Bourbon Bliss: Bootleg Springs Book Four Page 14

  “Hey you,” he said. “What has you so focused?”

  “I’m sorry.” I brushed my hair back from my face. How had it gotten so tangled? I’d only gone from the couch to the kitchen table. “I figured it out.”

  He pulled out the chair across from me and sat. “Figured what out?”

  “What was bothering me about Callie Kendall’s story.”

  “Oh?”

  “Callie said she spent the last twelve years living with a cult outside Hollis Corner,” I said. “But Hollis Corner has an unusually high crime rate for its size.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I find anything that’s a statistical anomaly to be interesting. Hollis Corner is a statistical anomaly. It’s a rural community with a crime rate not explained by its population density. I first discovered it when I was running risk analysis reports for a client. Today, I saw this book at the library.” I tipped the crime statistics book so he could read the cover. “It reminded me.”

  “Okay, I’m with you so far.”

  “The higher-than-expected crime statistics extend back at least two decades.”

  “In other words, Hollis Corner is a crime-ridden cesspool, and that’s not new.”

  “Precisely.” My mind whirred, like a well-oiled machine, gears turning smoothly, moving from one conclusion to the next. “Which means one of two things.”

  “One, the cult is not a cult; it’s a criminal organization.”

  A little jolt of excitement burst through my veins. He understood. “Yes. Or, the criminal activity stems from another source.”

  “Do you know which it is?”

  “Yes.” I turned my laptop so he could see. “Hollis Corner is firmly within the territory of the Free Renegades. They’re officially classified by the Department of Justice as an outlaw motorcycle club. That means there’s significant evidence that they are heavily involved in criminal activity.”

  “So they’re not a bunch of doctors and lawyers who like to drive Harleys and wear leather.”

  Another zing of excitement made my fingers tingle. “Precisely. The crime rate stems from the fact that local law enforcement is largely ineffective in towns such as Hollis Corner. The Free Renegades are well known for maintaining a mafia-like grip on their locales.”

  “Okay, I’m still with you. But what does this have to do with Callie’s cult?”

  “The Free Renegades wouldn’t allow a cult to exist in their territory,” I said. “They would have run them out of town before they could build their compound. They don’t tolerate any perceived competition, and a cult leader would be considered such.”

  “They’d see him as a threat to their authority.”

  “Yes.”

  “Hm.” He rubbed his jaw. “And I’m no cult leader, but if I was, I don’t think I’d choose to put my compound in the way of a criminal biker gang. Sounds like that would mean a higher chance of the authorities sniffing around, even if the bikers didn’t run them out first.”

  “That was my thought as well.”

  “But wait.” George got up and started pacing. “Let’s think this through from another angle. What if the cult made a deal with the bikers? They paid them tribute, mafia style, for protection.”

  “Your theory is not impossible,” I said. “But it is highly improbable. Cult leaders and heads of criminal organizations often have traits that make them prone to self-aggrandizement.”

  “They have big heads, sure.”

  “I would imagine clinical narcissism as well, but I don’t have statistics on that.” I’d have to look that up later. “My point is, I don’t think the two groups would have coexisted in the same region.”

  “What if they were isolated? Maybe the bikers left them alone because they weren’t close by.”

  I shook my head. “The Free Renegades have an established territorial range that includes the outlying areas.”

  “So what are you saying?”

  “I don’t have enough evidence to draw a solid conclusion. But I think it’s possible Callie Kendall was lying about where she was all those years.”

  George grinned. “God, you’re sexy when you’re being smart.”

  I couldn’t help but smile back—a little. “That’s… I don’t know what that has to do with the topic at hand.”

  “You just are. I love watching that big brain of yours work. But why do you think she’d lie?”

  I closed my laptop, frustration leaving a knot in my stomach. “I don’t know. Human motivations are such a mystery to me. On the surface, her story is entirely plausible. The only reason I questioned Callie’s story was her mention of Hollis Corner. I knew I’d read something about it before.”

  George sat back down. “All right. Let’s think about her motives. Why would Callie lie and say she was held prisoner by a cult?”

  “I was hoping you’d have some ideas.”

  “Well, maybe she’s ashamed of the truth. Maybe she really just ran off with a guy and when it didn’t work out, she decided to come back to her life. But she feels bad for staying away for so long, especially when there was so much media attention on her story.”

  I wished I understood people better. Maybe I should have listened to my sister and tried harder to socialize.

  “Or maybe she’s doing it for the attention,” he said. “I’m very familiar with that sort of thing.”

  “How so?”

  “Groupies. A lot of the reason girls chase athletes is for the attention. They want to be seen. If they’re dating someone who gets media attention, they get some by being with them. It’s more than that, usually. They want to be spoiled with expensive things. Those designer purses and shoes are like Girl Scout badges to them. They want to collect them and show them off. But the attention is a big deal, too.”

  “I suspect a desire for attention is a strong motivator. But if she wasn’t with the cult, where was she? And why now? Why come forward after all these years?”

  “I don’t know,” he said.

  “Regardless of her potential motives, I’m sure about this, George. Something doesn’t add up.”

  “It bothers you when you don’t understand an equation, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes, that’s exactly it. This doesn’t make sense, and it’s more than a statistical anomaly or an aberrant data point.”

  “Well, do you think you can put it aside long enough for dinner and a movie? We’re supposed to meet Cassidy and Bowie in ten minutes.”

  I closed my laptop. Surprisingly, I could. Even more surprisingly, a double-date with George held more appeal than an evening spent looking up numbers and calculating probabilities. Callie’s mystery would be waiting for me tomorrow.

  Tonight, I had a date.

  19

  George

  I was getting awfully handsy with June. But as long as she was letting me, I wasn’t stopping.

  We sat across from Cassidy and Bowie in a cute little Italian restaurant, Mama Lucia’s. It was the sort of place with tablecloths and good wine, but still felt a bit like sitting in someone’s dining room for a family dinner. We could hear the owners—a middle-aged couple—arguing in Italian in the kitchen, and the whole place smelled like garlic, fresh bread, and spices.

  I had a hand on June’s thigh and the little vixen was wearing a skirt. I’d commented on her clothing choice when she’d come downstairs after changing, and she’d calmly stated that she wore skirts regularly, I just hadn’t seen her in one.

  No shit I hadn’t seen her in one. I hadn’t touched her in one either, prior to getting my hand on her leg beneath the table as soon as humanly possible once we’d been seated. From the second she’d walked down those damn stairs, my attention had been glued to her legs.

  Long, sleek, soft. I rubbed her leg a bit and let my hand slide higher. Above the table, she wasn’t reacting. I didn’t think her sister was aware of what I was up to. Bowie wasn’t stupid—I was pretty sure he could tell. I was also pretty sure he was doing the same thing—or more—
to Cassidy over on their side.

  I pretended not to notice. Guy courtesy.

  This was the most skin contact I’d had with June since we’d started dating. The physical side of my last relationship hadn’t developed this slowly. In fact, none of my relationships had developed this slowly. A date or two, and I’d had them in my bed—or been in theirs. I was a physical guy. Touch and contact were a big deal to me.

  But with June, I was enjoying the slower pace. I rubbed her thigh, but didn’t push too much. Had she been tipping her knees apart and inviting me in, I would have done so, enthusiastically. I would have found an excuse to skip the movie and taken her back to my place to have some fun exploring. But she wasn’t, and I was all right with that. I didn’t need to get in her panties to want to be with her.

  Of course, I did want to get in her panties. I was hard as concrete for her and the temptation was real. I wanted to get to know that smooth body. Wanted to touch her, feel her. Let her touch me.

  Squeezing her leg a little, I took a long breath. We’d get there.

  “Do we want dessert?” Bowie asked.

  Cassidy groaned. “I’m too full. That rigatoni was amazing.”

  “I’m satisfied with the meal as well,” June said.

  Despite Bowie’s protests, I paid for the four of us. Then I helped June into her coat, and we all walked down to the Bootleg Springs Theater.

  Like all things in this town, it wasn’t your ordinary movie theater. It had been refurbished to look like something from the twenties. An art deco sign hung over the ticket booth, casting a soft glow over the sidewalk. Inside, the lobby was decorated in black and gold. They’d somehow managed to make it glamorous without seeming out of place in Bootleg. Maybe it was the smell of buttered popcorn or the moonshine selection served in mason jars, but it fit in perfectly.

  We paid for our tickets but skipped the snacks. I could have gone for a bucket of popcorn, but I was trying to pace myself. And the lasagna I’d eaten had about done me in.

  Bowie chose a spot near the back of the theater. I had a flashback to my high school days. This was exactly where I would have taken a date as a sixteen-year old kid. Perfect for a little mid-movie make-out session.

  I gently tugged June’s arm as we made our way down the row. “Leave a seat between us and them. Give us some space to spread out.”

  In other words, put some room between you and your sister so I can get a little naughty with you when the lights are low.

  Bowie gave me a subtle chin tip. He knew how it was done.

  We took off our coats, putting them in the extra chair, and sat.

  “I’m not familiar with this movie,” June said. “What is it?”

  “It’s supposed to be romantic,” Cassidy said.

  Bowie and I shared a look. Not our cup of tea. But neither of us were really here for the movie.

  “Oh good,” June said, her voice brightening. “I’ve been working on exploring my emotions through romantic fiction. Film is another medium for that.”

  “Good for you, Juney,” Cassidy said.

  After a few minutes, the lights dimmed. I slipped June’s hand in mine and stroked the back with my thumb. She watched the previews, her eyes intent on the screen. I watched her face, admiring the way the glow of light highlighted her upturned nose. Her soft lips. Her neck.

  Leaning closer, I took a deep breath, smelling her hair. God, she smelled good. Fresh and clean, but still warm and inviting.

  The movie began and from the first note of the opening song, I had a strange feeling. Cassidy had said romantic, and it certainly began that way. But a warning was going off in the back of my mind as we watched. I just wasn’t sure why.

  Despite my intention to have a little make-out fun with June, an hour into the movie, I couldn’t stop watching. It was a love story, following a girl and boy who’d grown up together. Life kept pulling them apart, then bringing them tantalizingly close, only to pull them apart again. It was heart-wrenching.

  I glanced at June. The glow from the screen illuminated her features, and I suddenly realized why that alarm in my head wouldn’t quit. This movie was making my chest ache—I sniffed hard—and it was clear it was doing the same to her.

  Her brow creased and her eyes were wide. She chewed her thumbnail and squirmed in her seat, as if her body was having a hard time containing all the emotions she was experiencing.

  My attention was only half on the movie now. I wanted to know what would happen—I had a strong suspicion it wasn’t going to end happily—but I was captivated by June. Her feelings shone through in her expression in a way I’d never seen before. She gazed at the screen with hope, then worry, then fear. She clutched her hands together and held them to her chest. Touched her mouth. Covered her eyes.

  When she looked again, the story had taken a turn for the tragic. I was having a hard time not letting my eyes leak. A quick glance at Cass and Bow showed Cassidy quietly sobbing with Bowie’s arm around her shoulders.

  June shook her head a few times, as if trying to come to terms with what had just happened in the movie. Death, grief, loss, tragedy. It was all there on that big screen. Her body shuddered, she took a shaky breath, and tears flowed down her cheeks.

  “Oh, Juney,” Cassidy whispered, reaching out for her sister.

  I met Cassidy’s eyes and mouthed, I’ve got her.

  Cass nodded.

  I slipped June out of her seat and coaxed her into my lap. She melted into me, burying her face against my shoulder while she cried. Her body shook with deep sobs as I rubbed her back with slow circles. No one paid us any mind. Half the people in here were crying, the other half comforting them.

  Even Bowie did a quick swipe at the corner of one eye. I pretended like I didn’t notice, even as I cleared my throat and sniffed hard again. Guy courtesy.

  The movie ended with enough hope that we didn’t all want to walk into oncoming traffic when we left. But it had been bittersweet at best. I tucked June against me, keeping an arm firmly around her. She wrapped her arms around my waist and leaned her face into my chest. She still hadn’t stopped crying.

  “I’m so sorry,” Cassidy said when we walked out of the theater onto the street. She wiped her eyes and sniffed. “I had no idea that movie would be so sad. I’d heard it was sweet and romantic. It sounded like a date movie.”

  Bowie cleared his throat. “I’m picking next time.”

  “I can’t even argue with that,” she said.

  I tipped June’s chin up with one finger. “You okay, June Bug?”

  She sniffed hard and blinked her puffy, bloodshot eyes. “I don’t know.”

  Her eyes welled up with tears again. I wrapped both arms around her and let her wet my shirt.

  I’ve never seen her cry like that, Cassidy mouthed.

  I stroked June’s hair and kissed the top of her head. “It’s okay. I’ve got her.”

  Cassidy gave me a warm smile. Bowie took her hand and they said goodbye. June didn’t unbury her face from my sweater.

  “Come on, June Bug.” I ran my hands through her hair again. “As much as I love having you this close to me, I can’t walk with you clinging to my front like this. And we’re still standing in front of the theater.”

  “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Her voice shook and she sniffed again. “The movie wasn’t even based on a true story. It was entirely fictional. Why did it make me feel this way?”

  I put my arm around her shoulders and led her up the street toward my car. “Because it touched something in you. And maybe you already had a lot of feelings brewing. They just needed to come out.”

  June just nodded.

  We got to my car and I opened the passenger door for her. She turned toward me, popped up on her tip toes, and gave me a good, solid kiss.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “For what?”

  “For understanding.”

  I brushed her hair back from her face and placed a soft kiss on her sweet lips. �
��You’re welcome.”

  20

  June

  After the most horrible, awful, heart-breaking, wonderful movie I’d ever seen, George took me to get ice cream.

  He was basically a genius. There was definitely something to the eating our feelings theory.

  We sat in Moo-Shine Ice Cream and Cheese and licked our cones. I didn’t want to talk about the movie. The film had been excellent, even though it had made me cry. I didn’t much want to talk about anything, but George seemed to understand. He sat with me quietly, letting me process.

  Genius.

  The chaotic whirlwind of emotions dissipated. I felt better. Cleansed. By the time we finished our ice cream, I no longer felt the need to cry. I was in control of myself. Calm, and happy.

  When he took me home, I sensed something from him. There was tension between us. Not negative tension, as if we’d had another disagreement. Physical tension. He kissed me goodnight, and didn’t ask to come in. But I felt the question hanging between us nonetheless.

  Over the next two weeks, I felt it every time we were together.

  He touched me, held me, kissed me. And beneath the surface, I could feel his desire for more. He didn’t push. He wasn’t putting pressure on me. But it was there.

  Our relationship was progressing—developing. And I liked that. I liked that we saw each other almost daily. That he greeted me with kisses and smiles. That I missed him when we were apart and got to experience the sweetness of seeing him again each time we were together.

  I liked him. Not only did I like him, I respected him. His physicality and background in athletics were only the surface. George Thompson had played football—and been one of the best during his ten years in the league—but football wasn’t who he was. He was intelligent, and kind, and often amusing. I enjoyed his presence and found myself craving his company.

  But when it came to the place I knew our relationship was heading, I was scared.

  My body wanted things with him—from him. I felt the heat between us as keenly as he must have. Still, I held back from it. I tried to push it aside the way I did with my emotions when they were too strong. That physical yearning—that desire to be with him—terrified me.