Head Above Water (Nightshade MC Book 4) (30 page)

“Surprise me. Just no burgers. The mere thought of a burger makes me want to vomit. Oh and no bacon, I hate bacon now.”

“I'll keep that in mind.” Monroe ran his hand over her hair. “You want the remote so you can watch some television?”

“Yeah, that'd be good.” Claire looked as contented as a cat who'd just snacked on the family canary when she settled back against the pillows. “Hurry back.”

“Don't worry, it won't be long.”

<#<#<#<#

Monroe took another sip of his beer, looked over at Buster as they sat on his back deck. Caroline was in the house, in the kitchen right behind them, making something that involved peanut butter powder and popcorn. For the first time ever, he was scared to try something that she made.

Buster's phone trilled. He picked it up, looked at the screen. “It's done. Shawn's got the gun back in the house and the police on the way. Claire's fingerprints should be on file from when she got that DUI a few years back. Might be a couple days before they match him but you can bet your ass they're going to want to talk to her before that.”

Monroe nodded. “Once we hear them put out the BOLO over the scanner, someone can call in a tip about where Claire is. Only risk is that she blabs about us.”

“I think I've got that covered. She's going to jail, especially when they find the extras that Shawn planted around her place. Women like Claire do not do well in prison without protection. We can get her protection, but only if she keeps her mouth shut.”

“We can?”

“Manuel knows some inmates who'd be glad for the extra money in their commissary accounts. Of course, you've got to let her know this before she gets taken into custody,” Buster pointed out. “Meaning you're going to have to pop the pretty little love bubble she's floating in.”

“And find out where Frankie is,” Monroe added. “We're not giving her shit if she doesn't give him up.”

Buster nodded, grimly. “What'll happen with the kid?”

“She loses custody. I'm the biological father, I'll get custody.” Monroe knew that from his days on the force. He drained his beer. “Guess I should head back and handle that.”

“Probably should. I'll ride with you, if you'd like.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I've got this under control. I'll call you when she gives up Frankie's location. We'll set a plan.”

“We'll end the bastard,” Buster vowed. “Ride safe, brother.”

Back at the hotel, Claire had changed into a pair of short shorts and a tank top that left nothing to the imagination. She'd arranged herself in what she must have considered a provocative position on the bed, even though they'd clearly discussed no sex. “Where's Frankie?” he asked without preamble as he shut the door behind him. “And before you lie, let me tell you what is happening right now. Right now, the police are at your house, standing over the dead man on your floor and rushing the murder weapon to the lab to see who the fingerprints on it belong to.”

All the color drained out of her face as he'd spoken. “What did you do?”

“What did you do, Claire? Murder is a serious crime.”

“I had to shoot him. I told you, he wouldn't stop.”

“I'm fucking glad that he didn't. Now, you're going to do time. There's no way around that, so I'm here to make your a deal. You plead guilty, say nothing and take the time they give you. Nightshade will make sure that you survive inside.”

“You son of a bitch. This was all a lie. You're still with Drea, aren't you?” Claire let out a laugh. “What, do you think that the two of you are going to ride off into the sunset with our son? Hate to burst your bubble, Monroe, but that's not going to happen.”

“Just shut the fuck up, Claire. All I need to know from you is if you understand your options.”

“Let's see, talk and die or stay shut and live in a cage. My options kind of suck!” She shouted the words and got off of the bed. “You're crazy if you think that I'm just going to sit around here and wait for the cops to come after me. Fuck that and fuck you. I'm out of here.”

“You're going to make it worse on yourself if you run, Claire.”

“Go to hell,” she snarled. “You think that you won, Monroe, but you didn't. This isn't over, not by a long shot.” With speed that defied how delicate she said she was feeling, Claire grabbed her clothes and began to dress. “She's probably already dead, you know. You wanted to know where Frankie was? My guess is whereverDrea is.”

“If anything happened to Drea, you won't make it to jail.”

“I'm pregnant, Monroe. Pregnant with your son.”

“Do you remember what happened to Missy, Claire? You were around then, right? Why don't you think about that and sit your ass down. You're going to wait right here if I have to tie you to the bed.” Monroe pulled out his phone, texted Buster to send whoever was closest to the hotel to babysit Claire while he sent everyone else to Drea's house. He called Drea's phone next, needing to hear her voice and warn her to watch her back until the cavalry arrived, but instead of her voice he got the voice mail.

“You wouldn't hurt me, Monroe. You're not Royal.”

“If anything happens to Drea, you're going to find out who I really am, Claire.”

Chapter Twenty-Three.

The walk from the clubhouse to GP wasn't overly long, shorter than the route she took when she got up to run in the morning, but it felt like the longest walk of her life. The building was dark and quiet when she stepped inside. It was only then she'd remembered she'd told Casey it was okay for her not to come into work.

Performing the mundane task of opening up GP took her mind off the sick, twisting feeling in her stomach. She put on a pot of coffee, sat down to wait for it, and shut her eyes. The quiet seemed to press down on her, so she got back up, paced until she could get her caffeine fix.

Once the cup was in her hand, the quiet was still there. Still weighing her down, so she powered up her computer and turned on some music. No song suited the way she felt; she flipped through a huge chunk of her music library before giving up. Instead, she turned on the television. It had basic cable, so she found the cooking show channel and let it play.

Eventually, she got sucked into the cooking competition show and learned the proper way to cook a duck breast. Once the show was over, she decided that she needed to at least pretend to work. It turned out that there was plenty to keep her busy. Drea drank most of the pot of coffee, to the point of feeling like she was going to crawl out of her skin. Too keyed up to concentrate on work, she started to play internet games and was contemplating lunch, out of boredom because she wasn't really hungry.

The sound of the front door opening ended the boredom. Drea reached in her desk drawer, laid her hand on her gun and waited for the front door to fully open. There were only a few people it could be, not many people had keys, but still she was surprised to see that it was Casey on the other side of the door. “Hey,” Drea said as she removed her hand from the gun and shut the drawer.

“Hey, I hope it's okay I came in,” Casey said hesitantly. She looked a little nervous and also tired.

“Of course, I didn't expect to see you, though.” Drea realized that she should probably warn the woman that today wasn't going to be any more peaceful than the day before. It would probably make her friend leave, but it was the fair thing to do. “Just so you know, the stuff from yesterday is still all up in the air.”

“That's not all that's up in the air, I bet.” Casey walked over to her desk and sat down. “Look, there's something that I've got to say. I was having a really shitty day yesterday, and as a result, I was shitty to you. I'm sorry for that.”

“Apology accepted,” Drea said without hesitation. After all, she knew about shitty days. “But it wasn't just yesterday that was shitty, was it? You know that I'm here if you need, or want, to talk about it.”

“Right now, I think that you've probably got other things on your mind.” Casey leaned back in her chair. “How are you doing?”

“I'm fine,” Drea replied automatically.

“Really?” A disbelieving look crossed Casey's face. “I heard about what happened with you and Monroe.”

“Who told you?”

“No one told me, exactly; I saw some of those girls at the pharmacy. They couldn't stop talking about the breakfast show they had this morning.”

“It certainly was a show,” Drea said on a sigh. “It was...” The idea of lying to Casey made her feel exceptionally shitty. “I really don't want to talk about it. I'm sorry.”

“Don't be sorry, I get it. Besides, whatever happened, the two of you will work it out. I see the way that you look at each other. What you have is real, even if there are some bumps in the road. The whole Claire thing, it's a fucked up situation.”

“Yeah, that's one way to put it.”

“I give you a ton of credit. I'd have lost my shit by now. I can't even imagine. If Raul...” Casey stopped short.

“Raul? Why would you think about your ex now?”

“Because he's not really my ex anymore. It's complicated.”

“Sounds like it,” Drea observed. It also sounded like she'd stumbled upon the reason for the slight, but noticeable, changes in Casey's behavior lately. “I thought that he was in Alaska or something.”

“He was, working on a fishing boat, but he came home when his mother got sick. She died about three weeks ago.”

“In the past month Casey hadn't taken off any days. “I'm so sorry to hear that. Were the two of you close?”

“No. God, no. That old witch hated me. She even put it in writing that she didn't want me at the funeral or wake.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah, I know. He was her baby, so I figure no one would have ever been good enough for him. You want coffee?”

“I've had too much, but help yourself.” Drea realized that her friend was changing the subject. Normally, she'd let her but there was a series of alarm bells going off in her head about Raul.

“You hungry?”

“Not really,” Drea answered.

“You want to get out of here? Get drunk? Watch a sad movie and cry buckets? Binge-eat chocolate?”

Drea couldn't help but laugh. “I'm not in the mood for drinking, but chocolate sounds pretty good, too.”

“I'll go get you chocolate,” Casey offered.

“You're not my slave, Casey. You don't have to run out and get me chocolate. Besides, you know that I've got a stash in my office.”

“How did I forget about that?”

“Don't feel bad. I didn't think of it, either. You know what, lock the door. Screw working today.”

“That's the spirit.” Casey locked the door. “Phones already switched over?”

“Yes, they are.” Drea confirmed. “How long have you been seeing Raul again?”

“We started talking when he came back, just as friends. Started really seeing each other right before she passed. The problems we used to have, they're still there. And they're bigger than they were. We're fighting a lot while we try to figure it out.”

“Are you happy with him, Casey?” Drea was pretty sure that she knew the answer to the question.

“No.” Casey shook her head. “I'm really not. And I'm remembering why it didn't work between us. I've got to end it, but I don't know how.”

“You think that he's going to get nasty about it?”

“I don't think he's going to take it well. It sounds so cliché to say, but he's got a bit of a temper.”

“You're worried that he's going to try and hurt you?”

“I don't think he would, except I worry that he might. I don't know. I'm going to find out, though, because I can't keep doing this.”

“Whatever you need, I've got your back.” Drea was fairly certain that Nightshade would be right behind her, but then she remembered, they couldn't be. Once again, Frankie was fucking up how things should have gone.

“Can I still move into the house? He's pretty much living at my place now. He can keep it.” Casey plopped down on the couch with another sigh.

“Of course you can. I said whatever you need, right?” Drea tossed Casey a candy bar. “Have some chocolate while we figure it all out.”

<#<#<#<#

The hours she spent with Casey had calmed her. When Drea walked into the house, she thought that she might even be able to get some sleep. She still missed Monroe. It was like an ache through her whole body. All she wanted was to wrap her arms around him and know that everything was going to be okay. Drea pouted a bit as she locked the door and set the alarm behind her; she really would just like to hear his voice if nothing else was possible. She didn't make the call because she knew that he would answer, and she knew that could blow the whole thing.

Right now, he was with Claire, working on her to figure out the connection to Frankie. Hopefully, she'd give something up, they'd figure out where Frankie was and all of this would be over. The days of looking over her shoulder would be gone. Once she paid off the balance of the loan, she could forget that he'd even existed.

Not for the first time, Drea wondered how things would have turned out if Uncle Tony hadn't died. One thing she was sure of was that she wouldn't have ever been in the position to take on Frankie's debt. Uncle Tony would have seen that as his responsibility; he'd always cleaned up after Frankie. Even though he was a fuck-up, he was still his son.

It had been weeks since she'd been in the house. The air inside was stale, tinged with dust. Drea coughed and decided that she needed to give the place a good once-over before Casey got there or her allergies actually managed to kill her. She headed into the kitchen for the bucket she kept under the sink and the cleaning products in the pantry.

It was only after she'd started to sweep that she noticed little things out of place. The coffee table was actually in the wrong spot, way too close to the couch. She moved it back, continued to clean but paid more attention. Someone had been in the house.

Was someone in the house now? Drea realized she hadn't been thorough enough upon entering the house. She should have checked upstairs, checked everywhere, and she hadn't. She leaned the broom against the wall, found her tote and took out her gun.

Someone had been in the house, she was sure of it, but whoever it had been was long gone. The upstairs was clear and empty. Drea double-checked all of the windows were locked and repeated the process downstairs. She picked up the broom again because it would bother her to leave things half done.

The minutes were ticking by slowly. Drea yawned as she took a bottle of water from the fridge. If she shut her eyes, she'd be asleep in minutes. She fought the urge. If she went to sleep, it was quite likely that her body was going to do its protective, shut down and shut out the world, thing, which would mean her slumbering away through anything. Another cup of coffee was probably a bad idea, but she made the pot anyway.

In an hour the entire house was spotless and smelling delicious from the cinnamon apple candles she'd lit. The pot of coffee was half-gone. Casey hadn't texted; she'd said that she might be a while since she was going to grab her things as well. The plan was that she never go back there again. Drea poured another cup of coffee and sat down at the kitchen table. She drummed her fingers against the table, swore that the sound echoed. It was so quiet. There was nothing to do there, really; it wasn't her home anymore. Now it was just a house. Maybe it would end up being Casey's home one day.

Drea jumped at a sound from outside; it had been some where between a thud and a thump. As far as she could tell, it had come from the side of the house, which left her with no foolproof way to check without exposing herself. The time that she'd spent cleaning would have been better spent fortifying the house so that she could make a stand if she needed to, but she hadn't been that paranoid at the time.

Paranoia was front and center now, though. There was time to kick herself in the ass later for not being prepared. Right now, she needed to act.

She'd taken one of Monroe's guns with her from the clubhouse, along with her own. Drea grabbed both, stuck a spare clip in her pocket, though if she ended up needing it, she'd probably be in shit deeper than she could get out of.

There was no further sound from outside. Maybe her paranoia was getting the best of her and what she'd heard outside was just one of the feral cats that roamed the neighborhood. Drea started for the front door, she'd just go out and check.

A sound from inside the house caught her ear. She turned and saw Frankie, gun in hand, at the top of her stairs. “Why don't you just put the gun down, Andrea? Make this easier for me.”

“That doesn't seem very likely to me, Frankie. How the hell did you get in my house?” She said calmly, even though everything inside of her was starting to go into hyperdrive.

“The window in the upstairs bedroom, the lock is for shit,” he replied with pride.

“How'd you get to the second floor?”

“You had a ladder in the garage outside, perfect height for the second floor.” He laughed and the sound sent a chill down Drea's spine.

Though she'd been waiting for this showdown, somehow it didn't feel right. She'd expected to be more confident. Instead, she felt a little like the scared girl she'd once been. “I'll give you credit, that was unexpected. You being here? Not so much,” Drea said blandly. “Is this where you've been squatting?”

“Squatting is such an ugly word,” he replied. “Besides, what is yours will be mine soon enough, as your only living relative. This house. GP.” His grin was as wide as someone who'd just won a multi-state jackpot.

“You're not my next of kin, Frankie. I'm married, remember?”

“Being some biker's old lady doesn't hold up in a court of law, Andrea. You're not that stupid, how could you think that?”

“I'd think that because we are legally married, asshole. I'm his wife and his old lady,” Drea retorted. “You really didn't do your due diligence did you? Typical. You've always been sloppy with the details.” She knew that she was a better shot than Frankie; she was smarter and faster. If she pissed him off, it would make him sloppy and make this all the easier.

“Fuck you.”

Drea had to hold back her smile. She was getting underneath his skin. Good, it was time to dig deeper.

“That's not a real comeback, Frankie. You know that. You're only saying it because you can't think of anything else. So, why don't you put your gun down and maybe I won't put a bullet in your brainpan.”