4. Ridley

4

RIDLEY

“Home sweet home,” I cooed to Tater as I sat back on the small couch in the heart of the van. It faced the picture window in the van’s door that currently had an absolutely epic view. That was the thing about moving around; it was like hanging a new painting in your living room every couple of months, sometimes even more frequently than that.

The latest work of art was breathtaking. A view of the mountains and a small lake flanked by a mix of redwoods and other pine trees. As the sun dipped lower in the sky, it painted that landscape in an array of colors, a rainbow but not in any sort of predictable order, and it was more beautiful that way.

Tater rolled onto her back, exposing her belly. I knew an order when I saw one. Bending over, I lightly scratched her exposed fur. She purred for a few moments. And then as if a switch had been flipped, she jackrabbit-kicked my arm as her teeth sank into my hand.

“Shit! Ow.” I snatched my hand back. “Your love is a little violent for my taste.”

The telltale ring of an incoming video call sounded from my phone, and I braced. The satellite on top of my van gave me access to the internet anywhere I was, just as long as I didn’t have too much tree cover. It was necessary for my job, but there were times I wished I could throw it all away and disappear into the silence.

Relief swept through me as I swiped up the device and saw Sully flash across the screen paired with a ridiculous photo I’d snapped of him last year when we were on a video call. He was wearing a Santa hat and a Rudolph nose. The look only complemented the growing gray in his blond hair and the paunch around his middle.

I hit accept , and the familiar face, minus the Santa hat and light-up nose, filled my screen. He sat at his desk, the New York skyline barely visible through his blurry apartment windows. “You made it okay?”

I bit back my chuckle. He could see I had, but I answered him anyway. “This spot might make my top ten.”

I flipped the camera around as I pushed off the couch and opened the van door. I slid out quickly so Tater wouldn’t also make her escape. “What do you think?”

Panning the camera, I gave Sully a view of the small campground and the landscape beyond. He let out a low whistle. “She’s a beaut.”

“There are only five sites, and they’re all super spread out. It’s going to make for the perfect home for the next month or so.”

“Just make sure you’re being careful,” Sully ordered gruffly.

I flipped the camera back to me. “You know I always am.”

Sully had come on board as my editor right before Sounds Like Serial had blown up. He’d seen the good, the bad, and the ugly. And he always had my back.

“Baker called a few minutes ago. Wanted to know why you hadn’t posted yet.”

I let out a groan. “I haven’t even been settled an hour.”

Sully grimaced. “You know that prick’s impatient.”

Did I ever. And Sully got it too. Baker always wanted faster turnaround times and the miracle of zero background noise. “I’m about to post the town intro. Just picking the right music.”

“That should appease him for…” Sully checked his watch. “Six hours, give or take.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “But we’ll take all the peace we can get.” I glanced at the clock in the corner of my screen. “I’m gonna get into town. See if I can get a little more of that nighttime flavor.”

What a community looked like during the day, who you met then, was completely different than the vibe after dark. I needed the feel of both. Needed to know the characters and players.

“Be careful,” Sully commanded.

“Always, boss.”

He scoffed. “We both know you’re the one who runs this ship.”

“Just don’t tell Baker that,” I muttered.

Sully chuckled. “Never. I’ll have that edit to you for first listen tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Sul. Enjoy your evening.”

“You too.” I hit end on the call and took a second to really take in the beauty in front of me. The way the small lake peeked out through the trees. How the mountains looked a deep pink in the setting sun.

Sliding my hand into my pocket, my fingers closed around the familiar metal charm. I’d memorized the feel of it over the past five years. Every divot and ding. A tiny chip had been taken out of one of the lacrosse sticks somewhere along the way. But that didn’t change the memories they held.

I could still see Avery swinging them around her finger as she walked, a soft smile on her face. The smile was a punch to the sternum every single time it filled my mind. But I only grabbed on to the pain.

Some days it felt like that pain was the only thing still connecting me to her. That and this damned key ring.

I gripped it tighter, staring down at the water below. “It’s beautiful, Avs. Soaking it in extra for you. But it would be so much better if you were here with me.”

The pressure built behind my eyes, a burn lighting there from my effort to keep the tears at bay. I didn’t let them take hold. Not ever. Because there was part of me that feared if I started, I’d never stop.

The light on the front of my e-bike cut through the night and I was glad that I’d switched out the one the bike had come with for a brighter headlight. It was complemented by the lights on the back, which told cars exactly where I was. Having the bike meant being able to leave my van at the campsite, a dose of fresh air, and the option to move after sitting for long periods on the road.

I made the turn onto Old Miner Road and downtown Shady Cove came into view. It somehow managed to look quaintly cozy and like a ghost town all at once. It was only eight o’clock, and every shop and restaurant I passed looked as if they’d been closed for hours. I just hoped like hell the same couldn’t be said for the bar.

Easing my pace, I searched for any signs of life, but didn’t see a single one until I reached the block The Whiskey Barrel was on. A grin tugged at my lips as I took in a row of motorcycles, mostly Harleys and a few Triumphs, but there was even a Ducati that didn’t match the Old West feel of the place one bit. There were also more than a few vehicles. Mostly pickups, but several SUVs and sedans as well.

I slowed my bike and hopped off. Lifting it over the curb, I guided it toward a nearby lamppost. In a matter of seconds, I’d shut off the battery and locked it up along with my helmet. Grabbing my phone from the basket, I headed for the bar.

Even before I opened the door, I could hear strains of Lynyrd Skynyrd from inside. I grabbed the worn wooden door handle and tugged. The music hit me in a wave. Not obscenely loud but enough that it would hide low conversations of people who didn’t want to be overheard.

I felt eyes land on me as I stepped inside. As much as I was used to that, so often being the new face in established communities, I had to fight the urge to pull my worn leather jacket tighter around me. I forced my legs to just keep moving with the bar as my destination.

But as I crossed the uneven wood floor, I scanned the space, taking in the different crowds. I could see two groups of bikers. A rougher crowd and the weekend warriors. I glimpsed a couple of tables I guessed were tourists, given their attire and a hiking pack or two. A few dates or folks who had already paired up for the night. I spotted Mira, the woman from the grocery store, with a group of friends. And then I picked out the barflies.

That last group were the ones I wanted to befriend first. They overheard it all from their never-wavering stations on stools or at tables. And even though they were varying levels of inebriated, they often had surprisingly good memories.

The bar itself wasn’t crowded, just a handful of patrons scattered along it. My boots clipped across the floor as I approached. I chose my seat with purpose, picking a stool two down from a man who wore a grin and a slightly glassy-eyed look.

As I slid onto the leather seat, I met astute gray eyes on the other side of the bar. The man was handsome, there was no denying it, but he didn’t have my nerve endings standing at attention the way Law Man had earlier today.

The bartender slid a napkin across the well-cared-for wood. “What can I get ya?”

I slid my gaze away from his rugged face and toward the back of the bar. “Whiskey. You don’t happen to have any Ransom, do you? The Emerald?”

The man was already moving. Without even looking, he plucked up a familiar bottle. “Rocks or neat?”

“Now why would I want to dilute that beautiful flavor?”

He chuckled, the action making the thick, dark-blond scruff around his mouth twitch. “A woman who knows what she likes.”

I slid off my leather jacket, letting it fall to the back of the stool, and set my phone on the bar. “That a good thing?”

“Always.” The bartender grabbed a glass and gave me a healthy pour. “Tab or cash?”

I shifted to the side, grabbing my card from my pocket. “As much as I’d love to do some serious damage to that bottle, I need to get myself home tonight.”

“Safety first,” the man said, giving a salute with my card.

As he ran the bill, I lifted the glass to my lips. I let the wave of flavors hit my tongue. It was always those hints of caramel that were my favorite. That and the feel of being warmed from the inside out.

The bartender slid my check and card back across the bar top. “Good?”

“The best.”

His lips twitched. “Tourist?”

“Kind of,” I hedged.

He studied me for a long moment. “You got a cat named Tater?”

My entire body turned to granite. I hadn’t gotten the superfan vibe when I’d walked up, but maybe this guy was a true-crime junkie. I didn’t like to put my face on camera much, but I did so occasionally to avoid people getting too curious about me.

He barked out a laugh. “Shit. You should see your face. Small town. Heard about a run-in over a pretty tourist’s cat. That’s all.”

My shoulders relaxed a fraction. “Careful. You could read stalker real quick.”

He leaned on the back bar, arms crossed comfortably over his chest. “In small towns, everyone’s a stalker.”

It was my turn to laugh. “Fair enough.” I took another sip of whiskey. “Well, stalker, I’m Ridley.”

He reached across the distance and offered me a hand. “Trey. Nice to meet you.”

“You too. Especially if you stock the good stuff.”

Trey grinned as he pulled his phone out of his back pocket, fingers flying across the screen. “Got a friend who’s partial to it.”

“Well, that friend has excellent taste.”

Trey’s smile only grew at that and he shoved his phone back into his pocket. “I think so.”

The sound of heavy footsteps lifted just above the music and Trey’s gaze shifted to my left.

“Get a bottle of Jack?” a deep voice asked.

I looked up to see a man with a long, gray beard. The leathers he wore told me he was a biker, and the patch over his heart read Ace .

“That depends,” Trey said coolly. “You gonna destroy half my bar again?”

So he was the owner, not just the bartender. That meant Trey would likely be my best source of information in this place.

The biker’s cheeks reddened a fraction. “One time, man.”

Trey raised a brow. “Once is enough for me.”

“Not gonna happen again,” Ace muttered like a petulant child.

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing as Trey crouched, going in search of a fresh bottle.

Ace tilted his head toward me. “You wanna join, darlin’? We got plenty to go around.”

I was sure he meant that in more ways than one. I simply lifted my glass. “I’m good. Thanks for the tempting offer though.”

“Open invitation,” he answered with a wink.

Trey broke the seal on a bottle of Jack and handed it to Ace. “Remember, I got your card. This bottle and any damages go straight on it.”

Ace grabbed the bottle. “Piss off.”

Trey just grinned, shaking his head. “I swear this job is more daycare attendant than drink slinger sometimes.”

“I have no doubt.” I took another sip of my drink and leaned back on my stool. I chose my first question carefully. Something to ease us into conversation, nothing that would trip any triggers. Even though what I really wanted to know was how long Trey had lived here and if he knew Emerson Sinclair. “So what are the do-not-misses around Shady Cove?”

“Depends on what you’re after.”

“Hikes, lakes, anything unique.”

Trey mulled it over for a moment. “If you’re in real shape, there’s a hike that takes you through a waterfall. Wouldn’t go alone though. The rocks can be slippery.”

I tried not to bristle at that but mostly failed. “I know how to handle myself.”

“Doesn’t matter if you’re a third-degree black belt; you can still get dead if you slip.”

That was true enough, but I still ignored it. “Anything else?”

“Got a skydive outfit outta the private airstrip next town over. Get you an up-close-and-personal view of those mountains.”

That familiar buzz lit in my muscles. I’d been skydiving a few times before but with this backdrop? I couldn’t pass that up. “I’ll call tomorrow.”

Trey nodded, moving slightly to fill two pint glasses and slide them over to waiting patrons. As he moved back to his original spot I tried to ease into a new approach.

“Anything I need to be aware of?”

Those gray eyes sharpened. “Aware of?”

“You know, single woman traveling alone. What’s the crime like in the area?” That was always my excuse. Before long, word would get around why I was asking and I could be more direct. But for now, I liked going in broad.

Trey nodded. “Pretty safe on the whole, but that’s not a reason to be stupid.”

“Never is.”

“The worst we usually have are drunk-driving accidents and opiate overdoses.”

Made sense. Opiates had made a home everywhere, even in these smaller, rural communities, and it was an invasive beast. “I’ll be avoiding both those arenas.”

“Glad to hear it. Still wouldn’t hurt to take a buddy when you hit those trails.”

A prickle of annoyance skated over my skin. “I told you, I know how to handle myself.”

“Do you now?”

That voice. Deep, raspy, and a tone that had my whole body jerking to attention. It was just too bad it belonged to a giant dick. And not in a good way, no matter how much my body seemed to disagree.