Chapter Seventeen #2
seat of his car, hand hanging limply over the steering wheel. He
sipped from a tall can of Bud. The beer was already going warm and
flat. The man in the passenger seat slouched against the door, a
grimy gimme cap pulled over his face to block the sun. Idiot Bobby
stayed up all night playing video games and smoking weed. He slept
as much of the day as he could get away with and was damn near
useless when he couldn’t. Which meant he was useless just about all
the time.
Bobby shifted and stretched, lifting
the ballcap to reveal a face with a grizzled appearance making him
look ten years older than the forty-five Jerod knew him to be. “Hot
in here,” he grumbled. “Give me a swig of your beer.”
“Hell no. You’re such a
dumb fuck you didn’t even have enough dough to buy your own. I’m
not letting you have mine.”
Jerod wished he was back at his place,
anywhere away from the increasingly irritating Bobby, who smelled
like he hadn’t bathed in days. Kicking back in his easy chair with
the window a/c unit cranked to freezing while watching a football
game on TV sounded so much better than sitting in his car with
asshole Bobby.
Their orders were to watch the old
bat’s house and report if she had any visitors. Fucking waste of
time, if you asked him. But Neil didn’t ask him. He gave orders and
expected them to be followed. The old man wasn’t sheriff anymore,
though. He’d learn soon enough his time had passed. Time for the
next generation to take control.
Days before, Bobby’d been tagged to
watch the old woman and had nearly pissed himself when he’d showed
up at the rendezvous spot to report that Walker McGrath and the
Bryant whore had walked away with a box.
Neil’d been furious, certain the box
contained records from the sheriff’s office. Didn’t make sense to
keep watching, but Neil had made a big deal of it, said Reed needed
to be thorough, do the job right. He hated his uncle called him
Reed. Jerod’s mother had called him by his middle name too, and
he’d loathed the bitch. She’d been a weak woman, and she’d been a
whore. Hadn’t she brought home men who’d left money on the dresser
as they’d buttoned their pants on the way out the door? All women
were whores as far as he was concerned. Then one of those assholes
had paid her in heroin and she’d OD’d, and that had been
that.
He slurped down more beer and patted
his stomach to loosen a burp, idly wishing he’d bought more than
one can. He wiped sweat from his forehead, resentment growing over
having to sit in a fucking hot car on a fucking hot day while he
sweated like a pig. Bobby being there to keep watch with him only
added insult to injury. Jerod didn’t like the idea Neil didn’t
trust him.
A car drove by. Jerod watched the
driver, making sure the woman, who looked like a soccer mom with a
van full of kids, wasn’t paying attention to two guys sitting in a
car. After tipping back the beer to get the last drops, he smashed
the can with his fist and tossed it out the window as his
resentment grew.
What was the point of keeping an eye
on the old lady’s place when any idiot who wanted to talk to Martha
Watkins could call her? They could email her. They could fucking
video chat with her. They didn’t need to walk up to her door in
person.
He doubted his uncle even knew what
video chatting was. But he’d insisted, so here Jerod was in Sisters
where he could be recognized by anyone driving by. And since he’d
been watching the house for nearly an hour and not seen as much as
a curtain twitch, he was pretty sure no one was home.
He gave a frustrated sigh when he
reached for the radio knob before remembering the damn thing had
stopped working weeks before. The clunker of a car didn’t even
sport a CD player. He deserved better.
Neil had blown up when Jerod had
broached the subject of buying him a new car. He deserved something
new, a truck preferably, and the old man was too tightfisted to buy
him one. He stuffed a handful of pickle-flavored sunflower seeds in
his mouth. Bobby held out his hand and Jerod shook his head. “Get
your own, asshole.”
He ignored Bobby flipping him the
finger as he pondered the situation. Martha Watkins was a problem.
He’d seen the old woman with her daughter that one time in
Ponderosa Flats. Of all the bad luck.
After he’d conveniently “died,” Jerod
had used the false identity papers Neil made up for him and rented
an A-frame cabin out in the boonies. He didn’t care where it was as
long as no neighbors were close enough to recognize him if they’d
read the papers.
That, and as long as there was heat in
the winter, a/c in the summer, and Dish TV. Since he couldn’t work,
he had to rely on his uncle for money, which was a pain in the ass.
More so because the money Neil doled out was never quite
enough.
He’d seen Martha Watkins and her
daughter Valerie, and if either one of them recognized him and said
something, he was screwed. Jerod had wanted to follow them and find
a convenient place to run them off the road and preferably over a
cliff. But instead of doing it, he’d made the mistake of calling
Neil, who’d talked him out of taking action.
So he hadn’t killed them, but he’d
followed up by doing a little digging and learned Valerie Watkins
Rawlings lived in a log cabin house in South Tahoe with her husband
and kids. If something spooked Grandma and she was holed up with
her daughter, it would be easy to take a little drive over the
mountains to get rid of them. That’s what had made Jerod a good
cop. Finding the little details about people he could store away
until he needed them later.
He shifted, sweat sticking his shirt
to his back. He’d give it another ten minutes, then he was done
here and he could turn his attention to the fun stuff.
He was itching to do some
reconnaissance, find out if that shitty little dog had drowned. But
more than anything, he was dying to turn the screws on Walker
McGrath. There was something about that asshole that chafed his
ass. Always had.
He remembered the first time he’d
pulled the fucker over on his motorcycle for doing forty in a
twenty-five zone. As a sheriff’s deputy, Jerod had figured making
people nervous was the best part of his job. It made him feel
powerful, gave him control, helped him get a little extra attention
from women when he wanted it.
But asshole McGrath had flipped up the
visor on his helmet and given him a shit-eating grin and got all
cocky, asking, “What’s up, Jerod?” like they were buds. The fucker
should’ve been more respectful. Jerod had been so pissed he’d
hauled the kid off his bike and slammed him face first into the
pavement. Too bad he’d been wearing a helmet.
Jerod had searched him, hoping to find
weed, and the fucker had laughed like it was a big joke. The
clincher had been Jerod had had his eye on Delaney Bryant. She’d
been a lot younger than him, but she was so fucking hot, he didn’t
care. He’d wanted her screaming as he fucked her. Still did. But
she’d taken up with McGrath and hadn’t spared Jerod a
glance.
One time he’d pulled her over in her
hatchback when she’d been in college. She hadn’t been speeding, but
so what? His timing had been perfect. She was on a deserted road at
twilight and he remembered getting out of his car, his dick already
firming up. In minutes he’d have her on her knees giving him a
blowjob.
But a truck had come from the opposite
direction and stopped across the road. Walker McGrath had been
driving with James in the passenger seat, cellphone to his ear.
They’d refused orders to leave, instead getting out of the truck to
stand with arms crossed, watching. God almighty, Jerod had been
pissed. He’d imagined pulling his sidearm and pumping rounds into
each of them and leaving their bodies for the vultures to pick
over. Then he’d been humiliated when a call came over the radio,
his lieutenant telling him to get back to the sheriff’s office.
Somehow the old man had made that happen.
After that, Jerod had made it his
mission to pull over the younger McGraths whenever he had the
opportunity. The most gratifying moment in Jerod’s life had been
when Walker McGrath had been found guilty of rape. He hadn’t
respected the badge and been made to pay. But now he’d dared to
return to Sisters, and that meant he had to be dealt
with.
Jerod turned the key to start the
engine.
“Hey, we’re supposed to
sit on that house.”
“We’re done
here.”
Bobby shrugged and didn’t argue when
Jerod dumped him at the entrance to the trailer park where the
dumbshit lived with his mom. Once rid of Bobby, Jerod steered
slowly through town, checking his rearview mirror frequently.
Wouldn’t do to be spotted by law enforcement.
He turned onto Cider Mill Road, then
hooked a right onto a dirt road snaking into the hills, following
until it became too narrow and he risked getting his car stuck in a
rut. After parking, he grabbed supplies—the bag of sunflower seeds
and his binoculars—and found the trail leading to the big-ass tree
where he’d sat before, a spot with an excellent view of the back of
the farm.
It may’ve been a while, but he knew
these mountains. As a teenager he’d always been on the lookout for
a place to escape from under his uncle’s thumb, and the old cabins
and abandoned mines dotting the hills had worked well for that
purpose.
He panted up the slope, sweat stinging
his eyes, until reaching the tree. He was out of shape, but what
could he say? He liked his beer.
Settling in the shade under the wide
branches, he was hidden well enough he wouldn’t be spotted.
Spitting out sunflower seed shells, he brought up the binoculars
and twirled the little wheel to bring the scene into focus. No sign
of life at McGrath’s cabin.
Jerod might need to have a little
look-see, poke around in the cabin to see if he could find the box
Fucker McGrath had carted out of the old lady’s house.
Jerod continued scanning. The big
house came into view and he gave a start when he spied Delaney
Bryant exiting through the back door. Her hair was in a ponytail
and she wore a halter top, which made him grateful daytime temps
had jumped up.
The woman was smokin’ hot. All long
legs with her excellent tits on display. He wanted what Walker
McGrath was dipping his wick in. Wanted it in the worst
way.
She went to a hose bib and turned on
the water, taking a hose to spray a flowerpot next to the back
door. He set the beer can in the dirt and eased himself back a bit,
loosening his belt and slipping his hand into his pants to stroke
himself. He shifted and the sun blinded him for minute.
She straightened, looking in his
direction, and had him holding his breath. His dick grew harder at
the thought of her attention focused on him. But then she returned
to her task, bending over to remove some dead leaves from the
plant. Done with the hose, she used pruners and clipped off a few
flowers, her pert little ass in the air. Then she opened the door
and disappeared back into the house, flowers clutched in her
hands.
She probably knew he was watching and
was teasing him, putting on a show.
He stroked harder. Maybe she had
secret fantasies about him like he had about her.
Neil always warned him to take care of
his needs far away from home, and hadn’t he always done that? Been
careful? Picked the kind of woman no one cared much
about?
But he was done with that. Done
denying himself. Done taking orders.
He dropped the binoculars, letting out
a groan.
He’d get some temporary relief, then
move ahead with the plan he’d been working on.
Delaney Bryant was going to see how it
was when a real man fucked her.