Luke saw red. It was the same kind of insult he’d heard throughout his childhood.
Clay lifted his chin. “At least I’m proud of who I am.”
Luke grabbed him by the front of his uniform. “And I’m not? Why, because I have short hair? That ponytail might have gotten you a lot of pussy in college, pretty boy, but it doesn’t make you any more Indian than me.”
Clay shoved him backward. “You brought this trouble,
“I didn’t bring shit,” he returned, standing his ground. “This town was already fucked up when I came.”
“Oh, yeah? I heard there was a hit on you.”
Luke’s blood ran cold. “Who told you that?”
“Mike Shepherd.”
Christ. There truly were no secrets in Tenaja Falls. “The guys in Vegas wouldn’t mess around with fires or cryptic signs. They’d just shoot me in the head and be done with it.”
“Why didn’t they do that the first time?”
Luke had considered this question before. A bulletproof vest was not an inconspicuous accessory. “Maybe they wanted me gone, not necessarily dead.”
“Mission accomplished.”
“Yeah,” he said dismissively, no longer bitter about the turn of events.
“We don’t want you here, either. Take your bad vibes somewhere else.”
This community didn’t want him? How ironic. But Luke was damned if he was going to let anyone tell him he couldn’t stay. “I have no motive to harm Bull Ryan. You, on the other hand, are his estranged son.”
“I prefer the term
Luke studied his tense face, knowing Clay was struggling to hide how much being illegitimate bothered him. “Does Jesse know you’re in love with his wife?”
Clay’s mouth twisted bitterly, but he made no reply.
“Maybe I’ll ask him myself.”
“You do that.”
Luke felt some of his anger seep away, because he could empathize with Clay. Although Bull hadn’t treated him like a son, Clay mourned the loss all the same. Luke knew how that was. He missed his own father, a man who’d never really been there for him and still wasn’t.
“Is Jesse at the station?”
Clay nodded. “Sleeping like a baby.”
“I’ll meet you over there,” Luke said. “But first, I’m going to send Garrett out to pick up someone. A person of interest.”
“Who?”
“Dylan Phillips.”
Dylan arrived at school dead tired. He hadn’t slept well last night, after Angel left, and he hadn’t slept at all the night before.
As soon as he got home from work tonight, he was going straight to bed.
He stopped by the vending machines on the way to his locker and bought a twenty-ounce bottle of Mountain Dew. Chugging it, because he needed the caffeine rush before his first-period class, he made his way through the teeming masses, shouldering past giggling cheerleaders and raccoon-eyed Goths.
He entered his locker combination and opened it automatically, going through the motions. The sugary soft drink was already kicking in, rousing him from his zombielike state. When he saw what was pasted inside his locker, the green plastic bottle slipped from his hand, hitting the ground at his feet and spraying sticky yellow liquid all over his Vans.
Ignoring the mess, he reached out to grab the picture.
It was a graphic, full-color shot, totally Not Safe for School, obviously printed out from a porn site on the Internet. The woman in the photo had her hand between her splayed legs, fingers spreading herself open, showing everything she had to offer.
Her body was that of a stranger, but her head, obviously applied by Photoshop, belonged to Shay.
Rage swept through him at the sight. Although the cut-and-paste job was good, he recognized the photo of Shay that had been superimposed over the porn star’s face. It had been taken during a backyard BBQ at the Pinter residence on Chad’s seventeenth birthday.
“Motherfucker,” he muttered, crushing the printout in his hands.
Down the hall, there was a burst of male laughter. Dylan looked their way, only to see Chad with a group of his football buddies, all holding copies of the same picture. When Chad was sure he had Dylan’s attention, he leaned forward and licked the page.
“Motherfucker,” he said again, through clenched teeth.
Chad laughed and disappeared down the hall with his friends, who were making rude jokes and clapping him on the back.
By the time the bell rang, Dylan still hadn’t moved. He was standing at his open locker door, shaking with anger, the fake picture of his sister crumpled in his fist.
He felt like he was going to explode.
He wanted to blow something apart.
There were no incendiary devices in his locker, because he wasn’t that stupid, but there were plenty of dangerous materials in the chemistry lab. He pictured breaking the glass case in Mr. Richards’ office, stealing a shitload of stuff, and rigging a homemade bomb to put inside Chad’s locker.
In this fantasy, severed limbs and general mayhem ensued. Followed immediately by his arrest, expulsion, and incarceration.
“Damn it,” he breathed, knowing he couldn’t go that route.
He couldn’t even fight Chad the old-fashioned way, mano a mano, at least not on school grounds, without getting into trouble with the law.
After taking a few deep breaths to calm his fury, it occurred to him that he didn’t need to use chemical warfare or even his fists. He didn’t have any explosives on him, but he did have a buck knife. He’d thought it might come in handy at the job site this afternoon, or he wouldn’t have brought the contraband item to school.
Now he would use it to exact some revenge.
Going to class was out of the question in his volatile state of mind, so he shut his locker and picked up his soda. It was still half full. Lifting the bottle to his mouth with one hand, he shoved the picture into his pocket with the other, continuing down the hall and across the quad, making his way out to the parking lot and walking off school grounds.
After breakfast, Angel sent Yoli and Daniel out to wait for the school bus. “I want to talk to you for a minute,” she said, putting her hand on Ricardo’s shoulder before he could follow them.
Ricky was twelve, much too young for the burden she was about to put on him. His brown eyes darted back and forth as the wheels in his mind turned, considering what kind of trouble he’d gotten into lately.
It must have been bad, because his shoulders slumped forward and he nodded, taking a seat on the couch, resigned to his fate.
She smiled at his antics, although her heart was breaking. “Now that Juan Carlos is gone, you’re the man of the house. Besides Dad, I mean.”
He narrowed his eyes. Ricky wasn’t good in school, but he was street smart and sharp. “I guess so,” he said. He probably didn’t want the role, or to take on any new responsibilities.
Too bad.
“I need you to take care of Daniel and Yoli.”
He leapt to his feet.
She glanced out the window, making sure her brother and sister hadn’t overheard. Daniel was a quiet, sensitive boy, and he wouldn’t take the news of her leaving well. Ricky was more like Juan Carlos, fiercely independent and ready to take on the world.
