Golden Trail (37 page)

“Okay, Colt, now you’re tellin’ me
this
because…?” Layne repeated.

“Because, with part-time work, her insurance
won’t cover the entirety of the injection and it’s expensive.”

“You takin’ a collection?” Layne asked but
he knew he wasn’t.

“They say sometimes it takes as long as six
months for it to really kick in. She’s got a good job, pay’s all
right, but part-time isn’t gonna cut it. Until she gets back on her
feet, goes back to full-time, gets decent insurance, she’s gonna
need help and that help’s gonna be expensive.”

Layne stared at Colt and Colt stared
back.

Then Layne whispered, “He’s vulnerable.”

He meant Sean. Sean wanted his sister to
feel better and her kids’ life to get better.

Which meant he needed money to do it, a lot
of it, more than a cop made unless that cop was dirty.

“Someone’s recruiting,” Colt whispered
back.

Colt knew about Rutledge. This didn’t
surprise Layne, not much got by Colt and Rutledge’s slipshod police
work would definitely not be lost on Colt.

Colt also knew about Layne and, more than
likely, Merry. This also didn’t surprise Layne.

“I have to let that cool down,” Layne said
quietly.

“I get you, that doesn’t mean it’s not still
hot,” Colt replied. “You gotta know what you’re workin’ and who
you’re up against.”

“You gonna let Sean go down?” Layne asked
and this
did
surprise Layne. Those boys took care of their
own, like they were blood brothers. And even if they didn’t, Colt,
being Colt, wouldn’t let Sean go down.

“You aren’t the only one lookin’ into this,”
Colt returned, he was ticked, not angry, irritated that Layne would
even think that. “I understand why Merry didn’t go to the Captain
because, bein’ how the Captain is, that’s not a great play and
that’s the reason I’m not makin’ that play either. I’ve never seen
this shit before but I’ve heard of it. That small of a Department,
this small of a town, that shit leaks out, we’re all tarred with
the same brush and Cap will fuck it up and it’ll be sure to leak.
If we take care of this internal, private, that doesn’t happen. But
it’s gotta be taken care of.”

“Colt, I was shot because of this shit,”
Layne said.

“Yeah, Layne, I remember,” Colt
returned.

“This is dangerous. You and Feb got a young
son,” Layne reminded him.

“And you got two older ones,” Colt shot
back.

Layne shook his head. “Let me work
this.”

“My Department.”

“Colt, I’m tellin’ you, let me work
this.”

“Sean’ll go down. This shit with his sister,
it’s been goin’ on a long time. It’s not good, the whole family’s
strugglin’.”

Layne stared at Colt and got an idea.

“Rocky,” he said.

Colt shook his head. “I gotta hope you know
what you’re doin’, sendin’ her in there, her gettin’ close to
–”

Colt had noticed that too.

“Not my choice,” Layne cut him off firmly.
“She wants to do something, there’s no talking her out of it. I got
her back, so does Merry. What you see with their little chats is as
close as she’s gonna get. It makes her feel like she’s doin’
something and I’m givin’ her that. But that’s all she’s doin’.”

“Then what do you mean, ‘Rocky’?” Colt
asked.

“What I mean is, she does those charity
gigs. She helps set them up. I tell her about this, she’ll be all
over it. Something else to focus on, not that piece of shit in the
Department.”

Colt grinned. “Cop’s sister goin’ all out
for a cop’s sister.”

Layne grinned back. “All in the family.”

“It’d be good around about this time, that
dirt in the office gettin’ up in his face, Sean’s reminded about
family.”

“Yeah, it’d be good,” Layne agreed.

Colt grin turned into a smile. “Hear she’s
raised a fuckwad of cake.”

Layne had no idea. He knew she did them
because he’d heard about it in passing. He didn’t know how
successful she was at it. Though, this was Rocky, if she could talk
the School Board into letting her kids listen to rock ‘n’ roll for
a week in English Lit class, she could probably raise millions.

“I’ll talk to her, get her to talk to Sean,”
Layne replied.

“Like that idea, Tanner,” Colt said and
Layne nodded then Colt brows went up at the same time the ends of
his lips tipped up and he asked, “What’s for dinner?”

“Hot beef sandwiches,” Layne answered then
smiled, “with cheese.”

“I don’t even know what the fuck that is and
it sounds good,” Colt returned.

It did and Rocky had cooked both nights at
his house. She’d come to his place Wednesday night with enough
grocery bags in her car to feed twelve for Thanksgiving dinner. The
first night was roast chicken with stuffing, mashed potatoes and
gravy. The second night was pork roast with fried potatoes and
fresh baked rolls. Gabby wasn’t much of a cook, she hated doing it
and her food tasted like she hated doing it. Devin had been single
since his third wife took off with his baseball card collection
fifteen years ago and he’d been that way because he was the kind of
man who missed his baseball card collection more than his wife.
Devin could pour a helluva mixed drink but he wouldn’t know a
spatula from a frying pan. Jasper, Tripp and Devin were in ecstasy
because Rocky loved to cook and she made roast chicken and pork
taste like heaven on a plate.

Layne sure as fuck liked her food but he
liked her cooking in his kitchen for him and his boys better.

And her being around meant the boys didn’t
bitch when they had to clean up.

Yes, Layne was looking forward to hot beef
sandwiches with cheese. But he was hoping that he’d have them with
a Rocky, happy and excited to see him.

“I gotta get to Rocky, brother,” Layne told
Colt.

Colt straightened from the chair saying,
“Yeah. See you at the game?”

Layne palmed his phone and stood too,
replying, “Yeah. You goin’ to an away game?”

Colt smiled at him. “Cal came over
yesterday. Over what sounded to be a much-needed bourbon, he told
me he was takin’ Keira and Heather because she’s fired up to
support her new boyfriend while he plays ball and since she’s had
three fender benders since she got her license, Vi isn’t letting
her drive outside the city limits and Vi doesn’t trust Heather’s
driving any more than Keirry’s. If Cal didn’t say he’d take her,
he’d be forced to put duct tape on her mouth and tie her to a chair
because she wouldn’t shut up about it. He didn’t think Vi would
like that overly much so he said yes. I’m goin’ for moral
support.”

That was about a quarter of the reason Colt
was going. Colt was a ‘dogs fan too. He’d played for them years ago
and was good enough to get a partial ride to Purdue. That team did
good things for him and he remained loyal to the end.

But the reason Cal told Colt he’d said yes
was total bullshit. Joe Callahan was a pushover for that girl. He’d
kill for her, her sister and her mother, Layne knew this because
Cal got that chance, he pulled the trigger and didn’t blink.

Layne walked Colt to the door and they shook
hands and clapped each other on the arm before Colt took off. Then
Layne closed down the office and left, setting the security alarms
as he went. He drove home and lifted the garage door but didn’t
pull inside then he walked through the garage and into the
house.

Blondie greeted him and if his son’s dog
could cross her legs, she would. So Layne unarmed the alarm and let
her out back. Then he turned and jogged up the stairs, going direct
to his drawers, he pulled out a thermal and then went to the
walk-in closet, flipping on light switches as he went. He
unbuttoned his shirt and shrugged it off, throwing it without
looking in the direction of the mound of dirty clothes. He pulled
on the thermal, yanked a sweater off the built-in shelves in the
closet and then tugged that on. He grabbed the scarf his mother
bought him for Christmas last year and his leather jacket and
headed back to the bedroom, putting them on, and stopped dead,
staring at the bed.

It was made, not like Layne “made” it,
yanking up the covers and letting them fall. The comforter was
smoothed, the sheet and comforter folded over at the base of the
pillows. The four pillows stacked neatly on top of each other, two
by two.

Then he turned and looked at the long,
double basin bathroom counter. Next to his toothbrush, Rocky’s pink
and white one was in the holder Melody bought that was on Layne’s
side of the sink. Also on Layne’s side of the sink was a makeup bag
that had exploded. Tubes, bottles and tubs everywhere, applicator
brushes, a stick of deodorant, a fancy bottle of perfume, a comb
and a bunch of hairpins scattered around.

That morning, Layne had left before Rocky
because he had to get to Indy to follow a man to work, a new case.
The man didn’t go straight to work, as suspected. Rocky had brought
a bag with her on Thursday night but Layne hadn’t paid much
attention to it except the fact that he liked that she brought it.
Clearly, Rocky had gotten ready at his place, standing at his basin
doing her makeup and hair.

A memory tugged at him and Layne walked to
the bed. He lifted the pillows on his side and found his pajamas
folded neatly under it. Then he walked around the bed to Rocky’s
side, lifted the pillows and found his tee that she’d been wearing
folded under those. She’d done that, every morning, when they were
living together.

Every morning.

He dropped the pillows and drew in breath
through his nose, smelling the indistinct scent her perfume.

It was faint but it was still there.

Then he smiled to himself, turned out the
lights, walked swiftly from the room and jogged down the stairs. He
let Blondie in, secured the sliding glass door, gave Blondie a
rubdown that lasted a lot less time than she liked and he set the
alarm at the garage door and jogged to his SUV.

He swung in and drove to Rocky’s.

He was two steps from the landing to her
door when the door was thrown open and she was out of it. He was
one step from the landing when she turned to him, eyes bright,
giving him the dimple. He stopped dead at the sight of her and she
lifted both of her hands and slapped them, hard, on his chest just
under his shoulders. So hard, he was glad he was wearing three
layers, and she left her hands where they were.

“You will not
believe
what happened!”
she cried.

On his step, eye to eye with her, the dimple
appearing to be a permanent fixture, Layne smiled. “What?”

“
I
don’t even believe it!” she said
on a near shout.

Layne put his hands to her hips and
repeated, “Roc, what?”

Her head suddenly turned sharply to the side
and then she looked back to him and exclaimed, “Oh! We have to
go!”

Then she tore from his hands, turned so
quickly her ponytail whipped across his face and flew into the
apartment.

Layne followed her and closed the door,
saying, “Rocky.”

But when he got into the apartment, she was
already at the kitchen counter, pulling on a velvet jacket that was
another berry color, this time blackberry. It fit her snug over her
matching deep purple turtleneck. She buttoned the jacket with one
hand and grabbed the handles of a bag that was on the counter.

“I’ve wrapped up the sandwiches, we’ll eat
in the car. I’ve got drinks in the bag too.” She hefted up the bag
and handed it to him, ordering, “You carry that.”

He took it and, considering he thought it
contained sandwiches and drinks, its weight surprised him, his arm
jerked down with it, she saw it and her shining eyes came to
his.

“I made cookies. Chocolate chip. You get
two. The rest are for Devin and the boys,” she announced then
turned back to the counter, nabbed a scarf and her purse and
started winding the scarf around her neck with one hand, the other
one hooking the strap of her purse on her arm at the same time she
started shooting around the apartment turning off lights.

“Sweetcheeks, this bag weighs a ton. How
many cookies did you make?” Layne asked as he watched her move in
her velvet jacket, tight dark gray cords and high-heeled black
boots.

“Three dozen,” she answered, switching off
the last light then heading toward the door, Layne following.

“Three dozen and I only get two?” Layne
asked when she’d pulled open the door.

She whipped her head around again, her
ponytail flying to land over her shoulder and curl around the scarf
at her neck and she smiled up at him. “Okay, you can have
three.”

He smiled down at her and muttered, “Thanks,
baby.”

Her smile brightened even further, the
dimple firmly in place then she exited the house, Layne moved out
behind her, she turned and locked it and they headed down the
stairs.

“All right, Roc, you wanna tell me what’s
goin’ on?” Layne asked.

“In the car, we need to get going,” she
answered, hoofing it to his Suburban.

Layne bleeped the locks, Rocky climbed in
and he handed her the bag which she set between her legs on the
floor as he shut her door. Layne rounded the back and when he swung
in his side she was already buckled up but straining the belt
because she was bent forward and digging in the bag. She pulled out
what appeared to be a huge, oval, foil wrapped sandwich while Layne
pulled out of the parking spot.

“You gonna talk?” he asked when they were
out of the complex, on the road and she seemed intent on unwrapping
the sandwich, a sandwich that, as she unwrapped it, subsequently
filled the cab with a mouth-watering scent of fresh roast beef.

“Get this,” she started, handing him the
sandwich that had its foil-over-greaseproof paper unwrapped enough
for him to eat, wrapped enough so that he could eat it without the
gargantuan portion of warm beef and melted cheese stuffed in a
hoagie roll dripping all over his jeans. “I called my attorneys
this morning because, well…” she paused, “I told you about Jarrod
playing dirty but I didn’t tell you
how
but he cut me off,
money-wise. Rent is due at the end of next week and things will
be…” she paused again, “well, you know, I told you about it.”