Protect (17 page)

If anyone asked that’s what she would tell
them. Under a single sheet, body happily exhausted, Sharon was
still at the motel. And still enjoying herself, even after the sex
was done. At the moment she was laughing, to the point of tears,
trying to keep breathing.

“I’m telling the truth.”

“You are
not
. You’re so full of
shit.”

Fritter looked comically wounded. “You’re
mockin’ the story of my first love.”

“You’re telling me you lost your virginity to
your
cousin
when you were fifteen. How is that a love story
again?”

His grin was unapologetic. “The first girl
that lets you touch her tits is the love of your life. Believe
me.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“My youth or the incest?”

She was cackling again.

“I know every girl has the warm fuzzies for
the guy who pops her cherry. It’s the same for us, but mostly with
tits.”

“You’re a pig.”

He was up on one elbow, and she was trying
not to fixate on how good his chest and arm looked in that
particular position. “You’re not tellin’ me any details about your
first time.”

Shit. “Like you said. For girls it’s
different.” His eyes brushed over her face and she had to smile.
“This is a
relationship
conversation, Fritter.”

“I know. But I just told you it was my
cousin
for fuck’s sake.”

At that she laughed, which made him smile.
“I’m from Markham,” she pointed out.

“And?”

“Did it ever occur to you that I might have
lost my virginity to someone you might know?”

At that he fell quiet and thoughtful. “So
your first is still walkin’ around Markham then?”

She nodded. “Yeah. I have to see him from
time to time. It’s weird.”

He flopped onto his back and retrieved the
mickey. “You’re right. I don’t want to know. It’d suck to get all
jealous.”

“What’s there to be jealous of? It was quite
a while ago.”

“Was he better than me?”

“At what?”

“Monopoly. What do you think I meant?”

She took a pull of Jack right from the
mickey. “I’m not discussing this.”

“So he was?”

She sighed. “No, he wasn’t.”

“Awesome. Did he suck at it?”

She shook her head. “No, he didn’t. It was
pretty good, actually.”

He took the fifth back, then leaned over her.
His chest pressed into hers and she licked the booze from her lips,
distracting herself from the heat of him. The hardness. “How
good?”

“What do you mean?”

“You weren’t both virgins, were you?”

“No. Only I was. And he did a ... decent
job.”

Fritter smiled. “But I’m better.”

She pushed at his shoulders. “You’re very
good. The best, actually. You happy?”

“Yes.”

They stared at each other quietly, then she
cleared her throat. “I should go.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“You work tomorrow?”

“No. I have the day off. I can’t put in extra
hours during the campaign. They might take it as ...
campaigning.
”

“Are we the reason the town is kinda ...
changin’ its mind on you?”

She took a deep breath then sat up. “I can’t
talk about it.”

“Sharon—”

“No,” she cut him off, hand up. “Don’t change
this. What we had going on is fine. This whole ... whatever
happened tonight ... it won’t work.”

Now he sat up, looking confused and, to her
surprise, a little hurt. “What are you talkin’ about? I just like
talkin’ to you.”

“That’s the part that can’t work.”

“We can talk.”

“No, we can’t.” That came out harsh, but he
was freaking her out. “That’s the one thing we can
not
do.
You know that.”

“I’m not talkin’ trade secrets, Sharon. I
just like hearin’ what you have to say on things. I like bein’
around you.”

“And I like fucking you.” She threw back the
covers and went for her underwear on the floor, shimmied into them
quickly then pulled up her jeans. Her bra went on next and her
T-shirt, all while avoiding looking him in the face.

“All right then,” he muttered, and she caught
the motion as he slumped back in the bed, hands behind his head. “I
know my place.”

“Don’t say it like that.”

His laugh was bitter and it stung. “You said
it, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me that. I’m not some
twenty-year-old sweet butt.”

“Trust me, I’m aware of that.”

She jammed her feet into her sandals. “Fine.
You can be nasty. Whatever. Let’s just say it’s done and move on
them.”

He shrugged, jaw set hard. “Works for
me.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

“Fine.” She slammed the door shut behind her,
chest still heaving. She had to stop, hand on the iron railing of
the walkway, willing her pulse to calm down. Fuck, this actually
hurt.

But that was stupid. They weren’t
together
. How could they fight and break up? It was just an
end to the agreement. Like cutting off a cable subscription.

It didn’t make her feel any better. The whole
drive home the lump in her throat wouldn’t let go, and when Earp
curled up to sleep next to her in bed she held on a little tighter
than normal.

-oOo-

The sun was already relentless and it wasn’t
even ten in the morning yet. She eyed up the flower beds in the
back yard. Since they were still in the shade at this hour, she
decided they needed a good clean out. And maybe she should plant
something in them. She’d have time this summer, after all. She’d
have to be cognizant of her hours more than usual. Couldn’t hurt to
take up a hobby.

Brayden took her car to continue his job
hunt. They’d only passed each other this morning; he’d been
sleeping when she got home the night before. He’d grumbled
something about it being surprisingly difficult for the son of the
sheriff to get a job in Markham.

She crouched on the foam board someone had
given her to save her joints from kneeling while gardening. At the
time she thought it was stupid, but she had to admit it was a lot
more comfortable. With gloves and a spade she set to digging out
the rooted weeds and breaking up the flower beds. The physical
labor actually felt good. When the back of the house was lined with
turned red-brown earth she made her way to the front yard to do the
same to those beds. The blisters were starting to sting when a car
door shut behind her. She got to her feet and turned as Agent Hogan
rounded the front of his car and made his way up her driveway,
smiling at her from under his sunglasses.

She took off her gloves, shook the dirt from
them, and offered her hand as he drew closer. “Agent Hogan?” She
meant it to sound like a question.

“Sorry to intrude on your day off, Sheriff. I
went by the office first.”

She smiled. “You can call me Sharon when
you’re standing in my yard.”

He grinned back. “You’re calling me Agent
Hogan again, so I was just taking my cue from you.”

“Right.
Terry
.”

“That’s better.”

“What are you doing in Markham?”

“After your phone call I wanted to come by.
Make sure you were okay.”

“Oh. I’m sorry about that. It shouldn’t have
rattled me as much as it did.”

He was shaking his head before she finished.
“Of course that would rattle you. It’d rattle anyone.”

“But why is the DEA interested?”

His face grew a bit more serious. “Dirty Rats
were caught running through San Diego with Thebaine on its way up
to British Columbia. That homemade Oxy is making its way back into
Bakersfield, and uh ... the kids you found had been dosed as
well.”

“You’re kidding.”

He shrugged. “Keeps ‘em quiet and docile. And
they’ve got it kicking around.”

“Why? I thought G-Town was peddling it.”

“Oh, they are. In Bakersfield. The Rats have
distribution rights as well, anywhere outside of gang territory.
Personally, I think they might have the Mazaris helping them store
it. They’re good at keeping a low profile while protecting cargo.”
When he wiped his forehead she realized he was standing there in a
full suit while she had on cut-offs and a tank. He must be
cooking.

“Would you like to come in for some water or
anything?”

His smile was downright grateful. “I’d love
that. I’m from Boston. We get heat but it’s a different kind of
heat from this.”

She motioned him to follow and led around to
the back, entering right into the kitchen. Her air conditioning had
been a brilliant investment the first year she’d moved in.

“I have iced tea and lemonade if you
prefer.”

“Water’s fine.”

She poured some from the jug kept in the
fridge over a good dose of ice.

“You do a lot of gardening?”

She almost snorted her own water out of her
nose. “Obviously not. If I did I’d have flowering plants at this
time of year, not freshly turned dirt.”

“Must be busy, I’m sure.”

“Yeah. But elections are coming up. Less
overtime, not that I claim it.”

He took another deep gulp, making his Adam’s
apple jump. Then he set the glass down and looked around the
kitchen. “This is your first year running with an opponent, isn’t
it?”

She had to smile. “I’d have to suspect you’ve
been researching me. But I don’t know why.”

“I’m curious,” he admitted, leaning back
against her cupboards. “Markham is interesting. Your reported crime
rates are low. Good cash flow from fines. And it’s obvious you
depend on the Red Rebels to help keep the town quiet. Peaceful. But
now there’s dissention.”

Sharon sighed, sitting at her kitchen table.
Agent Hogan followed and sat next to her, not across the table.
“You know the Rebels peddle pot in town. It supports illegal
activity, of course. But in town all they see are the bikers, and
the money the club donates. Every school year the club has put
money into one program or another. Hell, one year they donated to
the drama club at the high school. The toy runs for the pediatric
ward and first responders. They choose to believe
that’s
what they’re supporting if they buy some pot. And I know the
prices. We’re talking pretty thin margins for all the philanthropy
going on. But it buys goodwill and trust.” She tapped her nails on
the tabletop, unsure how much to say. But chances are good Hogan
already knew about all of it.

“Back before Jayce became president the
Gypsys were trying to push black tar heroin through town. For the
Galiendos. You probably know this. There was a bit of a dust up in
town, out by a bar, The Hair Of The Dog it’s called. Officially it
never happened but two Rebels and a Mad Gypsy got killed. But it
was the president of the Mad Gypsys that died. There were no
civilians hurt and no damage done to any commercial property. For
revenge the Gypsys had come back a few times, broke some store
windows, vandalized the car lot. Punk shit like that, but they were
still trying to figure out what to do without their president. They
lit one shop on fire—a bookstore. The lady that ran it lived
upstairs, and she was killed.”

Hogan frowned. “Hadn’t heard about that.”

She shrugged. “Why would you? Vandalism,
trespassing. Not really part of the DEA’s purview, right?”

He chuckled. “You’re right.”

“The lady that ran the place was kind of a
nasty piece of work. She was only about fifty, but she was rude.
Turned her nose up at the club, said no when they offered money to
a book drive for the high school she was fundraising for. Which was
another thing; she hated teenagers. I remember going in there and
she’d follow so closely you
knew
she was waiting for you to
steal something. Such a weird duck.”

“What happened when she died?”

Sharon rubbed her eyebrow, the smile from the
memory of crazy old Miz Walker fading. “Red Rebels found the three
Gypsys that did it and killed them. Killed them nasty and left loud
corpses behind. One of them was the Gypsys’ Sergeant at Arms. I
think it surprised the town. How even though Walker had always been
a bitch, the club still avenged her.”

“So what’s happening now?”

Sharon had to shrug again. “Twenty years of
club shit not hurting anyone until Turnbull’s son got beat up by a
few of the Mazaris.”

“Who’s Turnbull?”

Now she felt her smile chill, notably. “My
competition in the next Sheriff race.”

Hogan’s eyebrows nearly hit his hairline. “I
see.”

“His oldest son is a bit of a free spirit but
they’re rich enough it doesn’t matter. They let him live at home,
basically loaf. He sold pot for the club, that’s what got him beat
up.”

“So just a short, collective memory has you
in this jam?”

“I don’t know. I have to admit, I’m
surprised. I would have expected more complaints about the club
coming my way, something more subtle to start. I’m stunned that I’m
the figurehead anyone sees as a way to take down the Red
Rebels.”

“It
is
strange, but if they’ve had
twenty comfortable years it’s easier to get worked up about more
petty things.”

“I wouldn’t say his son getting beat up was
no big deal,” she relented.

“Do you think if you were a man, their
opinions might be different? Maybe they think you’re easier to keep
under the club’s thumb, so to speak. Less likely to make a fuss
because you’re scared.”

Sharon stared at Hogan until he started to
shift in his seat. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said a word. I
could be out to lunch. Just, thinking out loud.”

“You might be right,” she nearly interrupted
him. “The club endorsed me the first time I ran because I was from
here. The previous sheriff was from Montana. I don’t think the club
had issue with him, or maybe they did. I honestly have no
idea.”

Hogan leaned forward with one elbow on the
table, voice gentle. “I don’t want to get under your skin here, but
did you ever wonder if the Rebels did that for the reasons this
Turnbull might be thinking?”