Spring Romance: NINE Happily Ever Afters

by Tessa Bailey

  I grinned. “Every time.”

  “Not every time.” She smirked.

  “True.” I’d acted the same way as Leo that first day she’d come to the garage. And she’d shot me down. “We only use that line in the summer. We can’t ride in the winter so we come up with something new.”

  “Given your reputation, it’s got to be better.”

  I shrugged. “Not always. Sometimes all it takes is hello.”

  “Let’s be done talking about this.” A flare of annoyance—and jealousy?—laced her voice. Whatever she was feeling, she shoved it away and extended her hand to Emmett. “I’m Bryce Ryan.”

  “Emmett Stone.” He held her gaze, as if assessing a potential enemy.

  “Who’s this?” Leo glared at Bryce as he came to stand by Emmett.

  “Bryce Ryan,” she spoke at the same time I said, “She’s the new reporter in town.”

  “Ahh. The pain in our ass.”

  “Or the woman who might actually be able to help clear your boss’s name,” she shot back.

  “Cool it. She’s on our team, Leo.” I sent him a warning glare. “We’re working together.”

  His scowl deepened as another engine’s thunder signaled its approach.

  Dad pulled into the garage, parking by Leo, and wasted no time coming right up to Bryce and holding out his hand. “Bryce. I’m Draven. Didn’t get to meet you the last time we were both here.”

  “Yes.” She shook his hand. “You were a bit busy that day.”

  Did she have to remind him of the arrest? I got that it was her way of exerting some control over the situation, sending a message that Dad wouldn’t intimidate her either. But she risked pissing him off. He was tight-lipped about this whole thing enough as it was.

  Christ. I was going to end up playing mediator between the guys and Bryce.

  “Let’s talk inside.” I waved everyone into the garage.

  We all assumed places in the garage. Leo and Emmett both hopped up onto a tool bench. I stood against a wall. Dad stood in the center of the room, his legs planted wide and arms over his chest.

  And Bryce, to torture me, went and leaned against the Mustang.

  “How much does she know?” Dad asked, staring right at Bryce.

  “Enough to bury you if you betray me,” she answered.

  “Enough that she knows the risks involved,” I corrected. “We have an arrangement. It’s between me and her. And not the point of this meet.”

  “She’s an outsider. And not part of—”

  I held up a hand, silencing Leo’s protest. “It’s done.”

  The garage went still. Bryce looked around the room, waiting to see if anyone would object. But Leo’s would be the last. At least, the last objection while she was in the room. Emmett would corner me later and voice his concerns. Dad wouldn’t object; he knew it was too late. His criticism would only come if I’d made a mistake and we were dealing with the fallout of Bryce writing a story that condemned us all.

  “Emmett and Leo”—I looked to them—“any word around town about who might have it out for Dad?”

  Both shook their heads as Emmett spoke up. “There’s nothing. Not a hint. I even met with a couple of old members who’d gone to the Warriors. They could be lying, but I don’t think it’s them.”

  “That goes with the story they gave us when we met with them and Tucker.”

  “It’s quiet because everyone thinks Draven did it,” Leo said.

  My gaze met Bryce’s, silently reinforcing my message. He didn’t kill her. “Listen. Yesterday, Bryce and I went to—”

  “How long were you sleeping with Amina?” Bryce fired the question at Dad.

  “Jesus Christ,” I mumbled. So much for giving Dad a little background about our trip yesterday before springing it on him.

  “I spent the night with her,” Dad answered, the tension in the garage spiking. “Though, you already knew that.”

  “Not the night before she was killed.” Bryce shook her head. “Before. How many times did you go visit her?”

  His eyebrows came together. “Visit her?”

  “We went to her house in Bozeman yesterday,” I explained. “Looked around. Her neighbor said she had a guy about my height and your age visit every few weekends. Was it you?”

  “No. The first time I saw Amina in over twenty years was the day she came here.”

  “Why’d she come?” Bryce asked. “Did she tell you?”

  “Said she wanted to visit. See how things had changed. Called me here at the garage and asked if I’d meet with her for a drink. I told her I’d pick her up from her room. Got there. We started talking. Never had that drink.”

  I looked to Bryce. “That means there is a boyfriend out there. Maybe one who’d get jealous and kill her after he left.”

  “Crime of passion makes sense,” Emmett said. “Given the number of times she was stabbed. But how’d he get your knife, Draven?”

  “Hell if I know. I haven’t been hunting in years. I can’t even remember where I kept it. Somewhere at home, probably.”

  “A boyfriend wouldn’t have known that.” I ran a hand through my hair. “Or who you were to go and steal it. No boyfriend acting in a jealous rage would take the time to set you up.”

  “Unless.” Bryce began swaying, shifting her weight from foot to foot as a crease formed between her eyebrows. “What if Amina was dating someone from Clifton Forge? Maybe she had come back here. Maybe she’d lied about not being here for decades. If her boyfriend was from town, it would be plausible he could have set you up. Especially if he knew you, Draven.”

  “She didn’t lie,” Dad said. “Amina had no reason to deceive me.”

  “But what if she was part of the setup?” Bryce countered, talking with her hands moving. “Maybe she and this boyfriend came to town. She called you to the motel while he went to your place to steal your knife. Except something goes wrong. Maybe they’d planned to plant the knife at another crime. But he comes back to the motel and gets enraged that you two had sex. Kills her. Frames you.”

  It was possible. Thin, but possible.

  “Amina wasn’t out to get me,” Dad insisted. “She . . . she wasn’t like that.”

  “You said there was history, Dad. Are you sure she wouldn’t want to see you in prison?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “How can—”

  “Kingston.” One word and there was no room for argument. “I’m sure. Someone set me up to take the fall for murdering an innocent woman. She just wanted to visit a town she hadn’t been in for years. And to see me, an old friend from high school. That’s it.”

  Bryce opened her mouth but took one look at my gaze and clamped it shut again. There would be no debating this with Dad. She didn’t know him well enough to hear the conviction in his voice.

  “So where are we?” Emmett asked, taking his hair in his hands to tie it up.

  “We’re in the same place we were.” Dad sighed. “Whoever did this has me dead to rights. The cops know I was there. They have my fingerprints on my weapon. There’s nothing we can do but wait and hope someone gets stupid and starts talking.”

  “That’s not happening.” I fisted my hands. “No one is talking. Whoever did this is patient. Really fucking patient. They’ve made no move against the rest of us.”

  “They probably won’t,” Emmett said. “At least not yet. They’re waiting to see what happens with Draven.”

  “Exactly,” Leo muttered. “Meanwhile, we’re stuck. And we all gotta keep looking over our shoulders until we can make some headway.”

  “Or,” Bryce said quietly, “we use the one lead we have. We make sure this boyfriend didn’t start dating Amina to get to Draven. If the killer knew there was a connection between Draven and Amina, he could have been playing her from the beginning.”

  “Agreed,” I said. “We need to track this guy down.”

  “How?” Leo asked.

  “We could ask her daughter,” Bryce suggested.
r />   “No.” Dad’s bark echoed off the walls.

  “Why not?” I pushed off the wall. Was Dad really that set on life in prison? “She might know who her mother was seeing.”

  “No.” He pointed at my face. “The daughter is off-limits. She just lost her mother. She doesn’t need to be bothered by a goddamn reporter and the son of the man who is suspected of killing her mom. Leave her alone. That’s an order.”

  It had been a long time since he’d issued an order. Not since the days when he’d worn the president patch for the Gypsies rather than me.

  “Am I understood?” Dad asked Emmett and Leo.

  “Understood,” they answered in unison.

  Dad looked to me, his gaze hard and unwavering. “Dash?”

  Fuck. Bryce was seething but I was pinned in the corner. I wouldn’t go against Dad. Not when he’d gone this far to make his point. “Understood.”

  “We’re with you, Prez,” Emmett said as Leo’s head bobbed in agreement.

  “Good,” Dad said. “And that goes for her too. She bothers the daughter, I’ll see to it that she’ll never write another story again. Hard to write when you’re missing your hands.”

  Hell. Did he have to keep making it worse? That was over the top. If his intent was to scare Bryce, he had failed. She was livid. I could feel the heat of her anger from across the room. She’d probably melt the paint on the Mustang.

  But I didn’t say a word as Dad marched out the door.

  “Guess this meeting is over.” Leo hopped down from the bench as Dad rode away from the garage. He jerked his chin up at Bryce as he walked backward toward his bike. “Change your mind about that ride—”

  “I’ll call Dash.”

  Leo looked between us, realization dawning, then laughed. “Ah. Good luck, brother.”

  Emmett followed him out, waving as he walked to his bike. “I’ll keep an ear open.”

  “Do that,” I said. “Have a good weekend.”

  “I will.” He grinned. “Think I might need another coffee.”

  When the noise from their bikes was gone and the garage was quiet, I turned to Bryce.

  “He threatened me.”

  “Yes, he did.”

  She lifted her chin. “Will you take his side?”

  My immediate response was yes. I’d always support Dad and he’d made it clear where he stood. But if it came down to that, to hurting her, I knew the answer was no. “No. But it doesn’t matter because you’re not going to bother the daughter. You’re more compassionate than that.”

  “We have to talk to the daughter,” she said immediately. “Maybe the boyfriend is nothing, but it’s the only new information we have.”

  “Dad has a point. She just lost her mother. If she’s living in Denver, the chances that she even knows her mom’s weekend hookup are small anyway. It’s not worth stirring up a bunch of hurt.”

  “Even if it means your dad spends the rest of his life in prison? Do you still think he’s innocent after threatening to cut. Off. My. Hands?”

  I raked a hand through my hair. “He wouldn’t do it.” Maybe he would have years ago, but not now. “He’s just trying to scare you. And yes, he’s innocent. If he wants to spend his life in prison for a murder he didn’t commit, then I guess that’s the reality of the situation.”

  “It doesn’t have to be.”

  No, it didn’t. Why won’t Dad fight? What is he hiding?

  Draven Slater’s secrets were going to land him in the state penitentiary for the rest of his life. Son of a bitch. I clenched my teeth, resisting the urge to pick up a wrench and throw it across the shop. Why was he backing down? That wasn’t like him.

  And why should I fight for his freedom when he wasn’t fighting himself?

  “Don’t know what to do here, babe,” I confessed, shaking my head. “I’m pissed, for sure. But Dad’s right. I honestly don’t think the daughter is going to give us any information. And I’m at a dead end until Dad decides how hard he wants to push. All I can do is respect my father’s wishes while defending him because I know he’s innocent. What would you do if it was your father?”

  “I don’t know.” Bryce’s anger vanished. Her voice softened. She crossed the room and put her delicate hand on my arm. “We both want the truth, but I have a story. I can print exactly what happens with his trial. With his conviction. We both know it will come down to that. And I can accept that he’s the killer. That justice is served. I can accept that as the truth. Can you?”

  “He’s my dad,” I whispered. “It’s his choice.”

  “Okay. Then I guess we’re done here.”

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  She dropped her hand and stepped away. “See you around, King.”

  “Take care, Bryce.” My heart twisted. I was losing on both sides. Emmett had gotten one thing right: she was more than just under my skin. She was in there. Deeper than I wanted to admit to myself.

  Her heels clipped on the floor as she made her way outside. But before disappearing, she paused and looked over her shoulder. “How about dinner, one last time?”

  One last time.

  “I’ll bring the beer.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Bryce

  Sitting alone at my kitchen island, I picked at my chicken salad sandwich.

  Two weeks had gone by since the meeting in the garage and my last night with Dash. Dinners since had been eaten in this spot so I could watch out the front kitchen window, hoping to hear the thunder of his motorcycle before it pulled up to my curb.

  I missed having an uninvited dinner guest. More and more each day, I missed Dash, and not only for the sex. I missed talking to him and hearing his voice. I missed the easy way he moved around my house. I even missed the snoring.

  But I hadn’t heard a word from him. Our final parting had been, well . . . final.

  My foolish heart had hoped I’d left a lasting impression. One that would make him yearn to see me again—the way I yearned. Clearly the sex I’d thought unforgettable was actually the opposite.

  He’d probably found a new replacement at The Betsy to keep himself company. An easy feat for Dash Slater, finding a woman willing to take him to her bed. Sometimes all it takes is hello. The thought of him saying those words to another woman made my stomach roll.

  I tossed down my sandwich, most of it uneaten. I hadn’t had much of an appetite over the last week. The gnawing feeling that I was quitting on Amina Daylee’s story had frayed my nerves.

  How could Draven not want to find Amina’s killer? How could Dash be okay leaving a lead unfollowed? Especially given how strongly he believed his father was innocent.

  It didn’t make sense. It felt like giving up.

  I hadn’t written anything about her murder or the Tin Gypsies in the past two weeks. My stories had been focused on summer activities around town, particularly the upcoming Independence Day parade and the holiday’s various celebrations.

  Because I wasn’t sure what to write yet. Without new information on Amina’s murder case or knowing when Draven would be brought to trial, there was nothing to print. And I wasn’t ready to write a story on the former Tin Gypsy MC.

  The information Dash had told me on the record would suffice for an easy Sunday feature. A popular one too. But for me, that story was dull. Lifeless. The good stuff was all the things he’d told me off the record. Since he’d kept his end of the bargain not to hide things from me, I’d be keeping mine too.

  Or had he?

  The meeting at the garage played over and over in my mind. Draven’s insistence we not talk to the daughter had been nagging at me. I didn’t know the man from Adam, but he’d been so firm.

  Was he always like that? Was he just trying to intimidate me? I believed his threat, more so than I’d believed any Dash had given me. If I went to Amina’s daughter, he’d retaliate. He might even cause me physical harm.

  And that was why I had to go.

  Draven’s insistence was more than sparing the feeli
ngs of a grieving child. He was hiding something. Was I the only one who saw it?

  Either Dash didn’t care, blinded by his loyalty to his father, or Dash knew Draven’s secret and was lying to me—which meant my story would include every word he’d spoken about the Gypsies.

  I’d been waiting to see if something came up—it wouldn’t. Murderers with a lick of sense didn’t go around talking about said murder. They certainly didn’t brag about framing a notorious criminal. And Amina’s murderer was smarter than your average gummy bear.

  Screw Draven’s threat. And screw Dash for making me miss him. Besides, Draven would never know I was leaving. Not unless he was following me too.

  Picking up my phone, I opened my United Airlines app and checked into my flight leaving tomorrow morning for Denver.

  Then I flipped open the yellow notepad sitting next to me, reading Genevieve Daylee’s address for the hundredth time.

  * * *

  “Thanks,” I said to my Uber driver as I got out of the car.

  The late-morning air was fresh and warm in Colorado. The sunshine beat down bright. I’d gotten up long before dawn to drive to Bozeman and catch my flight, watching the sun rise from my tiny window on the airplane. Then I’d ordered a ride to Genevieve’s.

  The condos on this street were all the same, a row of tan siding with white grid windows. Genevieve had a planter full of purple and pink petunias by her door, brightening up her stoop.

  I took a deep breath, pinned my shoulders back and walked up the sidewalk. After a sure knock, I waited.

  Maybe I should have called first, but not wanting to raise any questions or have word get back to Draven that I’d contacted her, I’d risked a surprise visit. It was a gamble that she’d even be home, but it was a Saturday and hopefully I’d get lucky. If not, my return flight would be delayed until I could find some time to see her.

  Light footsteps, a quick flip of the lock and the door opened.

  “Hello.” She smiled.

  “H-hi.” I did a double take. She looked so much like Amina. Familiar, but there was something else there too. Something I couldn’t put my finger on.

  Her hair was dark and long, curled into thick spirals. Her face was heart shaped with flawless skin. Her eyes were a deep brown that I was sure I’d seen somewhere before. And she had her mother’s chin and mouth.