Colorado 03 Lady Luck (37 page)

He should have known considering Ella got
a wild hair on the previous Sunday, announcing that she
had
to give them a wedding gift.
He’d tried to refuse attendance at this event and all four of them
had leaned on him. He couldn’t bear up, not under Lexie’s pleading
so he’d caved and gone. He shouldn’t have. For some reason, Lex was
in ecstasy (though she repeated over and over, “You shouldn’t. We
couldn’t accept,” then she did) when Ella bought them a KitchenAid
mixer. Again, the two remaining sisters went straight into
one-upping their mother. This led to Bessie buying them two bags of
kitchen shit, more than half of it he didn’t even know what the
fuck it was and the half of it he did know what it was consisted
mostly of bowls and spoons. He didn’t think a kitchen needed that
many bowls and spoons but, regardless, now they had them. Then they
dragged him from the mall into Carnal where Honey added what Lexie
called a “crock” to their gray pottery collection as well as a trio
of tall candlesticks Lexie arranged on the hearth. He got it when
the crock was set on the kitchen counter and filled with her
spoons.

It all looked good.

He still didn’t have to be there during
their purchases.

Even though most of this was a pain in his
ass, some of it a serious pain in his ass, he’d be lying if he said
on a certain level he didn’t enjoy it. And that level was partly
about watching his wife with her family, knowing she was happy,
watching her spend time with people she loved. But it was also
about getting it, why she was loyal to them, why she cared so much
about them. Never in his life had he experienced family like that
and it took some time but even from the first they accepted him
then they softened towards him then they sucked him in. They were
why Lexie was who she was, open, affectionate, touchy, honest,
funny and, the longer he was with them, the more of that they
treated him to.

And he liked it.

But he also liked that they trailed him and
his wife downstairs to the Viper that morning when he was on his
way to work in order to give him hugs. Then they wandered to the
end of the garage to wave him sleepily away because in an hour they
were going to climb into their rental truck and haul their asses
home.

And he liked it because he wanted his wife
back, selfish but he didn’t give a fuck.

And he also wanted unlimited and
unencumbered access to his wife’s body back.

The stairs led directly to their room, no
door. And seeing as this was the case, Lexie wasn’t comfortable
having sex in their bedroom, telling him she was worried they’d
hear. This limited them to the shower which meant that Ty decreed
she’d have two, every day, just like him.

But after two very fucking long weeks, he’d
used up his shower creativity and he was done with limits.

And he knew Lexie loved her family but last
night, he’d learned she was done too. He’d learned this when he
firmly led her to the shower and she’d firmly pulled her hand out
of his and walked to the tub. Then she’d filled it. Then she’d led
him to it.

He couldn’t remember if he’d taken a bath
since he was a kid.

He would be taking them in the future.

And his gait quickened because tonight he
could fuck his wife in their bed, on the couch, on the fucking
stairs if he had a mind to.

And he had a mind to do all three.

So it was time to get his ass home.

He walked out the doors to the gym which was
in Chantelle. It was a haul but it was also a boxer’s gym, which
meant limited use by women and the women who used it were boxers
and there to train, not preen, show off their outfits or find a man
who cared about his body who would get them off. He’d heard word
there was a gym in Carnal with a personal trainer who could kick
ass. He had not tried this because the man’s boot camps were
co-ed.

This was what he was thinking as he walked
out the doors and automatically scanned the parking lot.

And this was what erased from his mind when
he saw the pickup. Model a few years old and taken care of. Some
upgrades in order to add flash, not too many not because the owner
didn’t like flash but because he couldn’t afford it.

And Walker knew this because the owner was
leaning against the driver’s side door. He was Hispanic. And the
plates were from Texas.

Fuck!

They locked eyes and Walker held his gaze as
he moved to the Viper. The man pushed away from his truck when
Walker neared the Snake. Walker looked away to bleep the locks,
open the driver’s side door and toss his bag across the driver’s
seat to the passenger’s. Then he slammed the door, turned and
rested back against the car, arms across his chest, legs crossed at
his ankles, eyes leveled at the man.

In the past two weeks, they’d had no meeting
but Walker had had the chance to get a brief from Tate about Angel
Peña though it wasn’t thorough. This was because Peña was liked and
Tate couldn’t dig too deep without pinging on radar. He knew he was
a respected cop. He knew he’d had commendations. He knew that Peña
considered his occupation a calling, not a job. He knew that Peña’s
tactics were controversial. And he knew this was overlooked because
his close rate on cases was exceptionally high.

Now he saw he was short, Lexie’s height
which meant she’d tower over him in her heels. Decent enough
looking guy but Walker was no woman so he really had no clue. Liked
his mama’s cooking if the slight gut that protruded over his big
belt buckle was anything to go by. Knew to take care of himself
anyway because the rest of him was made like a bulldog, strong,
tough and bulky. Walker also knew he was a proud Texan as well as a
proud Mexican just by the pickup but the cowboy boots, Wrangler
jeans, Western-stitched sports jacket and plaid shirt with those
pearl snap buttons told the rest of the story, especially
considering his belt buckle had a Mexican flag on it.

He stopped three feet away.

“Tyrell Walker,” he stated.

“Detective Angel Peña,” Walker replied.

There it was. Neither had the upper hand.
Not yet.

Peña’s gaze slid to the Viper then back to
Walker.

“Nice wheels,” he remarked.

Walker did not reply.

Peña held his eyes, surprisingly not
uncomfortable with the height difference that was near to a foot.
The world did not fit Walker’s height or size nor did most of the
people in it. He had never had a problem with this. He’d duck his
head every once in awhile knowing his frame intimidated most men,
his bulk made them underestimate his speed and both (for some you
could add his color) made most people, men and women, mistake his
intelligence. This put him at a near constant advantage.

It occurred to him vaguely at that point
that Lexie was one of the few women who fit him. Even in bare feet,
she was tall for a woman. But she wore heels almost all the time.
He didn’t have to bend or stoop as much with his wife.

He liked this too.

But now, he saw that Peña was not
intimidated and he also didn’t underestimate Walker. He found this
surprising and disquieting.

This meant Peña had spent some time digging
and he’d dug deep. Walker just had no idea what he’d found.

“Figure,” Peña ended their silence, “you
know I got an interest in Alexa Berry.”

“Walker.” His correction was a low, swift,
deliberate rumble and he was shocked as shit to see his response
surprised Peña so much it took two seconds for the man to hide
it.

“What?” Peña asked softly.

“Walker,” he repeated. “Lexie’s last name is
now Walker.”

Peña, face now closed, studied Walker but
even with his face closed off, he did it intently.

Walker let him then he was done letting
him.

“Got a wife to get home to, Peña. You gonna
stare at me much longer?”

Peña blinked. Then he asked quietly, “How is
she?”

“She’s the wife of a man who doesn’t like it
much when a man he doesn’t know asks how she is.”

“That’s an interesting response, Tyrell,”
Peña noted.

Walker did not reply even though he wanted
to tell him not to call him Tyrell. His mother called him Tyrell.
When his father was pissed, which was often, he called him Tyrell.
Therefore no one called him Tyrell.

But he didn’t tell him this.

Peña carried on. “She’s a friend.”

“
Now
that’s
interesting considering she hasn’t mentioned
you.”

Another score. That one hurt. He thought he
factored larger in her life.

“Things she’s tryin’ to forget, I reckon,”
Peña guessed inaccurately.

And Walker didn’t hesitate to inform him of
this fact. “You’d reckon wrong. Lexie doesn’t need to forget. She’s
smart enough to learn the lessons life’s got for her, eyes open, no
bullshit.”

“That may be so but that doesn’t mean there
aren’t things she wants to leave in the past,” Peña returned.

“You got one right,” Walker told him, his
point hard to miss and he was done so he decided to move them in
that direction. “You come all this way for this shit?”

“
She’s worth the drive
and
the vacation time.”

It was a true answer but it was one he
didn’t want to hear.

Therefore Walker moved. Pushing away from
the Snake, he shifted to open the door, again making a point that
was hard to miss.

Peña didn’t miss it but Peña also wasn’t
done.

“Win those wheels at a game?” he asked and
Walker slid his eyes to him as he opened the door and started to
move around it in order to the fold into the car. Peña knew he
didn’t have a lot of time and kept going. “Know you got the talent
not to fuck around. Been years but circles in Dallas still talk
about you. Wouldn’t sit a game without at least a twenty-five K
buy-in.”

Walker kept moving.

Peña kept talking. “Makes a man wonder why,
you drive a Snake, you sit only high stakes games, yet over a three
day weekend you’d haul your ass in a fuckin’ car across three
states to sit a game with four men who, all together, couldn’t
offer up five K much less twenty-five each.”

Walker stopped, straightened and turned
inside the door.

And he did this because Peña had just shown
how deep he’d dug.

Walker gave him his attention but nothing
more.

“If just for the fuck of it, why didn’t you
fly?” Peña asked. “You had the cake. Here to LA and back again, sit
a table and kill a man… that’s a lot to fit in in three days.”

Walker didn’t respond.

Peña wasn’t looking for a response. Peña was
happy to deliver a monologue.

“Though you take a flight, they got records.
You sit your ass in a car, no one knows.” He paused; Walker gave
him nothing so he kept going. “Couldn’t see why it was for the fuck
of it either. You don’t care the company you keep at a game, that’s
true enough, but they at least have to bring something to the
table.”

Walker kept silent.

Peña pressed on. “You sit with men who got
tens of thousands of cash and collateral on the line, you walk away
a winner, a big winner, every time. Then you sit with men who got
shit, who are not known to sit a game of cards, total amateurs, you
lose huge? How’s that happen?”

Walker didn’t move or say a word.

Peña kept going. “Lose so huge, it pisses
you off. You, a seasoned player, a seasoned player who had to walk
away down from some tables somewhere along the line. You knew the
score. Never an incident but you lose to some scumbag drug dealer
in LA, you get so pissed, you track his ass down, shoot him four
times and a part-construction worker, part-mechanic smart enough to
get himself a Snake is dumb enough to leave his prints at the
scene. How’s
that
happen?”

Walker turned fully to him and crossed his
arms on his chest.

Peña held his gaze.

Then he took a step forward and said
quietly, “Got a source says some preliminary witness statements
were buried. You know that?”

He didn’t. He had no idea. That would have
been big,
huge
, years
ago.

Now it didn’t matter.

Therefore, he still didn’t speak.

“Conflicting accounts on a variety of
things. Your description, the amount you lost at the game, time
line. Seems the witnesses hadn’t been thoroughly briefed,” Peña
dropped that bomb, gave a bit of it away, paused for a reaction
then when he didn’t get one, he pressed on. “Got their stories
straight in the end, though.”

Fuck him.
Fuck him.
Under six weeks and Peña got further than Tate. A
lot further.

Walker made no reply.

Peña didn’t need it. “Two of those men who
sat that table with you were CIs to a Detective Chet Palmer,
LAPD.”

Walker said nothing.

Peña continued. “And Detective Chet Palmer
works in a different precinct but still, he’s godfather to Gene
Fuller’s daughter.” He held Walker’s eyes and kept talking quietly.
“You gettin’ the connection I’m givin’ to you?”

Walker finally spoke. “This is not
news.”

“Jackson.” This time, Peña guessed correctly
that Tate had uncovered the last part years ago.

Walker didn’t confirm. He didn’t need
to.

“You want real news?” Peña asked.

“If you got it,” Walker answered.

Peña studied him and he did this awhile.

Then he laid it out.

“
Your gun, the murder weapon was never
recovered.” He ignored the tightening of Walker’s jaw at the
mention of “his gun” something he knew his way around but he’d
never owned until Shift gave him one, and Peña kept going. “But it
didn’t disappear. Know this because another dealer done in LA had a
ballistics match to that gun, took me a bit to uncover that, even
my source out there balked ‘cause that information was buried so
deep. I’m sure it won’t surprise you that another brother got
fingered for that, witnesses, prints at the scene, motive,
opportunity, overwhelming evidence even if the murder weapon was
never recovered. He was goin’ down but he’d been down before. Gang
shit. Small time he didn’t enjoy. Learned his lesson. Got out. Kept
clean.” Peña leaned in, lost it for a moment and hissed,
“
Volunteered
at
the local Boy’s Club to keep kids outta gangs.” Peña leaned back,
sucked in breath to pull it together again before he finished,
“Didn’t like his time, knew he was facin’ more, maybe knew why,
definitely knew who he was up against. Wasn’t gonna go down and
found his way to run away from that forever and he did it hangin’
from a beam in his Momma’s garage.”