Give It All (28 page)

Hooded bulbs illuminated the pool table—and the gigantic biker sitting on its felt in a sleeveless vest, gripping a bottle of beer between his legs. His leather-clad wife, Juliette, was standing a few feet away, angling a white reflector thing that looked to Raina like a miniature trampoline.

“That’s great, Bill,” Kim said from behind her camera. “No need to be a statue—feel free to take a drink or whatever, talk to people.” The camera clicked madly on its tripod, the lens focused on Bill’s spectacular half sleeve—a shoulder-to-elbow full-color of the Virgin Mary. Raina’s specialty wasn’t portraiture; she much preferred text and line work. But Bill’s piece—like the imitation Tiffany billiard lamp—had a stained glass look, and she was damn proud of how it had come out, and how it had held up.

“That’s a wrap,” Kim announced, standing up straight and freeing her camera. “Want to see?”

Bill eased himself off the table, and Raina joined him and Juliette, gathering at Kim’s shoulders. She cycled through the dozens of photos she’d taken, and they were stunning. The green of the table and the bright primary colors of the pool balls under that bright light, the colors of the tattoo and of the lamp . . .

“Fuck me,” Raina said. “You are
good
.”

“No doubt,” came Vince’s voice, and he snuck up from behind to wrap his arms around his girlfriend’s waist and admire the shots. She’d taken ones of Vince before anyone else—to warm up, she’d said. They were gorgeous, too. Striking. They’d look amazing in black and white, especially next to vivid shots like these ones of Bill. Raina hadn’t cared about a Web site last
week, but now she couldn’t wait to display these pictures. They made her feel undeniably proud, and legitimate. The real deal. A real
artist.
So much more than a beer dispenser.

And as she glanced around the bar, she reveled in what was the most enjoyable night she’d spent down here in recent history . . . It was enjoyable because she finally felt recognized, for what she wanted to be. In a breath it became clear; the time had come. Time to give herself permission to put her own hopes ahead of her dead father’s.

She knew in that moment, she’d be selling this place in the next year.

Raina hit
PAUSE
on that bittersweet thought, turning back to Kim.

“I know you haven’t billed me yet, but based on your quote, I’m not paying you enough.”

“I’m surprised she didn’t pay
you
,” Vince teased, letting Kim go. “She’s been peeing her pants all day, waiting for tonight.”

Kim smacked his arm. “Gross. But guilty,” she admitted, gaze lingering on her screen. “Who’s next?”

“Melissa. Long black hair,” Raina said, pointing across the barroom. “Halter top. She’s got a huge back piece.”

“And a fascinating profile,” Kim said, eyeing her subject and thinking aloud. “Think I’ll get her from behind, sitting at the bar, head turned to take a drink . . .” And she walked off with the tripod and shade to get the next shot strategized. Vince watched her go, predictably.

Casey wandered over with spent longnecks speared on his fingers, looking like Edward Bottlehands. “Happy so far?” he asked Raina.

“That’s a ridiculous understatement.”

“I’m feeling kinda left out.”

“Only yourself to blame, Case. You never gave me the chance.”

“I left, like, three years before you even got licensed.”

Raina sighed, faking sorrow. “You didn’t call, you didn’t write . . .”

“Yeah, yeah. Gimme a few weeks, maybe I’ll think up something worthy of gracing my dewy porcelain complexion.”

“Porcelain doesn’t break out in freckles by mid-May.” Though yeah, it was a shame none of his tattoos were Raina’s doing. She’d begun seeing everyone through Kim’s lens,
reduced to colors and shadows. The red hair and beard and the blue eyes would’ve looked great.

Miah hadn’t come tonight—he was always busy with work, but more to the point, he didn’t have a speck of ink on his body, not by Raina’s hand or anybody else’s. She’d tried to talk him into one countless times over the years, and though he didn’t have anything against tattoos, he’d never once seemed tempted. It’d take a wife or a child or the passing of a parent to inspire such a commitment, she’d bet. Always family first, with that man. The only person less likely to get one was Duncan.

Duncan. She scanned the crowd, not spotting him. She hadn’t seen him in a couple of hours, and apparently he’d lingered just long enough for her to see he’d made good on his promise to show. And of course he hadn’t stuck around—no doubt he hated tattoos. Probably wasn’t too fond of the sorts of people who commissioned them, either. Still, she wanted him here. Wanted him to see who she was, what she did, whether he liked it or not. Her pride had never hinged on others’ approval; she just wanted him here, to be present for it, whether he fit in or not. And she wanted a photo of him. Duncan, in the bar . . . while those two entities were still a part of her life.

She remembered the first time he’d walked through that door, the night of Casey’s welcome-home party. Her initial impression?
Fucking gorgeous.
Followed swiftly by
Holy Christ, what a smarmy dick.

She smiled at the memory, wishing she could go back in time a couple of months, take herself aside, and tell that woman, “Just wait till you meet him for real.”

At nine, impatience got the better of her. With Kim well in control of the shoot, she snuck out back and up to the apartment, ready to tug Duncan physically downstairs by the hand, if need be. But the only soul she found was Astrid—a very, very annoyed Astrid, meowing loudly and pacing back and forth in front of her bowls.

“Sorry, kid. Where’d your wrangler get to?” She gave Astrid half a can of her gourmet food, then opened the window and leaned out, and saw no bike in the back lot. “Weird.” Very unlike Mr. Safety to go out well after dark.

She tried calling, but it went to voice mail after five rings. He might simply be out of range. . . . Or maybe Flores had called him in for questioning again? It seemed late for that.
Her stomach dropped into her shoes, her gut not buying the excuses.

Images flashed—of Duncan hurt or unconscious, crashed way out in the middle of nowhere, or struck by a car, or confronted by belligerent rednecks over the bribery scandal. And the kicker was, even if he strolled in ten minutes from now, every hair in place . . . Even then, she didn’t get to scold him. That was a right reserved for girlfriends. For a woman with the balls to admit she cared for a man, to his face. She hadn’t earned that privilege. Not yet.

“Fuck.” There was nothing she could do for now. The badlands were massive—impossible to search until daylight, and even then it’d be daunting. She knew you couldn’t file a missing person report for something like twenty-four hours, and in fairness, Duncan wasn’t even technically
late
. He’d not told her where he’d gone or when he planned to be back.

With nothing to be done, she went back downstairs. But now her smiles felt forced, small talk grating. Kim showed her the latest photos on the camera’s screen, but she couldn’t manage to focus. She made empty noises of approval, hoping they passed for enthusiasm.

“Just one model left to shoot,” Kim said, sliding a fresh memory-stick-thing into her camera.

“Who?”

Kim shot her a goofy look, and Casey said, “You, genius.”

“Oh. Right.” Damn. She’d look like a dazed deer in the photos if she couldn’t pull herself together. “Just tell me where you want me.”

Kim wound up taking hundreds of pictures, sticking Raina behind the bar, in front of the bar,
on
the bar; framed in the front door, lit by Vince’s headlight; back inside, standing before the jukebox . . . Raina didn’t have to fake a smile, at least—Kim told her to smirk instead. “Look unimpressed,” she directed.

“Is that my brand?”

“Pretty much,” Casey said, chiming in. “Look at the camera like you think it’s a complete douche. That’s your default look.”

“Yeah, just pretend you’re looking at Case,” Vince said.

“Fuck you.”

Raina tuned them out, just wanting to get through this. Wanting to rush out back and check for Duncan’s bike, try his phone again. Hell—climb onto her own bike and go out looking for
him. Totally futile, no doubt, but fruitless searching beat passive waiting any day of the week. Horrible thoughts tugged at her, thoughts of Duncan crashed, or jumped, of a brick finding his skull instead of a window. God, that last one . . .

“I’d say that’s a wrap,” Kim said at long last.

Raina eyed the clock. A minute to eleven. “That must’ve been six hours.”

“Went by fast, didn’t it?”

Raina nodded. The first few hours, sure. Since she’d realized Duncan was missing? Molasses on the moon. Had anyone seen him leave? Had anyone followed him—someone drunk and pissed and spotting an opportunity to rough up Public Enemy Number One? Or someone not drunk at all . . . Someone calculating and dangerous, their late-night vandalism MO thwarted by the watch and replaced by a more direct strategy?

“Case,” she called, drawing him over.

“Change your mind?” he asked. “Need me in makeup?”

“When you quit riding this afternoon, did Duncan say what his plans were?”

“No. Just that he was coming by here tonight.”

“He did, for about a minute.”

“Must’ve gone upstairs—this probably isn’t his scene.”

“He’s not upstairs. And his bike’s gone.”

Casey frowned at that. “You check in front?”

They went outside, but nothing.

“Weird,” Casey said as they went back in. “I don’t think he’s ridden in the dark before.”

“See if Abilene needs any help. I’ll look upstairs again. Maybe he wrecked and had to walk back or—”

“Whoa!” somebody shouted, whipping everyone’s heads around. “Turn up the TV. Looks like somebody found ’em. Somebody finally found the bones!”

Raina started. “What?”

“Son of a bitch,” Casey said in wonder, and leaned over the bar for the remote. “That motherfucker actually did it.”

People shuffled out of Benji’s close to three, well after their final glasses were empty, and still wide-awake and talking about the news. About the bones that had been found, and about how it had been that Welch guy who’d apparently found them . . .

And didn’t that seem awfully suspicious? Awfully coincidental? It had been bad enough that he’d taken those bribes off Levins, but to think he’d actually been a part of the murders . . .

Raina had squeezed her fists and let her nails bite her palms, the pain the only thing that had kept her from screaming at everyone to shut their ignorant mouths. With the door finally locked, she marched to the bar and downed a shot of whiskey, gave her head a sharp shake.

Casey slid a second tumbler over for her to fill. “That was some fucking weird night, huh?”

She beamed him an annoyed look as she poured. “I can’t
believe
he told you and not me.”

“He didn’t—I guessed. I can’t believe
you
thought he was out there joyriding all this time. Like that guy even knows how to do anything just for fun.” He knocked back his shot.

“Still. I never expected that.” And she was pissed he hadn’t told her, considering every other secret he’d deemed her worthy of hearing. Though in fairness, she’d likely have told him he was wasting his time.

She shut off the TV, buzzwords and sound bites cycling through her head relentlessly. The press hadn’t known much, but what few facts they did seem to possess, they’d repeated ad nauseum these past four hours.

Who was the second man who’d been with Duncan?
everyone was asking—the one also reportedly taken away by the feds. And had people noticed just how
black
the bones had looked, how disturbing, in those little glimpses caught by the first news crew on the scene?

And who on earth had they
belonged to
?

And what about Welch? Always
what about Welch?
He’d seemed like an asshole, but a
murderer
to boot? You just couldn’t trust foreigners, could you?

Raina rolled her eyes at the thought.

Kim, who back in August had gotten far too close to the danger for anybody’s comfort, had become visibly upset after the news broke. Vince had taken her home around midnight. Raina had sent Abilene off around that same time and had asked Casey to stay on until last-call orders were filled. It was her and Duncan’s appointed night to stay up, peering into the shadows, but seeing as how his detainment had made the news, a fresh wave of vandalism wasn’t top of her list of worries just now. The belligerent locals who’d been harassing him were probably throwing themselves a big-ass party right now, to think he was in custody . . .

In custody for questioning, or detention? she had to wonder.

She looked to Casey, who was loading the last of the glasses into the washer.

“You think Duncan’s done himself any favors,” she asked, “finding those things?”

He shut the washer and shrugged. “In the long run? I hope so. I mean, we all believe he’s innocent.”

“Of course.”

“No doubt the feds’ll be fucking with Levins’s head over this shit, too. Let’s hope he cracks under the pressure, spills whatever it is he knows. Him or that so-called witness.”

She nodded, feeling deeply uneasy.

Casey’s expression grew worried and he came close, wrapping his arm around her shoulder.

She shrugged him away, alarmed. “Ew, what are you doing?”

“I’m being brotherly and comforting. Is it working?”

“No, it’s weird. Knock it off.”

He crossed his arms and dropped the concerned shtick. “Sorry. Usually chicks like getting hugged when they’re stressed-out. Forgot you’ve got a bigger dick than most of the dudes in this town.”

She rolled her eyes.

“If you need me to stick around and talk, or drink, I can.”

“I appreciate that, but no. I’ll be fine. Go home, Case.”

He slumped in relief. “Thank fuck for that—I’ve been up for, like, thirty hours. See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Place’ll be busy all week, thanks to the news. Come in around four?”

“You got it.” He whipped his bar towel off his shoulder and onto her head, enclosing her in the damp, sour-smelling shroud before she snatched it off.

“Shithead.”

Casey smiled. “It was that or the hug. I choose wisely?”

“Probably.”

“See you tomorrow, boss.”

She kicked him in the butt on his way out, then locked up behind him. Silence descended when his bike’s rumble faded, and she sighed, tired. And yeah, maybe she half wished Casey had stuck around.

She shut off the main lights and wiped down the tables. It felt odd to be the only one left, in the wake of all that energy and noise. Odd to recall what a great night she’d been having, only a few hours ago, and how hopeful she’d felt. Odd to know that Duncan was less than a mile away, in federal custody—

She jumped at the sound of knuckles rapping glass and whipped around. Her brain was already preoccupied with the shotgun under the bar, but the instinct was misplaced.

It was Miah, of all people. She crossed the floor to let him in. “Hey. You’re a little late to the festivities. But I’m guessing you’ve heard the news.”

“Actually, no. I just got released from the sheriff’s department, half hour ago.”

“Whoa, what? That was you, with Duncan tonight?”

He strode to pick two stools up off the nearest high top and set them on the floor, taking a seat. “That was me.”

“How the heck did that come about? I know he found them way out on the range, but how’d you get involved? He ask your permission?”

He patted the other cushion and she sat.

“No, he didn’t. I was half a heartbeat from fucking him up when he told me he thought he’d found them.”

“The bones.”

Miah nodded, and told her what had gone on after. “After
they questioned me, a deputy gave me a ride home. Then I got in my truck and came here.”

“Well, you just missed the party—the shoot
and
the breaking news.”

“I came to see you, actually.”

She tightened at that. “Oh yeah?”
You’re going to tell me to stay away from Duncan.

His palms rubbed together between his knees, always a sign of emotional constipation.

“Something you need to say to me, Miah?”

A sigh, and he met her eyes, hands going still. “I’m not over you.”

Her stomach dropped. “Right . . .”

“I need to be, trust me. I
want
to be. But I’m not, and I think the only way I’m gonna get there is to straight-up avoid you for a while. It sucked bad enough before, when we were both single, but I won’t lie—this past week’s been fucking torture.”

Raina wasn’t one to apologize for other people’s feelings, but she wasn’t sure what else to offer. “Sorry. That sounds real shitty.”

He nodded.

“I wondered if maybe you’d come to tell me to stay away from him. Duncan.”

“I got no clue what to make of him, to be honest. I don’t approve of him, but I also know you’ve never held your breath for a second, waiting on anybody’s blessing.”

She smiled.

“I’d never really talked to him before tonight,” Miah added. “Not like a human being. He always came off so . . .”

“Stiff?”

“Or fake. Or just mean. The way he spoke to people, it always felt like he was . . . toying with them.”

“He probably was, before he lost his job.”

“It’s not like we bonded or anything—not remotely—but I guess maybe he became more human or something, watching him, like, digging through the dirt on his knees. Caring about something. I think before . . . I didn’t believe he was capable of that. Of caring about anything.”

“Of caring about
me
,” she supplied.

“Something like that. I’m still not a fan, but he’s a person now, instead of some . . . I dunno.”

“Snake?”

“Just about.” He paused, attention on his hands. “I wasn’t ready to let you go before.”

“Well, I shouldn’t have kept going to bed with you.”

“Not because of that . . . Not quite. Now I really just fucking
need
to let go. I can’t spend another week—or month, or
year
—feeling like this.” He shook his head, drew and released a long breath, and met her eyes. “I think I always assumed that the only reason we weren’t together was that you were afraid. Because you couldn’t stay with
anyone
, so it wasn’t personal. It wasn’t
me.
I had it in my head that we were so right—like an irrefutable fact. And that someday you were going to grow up and finally get sick of running, and realize what we had, and we’d wind up together again.”

“We should’ve been right. You were my friend—I already loved and respected you. And the sex was fucking . . .” She rolled her eyes. The sex had been ridiculous. Different than with Duncan—not better or worse, no more or less intense, but as different as the men themselves. And yeah, ridiculous.

He nodded, smiled sadly. “It was.”

“I thought, if you can have stupid-hot sex with your good friend, that’s got to be it, right? That’s, like, the recipe for something that’ll last. I thought we were right, too. But I was never going to give you kids. A wedding day, maybe, if you’d pushed, but never a family. And I know you want that. And I knew if I gave you the chance, you’d talk yourself out of wanting it, to keep me.”

He sighed a long breath through his nose. “I don’t know about that . . . But maybe. It doesn’t matter anymore, though. You like somebody, and I’m man enough to admit he’s not as awful as I’d thought. Sort of fucked-up—”

“You have no idea.”

“But you like him, genuinely?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“I can tell.” He went quiet for a long moment, then frowned, looking puzzled. “So, if it’s not as simple as friends having stupid-hot sex, what is it? What do you two offer each other?”

She considered it. “He needs me, I think. And I need to feel like I’m the strong one.”

Miah smiled at that. “You never needed me. Not for a second.”

“I don’t need Duncan, either. That’s why you and I never worked—you wanted to feel needed in return. I can’t fall for a
man if I feel like I depend on him. That’d turn me off, that kind of dynamic.”

“If Welch can handle that imbalance, more power to him,” Miah said. “You and I . . . You saw things about us I refused to. Like how I’d probably have come to resent you, a few years down the road, feeling like I was giving so much, when you can seem so . . .”

“Cold.”

“Not quite. But indifferent.”

She nodded. “Maybe it’s telling, that I fell for a cat owner. Duncan’s used to settling for scraps of withholding, cagey female attention.”

Miah laughed. “I’ve always hated cats.”

“That’s
so
my style—stingy little morsels of affection. Give a man a taste, then wander off and do my own thing. Dogs are . . .”

“Dog love is like a hose you can’t turn off,” Miah offered.

“Yeah, one that never runs dry. Too much. All you can do is try to dodge the spray. Ugh. Sloppy.”

He grinned—that broad, genuine smile she hadn’t seen him wear in two years, not since they’d still been together. “Bring it on.”

His hands were splayed on his thighs, and she thumped the back of one softly with her fist. “I’m gonna toss out one of those rare little morsels, Miah, and tell you this: you’re going to make a great father someday.”

“Someday.”

Predictably, this little heart-to-heart left her feeling drained and vulnerable. But also proud for having said what she had. What he deserved to hear.

“Anyhow,” Miah said, standing—he was an old hand at reading when Raina’s sincerity well was tapped out. “It’s late.”

“Yeah. And with the investigation suddenly cranked back up, it’s going to be a crazy few days here in Gossip Central. I better turn in.”

“Ditto. I just want you to know why I won’t be around much, for a while. I’ll see you at club meetings, for important stuff, but otherwise . . .”

“It’s fine. Whatever you need. Whatever gets us back to how we were before we fucked everything up with the stupid-hot sex.”

“Exactly.”

She walked him to the door. “Thanks for filling me in.”

“Sure. I’ll see you sometime.”

She nodded. “Whenever you decide to.” She’d nearly said,
You know where to find me,
but in all honesty, who knew which would come first—her selling the bar or Miah moving on? But she had enough questions dogging her for one night.

She drew him into a hug. Though she felt none of their old heat—not in her own body, at least—there was warmth. She stepped away and flipped the bolt. “Take care of yourself.”

“And you get some sleep.”

She closed the door, listened to his truck start up and drive off. As the night went silent once more, she slumped.

Slumped, wondering if Duncan was stuck sleeping on some hard cot or bunk tonight, and how he was being treated. Like a criminal, likely.

And underneath that, she felt slumped and weary and upended for more shapeless reasons, ones she couldn’t quite get a hold on. But something scary, to judge by the hollow feeling in her stomach.

Something Miah had said hounded her.
I’d probably have come to resent you. You can seem so indifferent.

Totally true, totally fair.

But when she thought about those things Duncan had said—whispered in the most intimate, needy moments, with his words and with his body . . .
Hold me. Want me.
During sex, no problem. But that
wanting.
Would that need bleed her dry, in time? Would she wind up running from yet another man who required more than she was willing to give? More than she was brave enough to offer, or perhaps more than she simply had in her. She’d given her dad so much, lost such a big chunk of herself when he died . . .

Then she straightened, registering how egotistical it was, getting spun up over how crummy it’d feel if she had to break that man’s heart. He hadn’t even offered his heart yet. Hadn’t asked her for exclusivity, hadn’t asked if they were a couple.
Certainly
hadn’t told her he loved her. It was foolish to be telling herself she understood what he needed and expected, telling herself she understood him, had him all figured out, when all this really was so far was hot sex and a growing mutual fondness and curiosity.