Chapter 11
NOVA
“Did you make it back safely?” Mom asked.
“Yes.” I smiled. No matter my age, Mom would always expect updates on my travel plans. Even though I’d texted her when I’d gotten back to Clifton Forge yesterday, she’d still called this morning.
“It was good to see you. I miss you.”
“Miss you too, Mom.”
The night before last, I’d driven to Missoula. I’d lied and told Emmett that the reason I was sleeping at my own place was because of an early meeting. In reality, I’d been in a different county.
Brendon had been great about me working remotely but he’d called for a bimonthly staff meeting and I’d wanted to attend in person.
So I’d gone to Missoula for a night. Sleeping in my own bed had felt foreign and after the meeting at the firm and a quick visit to Mom’s, I’d driven back to Clifton Forge.
“How much longer do you think you’ll be gone?” Mom asked.
“I don’t know.” I sighed and sat down at the dining room table in my rental. There was a stack of mail beside my laptop, neither of which I wanted to open yet.
My morning had gotten off to a slow start. After waking early and taking a shower at Emmett’s, I’d lingered at his place while he’d cooked us breakfast. Normally I’d head out as soon as I was dressed, but this morning I simply hadn’t wanted to leave.
Something had changed last night over tacos. Something had shifted. And I wasn’t sure exactly what to make of it yet.
“Give me a call later this week,” she said.
“Okay. Love you.”
“I love you too.”
I ended the call and set my phone aside. It vibrated with an incoming email and though I knew there were plenty of tasks waiting for me, I had no motivation to jump into my day.
I was stalled.
When Emmett had asked me questions about work last night, I could tell by his tone that his patience for my silence and vague answers had worn thin. That should have been my cue to leave. Instead, I’d opened my damn mouth.
My answers had all been true. I was a lawyer. I lived in Missoula. I was in Clifton Forge temporarily. I hated shrimp and was terrified of both spiders and snakes.
He’d seemed satisfied and if I’d just left it at that, I probably wouldn’t have felt so vulnerable. But then my stupid mouth had opened again and I’d told him I wished for a better relationship with my father.
Why? Why would I say that? I smacked my forehead with a palm. Would my epic stupidity ever end?
The confession had slipped out and revealed far too much. There wasn’t a person alive who I’d admitted that to before. Mom and Shelby could probably guess but I’d never spoken it aloud.
Until Emmett.
What was wrong with me? Why couldn’t I have just stayed quiet? The man was slashing through my defenses one night at a time. The longer I stayed, the more it would hurt in the end. But I couldn’t bring myself to leave.
Brendon seemed satisfied with the work I’d been doing remotely, and I had no doubt that if I asked, he’d let me continue for a while longer. Considering this revenge plan of mine had gone nowhere, I might need the extra time.
If I even had the guts to continue.
I’d only snooped around Emmett’s house the one time. I should break into his safe. I should hack into his computers. I should do something, anything, but instead I’d stalled. Instead, I told myself that the dinners and the evenings on his deck and the nights in his bed were to earn his trust.
There was only so much more delaying I could manage. By telling Emmett I was in Clifton Forge temporarily, I’d put myself on the clock.
It was time to make a decision.
Either I acted. Or I walked away.
“Damn it,” I groaned, slumping into my chair. What was I doing?
Maybe I should call it off. Maybe I should go and visit Dad, tell him that I couldn’t find anything. If I swore that the Tin Kings weren’t hiding anything, would he believe me? Would it matter?
Dad knew they were guilty of a plethora of crimes. My problem was evidence. I needed evidence for my plan. If there was none . . .
“He’ll kill them,” I whispered, my stomach sinking.
Dad would find a way to kill them, simply because he hated them that much. For a time, listening to Dad’s stories, especially those about TJ’s death, had made me hate them too. I’d hated them enough for revenge.
Until my thirst for vengeance had been quenched by a tall, ruggedly handsome mechanic who made me laugh. Who made me see stars. Who made me . . . happy.
Gah. Why couldn’t Emmett have been an asshole? Why?
Only, he was not the man my father had made him out to be.
Dad had told me everything he knew about the Tin Kings. He’d gone back decades, explaining how their feud had started. He’d told me about the drug protection routes they’d fought over. He’d told me about the underground fights the Kings had organized around the state.
TJ had been murdered at one of those fights.
After the Tin Kings had disbanded, Dad and the Warriors had taken over their routes. They’d brought in a serious stream of cash and with no competition, the war between clubs had ended. They’d called a truce.
Until Draven Slater had been framed for murder by the former Clifton Forge chief of police, Marcus Wagner. Draven had reached out to Dad, wanting to know if the Warriors had been involved. Dad had told them the truth. They had all but forgotten about the Tin Kings.
It should have ended there.
It would have if the Tin Kings hadn’t taken their retribution.
They’d gone to a secluded cabin in the mountains that they’d known was a Warrior hideaway. There’d been a Warrior inside, stationed there to protect the property. The Kings had barricaded the man inside and burned the place down with him inside. They’d murdered one of Dad’s brothers for no reason.
All because they hadn’t trusted when Dad had told them the truth. They’d believed that the Warriors had framed Draven, so they’d killed a man.
They’d started a new war.
Draven had come after Dad again, forcing Dad’s hand. Thankfully, Dad had come out the victor but only because he’d taken Draven’s life.
Dad had promised me . . . he’d had to kill Draven. If he hadn’t, Draven never would have stopped. Draven would have come after others and maybe even discovered Mom, Shelby or me.
When would the bloodshed end? When would enough lives be lost for this to stop?
Dad had staged Draven’s death as a suicide. The authorities had no idea it had been Dad’s rope that had hung Draven in his own home.
The state prosecutor hadn’t included Draven’s murder in the long list of charges against Dad. I guess for men like Dad who were skilled at taking lives, they were also good at covering up their crimes.
The same had happened with TJ.
After he’d been shot, they’d brought him to the hospital in Ashton, even though TJ had been dead on arrival. The guys TJ had been with that night had told the doctors it had been a hunting accident.
One of them had taken the blame. With two other Warriors to confirm the story, no one had thought to ask more questions. Or maybe people in Ashton knew better than to challenge a Warrior.
We’d always known that TJ had died from a gunshot wound.
Dad had told Mom, Shelby and me that the hunting accident had been a lie.
But he hadn’t shared the gruesome details.
When Dad had told me what had really happened to TJ, I’d gone into a rage.
I’d wanted nothing more than to make the men who’d killed him pay.
Then one month with Emmett and everything was different.
I knew what I had to do. I knew my next steps. I was just struggling to take them.
Maybe a trip to visit Dad would inspire some action, except I didn’t want to see him. How many years had I longed for just one more minute with Dad? One more day and one more conversation?
Now if he saw me, he’d see the truth on my face.
I was faltering. I was weak. If he knew, he’d send others to Clifton Forge.
The idea of Emmett’s death made my stomach twist. I’d never wanted any of the Tin Kings dead. To spend their lives in prison? Yes. But never death.
My phone vibrated with another email but I ignored it, going for the stack of mail instead.
I discarded the credit card offers and insurance flyers. I opened and scanned my bank statement. I rifled through the plethora of clothing catalogs, only saving two that I’d go through later.
At the bottom of the stack there was a plain white envelope, my name and address written in a sloppy script. It didn’t have a return address so I tore it open, unsure what it could be.
On a single piece of white paper was a phone number.
“What the hell?”
Curiosity won out and I picked up my phone, quickly dialing the number.
“Hello?” a man’s sleepy voice answered after the third ring.
“Um . . . hi. My name is N-June. June Johnson. I got this piece of paper in the mail and—”
“Oh, yeah. He said you’d be calling.”
“Who said?”
“A guy who knows a guy who knows Tucker Talbot.”
My body tensed. “Who are you?”
“You can call me Hacker.”
Hacker. “Okay,” I drawled.
“Listen, I’ve got some stuff this morning but I’ll come by about two. Cool?”
“Come by. How do you—”
He interrupted me by rattling off the address to my rental.
The blood in my veins turned to ice.
“Will you be there at two?” he asked.
“Sure,” I muttered.
Then he ended the call and I sat, staring at the piece of paper, wondering what the fuck my father was up to.
A guy who knows a guy who knows Tucker Talbot.
Dad had covered his tracks. He’d clearly had someone else send this because the handwriting was not his.
My phone rang and I jumped, startled by the buzz.
I picked it up, swallowing hard, and answered the call from a client.
He prattled on about a change to the agreement I’d drafted and another few tweaks. I absently nodded, jotting it down on the back of an envelope because I knew I’d forget. My head was too busy replaying the call from Hacker.