Deadly Silence (Blood Brothers #1)(20)

“You believe in the supernatural?”

“No.” Greg shook his head. “But I think certain people have special gifts, and from your record, you’re one of those people.”

Everything in Ryker stilled. “I don’t have any special gifts.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, pal.”

Ryker dropped his gaze to the wide hands. “You have a gun in your boot, kid?”

Greg’s eyes hardened. “Gun in right, knife in left. If I wanted you dead, buddy, you’d already be dead.”

A chill spread down Ryker’s back. “How old are you?”

At the question, a desolateness filtered across Greg’s sharp face. “Too old, man. Way too fucking old.”

Ryker leaned back, more than prepared to go for the gun in his boot. Greg shook his head. “I’m faster than you.”

“I doubt that,” Ryker said softly. His gift in reading people didn’t come close to the speed of his reflexes.

Greg’s gaze sharpened, and he studied Ryker closely. “You gonna help me or not?”

“Our files don’t indicate anything about Lost Springs,” Ryker said. “The connections out there have been severed.”

“Obviously not.” Arrogance, probably well earned, echoed in Greg’s tone. “There’s always a string to pull, and I found yours. If you help me with my one little case, I’ll show you how I found you and how to cut that string to the past for good.”

Now, that was an intriguing offer, and there was something about Greg that drew Ryker. Heath would take the kid in and buy him a milkshake. “Who do you want me to find?”

Greg reached into his front pocket and brought out a piece of paper, which he quickly unfolded. He took a long look at it and then slid it across the desk.

Ryker lifted the sketch of a middle-aged woman with blue eyes and jet black hair. His entire chest heated and then chilled with the force of a glacier. It was Sylvia Daniels . . . but older than he remembered. In the picture, she had a few wrinkles but still had the cold, intelligent gaze that had given him the willies as a child. For two seconds, he was a lost kid again, scared and alone. Then he regained control. “Who is this woman?” His voice remained steady, which shocked the hell out of him.

“Just a woman I need to find.”

Ryker’s head spun. “Your mother?”

“Hell no.” Anger sizzled from the kid.

Ryker set down the paper. What was going on? “I’m not finding somebody for you to hurt.” Although now he was going to find the woman no matter what.

“Don’t want to hurt her. Just need to find her.” The kid crossed his arms. “You gonna help or go to jail?”

Ryker flattened a hand over the carefully drawn sketch. He’d been running for a long time, and some kid wasn’t going to turn him in. But he’d have to leave Cisco, and he didn’t want to leave Zara until he figured out what was going on between them. The fact that this kid wanted to find Daniels . . . Shit. Something was going on, and it was way out of his wheelhouse. “I’ll help.”

Greg sat back. “Wise choice.”

“Who is she?” Ryker studied the fine lines of her face. If he found her, he’d be digging up a past he’d spent ten years burying. Hell. Fifteen years.

“Her name is Dr. Isobel Madison, and she disappeared from a covert military facility in Utah last year,” Greg said.

A covert military facility? Ryker eyed the kid. Why did the woman have two names? “If she isn’t your mother and you don’t want to hurt her, why do you want to find her?”

Greg ran his hands down his legs, his jaw trembling until he visibly controlled himself. “She’s my last hope, man.”

Several hours after Greg had disappeared from the office, Ryker leaned back in his chair, his emotions rioting. Every once in a while he could feel control slipping away, and he grabbed it back with ruthless hands. He’d been on the computer, doing searches, and nothing had popped, which didn’t surprise him. Heath and Denver were still away from the office, and he hadn’t discovered Zara’s secrets.

At the moment, he wasn’t doing anything right.

Taking a deep breath, he kicked his feet up onto his desk and closed his eyes.

Memories battered him, and he let them come, trying to find a pattern in the past. Just who was Isobel Madison?

He was twelve years old, had just taken Denver under his wing, and was worried Heath would try to recruit more members into their sad little team. He could cover only so many people, and two was his limit.

Even though it was Sunday, he’d been told to report to one of the two classrooms and continue working with Sylvia Daniels.

A thought played through his mind that he could just up and leave and nobody would find him, but he couldn’t leave Heath and Denver. How could he take care of them if they all ran now?

Time. He was smart, and he’d bide his time.

The classrooms were on the second floor of the main building, and on Sunday, the entire floor was empty. He plodded down the empty hallway, his footsteps silent.

A woman’s cry stopped him short. Chills darted down his back. He inched down the dingy walls and stopped, peeking into the classroom. Daniels was on her back on a table, her legs up over Sheriff Cobb’s shoulders as he stood beside the table, and his pants were down around his ankles. He was holding her hips and thrusting hard, grunting each time, his butt in full view. His body shuddered, and he groaned.