Sinful Longing (Sinful Nights, #3)(28)
“Don’t you worry. I’m still focusing on her, but you will not f*cking believe what she found out the other night.”
“Lay it on me.”
“Sophie was jet-lagged and couldn’t sleep. So she was working on deciphering the rest of the pattern that I told you about.” Ryan was talking about the sewing pattern that their mom had passed onto him before she went to prison. She’d asked Ryan, then just a fourteen-year-old, to hold on to it for her, telling him that it was a prized pattern for a dog jacket that she wanted to make when she was freed. He’d held onto the hope that she might be innocent, and so he’d saved the pattern for her, only to discover a week ago, when Sophie tried to make the jacket, that it was a code of sorts. The first row contained addresses that corresponded to the homes of the shooter, and of the two alleged accomplices in their father’s murder. Sophie had said there was more to the pattern, and she’d need extra time with it.
“What did she find out? What were the rest of the lines?” Colin asked.
“It’s a list of more addresses. They had missing numbers and symbols, but she worked on it and she figured out all of them. She gave it to John, and when he put it together with the leads he’s been looking into, he believes the pattern is a hell of a lot more than just those two guys. You better be sitting down,” Ryan said, his voice heavy and intense.
Colin slowed the car, pulled over, and cut the engine. “Talk to me. What is it?”
Ryan heaved a sigh then told him the newest wrinkle.
Colin was damn glad he’d pulled over. His head fell back against the headrest, the shock of Ryan’s new revelation echoing in his bones.
When he reached his home and leashed up his brother’s dog, his phone buzzed once more. Elle had messaged him. At last. But when he read the note, frustration seared him to a crisp.
Elle: I’m so sorry. I have to cancel tomorrow. Something came up.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Johnny Cash trotted perfectly by Colin’s side as Michael pulled up in his black BMW, a mountain bike on the roof. Colin slowed his pace and met Michael as he stepped out of his car. His brother must have come straight from the office. He wore his usual striped button-down, tie, and dark pants. When he reached Colin, he whipped off his sunglasses, his cool blue gaze sharp as ever. “Did you talk to Ryan? You ready for the detective?”
Colin pushed his palm down as if to say let’s take it easy. “It’s just a talk. I’ve got nothing to hide.”
Michael clapped him on the back. “I know that, man. That’s not my point. I was just asking. Just making sure.”
Colin brushed off Michael’s hand. “I get it. But the point is I’m neither worried, nor surprised about anything related to our mother,” he said, though that wasn’t entirely true. He’d been shocked by the news Ryan had shared about her, but only for the first few minutes. At this point Colin was accustomed to hearing that she was a less than stellar citizen.
What had him so prickly was Elle’s cancellation of their plans tomorrow with zero explanation. Nothing. Not a word. That confused the hell out of him, especially because he had no right to ask her what was up. She’d been direct from day one about what she could give and what she couldn’t. They were friends-plus-more, and that was that. She’d made no promises, and he had no reason to feel slighted.
Except…she’d been giving off some serious I want more vibes at the café the other morning. He’d been damn sure they were crossing into the unchartered territory of more—exactly where he wanted to be with her.
But, hell, maybe that had been wishful thinking on his part. Maybe he’d been reading too much into one small, sweet little moment. Because this Elle—the hot and cold one—was the one he’d been used to. Push, pull. Move forward, retreat. Fuck, freak out.
Time to wise up and accept what she would give, instead of angling for something he’d never have. Elle was the summit he’d never reach, thanks to his past.
Right now, Colin’s present involved a detective, who parked his Nissan Leaf at the curb in front of his house. Colin nudged Michael and dropped his voice. “I never, never, never would have pegged the detective as the owner of an electric car.”
Michael laughed. “Doesn’t he know he’s required to drive a sedan? Four doors, dark blue, unmarked. Just like the movies.”
John walked over to the two of them, took off his shades, and said hello. Johnny Cash barked at the man. Colin tugged on the dog’s leash, giving him a quick correction. “It’s okay, Johnny Cash. If you’re nice to him, the detective won’t throw us in the pokey,” Colin said.
John rubbed the dog’s head. “Nice first name for a dog. And I don’t have any plans to throw you in the pokey.” He paused, then added, “At least, not today.” John shifted his gaze to Michael. “Good to see you again, too, Mr. Sloan.”
Michael nodded. “I know you were planning on talking to Colin, but I see no reason why I can’t be here.”
John nodded and shot him a closed-mouth smile. “Not a problem. Happy to chat with both of you about the latest. Do you want to talk inside? Or chat on the porch?”
Colin’s street was quiet now, so he opted for the porch.
John dived right into the heart of his visit. “Here’s the deal.” He took a piece of paper from his pocket then spread open a copy of the sewing pattern on his lap. Johnny Cash lifted his snout to sniff it. “We knew from Sophie’s first attempts that this pattern contained more than just a few names. Now that she’s figured out all the addresses in it, we were able to track them to who lived in those houses at the time of the murder. We believe that this was a drug dealing route,” the detective said, sharing what Ryan had told Colin on the phone.