Reign of Wrath (Dirty Broken Savages #3)(32)

Priest gives Carter his best blank stare. “Why does anyone do anything?” he asks. “I could make some guesses, but that’s not really helpful, is it?”

It’s clear that Carter doesn’t really believe us, and he keeps looking around at all of us gathered in the kitchen like he thinks one of us will break and spill our guts for him or something. Everyone’s doing their best neutral face, and it seems like he understands he’s not going to get much out of us.

“You know,” he says. “It’s interesting that you all seem to have a habit of being in the places where dead bodies end up.”

I almost snort out loud but hold it back. I don’t need Gage to glare at me to know he wouldn’t like that, but this guy has no idea how many dead bodies have ended up in our path.

“It’s a dangerous city,” Gage offers with a little shrug. “It’s hard to be safe all the time, apparently.”

Carter makes a face, but he can’t deny that. “Fine,” he says. “What time did you all arrive at the church?”

“A little before the service started,” Gage answers. “We were some of the first there.”

“And what time did you leave?”

Now Gage does snort, and he gives Carter a look. “I couldn’t tell you. I wasn’t checking the time when it came to trying to get everyone out in one piece.”

“That’s a fair point,” Carter says. He reaches up to scratch at his nose, which is a little crooked, like it’s been broken at some point. “And were you all together through the whole service?”

“For the most part.”

“For the most part?”

“We sat together, but Knox had a bigger role than the rest of us, so…” Gage shrugs again. “He was on his own for a bit.”

I grin, trying to land somewhere between Ash’s charming smile and my usual scary one. No idea if it works, but whatever.

“But I was standing up in front of all the guests, so it’s not like I slipped off into the shadows or something,” I add.

If Carter is unnerved by my smile, he hides it pretty well and just jots something down.

“Fine,” he says again.

He flips the notebook closed and glances over at River, which changes the atmosphere in the room just a bit.

None of us like him having his eyes on her.

He looks her over, and she stands still, staring right back at him. I wonder what he sees. She looks better than she did when we got her home from the church, but the exhaustion and grief are still there, weighing her down. Her spark is back a little bit, but it’s not as bright as it usually is.

I have a couple seconds to wonder what Carter’s going to make of that before he speaks again.

“You’re injured,” he says, nodding to the stitches in River’s arm. “Are you alright?”

River just nods, and I fight the urge to pull her behind me and rip this fucker’s head off for even looking at her.

“We ID’d a lot of bodies at the scene,” Carter continues. “And I know one of them was your sister. I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” River says, but I can feel her stiffen beside me.

Protective, possessive instincts rise inside me, and suddenly, keeping River from this guy’s view isn’t enough. He’s bringing up painful shit for her, probably trying to leverage it so he can solve this case or what-the-fuck-ever. Like her feelings don’t matter when it comes to his agenda.

I hate that, and in this moment, I hate him.

I want to punch him right in his stupid fucking face, or grab his head and bash it against the kitchen island until he can’t ask any more stupid questions.

Carter’s eyes stay locked on River, and he’s basically talking only to her now.

“I just want to help,” he says. “I want to find the people who did this. But I can’t do that if you all don’t help me.”

The tension in the room goes up another couple of notches. It’s probably only really noticeable to the five of us because we’re that attuned to each other, but we’re all tense now. It’s not that we don’t trust River, we just don’t like this asshole getting close to her or talking to her at all. He doesn’t have the fucking right.

“I don’t know what you mean,” River says. “We told you what we know.”

“I know there’s something bigger going on here,” Carter insists. “And if you know anything that could point me in the right direction, then it would get me closer to figuring out who’s responsible for this.”

“I’m sorry.” River shakes her head stubbornly, her face carefully blank. “I don’t have any names for you.”

Her answer hangs in the air for a long moment—long enough for it to grow uncomfortable. I know what the FBI agent is doing, letting the silence drag out in the hopes that she’ll blurt something just to break it. But River is smarter than that, and although she can be impulsive just like me, she’s good at holding her ground. She’s not the type to cave to stupid mind games like this.

After another beat, Carter finally nods and steps back.

“Alright. I’m sorry for taking up so much of your evening then. I’ll be on my way. Thanks for your time.” He turns to leave the kitchen, but then stops and glances over his shoulder. “By the way, you should have your stitches looked at by a professional. They’re sloppy.”