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  “That’s disgusting.”

  “My youth or the incest?”

  She was cackling again.

  “I know every girl has the warm fuzzies for the guy who pops her cherry. It’s the same for us, but mostly with tits.”

  “You’re a pig.”

  He was up on one elbow, and she was trying not to fixate on how good his chest and arm looked in that particular position. “You’re not tellin’ me any details about your first time.”

  Shit. “Like you said. For girls it’s different.” His eyes brushed over her face and she had to smile. “This is a relationship conversation, Fritter.”

  “I know. But I just told you it was my cousin for fuck’s sake.”

  At that she laughed, which made him smile. “I’m from Markham,” she pointed out.

  “And?”

  “Did it ever occur to you that I might have lost my virginity to someone you might know?”

  At that he fell quiet and thoughtful. “So your first is still walkin’ around Markham then?”

  She nodded. “Yeah. I have to see him from time to time. It’s weird.”

  He flopped onto his back and retrieved the mickey. “You’re right. I don’t want to know. It’d suck to get all jealous.”

  “What’s there to be jealous of? It was quite a while ago.”

  “Was he better than me?”

  “At what?”

  “Monopoly. What do you think I meant?”

  She took a pull of Jack right from the mickey. “I’m not discussing this.”

  “So he was?”

  She sighed. “No, he wasn’t.”

  “Awesome. Did he suck at it?”

  She shook her head. “No, he didn’t. It was pretty good, actually.”

  He took the fifth back, then leaned over her. His chest pressed into hers and she licked the booze from her lips, distracting herself from the heat of him. The hardness. “How good?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You weren’t both virgins, were you?”

  “No. Only I was. And he did a ... decent job.”

  Fritter smiled. “But I’m better.”

  She pushed at his shoulders. “You’re very good. The best, actually. You happy?”

  “Yes.”

  They stared at each other quietly, then she cleared her throat. “I should go.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You work tomorrow?”

  “No. I have the day off. I can’t put in extra hours during the campaign. They might take it as ... campaigning.”

  “Are we the reason the town is kinda ... changin’ its mind on you?”

  She took a deep breath then sat up. “I can’t talk about it.”

  “Sharon—”

  “No,” she cut him off, hand up. “Don’t change this. What we had going on is fine. This whole ... whatever happened tonight ... it won’t work.”

  Now he sat up, looking confused and, to her surprise, a little hurt. “What are you talkin’ about? I just like talkin’ to you.”

  “That’s the part that can’t work.”

  “We can talk.”

  “No, we can’t.” That came out harsh, but he was freaking her out. “That’s the one thing we cannot do. You know that.”

  “I’m not talkin’ trade secrets, Sharon. I just like hearin’ what you have to say on things. I like bein’ around you.”

  “And I like fucking you.” She threw back the covers and went for her underwear on the floor, shimmied into them quickly then pulled up her jeans. Her bra went on next and her T-shirt, all while avoiding looking him in the face.

  “All right then,” he muttered, and she caught the motion as he slumped back in the bed, hands behind his head. “I know my place.”

  “Don’t say it like that.”

  His laugh was bitter and it stung. “You said it, sweetheart.”

  “Don’t call me that. I’m not some twenty-year-old sweet butt.”

  “Trust me, I’m aware of that.”

  She jammed her feet into her sandals. “Fine. You can be nasty. Whatever. Let’s just say it’s done and move on them.”

  He shrugged, jaw set hard. “Works for me.”

  “Good.”

  “Good.”

  “Fine.” She slammed the door shut behind her, chest still heaving. She had to stop, hand on the iron railing of the walkway, willing her pulse to calm down. Fuck, this actually hurt.

  But that was stupid. They weren’t together. How could they fight and break up? It was just an end to the agreement. Like cutting off a cable subscription.

  It didn’t make her feel any better. The whole drive home the lump in her throat wouldn’t let go, and when Earp curled up to sleep next to her in bed she held on a little tighter than normal.

  -oOo-

  The sun was already relentless and it wasn’t even ten in the morning yet. She eyed up the flower beds in the back yard. Since they were still in the shade at this hour, she decided they needed a good clean out. And maybe she should plant something in them. She’d have time this summer, after all. She’d have to be cognizant of her hours more than usual. Couldn’t hurt to take up a hobby.

  Brayden took her car to continue his job hunt. They’d only passed each other this morning; he’d been sleeping when she got home the night before. He’d grumbled something about it being surprisingly difficult for the son of the sheriff to get a job in Markham.

  She crouched on the foam board someone had given her to save her joints from kneeling while gardening. At the time she thought it was stupid, but she had to admit it was a lot more comfortable. With gloves and a spade she set to digging out the rooted weeds and breaking up the flower beds. The physical labor actually felt good. When the back of the house was lined with turned red-brown earth she made her way to the front yard to do the same to those beds. The blisters were starting to sting when a car door shut behind her. She got to her feet and turned as Agent Hogan rounded the front of his car and made his way up her driveway, smiling at her from under his sunglasses.

  She took off her gloves, shook the dirt from them, and offered her hand as he drew closer. “Agent Hogan?” She meant it to sound like a question.

  “Sorry to intrude on your day off, Sheriff. I went by the office first.”

  She smiled. “You can call me Sharon when you’re standing in my yard.”

  He grinned back. “You’re calling me Agent Hogan again, so I was just taking my cue from you.”

  “Right. Terry.”

  “That’s better.”

  “What are you doing in Markham?”

  “After your phone call I wanted to come by. Make sure you were okay.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry about that. It shouldn’t have rattled me as much as it did.”

  He was shaking his head before she finished. “Of course that would rattle you. It’d rattle anyone.”

  “But why is the DEA interested?”

  His face grew a bit more serious. “Dirty Rats were caught running through San Diego with Thebaine on its way up to British Columbia. That homemade Oxy is making its way back into Bakersfield, and uh ... the kids you found had been dosed as well.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  He shrugged. “Keeps ‘em quiet and docile. And they’ve got it kicking around.”

  “Why? I thought G-Town was peddling it.”

  “Oh, they are. In Bakersfield. The Rats have distribution rights as well, anywhere outside of gang territory. Personally, I think they might have the Mazaris helping them store it. They’re good at keeping a low profile while protecting cargo.” When he wiped his forehead she realized he was standing there in a full suit while she had on cut-offs and a tank. He must be cooking.

  “Would you like to come in for some water or anything?”

  His smile was downright grateful. “I’d love that. I’m from Boston. We get heat but it’s a different kind of heat from this.”

  She motioned him to follow and led around to the back, e
ntering right into the kitchen. Her air conditioning had been a brilliant investment the first year she’d moved in.

  “I have iced tea and lemonade if you prefer.”

  “Water’s fine.”

  She poured some from the jug kept in the fridge over a good dose of ice.

  “You do a lot of gardening?”

  She almost snorted her own water out of her nose. “Obviously not. If I did I’d have flowering plants at this time of year, not freshly turned dirt.”

  “Must be busy, I’m sure.”

  “Yeah. But elections are coming up. Less overtime, not that I claim it.”

  He took another deep gulp, making his Adam’s apple jump. Then he set the glass down and looked around the kitchen. “This is your first year running with an opponent, isn’t it?”

  She had to smile. “I’d have to suspect you’ve been researching me. But I don’t know why.”

  “I’m curious,” he admitted, leaning back against her cupboards. “Markham is interesting. Your reported crime rates are low. Good cash flow from fines. And it’s obvious you depend on the Red Rebels to help keep the town quiet. Peaceful. But now there’s dissention.”

  Sharon sighed, sitting at her kitchen table. Agent Hogan followed and sat next to her, not across the table. “You know the Rebels peddle pot in town. It supports illegal activity, of course. But in town all they see are the bikers, and the money the club donates. Every school year the club has put money into one program or another. Hell, one year they donated to the drama club at the high school. The toy runs for the pediatric ward and first responders. They choose to believe that’s what they’re supporting if they buy some pot. And I know the prices. We’re talking pretty thin margins for all the philanthropy going on. But it buys goodwill and trust.” She tapped her nails on the tabletop, unsure how much to say. But chances are good Hogan already knew about all of it.

  “Back before Jayce became president the Gypsys were trying to push black tar heroin through town. For the Galiendos. You probably know this. There was a bit of a dust up in town, out by a bar, The Hair Of The Dog it’s called. Officially it never happened but two Rebels and a Mad Gypsy got killed. But it was the president of the Mad Gypsys that died. There were no civilians hurt and no damage done to any commercial property. For revenge the Gypsys had come back a few times, broke some store windows, vandalized the car lot. Punk shit like that, but they were still trying to figure out what to do without their president. They lit one shop on fire—a bookstore. The lady that ran it lived upstairs, and she was killed.”

  Hogan frowned. “Hadn’t heard about that.”

  She shrugged. “Why would you? Vandalism, trespassing. Not really part of the DEA’s purview, right?”

  He chuckled. “You’re right.”

  “The lady that ran the place was kind of a nasty piece of work. She was only about fifty, but she was rude. Turned her nose up at the club, said no when they offered money to a book drive for the high school she was fundraising for. Which was another thing; she hated teenagers. I remember going in there and she’d follow so closely you knew she was waiting for you to steal something. Such a weird duck.”

  “What happened when she died?”

  Sharon rubbed her eyebrow, the smile from the memory of crazy old Miz Walker fading. “Red Rebels found the three Gypsys that did it and killed them. Killed them nasty and left loud corpses behind. One of them was the Gypsys’ Sergeant at Arms. I think it surprised the town. How even though Walker had always been a bitch, the club still avenged her.”

  “So what’s happening now?”

  Sharon had to shrug again. “Twenty years of club shit not hurting anyone until Turnbull’s son got beat up by a few of the Mazaris.”

  “Who’s Turnbull?”

  Now she felt her smile chill, notably. “My competition in the next Sheriff race.”

  Hogan’s eyebrows nearly hit his hairline. “I see.”

  “His oldest son is a bit of a free spirit but they’re rich enough it doesn’t matter. They let him live at home, basically loaf. He sold pot for the club, that’s what got him beat up.”

  “So just a short, collective memory has you in this jam?”

  “I don’t know. I have to admit, I’m surprised. I would have expected more complaints about the club coming my way, something more subtle to start. I’m stunned that I’m the figurehead anyone sees as a way to take down the Red Rebels.”

  “It is strange, but if they’ve had twenty comfortable years it’s easier to get worked up about more petty things.”

  “I wouldn’t say his son getting beat up was no big deal,” she relented.

  “Do you think if you were a man, their opinions might be different? Maybe they think you’re easier to keep under the club’s thumb, so to speak. Less likely to make a fuss because you’re scared.”

  Sharon stared at Hogan until he started to shift in his seat. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said a word. I could be out to lunch. Just, thinking out loud.”

  “You might be right,” she nearly interrupted him. “The club endorsed me the first time I ran because I was from here. The previous sheriff was from Montana. I don’t think the club had issue with him, or maybe they did. I honestly have no idea.”

  Hogan leaned forward with one elbow on the table, voice gentle. “I don’t want to get under your skin here, but did you ever wonder if the Rebels did that for the reasons this Turnbull might be thinking?”

  Left to raw reactions she might have stood up and snapped at him to get the fuck out of her house, but she didn’t. She just ... blinked.

  “I don’t mean to imply there’s any suspicion of wrongdoing that I’ve seen. Crime rates here are admirable, like I said. But let’s not forget the basic attitude of a biker club. It’s misogynistic. Women are not given a fair say.”

  She got to her feet at that, crossing to the sink and just standing there, trying to will back the panic she felt suddenly. What if that was all true? What if they’d been playing her along all this time, pretending to adhere to her authority in some ways and appreciating it when she let them rule the roost, in shit storms of their own making, but still …

  Hell, even Fritter meeting her might have been giving the club a few hours to do whatever the hell without fear of the Sheriff finding out.

  Fuck. What if they’d known all along?

  “Sharon? Shit, I have a big mouth. Sometimes I don’t say things as delicately as I should. And again, I’m not trying to question your professionalism. Please don’t think that. It’s the furthest thing from my mind. But if you think there’s some kind of friendship or courtesy with them, I just suggest you watch yourself carefully. Personally, I’d love to see you make sheriff again, in another election, on your own merits. But you might need to make a bit of space between you and them.”

  No problem there. She nodded, taking a deep breath. “Sorry. I’m overreacting, just ... jumbled. Maybe yesterday still has me rattled.”

  “Don’t worry about the kids. My friend’s working on finding their families, and the FBI has taken over the file. I can try to get reports to you if you want.”

  Sharon nodded, smiling and finally turning to face him. “Yes. Thank you.”

  “I don’t want to waltz into inappropriate territory here, but the next time I’m in Markham ... would it be okay if I took you out for dinner?”

  Another shot to the head. She studied him, for the first time in that way, and decided he was attractive. He was a few years’ older than her, well-kept. He had no sign of flabbiness to his face or neck, hard to tell about the midsection even with an ill-fitting suit. Clean-shaved, square jaw, red-blonde hair. Complexion that likely reddened in the heat and with alcohol. All in all, one of the better offers she’d ever had.

  “Um, sure.” She was stunned. Barely aware of what she was saying. But at least he was kind and career-appropriate and he’d asked, so there was that.

  “Great. I do have to go, catch my flight. But keep me up to date on the election, a
ll right, Sheriff?”

  Sharon nodded again. Hogan gave her a friendly smile, squeezed her elbow, then showed himself out.

  Huh. How about that.

  -oOo-

  Shortly before supper, just as she’d reached the end of her palms’ capacity to deal with the blisters, her son showed up, ready to eat. But he’d brought her a frozen pizza so he had it in the oven while she went to take a shower. They ate on the couch with some stupid comedy movie on the TV.

  “How’s the job search?” she asked, yanking a string of cheese to free her piece from the pizza.

  “Not good. Maybe everyone thinks they’ll have the sheriff breathing down their necks if they hire her son?” Brayden was trying to sound light-hearted but she knew it was getting him down. In Bakersfield they were overrun with part-time jobs.

  “Sorry honey. It’s tough hiring kids not from here, too. Maybe they think if they hire a local they might stay on for weekend shifts once school’s back in.”

  “Maybe.” He didn’t sound convince and glared at his pizza.

  “Something’ll come up.”

  “Only one place offered me something but I said I’d have to discuss it with you.”

  Sharon frowned, setting her slice on her plate and grabbing her napkin to wipe the sauce off her chin. Once the mouthful was gone she asked, “Where was that?”

  “Grainger’s Garage,” he looked sheepish and still wouldn’t look at her.

  “Oh, hell no, Brayden.”

  “I knew you’d say that,” he said defensively. “That’s why I said I’d ask.”

  “Who’d you talk to? And how did you know who they were?”

  “Well, first I was talking to Jolene. She’s really cool. And hot.”

  “Brayden.”

  “Sorry, but she is.”

  “Move the story along.”

  “Okay. Anyway, she said they need a detailer, part-time. Clean the cars once the repairs were done, wash the windows, dump the ashtrays, all that kind of thing. Thought I might also learn something about engines. Maybe.”

  She took a long drink of water. “You’re still into that stuff, hey?”

  Brayden shrugged, looking sheepish. “It might be stupid—”