Gypsy King (Tin Gypsy, #1)(4)

I waved goodbye to the chief and the other officer, then headed down the hallway. The sign for the ladies’ room lured me inside after too much coffee. I used the bathroom and washed my hands, my anticipation growing for my first interaction with the Tin Gypsies, but as I went to open the door, a word from two men standing in the hallway outside caught my attention.

Murder.

I froze and hovered, listening through the crack. The men were close, their voices no more than a whisper.

“Riley took the call. Said he’s never seen blood like that before. The chief is debriefing him right now. Then we’ll all need to be ready to roll out.”

“Do you think he did it?”

“Draven? Hell yeah. Maybe we’ll finally have something to pin on that slick bastard.”

Oh. My. God. If my ears weren’t betraying me, I’d just overheard two cops talking about a murder and Draven Slater was the key suspect. I needed to get out of this bathroom. Now.

I eased the door closed and took three quiet steps backward. Then I coughed, loud, and let my heels click on the tile floor. I whipped open the door in a fury and pretended to be shocked at the men right outside.

“Oh, hell.” I threw a hand over my heart. “You guys scared me. I didn’t think anyone was out here.”

They shared a look with one another, then stepped apart.

“Sorry about that, ma’am.”

“No problem.” I smiled and walked by, doing my best to keep the urgency out of my footsteps.

I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, using the gesture to sneak a glance over my shoulder at the bullpen. Three male officers were standing at the far corner desk; none had noticed me walking toward the exit. Two of the men were practically buzzing. Mouths moved fast as one talked over the other. Hand gestures flew. The third officer stood with his arms wrapped around his chest, his face pale as he shifted from foot to foot.

My heart raced as I found the nearest exit door and pushed outside. When the sunshine hit my face, I flew into motion, running for my car.

“Shit.” My fingers fumbled to hit the ignition button and put the car in reverse. “I knew it!”

My hands shook as I gunned the engine for the street, checking my rearview mirror to make sure the cops weren’t behind me.

“Think, Bryce. What’s the plan?” I had no idea where the murder had happened so I couldn’t show up at the scene of the crime. I could wait around and follow the cops, but they’d shut me out before I saw a thing. So what else was there?

Be an eyewitness to Draven’s arrest. Bingo.

It was a risk, going to the garage and not waiting around to follow the cops to the murder scene. Hell, Draven might not even be at the garage. But if I was going to gamble, it was my best chance at a scoop. I could learn more about the murder itself from those blessed press sheets.

Yes, if my luck held, I’d be standing front and center when Draven got hauled off to jail. Hopefully Dash would be there too. Maybe he’d be caught by surprise just enough that I’d get a glimpse at him during a moment of weakness. I’d learn something that would help me uncover the secrets hidden behind his ridiculously handsome face.

I smiled over the steering wheel.

Time for that oil change.





Chapter Two





Bryce





My heart was pounding as the Clifton Forge Garage came into view. My fingers were shaking. This thrill—this one-of-a-kind exhilaration that only came with the hunt—was why I’d become a reporter. Not to sit in front of a camera and read someone else’s story.

Regret was the driving force behind this Tin Gypsy story. Remorse was the reason it was so, so important.

I’d chosen a television career with such promise. I’d changed direction, moving away from the newspaper job I’d always planned to take. The job everyone had expected me to take. But after college, I hadn’t wanted to follow in Dad’s footsteps, at least not right away. A fresh-faced woman in her early twenties, I’d been inspired to forge a path of my own. So I’d moved to Seattle from Montana and taken up TV.

Along the way, I’d made choices. None of them had seemed wrong in the moment. Until one day, a decade later, I’d woken up in my Seattle apartment and realized the collection of those good choices had accumulated into a bad life.

My job was unfulfilling. I slept alone most nights. When I looked in the mirror, I saw a woman in her early thirties who wasn’t happy.

The TV station owned my life. Every action was done to their bidding. Because my hours were so odd, I didn’t even bother trying to date. What man wanted to have dinner at four and be in bed by seven? It wasn’t a big deal when I was in my twenties. I’d always figured the right guy would come around eventually. Things would fall into place when it was time. I’d get married. Have a family.

Well, things hadn’t fallen into place. And if I stayed in Seattle, they never would.

Clifton Forge was my fresh start. I’d rechecked my expectations for the future. The chances I’d meet a man and have kids while I was bodily able to were dwindling. So if becoming an old maid was my path, then at least I’d enjoy my damn job.

My career in Seattle had turned out to be a dud. Network executives had made me promise after promise that eventually I’d have more freedom. They’d assured me I’d get the opportunity to tell my own stories instead of interviewing other journalists and reading from approved cue cards.