Gypsy King (Tin Gypsy, #1)(7)

“Good to know.” I laughed, carefully slipping my phone from my pocket in case a photo opportunity came up. Then I fanned my face. “Is it hot out here? Do you have a waiting room or someplace cool I could sit?”

Maybe a place where your soon-to-be-incarcerated Dad is hanging out? If the cops ever showed up. What was taking them so long?

“Come on.” He nodded to the office door. “You can wait in my office.”

We made it three steps when a police car came racing into the parking lot, lights flashing but no siren blaring. Yes! I resisted the urge to victoriously throw my arms in the air.

Dash halted, holding out an arm to shield me from the police. It was a protective gesture, certainly not what I’d expect from a former criminal. Shouldn’t he be using me as a shield from the authorities, not the other way around?

The two officers in the patrol car were out of their cruiser in a flash. “We’re looking for Draven Slater.”

Dash stood taller, crossing his arms over his chest. “What do you want with him?”

The cops didn’t answer. They marched toward the office door and disappeared inside just as another police car pulled into the parking lot—this one carrying the chief.

Marcus got out of the passenger seat and walked over to Dash and me, lifting his sunglasses as he approached. “What are you doing here, Bryce?”

“Getting an oil change.”

“I thought I told you to stay away.”

“That car is brand-new, Chief.” I smirked. “I want it to last and I’ve heard car care is key.”

The chief’s eyes narrowed, the corners of his mustache turning down. So that’s what his annoyed face looks like. I’d never mistake it for a smile again.

“What’s going on, Marcus?” Dash asked, looking between us.

“We’re bringing in your dad.”

“Why?”

“Can’t tell you that.”

Dash grumbled something under his breath. “Then what can you tell me?”

“With her present?” Marcus tossed a thumb my way. “Not much on the record, at the moment. I hope you didn’t tell her anything you don’t want in Sunday’s Tribune.”

“What?” Dash’s jaw went slack.

“She’s the new reporter in town.”

Dash’s face whipped my way. “You are the new reporter? I thought they hired a man.”

“Yeah, I get that sometimes. It’s my name. It always causes confusion.” I shrugged. “Bryce Ryan, Clifton Forge Tribune.”

Dash’s nostrils flared. My invite to The Betsy for a beer had just been revoked.

The garage’s office door flew open and the two officers came out with Draven Slater handcuffed between them.

I fought a smile, casting up a thank you to the journalist angels who’d blessed me today.

“Call our lawyer,” Draven ordered Dash, his jaw set in an even angrier line than his son’s.

Dash only nodded as Draven got shoved into the back of the cop car.

A woman with a white pixie cut came running to Dash’s side, having followed the parade outside from the office. The two mechanics from the garage were jogging our direction.

I hurried to snap a picture with my phone before the cruiser reversed and sped away. We didn’t keep a full-time photographer on staff at the newspaper, not that we really needed one when smartphones were so convenient.

The moment the cruiser and Draven were gone from view, Dash whirled on the chief. “What the fuck is going on?”

“Dash, I’d like you to come down to the station for questioning.”

“No. Not until you tell me what this is about.”

The chief shook his head. “At the station.”

The pause that hung in the air was as stifling as the tension between the men. I didn’t expect Dash to budge, but finally he nodded.

“The station,” Marcus repeated, shooting me another one of those frowns before walking to his cruiser.

“What’s going on?” The woman from the office touched Dash’s arm. “Why did they arrest him?”

“Don’t know.” Dash stared at the chief’s taillights as they disappeared down the street, then he turned his attention to me. “What the hell do you want?”

“Your father is a suspect in a murder investigation. Do you have a comment?”

“Murder?” The woman’s mouth dropped as the bulky mechanic cursed, “Fuck.”

But Dash only hardened at my question, his expression turning to stone. “Get off my property.”

“So you don’t have a comment to the fact your father might be a murderer?” The might was generous. “Or did you know that already?”

“Screw you, lady,” the woman spat while Dash’s hands fisted at his sides. His expression remained stern, but behind his icy stare, that mind was whirling.

“I’ll take that as no comment.” I winked and turned for my car, ignoring the angry glares that prickled my neck.

“Bryce.” Dash’s voice boomed across the parking lot, freezing my steps.

I looked over my shoulder, giving him only my ear.

“I’ll give you one.” His voice was hard and unyielding, sending chills down my spine. “One warning. Stay out of this.”