The Deputy and His Enforcer (Kincaid Pack #3) - Kiki Clark

Chapter One

“What the hell are you doing…”

Robson Medina scooted down in his seat but kept his eyes on the giant ginger slowly exiting the big black SUV a few parking spaces over. Marcus Rivera. It had been two weeks since he’d had the misfortune of meeting Rivera and his buddies at a crime scene the Meyerville police chief had kicked Robson out of and covered up.

But the chief had let Rivera and his friends stay.

Robson had hidden his car a little way away from where the dead body had been found. He’d watched and waited, but no ambulance had ever shown up, no more police vehicles, not even the county coroner. Nothing. Only an old beater driven by an extremely attractive Black woman, who’d looked toward where he was hidden but couldn’t have been able to see him.

After that night, he’d approached the sheriff about the man the chief had called Kincaid and asked to be allowed to do some poking around, telling him that something hadn’t felt right. There had been a dead body and an ominous note—yet nothing was even mentioned in the paper or local news. The sheriff had told him, in no uncertain terms, to mind his own fucking business and to stay away from Kincaid and anyone associated with him.

So of course, Robson was risking his job as a deputy to follow Kincaid, Rivera, and the others every spare moment he had.

He watched Rivera’s tall, lean frame approach the weird shop on Main Street called Wicca We Can, cradling a dead plant in one of his arms, and hold the door open for a couple of people exiting. Rivera exchanged a few words and the smallest smile imaginable with them, but that didn’t put the others off, their grins large as they waved goodbye to Rivera.

Robson lost sight of him as he slipped inside the store, but his phone rang before he could decide if he wanted to try and sneak in the back or something insane like that.

Groaning at the name on his cell’s screen, he answered with an impatient “What?”

“Wow. Someone’s crabby.” His brother Hector laughed in his ear, and Robson considered just hanging up. Being the oldest of eight meant he was allowed to do that if he wanted to.

As long as his mom didn’t find out. A devout Puerto Rican Catholic and new widow, she would be very disappointed if she found out he was being mean to his siblings.

Sighing, he said, “Just busy. What do you need?”

“Well, I thought I was having a beer with my brother, but that doesn’t seem to be happening. So I guess what I need is to find out what’s been going on with you. You aren’t still following those people, are you?” The teasing tone had fallen away by the time Hector finished speaking, sounding concerned for Robson’s mental health more than anything else, his tone delicate.

Finally taking his eyes off the front of Wicca We Can, he rubbed at his face and the three days’ worth of stubble on his jaw. Fuck. Maybe Hector was right to be worried. Since he’d started following Rivera and the others, he’d let everything else lapse, including spending time with his family. The whole reason he was back in fucking Meyerville, Michigan, to begin with.

“Shit. I forgot we were going to Tommi’s for a drink. Sorry.” He hesitated, not sure whether he should admit what he was doing or not, but then decided to go for it. Hector was the only one he’d even told about his unsanctioned investigation, needing to vent about his frustrations after his conversation with the sheriff. “I’m… Yeah, I’m in town. I followed one of them to that witch shop. He was cradling a dead plant in his arms, man. Like, what the hell?”

Hector didn’t say anything for a moment. “Robito… I know you saw some shit during your tours overseas—”

“I’m not making this up,” he said, tone icy. “Something about these people stinks, Hector, and I’m going to figure out what it is.”

It was Hector’s turn to sigh. “Fine. Just don’t… Don’t do anything that would require me to bail you out of jail or will get you fired, okay? Mom couldn’t handle that right now.”

Ouch. A direct hit like only a sibling could give. Their mom had been struggling since their dad died about five months ago. Cancer. The ornery old bastard hadn’t told anyone he wasn’t feeling so hot until it had been too late. Robson had just been wrapping