by Tessa Bailey
“What’s up?” Dash asked.
“Got some news from the DA,” Draven announced.
“And?” My article had been printed on Sunday, showing a man breaking into the clubhouse and exposing Genevieve and the reason Draven and Amina had been at the Evergreen Motel in the first place. Had it worked? Had we planted a seed of doubt that might make the prosecutor delay?
“It’s not enough.” Draven gave me a sad smile. “The photo of the guy. The speculation that the knife was stolen. It’s not enough. They’re going to proceed with the trial. Starts within sixty days.”
“No.” My heart sank. If only I could have told them about being kidnapped. I trusted Dash and his reasons. The last thing I wanted was for Marcus to find something that might land Dash in prison alongside Draven. But I couldn’t help feeling that had we reported the kidnapping, Draven might have an easier time being acquitted.
“We’ve got time,” Emmett said. “Two months to prove you’re innocent.”
“More than that,” Dash said. “Trial will take a while.”
Except we were at yet another dead end. Unless we could find my kidnapper, we had nothing to go on.
“I have some news too,” Leo said. “Cops are releasing it today. My source says they found a burned body in the cabin.”
“No,” I gasped. “Who?”
“Could it be our guy?” Dash asked.
Leo shrugged. “No idea. Body was burned to a crisp. They’re going to have to do dental records to identify him, but I’m guessing it was our guy. Maybe he ran up there, circled back and holed up inside. Started the fire, who the fuck knows. But if he was our guy, the chances of proving he murdered Amina without a confession are dust.”
Draven’s frame slumped against the wall. “Shit.”
The room went quiet.
“It might not be him. The guy who took me. Maybe he had another friend up there. Maybe someone he’d already killed. Who knows? I think he’s probably dead but we don’t know for sure.”
“Bryce is right.” Dash pushed off the wall. “Everyone watch their back. Something about this doesn’t sit well. It’s too clean. He was smart enough to take Bryce and Genevieve but then killed himself in a fire? Doesn’t fit.”
“Agreed.” Emmett stood from his chair. “We’ll keep looking. Keep thinking. Something will come to light.”
Leo stood too. “Fuck, I hope so.”
“Until then, let’s get back to work,” Dash said. “Show whoever this fucker is that we’re moving forward.”
He nodded for me to follow him into his office. The desk was cluttered and he gathered the paperwork up, making one large stack in the corner. “It’s all yours, babe. Unless you want to come hang out in the garage with me. I can set you up on a tool bench.”
I grinned. “We did that before, remember? Pretty sure that’s how you knocked me up.”
He chuckled, sitting on the edge of the desk. Then he motioned me into his arms, into the only place I felt safe at the moment.
“Eventually, all this will end, right? Life will return to normal?” Or a new normal. I didn’t want to go back to the days when he wasn’t in my life.
“One way or another. Either we find out who killed Amina or . . .”
Or Draven lost his freedom.
* * *
One week later, Dash and I were already finding a new normal.
We were at the garage, working. That was how we functioned now. In shifts. We’d come to the garage when he had to work. I’d sit at his desk, writing at my laptop. And whenever I needed to work at the newspaper or go somewhere in town for an interview, he’d be my silent sidekick.
Dash wouldn’t let me out of his sight, and oddly enough, I didn’t feel smothered. I felt protected. Cherished.
Loved.
If my new schedule bothered Dad, he didn’t comment. He and Mom were so happy they were getting a grandchild, he didn’t care what I did all day as long as I was growing his future reporter.
After a long talk, Dash and I decided not to tell my parents about the kidnapping mostly because it would terrify them. They’d worry it might happen again, and we didn’t need any extra attention. Which included deleting my story about the Tin Gypsies.
My backup file—the one I wrote in case Dash betrayed me—had been trashed for good. The ghosts of the former Tin Gypsy Motorcycle Club would rest in peace.
And I was going to print fun stories for a while. I’d let Willy tackle the weekly police press sheets for a couple months. At the moment, I was working on a story about one of Clifton Forge’s high school graduates who was off to Harvard in the fall. Exciting news for our small town. The boy’s face on the front page was full of hope and wonder.
I clicked save on the final draft, uploading it to the shared drive, as my phone rang. When Genevieve’s name flashed on the screen, I blinked twice, not believing it was really her.
“Hey,” I answered, standing from the desk because I couldn’t keep still. “Are you okay? I’ve been so worried.”
Not a day had gone by when I hadn’t sent her a few texts and called at least twice. All had gone unanswered.
“Yeah. Sorry.” She sighed. “I’m okay. I just had to get out of there.”
“I can certainly understand that.” Except you could be in danger. I held back the lecture I really wanted to give her. “I’m really glad to hear from you.”
“Yeah. Listen.” She paused. “I-I was wondering if you could do me a favor.”
“Of course.”
“I’m here, in Clifton Forge.”
“What? You are?”
“There are some things happening. Some, uh . . . changes. Anyway, before it gets crazy, would you meet me somewhere?”
“Sure.” I didn’t have a car but I’d figure it out. “Where?”
“The cemetery. I’m sitting here in my car and I can’t seem to get out.”
“Oh, Genevieve.” My hand flew to my heart. “I’ll be there. Just wait.”
“Thanks, Bryce.”
I ended the call and groaned.
Dash is going to love this.
* * *
Twenty minutes later, my heart was racing as Dash and I pulled into the cemetery.
After my call with Genevieve, I’d gone to the shop and told Dash about it, knowing full well he’d never let me go alone.
We parked behind a gray sedan with Colorado plates. I sucked in a deep breath as I got off his bike. Ten seconds later, the rumble of another motorcycle filled the air.
“Damn it,” I muttered as Draven pulled into the cemetery. “How’d he know we were coming here?”
“Emmett must have overheard us talking and told him after we left.”
This was a good lesson to remember to keep my voice low in the garage.
“It’s bad enough that you’re here.”
He pouted. “Gee. Thanks.”
“Oh, you know what I mean.” I waved him off. “She needs a friend. Not a crowd.”
Not to mention Dash still hadn’t warmed to the idea of Genevieve. He still didn’t trust her motives completely. Even though he believed she was innocent and hadn’t played a part in my kidnapping, I think the picture of her holding a gun to my head was permanently burned into his brain.
“Can you watch from here?” I asked. “I won’t be far.”
“I’m coming.” He moved to stand, but I put my hands on his shoulders, forcing him down.
“She came here to see her mother’s grave, Dash. You of all people should be able to understand losing a mother. Let me go with her. Let me help her do this. Please?”
He blew out a deep breath. “Fine.”
“Thanks.” I leaned in and kissed his cheek.
Behind him, Draven had parked and turned off his motorcycle. I could feel his anticipation from feet away. He wanted to meet his daughter, but I shook my head.
He’d have to wait.
Leaving them on their bikes, I walked over to the sedan. As I got closer, the door opened and Gene
vieve stepped out.
“Hey. It’s good to see you.” Warm and dressed, not in the forest where I saw her in my nightmares.
“Thanks for coming.”
We hugged hard, like friends who’d known each other for decades, not days. The hug of two people who’d survived the unthinkable together.
When we released each other, she shot a glance at Dash and Draven.
“I have an escort. Sorry. Dash is a little overprotective at the moment.”
Her face, if surprised or irritated, gave nothing away. She leveled them with a cool, apprehensive look, like she was bracing herself to be hurt.
I wished I could promise her that Draven wouldn’t hurt her. But I wouldn’t.
“Ignore them.” I took her hand in mine. “This is about you.”
Genevieve nodded and we walked onto the grass, dodging tombstones until we came to a granite slab situated under a towering cottonwood tree. A vase of yellow roses had been placed by the tombstone.
“This is a pretty spot,” I said.
Genevieve simply nodded, wiping at her eyes before the tears could fall. “She shouldn’t be here. She should be smiling with a friend, laughing at a movie or talking to me on the phone. She should be in her kitchen, making Chrissy’s cookies.”
“Chrissy’s cookies?” As in Chrissy Slater?
“Yeah.” She wiped another tear away. “Those chocolate chip cookies I made the day you came to Denver. That’s what Mom always called them. Chrissy’s cookies. I guess she got the recipe from a friend named Chrissy once. I didn’t know the friend but the cookies are good. Doesn’t matter now.”
So Amina had used Chrissy’s cookie recipe. Maybe someday, those cookies would be something Dash and Genevieve could bond over, something to bridge the gap. Or would it drive them apart? For now, I’d keep the origins of that recipe to myself.
I squeezed her hand. “They are good cookies. The best. And I bet once we publish the recipe with your mom’s memorial, the whole town will love them too.”
“I hope so,” she whispered.
We stood there, staring at the tombstone and Amina’s name written in the white-and-gray-swirled rock, until a flash of movement caught my eye. Draven was hovering about twenty feet away. When he met my gaze, he held up a hand.
The movement got Genevieve’s attention too and her frame tightened. The grip on my hand turned punishing.
I leaned in close. “You have to meet him eventually.”
“Do I?”
“Do you believe what I told you? That he didn’t kill your mother? That he’s your father?”
“Honestly?” She thought about it for a long moment. “Yes. But I wish I didn’t.”
“I’ll leave you two alone.” Stepping away, I retreated toward Dash waiting on his bike. Draven stepped up to Genevieve, giving her an awkward wave before tucking his hand in a pocket.
“I almost feel bad for him,” Dash said when I reached his side.
“Will you ever forgive him?”
He shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe Nick was right. He’s off his pedestal now. Might give me a chance to see him as he is.”
“He’s trying to right his wrongs,” I said, watching as Draven and Genevieve stood apart. They faced one another but she had her arms crossed over her chest, clearly indicating he was close enough. “Let’s leave them be.”
Dash nodded, driving us back to the garage after a quick detour at McDonald’s to pick up some burgers and fries for the crew. We crossed the parking lot, each carrying paper bags dotted with grease.
“I almost asked Presley if she’d let me borrow her car so I could sneak away to meet Genevieve,” I confessed. “But I thought you might have an aneurism.”
He chuckled. “I would have. Do me a favor? Don’t give me a heart attack before I get a chance to meet my kid.”
I smiled. “I’ll try.”
“Fuck, but you make me crazy.” He stopped walking and pulled me into his arms. “If anything happened to you, I—”
“It won’t.” I leaned back and cupped his cheek with my free hand. “I’ll be careful. Promise.”
Dash dropped a kiss on my lips, his touch firm but gentle.
My stomach growled, forcing us apart. We were almost at the office, more than ready to eat, when a familiar gray sedan pulled in behind us.
“Is that—”
“Genevieve?” I finished.
She parked by the office, directly in front of the staircase that led to Isaiah’s apartment. Had Draven invited her here? He was nowhere in sight.
“What’s she doing here?” Dash muttered.
“Maybe she wanted to meet you?”
He frowned. “Well, I don’t much care to meet her.”
I elbowed him in the side. “Be nice.”
Genevieve got out of the car, her eyes glancing up the staircase before she moved in our direction. “Hey, again.”
“Hi.” I smiled. “Um, Genevieve, this is Dash. My boyfriend and your—”
“Half brother. Right.”
Dash stood there, not saying a word. The silence grew thicker and thicker, until finally, I couldn’t take it anymore and I elbowed him in the ribs. Again.
He frowned, shuffling paper bags to free a hand and extend it. “Hi.”
As quickly as they touched, the shake was over. Dash jerked his chin to the garage and marched away, taking my french fries with him. “Got work to do.”
At least I had the bags with all the burgers.
“Sorry,” I told Genevieve.
“Two weeks ago, I was alone, trying to cope with losing Mom. Then I get kidnapped, find out I have a father in Montana who didn’t know I existed and a half brother who hates me. I’m numb to it all at this point.”
I opened my mouth to tell her she actually had brothers, plural, but decided it could wait for another day. “Dash doesn’t hate you. He just hasn’t had much time to wrap his head around it.”
“It doesn’t matter.” She hung her head. “Nothing matters.”
Before I could say anything, a pair of footsteps came down the stairs.
My eyes widened. “Isaiah? Where have you been? We thought you left.”
“I did. Now I’m back.”
He’d been gone a week, ever since the day of the mountain rescue. No note. No call. He’d just . . . disappeared. Did Dash know he was back?
Isaiah reached the bottom stair and looked at Genevieve. “Hey.”
“Hi.” She lifted her hand like she was going to shake his but then changed her mind and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.
“Um, how was the trip?” Isaiah asked.
“Long.”
The Colorado plates. I hadn’t put it together at the cemetery, assuming she’d just rented a car, but this must be hers. Why would she drive to Montana? That had to be at least eight hours. Maybe more.
“I’ll help haul up your stuff.” Isaiah walked toward her car.
Stuff? Genevieve followed, her chin down, as Isaiah opened the back seat. It was filled with boxes and suitcases. Inside the trunk was more of the same.
“Are you staying?” I asked her.
Genevieve and Isaiah shared a look, one full of secrets. She nodded and Isaiah hefted out a suitcase and backpack, taking them up his stairs. She followed with a box.
Neither of them answered my question.
“What’s goin’ on?” Dash asked, coming to my side. “Was that Isaiah?”
“Yes. And I have no idea.” Genevieve and Isaiah disappeared up the stairs. “But if I had to guess, I’d say Genevieve is moving into Isaiah’s apartment.”
He looked down at me, as confused as I was. “What the fuck happened on that mountain?”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Bryce
“Morning.” I shuffled into the kitchen in bare feet, wearing Dash’s sweatshirt. It enveloped me, hanging thick on my shoulders. The sleeves draped past my fingertips and the hood bunched at the nape of my neck. Wearing it was like having my own personal Dash cocoon.
I’d be taking it with me whenever I went home.
Not that we’d talked about me leaving. In the three days since Genevieve had moved into Isaiah’s apartment, I’d all but moved into Dash’s home.
“Hey, baby.” He crossed the kitchen from where he’d been standing next to the coffee pot. “How are you feeling?”
“Better.” I yawned as he tugged me into his chest. “Thanks for letting me sleep in. I needed it.”
“You were out.”
“I know. I didn’t even hear you snore last night.”
He chuckled. “Didn’t snore because I had my pillow.”
“You have a special non-snoring pillow?” I leaned away to look at his face.
“Not a non-snoring pillow, just a decent pillow.”
My eyes bulged. “You think my pillows are indecent?”
He grinned. “Admit it, my bed is better than yours.”
“I don’t want to.” I smiled and fell back into his chest.
It was Friday, Dash’s normal day off, but he planned to go to the garage later. Even though he had a ton of work to do, I’d begged him for a lazy morning. Some time to sleep in late and linger in the shower. I wanted to enjoy a few quiet moments, like this one, when the unanswered questions from the past six weeks got pushed aside.
“This is nice,” I whispered.
He kissed my hair. “Agreed.”
We stood like that, leaning into one another, until my stomach growled and forced us apart.
“Breakfast?” He went to the fridge. “What will it be today? More cereal? Or I can make fried eggs and bacon.”
I scrunched up my nose. Just the thought of fried-egg-and-bacon-grease smell made my sensitive stomach turn. I needed bland. Carbs were my friends in the morning. “Cheerios, please.”
“Cheerios,” he grumbled but got out a bowl for me and one for himself.
We settled at a custom, farmhouse-style table in the dining room off the kitchen. It looked like a fancy picnic table with chairs instead of benches.
“Any word from your dad?” I asked.
He shook his head, swallowing a bite of cereal. “Nothing. But if something comes up, he’ll call.”
“Damn.” We’d tried so hard to prove Draven was innocent. Now it looked like whoever had orchestrated this whole thing would win.