Gypsy King (Tin Gypsy, #1)(23)

His stubbled jaw ticked. “He gets out of jail and tells me what the fuck really happened. Then we end this little game.”

“It’s not a game.” I stood from my seat, slinging my purse over a shoulder. “This is my job. The town deserves to know there’s a killer in their midst. A woman was murdered and she deserves justice.”

“She’ll get justice when the cops find the person who killed her, not hold an innocent man.”

“Innocent? I’ve read enough about this club of yours to know your father is far from innocent.”

“Former club.”

“Semantics.”

“Fuck, you’re difficult,” he growled.

“See you later, King.” I headed for the door, waving to Willy who was still engrossed in his game of pool. He’d have to find another ride to the office because I wasn’t hanging around The Betsy a second longer.

Well, maybe one more second.

“Oh, and Dash?” I turned and met his glare. He’d been watching me walk away. “How long do you think it took after your dad fucked Amina Daylee for him to kill her? An hour? Maybe two? He doesn’t strike me as a cuddler.”

Dash’s jaw barely tightened, his eyes only widening a fraction. He was good at hiding surprise, but I was better at spotting it. He’d had no idea his innocent father had had sex with Amina right before her murder.

I left him sitting there, his mind visibly whirling, and walked out the door. Slowly, secret by secret, I’d uncover the truth. First about Amina Daylee’s murder. Then about the Tin Gypsy Motorcycle Club.

And when I did, maybe this empty feeling that I was missing something from my life would finally go away.





Chapter Seven





Dash





I waited outside the county courthouse for Dad in my truck, idly tapping my knee with my thumb. His bond hearing was over, and as soon as he checked out, we were getting the hell out of here.

It was strange to be driving the Dodge in summer. I’d bought this truck only a month before spring, so we were still adjusting to one another. It was black, like all its predecessors. It still had the new-car smell because I hadn’t had much time behind the wheel. As soon as the ice thawed from the roads each spring, I only rode my bike until the snow flew in late fall. Montana winters were long and most of us who rode didn’t want to miss a single decent day.

But I’d wanted to pick Dad up today. We had too much to talk about to put it off for the ten minutes it would take for us each to ride our own bikes to the garage. And I hadn’t wanted to take the guys away from work at the garage to get Dad’s bike over here.

He came out the front door wearing the same clothes he had been in last Friday. His silver stubble was thick, nearly a beard, and as he climbed in, his deep brown eyes were tired. Dad looked like it had been a month since he’d been arrested, not just a week.

“Hey.” He clapped me on the shoulder, then buckled his seat belt. “Thanks. Appreciate you covering bail.”

“No problem.”

“Did you put up my house?” he asked.

“No. The garage.”

The judge had determined Dad wasn’t much of a flight risk, but given that he was the primary suspect for a violent murder and his past association with the club, bail had been set at half a million dollars.

“Damn.” Dad sighed. “Should have put up my house instead. Wish you hadn’t tied up the garage.”

“They’d ask a lot of questions if I just showed up with a duffel bag of cash from my safe.” I put the truck in drive and pulled away from the courthouse. “Your house. My house. The garage. Doesn’t matter. It’ll go away when we clear this shit up.”

Half a million cash wasn’t hard for either of us to come by, but considering how we’d made that money, we used it for things where it couldn’t be traced. Definitely not for covering a bond.

“Could have left me in there.”

“Never.” I frowned. Not only because he was my dad and didn’t belong there, but because I needed answers. Maybe I’d finally be able to show Bryce up. Because at the moment, in this race for information, I was losing miserably. “We gotta talk about what happened.”

“I need a day.” Dad laid his head back. “Then we’ll talk about it all.”

“We don’t have a day.”

“The cops aren’t going to find anything they haven’t already. Whoever set me up for this was thorough.”

“It’s not the cops I’m worried about,” I told him, watching as he sat up straight. “We’ve got a problem with Lane Ryan’s daughter at the paper.”

“What kind of problem?”

“She’s digging. And she’s good.”

“What’d she find?” Dad asked.

“At the moment, she’s focused on the murder investigation. But I’m worried she’s not going to stop there.”

“Fuck,” Dad muttered. “We don’t need a damn nosy reporter digging up old Gypsy business.”

“No, we don’t. We’ve been lucky. We shut things down. We played by the rules. And people just let it go.” They were happy to have peace in town for a change. “Bryce, this reporter, she’s not the type to let anything go.”