Gin Fling (Bootleg Springs #5) - Lucy Score Page 0,110

way home.

I saw my mother in an embrace with Jimmy Bob under the oak tree. Sheriff Tucker and Nadine were wandering up the walkway arm-in-arm. No newlyweds, no Misty Lynn.

I ducked around between the garage and the house again, not really wanting to be the one to break the news to the parents that Misty Lynn had just caused an epic scene.

“Dinner and a show,” Jameson said, appearing next to me. Like a good brother, he handed me a beer.

“Gibs okay?” I asked.

“Seems to be. He’s used to her freak-outs by now.”

I scanned the backyard for Shelby. I spotted her clutch on a table and the two drinks she’d left on another one.

“You lookin’ for someone in particular?” Jameson drawled.

“Shelby,” I said. “We’re ah, kind of an official thing. Like permanently.”

He clapped me on the back. “About damn time.”

“Aren’t men supposed to avoid commitment?” I joked.

“Only the stupid ones. ’Round here, we all know there’s nothing better than pairing off with someone who’s willing to put up with your shit for the rest of your life. So you’re stickin’ around?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I am. Shelby, too. And my mom’s thinking she just might take up residency, too.”

“No, shit?” Jameson looked downright thrilled.

“Yep. She’s in talks with Clarabell about managing Moonshine.”

“Your mama?” Gibson approached from behind and joined the conversation.

“Yeah. Hey, have you seen Shelby?” I asked him.

“Not since she took off after Misty Lynn to soothe the she-beast,” Gibs quipped.

I felt something. A little frisson of nerves skating through my gut.

“I’m gonna try to find her. I don’t like her wandering around in the dark after what happened when she was on the bike.”

Gibson frowned. “Call her.”

“I’m probably overreacting.”

“Call her,” he insisted.

I pulled out my phone, dialed.

“What’s going on? You don’t think Misty Lynn would take a swing at her, do you?” Jameson asked.

I heard Shelby’s ringtone and felt a fleeting second of hope before I realized it was coming from her clutch.

Gibson stepped off the deck and picked up the clutch. Opened it. He froze, then lifted his steely gaze to me. “Jonah.”

I knew from the tone it wasn’t good. I was off the deck, snatching the paper out of his hand before I could even formulate a question.

It was a sketch. Charcoal lines of a woman who looked a hell of a lot like Shelby. A naked woman. Scrawled across the bottom were the words “See you soon.”

I started for the front yard, Gibson on my heels. Jameson on his. “What the fuck is wrong with you two?” Jameson asked good-naturedly.

That’s when we heard the scream.

Misty Lynn holding a hand to her head, blood seeping through her fingers and turning her peroxide-blonde hair pink, stumbled into the backyard. “Call the cops, y’all. He took Shelby!”

Sheriff Tucker, Nadine, and my mother burst out of the back door of the house as pandemonium broke out in the backyard.

“What’s the trouble?” the sheriff demanded.

But I was sprinting for the street.

55

Shelby

I had a two-bottles-of-wine headache, and the rest of my body felt like I’d gotten run over by the entire Bootleg Springs Fourth of July parade.

It smelled weird in here. Humid, close.

The garden shed? No. Good things happened in there. This was somewhere different.

So dark.

My head hurt.

Something was very, very wrong.

I tried to remember, struggled to fish out the memories. Jonah said he loved me. Bowie and Cassidy got married. Misty Lynn… something there. Something bad. She’d done something. But what?

I remembered the sound of glass breaking. Ah. She’d broken the window on Gibson’s truck and was digging around inside it. Vengeance for the truth he’d told.

I’d tried to stop her.

I tried to move my arms, to rub the daze from my eyes. That’s when I realized I couldn’t move them. But I was moving. Or rather my body was traveling through space. Movement.

A car? My senses slowly knit back together to deliver a still incomplete picture.

The pain in my head bloomed bright, and I knew it was no normal headache.

I could hear the rumble of an engine. Feel the rock of the vehicle as it traversed uneven ground.

I didn’t know what had happened or where I was, but I knew I was in trouble.

There was a tired squeal of old, abused brakes and the rocking stopped. The engine cut off, and fear crawled its way up my spine.

I heard a metallic clunk and more screeching.

“Hello, Shelby.”

Oh, God. He found me.

I managed to stay limp when he lifted me out of the trunk. I needed time to figure out how I

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