Whoa. I never would’ve guessed that. Sheldon looked at least a decade older than John-John.
“I’m surprised you two are drinking buddies,” John-John said, his gaze winging between us.
“We’re not. I’ve spent time in the tribal archives over the last couple of weeks. I was waiting for Dawson to show up, and Sheldon joined me. What are you doing here?”
“On my way to my mom’s. Unci don’t let her drink, which is dumb, since Mom’s got cancer, so I hafta sneak her a bottle. I remembered halfway to the rez I’d forgotten it at the bar. I pulled in and noticed your truck in the lot. Was gonna point out how easily you change your loyalties.”
“I’ve been banned from Clementine’s for a month, as you’ll recall. It’d serve you right if I found a new place to drink,” I retorted. “And they have happy-hour specials here.”
“I’d be over the moon if you found a new place to fight,” John-John shot back. “Lord, Mercy, most of my regulars haven’t been in the number of bar fights in their lifetimes that you have been in the last year.”
“Most of those fights came when I was working for you, winkte.”
We locked gazes, daring each other to take this argument one step further, because we always did. But were we really going to cross the next line?
“John-John, I was sorry to hear your mother has cancer,” Sheldon said, breaking the ugly silence.
John-John tore his gaze from mine. “How’d you find out?”
“Eagle River is a small place, and I worked with her at the tribal HQ, remember? To have this happen right after she retired?” Sheldon shook his head. “Sad, man. I heard she’s had a rough go of it.”
“It was bad for a while there, but it seems to be getting better. Her appetite is back. She’s even getting some exercise.”
“So she’s not flipping you and Sophie the bird?” I asked jokingly. “Reminding you that she’s lived her life on her own terms and she’ll die on her own terms, too?”
“That’s really not your business, now that Sophie don’t work for you, is it? None of us hafta worry that Unci is blabbing family secrets to folks that ain’t family.” John-John stepped back. “I gotta get.”
Whoa. He’d taken that completely wrong. I scooted out of the booth. “Looks like my man stood me up, so I’m gonna go home-”
“And pick a fight with him?” John-John supplied with a sneer.
“Piss off.”
We walked through the door that separated the bar side from the package liquor side.
John-John ordered a bottle of raspberry vodka and inspected me, from my ponytail to the tips of my hiking boots. “You look more like a cop every time I see you.”
“I’m not a cop.”
He shrugged. “FBI. Deputy. Highway patrol. BIA. Tribal police. MP. Different names, but all types of cops.”
“And what? We can’t be friends now because of my job? That’s why you’ve been such a dick since I got back from Quantico? I don’t ever hear from you. Not a word, John-John. And when I do see you? You’re rude, insulting, or looking for an exit sign. So I wanna know what gives.”
He slid a twenty across the counter, waiting until his order was packaged before he spoke to me. “I’ve been busy.”
“I don’t doubt that. But that’s not it. And you’re not one to back down from speaking your mind.”
“You’re right.” His eyes went cold and flat. “You want it straight up? Or sugarcoated?”
“When have I ever needed a fucking spoonful of sugar?”
“Fine. Right after you got back, I had a vision.”
“About what?” I paused. “Me? And I’m in danger or something?”
“No. I am.”
“I don’t understand.”
“According to this vision, being around you puts me in danger.”
My mouth dropped open so far it almost hit my chest.
John-John stared at me. “So you can see why I’ve kept my distance.”
“Bullshit. I can see you’ve used it as an excuse to blow me off.”
“Can you blame me?” John-John shot back. “Given you’re always stumbling over dead bodies?”
“Are there dead bodies in this vision?” I demanded, fighting a burst of anger and embarrassment. My curse, or whatever the fuck it was, hadn’t manifested itself for months. I hated he’d thrown it in my face because he knew how much the discovery that I had some woo-woo mystic Indian shit inside me had freaked me out.
“Yes. More than one body, Mercy.”
“You’ve always said visions were subject to interpretation.”
“Not this time.”
“What is this horrible vision? I bust into your bar with an AK-47 and unload? Kill you and all your customers? Then sit on the bar chugging free whiskey, singing ‘Don’t Worry, Be Happy’ while admiring my killing spree?”
He rolled his eyes. “Overly dramatic much?”
“Overly evasive much?” I countered.
That pushed his buttons. John-John didn’t get in my face like I expected. He gave me a sneering once-over. “You’re not in the vision. You are the vision. A heavy black cloud that descends over everything. Over everyone I care about. Muskrat, Mom, Unci, Uncle Devlin… Black means death. There’s no misinterpretation. Even Sophie couldn’t argue with it.”
I felt like he’d whacked me in the stomach with a two-by-four. It all made sense now. Muskrat steering clear of me. John-John banning me from the bar. Sophie’s abrupt departure.
I’d jokingly called myself a pariah. Now I was one.
Or was he blowing smoke?
John-John’s eyes continued to bore into me. “You think I’m lying?”
“No. I just want to make sure the heavy black cloud you’re seeing is me, not a shadow of someone else.”
“Like who?”
I paused for effect. “Like Saro.”
His intense gaze darted away.
“You know, I’d wondered why he picked Clementine’s, almost out of the blue, as his new hangout. But I thought I’d probably just missed something in my drunken haze after Levi died.” I got in his face. “Did you really think there’d be no repercussions after dealing with a psychotic fucker like Saro? Even if you were doing Devlin a favor by paying off his debt? No wonder you kicked me out of your bar and cut me out of your life. You’re embarrassed because Saro owns you now.”
“No one owns me,” he snapped. “And this high-and-mighty I’m-an-FBI-agent attitude is why I don’t want you around, Mercy. Go ahead. Convince yourself you’re not the danger to my family. But I know better.”
“Do you? Because the most dangerous person to your family right now is not me.”
“It’s Saro?” he asked sarcastically.
“No, it’s Devlin.”
Without another word, I turned and walked off. My hand shook so hard I dropped my keys before I could get my truck unlocked. Resting my forehead on the window of the driver’s-side door, I forced myself to take long, deep breaths.
The drive home was a blur.
At least the dogs were happy to see me. I must’ve stayed outside a long time, because Mason came looking for me. But he didn’t crowd me, demanding the affection he usually did, so I must’ve been giving off some dark vibes.
I’m just the little black rain cloud of death.
I whipped the slobbery tennis ball as hard as I could.
“Rough day?”
“Yeah.”
“I heard about Rollie getting locked up.”
“I’m probably in deep shit with Turnbull since I went to see Rollie at the jail.”
Butch bounded back with his prize, nearly bowling me over with his doggy pride. Shoonga, not to be outdone, hip checked me with his head. Damn dogs could always make me smile, even when I didn’t want to-but not today.
“What’s really going on? Something with your job?”
“No, and I’m not just saying that because it’s something I can’t talk about. It’s… really stupid, probably, but it’s been digging into me like a burr, and now it’s beginning to fester.”