Deadly Silence (Blood Brothers #1)(12)
“Fine. Let’s go.” She moved toward the garage, and he followed.
The trip back to the bar was made in silence. He wanted to talk to her, but his head felt like a mini war was going on inside of it, and he needed to puke. The hangover had him and bad.
At some point, he needed to really get through to her—when he could concentrate again. Somebody had hit Zara a week ago, and she didn’t trust him enough to take care of it.
Not that he could blame her. It wasn’t like he’d offered her any sort of relationship. Now she’d said they were done, and a shocking panic had taken hold of him. The idea of not having Zara around, her warmth and kindness, sent him back into that cold he’d been trying to escape since childhood.
Yet what could he offer her? Really? A life on the run, looking over her shoulder? Burner phones? Sick cases with psychopaths winning?
She pulled up next to his motorcycle. “Bye, Ryker.”
He grasped her arm, keeping his hold gentle. “It’s not good-bye.”
She sighed. “I don’t understand your life, and after snooping in your bag, I’m uneasy. Worse yet, I’m angry I had to snoop. We made a deal to just have some fun with no hard feelings when it ended. Let’s stick to the deal.”
The deal was to keep things casual, and yet he felt even that slipping away. “I don’t want to stop seeing you. Let’s just forget that last week happened and go back to being casual.”
She looked at him, temptation in her gaze. Oh, he could read people, and she didn’t want to end it, either. “I’m not sure.” She flattened her hands on her skirt, her lip twisting. “I’ve had fun, and I like you, but the burner phones are a huge red flag. Are you wanted by the authorities?”
“I have a phone for the FBI. We’re working with them.” Truth, but not all of it. He released her. “You have to know, even if we split, I’m going after whoever hit you. It’s who I am, and I won’t rest until I make sure you’re safe.” He wanted to be honest with her, but her eyes fired up again, so he slid from the car before his head exploded. “I’ll see you later today, and we can discuss us. We’re not over.” He shut the door, and she sped away from the curb.
He swung his leg over his bike and stroked the engine to life, quickly taking off. Soon he angled toward the edge of town, enjoying the feeling of the Harley Fat Boy beneath him.
Cold air whipped against him, belying the odd fact that no snow dusted the ground in November. It was a record dry season, but snowfall was coming. . .He could smell it. Soon he’d have to put the bike away until spring.
Mountains, already clipped with white, rose up all around him like watching sentinels. Snow had fallen to coat the highest peaks finally. He reached the end of a deserted street and parked behind a black 1970 Plymouth Hemi ’Cuda, his mind still on Zara. Heath must already be inside. Ryker swung off the bike and read the newly painted front window: LOST BASTARDS INVESTIGATIVE SERVICES: WE FIND THE LOST. He shook his head.
Heath opened the front door of the weathered brick building that had an underground garage, first floor offices, and second floor apartments. He leaned out, his brown hair scruffier than normal and in contrast with his white dress shirt and blue tie. Tension rolled off him, and lines near his eyes showed he still wasn’t sleeping. “Denver did it.”
Of course, Denver had done it. “We’re probably going to get in trouble with the town.” They couldn’t have the word bastard on the window, could they? “Plus, while I understand the need to be present, there’s such a thing as too attention grabbing, and we can’t afford that.” Their business had been doing just fine the past five years without a permanent location, a website, or advertising.
“Agreed.” Heath held the door open for Ryker. “But Denver is nesting like a pregnant chick.”
“I heard that,” Denver bellowed from his office in the back. Those three words from Denver said a lot more. . .He wanted the sign to stay.
Heath shook his head.
“Scratch it off when he’s not around,” Ryker muttered. “We don’t want business off the street.” Which is why they’d chosen Cisco, Wyoming, for this case. He’d spent enough time in the town to enjoy the mountains and wild weather. . .and there were several ways out of town if they ever had to run. “Why are you wearing a tie?”
Heath tugged on the garment, loosening the knot. “Got sworn in to practice law in Wyoming today. Just in case and also so we look legit here. Temporarily.”
Ah hell. “I missed the ceremony.” Ryker leaned against a battered reception counter. “I’m sorry, man.”
“I hate ceremonies, so don’t worry about it.” Shrewd greenish brown eyes took his measure. “You’ve been in a bottle for days. You out now?”
It had been a lot more than one bottle of Jack. “Yeah. I’m sorry.”
Heath clapped him on the back. “We’ve all been there. This case is killing all of us. It’s a tough one.”
Tough? Yeah. Finding the vic dead and buried had been more than tough. Sometimes the lost were dead. They had to find the fucker killing young women. “I should’ve been at your deal today.”
“Why?” Heath frowned.
Ryker lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know. It’s what you do, right?” They were family, and he’d die for his brothers. The least he could do was attend a ceremony and be supportive. He wouldn’t have had a chance in life without Heath.