LITMIR.BIZ

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his eyes and continued. “And you call this number when you get anything.” He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it over. “That’s a private number. Only I should answer it. Which means you and/or any of your associates shouldn’t feel the need to stop by the house. Sound good?”

      He could tell Sully wasn’t a man who was used to adhering to conditions he didn’t set, but again, he was staring at the golden goose.

      “Whatever you say, Mr. Callahan.” The conversation was finished. They both knew neither one had any more to say. It was just theater when Sully motioned to the door. “I’ll see what I can find.”

      Together they walked through the kitchen—past the staff and workers who didn’t bat an eye—and to the back door that led into the employee parking lot. Queso stood next to the door, wearing slacks and a buttoned-up shirt that hung awkwardly off his thin frame. He zipped to attention as Sully neared, and James was reminded of being in boot camp back in the day. Respect and a little fear. The driving need to prove oneself.

      James knew that need well.

      “Take Mr. Callahan back to his car,” Sully greeted him, then narrowed his eyes at the young man. “And make sure you go the speed limit this time. We’re in small-town Alabama. Not street racing through the city trying to win a big score. The cops here won’t have a hard time getting to you if you’re blowing through the streets.”

      A look of quick shame followed by embarrassment crossed Queso’s face. Sully cracked a grin. “Then again, I’m sure James here could sweet-talk his way out of it. Last I heard, he was on particularly good terms with law enforcement in these parts. Especially the sheriff’s department.”

      This time James didn’t fight the urge. He rolled his eyes.

      “I’d stick to the speed limit if I were you.”

      Because even though he’d killed Lester McGibbon before he’d had the chance to send another bullet into Riker County’s chief deputy, James had spent the last four months learning the hard truth about Suzanne Simmons.

      She didn’t like him.

      Not one bit.

      * * *

      “NO, SIR.” SUZY looked the sheriff dead in the eye and shook her head again. “There’s no way I’m doing it.”

      Billy Reed chuckled. Just like he often did when he thought Suzy was being unreasonable. He’d made the same sound when he’d suggested she liked Jonathan Flynn in the seventh grade and even had the same look when he’d tried to set her up with Rick Carmichael right out of college. There were many more examples throughout their nearly lifelong friendship, but those two came to mind. Or rather, how she’d felt about those two specifically. It was a feeling she associated with the name Billy was trying to attach her to now. She may have loved the sheriff like a brother, but that didn’t mean she didn’t think he’d lost his mind from time to time.

      “I’m not asking you to date him,” Billy pointed out, most likely knowing where her thoughts had gone. “I’m asking you to represent the Riker County Sheriff’s Department at the town-hall social tonight.”

      “The social being held at the James Callahan estate,” she interjected.

      Billy chanced a look of mild exasperation.

      “You know, he’s not a bad guy. He single-handedly brought that town out of poverty. Not to mention he decided to make it his home. With all that money he could have his own island somewhere, but he chose Bates Hill, Alabama. That’s got to count for something.” Billy’s brow drew in. The look didn’t last long. “Though what he did for you is enough to say he’s okay in my book for life. I don’t understand why you’re still so against him.”

      Suzy crossed her arms over her chest. She felt defiant. Protective. And she was trying to hide the scar between her breasts, even though her shirt was already covering it.

      “I don’t trust him for the same reasons you like him,” she said simply. “His life trajectory doesn’t make sense. A trust-fund kid, party animal, gives the tabloids enough material for years before disappearing. Then bam! He shows up to a smaller-than-small town to put it back on the map ten years ago with no reason other than he just wanted to do something good?” She shook her head. “Sounds like a movie I wouldn’t even rent.”

      “Just because we don’t know his life story doesn’t mean you should write him off.” Billy’s face softened. “And just because Bates Hill and its residents are under our jurisdiction doesn’t mean we need to know all of their secrets.”

      “True,” she conceded. “But then, why was he out there that day, Billy? Why was James Callahan, of all people, at an abandoned saw manufacturing warehouse that just so happened to house the body of a murdered Gardner Todd?”

      Billy’s eyebrows knit together. No matter what he said next, Suzy knew he wasn’t buying what he was selling. At least, not all the way.

      “He was looking at real estate for one of his businesses. We even verified it with his attorney who showed up afterward. You already know that, and still you don’t believe him.”

      It wasn’t a question. Still, she responded to it.

      “I believe that money can buy a lot of things,” she said. “Including the loyalty of everyone around here. For all we know, his attorney spun the exact tale he wanted him to.”

      “So you think, what? James hired Lester McGibbon to kill Gardner and then shoot you?”

      Suzy could tell that Billy didn’t like being blunt about her being shot. It had been four months—four long months—and she still didn’t like it, either. That bullet hadn’t just hit her; it had very nearly killed her. Even now, she was still technically on leave from the department, unable to do field work for another month.

      “No, I don’t think he hired Lester,” she admitted. “But I do think he’s connected to Gardner. Somehow. And he’s hiding it.”

      “Then what better reason than to go tonight? You can represent us and satisfy your curiosity.”

      Suzy tilted her head to see if she had heard him right. “You’re saying you’d be okay with me asking him some questions?”

      Billy nodded. “If you think there’s something there, beyond the answers he’s already given us all, then who am I to stop you?” He crossed his arms over his chest, his expression suddenly stern. “Just whatever prodding you do, please keep it reasonable.”

      Suzy couldn’t help but smirk. “When have I ever been unreasonable?”

      The sheriff was smart. He didn’t answer.

      * * *

      QUESO WENT FIVE over the speed limit. James decided not to comment. Though the urge to get beneath the teen’s skin almost won out.

      Teen. That was what James really figured the dark-haired boy was. A teen who worked for an up-and-coming criminal organization that was tapping into white-collar crimes.

      James wanted to give him a speech, to question his motives and push the boy to create different life goals, but then he remembered himself at that age and couldn’t bring himself to deliver any lectures. What advice could he really give the boy that would ring true? He doubted repeating the speech James had gotten from his father all those years ago would light the fire that had moved him.

      It had only been chance that, after his father had stopped yelling, the younger James had run into the bar where Corbin Griffin had been spending his last free night before taking off to San Antonio for basic training. The then twenty-year-old had shown James a way to prove himself outside of fame and fortune.

      His joining the Air Force had surprised everyone; finding purpose and peace during his time with them had surprised him. Nine years after leaving, James still felt that swell of pride and gratitude for the time spent at his Special Operations job. Even when things had gotten hairy.

      No,

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