Deadly Silence (Blood Brothers #1)(18)

Heath glanced down at his torn jeans. “Why?”

Ryker opened his mouth and shut it again. “I don’t know. I mean, don’t people who have dressers buy shit to put in them?”

Heath’s eyebrows rose. “We don’t have dressers.”

Oh yeah. “I guess we should get some?”

Heath leaned in. “I don’t know why. We’ll be out of here as soon as we find the f*cker killing redheads. I mean, if Denver gets the bug for nesting out of his ass.”

“That ain’t it with Den.”

“Then what is it?”

Ryker rubbed the scruff on his jaw. He should probably shave at some point. “He’s running from Alaska, and he’s trying to convince himself that he needs to stay here.” Probably to keep himself from hurrying back to Noni.

“Do you think he’s really done with her?”

“No.” Crisp and cutting, the wind scattered dead leaves across his boots. “But he has to make that decision himself.”

Heath nodded. “He had a splash of coffee with his booze today, by the way.”

Ryker scrubbed both hands down his face, jostling his aviator sunglasses. “I can’t really criticize him there. Pot and kettle, you know.”

“Yep. Just something to watch.” Heath moved off the step and headed for his car. “He has info for you on your girl, and I’m chasing down a lead on the Copper Killer case. I need to do something, anything, so I’m going to talk to some folks from the first victim’s circle.”

Ryker wanted to go with him, but he needed to figure out Zara’s problems first. “Is your head on straight?”

Heath paused. “I think so.”

Ryker studied him. Heath lost himself in cases, especially in the impossible ones. Always trying to fix broken wings. “Stay in contact and stay safe. What about Zara?”

Heath’s jaw hardened. “She paid for three nights at the Lonely Trail Motel outside of town last week.”

“Motel?” Ryker asked, his gut clenching.

“Yep. Told you this wasn’t going to end well.” Heath opened the car door and slipped inside, his flippant words contrasting with the very real concern in his eyes. “I can handle only one of you falling apart at a time, and your turn is over.”

Ryker nodded, his chest filling. “Understood.”

Heath started the engine and sped down the quiet road, the Hemi making a badass statement even in quiet mode.

“When is it your turn, Heath?” Ryker murmured. At some point, Heath was going to try to save somebody he couldn’t, and it was going to be ugly. Ryker drew in air before heading through the building to Denver’s office. “Heath told me you found something.”

Denver looked up from his computer, his eyes only a little cloudy. “He told you about the motel.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” Denver tapped a few more times on his keyboard. “Zara has withdrawn nine thousand dollars from her savings account in three-thousand-dollar increments in the last three months.”

Ryker dropped into a leather chair and shoved his sunglasses up on his head. “Cash?”

“Yep.”

Blackmail? “To spend where?”

“Dunno yet.” Denver stretched his neck. “Don’t see blackmail here. Investing?”

“With cash?” Ryker drew air in through his nose, trying to rein in his temper. “Bullshit.” What the hell was Zara involved in? She’d damn well give him the truth, because he was done being patient. “What else?”

“That’s all I have so far. The cash doesn’t look good, though.”

“Thanks.” The anger turned into something deeper…something that hurt. Ryker moved out of the office, waiting until Denver had joined him. “You can take one of the bikes.”

“No, thanks. I’ll stick to my truck.” Denver yanked on a worn leather jacket and headed for the basement garage. “Your office furniture arrived.”

Ryker hesitated and then called out. “Denver?”

“Don’t want to talk about it, brother.” Denver disappeared out the door.

The guy never wanted to talk, so that wasn’t exactly a newsflash. Yet at some point Ryker would have to drag words out of him. Or at least some of the hurt. But apparently not today.

Ryker turned toward the middle office and stepped inside, stopping short. Glass and chrome. The entire office was glass and chrome with black leather accents. Whoa. A glass-topped desk, black leather chairs, and chrome file cabinets. A large black-and-white picture of Ryker’s Harley Davidson Fat Boy was framed on the wall behind the desk, and a wide window to the side looked out at the mountains. “Shit, Denver,” Ryker murmured as he walked around the desk to see the computer already set up. He sat. The office felt like home.

He’d never had a home. His sunglasses fell down onto his nose, and he tugged them off and tossed them onto the desk. The light from the window was comforting, even with the chill in the air.

A wisp of sound came from the other room, and he stilled, his senses going on alert. “Denver?”

“No.” A kid walked into the office, his stride long and his expression hard. He shut the door. “You’re Ryker.”

Ryker sat back, tension swamping him. The kid was about twelve and large for his age, and he moved like he could handle himself. His brown hair reached his shoulders, and his eyes, a lighter shade of brown, held secrets and sadness. “Who are you?”