Dylan made the predictable choice and dug in with his trademark gusto.
Nevertheless, she was pleased with the direction of the conversation. She hadn’t felt this close to her brother in ages. A warm contentment came over her, tempered only slightly by her confusion about her feelings for Luke and a bone-deep weariness.
“I’ll try to do better,” she said, nibbling on a french fry. “Be home more.”
“You do okay,” he allowed, taking another huge bite.
Her lips curved as she studied him from across the table. For the first time, her brother looked more like a man than a boy to her, and the sight unsettled her. With his dark blond hair and intense blue eyes, he was the spitting image of their father. And even with blood on his face and a torn T-shirt, he was handsome.
She should be thankful he’d never had any luck with girls.
On the heels of that thought, Angel’s father, Fernando Martinez, parked his truck outside the cafe. Dylan went very still, as if expecting some kind of confrontation, but Fernando merely waved hello as he came through the front door. While he waited for Betty at the register, he took a handkerchief out of his back pocket and wiped his lined forehead. As usual, he looked tired.
Betty reappeared from the kitchen, greeting Fernando with a nervous smile. She handed him some bills from the register.
Their exchange was none of her business, so Shay turned back to Dylan, shoving a few more french fries in her mouth.
“I have to talk to Fernando,” Dylan said in a low voice.
“Why?”
A flush crept up his neck. “I was with Angel earlier, and she… she left town. She ran away to Vegas. I watched her get on the bus.”
“Why would she go there?”
His mouth turned grim. “I think she’s planning on doing something stupid. Like getting a job at a strip club.”
He glanced at the clock. “Over an hour ago.”
Shay didn’t need to hear any more. “Go tell him now,” she said, urging him to his feet. “Maybe he can catch up with her.”
25
As soon as Luke got in his truck, his radio crackled with distortion. “Domestic disturbance. Reported by a female resident at 420 Larkspur Lane.”
A chill raced down Luke’s spine. That was Garrett’s address.
“Please be advised that the suspect is an off-duty police officer. He should be considered armed and dangerous.”
Luke responded to the call, driving as fast as he dared down Tenaja Falls’s main drag. He knew from experience that this type of situation had to be handled carefully. Violent acts against women were usually perpetrated by a husband or boyfriend, and a man at home could be extremely defensive.
Being on his own turf, he also had a hell of an advantage.
When Luke pulled up to the driveway, he saw that Garrett wasn’t holed up inside his house, pointing a rifle through the mini-blinds. He was sitting in his police car in the front drive, holding his service revolver to his right temple.
Staving off a rush of panic, Luke picked up his radio and called in the details. Talking down a suicidal officer was way out of his area of expertise, but he might not have time to wait for backup.
Had Garrett done something to Lori? Men who committed suicide often did so after harming someone else.
Another feeling came over him, one of almost uncontrollable fury. Garrett had a connection to Yesenia Montes and a well-known gambling problem. According to Dylan, he’d also been on the reservation the day of the fire. It wouldn’t surprise Luke if he’d borrowed money from Bull Ryan to pay off Moses Rivers.
Garrett had been quick to point his finger at the rez, after all. He’d probably planted the arrowhead with the snake at Dark Canyon. In addition to his other crimes, if he was indeed guilty, Garrett had tried to kill Shay.
At that moment, Luke didn’t give a damn about duty, and he wasn’t the least bit concerned about his deputy’s future.
Garrett only had to live long enough to suffer.
Luke got out of his truck, surveying the scene. Lori Snell was pacing the front lawn, tears streaming down her face, a cordless phone in her hand. Although she appeared unhurt, she was about a hundred feet from the driveway, well within Garrett’s range.
Keeping a visual on Garrett, his hand on his holster, he approached Lori. Her eyes were dark with misery and her cheeks ashen. He’d never seen her before, but despite her frantic state she was pretty, and his disdain for Garrett deepened.
“Where’s the baby?” he asked, remembering she had a young child.
She hugged her arms around herself. “With my m-m-mother.”
“Good. Why’s he doing this?”
Shaking her head, she said, “W-we had a fight, but-I don’t think that’s it. Something else is bothering him.”
Keeping his hand on his gun, he surveyed the neighborhood. Two doors down, there was an older woman looking through the window. “You know the lady in the blue house?”
Her head bobbed up and down. “Yes.”
“Go over there and let her make you a cup of tea.” He knew it sounded condescending, but he needed to know she was safe. “I can’t do my job if I’m worried about you running out here and getting in the way.”
She moistened her lips. “Okay. But just-don’t shoot him. Please?”
Luke snuck another glance at Garrett. Even from this distance, he could see that the deputy’s entire body was trembling, and his gun hand was none too steady.
“I won’t,” he promised, and hoped he could keep it. Garrett would have to pay for what he’d done, and although shooting him sounded tempting, he wouldn’t do it unless he had to. He’d never killed a man before. He’d never wanted to.
After one last pleading look, Lori hurried across the lawns and into her neighbor’s house. As soon as she was out of sight, Luke turned and walked back toward the driveway, making a wide circle around Garrett’s cruiser. The black-and-white squad car looked shiny and sleek in the twilight, a lurking shark in troubled waters.
Flexing his fingers, Luke approached slowly, his heart in his throat, sweat stinging his eyes. Forty feet. Thirty.
“Don’t come any closer,” Garrett warned.
Luke stopped twenty feet away from the driver’s side, staying in Garrett’s line of sight but keeping his body at an angle. If Garrett decided to turn his gun on Luke, it would be awkward for him to shoot over his left shoulder. “I just want to talk.”
“Stay away!”
Luke came closer. Ten feet. Close enough to see the sheen of perspiration on Garrett’s brow. “Tell me what happened.”
Garrett let out a strangled sound, somewhere between a sob and a laugh.
“I just want to talk,” Luke repeated, hearing the strain in his own voice.
Garrett’s gun hand wobbled precariously. “Get away from me!”
“I’ll take off my gun belt. Watch.” With steady movements, he unfastened his belt and laid it down on the concrete, straightening and holding his arms high.
