Blood and Fire (McClouds & Friends #8)(59)

Bruno’s nostrils flared. “So I take it you’re f*cking off, then?”

“Calm down. I’m not one to criticize when it comes to sexual hormones. I’m not judging you, man. Really.”

“Fuck if you’re not,” Bruno growled.

“Don’t get testy,” Sean soothed. “I’ll collect you guys tomorrow. We’ll find a safe place to stash your girlfriend—”

“She is not my girlfriend—”

“Seth and Raine’s island would be good,” Sean mused. “And we’ll start to dig for answers. Sound good to you?”

“Yeah. How soon can you get here?”

“I’ll leave tonight, late. I’m thinking a dawn arrival.”

“Another thing,” Bruno said, apologetically. “Lily’s convinced you guys are under surveillance. I have no clue whether this is true or not—”

“But in the interests of covering our asses, we’ve got a plan in place,” Sean supplied. “I booked a room at the Marriott downtown. At midnight, Miles meets us. I take his rig and head down to you guys. Then Miles drives Liv and Eamon to Tam’s the next day. So even if they’re tracking our vehicle, I won’t have to worry about them.”

Bruno sighed in relief. Sometimes the innate paranoia of the McCloud clan was actually convenient. “Yeah. Thank you.”

“Why didn’t you crash at Aaro’s?” Sean complained. “Sandy would’ve been so much easier to get to. There are real roads up there.”

“He didn’t invite us,” Bruno said.

“Since when do you need an invitation to trash someone’s life, property, and livelihood?”

“That’s a McCloud creed,” Bruno said sourly. “Not mine.”

“Is that so?” Sean sounded amused. “We’ll see how it shakes down in the end. Wait, wait. Hold on. Zia Rosa wants to talk to you.”

Bruno jumped, as if stuck by a pin. He wasn’t psychologically prepared for Zia yet. “What the hell is she doing there?”

“I’m at Davy’s house.” Sean was enjoying himself way too much. “She’s here now, since Davy and Margot have the littlest baby. Helena’s number one. Eamon’s been demoted, poor squirt.”

“No! Don’t put her on the phone yet! Wait—”

“Here he is,” he heard Sean say, and Zia’s voice blared over the line at triple volume.

“Eh, Bruno? Che cazz’ stai a fare? Who’s this cop who’s callin’ me, tellin’ me you was dead?”

“I’m sorry about that, Zia, but I’m not dead, so—”

“Che cazzo, Bruno! I practically had a heart attack!”

“I know, Zia, but I swear to God, I didn’t—”

“I don’ wanna hear about you shootin’ yourself in the head no more, OK? I got high blood pressure! I coulda had a stroke!”

“I’m really sorry. It won’t happen agan,” he repeated, for all the world like he was apologizing for having blown his brains out for real.

“And what’s this I hear ’bout these dead guys? You kill these guys, Bruno? Outside the diner? That ain’t smart, honey.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Bruno explained. “I was just trying to—”

“And this girl? They tell me there’s a girl. Who’s this girl, eh?”

Trust Zia to cut to the chase. “I just met her, so I don’t really—”

“She a nice girl, honey?”

His eyes flashed to where Lily had been—and got a nasty shock to find her gone. He looked around, frantically. Spotted her, up high.

She’d clambered all the way up to the tip-top of the crumbling granite cliff tower and was looking out over the canyon piled full of stormy fog. A ragged window had opened up, showing her a breathtaking glimpse of Mr. Adams’ stark, snowy shoulder. She stared at it, hair whipping like a bright flag against the wintry palette of whites and grays. Beautiful and lonely. Proud. And tough.

“Yeah, Zia,” he said quietly. “I think she is a nice girl. She needs help, though. She’s being messed with pretty bad.”

“Well, you help her, then. Nobody messes with a Ranieri,” Zia said. “Kick them dirty sonzabitches’ asses, hmm? Make Tony proud.”

Zia Rosa’s bloodthirsty encouragement made him grin. “You bet, Zia,” he promised. “I’ll try. I promise.

“This girl, she like babies?”

Bruno rolled his eyes. Only a matter of time with Zia Rosa. “We haven’t gotten that far. We’ve been distracted by killers on our tail.”

Zia Rosa clucked. “You young folks, you too easily distracted,” she lectured. “You forget what’s important. You gotta—”

“Not going there, Zia,” he said loudly. “I’m busy, OK? I’m hanging up now. Ti voglio tanto, tanto bene, OK? Good-bye.”

He closed the line in midsquawk and sat, listening to the relatively soothing shriek of wind around the jagged rocks. He thought of calling Kev, but why? What could he do but scold?

He looked at Lily, up there on her granite pedestal. A fortress of solitude. Her body’s whole proud, defiant stance was a silent reproach in itself.