4. Fuck Him

Riggs

Riggs pushed out of Aromacobana with a much-needed paper cup of coffee in his hand and nearly ran into Harry Moran, the county sheriff and one of Riggs's friends since they were kids.

"Yo, brother, sorry," he said. "Got a little loose last night, not firing on all cylinders yet."

Harry's lips quirked, and he replied, "Not a problem. Been a while. Back from a job?"

Riggs jerked up his chin. "Finished yesterday. Had the boys over, celebrated last night."

Harry faked looking hurt. "You didn't call me."

"Not your scene," Riggs muttered, wishing it was.

Harry needed to loosen the fuck up, and that wasn't about his job in law enforcement. It was about him holding onto something Riggs knew it would be tough as hell to let go, but you had to do it to move on and have a life.

His friend was breathing.

But he had no life.

As usual, Harry glossed over that and asked, "You in town for a while?"

Riggs nodded. "'Bout a month."

"We'll set something up, go fishing."

Riggs nodded again.

Harry headed toward the door to the coffeehouse, Riggs got out of his way so he could do it, but as he moved, a thought occurred to him.

So, as Harry opened his mouth to say something to end their brief conversation, Riggs said, "Some chick moved into Weaver Cabin."

The night before, he'd had his fair share and then some, smoked some weed, got ridden hard, so he came harder, and then he'd been woken up a couple hours after he passed out to a beautiful, but bitchy, woman up in his shit.

He wasn't as sharp as he normally would be.

Even so, he didn't miss how Harry's body jolted, then stiffened, and how his movements seemed wooden when he turned back to Riggs.

"Yeah, I heard," Harry replied.

Riggs was referring to his friend's reaction, not his words, when he asked, "She trouble?"

"Not that I know," Harry answered.

"You had a weird reaction when I mentioned her, man. You know her?"

Harry shook his head and asked, "You meet her?"

"Yeah, twice. The first time, she told me not to run through her yard during my morning runs, and the last time was a coupla hours ago when she got in my face about the party last night. So, warning. She said if it happens again, she's calling the cops. It's gonna happen again, and this woman, how she is, I know she'll call the cops."

"Your job done, do you have some time to talk right now?"

It was Riggs who stiffened at this invite.

Therefore, he pushed, "I'll ask again, Harry, is this bitch trouble?"

"You had breakfast?" Harry pushed back.

"No," Riggs told him.

"On me," Harry said, then, without Riggs agreeing, he took off toward the Double D diner.

It was Princess Solitary Coffee's big rack, sweet ass and head of thick, long, blonde hair that made Riggs follow his friend.

Oh yeah.

And those bright-blue eyes.

Fuck him, but all of that was so good, even though she'd demonstrated she could be a serious pain in his ass, he was curious.

They hit the Double D, were seated, and Heidi, the waitress, gave his Aromacobana cup a look, but he ordered another mug because he knew after last night, he was going to need it. He also ordered a full stack of pancakes with a side of bacon, because it was arguable, but he might need that more.

Harry went the granola, fruit and yogurt route.

In normal circumstances, Riggs would give the man shit for his healthy habits.

Not liking Harry's vibe, he reined it in.

After Heidi wrote down their orders and took off, Riggs dove right in.

"What gives?"

"Gonna ask you to keep it down for a while, Riggs," Harry said.

Riggs sat back and stretched both arms out to rest them on the booth behind him.

With Harry being good at his job, he didn't miss the body language.

"I know you don't like I asked that," Harry noted.

He was going to say more, but someone called, "Hey, Harry. Hey, Doc."

Riggs looked over his shoulder to see Declan, a kid he'd known since he was in diapers, which he was now not, being married and all, carrying a big white paper bag toward the door.

"Yo, Deck," Harry called.

Riggs just lifted his chin.

Declan left.

Riggs looked back to Harry.

"No," Riggs confirmed, low and slow. "I don't like you asked that. So now I'd like to know why you'd ask that shit."

"Normally…damn." Harry pulled a hand through his hair, looked away, none of this making Riggs feel any better, then he returned to Riggs. "This is not mine to give you, but she's your neighbor, and, brother, I didn't know you were back in town, but even so, I knew when I found out you were…" He dragged his hand through his hair again before he finished, "I've been wrestling with coming to you or not about this so you could keep an eye on her."

Instantly, Riggs took his arms from the booth and leaned into them on the table. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Your neighbor is Nadia Antonov," Harry announced, like that'd explain everything.

"Am I supposed to know who that is?" Riggs shared it didn't explain everything.

"Antonov, Riggs. As in the vodka."

Riggs whistled low before he whispered, "Holy fuck."

"Yeah. The shit that's been going down around Misted Pines the last few years, word came to me someone was renting Weaver Cabin, that was news in itself."

Yeah, it was.

Riggs had lived in Misted Pines his entire life, but he bought his house on that lake three years prior, and he did it thinking no one would rent Weaver Cabin, and if they did, they wouldn't stay long, which had been the way of it for fifteen years.

He didn't believe any of the rumors. They were all bullshit. One of the reasons he had no reservations about buying his house on that lake.

But the fact remained, no one stayed long at Weaver Cabin, or his house, even before the Weavers took it over and fixed it up, but also after.

Which gave Riggs the lake, free and clear of the kind of hassle he'd experienced that morning.

Until, well…that morning.

"So, these days, I'm being extra cautious. Rus and I looked into her because I didn't want more trouble in this town," Harry explained, and Riggs was down with that too. Misted Pines had seen more of its fair share of trouble the last couple of years, and everyone, including Riggs, was sick of it. Harry, in his job, more than most. "We didn't have far to look. Her shit is swung way the fuck out there."

"And that shit is?" Riggs asked.

"So you haven't heard?"

"Heard what?"

"It hit the national news."

"Again, heard what?" Riggs pressed.

Harry seemed surprised, but knowing when Riggs was on a job, which he had been, nearly back-to-back for six months now, he worked, and then he worked more, and when he couldn't do it well, he slept. After that, he worked more.

He didn't tap into the local gossip line.

He didn't even watch the news.

And when he wasn't working, he did what he worked to do: enjoy his life.

Every second of it.

So he didn't bother with catching up on current events when he wasn't working either.

"You know anything about the Antonovs?" Harry queried.

"I know I like their vodka. And I know it's top shelf. Other than that…" He shrugged.

"Right, well, quick history lesson. Big daddy Antonov got on Stalin's hit list. He was a capitalist through and through. As such, no surprise, he wasn't a big fan of communism. He also wasn't a big fan of keeping his mouth shut about his feelings. There's a lot of lore about how he escaped the gulag, and the USSR as a whole, but there's no denying, the man was tough as nails and a hardass on top of it. He brought his vodka recipe to America and set about living his American dream. Single-minded in that effort. Word is, the dude was cutthroat and bottom line terrifying. But he built his liquor empire, and that empire is expansive, going well beyond vodka, and when he died, he passed it on to his only child, a son, Fyodor."

"Yeah?" Riggs prompted when Harry stopped talking.

"Fyodor was a chip off the old block. But there were two big, royal-type weddings of that era. Grace Kelly to Prince Rainier, and Fyodor Antonov to Vilma Rayburn."

Finally, something familiar.

Riggs had heard that last name. "The actress?"

Harry nodded. "Bombshell. Gorgeous. Destined to be another Marilyn Monroe, until she met Fyodor and left Hollywood behind for true love."

"And money," Riggs cut in.

"I don't know," Harry said thoughtfully. "She gave Antonov a daughter, then, pregnant with his son, irony hits and she and the unborn baby were killed by a drunk driver who reportedly got sloshed on Antonov vodka. Fyodor never married again. Everyone says he was heartbroken. She was the love of his life. He never got over losing her. But when he lost her, he turned all his affection to his daughter, Alyona, and when she came, his granddaughter."

"Nadia," Riggs filled in, now understanding what put the princess in his princess.

The woman actually was a princess.

A vodka one, but it was the same thing.

"So I got some rich bitch living close to me," Riggs noted.

"No, you have a second-grade teacher whose mother was murdered by her father four months ago living next to you."

Riggs sat back again.

This time, though, he did it like he'd been pushed.

Even after he was back, he felt something pressing hard at his chest.

"Against her father's wishes, Alyona fell in love with a man named Peter Rogers," Harry went on. "She had no idea, but her father did, that this guy was a piece of shit. She went all in with her rebellion, married the guy. They had a kid, Nadia, but Alyona starts cottoning on and wastes no time shaking him loose. Divorce papers say emotional and physical abuse. She gets that finalized, but he keeps coming back, threatening to take his infant daughter. Alyona wants him gone. Fyodor wants him gone. But Rogers isn't about to give up the high life or the direct line he has to their bank accounts. The thing he didn't factor in is that Fyodor is old school and he's gonna put up with shit for half a second, but he's gonna put up with his daughter taking shit for less than that. Somehow, they get rid of him."

"But he comes back," Riggs surmised.

Harry nodded. "Yeah, after he became a black widower. He was a conman, Riggs, and that graduated to him becoming a murderer. He'd find some small-time heiress, charm her, marry her, then somehow, she ends up dead, he ends up with her money, then he vanishes. Took the cops decades, but after the last one he killed, they strung together his aliases and how he'd change his appearance. They were onto him. Froze the assets he inherited so he couldn't get to them and evaporate. He needed money and he needed another disappearing act. He knew how to do the last and where to get the first. Easier for him, he thought, since Fyodor was dead. So he went after Alyona."

Harry stopped talking when Heidi came and put their plates on the table.

Riggs sucked back some of his Aromacobana coffee in order to get rid of the sudden shitty taste in his mouth, but also to give her time to leave the table, and when she was gone, he noted, "This isn't a fun story, Harry."

"It doesn't get better," Harry warned.

Riggs sighed, set his coffee aside and picked up his fork, trying not to think about how huge of a dick he was to Nadia that morning.

Granted, the woman bore down on his place raring for a confrontation, and the way she did put him in the mood to give it to her.

He'd still been a huge dick.

"Apple doesn't fall far from the tree," Harry went on, picking up his spoon and mixing his healthy breakfast. "Not sure how Rogers didn't figure that out, but even with Fyodor gone, Alyona was no pushover. She wanted to be a lawyer. She became a prosecutor. Fyodor had sold the family business because she had no interest in it, but this meant she was loaded. Rogers showed, probably demanded money, murder scene says she was not about to give it to him or take his shit. He was in a bind, desperate, the cops on his ass. It was messy, Riggs. Brutal and messy. He took some licks, but in the end, he beat her to death."

"Fucking hell," Riggs muttered, setting his fork aside.

He was no longer hungry, and he no longer wanted to hear this story.

He looked out the window.

Brutal and messy.

And he'd called the woman's daughter a bitch at least once that morning.

Fuck.

"I don't know what they told Nadia about her dad," Harry kept at him. "But police reports note that she had no idea who her father was. No idea, until he came back and killed her mother."

At that, Riggs looked direct at Harry and demanded, "So you want me to look after her?"

And to that, Harry asked the obvious question.

"Who better?"

"Brother—" Riggs began.

"Nadia was married," Harry stated.

"She's not wearing a ring," Riggs forced out.

"Yeah, because she met and fell in love with a firefighter. They got engaged, and a couple months into the engagement, he finds out he's got terminal cancer."

Goddammit.

Riggs tipped his head back and hissed, "Jesus Christ," to the ceiling, wondering why he followed Harry to the Double D.

And no, that weight in his chest hadn't lessened.

It just kept getting heavier.

"Word is, he tried to break it off," Harry told him. "Nadia refused. Fast-tracked everything. Married him. Big, lavish wedding. Fyodor sent them on a two-month-long honeymoon where they did everything on his bucket list. They got home, five months later, he's dead."

"When did this happen?" Riggs asked, all four of the words tight.

Harry lifted one shoulder and said, "Think around seven years ago."

"So, dead granddad. Dead mom. Dead husband. Incarcerated, murdering, conman, asshole, piece of shit dad."

Harry swallowed the bite he took, and how he could eat and tell this story was one of the reasons he was sheriff.

Then he shook his head. "The dad got pinned in at a motel and committed suicide by cop. Came out gun blazing, took six bullets, died at the scene."

"Even better, he's a criminally selfish, murdering, piece of shit conman who went out making men have to live the rest of their lives with taking his, even if he was waste of humanity."

"I'm not sure they're losing much sleep over that guy," Harry replied.

"Doesn't negate the fact they gotta live with pulling that trigger."

Harry nodded.

"I was a dick to her when she got in my shit this morning," he told Harry.

"I can imagine," Harry murmured.

"She's an uppity pain in the ass," Riggs defended himself.

"Her mother was beat to death by her father four months ago. A father she didn't know existed, but now she knows he not only killed her mom in a vicious attack, he also killed four other women. I think she deserves some grace."

"I don't disagree, but I didn't know that."

Harry pointed at him with his spoon. "Now, you know." After saying that, he dug into his yogurt again.

"And you know what this story is gonna bring up in me," Riggs said low.

Harry didn't break eye contact when he replied, "I know."

"You're a motherfucker," Riggs muttered and nabbed his fork.

"I've seen pictures of her," Harry said.

"Fuck off," Riggs returned before shoving pancakes in his mouth.

"She and her mom both took after the bombshell in the family line," Harry noted.

Riggs did nothing but swallow his pancakes and grunt.

But his friend was right.

He couldn't put his finger on it until now, but even in a tight cami, faded jeans, ridiculous Birks, a sloppy sweater with sexy-as-all-fuck, messy, bedhead hair, Nadia Antonov looked like an old-time Hollywood goddess.

And what cut it?

Her damned attitude made him fight his dick getting hard.

His father had used his charm and good looks in much the same way Nadia's had.

There was a time Riggs considered taking a blade to his face because the attention could get annoying, and sometimes it was downright oppressive.

But Nadia Antonov…

The woman wasn't about to drop to her knees and suck his dick if he just snapped his fingers.

Which of course made him want to feel his cock in her mouth all the more.

Fuck him.

"To circle back, live as large as you want, my brother, just keep it down so your neighbor can get a good night's sleep," Harry finished.

He had no choice but to do that.

And more.

No choice but look after the woman.

Yeah.

Fuck.

Him.

Hard.