Lady Luck (Colorado Mountain #3)(126)
It was more than that. It was all the evidence of the them he f**ked up all around that he told himself to get shot of and never could bring himself to do it that made him not want to go home. Now, he was glad he didn’t get rid of it. But just a day ago, walking down the stairs in the morning and up them at night was a form of torture.
Not to mention, considering he was an experienced mechanic therefore his salary was far from shit and Pop and Wood paid time and a half overtime, he’d made a f**kload of cake.
“Are you going to keep doing that, the overtime, I mean?” she asked and his hand gave hers a squeeze.
“Depends,” he answered then joked, “I gotta save for four college tuitions, I probably should start now.”
He felt her shades on him as they turned the corner to the sidewalk and he looked down at her.
“Is money an issue?”
She clearly didn’t take it as a joke.
“Babe, we stick together, nothin’ is an issue.”
“What?”
He stopped, stopping her with a tug on her hand then he drew her close, letting her hand go and winding both arms around her. When her shades hit his, he spoke.
“This is it, Team Walker, you and me. We want somethin’, we find a way to get it. We hit a rough patch, we find a way to get over it. We face a challenge, we find a way to beat it. It’s good, we savor it. What I’m sayin’ is, this team is a winner. We never forget to celebrate the victories and we get a lotta those because we never admit defeat.”
She stared up at him, unmoving, silent and with the dark lenses on her shades, he couldn’t see her eyes.
So his arms gave her a squeeze and he called, “Lexie?”
“Team Walker,” she whispered.
“Team Walker,” he repeated firmly.
Her hands slid up his arms, his shoulders so both could curl around the sides of his neck where she squeezed as she got up on her toes and said softly, “I like that.”
“That’s good because the position you play on this team lasts a lifetime.”
She grinned then smiled then giggled.
Then she put pressure on his neck, he bent and took her mouth.
Then he let her go, took her hand and guided her down three blocks and across the street to the diner.
They were seated in a booth at the back, a booth he requested because no one was sitting around it so no one could overhear. His back was to the wall; his woman was across from him.
They’d ordered, got their drinks and Ty started sharing, including Detective Angel Peña’s involvement which got him a loud gasp then a sweet smile that was not for him but for Peña, who she might not think about a lot but she clearly liked. It was a smile Peña would have liked to have seen. It was a smile Ty was glad he never would.
Their food was served and he was in the middle of telling her about Crabtree when his phone rang, he leaned forward, pulled it out, looked at the display and it said, “Tate Calling.”
“Eat, mama, gotta take this. It’s Tate,” he muttered, she nodded and continued to devour her curly fries and cheeseburger as he flipped his phone open and put it to his ear. “Yo.”
“Brother, you sittin’ down?”
Fuck.
“What?”
“Misty Keaton is dead.”
Ty froze. Then his blood turned to ice. Then he guessed their play.
“Do not tell me they’re gonna try to pin that shit on me.”
“Hard to do since she was done with Rowdy Crabtree’s service revolver.”
Holy f**k.
Two birds, one stone.
His eyes went to his wife who did not miss his words, tone and vibe and was staring at him with one ketchup soaked fry halfway to her mouth, eyes big, face pale. Ty gave her a short head shake in hopes of calming her fears. She nodded once but he knew by the look in her eyes he hadn’t succeeded in calming her fears.
As he did this, he asked Tate, “No shit?”
“From your brief this mornin’, seems like momma is smothering the weak cubs,” Tate remarked.
Ty sat back and looked to the side. “Means neither of them can flip.”
“Exactly what it means,” Tate confirmed.
“You think they know Julius’s connection got shit on both of ‘em?” Ty asked.
“They do, Chace Keaton is up next.”
“Crabtree sittin’ in a cell?” Ty asked.
“Crabtree is in the wind.”
Hope.
“How’d Crabtree find wind?” Ty asked.
“No clue. Keaton reported his wife missin’ day before yesterday. Yesterday mornin’ they found her body dumped at the side of the access road that leads up to Miracle Ranch. Yesterday afternoon, they caught one f**kuva break, happening on the kill sight deep in Harker’s Wood in a way that you’d think they knew just where to look. Lotsa blood, all Misty’s, found the murder weapon tossed ‘bout two hundred yards from the scene. Ballistics match came in this mornin’. Crabtree did not report to work yesterday or today. My guess, he woke up, found his revolver gone, knows the way they play and wasted no time packing his bag.”
Ty gave five seconds headspace to Misty Keaton taking bullets and her body dumped at the side of an access road. His grand plan o’ vengeance included all involved living a long f**king time with the bitter taste of Ty’s retribution on their tongue. He hated the bitch and he wanted her to pay. But not that way. Not that he felt bad for her, the world was not a poorer place without that toxic pu**y in it, just that that punishment wasn’t near enough.