Deadly Silence (Blood Brothers #1)(9)

“I’m so sorry,” Julie said, choking up. “I don’t think he meant to hit you.”

Zara shrugged. “I’m not sure, to be honest.” Jay had found Julie at another dive motel when Zara had been visiting, and he’d rushed her. Zara had moved between them and taken the hit. “Either way, I wish I could turn him in.” But if she did that, she’d get fired for helping the opposition, and she needed her job.

“Once the divorce is final, we’ll egg his house.”

Zara laughed, her spirits rebounding. “That would be fun. It’s a date.”

“All right. Enough about me. How’s it going with Hottie McHottiness?”

Zara lost the smile, and her shoulders slumped. “I think we’re almost over.”

Silence ticked for a few seconds. “I’m so sorry to hear that. You’ve been happier since you’ve been dating him.”

Zara shook her head. “We’re not dating. It’s casual, which is what we both wanted, but I think it’s getting a little odd, you know? We have to either go forward or stop, and neither one of us is willing to go forward.”

“Are you sure? He sounds like the total deal.”

Zara snorted. “Because he delivers multiple orgasms?”

“Hell yeah.”

She laughed again. “I don’t know a thing about him. He was here the other night, and he mentioned he had a brother. I didn’t even know that.” She plucked at a loose thread on the bedspread. If Ryker wanted something serious with her, he would’ve at least mentioned family.

“Oh. Maybe if you made the effort, he would, too? It’s time you stopped holding yourself back. Not all guys will leave like your dad did or die like your mom did.” Julie cleared her throat.

Zara breathed out, her mind spinning. “Maybe not, but Ryker’s a leaver.” No way would the tough private eye be a soccer dad or attend ballet recitals. Zara wanted kids and a stable home someday, and Ryker just didn’t fit in that picture. She couldn’t think about it any longer. “Anyway, let’s concentrate on you.”

“For now.” Rustling sounded. “All right, get some sleep. And Zara?”

“Yes?” Zara settled down into the pillows.

“I, ah, I could use that loan for a couple of bills when you get paid. I promise I’ll pay you back.”

Zara reached up and switched off the light, hurting for her proud friend. “Of course. Night.”

“Night.”

Zara turned over and set the phone on the nightstand. Poor Julie. Her husband had turned into a total prick who liked to hit. Why were so many men assholes? Her own father had disappeared when she was three, and she’d learned at eighteen that he’d died a few years after that in a tractor accident. Who the heck died in a tractor accident?

Her eyelids fluttered closed, and she dreamed about chocolate and rivers before the phone jerked her out of the nice sleep. “Julie?” she mumbled as she answered.

“Um, no,” a raspy male voice said. “This is Sal from Sal’s? On Sixth?”

She blinked and sat up. The dive bar on the other side of town? “Huh?”

“Sal’s Bar. Ryker lost this phone in the fight—”

“Fight?” She flipped on the light, her heart roaring to life. “Is he okay?”

Sal cleared his throat. “Define ‘okay.’”

Zara swung her feet to the floor.

“Listen, lady. I found this phone, and your number is the only one on it. Either come down and get him, or I have to call the cops. Enough is enough,” Sal muttered.

“I’ll be right there. Don’t call the cops,” she breathed. “Just give me a few minutes.”

“You’ve got ten.” The line went dead.

Ryker had been fighting in some bar and she was the only contact on his phone? That seemed like a bad thing. Was he hiding her from somebody? No way was he married. Now she had to pick him up at a bar? Well, didn’t that bring back memories of several of her mom’s boyfriends? Zara hurriedly dressed in yoga gear and washed the face mask off before pulling her hair into a ponytail. How could her number be the only one on his phone?

A quick glance outside showed a dry but probably cold night. She yanked on tennis shoes and a jacket before heading into the garage. Was this a mistake?

Probably.

The drive through town took fifteen minutes, and she breathed out as she pulled to the curb in front of the dingy bar. A battered Ford was in front of her and a few Harleys behind her. The street was fairly deserted with no police cars. Good.

Jumping out, she hustled through the dark door. Smoke and the smell of tequila hit her a second before she winced at the loud rock coming from a jukebox in the back. Round and scarred tables littered the peanut-shell-covered floor, and at this hour, only a few diehard drunks slouched in chairs. Two broken chairs had been tossed in a corner. A long bar ran the length of the north wall, and a bald man sporting an outrageous mustache wiped down glasses. She moved toward him.

His sober brown eyes raked her. “I’m thinkin’ you’re Z.”

“Z?”

The bartender shrugged. “There’s just a Z in the phone contacts.”

She tried to make sense of that. “All right. I’m Z.”

He handed over a nondescript black phone. “Your man is toward the back. Get him out of here.”