Golden Trail

  Layne got close to Rocky and touched the small of her back with his hand. She was lost in thought even though she was looking right at him so when his fingers hit her, she jumped and her head tipped further back.

  “Have a seat at the island, Roc,” he invited.

  “Right,” she whispered and moved to the island.

  She took a seat, Layne leaned against the end closest to her stool, Tripp leaned forward on the island in front of her with his own soda and Jasper re-entered the room with his arms filled with a variety of groceries.

  “So, Mrs. Astley –” Tripp started but she interrupted him.

  “How about, if we’re not in a building with lockers in it, you call me Rocky?” she suggested, “That work for you?”

  “Cool!” Tripp shouted, “And since you and Dad are gonna be an item, can I tell my friends I call you Rocky when I’m not in a building with lockers in it?”

  “Tripp,” Layne used a warning tone.

  “Dude, you don’t have to tell them shit,” Jasper advised, standing at the stove and dumping pasta in water. “They ask questions, you just say, ‘Dad says I’m not allowed to talk about that,’ or, ‘we had a family meeting and we decided not to talk about home time’. That way, they have no clue what’s goin’ on and they make everything up in their head. That’s way better.”

  Seriously, if it ever was in question, Layne knew for certain in that moment Jasper was definitely his son.

  Rocky laughed before she agreed with Jasper. “You’re right, Jasper, imagination is a powerful thing.”

  Jasper threw Rocky an arrogant grin and then ordered, “Tripp, dude, get me a package of hamburger.”

  “Gotcha,” Tripp said and rushed to the fridge.

  Tripp got Jasper the hamburger meat while Jas pulled out another pan and Rocky and Layne sipped at their beers. Then Tripp returned to the island while Jasper opened the meat and dumped it in the pan, turning on the burner.

  Then Tripp looked at Raquel, he grinned, then looked over his shoulder at his brother.

  “So, Jas,” he called, “since we got a hot chick here, you should ask for advice on how to get Keira Winters to go out on a date with you.”

  Oh fuck.

  Jasper turned slowly from the stove, ice cold badass gone, he was pissed.

  Layne moved quickly which was good since Jasper lunged, shouting, “You dick!”

  Layne got in between them, lifting up a hand which caught Jasper dead in the chest.

  “Stand down, Jas,” Layne warned.

  Jasper strained against Layne’s hand, his eyes locked on his brother, his arms reaching for him and he repeated, “You dick!”

  “Bud, cool it,” Layne ordered.

  “I’m just sayin’!” Tripp shouted back, sounding upset and confused, his comment was innocent and Layne decided that lessons on being cool in a variety of ways were at the top of the agenda for their breakfast conversation the next morning. “Mrs. As… I mean, Rocky’s pretty, she should know how pretty girls think.”

  “Shut… up, Tripp!” Jasper shouted, still straining.

  “Jasper,” Rocky called softly in a way that all three Layne Men turned their attention to her and Layne felt Jasper’s body go still. “Keira Winters stands outside my door with her friend Heather between second and third period every day.”

  She stopped talking but her eyes stayed on Jasper.

  “I know,” Jasper grunted, those two words forced.

  “Do you know why?” Rocky asked and Layne didn’t look away from her but Jasper must have shaken his head because she kept talking and she did it even more softly. “Because you walk by my classroom every day between second and third period.”

  The power of Jasper’s body left Layne’s hand when he moved back an inch.

  Rocky carried on. “They talk, I’ve heard them and… well, we girls don’t tell each other’s secrets but…” she hesitated and Layne watched her face change, it was almost the look she used to give him, without her eyes going half-mast, but they got warm and her mouth got soft and she whispered, “I think the best way to get Keira Winters to go out with you is just ask.”

  Then she smiled at his son, giving him her dimple, her eyes warm and it took effort but Layne forced his gaze from her and he looked at Jasper.

  Jasper was staring at Raquel with a version of the expression he’d given his old man twice that day. It wasn’t the same but it was nearly as golden. Then Layne watched Jasper smile back at her.

  And Layne knew Jasper loved him, once, he knew when Jasper was a little kid that he and his son had a bond that Layne broke when he divorced Jasper’s Mom and took off, only seeing his kids a couple of times a year when he’d come home or they’d come to wherever he was to visit. And he knew Jasper felt abandoned and betrayed. He just didn’t know how to heal that or if he ever would.

  So he knew Jasper didn’t want much to do with his old man but seeing him standing there with that golden look of hope in his eyes about a girl he liked, Layne didn’t care.

  His hand was already in the air so he moved it slightly and curled his fingers around Jasper’s neck, giving him a firm squeeze. Jasper’s eyes moved to him, that golden hope shone on Layne in that moment and Layne didn’t want to lose it and he knew it would be lost when Jasper came back to himself. So Layne quickly gave him another squeeze then a gentle shove, released him and turned away.

  Therefore, he missed the fact that the golden hope had changed, gone deeper as Jasper’s eyes stayed on his Dad’s back as his father walked away.

  And since he was watching his feet hit the floor, he missed Rocky’s eyes go half-mast and her mouth staying soft as she watched him walk away from his son.

  * * * * *

  He felt her mouth touch his then slide to his jaw, up his jaw and to his ear.

  Then Rocky whispered, “Wake up, baby.”

  * * * * *

  Layne heard those words in his head at the same time he heard dog tags in the room and his eyes opened.

  He was at an angle on the couch, slouched, his feet on the coffee table. The TV was on but low, some sports talk show. There were lamps lit, not many of them.

  He looked to the left to see Rocky, her sandals on the floor, curled barefoot in the armchair, knees up and lying on the armrest, head twisted and resting on the pillowed back of the reclined chair. She was asleep.

  “Dad,” Jasper called quietly and Layne looked up to see his son standing beside him looking down. “Tripp’s already upstairs. You cool?”

  “Yeah, Jas,” Layne replied, straightening in the couch. “You goin’ up?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Turn out the lights, yeah?”

  Jasper looked across the room at Rocky then back at Layne. “All right, Dad.”

  “’Night, Bud.”

  “’Night.”

  Jasper walked away, Blondie came forward and butted his knee with her nose so Layne bent to her, giving her head and neck a rubdown while the lights went out one by one. When they were in darkness outside of a light coming down the stairs, he pushed her off and she got the hint, jogging after Jasper up the stairs.

  Layne put his elbows to his knees and turned his head to Rocky.

  Pasta bake had been a hit. It was just hamburger meat, spaghetti sauce and penne mixed together, dumped into a dish, smothered in mozzarella and baked but it was still good. This was mainly because it was smothered in a ton of mozzarella about which Jasper had stated confidently, “Cheese makes everything awesome.”

  They’d eaten in front of the TV watching sitcoms which Rocky had laughed through, once so hard she had to curl her arms around her stomach and lean forward, tears streaming from her eyes. They’d graduated to a gritty cop drama during which Rocky fell asleep, probably having had as much sleep as he did last night. Both Tripp and Jasper had noticed and Layne had given them looks to ignore it and keep quiet.

  Then Layne had fallen asleep.

  He looked at the time on the DVD player, just after eleven o’cloc
k.

  Then he looked back at Rocky.

  Then he made a decision.

  He walked to her and slid an arm behind her knees, one at her waist and he lifted her up. He figured she’d wake but her head fell heavy on his shoulder then slid forward so her forehead was pressed to his neck and he remembered then that he should have known she wouldn’t wake. If she was out, as in out out, Rocky slept like the dead.

  And she didn’t wake until he bent to put her in his bed.

  “Layne?” Her voice was groggy, her head came up and she glanced around.

  Then her body went alert.

  “What –?” she started, her voice sounding not groggy anymore.

  “Shh, Roc,” he murmured, setting her seated on the side of his bed.

  Her head tipped back to look at him and her palms went into the bed to push herself up. He quickly twisted to turn on the bedside light and just as quickly moved back to her, planting a fist in the bed on both sides of her hips, taking his face close to hers so she reared back.

  “You sleep in a bed tonight,” he whispered and watched her eyes get wide and her lips part.

  Then she whispered back, “I don’t think –”

  “Your car’s in my drive,” he told her.

  “So?” she asked.

  “Imagination is a powerful thing, baby,” he repeated her words of earlier that night then before she could protest, he pushed away, went to the dresser, grabbed one of his tees and a pair of pajama bottoms and he went back to her. He dropped his tee in her lap and her head tipped down to look at it as he reached beyond her to nab a pillow.

  Then he turned and walked from the room, going to the linen closet in the boys’ bathroom, he snagged a blanket, turned off the upstairs light and went downstairs to the couch. He tossed down the pillow and blanket, changed to his pajamas and settled into the couch.

  He waited for her to come down in order to sneak out and he did this awhile.

  She didn’t come down.

  Then he laid there thinking of Rocky wearing his tee and sleeping in his bed.

  Then he muttered, “Christ,” turned to his side and, after awhile, found sleep.

  Chapter Six

  Nepotism

  Layne moved through his closet, pulling out a sweater to yank over his tee to wear to the game.

  The last couple of weeks they’d had Indian Summer.

  That morning, he’d discovered, Fall had hit and it had done it with a vengeance.

  That morning, he’d also woken up to a note on the island from Rocky addressed to him and his boys thanking them for dinner with a postscript to Layne saying she’d see him that night. That was all she left, except the vague scent of her perfume in his bedroom and his tee folded on the bed she’d made, a tee which held a not-so-vague hint of her perfume.

  He was not happy she’d left like that but he gave her that play. What they were doing wasn’t easy on him and he reckoned it was just as difficult for her.

  Tripp came down first, as usual, and Layne had taken the opportunity with Jasper not around to give a few pointers to his younger son about being cool, for his sake but mostly for his brother’s. He explained that Keira Winters was not just one of Jas’s “babes” and that Tripp would be doing his brother a favor if he kept his mouth shut and just let his brother make his moves with silent support.

  Tripp got it, promised he’d be cool and Layne knew he would. Jasper kept his thoughts and feelings to himself most of the time but Tripp wore his heart on his sleeve. He felt shit for pissing off his brother the night before and he wouldn’t do that again, innocently trying to help or not.

  The boys went to school and Layne went into the office, checked his e-mail and voicemail, returned them, went through his post and wished he had a receptionist because he did not like to be in the office returning e-mails and voicemails.

  He liked to be in the field. If he had to be in the office, he preferred to be doing computer investigations but even that wasn’t his favorite activity. Luckily, the post included a paid invoice, the check relatively substantial, for a job Layne completed prior to getting shot.

  A receptionist had been on the cards six weeks ago. Now she was not. It would take a fair few more substantial invoices being paid before an ad in the newspaper was scratched on top of his to-do list.

  He made an appointment with a potential client and took an appointment with a client who he’d called the day before to tell him that the job was done. The guy was not thrilled with the results of Layne’s investigation but then no man whose wedding was scheduled for three weeks away liked seeing video of his bride-to-be, high on E, taking it from behind while she sucked someone off at the front. Then again, his client was a spoiled rich kid who fell for an admittedly gorgeous party girl and thought she’d snap to when offered a life of champagne cocktails and charity receptions with vacations in the Swiss Alps. Clearly, at twenty-one, she wasn’t done partying in all the forms that could take.

  Spoiled rich kid or not, Layne felt for him as he walked him to his front office door. He loved her, it was plain to see, and a future he thought was bright suddenly wasn’t so bright anymore and Layne knew exactly how that felt.

  After the client left, he was shutting down the office and trying to decide if he should pay a visit to Stew at work or go into Indy and follow the husband of a woman who was convinced he was fucking around on her during his lunch hour (even though Layne had followed the guy to a variety of restaurants on a variety of occasions, not to mention doing extra time following him home, just in case, for the last week and for a month prior to him getting shot and the guy didn’t even look at his waitresses too long) when his cell went.

  He nabbed it off his desk, flipped it open and put it to his ear.

  “Layne.”

  “Big man, gonna be at Mimi’s in five. Could you use a coffee?” Merry asked in his ear.

  “See you there in five,” Layne replied.

  Five minutes later, Layne had an Americano and Merry’s cappuccino and was sitting at the table in Mimi’s that had the words, “Feb’s spot, sit here and die” carved into it. Layne had learned from Mimi months ago that Colt’s wife, February, sat at that table a lot prior to hooking back up with Colt and Mimi’s kids thought her clientele should be aware of the fact that, if Feb was there, she had a reserved seat.

  He’d also met Mimi’s kids in the meantime and found Mimi was lucky they only carved the words into the table rather than using a flamethrower to mark the entire wall around it.

  Merry came in, eyes on Layne, and made a bee-line.

  “Hey Merry,” Mimi called from behind the counter.

  “Hey Meems,” Merry called back as he arrived at the table and looked down at his mug. “Tanner, buddy, no cookie?”

  “You wanna keep gettin’ laid, Garrett, you can’t get a gut. That cappuccino is skinny. Just lookin’ out for you, man.”

  Merry grinned at him and patted his flat abs before he sat down, muttering, “Good friends like you, hard to find.”

  He meant that in more than one way and Layne studied him closely.

  Merry didn’t make him wait for it. “Hear Rocky’s got herself a new beau.”

  “Merry,” Layne murmured.

  Merry leaned forward and whispered, “Wildfire, big man, it’s all over town her Merc didn’t leave your drive last night.”

  Jesus, it was barely eleven o’clock. Fucking hell, but Natalie Ulrich had a big mouth.

  “What I wanna know is, in less than twenty-four hours, how do you two go from not acknowledging each other’s existence to Roc spending the night at your house?”

  “It was more like thirty-four hours,” Layne corrected him.

  “Whatever, Tanner, how –?”

  Layne cut him off. “I was at the Station when she made her first play on Rutledge.”

  Light dawned and Merry sat back on a smile. “Not good timing.”

  “No,” Layne agreed.

  “So, you saw the play and decided to deflect
it by smacking Raquel Astley’s ass in the middle of the bullpen on a Thursday afternoon?” Merry asked.

  “Seemed a good way to go,” Layne answered and Merry’s smile got bigger.

  Then he asked, “Now, you wanna tell me how that leads to her car at your house?”

  “We chatted, I explained the faults in her plan, she saw my logic, we decided to play Rutledge another way.”

  “You gonna let me in on that?”

  “Yeah,” Layne said and didn’t make him wait either. He leaned forward and his voice dropped before he explained. “She and I are faking a reconcile…” he started then he went on to tell Merry the entirety of the plan while Merry listened without saying a word.

  When Layne was done, Merry stated, “Gotta say, not happy she’s involved in this shit at all but at least I like this better than Roc’s scheme.”

  “I do too. An additional benefit is that I’m gonna make it so Astley hears, and sees, if I can manage it, a lot of shit that he’s not gonna like. He shoved his piece down Rocky’s throat, I’m crawlin’ down his.”

  Merry’s smile turned cruel. It was a smile Layne had seen before, not often, but he’d seen it. Merry was a cop and therefore his sense of justice was highly tuned. But Merry was Merry and his personal sense of justice, especially when it came to his sister, was another matter altogether.

  Through his smile, Merry whispered, “I’m with you, brother.”

  “Good,” Layne returned. “Then I need you to do two things. One, brief Dave about this shit and two, give me intel on how I can hit Astley the hardest.”

  “You two don’t move in the same social circles, Layne.”

  “Doesn’t mean I can’t find ways for him to see me and see me with Rocky.”

  Merry lifted his chin. “I’ll put together what I know, e-mail it to you.”

  Layne sat back and nodded.

  Then he changed the subject. “You got anything on Stew?”

  Merry shook his head. “Zilch. Heard you talked to Colt and Sully.”

  “Yesterday, after I dealt with Rocky. Found out Colt, particularly, is not a big fan of Stew’s rather than just generally thinking he’s a fuckwad like everyone else does. They’re happy to nose around.” He lifted his mug and took a swallow then muttered, “Even so, it’s lookin’ like I’m gonna hafta give that time.”