Fan the Flames (19 page)

“Bye, honey. Ian's been on his own for so long. I'm so glad he has you now.”

Rory's heart gave a little flutter, but she ignored it, staring grimly forward. “Me too,” she said—and was surprised to realize just how desperately she meant it.

* * *

There was a crowd in the coffee shop when Rory arrived. As soon as Lou spotted her, though, the barista put two fingers in her mouth and whistled sharply. Every pair of eyes turned to her, and silence fell over the shop.

“Okay, listen up, ski refugees!” Lou announced in a carrying voice. “Here's the deal. One of our local firefighters has been falsely arrested for murder.” Several members of the crowd gasped, and everyone was obviously mesmerized by Lou's words. “This is a good guy, someone who risks his life every day to help save other people. I mean, he'll run into a burning building to save a kitten. Plus, he is about the hottest chunk of manliness whose six-pack has ever been wedged into bunker gear, so there's that, too.” Rory felt her cheeks redden. Lou wasn't wrong. “Anyway, I'm asking that you do your small part to help this hero by waiting patiently for five minutes while I talk to my friend”—she waved at Rory, whose blush intensified when everyone's eyes turned toward her—“about finding our innocent fireman a lawyer so he can get out of jail and back to saving lives. Can you do that for me?”

There was a chorus of agreement from her spellbound audience. One woman stepped forward. “I'm an attorney.”

The woman next to her gave the speaker a strange look. “You specialize in patents.”

“Hush,” the first woman hissed. “Hot fireman. I mean, how hard can trial law be?”

Lou and Rory exchanged a quick, appalled look before Lou said gently, “Thank you so much, but I already have the perfect attorney in mind.” She raised her voice and addressed the entire crowd again. “Please wait here, and we'll be right back.”

At Lou's urgent gesture, Rory hustled behind the counter and followed her into the back of the shop.

“I've already made some calls,” Lou said. “It's amazing how much you can get done when you toss customer service out the window. Anyway, I'm waiting to hear back from North Butterfield. He's my number one choice. Next would be Suzanne Zhang. I already talked to her, and she'd be willing to take Ian on as a client. I'd really like it if North could represent him, though—he's brilliant.”

Rory's brain was trying to process the information Lou was throwing at her at warp speed. “His name is really North Butterfield?” Instantly, she was embarrassed for asking such an inane question when Ian's freedom was at stake.

Lou seemed to take it in stride, though. “I know, right? His parents did not do him a kindness with that. He admitted to me once that he was called Butterface all through high school.”

Shaking her head, Rory tried to focus on the more important details. “His arraignment will probably be tomorrow. Do you think one of the two will be able to get here in time?”

“Suzanne's in Colorado Springs, so she could get here in a two-or-three-hour car ride. North's practice is in Denver, but he's in Chicago right now. I'm hoping to talk to him this afternoon so he can get a flight back to DIA tonight or early tomorrow morning. It'll be tight, but I think we can do it.”

“How expensive will they be?” Rory bit her lip, doing math in her head. “I have some money, but if it'll cost more than what I have, I'll need to sell some of my collector pieces, which takes a little time.”

“Don't worry about that right now,” Lou said, reaching out to give Rory's arm a squeeze. “This is a picture-perfect case for a defense attorney to get publicity. I mean, a hot mountain-man fireman falsely accused of murdering a headless guy? Well, he wasn't headless until after the…anyway. Both North and Suzanne will see that and price their fees accordingly. Plus, you two have a lot of friends in this town. Everyone wants to help get Ian free. If need be, we can throw a pancake breakfast or something. Now, scoot, before there's a mutiny.” Lou headed toward the front of the shop.

“Lou.” When she stopped and looked over her shoulder, Rory said, “Thank you.” She'd said those words so many times in the past hour and a half, and they seemed so ineffective in relaying the full weight of her gratitude.

“Of course.” Lou grinned. “We all have our strengths. You set me up with a gun, and I set Ian up with a shark of an attorney. Now go see if they'll let you talk to him, and tell him that we're all rooting for him. Well, maybe not Deputy Lawrence, but everyone else.”

Once Lou was out of sight, Rory took a deep breath and released it, glad that no one was around to witness how shaky her exhale was. “Okay,” she said after another, slightly steadier breath. “Okay. Let's go to jail.”

* * *

“Visiting hours are Monday nights from eighteen hundred to twenty-one hundred hours.” Of course it had to be Deputy Lawrence manning the jail.

“I just want to pass on some information about his attorney,” Rory pressed, although she could already tell by his smug expression that there was no way she was getting to talk to Ian that afternoon.

“Walsh is not above the rules,” Lawrence said, as expected. “If you return Monday night, you can visit him for one hour. No revealing or inappropriate clothing is allowed, however.”

She followed his gaze to her extremely well-covered chest. With her multiple layers, including a zipped, bulky coat, the only way her outfit could have been less revealing was if it were a hazmat suit. “Uh…okay.”

“Rory?”

The friendly voice brought her head around in relief. “Hi…Deputy Jennings, right?”

“Chris.” His smile slipped away. “Sorry about Ian.”

Lawrence made a choked sound, and they both turned to look at him.

“Hairball, Laurie?” Chris asked with mock sympathy.

At that, Deputy Lawrence turned an unhealthy-looking shade of purple. Except for a glare, though, he didn't respond.

“C'mon,” Chris said, guiding her away from the other deputy.

He steered her through a couple of corridors to a small office. After ushering her inside, he closed the door behind them. He gestured toward one of the chairs squeezed in next to a desk, but she remained standing and lifted her eyebrows at him.

With a grimace, he took the chair behind the desk. Leaning back, he dug the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. “Sorry for dragging you in here, but I wanted to talk to you without Lawrence listening.”

“Understandable.” She eased herself into the chair across the desk from him.

“This whole thing,” he sighed, dropping his hands to the chair arms, “is a complete cluster. And now Ian's been arrested—
Ian,
for Christ's sake.
I
'm more likely to be the murderer than Ian Walsh.”

“Agreed,” Rory said, leaning forward, excited by the possibility of an ally on the inside and only realizing belatedly what she'd implied. “Not that I think you're the killer, either.”

His grin was crooked and tired. “Thanks.”

“Why was he arrested? There must've been something to make the sheriff think he was responsible.”

Chris eyed her for a long moment, his fingers tapping against the desk. “Be careful how you use this information I'm going to share with you. Normally, I wouldn't dream of blabbing to the girlfriend of the main suspect in custody, but this isn't right. This is Ian. We both know he didn't kill Willard Gray. Rob knows that, too, but he's getting pressured from all sides to wrap up this case. Once that pendant with the Liverton Riders' symbol on it was found and identified as Ian's, Rob's hands were tied. He had to bring in Ian.”

The word “girlfriend” made her eyes widen a little in protest, but then she reminded herself to prioritize. Mislabeling their relationship was so far down on the list of things to care about that it wasn't even worth mentioning.

“Rob brought Billy in for questioning. The pendant was found by the body. Billy pointed his finger at Ian. Said it had belonged to Walsh's father, and Ian always wore it—never took it off, in fact. Then, sometime last fall, Billy noticed it wasn't hanging around Ian's neck anymore. Said he asked Walsh about it, but he just blew Billy off, mumbled something about losing it, and then changed the subject.”

Fury burned at the pit of her stomach, and she squeezed the chair arms until the metal edges bit into her fingers. “Ian called me this morning and asked me to get Tack Sampson to represent him, but Squirrel told me he was out of the country. Carrie said later she'd just seen Tack at the grocery store yesterday.”

With a nod, Chris sat up in his chair. “The whole thing stinks like a setup. What are the chances that a clearly identifying piece of jewelry falls off when Ian dumps the body? Not only that, but Ian doesn't notice, and the thing hooks on to the weight holding down the body and stays in place for three to six months? I know it's not a rushing river, but it's hard to believe the water movement in the reservoir didn't shift it around. Someone screwed up when entering items into evidence at the scene, and that weight and pendant didn't get logged into evidence until the next day. And now, right after things get tense between Ian and the Riders, Billy's volunteering this kind of damning information? The Riders protect their own; if this wasn't a setup, Billy'd have refused to tell us anything. It strains credulity, especially when the evidence points to Ian, of all people.”

“Do you think Billy is the real killer, then?” Rory asked. “And he used Ian's necklace to frame him?”

Chris looked doubtful. “That doesn't really work, either. Why connect his own MC to a murder with the planted evidence? Besides, I got the impression Billy and Ian were tight until the shoot-out at your place. Now Rave's dead, Zup was arrested, and Billy's pissed. I'm thinking that, once he recognized Ian's necklace, Billy made the impulse decision to get some revenge on Walsh.”

“So, who?”

With a huff of laughter, Chris said, “If I knew that, we wouldn't be holed up in here having this discussion. I'd be arresting the killer's sorry ass, and you'd be home in bed with Ian.”

The words, or maybe the mental image they conjured, made her jerk in the chair. “We wouldn't be… I mean, it's not…” Trailing off, she tried to ignore how hotly her cheeks were burning. “Anyway, what's the next step in clearing Ian?”

“Get him a good lawyer.”

“I'm working on that. Well, Lou's working on that.”

He eyed her thoughtfully. “Speaking of Lou, she's been doing her own informal investigation into Willard Gray's murder. You might want to have a talk with her about what she's discovered. She could have some helpful information.”

“I will.” She stood, wanting to move, to do
something
to help free Ian. “Thanks.”

“And you didn't hear any of this from me, right?”

“Not a word.” Extending her hand across the desk, she shook his solemnly. “I can pass this on to his lawyer, though, right? I promise not to mention your name.”

“Please do.”

Chris escorted her to the main doors, and she headed to her truck after a final thanks. The wind had picked up speed during her time in the sheriff's office, and she hurried across the icy lot, half-jogging and half-skating. Once inside her pickup, she started the engine and cranked the heater fan. As she shivered, waiting for the blowing air to change from freezing to warm, Rory tried to plan her next step.

Lou would've called if she had lawyer news to report. As far as information about Willard Gray's murder went, it didn't seem to be something they could discuss in a crowded coffee shop—but there was one person who might be able to refute Billy's story. She eased out of the lot and turned onto the street. Before she'd even realized she'd made a decision, she was on the highway headed toward Liverton.

She questioned her sanity several times during the half-hour drive. Why was she walking right into the lion's den, especially without any backup? Despite her rational side's objections, she kept her foot pressed firmly on the accelerator.

The wind blew a fine layer of snow across the road, like a silky white flow of water. She slowed a little, knowing that the pavement would often glaze with ice beneath the cloaking snow. Traffic was light, as was normal on this stretch of road. There weren't many people who voluntarily chose Liverton as a destination.

She pulled up in front of Julius's place. No other vehicles were sitting close to his house, so she assumed he was alone. After parking in the street, she waded through the drift-covered yard to his front door. Their tracks from the day before were already filled by the wind-blown snow.

No one answered her knock. Turning the knob, she found that the door was unlocked.

“Julius?” she called as she stepped inside. When there wasn't any response, she kicked off her boots but kept on her coat. Rory had a feeling she wouldn't be there long.

She headed for the living room, not at all surprised to see Julius in the same recliner where he'd been sitting the day before. She thought he probably spent his days there, and possibly the nights, too. “Julius? It's Rory.”

“The boy with you?” His voice was rough, from disuse or emotion, Rory wasn't sure. “Thought he'd washed his hands of me.”

“I think he just needed a short break,” she said, hoping that was tactful enough. “He couldn't come today. He's in jail.”

She'd been expecting some surprise, but Julius didn't show any. “Acted like he was better than the rest of us, ever since he got that fireman job. Now he's locked up. Guess he wasn't as perfect as he thought he was.”

Forget tact. “Don't be an idiot! Ian's not there because he did anything wrong. Billy was having a tantrum and framed him.”

“He killed Rave, his own brother! He deserves to rot in there.” Pulling a bottle of Jim Beam from between the arm and the cushion, he unscrewed the top and took a swig. Obviously, he'd decided not to bother hiding it from her.

“I killed Rave.” She waited for that to soak into his alcohol-slowed brain before continuing. “I shot him because he was about to kill me. Plus, he'd broken into my shop—my
home
—and was stealing from me. I'm not happy he's dead, but I'm not sorry I shot him.”

Now there was surprise in his expression for a moment before his scowl returned. “Ian left Zup to the cops, though.”

“So Billy did the same to him?” Rory demanded. “Kind of a bitch move, don't you think?”

His grunt could've been interpreted either way.

“Besides, he's your kid. That should trump any of Billy's petty grudges.”

There wasn't even a grunt in response to that. He stared at the bottle, as if he couldn't meet her eyes. Although she took it as a good sign that remorse was starting to creep in, Rory got to the point of her visit, not wanting to spend precious time bickering with a drunk Julius.

“When was the last time you noticed Ian wearing his necklace? The one with the Riders' mark on it.”

He shrugged, actively avoiding her eyes. “Don't remember.”

“Think.” Taking a deep breath, she tried to soften her tone, at least a little. “He's been here almost every day for close to two months. Have you noticed the chain around his neck?”

“I haven't seen him wear it since last fall.” A robot could've delivered the words less stiffly.

“You're lying.” When he didn't deny it but just ducked his head again, she eyed him thoughtfully. “Who told you what to say if anyone asked that question? Was it Billy?”

“No.” The answer came too fast to be believable.

“Why are you helping Billy frame your own son?”

His eyes darted to the bottle before he met her gaze defiantly. “Stepson.”

She ignored the qualifier, focusing on his initial reaction. “Billy's the one bringing you booze.”

“So?” he demanded belligerently. “He understands how much I hurt, now that the love of my life is gone.”

“Your son lost his mom,” she countered, any sympathy she might have felt for Julius buried under her overwhelming concern for Ian. “He didn't give up and drown his grief. Instead, he's trying to take care of you.” She turned to leave. “It's sad.”

Rory managed to take only one step before she jerked to a halt. Billy filled the doorway, his smile so menacing that she had to force herself not to flinch. Instead, she plastered on her best impassive expression, reminding herself over and over not to show fear. After selling guns to him for three years, she knew Billy would pounce on any sign of weakness.

“Rory,” he greeted, his tone as chilling as his smile. “You're being pretty rough on Julius. I know you pride yourself on being a stone-cold bitch, but the man just lost his wife. Even you could show a little sympathy.”

“Billy.” She was surprised at the evenness of her tone. The way her heart was hammering, she'd been afraid her voice would shake and give her away. “I'm only asking him to stand up for his son.”

He took a step closer. Although he wasn't a huge man, he had presence. Rory had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep herself from stepping back. “Maybe his son isn't worth standing up for.”

“That's bullshit.” The words came flying from her mouth before she considered the wisdom of antagonizing a scary MC president who already had a grudge against her. “Ian's worth it.”

Billy's face went grim, an expression just as menacing as his icy smile. “Ian's a killer.”

“So are you.”
So am I.

He didn't flinch. Instead, he took another step closer, looming over her. Rory held his gaze. “Worse, he's a fucking traitor. For years, he's been turning his back on the Riders, and now he killed his brother, tied up another, and left him for the cops.”

Making a scoffing sound, even as a large part of her screamed at herself to shut up, she retorted, “No, he's not. You're more of a traitor than he is. You lied so he'd be arrested, and then sent the club lawyer out of the country so he wouldn't even have a chance at beating the charges. He's always been loyal to you and the Riders, and you turned on him—why? Because he killed someone in self-defense? Or because he stood up for me after
I
killed Rave?”

His face over his white beard had turned a dark red. She'd thought he'd looked scary before, but now, in a flat-out rage, he was terrifying. Her legs threatened to buckle, so she automatically locked her knees. He charged forward, his balled-up hand headed toward her face, but she couldn't move. It was as if her body was frozen in place, and all she could do was watch as his fist got larger and larger the closer it got to her eyes.

“Stop!”

Julius's shout broke her paralysis, and Rory stumbled back, leaning away from the blow. Billy's knuckles glanced off her jaw instead of connecting solidly with her cheekbone. His teeth bared, Billy lurched toward her as she shook off the throb the glancing contact had caused. His fist raised again but, before he could strike, she heard the familiar sound of a chambering bullet.

“Billy. Stop.”

When Billy went still, his hands falling to his sides, Rory chanced a quick glance over her shoulder to see Julius on his feet. The semiautomatic he was gripping in both shaking hands was a cheap piece of garbage he'd definitely not bought from her shop, and she frowned even as gratitude filled her.

Taking advantage of Billy's immobility, she took several steps away from him, circling Julius until he—and his POS gun—separated her from Billy's fists.

“Get out of my house, Billy,” Julius said.

“Ju—” Billy started to speak, his hands reaching toward the gun.

The sharp
crack
made Rory flinch and Billy yelp.

“I said,” Julius said surprisingly calmly as Billy examined the new tear in the sleeve of his coat, “get out.”

Billy's expression went from placating to furious. “You're done. You throw in with this bitch and your traitor kid, and you're not one of us anymore.”

“Fine.” There was a slight tremor that belied the word. “Now get out.”

Billy's glare moved from Julius to Rory and back again, and she had to dig deep to find her calm expression. Tension-filled seconds ticked past, drawing Rory's muscles tighter and tighter as she watched the stare down between the two men. Finally, Billy pivoted around and stormed out of the house. The front door slammed hard enough to make her jump.

It was several minutes before Julius lowered his gun to his lap. He and Rory stared at each other until she had to break the silence.

“Julius. Where'd you find that piece of crap gun?”

* * *

She didn't start really shaking until she was ten minutes out of town. Her trip to Liverton had not done anything useful, except perhaps make an existing enemy even more vengeful.

When she returned to Simpson, she turned her pickup toward the coffee shop. She wasn't quite sure she was ready to be alone yet. Not after the day she'd had.

The sun was touching the top peak of the mountains to the west, changing the light to a deep orange. Rory pulled into The Coffee Spot's parking lot, relieved to see that hers was the only vehicle. Since the hordes from earlier had gone on their way, she hoped she'd have a chance to talk to Lou without interruptions or curious bystanders.

When she walked into the shop to see someone sitting on one of the stools next to the counter, disappointment flared until she realized it was Callum. Whatever she told Lou would be passed on to him anyway, so Rory didn't mind his presence. She gave them both a nod of greeting before taking a stool a couple down from Callum's.

“Rory!” Lou was positively bouncing in place. “I was just about to call you. North got back to me, and he's flying back to Denver tonight! He'll drive to Simpson really early tomorrow morning.”

“That's great.” The hard lump that had sat in her belly since Ian had called her that morning dissolved a little. “Thanks, Lou.”

“No problem.” She started wiping down the outside of the pastry display. Apparently, Lou was physically incapable of standing still. “I'm happy to help Ian, plus I'm glad that all those years I suffered through law classes were worth something after all. I might not have a fancy office or lots of money, but I do have amazing contacts.”

“Why'd you get that degree if you hated it so much?”

“Because I was a huge wimp.” Lou made a face. “I'll tell you the whole ugly story over a beer sometime. Or not a beer, since neither of us drinks. A nonalcoholic beer? Ugh, that's just disgusting. I'd say coffee, but I get enough of that working here.”

“I found out some things,” Rory blurted when the other woman stopped for a second to take a breath.

Lou's eyes rounded, and the hand holding the cloth stilled midwipe. “What?”

Although Callum didn't say anything, he straightened on his stool, his expression alert.

“Billy's the one who told the sheriff that the necklace belonged to Ian.”

“Pendant,” Lou corrected.

“What?”

“Never mind. Billy? MC President Billy?” At Rory's nod, she frowned. “Why would he try to frame Ian? Wouldn't that throw suspicion on the whole club?”

With a grimace, Rory admitted, “It's probably my fault.”

“Because of what happened at your shop?”

“Yeah. Billy thought Ian was the one who shot Rave.”

“That was you?” Callum asked.

She tried to push the full-color, slow-motion replay from her mind. “Yes.”

“Good job.”

That wasn't what she'd expected him to say. “Thank you?”

He gave her a one-sided smile, and she had an inkling of what Lou found so irresistible in him. “You did what needed to be done to survive. Besides, from what I've heard, Rave's death was no great loss.”

Unsure how to respond, she settled on an uncertain nod. It didn't feel right to dismiss Rave like that, as if his life was worth nothing, but she appreciated why Callum had said it.

“Hang on.” When Lou interrupted her unpleasant musings, Rory turned to her in relief. “‘Billy thought'? Did you talk to him?”

Rory couldn't hold back her expression of distaste. “Unfortunately.”

“When? Where?”

“I just got back from Liverton,” she explained. “I was feeling masochistic, so I went to see Julius, and then Billy showed up ranting about how Ian's a traitor for killing Rave. I told Billy that
I
killed Rave, and then Julius kicked him out.”

“Whoa.” Lou blinked wide eyes at her. “You have some brass balls.”

As Callum made a choking sound, Rory said again, “Thank you?”

“What else did Billy say?” Callum asked once he'd recovered from his coughing fit.

“Nothing I hadn't guessed. How Ian deserved it because he killed Rave and left Zup to the mercy of law enforcement. He said that Ian's loyalty to the club had been in question even before now—I'm guessing because of his job with the fire department.”

Lou snorted. “Because wanting to help people is such a character flaw. Please. Billy's the traitor here, not Ian.”

“That's pretty much what I said.” She winced. “Actually, I kind of told him off.”

“What'd he say to that?” Callum asked. Although he appeared calm, Rory caught some tension in the way he held himself. She wondered if he was questioning whether he should be around her, in case Billy decided to take her out in a drive-by.

She shrugged, although her stomach twisted with remembered fear. “Not much. He tried to punch me, and Julius pulled a gun on him.”

Lou sucked in an audible breath as Callum's expression went dangerously hard.