Give It All (4 page)

“Search warrant should be waiting at the front desk by now,” Flores said calmly. “I just want to take a quick look around. If you have nothing to hide, you have nothing to worry about. I’ll drive you back to your premises. Then you’ll be asked to wait outside. Any property seized as a result of this search will be made known to you—”

“I know how a warranted search works.”

Flores smiled. “Do you, then?”

Duncan rolled his eyes furiously, not in any mood for banter. “This is fucking ridiculous. All of it.”

Flores’s eyebrows rose. “Then you’ve got nothing to fucking worry about, I imagine. Be thankful you haven’t been accused of anything violent or deemed a flight risk—no need to detain you.”

“I should hope not.” He sighed his disgust. “Haven’t you got more pressing matters than this to occupy yourselves?”

“Sure. But until the team gets a viable lead on those bones, looks like I’m stuck ruining your day, Duncan.”

Bones.
Christ, that word. Everything had begun to go wrong with that one little syllable, spoken by Deputy Dunn, obsessed over by Vince Grossier. Now those bones had drawn Duncan into their miserable orbit.

“Perhaps your team ought to try a little harder,” Duncan said. “Those bones will prove me innocent as surely as they’ll prove Levins guilty.” Forensics would supply the victim’s identity, likely motives, and lead the investigation to the truth—and away from Duncan.

Ignoring that, Flores got to his feet and beckoned Duncan to do the same. “We’ve been in touch with your employers, of course.”

All the misplaced blood was suddenly rushing in Duncan’s ears, leaving his face hot. That was
all
he needed, when he was already on informal probation. He pulled himself together. “Of course. This wretched morning wouldn’t be complete if you hadn’t.”

“You’ll probably need to negotiate some time off. We’ll be chatting again soon, maybe often.”

Time off.
He’d be lucky if Sunnyside didn’t sack him. Christ, then what would he do? Who would he even
be
, with that blemish on his otherwise perfect professional record? And God forbid these accusations make the news—exonerated or not, he’d be a pariah for the rest of his career, to say nothing of what the angrier locals would want to do to him . . . Duncan got dirty looks simply for being associated with the development. If people believed him complicit with the men who’d murdered a well-liked deputy, he’d be attracting more than just glares.

“How long am I trapped in this town, precisely?”

“Hard to say,” Flores said, drawing car keys from his pocket. “Search shouldn’t take too long. Once you let us in, feel free to go find yourself some breakfast.”

Duncan would take a walk, at any rate. He needed the air, the sun, the ground under his feet. Proof the world was still solid, that he still existed.

They headed out to the front room, where Flores was met
by a slim young black woman dressed in BCSD khaki, curls pulled back in a voluminous ponytail.

“This is Deputy Ritchey,” Flores told Duncan. “She’ll be assisting me in the search.” To Ritchey he simply said, “This is Welch.”

She offered a curt nod, then held out an envelope to Flores.

He opened it and glanced at the paper inside. “Would you like to view the warrant?” he asked Duncan.

He read it. It granted Flores permission to search his motel room and his car for suspicious amounts of money. Annoying, as it meant they could basically tear his room apart, but at least they couldn’t seize his phone or laptop—he suspected he’d be needing them in the coming days.

“Understood?” Flores asked, taking the paper back.

“It’s neither here nor there. I’ve nothing to hide,” Duncan lied. He’d very much like to hide all traces of his mental issues, for his pride more than anything—under this warrant, Duncan’s meds and cleaning supplies and any other oddities were none of Flores’s concern. Still, they probably wouldn’t help matters.

They headed outside, where the deputy climbed into a beige cruiser. The sun was far too bright and cheerful, Duncan decided.

“I have a cat in my room,” he told Flores. “Upset her and I’ll be very cross.”

Flores unlocked his car. “A cat?”

“Yes, a cat. She’s been specially trained to digest human skeletal remains and I’ve secreted thousands of dollars inside her.”

Flores’s smile dropped. “Don’t get cute with me, Welch. I’d prefer not to form any biased opinions about you.” They climbed into the car and buckled up, not speaking until the three of them were at Duncan’s door.

“I’m coming in to put my cat into her carrier,” he said to Flores and Ritchey as he unlocked his room. “She’s not good with strangers.”

Flores nodded to tell him to go ahead.

“She’ll be less likely to panic and lacerate me if you let me go in alone.”

Flores shook his head, no surprise.

“Fine.” Duncan preceded the others, and managed to wrangle Astrid into her carrier with Deputy Ritchey’s help, both of
them suffering the consequences. He offered her his stiff thanks, then turned to Flores. “Please be sure to lock up behind you, and leave the cat where she is. My car keys are in the desk drawer—do lock that as well. I’ll be at the diner for the next hour. I imagine you’ve already got my mobile number?”

“I do.” Flores fished in a pocket and handed Duncan a business card. “And now you’ve got mine. Don’t leave town without contacting me first.”

Duncan’s eyes narrowed. “Why not just clamp an ankle tracker on me?”

“Don’t tempt me. Take care of yourself, Duncan. We’ll chat real soon.”

“I’ll count the moments.”

Flores rolled his eyes and turned his attention to the room.

As Duncan exited and aimed himself downtown, he felt his very identity being peeled from his being, falling in tattered strips like a ruined costume, like flayed skin. The sensation was so painful all he could think of was how to stop it. How to stop feeling, to go numb.

All in good time.
He needed to call his bosses first, to know if he still had a job. A scrap of anything definitive that he could cling to, to keep him suspended above this pit of steaming shit.

The sunshine was hot on his hair, too bright in his eyes. He walked a block down Railroad Ave and took out his phone, cued up his boss’s number. His thumb wavered above the
CALL
button. One push, and he’d find out if he still had a job—still had a purpose, an identity, any roots at all still linking him to the ground, to his sanity. And his sanity had never been completely under control.

He hit the power button, and the screen darkened. He pocketed the phone neatly, then strode to the nearest stand of scrubby trees and was sick.

Benji’s was bustling—Raina’s favorite kind of Friday night, when it felt as though half the town were in attendance. Felt like an impromptu Desert Dogs club meeting as well—minus Miah.

Both Grossier brothers were loitering at the bar, always the picture of contrast. Vince was older, taller, more thickly muscled behind his dark tee, with black hair, and black ink on his neck and arms, hazel eyes. His little brother wasn’t quite so big, overall—not quite six feet—and fair, with coppery, overgrown hair and a red beard any Viking would be proud of. They both wore old jeans and boots, but Casey was sporting one of his usual plaid button-ups. On Vince’s other side was his girlfriend, Kim, who looked like the Portlandian she was, dressed in stylish, casual clothes and trendy glasses, dark blond hair in a ponytail.

Casey, as was his wont of late, was tracking Abilene with his eyes, and hitting on her in his ham-fisted fashion whenever she passed by.

Abilene deflected the attention with a weary charm, excusing herself for a bathroom break. She took a lot of those, and Raina could guess why. The girl also winced whenever she got too close to the olives in the garnish bin, and had once dry-heaved at the smell of Kahlua. All these intimate tells were lost on a dolt like Casey, but Raina was going to need to have a little chat with her employee, to the tune of
So . . . when exactly are you due?
It was hard to guess. Abilene was a naturally round sort of girl. She could probably keep that secret right up to the third trimester.

“Goddamn,” Casey said, thwarted. “Someday she’s gotta say yes.”

Vince shot Raina a look, expression dry. Oh-ho. So he knew what she did? Made sense—he was the one who’d advised Abilene to get work at Benji’s to begin with. Raina grimaced to say,
Train wreck waiting to happen.
Vince raised his bottle in agreement.

“She’s not interested,” Raina told Casey. It was a lie, though. Body language said Abilene was as crushed out on Casey as he was on her, but of course the girl had enough problems without hitching her wagon to a flighty con man.

“I’m gettin’ really mixed signals from that woman,” he said, and sipped his bourbon.

“Girl,” Raina corrected. “You’ve got ten years on her, easy.” Abilene’s Texas license said she was twenty-four, but Raina knew a fake when she saw one. Abilene’s alleged birthday had also come and gone a couple of weeks back, and when Raina had asked her if she was doing something special that night, Abilene’s expression hadn’t suggested it’d been anything other than a Wednesday. Raina suspected that pregnancy was merely the largest of her employee’s secrets.

Casey’s blue eyes suddenly grew wide, and he turned to Vince. “Maybe she’s a virgin or something. Maybe that’s why she’s acting all hard to get.”

Raina bit her tongue.

Vince smirked. “Oh, I doubt she’s a virgin.”

Casey froze, then glared. “Wait, what? You fucked her? When?”

Raina laughed, and Kim covered her face, surely to stifle her laughter, not her horror.

Vince glared at his brother. “Of course I didn’t.”

“Are you sure? You seem pretty certain. Plus, you’ve fucked most of the girls in—”

“Shut. Up.”

Kim looked about ready to hyperventilate, clutching her middle.

“Just trust me,” Vince said to his brother. “The girl’s not as innocent as she looks.”

“How do you know?”

“None of your goddamn business. Ask her yourself.”

Casey asked Raina instead. “You’re with her a lot—she ever go home with anybody?”

Raina shook her head. “I think you’re onto something. Definitely sounds like a case of persistent virginity.”

Casey looked intimidated, but intrigued. His eyes narrowed with curiosity when Abilene reappeared.

“We better make a move,” Vince said, draining his bottle. “We’re on Mom-watching duty.” His and Casey’s mother was mentally ill, and they split the caregiving duties with their neighbor, Nita. Vince settled the tab and headed for the bathroom while Kim got serious about finishing her beer.

Abilene collected the empty and asked Casey, “You sticking around for another?”

“Yeah, sure.” He leaned on the bar while she poured him a fresh bourbon on the rocks. “You ever gonna say yes when I ask you out?”

Her smile was both flirtatious and cagey. “I’ve got a lot going on just now.”

“One date—that’s all I’m asking.”

“Take no for an answer, Case,” Raina said.

“But she hasn’t told me no yet,” he said, gaze on Abilene. “Trust me, I’ve been paying attention.”

“Maybe someday,” Abilene allowed, taking the five he handed her.

You know, someday,
Raina mused, smiling.
Like maybe two years from now, when the girl’s done breast-feeding and in half a mood for entertaining male demands.

Then Casey the dumb-ass stepped aside, and Casey the scam artist took his place. He leaned on the bar. “I know why you keep saying no,” he said to Abilene quietly.

Raina groaned. “Don’t, Casey.”

“Oh?” Abilene asked him.

Casey nodded. “My brother told me.”

Abilene’s hands went to her middle in horror and she glanced around, presumably looking for Vince so she could tear him a new one. “That asshole.” Raina didn’t think she’d heard the girl swear before now. Abilene tacked on a hasty “No offense, Kim.”

Kim smiled. “That shoe occasionally fits.”

“Jeez, what a shit. He promised he wouldn’t tell anyone.”

Casey held up his glass. “That’s my brother for you. Can’t be trusted.”

Raina kept her mouth shut and crossed her arms, preparing for a show.

“Well,” Abilene said slowly, “what do you think about it?”

“I’m . . . I want to know how
you
feel about it, I guess,” Casey said. A decent bluff, Raina had to admit.

Abilene thought a moment. “I’m not sure. I mean, I do
like
you. I’d like to go out with you, sometime.”

“Me, too. Perfect.”

“If that’s not too weird, I mean.”

“Why would I think it’s weird?”

Abilene shrugged. “I dunno. Some guys would. I just figure if a girl was pregnant by some other man, most of them—”

Casey’s eyes widened. “Wait—you’re pregnant?”

Kim grimaced as if a car wreck were about to go down, then hopped off her stool to intercept Vince as he returned from the men’s room. She steered him to the exit, and Vince offered a perplexed parting wave over his shoulder.

Abilene stared at Casey. “Yeah, I’m pregnant. What the heck did you think we were talking about?”

Casey blinked. “Fuck, I don’t know. But not that.”

She planted her hands on her hips and glared. “Your brother didn’t tell you shit, did he?”

“No, but—”

“I’d advise you to shut up now, Case,” Raina said.

Abilene’s angelic face was murderous. “Good to know which Grossier’s got the balls to tell me the truth.”

“I’ll just finish this and get going.” He took a long swallow of his drink, neck and ears pink.

Abilene eyed Raina, looking nervous.

She waved the girl’s worry aside. “I guessed weeks ago. You’re welcome to keep working as long as you like. Though we’ll probably want to switch you to afternoons soon.”

Her shoulders dropped in obvious relief.

A group of ranch hands came in, and Raina nodded to tell Abilene to tend to them—get her and Casey separated for a few minutes.

“Fuck me,” Casey said, staring at the drink in his hand.

“Next time, take our advice, maybe.”

He shook his head. “Jesus . . .”

Raina was poised to tease him, but then the door swung in, admitting the man she’d managed to keep her mind off for a good fifteen minutes, thanks to Casey’s romantic implosion. Duncan.

He strode for the bar, eyebrows set in a tight line.
Uncharacteristically dressed—a heather gray T-shirt and jeans. It was Saturday, but that didn’t matter—seeing Duncan Welch wearing anything less than two-thirds of a three-piece suit made Raina feel as if she were staring at the man buck naked.

She met him at the corner of the counter, tossing a coaster on the wood. “Good evening, Duncan’s doppelgänger. You drink V and T like your evil twin?”

“Double.” He didn’t meet her eyes, and she couldn’t help noticing how his fingers trembled as he fished bills from his wallet.

“You okay?”

He swallowed, eyes on his shaking hands. “Not particularly, no.”

A touch worried, she mixed his drink in record time. As he brought it to his lips, she could see the liquid juddering like a stormy lake.

She was stymied. Though they’d been briefly tangled in a load of drama together, and flirted as if they were aiming to catch fire, she had no clue how to relate to him just now.
Concern
wasn’t something she was much good at, and she suspected
rattled
wasn’t a state Duncan Welch wanted anyone to witness him in. Yet here he was.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

The glass clacked as he set it shakily on the bar. “Personal matters.”

A deep male voice from near the jukebox cut her off, bellowing, “Turn the TV up!
Turn the TV up
!”

The flat-screen was mounted on the short wall that ran around the drop ceiling above the bar, and with the exception of Broncos games, it was normally muted. Raina couldn’t see the screen, but she grabbed the remote from under the register and tossed it to the shouting man. Somebody jerked the plug on the jukebox, the neon lights going dark.

The stern voice of a news anchor rose to the TV’s max volume.

“—in custody after being apprehended in a motel outside Kerrville, Texas. He’s a prime suspect in the murder of disgraced former Brush County Sheriff Charles Tremblay—”

“Oh fuck.” Raina jogged around the counter to stand with the others. “They got Levins?”

One customer confirmed just as another shushed her. She’d
have taken issue with the latter, but the news was too important.

“—foreman is also a suspect in two other high-profile cases linked to the future Eclipse Casino in Fortuity. One involves human remains allegedly exhumed during the initial construction, as well as the death of Brush County Deputy Alex Dunn. It’s been speculated that Charles Tremblay and David Levins may have conspired to kill Dunn, to prevent news of the remains from becoming public, and endangering the progress of the casino. Virgin River Contracting is under federal investigation for widespread corruption, and it seems perhaps Sunnyside Industries might be joining them—unconfirmed reports say an employee of the developers is being questioned regarding bribery allegations.”

“Fucking corporate bottom feeders,” someone grumbled, echoed by another man’s “Like they don’t get paid enough already.”

“For the latest bulletins on David Levins’s arrest, stay tuned to KBCN, Brush County’s number-one news station.”

Several people clapped, and one man said, “Run like a deer, get caught by the wolves.”

His neighbor said, “Casino ain’t even fucking built yet and already this town’s going to hell.”

“We was already halfway there,” her friend countered.

A beer bottle came down with an angry thud. “Fortuity ain’t much, but it’s ours. I got half a mind to drive these goddamn vultures out by force.”

“Fucking right,” chorused another man.

Raina’s blood cooled, her thoughts turning to Duncan. No chance it was him who’d taken bribes—she’d never met a man with a bigger hard-on for rules in her life. But it wasn’t going to help his standing among the locals if Sunnyside got tarred with the same brush as VRC.

Raina stared at the screen, commercials flashing. “Fucking hell.”

“Well put.”

She turned at the words, finding Duncan standing beside her, drink in hand, eyes on the TV.

The jukebox stayed dark, the TV volume turned down a few notches and all but drowned out by the dozens of conversations now buzzing throughout the bar. People slowly
gravitated to their tables and stools, and Raina got back to work. Duncan and Casey settled again on their seats.

“Well,” she said, filling a pitcher. “I didn’t see that coming. You sure this is where you want to be tonight?” she asked Duncan. The natives were even more restless than usual, and unless he boasted some secret karate prowess, she didn’t give him great odds in a bar fight.

He didn’t reply, but Casey was animated—and probably relieved to be talking about something other than his massive foot-in-mouth episode with Abilene. “’Bout fucking time they found him.”

“No kidding,” she said. “I figured he must’ve made it to Mexico by now.”

“He turned himself in.” Duncan’s tone was flat, expression blank. And his glass was empty, clattering softly against the wood in his jittery grip. His eyes were dark, pupils large and eerie. She’d seen him like this once before, and gleaned that it indicated a nasty combo of liquor and whatever prescription meds he’d mentioned taking.

“Dunc—”

He slipped, nearly falling sideways off the stool, catching himself with an elbow on the bar.

“Jesus.” Raina bent over the counter and grabbed him under one armpit, every pound of him feeling limp. “Casey, help me.”

Casey hurried over, shoving an arm under each of Duncan’s from behind. “Whoa, dude.”

Raina knew what had to be done, much as she preferred to fix things herself.

“Abilene, call nine-one-one.”