Chapter 10
WALKER
Astream of light pierces my sleep. I groan as I sit up and rub my eyes. After a quick glance around, it takes me a moment to remind myself where I ended up after last night’s binge.
Oversized leather couches, a massive stone fireplace, and huge-ass antlers above the mantle.
I shouldn’t be surprised. I usually end up at Santiago’s house when I sober up enough to drive myself somewhere. Sometimes Wes will call Santiago or Levi to come get me, but I haven’t let it get that far since Amelia left me.
Finding my coat on the floor at my feet, I search my pockets for my keys but come up empty. Seems I didn’t drive last night. Both a relief and an annoyance.
In front of me on the weathered wood coffee table is my phone, an unopened water bottle, and my gun. My keys are on the far end of the table.
Santiago usually leaves them here so I can go to work or my own house as soon as I wake up.
I’m reaching for my phone to call Santiago, who no doubt is somewhere on the ranch at this time in the morning, when a loud crash and a scream come from upstairs.
That wasn’t Santiago. That was someone else.
A woman.
Acting on instinct, I grab my gun and take the steps two at a time. I’m barefoot and shirtless, but that’s the least of my worries right now.
I poke my head around the corner at the top of the stairs, hunting for the threat. When I come up empty, I continue forward with my eyes peeled. As I near Santiago’s room, I hear a woman’s voice. She’s shouting, but I can’t make out what she’s saying.
There’s another crash, and I rush ahead through Santiago’s room and into the bathroom.
What I find is the last thing I expected to see—the last person I wanted to see.
Naked.
A blatant lie.
Blake stands in the shower, under the spray of scorching water, as steam billows out from the open glass door.
She has one arm across her breasts, covering her nipples.
Her other hand is between her legs, hiding her core.
Water sleuths off her skin, and her hair is plastered to her head.
A bit of black ink on her hip catches my attention as well.
The things I would do to get my mouth on her perfect body are downright immoral.
My cock swells in my jeans, and I’m ready to explode right here like I’m a boy seeing a naked woman for the first time.
We make eye contact, and the pulse in Blake’s neck races. She swallows, then bites her lip.
I shouldn’t look. Blake is too young for me. That doesn’t stop me from looking my fill. I memorize every line—every curve of her body.
Finally, I notice the other person in the bathroom with us. Levi stands in front of the bathtub, slack-jawed and unblinking.
“Levi?”
“Walk? Why is your gun drawn?” Levi eyes the Glock 45 in my hands.
Relaxing my stance, I move my finger away from the trigger. “Why don’t you have a shirt on?” I’m sure to make my question sound more like a threat, but he doesn’t so much as try to look remorseful. I turn to Blake. “Why are you here?”
She glances to the side. “Um.”
“Santiago,” Levi answers for her, and it clicks in my mind.
My free hand tightens into a fist as my teeth grind together. “I’m going to kill him.”
I’m not sure if my rage comes from Santiago sleeping with Landon’s daughter or the fact that Santiago slept with her and I didn’t.
It has to be the former because the latter can never happen.
If the other choices in my life haven’t earned me a permanent seat around the fire of hell, then just thinking about Blake and sex in the same thought would seal my fate.
Blake bites her lower lip as she peers at the tent in my pants. The situation tempts me for a tenth of a second.
“This isn’t happening,” I snap, my statement is just as much for myself as it is for Blake and Levi. Damn this woman and her ability to slip past my self-control.
If I hadn’t been here, would they have…
Shoving my feelings down, I bark out orders. “Levi, get out. Blake, get some clothes on.”
“I’m trying to shower! You two are the ones who barged in here!” Blake shouts back.
“Well then…finish up.” I wave my hand in an angry dismissal.
Levi smirks, winking at Blake as he turns to leave. He gently shoulders past me, then calls over his shoulder, “Oh, I’m sure she will. See you later, Butterfly.”
I follow him out, ignoring the hard-on in my jeans, and slam the door shut behind me.
Levi slips his shirt back over his head. Once we’re in the hall, he spins on his heel, a smirk on his face and a knowing look in his eye.
“Are you going to deny it?” He questions with raised brows.
I cross my arms over my chest. “Deny what?”
Levi sees right through me. He always has. “That if I wasn’t there, you would’ve gone right there and fucked the daylights out of her.”
“I wouldn’t.”
He scoffs, shaking his head. “Right. Me either.” His tone lets me know he doesn’t believe me.
He’s not alone. I don’t believe my claim either.
“She’s clearly into Santiago,” I say by way of excuse.
Levi looks like he’s chastising me. He knows it won’t work, but he tries anyway. He’s acting like I’m a little child he caught in a lie.
I keep the focus on Santiago.
“If she’s a one-night stand, I’ll tie him to my hitch and drive,” I threaten.
Levi sighs through his nose. “You know he wouldn’t do that to her. But he’s probably willing to—”
I cut him off, knowing where he’s going with this. “Don’t say it. Blake isn’t a trophy we can pass around.”
“Not pass. Share,” he corrects.
“No,” I assert.
At least…that’s what I believe.
I’ve never questioned Levi or Santiago's ability to love differently than I do. It doesn’t bother me. It never has. I just can’t imagine myself wanting the same thing.
Then again, I’d never imagined wanting Blake this much either.
Levi challenges my position. “What if that’s what she wants?”
“And how would you know? Did you ask?” I challenge him back.
Levi places his hands on his hips, narrowing his gaze. “Are you opposed to sharing, or are you opposed to the idea of being with her at all? How long are you going to fight it?”
I grit my teeth. “I’m not fighting anything. There’s nothing to fight.”
Levi shakes his head like he’s disappointed. “You go ahead and keep believing your own press.” He deflates a fraction, and his voice gets softer. “You don’t have to be miserable, Walk. You could—”
As he speaks, a thought occurs to me.
“Did something happen between you and Blake?” I ask as if I’m accusing him of murder.
“I thought you didn’t care,” he accuses back.
“I didn’t say that.”
Levi blows out a frustrated breath. “Do what you want. I’m going to let myself be happy.”
“As is your right. I’m going to go catch a killer.”
I stalk past him down the hall, down the stairs, snagging my things off the coffee table as I exit the front door and slam it shut.
I don’t deserve to touch Blake. I shouldn’t even fantasize about her.
My hands have too much blood on them.
Blood that would make her hate me.
I can’t be thinking about Blake’s naked body when I’m working. Distractions mean I’m not focused. When I’m not focused, I can’t do my job, and people get hurt.
The forty-five-minute drive north to Jackson gives me time to get my head on right. My route is surrounded by the Snake River and the Wyoming mountain ranges. Both are covered in crisp, white snow.
When I arrive at the coroner’s office in Jackson, I find Dr. Alder weighing a liver, a body on the metal slab next to him.
“Tell me you have something for me, Doc,” I say by way of greeting.
“Ah, you’re here.” He removes his bloody gloves, grabs a manila file from his desk, and leads me to the grid of small metal doors on the back wall. He opens it and slides out a rack with the victim lying on it. “Well, he was burned,” Marcus says with a bit of dry humor.
“Is it that obvious?” I return, sarcastically. “ID? Cause of death?”
He looks at the file in his hands. Marcus doesn’t actually need the file. He remembers all the bodies he autopsies. “It’s Derek Holt, alright. Just like Levi thought.”
“Who would want him dead?”
I should have some sort of reaction to finding out the victim is someone I know and have worked with on more than one occasion, but I feel nothing.
Death is death. There’s no stopping the end when it comes, and there’s no point in crying over someone dying. It’s part of life.
Marcus slips a pen out of the breast pocket of his scrubs and uses it to point to a specific part of Derek’s neck. “It’s hard to tell, but this man’s throat was cut. He bled out before he was set ablaze.”
“So our murderer doesn’t use fire as a method of killing,” I deduce.
“No, he does not,” Marcus agrees.
Angling my head as my brain turns, I add, “More like a tool for attention.”
“Very likely,” he concurs. “You know, this case reminds me of my time in Nepal. I was there as part of…”
Marcus dives into a story, recalling “the old days.” I’ve never questioned the accuracy of his reminiscences, but if he’s to be believed, this man has lived a full life.
Once, he worked with a relief effort in war-torn Somalia to help identify dead bodies, giving their friends and families closure.
While there, he was kidnapped by a militant extremist group and forced to perform an autopsy on one of their leaders.
His death was suspected of foul play, but it turned out to be natural causes.
After the autopsy, Marcus escaped under the cover of night.
I wait until he’s done with his story, then give my leave. “It was nice talking to you, Doc. Let me know if you find anything else.”
Firing up my truck, I steer out onto the highway, heading back to Evergreen Falls. ‘
It’s time to do the worst part of my job—notify the next of kin.