her.”

It draws both twins to a sudden and abrupt halt. Michael straightens away from the dock and exchanges a glance with his twin as Hanna says, her voice soft and musical, “Come sit with me, Hazel. My brothers promised you a story, and I suppose it’s time to deliver.”

T
he fact that we’re in separate cars helps. I need a little distance from Lijah, and if I know anything about the kid—
I do—
he needs the space from me. I’m still refusing to think about that look he gave me in her driveway, just like I’m refusing to think about the way she swayed so fucking sweet on my lap and how close I’d been to sliding into her again, before Eli interrupted.

Shit
.

I wonder, briefly, if he’s already told Nora.

The fact that my phone is ridiculously silent says probably not.

Good. We both need to focus, and we have this nice juicy homicide to focus on.

Never thought I’d be glad to have four fucking dead bodies and no leads, but if I can use it to distract Eli from the giant elephant in the room, I’ll take just about anything right now.

I’m at my desk, and Billings is on his way toward me, waving a file like it’s got some kind of magic eight ball answer when Eli gets back, carrying two cups from CinSations. He offers me one silently, and I eye him.

“Did you two have a lover’s spat?” Billings asks and I flip him off as I take the coffee and nod at Eli.

It’s not an apology. Not quite. But it’s a peace offering and I’ll take it.

“We found Beth’s car.”

That jerks my attention to Billings and Eli whistles. “Where?”

“A strip club on Victory. The Foxy Lady.” He glances at the file. “Their surveillance is down, of course, but I sent Harrison and Tucker down to talk to the owner.”

I frown and Billings points at me. “Don’t get greedy, Archer. You need help with this. Emery is breathing down my fucking neck—no one likes four fucking dead bodies in a house that looks like Manson let his family loose in it.”

Fair point. “We got the car being processed?” I ask.

“Yeah. Do we know any more about Crystal’s boyfriend?” Billings asks, and I shake my head.

“We’re looking at finding him. Crystal didn’t leave a lot of clues about who the fuck she was dating.”

“Talk to the father. And find out why the fuck the car was at a goddamn strip club.”

I nod, and kick Eli’s desk. He’s staring at his computer, his face a little pale. His eyes jerk to mine and then Billings. “Yes, sir,” he says, but it’s got no force behind it. I frown at my brother and Billings eyes him for a moment longer than I like.

He might have given Lijah a second chance, but the Chief hasn’t forgotten just how close to the edge Eli skated before I yanked him back.

I give him a reassuring nod I don’t feel and Billings moves away. I wait until he’s safely away and then glare at Eli. “What the fuck, Eli?” I snarl.

“Dude.” He’s staring at his computer. “Look at this.”

The email is from an address I don’t recognize.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: In Case She Doesn’t Answer.

Yo. She said if she didn’t answer her phone to send this shit to you. Attached, find all relevant shit on one Scarlett Materson—that bitch is some dangerous shit, dirty as fuck. And also, everything I can dig up on Morningstar operation. It’s not much, but I’m still working. She thought it was a person. Not the case. Near as I can tell, she’s looking at an organized ring—drugs, prostitutes, trafficking the works. What the actual fuck is she digging into down there? You’ve got at least three people at the top of Morningstar. It’s a BFD. And they’re dangerous as fuck.

I don’t know what she’s digging up or who this story is for, but I know she’s got a bad fucking habit of getting into trouble. Do me a favor and make sure she doesn’t get herself shot again.

I’ll keep digging into Morningstar and Materson. If you need anything else, call the bar.

J-

Eli’s fingers are shaking as he scrolls over the files, but he stops before he opens them. Forwards the emails to me first. I circle back to my desk and open the files.

File after file after file—I can’t keep up as they stream open, all of this information about Scarlett and Morningstar pouring across my fucking computer.

“Archer, this was my personal email,” Eli says, his voice shaking. I nod. Scanning through.

There’s bank statements, and arrest records and lists of people and clubs—names I recognize, addresses in and around the county, and routing numbers, and—”Jesus Christ, Lijah,” I whisper.

Scarlett is deep. Deeper than I thought, if she’s working this close to fucking Morningstar.

And the bastard found surveillance pictures of her. How the actual fuck did he manage to do that? She’s been off the grid for the past three years, since she ran after Eli exposed her for dirty.

And it’s not from a lack of looking. I’ve looked. I
want
this girl.

“Archer.” Eli sounds like he did when we were kids and he was desperate to be reassured. Desperate to be told that everything was going to be okay. He sounds scared and plaintive and so damn young. It hurts me, a little, to hear my brother sound like that. “Archer, who the fuck is this guy and what the hell is Hazel doing?”

T
he brothers told a story that was tragic but had a feel of scurrility to it. A fairy tale edged in horror and the taboo.

Sitting next to Hanna on the dock, I know that her story is different. There is no fairy tale here, and there sure as fuck is no happy ending. She’s sitting still, her bare feet skimming the icy water below and I wonder if she can even feel it.

Spring has hit Green County hard, but it’s still cold.

“You’re gonna freeze,” I say, sitting next to her on the dock, my feet curled under me. Above us, Michael makes a triumphant noise, almost
I told you.

Hanna doesn’t respond to that. Or my statement. I glance over at her.

And swallow my gasp.

I haven’t seen Hanna in almost eight years. Since I graduated high school. I remember her, of course. It’s hard to forget the youngest McGrey. She was always quiet and reserved, almost painfully shy and hidden between the shadows of her older brothers.