Deadly Silence (Blood Brothers #1)(70)

Ryker shut his eyes and drew on patience. “Did you get bedroom sh—stuff?”

“Yep.”

“Good. This is Grams, and she’s taking over the spare bedroom. You can bunk with one of the other guys or just take the couch.” Ryker rubbed a hand through his hair.

Greg nodded. “I’ll take the couch. It’s totally soft and comfortable, man.”

Grams clapped her hands together. “I’m starving. How about I make some homemade chili?”

Greg’s eyes glowed. Actually glowed.

Ryker looked around the suddenly packed apartment. Packed with people he cared about and needed to protect. His lungs compressed, and responsibility hit him so hard in the chest he almost bent over.

He could do this. He had to do this. The fear that he’d fail had to be banished, because no way could he fail. Not with this, and not with them.

Control. He’d use his wits to keep everyone safe, no matter how brutal he had to become.

Ryker’s phone beeped, and he glanced down. The alarm in the safe house had been activated, showing movement. Hell.

Keeping his face placid, and wanting nothing more than to run away for just a few minutes to be alone, he cleared his throat. “I have a work situation.” Retreating through the door, he bit back a smile at the panicked look on Zara’s face. “I’ll be back. Um, everybody stay here.” He shut the door before the woman could argue.

Turning, he took the stairs to the garage three at a time while dialing Heath, who answered on the second ring. “Hey,” Ryker said. “Where are you? We have a hit on safe house three.” Could it be Isobel? Finally, some answers.

“I’m heading back to town and should be there in an hour or so,” Heath said. “I put a tracker on Jonny’s car, but I’m thinking he’s a useless hired thug who isn’t going to get us anywhere.”

“Yeah, that’s my gut feeling, too. I’ll get Denver. See you back at the office.” Ryker didn’t wait for agreement and quickly dialed Den. His voice mail message came on. “Break-in at safe house three, and I’m headed over,” Ryker said tersely, hoping Denver got the message soon. He jumped into the truck and sped out of the garage.

The snow was falling faster, accumulating across the slippery roads. He drove for nearly ten minutes, circled the block, and then parked behind a 7-Eleven down the street.

Safe house three was a one-story bungalow in a dismal part of town. The chipped yellow paint and cracked concrete matched the burned out porch light and broken porch swing in the corner. The neighborhood was quiet with everyone inside and out of the cold, dark storm.

He kept low and jogged around to the back, shoving a rickety chain-link gate out of his way. Pine needles marred the freshly falling snow, and some appeared as if the wind had blown them around.

There was no wind. Just snow and cold.

He moved up to the back door and listened. No breathing, no sound. He closed his eyes. Heartbeat—one. Slow and steady. The guy was well trained to be so calm.

So was he.

Taking a moment, he glanced at the screen of his phone. Nothing. Denver hadn’t checked in yet.

The smart thing would be to wait for Denver, but the interloper would leave. So Ryker gingerly slid the back door open and slipped inside, pausing to accustom his eyes to the dark. A streetlight out front provided some illumination but not much.

The house had a living room, a kitchen, two bedrooms, and a bathroom along with a basement. He made no sound as he crossed the living room and turned left.

Movement sounded ahead of him, and he pivoted, ducking from a wide roundhouse. He came up with a sharp uppercut, catching himself at the last moment and pulling the punch as much as he could. Even so, his knuckles struck Denver’s chin and sent his brother flying backward.

Denver slid to the ground, his head knocking the wall on the way. His black hair was mussed, and a shadow covered his massive jaw.

“Shit, Den.” Ryker rushed to help him up. The smell of Scotch hit him first, followed by the smell of blood. “You okay?”

Denver shrugged him off, turned his head, and spit out blood. “Bit my tongue. Thanks for pulling the punch. Didn’t realize it was you when I attacked.” The words were only slightly slurred, but for Denver, that was seriously drunk.

Ryker smoothed down Denver’s wrinkled T-shirt, noting the bloodshot eyes and rigid stance. He took a deep breath, concern swirling through his gut. “What are you doing here?”

Denver jerked his head toward a computer system set up against the far wall. “Decided to do a couple of manual searches to draw Isobel Madison in faster. Am tired of waitin’.” He swayed. “Somebody bit at the other end. Should have company by tomorrow.”

So much for having time to lay a good trap. “Dude, you are not thinking right now.”

“Neither are you,” Denver snapped.

Ryker glanced frantically at the computer. “You can’t lay traps like that while drunk, and you know it.” Had Denver screwed up?

“Since when do you care about rules?” Denver challenged.

Apparently the talk they’d been avoiding was going to happen in the safe house. Ryker nodded. Fine. “Let’s hash this out.”

“No.” Denver brushed past him.

Ryker grabbed his arm, a pit opening in his stomach. “Stop.”