On a Knife's Edge (25 page)

“He sure did,” Grunge said. “A half-sister. What the fuck
was her name…Anita? Amanda?”

Tiny snapped his fingers. “Amelia! Amelia Kruger.”

“How the fuck you remember her last name was Kruger?” Picket
asked.

The big man rolled his shoulder. “It’s my ma’s maiden name.”

Lynch nodded while jotting a note on a slip of paper.
“Good…I’ll tell Jarvis.”

Mick rapped his knuckles on the table. “And I’ll ask again,
goddamn it, how do we
get
Blackwell? The feds have been after him for
how long…without success. So suddenly we’re gonna be able to take him down?
How?” He wagged his head. “If the girls are found, he’s gonna figure it was us
who helped the FBI. What’s to keep him from coming after us and our families?”

“What do you suggest?” Grunge demanded. “That we sit on our
asses and not do anything to save those girls?”

Mick blew out a breath. “We just gotta weigh the risks.”

Lynch leaned back in his chair. Shit. Mick had a valid
point. Helping the FBI would not only put the Streeters in danger, but everyone
they loved too. Unless…

He folded his hands on the table. “Mick’s right. The danger
to your families will be huge. That’s why you’ll all take them and go into
lockdown at the club until this shit is done.”

Grunge squinted. “And you’ll be where?”

“With Jarvis, making sure whoever’s responsible ends up in
custody or dead. Preferably dead.”

Picket scoffed. “You expect us to hide like little bitches?”

Lynch glared. “I expect you to take care of your families.
Heard your old lady’s pregnant so maybe you should think about her instead of
getting all butt-hurt.”

Red stained Picket’s face as he dropped his gaze.

Lynch stared each of the other men square in the eye.
“What’s left of my family is sitting at this table. And I’ll do
whatever
it takes to protect them.”

“You could end up dead,” Grunge commented in a low voice.

“Yeah, I could.” Lynch didn’t blink. “Your point?”

The treasurer rolled his shoulder. “Making an observation is
all. What you need from us?”

Lynch pushed a pen and small pad of paper to the treasurer.
“The names and numbers of the guys in Junkyard’s crew.”

Grunge picked up the pen. “The rest of you get everyone over
to the clubhouse. There’s enough supplies to last two weeks.” He eyed Lynch.
“Think this shit’ll be over by then?”

“Hopefully it’ll all be over in two days.”

Grunge nodded then started writing. As the men dispersed,
Lynch stood and pulled out his cell. It showed a half a dozen missed calls from
Jarvis. He punched in the agent’s number.

She answered before the first ring ended. “Where the hell
have you been?”

Her testy tone raised his own ire. “Easy, counselor. I've
been meeting with the club and I've got new information. Junkyard had a sister,
Amelia Kruger, who lives in Portland. She might know something.”

“I’ll have Sam follow up with the Portland office. Right now,
I need you to come in.”

Lynch walked to the far corner of the yard. “I can’t. The
MC’s going into lockdown at the club which means I’m the only one left to go
after Blackwell.”

“You don’t understand…we’ve got a serious problem.”

He gave a derisive laugh. “Only one?”

“Where you were last night, Callan?”

“At my trailer, like I said I’d be.”

“Anyone with you?”

His pulse quickened. “Why you want to know?”

“Just answer the damn question.”

“I was alone,” he lied. “What’s going on?”

Jarvis sighed into the phone. “A jogger discovered three
bodies this morning by the Stead airport, bound and shot execution style. Still
waiting on two of the IDs, but one came back as a Jack Martin. You knew him as
Bowyer.”

For a moment, Lynch couldn’t breathe. Whether from elation
or dread, he didn’t know.

“ME put time of death at around one a.m.,” Jarvis continued.
“Are you sure you were alone last night?”

“Am I a suspect?”

“Calls made to and from the burner phone found on Bowyer’s
body traced back to your mom’s house. Plus, Rolo Pruett named Bowyer as one of
the men who came to his house.” She paused. “If no one can verify your
whereabouts, it’s like I said…we’ve got a serious problem.”

“Who’s not answering the question now, counselor? Do you
think I’m involved?”

Silence filled his ear.

Jarvis blew out another breath. “Honestly? No. But I have to
ask, did you have anything to do with what happened to Bowyer and the other
two?”

“No.”

“Guess that leaves one of the other Streeters.”

Lynch shot a quick glance over his shoulder. “No one knew
anything about Bowyer or any of this shit until this morning.”

“Well I’m all out of suspects then.”

He stood taller. “Maybe not. Have you located Murphy yet?”

“No. Why?”

“If he’s really Blackwell, he could’ve killed Bowyer.”

“And why would he do that?”

“Maybe he’s cutting his losses.”

“It’s possible, but I still need you to come in. Albright’s
been read into the entire case file, including Bowyer’s possible role in
torturing your friends. With him now dead, the good sheriff wants to put out an
APB. On you.”

Dipping his head, Lynch rubbed his neck.
Shit
.

 “It’ll be a lot easier if you come in versus them bringing
you in,” Jarvis added.

“All right. I’ll make sure everyone’s set over here then
I’ll come in.”

“Make it quick. I don’t know how much longer I can stall
Albright.”

“Understood.”

~*~

S
hasta pulled her car into
her driveway, turned off the ignition and grabbed the takeout bag in the
passenger seat along with her purse. She got out, her heart thrumming in her
chest.

She hadn’t felt this…happy…since before her father died. But
that’s exactly how she felt. Happy, and very grateful. Grateful for last night.
Grateful because she’d experienced one final time with Lynch.

He’d given her so much…had forfeited so much for her…the
absolute least she could do was grant his wish that she focus on her husband
and son—and be happy.

And the first step in her future happiness would be to carve
out more alone time for her and Graham. Starting today. She’d hoped to surprise
Graham by meeting him at the airport that morning, but couldn’t get away from
work. So she bought his favorite lunch instead. While not a spectacular start,
at least it was a start.

She bounded up the front porch stairs and opened the front
door. Soft jazz music greeted her. “Graham…honey…” She dropped her purse on the
entryway table. “I’m home.”

The music stopped, replaced by the quiet mechanical hum of
her husband’s wheelchair. He appeared in the archway to his office, slash,
bedroom. Concern lined his face. “Hey…what are you doing home? Everything all
right at work?”

She closed the front door with her foot. “Everything’s
fine.” She leaned down and planted a quick kiss on his mouth before heading for
the kitchen. “And lunch brings me home.”

“Lunch?” He followed behind her. “But I thought it was an
early release for Wyatt and he and I were going to the cabin to get the tackle
boxes ready for Saturday.”

“It is and you are. I just asked Melissa to pick him up for
a play date with Aiden so we could spend some time together.” She placed the
bag on the table and turned. “That okay?”

“Of course. This is just…” He shrugged. “A surprise.”

“A nice surprise, I hope.”

He grinned. “A great surprise.”

She smiled back. “Good. I told Melissa we’d be over around
three to pick him up. You two will have plenty of time to sort through all
those fishing reels and lures.” She removed Styrofoam containers from the bag.

“Very true.” Graham wheeled closer. “So…is lunch what my
nose thinks it is?”

“It is indeed. Chicken fried steak and garlic potato salad
from Mert’s.”

“Forget great surprise. This is awesome. But what did I do
to deserve Mert’s famous chicken fried steak and garlic potato salad?”

Shasta retrieved two plates from the cupboard. “Can’t a wife
bring her husband lunch?”

“She most certainly can. What can I do?”

“Grab the iced tea from the fridge?”

“Coming right up.”

While her husband got the pitcher and poured two tall
glasses, Shasta plated their lunches. She waited until Graham had positioned
his chair at the table before situating his lunch, along with silverware and a
napkin, on his place setting. She sat herself and raised her glass. He arched
his eyebrows, but mimicked her action.

“To more surprises,” she said, clinking her glass with his.

His moustache twitched. “I’ll drink to that.” After taking a
swallow of tea, he cut into his steak and forked the portion into his mouth.
His eyes closed as a groan rumbled in his throat.

“Is it hot enough?” she asked. “Or do I need to warm it up
in the microwave?”

He cut off another slice. “It’s perfect.” He jabbed his
knife at her plate. “But find out for yourself.”

She complied and the next few minutes were occupied with
eating. She refilled both their glasses. “Listen, I've been doing a lot
thinking lately...” Her voice drifted off as an unexpected case of nerves hit
her.

“And?” He scooped a mound of potato salad onto his fork.

She inhaled a breath. “And I think we should move to Vegas.”

Graham’s eyes widened, his fork hovering in mid-air. Shasta
shifted in her seat, but held his gaze.

Clearing his throat, he put the utensil on his plate and
wiped his mouth with his napkin. “You’ve always been against moving to Vegas.
Why the change of heart?”

She toyed with her knife and hitched her shoulder. “It’s
like I said, I've been doing some thinking. Your business is in Vegas and it’s
stupid for you to travel so much when we could just as easily live where you
work.”

“But what about wanting Wyatt to grow up in a small town?”

“Maybe I was wrong about that. And how could I judge anyway?
I've only ever lived in a small town. How would I know if that’s better or
worse than living in a bigger city?”

Graham peered at her. “What about your brother?”

“What about him?”

“You two have never lived more than a two minute drive from
each other.”

“I know. And maybe it’s time that changed too.” She gave her
shoulder another roll. “I mean it’s Vegas, right? Not the other side of the
universe. It’s not like I’ll never see Dell again.” She reached over and
covered Graham’s hand with hers. “I’m not saying I don’t have doubts about
moving, because I do. But we could try it for…say…the summer to see how it
goes.”

Her husband pulled his hand away then folded his arms on the
table and leaned forward, his gaze penetrating hers. “What’s going on, Shasta?
Really?”

“I've been doing some—”

“Thinking. You’ve said that.” He sat back, his mouth pulled
into a frown. “Does this have something to do with Lynch Callan?”

Shasta’s stomach bottomed out. “Why would you ask that?”

“For one, the timing. I can’t help but assume you wanting to
leave Stardust is related to him being out of prison. Do you feel threatened by
him or any of his gang associates?”

Relief weakened her muscles. “No…it’s nothing like that.”

“Then what
is
it?”

She offered her hand again and he held it. She traced her
thumb over his knuckles. “To be honest, it’s been since Todd’s…death. Guess I’m
worried about having regrets.”

“Regrets?”

She nodded. “Regretting all the time you have to spend away
from us. Away from Wyatt. Regretting not being more…adventuresome.” A small
shudder quaked through her. “Lord knows I was more than adventuresome when I
was younger. I was downright reckless. And maybe I’ve compensated too much for
that. Gone too far in the opposite direction.” She chewed her bottom lip,
staring into her husband’s eyes. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that I want
to live a fuller life. A life with my husband and son and maybe even…” She
switched her gaze to her plate. “…another baby.”

Graham went stone still beside her. Shasta wondered if he
was even breathing. She didn’t know how long they sat there, in absolute
silence. By inches, she raised her gaze.

His face appeared completely blank. She read no shock or joy
or…any emotion whatsoever on his expression. She waited, her heart thumping in
her throat, for him to say something.

Anything.

Finally he blinked. “You want another baby?” His question
echoed with uncertainty—and astonishment.

She gripped his hand with both of hers. “Yes. Very much.”

He dipped his head slightly. “With…me?”

Her mouth curved upward in a nervous smile. “Of course with
you, silly.”

“But you know I…can’t.”

She tightened her grasp on his fingers. “We could use in
vitro fertilization. I've done some research—”

Graham tucked back his chin. “You did research on in vitro?
When?”

“A couple of years ago.”

“You never told me that.”

“I know.” She rolled her lips. “It was the summer before
Wyatt started kindergarten. I think I suffered a mild form of empty-nest
syndrome.”

“And now? Why the sudden interest in another baby?”

She stiffened her spine. “It’s not so sudden, Graham. I've
always wanted more kids.”

“And yet you’ve never mentioned that fact.”

“Maybe because I wasn’t sure how you’d react. Or maybe…” She
sighed. “…because I wasn’t a hundred percent sure myself.”

“And now you are sure?” He sounded less than convinced.

“Yes.”

Graham’s brows drew together. He extracted his hand from her
hold, planted his elbows on his chair arms and steepled his fingers. “I must
confess, Shasta, this all strikes me as…odd. To say the least. Moving to Vegas.
Having a baby.”

“Things might be a little out of left field.”