Santa's Subpoena Page 13

  “You’re not going to jail,” I said. While an attorney should never promise a client anything, there was no way this kid was going to jail.

  The door opened, the bell above it jangled, and Detective Pierce strode inside, headed to the counter. He paid for a to-go bag, turned, and saw me. His eyebrows shot up and he loped our way, apparently not noticing the few female sighs in his wake. “Hey. Didn’t know you were here.”

  Violet looked up and blinked.

  Yeah, Pierce was good-looking in a surfer-dude-with-a-gun type of way. I introduced them. “What’s up?”

  “The red truck used by the shooter fits the description of one stolen out of Missoula three days ago. Just had a sighting of a vehicle on fire around the lake road and was going to check it out. Want to come and identify it?” He reached into his bag and drew out a fry, taking a quick bite.

  I glanced at Violet. “I was going to take Violet home. Do you have to be anywhere?”

  “Nope,” she said, her puppy-like gaze on Pierce. “I’m on Christmas break. What truck are we identifying?”

  “I’ll tell you on the way,” I said, scooting out of the booth. I didn’t have her entire story yet, and I wasn’t sure how much help she needed. Witnessing a burning truck and helping the police with a case might be good for her peace of mind, since she’d probably only seen the other side of the law when she’d gotten arrested and charged. Plus, this was the most animated I’d seen her.

  She hedged by the end of the table, obviously at a loss with the amount of food we’d consumed and probable payment.

  I tossed my debit card at Tessa, who was behind the counter. She knew my PIN number. In fact, we had the same one. “Just take it off the card, and I’ll get it when I bring back your Rogue,” I said, breezing by.

  “You’ve got it.” She turned toward the register.

  Before we reached the door, I handed my wool coat to Violet. “Here. Put this on.”

  She leaned back. “I am not taking your coat.”

  Her sweater was clean but old and worn. I pushed the coat into her hands. “I’m hot. Hot flashes.”

  She accepted the wool. “Oh. Well, okay. I didn’t know you were that old.”

  Pierce snorted and opened the door.

  “Anna!” Tessa called.

  I turned in time to catch her ski-jacket before it hit me in the face. “Thanks.”

  “Bring that back with the car,” she said, grasping a full tray to balance over her shoulder.

  Violet watched her. “Your sister is cool.”

  “Yep,” I agreed, sliding my arms into her down jacket. “She definitely is. Now, let’s go see if the right truck is burning.”

  Chapter 19

  Whoever had torched it had used enough accelerant that the truck burned bright, even with the snow pummeling it into submission. Pierce, Violet, and I stood across the road, the wind and Lilac Lake at our backs, watching the fire. The truck had been dumped at a pullover spot nestled against the forest. Thick, black smoke spiraled high into the wafting flakes.

  “That’s the truck,” I said, squinting to see bullet holes in the driver’s side door. “I aimed too low.” Although I was glad I hadn’t killed anybody. Even so, that meant the guy was still out there.

  Violet tucked her hands into the borrowed coat, which was at least two sizes too big for her. “Whose truck?”

  “Dunno,” I said, watching the uniformed police officers cordon off the area. “It was on Nineteenth Street the other night. Since you live close to there, have you seen it before?”

  “No.” She watched the front tire blow and then hiss steam. “I’ve never seen it before. It looks like it was a nice truck.”

  Yeah, I figured that would’ve been a long shot.

  She sneezed.

  “Bless you,” I said, reaching for the keys in my pocket. The lake breeze was starting to numb my face. “Let’s get out of here. Pierce, let me know if you find anything in the truck when it’s done burning.”

  Pierce, hands in pockets, nodded. “Gut feeling, your client is in trouble. If you don’t know that just from being shot at, you need to dig deeper into his story. You’re missing something.” With that, he turned and walked across the gravel-topped icy road to speak with a uniformed officer.

  Oh, he was definitely trying to tell me something. I made a mental note to track down Bernie again, sliding into the car and starting the heat immediately. “Let’s get you home.”

  Violet lived three blocks away from Nineteenth Street, and these apartment complexes were even more run-down if that was possible. I soon drove up to a three-story building with curb parking only. The top level had been painted a gray that was now peeling to a dingy white color, and the bottom a dark green that was more of a weary beige. Concrete stairs and black iron railings showed the only way to the upper apartments. The walkway, entrance, and roof hadn’t been shoveled all winter if I had to guess.

  “Thanks for the ride.” Violet hopped out, removed my coat from her thin body, and put it on the seat. “I’ll call your office.”

  Um, no. I opened my door and stepped down, sliding instantly and catching myself on the door frame. “I’ll walk you in.”

  She shut her door and shook her head. “That’s okay. I don’t want to wake up my great-aunt.”

  I pretended I didn’t hear her and clomped around the front of the Rogue, one hand on the hot hood. Reaching her, I smiled. “Shall we kick our way?” Without waiting for her to argue, I kicked a path across the snow with my boots, sending cold flakes up inside my pant legs. Darn it.

  She followed me, her steps slow.

  “Which apartment?” I asked, looking up at the stairs.

  “Second floor.” Now she sounded more like a surly teenager.

  I could work with that. The railing shook in my hand, and I tried not to lean too heavily on it, but the stairs were iced over. It was a miracle nobody had broken their neck falling down the angled cement. From a couple of dents in the wall, I guessed maybe somebody had. Landing on the second floor, there was one door to the right, toward the street, and another to the left, which revealed an empty lot that had garbage poking up through the snow. “Right or left?”

  She brushed by me to the right, fumbling for her key in her pocket. Her face was red from the cold and her nose swollen. The door clicked open, and she moved inside, turning instantly. “So, um, thanks for the ride.”

  A dog yipped and bounded down the stairs from above, clumps of ice in his fur. Blood dotted the way from an injury on his paw.

  She ducked down. “Oh, Bowser. What did you do?” Her voice crooning, she moved aside and pulled him in. “He’s cold.”

  I reached out and tugged free a couple of notices that had been taped to the door. Notices to vacate—one yellow and one red. My instincts were humming, and a light sorrow was trying to fill me, but I remained calm and soothing. “I’d like to see your aunt.”

  Violet looked over her shoulder into the apartment. “She’s not here, I guess.”

  Bowser whined.

  Right. I had once been a teenager—not too long ago. “I’ll wait.” I stepped into her, and predictably, she stepped back. She was a sweet girl, and I’d figured she would.

  The apartment was clean but threadbare. The only furniture in the room was a ripped floral sofa with a worn knitted afghan and a coffee table with more dents than an unmarked soup can. Chipped blue laminate made up the counters, and there was one cracked plate in the sink. The smell of smoke and possibly mold wafted through the room.

  And it was freezing. Not just cold, but icicle cold. A blanket covered the only window, but ice curled over the bottom of it.

  Even in the chill, Violet blushed. “I can have my aunt call you.” She just wasn’t going to give this up, was she?

  Bowser limped to the kitchen and scratched at the cupboard beneath the sink.

  I moved past one small bathroom with a stained sink, blue toilet, and shower stall to the bedroom, which held a bed and a partially melt
ed plastic laundry basket of teen clothes. Pictures lined the one dresser. One was with a younger Violet and a woman who looked like her, which stood next to a wedding picture of a young couple taken at least sixty years ago. Must’ve been the great-aunt. “Your aunt isn’t here, is she?”

  Violet looked at the pictures. “No.”

  Unopened mail was stacked neatly next to the pictures, and even from my position, I could see several envelopes from the government. “Social security checks?”

  “Yeah.” Violet looked at them. “You’re my lawyer and can’t tell on me, right?”

  “That’s correct.” Pretty much, anyway. If I thought she was in danger, I had a duty to report it. My stomach cramped.

  She swallowed. “Aunt Mays died three months ago, and the church took care of her burial. She went to one on the other side of Spokane. I told everyone I was going to live with my aunt and uncle in Billings, but I don’t have family.” She sighed. “I didn’t know what to do with the social security checks. It’s illegal to cash them, but I couldn’t send them back because I think she got money for having me, and I didn’t want anybody to know she was gone.”

  My heart broke for her. I reached out to flip on the light.

  “No power,” she confirmed. “I have a job but it doesn’t pay a lot. I’m kinda out of money until my next paycheck.”

  Somebody pounded on the outside door, and we both jumped.

  “Violet? Open the door. I know you’re in there,” a man bellowed.

  “Who is that?” I whispered.

  She paled even more but patted my shoulder. “It’s just the manager. Stay here, and I’ll handle him.” She walked down the ugly faded blue shag carpet and opened the door. “I’m getting the rent, Crackle. I told you I would.”

  I hurried after her. She shouldn’t have to worry about rent.

  “I told you how you could work off that rent.” Crackle’s voice came in loud and clear. “Either you let me in and do what you need to do, or I’m callin’ the fuckin’ state on you. I know your aunt ain’t here. So it’s my dick or the foster care. I’ll make it good for you.”

  Fire roared through my head. My eyes widened, and I grabbed the door and yanked it open, shoving Violet behind me with my hip.

  Crackle was around forty with thick arms and a beer gut that lost to gravity over his dirty pants. His curly hair was greasy, his beard crusted with food, and his eyes beady. He was a cockroach of a man. “Who the fuck are you, bitch?”

  I reared up. “I’m her lawyer and the bitch who’s going to call the police and report you for trying to extort sex from a minor.” My ears rang as my temper spiraled into the ozone layer. I clutched my purse closer to my side in case I needed the gun. Shooting this asshole would be a gift to society.

  “Bullshit.” He clocked me on the side of the head, and I flew back, smashing onto the coffee table and rolling to the ground. Pain blew through my head and my vision blurred. My ribs screamed.

  He laughed and pushed Violet out of the way. “I guess it’ll be the three of us.”

  I was smart, and often I was cool-headed. But when I hit the floor, I lost my fucking mind. Rolling up, I ducked my head and rushed forward, hitting him so hard in the gut that we both flew through the doorway. My skull might’ve exploded from the impact. His back and shoulders hit the wall on the opposite side and he yelled, both of us going down. He swung out, and I crab-walked back, scrambling for the gun in my purse.

  The dog bounded out of the apartment and bit Crackle’s pant leg, growling and snarling.

  Crackle kicked the dog and the animal rolled over, smashing into the railing of the fake balcony and emitting a doggy cry of pain.

  Panic and fury swirled through me as I took advantage of his distraction and forced myself to stand, finally clamping onto my gun. My hand shook so wildly I had to use both, pointing the barrel at his head and trying to regain my breath, my entire body hurting.

  His eyes bugged out, and his face turned an ugly red as he pushed a beefy hand on the wall and stood. “You won’t hurt me.”

  I set my stance. “You’ve got that wrong, dickhead.”

  Violet hovered in the doorway, her face pale, terrified tears on her bottom lids.

  I kept my gaze on Crackle. “Violet? Call 9-1-1.”

  She hesitated.

  Crackle smiled, showing crooked teeth.

  “Violet?” I asked, lowering my aim to center mass. If I shot this guy, I only had one chance to keep him from coming at me.

  “I can’t,” she whispered. “If I call them, they’ll take me away. I don’t want to go to foster care. I’m sorry. Not again.”

  I swallowed, my mind reeling. “Okay. Get your stuff. Everything you need since you won’t be coming back. Now.”

  She turned and ran back into the apartment.

  “Maybe I’ll call the police,” Crackle said, taking a tenuous step toward me.

  “Go ahead,” I agreed. “I’d love to tell them all about your attempt to sexually assault a minor. I’d also press charges for battery against me as well as animal cruelty for hitting the dog. My bruises alone will look very pretty to a jury.”

  The ugly red stain across his pocked skin made his wide face even scarier. Or maybe it was the promise of death in his bloodshot and dead looking eyes. “This isn’t the end of anything.”

  What did that even mean?

  Violet ran out of the apartment with the melted laundry basket in her hands. She’d piled the pictures and an older wooden jewelry box onto the clothes, and she had a backpack over her arm and the old afghan over her shoulder.

  “Car,” I said as my hands finally stopped shaking. My lungs still weren’t working properly, and my body hurt, but one thing at a time.

  “Come on, Bowser,” she whispered, edging past me to the stairs.

  Crackle held up a hand. “The dog is mine.”

  Bowser stood and limped to the stairs, hustling by Crackle before he could get grabbed.

  “He was June’s, and she left you,” Violet yelled back, running too fast down the ice-crusted steps with the dog on her heels.

  Crackle glared at me. “I’m coming for you.”

  I sucked in frigid air. “Get in line.” Then I backed away, keeping the barrel pointed at him. After taking three icy steps backward and not falling on my butt, I turned and rushed down the rest, running for the car. We peeled out on icy and rough gravel, careening out of there.

  Violet had shoved her belongings in the back seat along with the dog, who panted loudly. “What are we going to do now?”

  Such a great question. Now that we were safe from Crackle, I had to figure something out. But first, I had to know the details. My stomach hurt as much as the various new bruises on my body. “Violet? You can tell me anything. I have to know, did Crackle—”

  “No,” she sighed, reaching above her shoulder to pull down the seatbelt and attach it at her waist. “I managed to avoid the creep, and the locks on the door were installed by my aunt before she passed, so he doesn’t have a key. He’s never touched me.”

  But he would have. I hated Crackle with everything I had.

  She shivered. “I know we should’ve turned him in, but I just couldn’t.”

  “Oh, don’t worry,” I said grimly. “We’ll get you figured out, and then we’ll press charges against him. Nobody said we have to do it today.” There was no way I was letting Crackle get away with terrorizing her. Who knew what other victims were out there? “We’ll take care of that jerk,” I promised.

  Violet swallowed. “So, what now?”

  Through my rear-view mirror, I looked at the soft eyes of the quiet dog. “Now we start with a vet for Bowser to make sure he’s okay and then we’ll go from there.” Truth be told, I didn’t know what I needed to do quite yet, but one step at a time.

  I could swear that dog smiled.

  Chapter 20

  It was well after midnight when Aiden woke me, sliding into bed behind me and spooning his big and muscled body around me.


  “Hi,” I whispered.

  “Hi,” he whispered back, his minty breath brushing my hair. “Busy day?”

  I stretched against him, holding back a wince as my fresh bruises protested. “Yeah.”

  “It’s only been hours since I saw you, but we’ve managed to pick up a kid and a dog?” He brushed his hand down my arm and held my hand, tangling his fingers with mine.

  Everything inside me settled and calmed for the first time that day. After visiting the veterinarian, who’d declared Bowser malnourished and bruised but otherwise healthy, and shopping for necessities for both dog and teenager, we’d had dinner and then crashed. Violet slept on my sofa, and Bowser had snored next to her on the floor. “It’s a long story,” I admitted.

  “Usually is,” he murmured. “Want to tell me about it?”

  I did, but there was a fairly decent chance Aiden would go kill Crackle, and I just didn’t have the energy to block the way with my body right now. “How about tomorrow?”

  “Humph,” he said.

  So long as he didn’t see the bruises, we could have a peaceful night. “How about you tell me what’s going on with you and your case? I don’t have the details.” I was tired, but it felt good to be talking to him with his big body right next to me. We had a lot to figure out with our relationship and our lives, but when we were holding hands and snuggling, I felt like everything would work out. Life was weird when your untouchable hero-crush became…touchable. “Forget my job for now. What’s up with yours?”

  “It’s interesting,” he said, stretching a little bit. “Saber and I were undercover with a drug operation in Portland, using our former covers as members of the MC, figuring we’d be okay. Turns out we weren’t, but I haven’t figured out how we got caught. Doesn’t make sense.”

  “What happened?” I asked drowsily.

  Aiden was quiet for a moment, no doubt filtering out the information he couldn’t share. “Head guy called us in and tried to shoot us for being cops. It was fairly simple.”