Gypsy King (Tin Gypsy, #1)(81)

His shoulders fell. “I understand.”

“I need some time without you here at the garage. Some space to think. You’re not the man I thought you were.”

“I’ve never been a hero, son.”

I met his brown gaze. “But you were to me.”

The blow hit Dad hard. His face tightened like he’d been sucker punched and was fighting to breathe.

Leaving him alone on the asphalt, I walked toward the garage, then paused and looked back while Dad was still in earshot. “Nick deserves to know. Either you tell him, or I will.”

He simply nodded.

And two hours later, as I was flat on my back underneath the Mustang, the engine of Dad’s motorcycle revved as he left the garage. My phone rang thirty seconds later.

Pushing out from the car, I dug my phone from my pocket. Nick’s name flashed on the screen. “Hey.”

“Guess you expected this call.”

“Was hoping for it. I take it Dad called you?”

“Yep. Sounds like we have a sister.” The calm tone in Nick’s voice surprised me. I figured, given his past relationship with Dad, he’d be furious.

“You don’t sound upset.”

“I’m surprised. It wasn’t easy to hear and maybe I haven’t wrapped my head around it all. But mostly, I’m disappointed. Sad for Mom. Glad she never knew. But no, I’m not angry. Far as I’m concerned, Dad got knocked off his pedestal a long time ago. He’s a flawed man, Dash. Always has been.”

“I don’t know what to do about it.”

“Nothing to do. Move on.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” I walked over to the open garage door, looking outside. There was a car lined up in front of each bay. Emmett, Isaiah and Leo were all working fast to get them through the queue.

It was a good business, this garage. Provided us with decent livings. Just like the garage Nick ran in Prescott.

Move on. That didn’t seem all that bad now that I had Bryce. We each had decent jobs, nice homes, and there were a lot of people who didn’t even have that.

“I met someone.”

There was so much to talk about—things to say about Dad and the murder. But none of it mattered. Right now, I just wanted to tell my brother about Bryce. To share her with my family.

“Is it serious?” he asked.

“She’s my Emmy.” It was the best way to describe my feelings for Bryce. Nick loved Emmeline with every molecule in his body. “But it hasn’t been long.”

He chuckled. “I fell for Emmy the first night I met her. Time doesn’t matter.”

Nick and Emmeline had married the first night they’d met. Things had been rocky for them, but they’d found their way back together.

“I’m happy for you. Want a piece of free advice from your older, wiser and more handsome brother?”

I grinned. “Sure.”

“Now that you’ve found her, don’t let her go.”





Chapter Twenty-Two





Bryce





I clicked save on my story and uploaded the final version to the drive where Dad would pull it into the layout for tomorrow’s paper. He’d already staged the photos and formatted the headline. Now all he’d have to do was input the text.

I’d waited to finalize the details until the very last minute, hoping Dash or Emmett would find more to include. But in the past five days, nothing new had come to light about the man who’d broken into the Tin Gypsy clubhouse and stolen Draven’s knife. The man who was likely responsible for Amina Daylee’s death.

Draven had found his original knife—the one with the cherry handle. It had been in his home, as he’d expected, tucked away safely in a bag of hunting gear.

The picture Emmett had printed from the surveillance cameras would be on Sunday’s front page, along with speculation about the murder weapon’s theft. Our newspaper was all about printing the facts, so my personal conjecture had been pushed to the wayside. But there were hints between those facts, enough to plant seeds of doubt. Add to that my exclusive interview with Draven Slater and his confession of a secret daughter, this plan might just work.

Now all I had to do was pray that when Genevieve came to Clifton Forge tomorrow, she didn’t read my article before I could tell her about Draven. I could call her and ask her not to pick up a local paper—I doubted she would anyway. But if she was anything like me, that call would only make her curious. I was hedging my bet that she didn’t care about the latest Clifton Forge Tribune.

“It’s all yours.” I spun in my chair to face Dad, who was seated at his desk.

“Thanks.” He smiled. “I’ll put it in after lunch. Did you give Marcus a heads-up?”

“No. He can read it with everyone else.”

“Oh.” His eyebrows came together. “Uh, okay.”

“What? Do you think it’s a mistake?”

“I think a lot has changed in the last month. You were on Chief Wagner’s team not long ago, wanting to be in his good graces. And now”—he pointed to the computer—“the story you drafted is not the one I expected.”

“No, it’s not.” It wasn’t the one I’d expected to write either. “But this is the right story to tell. Draven didn’t kill Amina Daylee. The real killer is out there, and if that means lighting a fire under the chief’s ass to get him to dig deeper, then that’s what I need to do.”