Deadly Silence (Blood Brothers #1)(12)
Mountains, already clipped with white, rose up all around him like watching sentinels. Snow had fallen to coat the highest peaks finally. He reached the end of a deserted street and parked behind a black 1970 Plymouth Hemi ’Cuda, his mind still on Zara. Heath must already be inside. Ryker swung off the bike and read the newly painted front window: LOST BASTARDS INVESTIGATIVE SERVICES: WE FIND THE LOST. He shook his head.
Heath opened the front door of the weathered brick building that had an underground garage, first floor offices, and second floor apartments. He leaned out, his brown hair scruffier than normal and in contrast with his white dress shirt and blue tie. Tension rolled off him, and lines near his eyes showed he still wasn’t sleeping. “Denver did it.”
Of course, Denver had done it. “We’re probably going to get in trouble with the town.” They couldn’t have the word bastard on the window, could they? “Plus, while I understand the need to be present, there’s such a thing as too attention grabbing, and we can’t afford that.” Their business had been doing just fine the past five years without a permanent location, a website, or advertising.
“Agreed.” Heath held the door open for Ryker. “But Denver is nesting like a pregnant chick.”
“I heard that,” Denver bellowed from his office in the back. Those three words from Denver said a lot more… He wanted the sign to stay.
Heath shook his head.
“Scratch it off when he’s not around,” Ryker muttered. “We don’t want business off the street.” Which is why they’d chosen Cisco, Wyoming, for this case. He’d spent enough time in the town to enjoy the mountains and wild weather…and there were several ways out of town if they ever had to run. “Why are you wearing a tie?”
Heath tugged on the garment, loosening the knot. “Got sworn in to practice law in Wyoming today. Just in case and also so we look legit here. Temporarily.”
Ah hell. “I missed the ceremony.” Ryker leaned against a battered reception counter. “I’m sorry, man.”
“I hate ceremonies, so don’t worry about it.” Shrewd greenish brown eyes took his measure. “You’ve been in a bottle for days. You out now?”
It had been a lot more than one bottle of Jack. “Yeah. I’m sorry.”
Heath clapped him on the back. “We’ve all been there. This case is killing all of us. It’s a tough one.”
Tough? Yeah. Finding the vic dead and buried had been more than tough. Sometimes the lost were dead. They had to find the f*cker killing young women. “I should’ve been at your deal today.”
“Why?” Heath frowned.
Ryker lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know. It’s what you do, right?” They were family, and he’d die for his brothers. The least he could do was attend a ceremony and be supportive. He wouldn’t have had a chance in life without Heath.
“Hell if I know.” Heath turned on his motorcycle boots to maneuver by several abandoned chairs. Beyond the reception area, there was a wide, open room with two long tables. To the right lay three offices and a small kitchen. “Let’s see what Denver found.”
Ryker followed, his temples starting to ache. “Did you wear those boots today at the courthouse?”
“Yeah.” Heath stomped into Denver’s office. “Why?”
“They don’t go with a suit,” Ryker said slowly.
Heath moved past a well-polished cherrywood desk to sit in a winged leather chair of dark green. “I wore these pants with a tie. Didn’t need a full suit, which is good, because I don’t have one.”
Shouldn’t a lawyer have a suit? “You don’t have to act like a lawyer if you don’t want to,” Ryker said. Heath was always trying to save everyone, and he’d definitely do a job he hated if it helped the agency. Ryker needed to do a better job of making sure Heath didn’t lose himself in his drive to fix things. “We don’t need a lawyer.”
“I’m fine, Ryker. It’s only for emergencies, and I am a lawyer, so why not use it?” Heath rolled his eyes. “I’d rather be in the action, but my brain is better than yours.”
“Huh.” Ryker grinned. “If that helps you sleep at night.” He took the adjacent chair, noting the matching bookshelves and file cabinets. “Jesus, Denver. Where did you get the furniture?”
“Internet,” Denver grunted. He glanced up from pounding on his keyboard, his hair ruffled and his blue eyes slowly focusing. A bandage peeked from his open collar, covering a minor bullet wound. He’d been shot the week before while chasing down a guy who owed child support. “Got some furniture for you, too.”
Ryker cut Heath a glance. “Is he pregnant?”
“Shut up.” Denver threw a brass paperweight at him, and he caught it.
“He has a paperweight,” Ryker whispered to Heath.
Heath chuckled. “I told you. Nesting.”
“Receptionist?” Denver asked.
“No,” Ryker and Heath said in unison.
Ryker tossed the paperweight onto the desk, where it clattered. “We’re not exactly working within the law here, guys. A receptionist would just complicate things.”
Denver leaned back to rub his scruffy jaw. A wide oil painting of the Rocky Mountains spread across the entire wall behind him, its vibrant hues of pink and green adding even more warmth to the area. “The phone?”