If the Dark Wins (Finley Creek Book 4) Page 24

  He was waylaid by the she-devil herself. She’d obviously just arrived for her shift, dressed in the pale green scrubs of FCGH nurses and smelling like jasmine.

  "How is she?"

  "Awake, for the moment."

  "I have a few minutes before I clock in. I’m going to go see her."

  Rafe hesitated. The two that he had just left, they didn't need to be disturbed. "May give them a minute. They were throwing around their first I love yous. It was getting a bit intense in there."

  She smiled.

  Rafe fought a curse. Hell of a powerful smile the she-devil had. Even he wasn't immune.

  "That’s beautiful. They love each other."

  He grunted at her. "I suppose." Beautiful or not, it remained to be seen what would happen next between the two. But if Travis loved Lacy McGareth that made her a part of Rafe’s family. He would do whatever he had to do to ensure the woman was kept safe and made a full recovery.

  "One day, Holden-Deane, you'll get those grown-up feelings and then you’ll understand…"

  Someone called his name and they both turned. Fin was waiting for him, with a thin file in her hand. "Here. I think you’ll want to see this."

  He glanced at the name—Lanning.

  "Autopsy results, his actual cause of death was evident, but…" Fin said. "Look at the tox screen, Rafe. I think you'll find it interesting.”

  Rafe flipped it open quickly.

  "Logan’s cause of death was pretty obvious. But he had high levels of Solpalmitraln in his system. Extremely high. Rafe, something’s going on with that drug. And none of it is good."

  He looked the two women next to him. He trusted Fin to an extent. As for Beck… he had to admit it, while the two of them didn't get along, he had no doubt she was trustworthy. "I want the two of you to keep this to yourselves. Until I find the answers we need."

  He wasn't stopping until he had them.

  There wasn’t anything Rafe wouldn’t do to protect FCGH, and the people in it.

  Patients and staff. And if Solpalmitraln contributed to his brother’s almost losing the woman he loved, Rafe would stop at nothing to see it destroyed.

  Nothing.

  IF YOU ENJOYED the Finley Creek books, check out Mel’s blog at www.callejbrookesreads.com!

  And Watch For Jillian and Rafe coming Summer 2017!

  Coming Winter 2017/2018

  A New PAVAD: FBI & Finley Creek Spin-off Series:

  Small Town Sheriffs

  A good man knows right from wrong, and he uses that knowledge to protect the small town he calls home. But when that special woman comes to town, what’s a brave man to do but meet the challenge head on!

  Small Town Sheriffs Book 1

  Holding the Truth

  SHE’D BEEN a victim of a horrible crime that left her spirit broken and her body hurting, but TSP Deputy Bailey Moore would somehow find the strength to heal. To forget that one of the very people who’d hurt he was the one who should have kept her safe. Her father’s betrayal had scarred her very soul.

  Bailey found solace with the family of another victim when the Albert and Jake Dillon opened their home—and hearts—to her. Everyone just assumed she and Jake would one day…

  But it wasn’t surrogate big brother Jake Bailey could not get out of her head…It was the man who’d carried her to safety when she had been far too close to death.

  Sheriff Clay Addy was haunted by the women he’d failed to protect. His lone female deputy was one of them. She was better off staying with the Dillons and he was better off just doing his job protecting Value, Texas. Until Bailey’s return to the TSP reminded Clay of just how much she had suffered.

  Bailey was back and Clay would just have to forget how achingly vulnerable the younger woman was…

  As they settle into a routine, circling around each other warily, someone else from the past returns. Someone ready to hurt Clay and take Bailey for his own sickly twisted games.

  Clay will have to protect her when it is his past that threatens Bailey’s future.

  SHE HAD NO ONE. Just him. Sheriff Clay Addy sat by the hospital bed for hours, just watching her sleep. Counting her breaths. Listening to the beeps and hums of the machines that told him the woman—girl, really—still lived.

  She’d died once on the surgeon’s table. They’d brought her back. Thank God they’d managed to bring Bailey back. Her eyes opened, so blue they looked unreal, but they were clouded and unfocused. A small cry escaped her. Clay leaned over her so she knew she wasn’t alone. “Bailey, it’s ok. You’re safe now.”

  “Sheriff…you got them?” Her words were strained, but he still heard. “Is…Kyra safe?”

  “Yes, she’s safe now. With Agent Lake.”

  “She loves him. Could tell. Did you get the men?” Blue eyes closed and her small hand twitched on the blanket. Her small, cut, bruised, and broken hand. Clay brushed her fingers lightly, just above the plaster cast. He just needed to touch for a moment.

  “Don’t worry about that now.” Oh, he’d get them. Even if it took the rest of his life, he’d get the men who’d hurt Bailey. Including her own father. “You just rest.”

  “Don’t have to stay. Know you don’t want to.” Her eyes remained closed, her breathing deepened. Clay let out the breath he’d been holding. “Know you don’t like me very much.”

  “Of course I like you, Bailey.” But she was already out. He stood, staring down at her for a long moment. Bailey was two weeks shy of her twenty-fifth birthday, but she barely looked old enough to vote. He’d known of her since she was nine and he was twice that. Her hair was completely straight and pale blonde. It was long, almost to her waist, he thought. Someone had washed her hair and braided it into two braids. When she’d been brought in, she’d been soaking wet and covered with mud and sludge of some sort. And blood.

  Clay would never forget Bailey’s blood.

  Bailey made such a small lump under the thin blanket. Small and vulnerable and having barely survived hell.

  Not like her? Hell, that couldn’t be further from the truth.

  Bailey Moore had fast become the center of his world—and she would never know that. Bailey kept him centered, grounded. Reminded him of sunshine and hope. Without her, he’d simply sink into oblivion in his personal life and drown in his duty as the sheriff.

  He wasn’t stupid; he knew how he felt about her bordered on obsession. He’d wanted nothing more than for some young rancher to come and carry her off. Carry her somewhere where she couldn’t haunt him with just a simple smile.

  Someone had carried her off, and it had been her own bravery that led to her rescue. Hers and another woman Clay had always loved.

  He had almost lost them both. Clay wouldn’t ever forget that. Or the guilt that failure brought. He had almost lost her…

  Seeking the Sheriff

  A New Novella Series from Calle J. Brookes

  Her family had a long history with the sheriff of Masterson County--none of it good. So when the new sheriff shows up in the middle of the night with Phoebe's teenage brother in tow, she knows her life is about to get a lot more complicated.

  Phoebe doesn't have room for complicated. She is far too busy helping her father run their struggling ranch and all but raising her younger siblings. She doesn't need a too handsome sheriff complicating her world.

  No matter how he makes her feel.

  Sheriff Joel Masterson has an entire county depending on him to run things, to keep them safe. He doesn't need trouble from the rabble-rousing Tylers of Tyler Township. However, once he gets a good look at the eldest Tyler daughter Phoebe, things get real complicated quick.

  Suddenly, Joel doesn't mind trouble at all.

  Now Joel just has to convince Phoebe that this sheriff of Masterson County is going to cause her only the best kind of trouble of all...

  SHERIFF JOEL MASTERSON wanted to kick the kid’s ass seven ways to Sunday, but he controlled himself. Barely.

  The boy was too old for this stu
pid shit.

  Joel was, that was for sure. He grabbed Phoenix Tyler by the back of his collar and dragged him to his feet. “Come on, I haven’t got all night.”

  Tyler protested, curses ringing out through the night. Main Street was fully deserted, except for him, Tyler, and the man twice the kid’s size that he’d started the fight with.

  The two wannabe wrestlers smelled like the whiskey distillery on the outskirts of town, and Joel’s eyes burned from the strength of it. But his hands were steady on the kid.

  Best to get Tyler out of there before Rutherford got the idea to give the kid the beating Tyler most likely deserved.

  Rutherford wasn’t known for Friday night barroom brawls.

  Neither was Tyler, for that matter. Now, underage drinking...well, Deputy Lowell had picked him up for that a time or two already, hadn’t he?

  Nothing Joel hadn’t seen a hundred times in his two years as the sheriff of Masterson County.

  Time to return this boy to where he belonged, so Joel and the deputies could get out around the county. They needed to make certain the floods that were impending hadn’t washed out the access roads. Five thousand people resided in the county, and if too many roads were flooded out, the entire county would be impacted.

  He didn’t have time for some punk wannabe with a chip on his shoulder right now. The floods headed their way were supposed to be record breaking. And he didn’t know if the dams were going to be strong enough to keep the waters at bay.

  It was going to get bad in Masterson County, Wyoming— real bad.

  And it was his job to keep the people in his county safe. It wasn’t a responsibility he took lightly.

  He cuffed the Tyler kid and shoved him in the back of his SUV, thankful for the metal grill that separated Tyler from his seat. It took a call to his dispatcher to find out where the boy lived—while he’d had a few brushes with the law, Joel hadn’t dealt with him personally before—and then he headed his SUV toward the far south-western corner of his county. As he covered the familiar territory, he wondered about the kid in his backseat. There were a bunch of Tylers out past his family homestead, but he’d never met all of them.

  The boy was one of those Tylers, then. They’d been contentious sonsofbitches since before the county was formed. He’d had more than a few run-ins with the boy’s uncles and cousins.

  Looks like Phoenix Tyler was following the family footsteps right down a bad path.

  Joel sighed, wishing the world he lived in could be a hell of a lot different. Part of the problem with the Tylers he knew was a simple lack of economic opportunity. They were ranchers, pure and simple, and in Tyler Township, where they lived, the lands were barren and inhospitable. Nothing worth a damn would grow there, and nothing could live there.

  Except for ornery Tylers, that was. Despite the odds, the Tylers kept on.

  He’d been to this corner of the county numerous times, but not to the particular address he was headed toward now.

  The kid continued to mouth off in the back of the SUV. Joel just kept driving. It wasn’t the first time a dumb kid took a ride home in his SUV. At least this one wasn’t puking everywhere.

  It was a forty minute drive from Masterson to the Tyler Ranch. The kid ended up snoring in the back before they were half way there.

  Maybe he’d sleep off most of it and be able to deal with his parents, then?

  Parents were sometimes the hardest part of his job. Especially parents of screw-ups like the boy drooling in his backseat.

  He reached the Tyler Ranch and turned down the pitted and rutted lane. They needed about four loads of gravel to even make it halfway passable, didn’t they?

  The house was sprawling, but in such disrepair on the outside that he wondered why it hadn’t been condemned yet. Although it did look like someone had planted flowers along the walkway recently.

  That saddened him more than anything. The flowers spoke of hope, and a desire to at least try. The house screamed of neglect and despair.

  He looked around one more time. He wasn’t so certain he wanted to leave the boy here.

  The yard was trimmed neatly, and free of clutter, at least. That told him a lot. Someone, at least, was trying.

  Joel tensed when the light flicked on in the front of the house. They’d heard him pull up.

  He parked next to the small porch and killed the engine. He had a feeling he was going to be there for a while. It just always seemed to happen that way at Tyler homesteads. Whether Joel wanted it to or not.

  The door opened, and a middle-aged man wearing a white tank and faded jeans stepped outside. His hair was thinning and gray, and his eyes showed years of hard living but his body was tough and lean. He looked like a hundred other weathered ranchers Joel had seen through the years. “What’s wrong?”

  His voice was roughened and harsh, but unthreatening. Joel cataloged the man quickly. A man just trying to get by in a world that wasn’t always easy to navigate. Like so many others in Masterson County. “You Phil Tyler?”

  “Yes.”

  “I have your boy in the backseat. Got into a brawl at Dan’s Tavern in Masterson. I was going to book him in, but to be honest, I have to deal with the approaching storms. I don’t have time for underage drinking, and my deputies are all spread over the county.”

  “He facing charges?”

  Joel thought for a moment. “I’m not sure yet. Have him at my office Tuesday at ten, and we can discuss it.”

  He pulled the teenager from the backseat, and the kid came awake, swinging and swearing.

  His father stepped off the porch and grabbed the boy by the shoulder. “Phoenix, shut your mouth before it gets you into deeper trouble.”

  The boy cursed his father up one side and down the other. The older man never lifted a hand to hit him, at least. If anything, the father looked more embarrassed than angry.

  The kid’s tirade went on for a good fifteen minutes before the front door opened again and six more bodies came tumbling out.

  Joel studied them quickly. Young. Three were female, small, slim, startlingly pretty in the bright porch light, and—if he wasn’t mistaken—two were identical. The rest were boys, younger than the one still cursing. Hell, the youngest had to be under eight or nine, didn’t he?

  The rest of the Tylers?

  Joel turned back to the boy when the kid started swinging. The father, no more than five-nine or five-ten, was a few inches shorter than his son. And a whole lot soberer.

  Joel didn’t have time to suffer fools gladly. Or wait for a father to gain control of his son. He grabbed the back of the kid’s shirt and lifted him off his feet. While Phoenix Tyler was close to six feet tall, Joel dwarfed him. At six-foot-four, two-hundred-and-fifty pounds, he was twice what the boy weighed.

  He used that to his advantage now. He turned Phoenix toward him. “Get your shit together, now. Or I will run you into town, and you can hang out in the drunk tank for the next seventy-two hours. How would you like that?”

  “You can’t do that, I have school tomorrow,” the boy sneered.

  “You could just be truant, then. We’ll see how well that goes over with the school.” Masterson public schools had a zero-tolerance truancy policy that was strictly enforced. Every parent knew that. Jail wouldn’t be an excuse.

  The boy continued to kick and fight. Joel continued to hold him. He could do this all night if he had to.

  PHOEBE TYLER SAW the lights and knew something was going on. Something that shouldn’t be. She didn’t even bother trying to listen, as she’d lost the ability to distinguish most sounds when she’d been six years old. She wasn’t fully hearing-impaired and could speak, but there was a lot she missed. Especially without the hearing aid currently sitting on her bedside table. She’d tried to sleep with it in before, but it just didn’t happen.

  A fact a lot of her siblings took advantage of. Especially the younger ones. They’d better not be up wandering the house. Not this late.

  She was the oldest of ei
ght, and she didn’t take that role lightly. Her father busted his butt trying to turn a profit on the small ranch that had been in their family for generations. But it wasn’t easy. Especially since her mother had passed two years earlier in a car wreck that had two of her siblings injured. Leaving a mountain of debt bigger than the mountain that she could see from her window. The loss of their mother left the day-to-day care of the ranch house, and her youngest siblings, up to her.

  Well, up to her and her sisters, Pip, Perci, and Pandora. The girls had their own responsibilities, though. Pip was doing her best to build a horse ranch out of their small stable of cutting horses. A few more years, and she’d be able to sell off some of the horses she’d bred and trained herself. Perci helped Phoebe with her Angora goat herd when needed—and worked extra twelve-hour shifts as a nurse at the county hospital whenever she could. Perci made a point of taking every bit of overtime she could get. Pan spent most of her time helping their father and Phoebe. When she could, Pan did virtual assistant work and cleaned houses for some of their cousins and uncles. Phoebe’s responsibilities around the house made it impossible for her to have a full-time job. She supplemented what her sisters brought in with her goats. She sold the mohair yarn she created herself. Money was tight, but they were holding on.

  In her spare time, Phoebe tended her little drove. After she had finished with that, she would sit at her loom, and weave blankets from the yarn she kept back for that purpose. When those sold, she’d bring in a few hundred dollars each.

  Every penny their branch of the Tylers could bring in helped their family of nine, survive.

  If something was wrong with one of the children, it was Phoebe’s job to take care of them. She didn’t bother with a robe or slippers. She grabbed the hearing aid sitting on her night table and slipped it in. With the device, she had close to sixty percent of hearing in her left ear.