Deadly Silence (Blood Brothers #1)(14)

Ryker read the headline twice before the words made sense and he could concentrate. His chest compressed. “Well, fuck. Looks like somebody knows who we are.”

“How?” Heath asked, tension cutting lines on either side of his mouth. “How in the hell?”

“Dunno,” Denver said, shoving the sleeves of his long T-shirt up his muscled arms.

Ryker fleetingly wished for another bottle of booze. “Can he trace us here?”

“No. I used false identifications to create a series of corporations that own the building as well as the business. If the three of us walk away, again, nobody can trace us,” Denver said.

“We didn’t have to leave Alaska,” Heath muttered. “It was your choice to leave Noni there.”

Ryker blew out air. “Sheriff Cobb was closing in again, and there’s no statute of limitation on murder, boys. Leaving her might’ve been the best thing for her.” Someday they were going to get caught. Could he leave Zara? He might have to flee if this hacker discovered their location.

Denver tapped his scar. “Leaving Noni was my decision, and I’ve asked you not to say her fucking name. So stop saying her fucking name.”

Ryker studied the newspaper picture on the screen of a younger Sheriff Cobb, strong and tall, standing in front of a smoldering pile of rubble, his hand on his nightstick. Ryker had felt the pain of that damn thing more times than he could count, and looking at it now made his gut ache. “He’ll never stop coming for us.”

“We could put him down,” Denver said darkly.

“We’ll probably have to at some point,” Heath said.

Ryker extended his legs. “Haven’t we killed enough?” Hell, they’d started killing as teenagers, although they hadn’t had a choice. Not really. “I say we keep dodging the asshole. We can’t be the only ones who want him dead.” How many kids had he beaten through the years? “For now, we need to clear out the garage space in this building, because I smell snow coming.”

Heath cleared his throat. “We cleaned it out yesterday. You can park the bike inside now.”

Guilt blasted through Ryker. “Ah shit. I’m sorry I didn’t help.”

“It’s tough to concentrate when you’re knee-deep in booze,” Heath said. “The case was a tough one, and you took point, so you got to know the kid before you found her. A week in a bottle is healthy, if you ask me.”

Ryker had used every odd sense he had to find that girl, and in the end, he’d been too late. He’d still failed. Sometimes he could read a situation, or even a person, with nearly supernatural abilities. All three of them had special gifts, ones they’d never been able to explain, and if they were going to be freaks, then why the hell shouldn’t they save people? Why did bad guys win and good people die? Ryker cleared his throat. “Are we making a mistake? Having a building and an office?”

“Probably,” Denver said.

Heath kicked dirt off one boot. “But we need the setup to find this bastard, and if we do it right, we’ll be gone before Sheriff Cobb finds us again.”

“When have we ever done anything just right?” Ryker muttered, rubbing his left eye.

Denver snorted. “I like it here.”

Heath, as usual, interpreted Denver’s sentence. “I agree that I’m tired of living out of motels and eating fast food. Even if we stay here just long enough to draw the killer in, it’d be nice to cook a meal once in a while. Even relax a bit after we catch the guy?”

“We relax, we get caught,” Ryker countered. The only reason he’d agreed to a permanent building was because they’d had no luck finding the killer so far.

“Maybe we should’ve kept the identities we used that time in Florida,” Heath said.

Denver shook his head. “No.”

Ryker nodded. “Yeah, you’re right. It was good we faked those deaths. Nobody will ever come looking for them.” He glanced at the computer screen. “Lost Bastards Investigative Services doesn’t have our names attached to it.”

Denver pulled the screen back around.

“Do we have any new cases?” Ryker asked quietly.

“No,” Denver said. “Nothin’ new on ours, either.”

Ryker nodded. He’d been abandoned as a baby at a church in New Orleans and then spent time in several orphanages, ending up in Lost Springs, North Carolina. He knew he had family out there, and someday he’d find them. Maybe. “No luck on finding the lawyer who did my adoption?”

“No.” Denver started typing again. “No news on your lawyer, Heath’s mom, or my so-called uncle who just wanted the money from the state for taking me in. We’re all still fucking lost, men.”

“Sometimes we depress the shit out of me,” Heath said. “So let me get this straight. Sheriff Cobb is still after our asses, we’re setting ourselves up to be attacked by a serial killer who is killing family members of law-enforcement-type people, and now we have a mystery hacker who knows who we are.”

“Yep,” Denver said.

“We’re fucked.” Heath shoved to his feet, his concerned gaze on Ryker. “At least we have each other, right? I mean, you’re back amongst us and plan to stick around and be sober for a bit?” No judgment, only acceptance, was in his tone.