She needed evidence of his sins to shield her from this unexplainable power he had over her, this connection…this hum. She would never submit to any power—that was one of very few promises she made herself which she vowed to keep at all costs. She didn’t succumb that awful dawn or any time since then.
“What does it solve for you to figure out where I’ve been? Who I’m trying to protect?”
She couldn’t answer. Deep down, past the validation she was seeking, she knew she was still looking for Kenson. Had some hope he was locked inside King. But for that hope to come to life, it would hurt too many people, destroy everything—launch her into an unknown. She had decided long ago she’d never be naïve again, not to a man, not to magic, not anything or anyone. She was not made to bow.
Control. She needed it and King’s mere presence stripped it from her.
“Gwinn is in her room. Watch her for me.”
“You mean watch her starve?” he said as Reveca turned.
She had to force herself to walk to her bike, to not turn around and argue the existence of Escorts until she was blue in the face with him.
She was already on a tight schedule as it was. The boys would be back any minute; the run on Gaither would take place not long after.
Reveca peeled out of the parking lot with the same vengeance she felt seeping into every corner of her soul.
The hate, the confusion, was masked with grief as each mile took her closer to GranDee’s home. That night, the one when she’d found her dead, kept rushing through Reveca’s mind just as every time she went there before that tragic night.
She remembered how the woman could make her laugh, make her think. Made her feel like a normal girl, but at the same time made her respect her status as the Queen of the Edge. GranDee had told her there were no accidents. That the bigger the hell you walk through the bigger the reward. Reveca would laugh and tell her if there was one thing she could prove wrong it was that—there was no reward big enough to make her forget what she had been through.
The site was the same as the last time Reveca had seen it, a massive pile of charred wood that was once a home. There was police tape around the remains. Not that some plastic tape would stop Reveca, but she wasn’t going there anyway. She was going to the riverbank, to the garden just before it.
Grandee’s garden was massive, sat just perfectly so enough shade and light came to it, moist but not too moist. It was perfect and everything she ever planted thrived.
Seeing how just a few weeks had all but destroyed it with weeds was near heartbreaking. Reveca should have gone straight to the herbs she was after, but her loyalty, some kind of anger, and maybe desperation halted that move.
Instead, in the summer heat, in the shade of the later afternoon she started to pull the weeds, defend every thing that was planted there, turning the dirt with her boots, with her hands. When she reached the herbs she carefully harvested them, thanking them for the sacrifice as she stored them in a cloth then tucked them into her pocket.
She was making one more walkthrough the garden, ensuring herself that it was once again up to GranDee’s standards, when an unmarked car pulled up.
Reveca glanced up, squinted her eyes. She recognized the officer. He was one of the ones on her front porch the night of the raid. And later the only idiot that didn’t try to shoot a gator.
However, that night she didn’t quite notice how young he was, or how dark he was. His skin was a deep shade of gold, eyes a midnight black. His clean-cut hair was much the same. Of an average height, he had a pretty good build for a mortal. She was betting he had seen the inside of a gym at least once a week for a while now.
He had ‘new’ written all over him, meaning he still looked determined.
Reveca started to make her way to her bike. She wasn’t in the mood for a snarky conversation with a lawman—well, maybe she was, but no good would come of it.
The lawman opened his trunk, meddled around in there, then closed it and made his way to Reveca. She had to smile when she saw the dripping liter bottles of ice-cold water in his hands.
“Is that a peace offering?”
“You’ve been out here awhile, surely you’ve worked up a thirst at this point.”
“You stalk gardens?”
“I stalk my crime scenes,” he said, holding a bottle of water out to her. When she didn’t take it he grinned. “It’s not like it’s poisoned,” he said as he twisted the top, took a swig, then reached the bottle to her once again.
“So swapping spit with you makes it a better offer?” Reveca asked with a lifted brow.
That earned her a laugh, a genuine one.
Reveca wasn’t thirsty, but she did feel gritty. She held out her hands, not to take the bottle, though. Instead, she gestured for him to pour the water. With a furrowed brow he did so.
Calmly Reveca rinsed her hands, then asked for more water and glided it over her arms, her chest, down her neck, and across her face. When she saw his curious stare remain, when no sign of lust emerged, she gained marginal respect for the man.
“You sure you’re a lawman?”
He reached into the pocket of his slacks and pulled out his badge to show her. He let her stare at it until she nodded, silently told him that she had seen all she wanted. “Tubbs. You really let them put that on your badge?”
“Ah now, a nice southern girl like you surely knows it’s not nice to mock a man’s name, his legacy.”
“Tubbs,” she said again looking over him. “Maybe if you keep your gym membership you won’t live up to that name any time soon, but you know…there is power in words. As new as you are, the stress hasn’t kicked in yet. Let me guess, only one cup of coffee a day so far, not a smoker yet. Getting a solid eight hours each night.”
“Mathis.”
Reveca stared in question. “You can call me Mathis. I’m not as new as you think I am. Second generation officer, been on the force in Baton Rouge for six years.”
“Congratulations. You’re still new here. You’re the primary on this crime now?”
“I am.” He grinned. “What is that look about?”
“I’m just trying to figure out if I should be insulted or relieved.”
“That a fact?”
“Yeah. Blackwater has been on the force a long time, has a ton of experience. You, who are still claiming your daddy’s time, have only been around for a hot second, and not even in this city. But Blackwater is heading up the murder of a dead man…or something like that and you’re stalking a crime scene where four were murdered. In cold blood.”
“Four, huh?” Before Reveca could respond he went on. “I’m assisting Blackwater and he is assisting me. His experience with narcotics is what he used to make sure he was the primary on the other case.”
“And you have experience with house fires?”
“Murder.”
“You get off on that or something? Blood and gore get your heart pumping?”
“No,” he said as his curious stare moved across her eyes once more. “I know what it’s like to lose someone before their time. To have them ripped from you. The real victims are the ones left behind, the ones that carry an angry, vacant look in their eyes for years to come. Haunted by a calendar that recycles a date year after year they’d wish had never happened.” He hesitated. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
Reveca bit her lip, did her best to ignore the vacant hole in her chest, the stab of grief that made her feel hollow when she dared to notice it.
“Who did you lose?”
“My father…in the line of duty.”
“I’m sure his buddies took care of the culprit.”
“Nope. Still open. His old partner is still investigating, feels awful guilty for not being with him that night. He likes to tell me my father died a hero, defending a woman…unfortunately, they both died in that alley.”
Reveca’s eyes grew a little wider. “Blackwater.”
Mathis nodded. “Seems we both lost a parent that night, bo
th still haunted when that date comes ‘round. Surely it’s just as aggravating to you this case is open but cold.”
Reveca was seeing Mathis in a whole new light right then. She remembered officer Jonny T. He was there the night Blackwater thought he murdered Reveca. He’d tried to stop it, stepped in front of the fatal shot, but the bullet not only went through his heart but hit Reveca.
Jonny T had finally figured out that Blackwater was bribing Reveca; he’d asked to meet her that night. He spoke of how the force was losing its honor, how he felt it was his duty to clean it up. He told Reveca if she gave him names, he would ensure she had immunity, he would keep her Club as far out of the takedown as he could.
Before Reveca could even consider bargaining, Blackwater showed up, didn’t say a word as he walked the length of that alleyway. Jonny T started to speak, but Blackwater cut him off and said, “You should have gotten in when I asked you,” then coldheartedly fired his gun.
Witnesses came instantly from the streets at either end of the alley. Reveca never had a chance to stand up and scare the hell out of Blackwater, let him know how stupid the move was. As she laid there, pretending to bleed out next to Jonny T, Blackwater started to tell a story that seemed too well practiced, about how Jonny T had seen a woman running from someone and went to investigate. He said he went to get the car, and before he could call for backup he heard the shot and ran to defend his partner, but was too late. Later when it came out that he knew the female victim, had open cases which involved the Boneyard, he stated it made sense that Jonny T would defend Maren Beauregard. Said both him and his partner knew she was an innocent trapped in a wicked life.
“You’re Jonny T’s son.”
“Jonathan Tubbs.”
“You don’t look a thing like him.” And that was the truth. Jonny T was a lanky man, had dark red hair, hazel eyes.
“Take after my grandfather,” Mathis offered with a somewhat proud glint in his dark stare.
“Reverend Bradshaw’s grandson?”
Reverend Bradshaw was the pastor at the church where Reveca always met Saige, the church both GranDee and Thelma Ray attended on the regular. They dug the choir, the company.
Reverend Bradshaw was no stranger to things that went bump in the night, ‘the evil’ as he called it. At the same time he had no issues reaching out to Thelma Ray, GranDee, or even Reveca if he needed something or someone ‘cleansed.’ He had to be the most open-minded Reverend that Reveca had ever come across.
The man knew he buried an empty casket when Maren Beauregard’s body should have been inside, knew it wasn’t the first empty one he put in the ground. No, when it got too hot around any one of the Sons, when their ‘taking care of business’ managed to pin murder raps on them that Reveca could not sway the public eye to believe differently, there was an ‘accident’ and then a funeral. Can’t send a dead man to jail…
A new identity or outlook would be cast over whatever Son was in the hot seat, then life would move on.
“We’ve had our ins and outs, but as far as I know he still tends to claim me as one of his own,” Mathis offered. “He is fond of you, though. Told me of this great bond you had with GranDee, how you must be devastated, more so than her own sister.”
Reveca squinted her eyes, trying to hide the pain there but only managing to make it more evident. “It’s not easier the second time you lose a parental figure.”
“I would never assume that it was.”
“So where are you on this case?”
Mathis glanced to the charred remains then to the brush along the swamp. “Still sorting through the mounds of evidence.”
“Mounds? Yet there is no suspect?”
“Not one we, or rather I, have made public.” He nodded to the house. “The only one that we know died before the fire was the victim on the front steps. There was no smoke damage in his lungs. A forty-five in his head.”
“You mean there were remains?”
“Not much,” Mathis said with a lifted brow. “There were casings in the living room, the first bedroom, and the kitchen. Each room had the remains of body, all ashes. The back room…three casing were found there. No remains.”
“I can see how that could be confusing,” Reveca said, following his glance and remembering that night vividly while doing her best not to get sick when the memories of GranDee’s body surfaced in her mind. She must have been absorbed in shock that night, because right now Reveca had no idea how she never flinched, how she held GranDee’s body and didn’t fall apart. How she was able to store Holden away and not rip his flesh from him nice and slow.
“The rain didn’t make it any easier. Covered most of the tracks.”
“Most.”
He nodded, but kept a straight face. “Found a footprint in the blood of the vic on the front porch, a rather large footprint. Man’s boot.” He nodded to the brush. “There was a single tread mark, from a bike, near that mud by the bank. There are patchy, large sections which were washed away by the rain, however,” he said as he turned and took a few steps toward the bank, “they stop right here.”
“Did you drag the swamp?”
“We did, thoroughly.” He glanced back to Reveca. “It’s like the ground opened up and swallowed that bike.”
Reveca held in the smirk that wanted to emerge. “There was a mightily big vigil here, hundreds and hundreds of bikes. You sure you’re tracking the right tread? Sounds more believable than a swamp devouring a bike.”
“It was collected prior to the vigil. We did have a fun time matching all those new tread marks to our original, you know, to make sure that bike hadn’t returned to the scene. No such luck.”
“Bummer,” Reveca said.
Mathis nodded to the large tree that Reveca had imprisoned Holden within that tragic night. “Just under the canopy of this tree, there was the same boot print that we found in the blood. It took two steps in, then never stepped out. At least not until Holden stepped out of that dark shadow and walked up to an officer and confessed to a different crime in front of a massive crowd.”
“What is that look?” Reveca asked.
“What look?”
“The one that is asking me to fill in the blanks of your evidence which makes no sense. It’s almost like you’re saying Holden found this crime scene, freaked, hid in the trees, and when he saw us all arrive he broke down and confessed his sins to another crime. Oh, and I’m guessing he owned the tread that belonged to the bike you can’t find.”
“Why would you think I assume he found the crime scene?”
“You said a boot print was in the blood.”
“Maybe I misspoke. I should have said the blood preserved his boot print. That the vic on the front porch, he must have been working to replace a few boards on the front porch. We found a saw near him, and of course the faint sawdust around his body preserved the boot print. The print was there before the blood, which means the person who owns that boot was there before the blood.”
“Clever.”
“Not really. We just have a really good forensic team that can see what the natural eye would miss.”
“Why do I get the feeling you suspect Holden of these murders?”
A grin twitched on his lips. “I follow the evidence.”
“Do you not communicate with the other officers on your force?”
“I’d like to think I do.”
“Then have they told you he was one of you?”
He lifted one brow. “I wasn’t aware they had told you that.”
“They didn’t. I’m not stupid. That was obvious about Holden from the moment he pulled up at the Boneyard.”
“But you let him in?”
“We let everyone in, and we had nothing to hide.”
Mathis’s gaze trickled over Reveca, curiosity lurking within. “Some of the very old reports I have seen of Holden would state differently. He said he escorted trucks, but they would vanish from behind him, pull off in the brush, and the other Sons would lead him away.
When officers were sent to find the trucks they were gone.”
“I can’t answer for what the boys do when they ride out, but everyone knows the Sons offer protection to those who think they need it, and they don’t ask questions.”
“Not a wise thing to do when treading so close to illegal activity.”
“Treading close? They see a truck pass and they ride in front of it. They don’t know what’s in it, where it’s going, and they never touch it. Their role is intimidation. It’s not their fault that whomever is after this truck assumes the Sons are with them and decide not to engage.”
“I don’t care about any trucks, Reveca. I can call you that, can’t I? I apologize. I’m used to my grandfather using your first name.”
“You can. Then what are you interested in?”
“This murder.”
“That your vague evidence is linking to your own.”
“Cop or not a cop, we are held to the law, Reveca. That is one lesson my father taught me which I will uphold.”
Reveca stared for a second, trying to understand if there was some hidden message there, if he was trying to tell her he had some clue as to what went down with his father’s death.
“From what I hear Holden is going down for another crime.”
“A lesser one. Not near as threating as four cold blooded murders.”
“I wish you the best of luck with that,” Reveca said as she moved past him.
“You have his bike,” Mathis said just as Reveca mounted hers.
“What?”
“His bike. Blackwater and the others were looking for a gun the other night…I was looking for his bike.”
“No.”
“It’s a shame. Without that bike or the forty-five, this case will grow cold.” He glanced down. “That is until we match any other prints we found in the mud.”
“You want my shoes? Hell, just go get my imprints from over there,” she said, nodding to garden. “They’re all over this place. I was here often.”
“That night?”
“Are you accusing me of murder?”
Mathis stared. “The only honest man left in my life, a man who only knows how to lie with silence, clearly stated nice and slow that there was no way, no reason, no how that you could ever hurt this family. I believe my grandfather. But that doesn’t mean I don’t think you were here that night.” He stepped closer to the bike. “Reveca, I’m not the only one with this evidence. You’ve made a lot of people mad. They think you’ve threatened Holden into his confession and want nothing more than to pin these murders on you. Even if it doesn’t stick, they want that leverage to use against your Club.