Gypsy King (Tin Gypsy, #1)(49)

The smell from the kitchen drifted outside and I looked past her. “What are you making?”

“A roast. It’s been in the Crock-Pot all day.”

I hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast and my stomach rumbled. Loud.

She took pity on me, opening the door wider and stepping out of the way. “Come on in. Beer’s in the fridge.”

I kicked off my boots and followed her into the kitchen. Grabbing a beer, I twisted off the top, then went to stand behind Bryce at the stove, peering over her shoulder. “Mashed potatoes?”

“I hope you like salty gravy.” She was whisking it in a saucepan. “I only make salty gravy.”

“You won’t hear me complain.” I dropped a kiss to her shoulder, enjoying the shiver that rolled down her spine. Last night, we’d had some fun learning each other’s tender spots. That was one of hers.

Bryce turned at the stove, running her hand down my pecs to tweak her thumb over my nipple. I grinned. And that was one of mine.

My stomach growled again, insisting on dinner first. Last night, we’d had enchiladas near midnight. But tonight, even as much as I wanted her naked, I was too hungry to deliver any kind of decent performance.

“Plates are in the cupboard next to the fridge. Silverware is in that drawer.” She pointed to the one beside the sink. “We’ll eat at the island.”

“’Kay.” I set the dishes out as she finished cooking and heaped my plate full. Taking a first bite, I nearly came in my jeans. It wasn’t better than her enchiladas but it was definitely equal. “Damn, that’s good.”

“Glad you approve.”

“Keep feeding me food like this and I’ll never leave.”

“Then consider this your last meal.” She smirked. “What are you doing here?”

“Dad and I met with the Warriors today.”

“You did?” Her fork froze in midair. “What happened?”

“Their president assured us it wasn’t them. He brought along the five guys who left the Gypsies for the Warriors. They gave their word they had nothing to do with it. I’m inclined to believe them. Still, it could have been someone acting on their own, but unless we catch the guy, no one will admit it.”

“Interesting.” She twirled her fork in the air as she thought it over. “So what now?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. That’s why I’m here. What do you think?”

“Hmm.” She took another bite, thinking as she chewed. “If you don’t have a lead into who might be setting Draven up, then I think we should continue looking into Amina. At least find out why she was here in Clifton Forge. That might give us a clue as to who would have known she was in town. It could narrow down the possibilities.”

“Except my hunch is that the guy who killed her was following Dad around. Waiting for an opportunity to set him up.”

“True. But don’t you think that the way she was killed was sort of personal? I mean, she was stabbed seven times. Like he knew her.”

“Maybe. Or maybe it was meant to seem personal since it was supposed to look like Dad did it after they had sex.” Still not something I liked to picture.

“Also true. But if you don’t have any leads on who could be out to get your dad, then we don’t have any other option than to look into the victim.”

“Yeah. Guess it’s worth a shot.” I scooped up a bite of potatoes and gravy—salted just right.

If we didn’t find clues to prove Dad was innocent, digging into Amina’s life might at least get me more information about her relationship with Mom.

Because the superficial answer from Dad was not going to stand. Mom had been the type of person who pulled others into her life. She wouldn’t have let a best friend drift away. Something had to have happened, and whatever it was, Dad wasn’t telling.

“Anything else?” Bryce asked.

This was probably the point in time for me to tell her about that yearbook picture. I should confess I’d stolen it and had her arrested before she’d noticed, but that would mean a fight. Tonight, I didn’t have it in me to battle Bryce. Not when she’d win.

So I shoved another bite into my mouth and hoped like hell she didn’t find out before I told her. “Nope. This is really good.”

“You already said that.” She smiled.

“Worth repeating. I’m not much of a cook. Never learned. Mom loved cooking for us, and after she died, Dad didn’t take her place in the kitchen. We ate out a lot and Nick got sick of it, so he taught himself. He got pretty good. When he graduated and moved out, Dad and I went back to eating out.”

“I learned to cook from my mom. Have you met her?” When I shook my head, she said, “I’m not surprised. You don’t exactly run in the same circles. She’s more Bunko on Friday nights than beers at The Betsy.”

I chuckled, demolishing the rest of my meal. “Thanks for dinner. Again.”

“You’re welcome.”

We both stood at the same time to take our plates, but I stopped her and took hers from her hand. “I got dishes.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Take a load off. I got these.” I went to the sink and turned on the water. “Nick learned to cook. I learned to clean.”