Bite Deep (12 page)

He cleared his throat. ‘Novak doesn't like you very much.'

‘That obvious, is it?' She gave him a weak smile. ‘But I get the feeling he doesn't like anyone.'

‘Why don't you find yourself something to eat, then ask me your questions,' he suggested. ‘Your stomach rumbled the whole trip here.'

* * *

One of Lydia's hands twitched over her stomach. He was right. It had been growling on and off in the car and obviously loud enough for Jericho to hear. She thought about it for a second before conceding that food was a good idea. Her adrenaline rush from dragging Jericho from the bar and then breaking up Novak's attack was wearing off. She was likely to fall asleep on her feet if she didn't eat something soon. She stepped out of the cell, and considered locking it.

Glancing back, she saw Jericho close his eyes and lean against the wall. She frowned. He had the demeanour of someone who knew she had nothing on him. Worst of all, he was right. She'd be lucky to get through this night without being threatened with a lawsuit or losing her job. She locked the door with a defiant twist of the keys, ignoring the small smile that appeared on his lips.

Retreating to the station's cluttered kitchenette, she grabbed a stray packet of crisps and clicked the kettle on. While she waited, she rinsed her hand under the sink, examining the bite Jericho had given her. He'd broken the skin in places, and it ached like hell, but there was no way she was going to the medical centre. Then she'd have to tell them how it happened and then her stupidity would be written down in a report for all to see and Bowden would be furious.

She dried her hand and grabbed a Band-Aid from the first-aid kit under the kitchen sink and covered it the best she could. If her hand started to swell, she'd go see a doctor, she reasoned. Until then, she'd just tough it out. The kettle boiled and she made two black coffees, using her good hand. Crisps tucked under one arm, she took the two hot drinks back to the cell, placing everything down awkwardly while she unlocked the door.

Jericho's eyes cracked open and he looked at her with grin. ‘Is that an olive branch I smell?'

‘I wish you'd let me get you checked out.' She handed him the coffee, the gesture a strategic move more than anything else. A measure of an apology. She wasn't too proud to admit she'd made a mistake and knew Jericho could make plenty of trouble for her. She'd done the wrong thing in a fit of anger by dragging him here, and Novak had made it so much worse.

Jericho reached up to take the steaming mug of coffee from her, rough fingers brushing over hers. She knew the touch had been deliberate. She probably looked like great sport to him. A game called Screw the New Cop. She leaned against the wall, exhaustion tugging at her body. Jericho watched her over the brim of his coffee, eyes flicking once down to her throbbing hand. She wondered if she could milk it so he felt guilty enough to confess and almost snorted aloud at the idea. A big, bad biker like Jericho wouldn't care about much, except his club brothers. Right now, all she could hope for was that he would answer her questions and then go home like a good little biker and they would never mention this night again.

Jericho lowered his mug. ‘You should sit down before you fall down. You look tired.'

‘I'm fine.' She sipped her coffee and winced as the bitter drink burned her tongue. ‘I hope you don't mind black.'

‘I think I'd enjoy anything you gave me.' His voice was a deep purr. ‘But you're going to sit down.' He spoke in a way that told her he was used to being obeyed. Her lips tightened with irritation, but she found her knees bending without her consciously deciding to sit. She leaned her back against the wall by the doorway, head throbbing with tiredness. Against her better judgement, she undid her duty belt and placed it beside her. It felt like a colossal weight had been lifted, but she quickly clamped down on the thought. Being a cop was what she did, was who she was. She couldn't imagine a life outside of the force. Didn't want to. She opened the crisp packet and ate a few, feeling some of her weariness subside. Jericho put his coffee down on the floor, watching her eat.

‘Are you going to share?' he finally asked.

‘Maybe.'

His eyes were bright and unnervingly perceptive. He wasn't a dumb thug, she was pretty clear on that, and that made him more dangerous. Even though she didn't quite believe the Diablo Dogs MC was a typical outlaw biker gang, that didn't mean they weren't involved in anything shady. She leaned forward, offering Jericho the packet, and he took a few chips then sat back.

‘Do you really think I had something to do with Anna Lewis's death?' he asked, picking up a chip and licking it.

Lydia chose her words carefully. ‘I think you know something that could help me find her killer. And I know you were in the Tanner farm. I want to know why.' She paused, then said, ‘Sorry, but can you stop doing that?'

Jericho's tongue paused. ‘Stop doing what?'

‘Molesting that potato chip,' she said, exasperated. ‘Just put it in your mouth and chew.'

He deliberately licked it again. ‘I like the salt.'

‘You'll make it soggy.'

‘So?'

‘It's gross.'

‘It would be gross if I put it back into the packet and you ate it.'

‘This is how you eat chips.' Lydia picked one out and crunched down on it, accidently sending a scattering of crumbs down her shirt. ‘Okay, scratch that.' She wiggled her fingers down her shirt, trying to get a few stray pieces. ‘Just forget it.'

‘Mmm.' Jericho watched her. ‘I think you're right. I like the way you eat chips much better.'

She rolled her eyes at him, managing to pull the offending crumbs out. A short silence fell as she studiously put the chip packet aside and drank her coffee, wondering where to go from here. Jericho remained silent, still watching her. She figured he was trying to work out what her angle was. Maybe he thought she was trying to shake him down. She hoped not. Her actions had been foolhardy, but she didn't take payoffs, though she'd seen plenty of it on the force in the past. Promises of protection. Arrangements to look the other way. Though she knew it was a way of life, it never felt right to her.

‘How did you get the scars?' She nodded towards the marks on his face. A flicker of something crossed his face, so fast she wondered if she imagined it.

‘An old accident,' he said, voice making it clear it wasn't a topic of conversation. He shifted on the cot and changed the subject. ‘Do you have any suspects for Anna's killer?'

‘Bowden thinks it was a hunting accident.' Lydia crumpled up the empty packet of chips, then went to lick her fingers. She caught Jericho grinning and quickly dropped her hand, wiping it on her trousers.

‘How was she killed?' Jericho asked, surprising her. She had been expecting a lewd comment about salt and licking.

‘I gave you something,' Lydia said. ‘Now you give me something back. Tell me what happened at the Tanner farm.'

‘I've already heard about Bowden's idiotic hunting trip theory.' Jericho raised one eyebrow. ‘And I didn't realise we'd made a deal.'

‘It was good information,' Lydia blustered. ‘I showed you mine, so now you show me yours.'

Interest sparked bright in his eyes. This was a man who liked to play, she realised, and absently wondered if he'd be like that in bed. Teasing, playful. Or maybe he would be possessive, demanding. She swallowed. It had been a long time since she'd taken a lover and Jericho certainly wasn't the sort she was usually drawn to. She liked uncomplicated guys, ones who had sensible jobs and career goals. Bad boys were nothing but trouble and she was too old and tired for that kind of ride. Jericho blinked, his head cocking to the side.

‘Someone's here.'

She listened, but couldn't hear anything. Getting to her feet, she dragged on her belt just as the station's door opened with a click. She glanced at Jericho, wondering how this was going to play out.

‘Look,' she said, suddenly feeling awkward. ‘Maybe I was a little out of line, hauling you in here. You've got every right to file a complaint against myself and Novak.' She paused, collecting her thoughts and not wanting to seem like she was begging for him to forget about tonight. ‘Is there really nothing you can give me?' she asked quietly.

‘No.' Jericho stared into his cup. ‘But whoever killed Anna Lewis will pay. You can be sure of that.'

‘Lydia?'

She swore as Bowden's voice broke the quiet. ‘In here,' she called.

Bowden approached, wearing a flak jacket, navy pyjama bottoms and unlaced boots. A beanie was pulled low on his head and he looked annoyed as he took in Jericho sitting on the cot. He grabbed Lydia, pulling her out of the cell. ‘What is he doing here? What were you thinking?'

She pulled her arm from his grip. ‘I bought him in for disorderly conduct.'

‘What were you doing there in the first place?'

‘My
job
.'

Bowden closed his eyes and took a deep breath, looking like he was counting to ten. Lydia watched him warily, wondering if he was going to give her an official warning. The thought of it made her want to laugh. A warning. She'd never had to be disciplined before. She'd always been a good cop. A careful cop. Always followed procedure. But that had been
before
. In the
after
, she felt disconnected from her judgement, unsure. She wasn't sure she could trust herself, or her reasoning. She could see Bowden calculating the damage she'd done and wondered again about the details of his arrangement with Jericho.

‘I'm going to drive him back to the bar,' he said. ‘Then you and I are going to have a long chat.'

‘But—'

‘You can't sweep into town and start to push people around, constable.' Bowden's voice rose. He cleared his throat and tried again. ‘Look. We'll talk about this tomorrow. But you've got to understand, this isn't a big city. We do things different here in Camden and you'd better get used to it quick smart, or you're not going to last.'

Chapter 11

By the time Jericho got back to Dusty Roads, the night crowd had well and truly settled in. The trip back with Bowden had been in a tense silence and Jericho wondered if it was because the senior sergeant was worried Lydia had done damage to their arrangement. He didn't bother saying anything, didn't see the point in reassuring the man. In fact, it was probably best Bowden came down hard on his new constable about sticking her nose into the Diablo Dogs' business.

Of course, none of it mattered if she was on borrowed time and the virus took hold. If she was infected, it changed everything. He tried and failed to push all thoughts of Lydia aside, not wanting to think of her fate and his role in it. He hadn't fully reverted and that had to count for something, and while he wasn't a religious man, his hard-working single mum had been, and in the quiet of the drive Jericho found himself silently making deals with a God he wasn't sure he believed in.

When Bowden had pulled up near Dusty Roads, Jericho popped the door, pausing when Bowden cleared his throat.

‘I'll handle Lydia. Make sure she doesn't come around again.'

‘You think you can control her?' Jericho asked.

Bowden cleared his throat again. ‘She's just having a bit of a tough time adjusting to how we do things here. She got hurt back on the mainland. Had a bit of a breakdown. From what I've gathered, I don't think she's come right since.'

Jericho's hands tightened around the doorframe. ‘Someone attack her?'

‘Some pervert who liked to cut women. She knew him personally and everything, but had no idea what he was a nut.' Bowden tapped the steering wheel, looking suddenly nervous. ‘Look, Jericho, I like the arrangement I've got with you boys, but this murder case has put a lot of heat on me. I'm letting you know that I can't go around digging into things for you anymore. I don't want to get involved in anything. As far as I'm concerned, that girl's death was a hunting accident.'

‘That's bullshit,' Jericho said. ‘She was shot with silver.'

Bowden ignored him. ‘It was a hunting accident and that's how I'm gonna write it up. You want to keep looking into things, fine; just don't ask for any more of my help, okay? I won't be pushed on this.'

Jericho grunted and stepped out in the cold night, not saying anything more. It annoyed him more than it should have, Bowden managing to grow a spine and ironically using it to be useless. He watched Bowden's taillights drive off, then headed towards the shadowed forest behind the bar.

From inside Dusty Roads, the strains of a local bluegrass band played. He caught a glimpse through the windows of a lively game of darts between two drunk women, keeping the regulars entertained, if only by the danger of them becoming pin cushions.

Wind rustled the pines, and darkness drew around him like a cloak as he walked up the long, narrow driveway towards the compound. The urge to see Lydia was like an unsettling itch and he knew, personal interest aside, he had to watch her close the next few days.

His boots made no noise on the straight dirt path as he approached the gates. The forest either side of him hid random traps and fencing, aimed at dissuading anyone who might take an interest in where the Diablo Dogs MC resided. The perimeter security fencing came into view, loops of razor wire just deadly wisps of shadow above the fence. Jericho spied Corbin Winslow on guard duty. Someone had given his ginger hair a buzz cut and he looked focused. In control. Intimidating. Jericho knew it was all a ruse; the real security was positioned in lookout posts either side of the approach road. He knew Corbin would have been monitoring his approach on the security panels inside the guard hut, and the gates creaked open for him.

Jericho ducked his head inside the sentry hut. ‘You in control?'