Chapter Sixteen

Brody

Detective Skinner raised his hands in an I surrender gesture, shock creasing his face. "Don't shoot! I'm here to talk to you."

Lindsey lowered the gun with a whoosh of exhaled breath. "What's the matter with you, man? Don't you knock?"

"I did," Skinner replied, taking a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his brow. "There wasn't an answer, and I worried something was wrong. Shit, girl, you scared the bejesus outta me."

"You don't just walk into houses, man," I complained. "No probable cause."

His brow rose. "And worrying Rivers might have blown your heads off isn't probable cause? Christ, I think I shit my britches."

"I'd invite you to sit," Lindsey said, her tone ironic, "except I don't need you messing up my furniture."

Skinner crossed the room and sat. "I don't suppose I might be offered a cup of coffee?"

"Just make yourself at home," Lindsey snapped, then dropped the gun back in the table's drawer.

She stalked into the kitchen, grumbling under her breath while Skinner and I frowned at one another.

"You didn't come by for coffee," I remarked, sitting up and resting my foot on the coffee table. "What's up?"

"Your pal," he said. "We found a known associate of his. The dude is dead. For at least a few days."

"Okay. A drug deal gone sour?"

Skinner shook his head. "We don't think so. His head was bashed in, but why was he so far out of the city? And at a location where the house had fallen apart?"

"Why are you asking me?"

"I was hoping you might offer a little insight there." He glanced past me toward Lindsey, who stood at the kitchen's entrance. "Tell me what you're not telling me."

Half-turning, I met Lindsey's gaze. She nodded, a subtle dip of her chin.

"Look, Lindsey shouldn't get into trouble for saving my life," I said, turning back. "Austin and a pal, Greg, came to my house after the fires. Cut me with a switchblade. Lindsey stepped in with her gun, got them to back off."

Skinner breathed in deeply. "You didn't shoot them, Lindsey?"

"Fired a round into the floor. I would have if I had to."

"That I believe. What else is going on that Lindsey's so handy with guns and fearless about using them?"

Lindsey bowed her head for a moment. "I have a stalker. My former sister-in-law. She's been threatening to kill me since my husband, her brother, committed suicide."

"That's a good reason," Skinner said with a tiny smile. "And you couldn't tell me all this earlier?"

"I don't like talking about any of it, okay?" Lindsey snapped. "And I figured if you knew I threatened someone with a gun, you'd arrest me."

"I suspected the same thing," I added.

"Had you threatened someone without cause," Skinner said, "I would have. But lethal force in self-defense and the defense of someone else is legal. We all know how dangerous Rivers is. Our department has been after him for quite a while, and he keeps slipping away."

Lindsey returned to the kitchen. "I'll get the coffee."

"I wish you'd have trusted me," Skinner went on.

"Lindsey has serious trust issues," I replied. "Nor can I blame her. I really thought you'd clap her in handcuffs."

He shook his head. "Not in an instance like this. She saved your bacon?"

"And then some."

"We're suspecting a rival," Skinner said as Lindsey arrived with coffee mugs, "killed Rivers's goon. Drove with him to that old farmhouse, smashed his head in, then wiped his truck of prints. Then left via another vehicle."

I offered a slow shrug. "The guy that took Austin's fentanyl in the first place?"

"He'd be a good suspect," Skinner agreed. "No idea who that could be?"

"Austin said the thief wore my letterman's jacket," I answered. "Looked like me. I started a search for a dude from my high school who might have stolen it. I came up with zilch. So far. I could keep looking."

"I'd appreciate it if you would. Whoever stole it might be our culprit."

"Okay. I guess I can't work for a day or so. I can use the time to poke through old school pics."

Lindsey poured coffee into the mugs, then handed them to Skinner and me. She sat beside me, drinking from hers, her eyes lowered. I couldn't read her thoughts – she kept her face strictly neutral. The way she'd been when I first met her.

"So how can I help you with your ex sis-in-law?" Skinner asked. "Is she in town?"

"I don't know," Lindsey replied. "She called the other day to threaten me. I'll confess right now I told her to bring it on. If she shows her face here, she's dead."

Defiance crossed her beautiful features. She stared at Skinner as though expecting him to denounce her. To scold her for threatening deadly force against another human being. Instead, he looked down at his cup.

"Don't look for trouble," he said quietly. "Play it safe, play it smart."

"I left California, hoping to start over," Lindsey said, sighing. "She found me. I don't know how. I ran away to escape her and her threats, Detective. She had me scared. I thought about running again. She'd only find me. I'm not the one looking for trouble."

"What's her name?"

Lindsey swallowed. "Bethany Byrd. With a Y."

"And your husband's name?"

"Franklin Byrd. He's dead."

"You mentioned that. Anything else you want to add, Lindsey?"

Setting her cup down, Lindsey crossed her arms over her bosom. She shut her eyes, her head bowed. I noticed with concern that her body trembled. Resting my hand on her knee, I tried to send my love and worry to her through telepathy.

If she got the message, she didn't show it.

"Frank was abusive," she said, her voice faint. "Hit me. Punched me. Bethany knew he did, gave me love and support. Told me he loved me, and that she'd get him to stop it. Stop hurting me."

"Did she?" Skinner asked softly.

Lindsey shook her head. "Made it worse. Frank took all his anger out on me, blamed me for squealing on him to his sister. She took me to the hospital when he broke my arm, two ribs."

"Jesus," I muttered.

"Before." Lindsey swallowed hard and began again. "Before Frank killed himself, he said – said – he'd take me with him."

"What?" I demanded, almost spilling my coffee.

For answer, Lindsey pulled her shirt away from her chest. To the left of her sternum was a puckered scar. And a longer one that indicated surgery. She never raised her head nor her voice.

"He shot me first," she murmured. "He thought he killed me. He then put a bullet through his brain."

"Oh my God." Skinner shook his head. "I'm so sorry, Lindsey. I really am."

"I survived by sheer luck," she continued, covering her chest. "The bullet missed my heart by a millimeter. I still came very close to dying on the operating table."

My fury raced through my blood. "So why is his sister targeting you? Her brother was bad to the bone. She knew it. What's her deal?"

Glancing up at last, Lindsey smiled slightly. "Because I lived."

"Bullshit."

"Had I died, she'd have mourned me and Frank. Except I lived. Her brother is gone. She claims I fought him for the possession of the gun, shot him in the head, then played the victim of an attempted murder-suicide."

"That makes no sense at all," Skinner exclaimed.

"She says I murdered him and then shot myself."

"That still makes no sense," he went on, belligerent. "You could have claimed self-defense. With a record of abuse, it could have stood up in court."

"I know." Lindsey continued to smile. "But Bethany isn't thinking or behaving with logic, with reason. She's all emotion, driven to vengeance for what she perceives happened. Not what did happen."

"She's nuttier than a squirrel's cache," I commented dryly. "Must run in the family."

"So now what?" Lindsey asked, taking a sip of her coffee. "You know everything. Can you arrest her if she shows up here?"

Skinner nodded. "I'll ask for extra patrols around your neighborhood. Call me, any hour, Lindsey, if you see her. The same for Rivers. Either of them comes around, pick up the phone, then the gun. Got it?"

I nod, hiding my smile. If that bitch comes anywhere near Lindsey, she's so much ash in the wind. "We got it."

"Okay. Good."

Skinner finished his coffee, stood, and shook our hands. After Lindsey saw him to the door, she sat beside me once again. My arm around her shoulders, I pulled her against my chest. I kissed her brow, then rested mine against it.

"I'm sorry you had to tell your story that way," I murmured. "I'm sure you wanted to tell me on your own terms."

"Yeah. But it feels good to have it out. That you know. I don't have to hide it anymore."

"Me, too. Carrying a secret can be hard. Strains the soul."

She sighed, rubbed my belly. "And we told Skinner the truth. I don't like lying. Never was any good at it."

"I promise you, babe," I murmured. "If Bethany comes around, Skinner won't find anything of her to arrest."

***

My knee iced, my ankle resting on a pillow, I used Lindsey's laptop to scan old high school photos. I checked them one by one, searching for a dude that looked similar to me. I skipped over the girls, focusing on the guys. Especially those who'd courted trouble at school. The ones most likely to have stolen my jacket.

Lindsey slid her hands down my chest from behind and kissed my neck. "Any luck?"

"I don't know. What do you think? Could this guy look like me?"

She studied the photo of Avery Armstrong, a fellow football player and one whom I'd chummed with on occasion. "Possibly," she replied slowly. "His hair color is similar to yours. He's not as cute, though."

"Who is?"

I stared hard at the picture, thinking that in my jacket, on a surveillance camera, he could be mistaken for me. He was a good guy. Unless he changed radically since school, I can't see him dealing drugs.

"Let's see where he is now."

While I couldn't find much about him on the Internet, Lindsey found his address in the old-fashioned phone book. "He's listed. Are you thinking of talking to him?"

"You read my mind. You'll have to drive."

"What am I? Your chauffeur?"

I stood awkwardly, then leaned over the couch's back to kiss her. "I'll pay you handsomely."

"Yeah, right."

***

Lindsey followed the directions her GPS's automated voice gave through the Ford's speakers. Avery's neighborhood and house didn't give me the impression he'd engaged in the lucrative drug game. Stoutly middle class, average, it was also an older part of the city. Large, graceful homes that had been built a hundred years ago.

In his driveway, a newer model Range Rover sat parked. As Lindsey and I strode past it toward his front door, I observed a child's safety seat nestled in the back. He's got kids. Small ones. Or at least one small child.

Lindsey rang the bell. I heard it echo through the house, and the barking of a dog in reply. A male voice, approaching the door, ordered it to silence, which it clearly ignored. The barking continued.

I braced myself. I sucked in a breath. Would Avery instantly attack us, knowing why we'd come? Perhaps he'd sic the dog on us. Lindsey sent me a flashing glance just as the door swung open.

Avery, my old school pal, eyed us for a moment in confusion. Then his eyes widened. "Brody? Is that you?" A broad grin cracked his face in half.

I guessed he didn't plan on attacking us. And the barking dog turned out to be a tail wagging, happy go lucky mutt that surely had shepherd in him. As it danced around our legs, I smiled and stuck my hand out for him to take.

"Yeah, Avery. Hey, can we talk? It's important."

"Sure, anything, my man. Come on in."

He led us across the foyer to a sitting room where a little boy of about five stared at us with his dad's big blue eyes. A mop of his dad's red-gold hair covered his head. The dog bounced happily from each person to the other, licking whatever bit of skin it could reach, even the kid's face.

Avery gestured with a mix of pride and uneasiness. "My son, Declan."

"This is Lindsey," I said, "my lady."

"A pleasure," Avery replied, smiling and shaking her hand. "Sit down, both of you. Max, sit. You're bothering everybody."

The dog didn't obey and tried climbing into Lindsey's lap, busily washing her face. She winced, smiling a little, and pushed the dog to the floor.

"Avery," I began.

"Man, I'm glad you're here." Avery overrode me, his anxious blue eyes on my face. "I owe you an apology. Have since high school."

I blinked. "What?"

"Look, I tried finding you back then, but you'd vanished." Avery went on, his voice hurried. "I'm so sorry. I busted into your locker, looking for your chemistry notes."

"You did?"

"Yeah. I was desperate, I needed a better grade to pass. I'm sorry, man. I grabbed your jacket."