Edge: A Tortured Heroes Novel Read online

  Edge

  A Tortured Heroes Novel

  Jayne Blue

  Nokay Press LLC

  Edge

  Tortured Heroes - Book Six

  By

  Jayne Blue

  * * *

  Copyright © 2018 by Jayne Blue/Nokay Press LLC

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the author or publisher, except where permitted by law or for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Contents

  Don’t Miss a Thing!

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  A Special Surprise for My Loyal Readers

  Also by Jayne Blue

  Don’t Miss a Thing!

  For exclusive news, sign up for my Jayne Blue’s Newsletter. You’ll get a FREE BOOK as a welcome gift!

  Chapter One

  Beckett

  One second. Not even. The edge between life and death. Kill or die. No right. No wrong. No gray. Fingers closed around my neck.

  Breathe. Choke. Squeeze. My field of vision narrowed. I could only see his brown eyes narrowing to slits. The whites became red. Tears spilled from the corners. A vein bulged near his temple as he pulled me down.

  I was here. Choking. Fading. But I was also there, sitting in the corner of the room, like a teacher observing his student.

  You have the advantage while his hands are around your neck. Use it, you idiot.

  I couldn’t reach the Nine. I only had my six-inch MK3 wedged in my belt. Numb fingers closed around the hilt.

  Don’t let him see you reach for it.

  I brought the blade up. Somehow, I brought the blade up. Sand swirled in from the open doorway, choking me as much as his grip did. Water poured from my own eyes.

  “Finch!” I don’t know who screamed. Connor? Henny? No. It was Jody. The face in front of me was Jody’s. Gray, lifeless. I squeezed his neck. No. Goddammit, no! Jody’s face faded into someone else’s.

  Don’t think. Don’t feel. Just push.

  Kill or die. No right. No wrong. No gray.

  Then it was me staring down into those cold brown eyes. Fear made him strong. I closed my fingers around his neck giving him the advantage as he reached for the knife in his pocket. I saw him go for it. But it was as if my limbs were encased in concrete. I couldn’t let go. I couldn’t react.

  One second. Not more. They killed all of us. Jody. Meathead. Tully. Powell. Brady and Henny were on the floor, bound and gagged.

  Kill or die.

  Blinding white light shattered the room. The sand billowed around me, then it was gone. I was on the ground, gripping the cold hardwood floors. My legs tangled in the bedsheets. Dissonant piano chords slammed into me. Trembling, I reached for the phone. I missed it on the first try. It tumbled down beside the bed, blinking.

  “Shit.”

  Sweat poured from the end of my nose as I reached under the bed and grabbed the phone.

  “Finch.” I choked out the sound of my own name. Trying to sound awake. Trying to sound normal. I tried to leave the desert behind.

  “Hey, boss.” A bright, cheery tenor voice greeted me on the other end. Deputy Crane Wendall always sounded like that. Didn’t matter the time of day or how long his shift. He always smiled when he talked. I could envision it now. His wide, gap-toothed grin put everyone in town at ease no matter how bad the news he had to deliver.

  “Hey, Wendall.”

  “Just checking in, boss,” he said. “You told me to call you if I didn’t see you bright-eyed and bushy-tailed by seven-thirty.”

  “Shit!” I got my feet under me. Pulling the phone from my ear, I noted the time. It was almost eight. I’d pulled a double shift yesterday. I’d only come home three hours ago. Wendall knew I could sleep like the dead. He didn’t judge. Still, I felt like an ass for needing the wake-up call.

  “Everything under control?” I asked. Here in Crystal Falls, Texas, population 6,159, it usually was. It’s why I came here. Why I agreed to take the job as sheriff. Technically, I was an under-sheriff. Appointed, not elected. That honor went to Bob Wendall, Crane’s uncle up in Burnet, the county seat. But Crystal Falls was my little corner of the Lonestar state.

  “Nothing major,” Crane reported. “Fender bender on Crabtree Lane, is all.”

  I got to my feet. “Shit. Emmett?”

  “Yep,” Crane said with a sigh. At ninety-eight, Emmett Poole was the town’s oldest citizen. His driveway was at the end of a sharp curve. There was no light or stop sign there and the whole town knew to slow their approach when they got near Emmett’s. He had a habit of blazing out of that curve without looking. This morning, an out-of-towner must have had the bad luck of coming upon him.

  “Just a few scrapes,” Crane said. “He refused medical treatment.”

  “What about the other driver?” I asked, pulling on my pants and fumbling for my gun belt.

  “Oh.” Crane sighed. “He’s all right. Can’t say the same for his fancy foreign car. Emmett’s fender chewed it up pretty good.”

  Emmett Poole drove a 1968 Chevy C10. That hunk of American-made steel would be no match for anything built after Y2K.

  “I’m on my way in,” I said. “Did you take the report?”

  “Grace did,” Crane said. “Emmett’s fit to be tied over it. She had no choice but to cite him though.”

  “Of course not. He’s probably going to lose his license over it. Judge Dupree’s been looking for a reason. I can’t say I blame him. Anything else?”

  Crane Wendall let out a breathy laugh. “Oh, nothing you can’t handle when you get here.”

  I could hear a high-pitched shout in the background. My heart sank. I knew that voice. Mrs. Garnett Morris, the second oldest citizen of Crystal Falls, Texas, was hopping mad and probably headed for my office.

  “I’ll be there in fifteen,” I told Deputy Wendall, then clicked off the phone.

  I splashed cold water on my face, grabbed a clean shirt, and stuffed my Nine in my side holster. It was part of me. Military issue. I had one just like it issued by the sheriff’s department, but I kept that one under the mattress. The one I carried day in and day out had been with me since before my first deployment, back in SQT days. I’d never give it up.

  A bright Texas sun shone in my eyes as I drove the mile and a half from my place to headquarters. C.F.S.D had offices located in a brick, turn-of-the-century, three-story. Oh, they’d gutted the place years ago, modifying it for us. Only the outside was still original. A county ordinance required even government buildings adhere to the old-style architecture of Crystal Falls. In more ways than one, this place was a time capsule to something older, simpler, quieter. It’s why I came here six years ago. I thought it would help. I th
ought it would save me. The jury was still out on whether I’d been right.

  “Hey, Chief!”

  Ramona Dale, our civilian clerk, greeted me with a smile and a wave. She and Crane Wendall were cut from the same cloth. Ramona had broad shoulders and a manly build. She’d been a professional wrestler in her youth and could still bench press one hundred and fifty pounds in her mid-fifties. I’d inherited her along with most of the rest of my staff. Only an old back injury had kept her from becoming an officer. A selfish part of me was grateful. This place wouldn’t run as efficiently as it did without her.

  “Hey, Mona,” I said, trying to put a smile on my face. My night terrors still clouded my thoughts and a line of sweat that had nothing to do with the Texas heat trickled between my shoulder blades.

  “Your coffee’s still hot,” she said. “I told Crane not to call you in. There’s nothing going on we can’t handle.”

  A bang and a crash made Ramona wince. She plastered her smile back in place. “Oh really?” I said, reaching for the steaming mug of black coffee she’d poured me. “How long has she been here?”

  Garnett Morris had Crane backed against the wall waving her oak cane in his face. She had a pile of cotton-candy hair on top of her head dyed the color of sunset. Even at eighty-nine, she could be lethal with that cane. A couple of years ago, some kids from out of town tried to mug her. She put one of them in the hospital with a crushed larynx. She looked ready to do the same to poor Crane when I scooted through the gate separating the lobby from our bullpen.

  “Garnett!” I shouted, getting to her just before she pressed the butt of her cane in Crane’s chest. She turned on me but planted her cane back on the ground where it belonged.

  “How many times do I have to come in here? I know damn well y’all don’t like seein’ my face any more than I like seein’ yours!”

  “Gracious good morning to you too,” I said, trying to emulate Crane and Ramona’s smiles. I knew I fell woefully short. That and Garnett’s bullshit meter was finely calibrated.

  “Three days in a row,” she said. “From six to noon. Right in front of my store. Three of ’em.”

  I scratched my chin and locked eyes with Crane. He gave me a hopeless smile and shrugged. Garnett had the habit of talking in riddles or only giving half the information. It was a test to see whether her listeners were worth her time. I found it best to play along until I figured out what the hell she was talking about.

  Garnett had an antique store in the center of downtown. Well, as much as you could call it a downtown. Crystal Falls had one street light and four city blocks. Garnett’s Treasures had been here since the sixties with her at the helm. It was one of our main tourist attractions. That and Devil’s Hole just outside of town.

  “Three of ’em?” I played along. “Same ones?”

  She shot me a scowl. “I took down license plates. You’re welcome!”

  Ah. So there we had it. Garnett was pissed about cars parked on the public street in front of her building. By the look in her blazing green eyes, I figured it was fruitless to define the word public to her again.

  “They’re from that hippie store,” she said.

  “Hippie store?” I looked at Crane for help. He gave me a worthless shrug.

  Garnett slammed her cane into the ground again. “Overpriced coffee. We’ve got no use for that in this town. Next thing you know, it’ll be one of those Starbrooks places. Then we’re all shot to hell.”

  I shook my head. There was no use arguing with Garnett when she got like this.

  “We’ve got rules, don’t we?” she said. “Isn’t it your job to enforce ’em? I can’t have my customers put out. Two hours. That’s the limit. That’s what your signs say. That’s what I pay my taxes for.”

  Garnett pulled a crumpled piece of paper from her skirt pocket and shoved it in my hand. In her looping scrawl, she’d written three plate numbers. “I’ll save you the trouble, Columbo,” she said. “One of ’em is still parked there. Now you go do your job and write a ticket. Call a tow truck.”

  She slammed her cane against the ground one last time, then pushed past me. Crane stood dumbstruck as Garnett shoved open the bullpen gate and stormed out of the lobby.

  “Well.” Ramona sighed. “There you have it. Happy Monday. Sorry, Chief.”

  She insisted on calling me that even though I was a deputy sheriff. Like with Garnett, I’d learned there was no use arguing these minor points.

  “You want me to head over there?” Crane said, swallowing hard.

  I stuffed Garnett’s piece of paper in my breast pocket and shook my head. “Nah. I’ve been meaning to pay a visit to the hippie coffee place ever since it opened a few weeks ago. Haven’t met the owner yet. Anybody know anything about him?”

  “Her,” Ramona and Crane answered together.

  Ramona leaned over and handed me a flyer she’d produced from a neat stack of papers on her desk. Lila’s Specialty Cakes & Coffee was written in looping calligraphy across the top.

  “Anybody had any dealings with this Lila?” I asked, sipping my own black coffee. Though Garnett was jumping to ridiculous conclusions, I could see her side of it. Lottie’s Diner right across the street had the best pie and coffee I’d ever tasted. People around here were set in their ways, including me. Whoever this Lila was might be in for some serious disappointment. Plus, that particular piece of real estate had been somewhat of a retail No Man’s Land over the years.

  “Nope,” Crane said. “Nice lady. Pretty smile. But she’s new in town.”

  He said the last bit like it was a curse. In a way, it was. I sort of felt sorry for the woman. Bad luck location and she was an outsider. I knew what that felt like. But the people of Crystal Falls had embraced me. Abrasive though she was, Garnett Morris had a lot to do with that. Her husband had been a Navy man too, it turned out. He’d been KIA in Korea. She never remarried. She never had kids. Her store and this town were her life. And though it was hard to tell, the woman had a soft spot for me.

  “I’ll head on over,” I said. “Any chance Garnett’s parking bandit isn’t even a customer of Lila’s?”

  Crane shrugged. We all knew Garnett was probably right. Not that it mattered.

  “Chief,” Ramona said. “Why don’t you let Crane or one of the other deputies handle this? It’s beneath you.”

  Laughing, I grabbed my campaign hat from a hook on the wall. “Look, if it were a bee in anyone else’s bonnet but Garnett’s, I’d just ignore it. But we all know she’s going to start making more trouble if I don’t give her the satisfaction of a little personal attention. It’ll take ten minutes out of my day and earn us a hell of a lot more than that in peace.”

  “You’re not wrong,” Ramona said, sighing as she straightened a stack of files on her desk. I tipped my hat to her and headed out the back door.

  Late March and still a hot sun blasted me in the face. Dry heat. For a moment, it felt like desert heat. I shook it off. It was nothing more than the ghosts of a different past haunting me today. I slipped behind the wheel of my cruiser and flipped the visor down.

  I was home. I was safe. I’d left those blood-rimmed brown eyes far in the distance. Kill or die. But I had lived.

  I drove the three blocks to downtown and parked my cruiser parallel to the curb just near the stone water fountain in the middle of the town square.

  Garnett’s store was already filled with customers and it wasn’t even nine o’clock yet. On a Monday, no less. Nobody knew exactly how much she raked in but she was a millionaire a couple of times over. The woman was harmless unless she chose not to be. Today’s excursion was really to keep a headache from reaching Bob Wendall’s doorstep. He was up for reelection this November. Garnett was his main donor and she knew it.

  Lila’s Cakes and Coffee occupied the space at the end of the street. The building hadn’t been touched except for the new sign, shingle-style with bright-pink lettering and a steaming cup of coffee painted next to it. Bright. Cheery. New. It was tha
t last bit that bothered Garnett more than anything else.

  I put my hat in my hands and pushed through the front door of Lila’s. The heavenly scent of freshly baked donuts and flavored coffee made my stomach flip with pleasure. Maybe I’d misjudged the potential for success here. Sure enough, there was just one empty seat at Lila’s counter. No wonder Garnett felt threatened. It had nothing to do with the parking spaces.

  The place retained the mid-century charm of the ice cream parlor and soda shop that used to be here. Pink leather stools with chrome trim. Deep booths and white countertops. I couldn’t believe the transformation. The last failed business that had occupied this building was a paint store. Before that, it had been a bookstore.

  I stood in the doorway, inhaling the sweet aroma of cinnamon rolls. That alone got my heart racing. When I stepped up to the counter, the air went straight out of me.

  She was bent over, reaching for spoons on a tray beneath the cash register. Have mercy. She had the roundest, tightest ass I’d ever seen. She wore white cotton shorts that barely covered. Her long, tan legs stretched for miles as she tottered on high wedge sandals. When she straightened, the blood rushed straight to my dick. She wore a tight top with puffy sleeves that showed a hint of cleavage. It was the kind of outfit you see on pin-up girls from the fifties with a red scarf tied around her neck. She even wore her black hair in a retro style, smooth and curled under.

  “Good morning, Sheriff.” She smiled. Her voice was bright, but with a slightly smoky quality. Good God in heaven. My heart flipped when I reached for her extended hand. She had emerald-green eyes that seared right through me.