Page 130 of Highball Rush
“I gotta get back. If the Kendalls might be coming…”
“Shit,” Jameson said.
“Exactly. Get this fucker in a jail cell.”
I left Lee Williams in the capable hands of George and my brothers and took off to find Callie. She was with my sister tonight. Hardly a person alive I trusted more than Scarlett Rose.
I’d gotten everything out of him. Sonny Fullson was some kind of goddamn genius. So I should have been relieved. Breathing easier.
But I wasn’t. The Kendalls knew. Lee hadn’t believed Misty Lynn, but the judge and his psycho wife would. They knew their daughter was here, in Bootleg Springs. And I had a very strong feeling they were about to show up, looking for her.
Or looking to get rid of her for good.
39
MAYA
Gibson was up to something. I didn’t know what, but it was obvious. He’d spent a full ten minutes texting earlier today. That was the equivalent of a half-day of conversation for Gibs. Then he’d left me at his house with Scarlett while he went out.
He’d barely let me out of his sight since the Cock Spurs game. The only place I’d gone in the last week had been Henrietta’s cabin. Since then, I’d been hiding out at Gibson’s, usually with the doors locked and the windows covered.
Scarlett had turned up with snacks, and we’d gotten comfortable on the couch, Cash happily napping between us. She’d spent the last hour trying to pry sordid rock-star stories out of me. She was a Bootlegger. Gossip-hunting was in her blood.
“I’m bored,” she said, crumpling up a food wrapper. “I don’t mean I’m bored talkin’ to you, I just mean being here makes me bored. I feel like getting out.”
For the first time since arriving, I was starting to feel a little stir crazy myself. “I could stand a few hours of different scenery. But I don’t think I should go into town.”
“I completely agree.” She sat up and started typing on her phone.
“What are you thinking?”
“We’ll bring the party to us. Outside, not in here. Gibs has plenty of space. We’ll get a good bonfire going, turn on some music. It’ll be fun. And totally safe.”
Gibson wasn’t going to like Scarlett throwing a bonfire at his house. But I’d be able to make him feel better about it. If he got mad, I’d just take him inside and take off my clothes. That was a win for both of us.
“Let’s do it.”
Scarlett put the word out and it didn’t take long for people to start showing up. Cars and trucks—everything from Millie Waggle’s compact sedan to Rocky Tobias’s souped-up pickup—rumbled down the long drive. We picked a clear spot away from the house for a makeshift fire pit. Hauled in some wood and got the blaze going. It wasn’t a big fire, like the ones on Scarlett’s beach. But it was cozy.
More people arrived, someone turned on music, drinks were passed around. Cash happily darted around people’s legs, his tail wagging. Scarlett Bodine could go from zero to full-fledged bonfire party in no time flat.
The sound of the crackling fire, tinny country music coming from a dashboard stereo, and good-natured conversations filled the air. Sparks danced in the darkening sky. I hugged one of Gibson’s flannel shirts around me. Fall had arrived in Bootleg. The leaves were turning, and the air had a bite to it.
Scarlett wandered over with two beers and handed me one. “Better?”
“Better. Thanks. I don’t feel like I’m in the witness protection program anymore.”
“Now, why didn’t anyone think of that?”
I glanced at her. “Think of what?”
“There were all sorts of theories about what’d happened to you. Different factions, if you will. But I don’t remember anyone coming up withshe’s gone into the witness protection program.”
“I guess that would have been close.”
“This is all gonna turn out fine. You know that, right?”
The beer bottle dangled from my hand. “I hope so.”
