Page 4 of Tasting Fire
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Shitfaced.
That was a mild word for what Cash Kingston wanted to get when he heard Emmy McKay had become engaged to some hotshot doctor up in Baltimore. So he took himself over to the Sack & Snack and bought a suitcase of Bud Light.
When he slid it onto the counter at the register, Bobby Jack Carter gave him the up-and-down and said, “You want some beef jerky to go with that?”
“Don’t need it.”
The clerk gave a tongue cluck, but he still rang up the beer with the discount given to firefighters and other first responders. “What would your mama say?”
Honestly, she’d probably pop one open with him. And before her second sip, she’d have mapped out a plan to attack and defeat Cash’s shitty mood. As an environmental engineer, that woman had literally moved mountains.
But Cash didn’t have any interest in sharing today. He just handed Bobby Jack two twenties, took his change, and shoved the box under his arm. Outside in his truck, he eyeballed the beer. Maybe he could…
Nah, they had to stay inside that cardboard. If Sheriff Maggie caught him with an open container, she’d bust his ass so fast, he wouldn’t know up from down. His older sister definitely wouldn’t give him a break because of family affiliation. In fact, she’d probably toss him in jail without bail.
Cash smiled. He loved that Maggie was a hard-ass. Didn’t always work to his advantage, but everyone—male and female—in his family could hold his or her own. Some folks expected there to be a weak link in the five Kingston kids, but his mama and daddy hadn’t raised any sissies. When Cash had been in third grade and some kid made a crack about Ross Kingston wearing an apron and being a housewife, Cash and Maggie had lured the little turd behind the elementary school gym and put the fear of Jesus into him.
To this day, Harrison Clinewater looked away whenever any of the Kingstons happened to cross his path.
Cash’s phone buzzed with Riley’s text tone. As much as he appreciated that his baby sister was reaching out, he wasn’t ready to talk, so he just flipped the phone facedown and cranked his truck. She was on one of her rare visits home from her plant research in Costa Rica and had probably heard about Emmy’s engagement the same way he had—through the Steele Ridge Gossip Express. Mrs. Trambly and Mr. Greene were co-engineers of that bullet train. Somehow, those two found out things going on hundreds, even thousands, of miles away.
Didn’t take too long to weave his way out of town and toward the Steele Ridge Training Academy, his cousin Reid’s world-class law enforcement center. Cash happened to know nothing was doing at the center today since there was a break between training sessions.
And that suited his purposes just fine.
At the center, he grabbed the beer in one hand and fished beneath the driver’s seat with his other. Once he had the small gray carrying case, he made for Reid’s outdoor gun range bordered by a grassy area and Callery pear trees that were just starting to show the white and green of spring. It took a little ingenuity to set up the targets the way he wanted them, each can balanced on the head of one of Reid’s cut-out terrorist targets. Once they were stable, Cash opened up the gun case and pulled out his Springfield pistol. As always, he checked it over before sliding in a magazine.
In his palm, the polymer felt warm and right. Felt as if he had some fucking control over his world. Over his feelings.
Cash took an easy stance and sighted the first target. Breathed and pressed the trigger.CRACK.
Crack. Crack. Crack.The sound echoed off the mountains before dissipating like audible smoke.
“A little high and to the right,” he muttered to himself. He could do better.
So he took his time lining up on target two and willed his hands to steady for the first time since he’d heard the news.Thunk.Excellent. Right through the U.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Cash eased off, setting the grip safety. Then he lowered his gun and glanced over his shoulder to find his cousin Jonah ambling toward him. “Target practice. What’s it look like?”
“The completely cold-blooded murder of perfectly drinkable beer.”
“Iwantedto drink it.” Cash couldn’t help the thread of surliness in his tone. He was more than surly. He was sick with the knowledge that Emmy was gone for good. “But I’m on shift first thing in the morning.”
Jonah drew even with him and stuffed his hands in his jeans pockets. Today, he was wearing a lime-green T-shirt that saidMATH: The only subject that counts. Totally on target since Jonah was a brilliant computer geek and gaming mogul. “That never keeps any other firefighter from having a beer or two.”
“I wouldn’t stop with just two.”
“Oookay, but don’t you normally do your Zen-bliss meditation when something’s eating at you?”
“Not this time.”
With a nod that made him look like some kind of mystical sage, Jonah said, “Then it’s gotta be a woman problem.”
“She’s getting married.” Cash lifted his gun, lined up on another beer can, and took the son of a bitch out.
