Greer leaned over the bar. “I just want to talk to the kid, that’s all.”
The bartender rubbed his stubbled chin and glanced over at the bar’s two permanent residents, who were watching the exchange with rapt attention.
“Sounds like the computer kid,” one of them said.
Greer turned toward them. “What computer kid?”
“Dunno his name,” the second guy said and lifted his glass to his mouth. His speech was already slurring despite the early hour. “He fixes computers and things.”
“Yeah,” the first guy chimed in again. “Weren’t he just in to fix the registers, Max? He was really happy to get paid as I recall.”
Bingo, Greer thought. The kid wanted money. Now the question was did he want it desperately enough to mug someone?
He turned to Max, the bartender. “This computer kid. He match my description?”
Max hesitated a beat, then nodded. “It does sound like him, but that description could fit lots of other guys, too. Andy is a good kid. Smart. He hangs with some lowlifes, but he’s not the kind of boy who goes around mugging people.”
“How long has he been hanging around here?” If he was a regular, this bar had to be where Mendenhall had met him.
“A few days. No more than a week.”
Greer raised a brow. “And you let him play around with your computers?” Having grown up with Reece for a brother, the king of computer nerds, he knew exactly what could be accomplished by someone who knew what they were doing with a keyboard and internet access.
Max shrugged. “I have a sense for people. Andy’s a good boy.”
“Do you have cameras in the parking lot?”
“Usually, but they’re not working now. Andy was going to fix them for me next time he stopped in.”
Yeah, this Andy kid had fixed them all right. He’d gained access to the bar’s computer system and had no doubt erased all video evidence of the mugging. Smart move. “Does Andy have a last name?”
“I’m sure he does, but I don’t know it.”
The door opened and everyone turned to look at the newcomer.
Shock coursed through Greer and he stood. “Natalie?”
Her head jerked up at the sound of his voice, and her expression ran the gamut of emotions all the way from “oh, shit” to “play it cool.” A poker player she was not.
He closed the distanced between them. “What are you doing here?” It couldn’t be a coincidence. This bar was nowhere near their apartment complex.
“Uh…” She scrambled to hide her phone from his view, but he was faster. He snatched it away and held it out of her reach. He studied the picture she had pulled up on the screen, and for the second time in less than a minute, his blood ran cold with surprise. Dark, hot anger followed, chasing the cold away.
The kid with the barely there mustache.
He stared at Natalie in disbelief. She might as well have the word “guilt” stamped across her forehead for all the waves of the stuff she was throwing off. But she couldn’t be involved in this. No matter how many times he tried to fit the pieces together, he didn’t see a logical way she could be.
Except, she had a picture of his mugger on her phone. And she was here now.
What the fuck?
This wasn’t a convo he planned to have in front of Max and the two bar rats, so he gripped Natalie’s arm and marched her outside. After the dank interior of the bar, the bright sun blinded him, and it took several blinks to clear his vision.
“Greer—” she started, but he didn’t give her the chance to lob some lame explanation in his direction.
He shoved the phone at her. “Who is this kid and how do you know him?”
She dragged her teeth over her lower lip and, damn his body all to hell, he shouldn’t notice how sexy she looked when she did that. But, yeah, his cock stirred. He hadn’t gotten enough of her this morning to flush the need out of his system, and he silently cursed Reece for his shitty timing. The whole point of this morning was to minimize his distractions, and now he couldn’t keep his gaze off her lips.
“Who is he?” he demanded again.
“Andy,” she said softly after a beat, and her shoulders slumped a little. “My nephew.”
“You knew your nephew was involved in my mugging?”
She shook her head. “I didn’t for sure, but he ran off when he saw you in the hallway that night, and I haven’t been able to find him since. I got information that this was the last place his phone was active.”
“Information from where?”
She ducked her head. “Your brother. Vaughn. He helped me.”
Greer paced away several steps, digging his hands into his hair. “Do they know I’ve been with you?”
“I think so. Yes.”
Jesus. All his carefully laid plans started crumbling in large chunks around him. “You just can’t keep your mouth shut, can you? Talk show DJ. Should have figured.”
“There you go being a complete ass again.” She jammed her hands on her hips and glared at him, anger sizzling in her eyes. “For your information, I didn’t tell them. They guessed. They’re not idiots, Greer.”
“You shouldn’t have gone to them in the first place.”
“I needed help!”
“Then you should’ve asked me!” And more than anything else, that was why he was pissed off. She’d needed help and had gone to his brothers instead of him. Not that he’d given her much reason to confide in him, a small voice chided in the back of his mind. But still, he owed her for helping him out when he was incapable of taking care of himself. Finding her nephew would settle the score with the added bonus of leading him to Mendenhall. He gentled his voice. “Let me help you.”
“Why?” She stalked forward and shoved him. “So you can kill Andy, too?”
He let the verbal blow land, felt it all the way to the core of his being. It killed him that she thought so low of him, but he’d done nothing to deserve better than her scorn. “I wouldn’t hurt a kid.”
“But you’ll hurt an adult?”
“It’s what I do.”
She scoffed. “Well, give him a few more years, and he’ll be eligible for your hit list. Will you go after him then?”
He gripped her arms and tried to make her face him. “Natalie—”
“Don’t.” She broke out of his grasp, and he let her go, only to get a finger jabbed into his chest. “I don’t need your help. I’ll find my nephew on my own and do whatever it takes to keep him safe from you. So if you want to hurt him, you’d better be willing to go through me.”
He watched her storm away, more than a little befuddled. Whenever he’d passed her on the stairs these last three years, she’d always smiled and said a cheerful hello. She’d always given him the impression of sweetness and innocence. The sweet, bubbly girl next door. It was an impression he’d hung on to. He’d liked the image.
But she wasn’t sweet or bubbly. She had claws, and she had no problem using them to swipe at him like a mama bear protecting her cub.
Her nephew.
He rubbed a hand over his face. The kid with the peach-fuzz mustache, his only link to finding Mendenhall, was her nephew.
Fuck.
The news wasn’t going to stop him from locating Andy or finding out what he knew, but now he’d have to rethink his approach. He’d never planned to hurt the kid but would have done whatever it took short of that to get the information he needed. Now he had to be careful. He didn’t want to hurt Natalie.
Swearing under his breath, he walked back into the bar, left his phone number, and told the bartender to contact him if Andy showed up again. Then he jumped on his bike and headed to Mendenhall’s house, just in case the bastard had returned.
Nope.
Natalie’s nephew, he thought again as he pulled on his helmet. Jesus.
Chapter Eleven
Frustration rode Greer hard for the rest of the day. He circled back to Mendenhall’s several times, checked in at the bar, and go
t a fat load of nothing. He was out of places to check, leads to follow. Dead end after dead end after dead fucking end. It was infuriating.
The argument with Natalie played over and over again in his mind. He couldn’t blame her for wanting to protect her nephew, but the kid had done something wrong. Andy and his friends had meant to kill him. The only reason they hadn’t was because Andy lost his nerve and Greer had gotten a hold of that knife.
Shit. The knife. He’d forgotten about that. He’d definitely stabbed one of his attackers. He needed to check hospitals—which he couldn’t do without asking his brothers for help. Hospitals didn’t freely give out information about patients, so he’d need to hack into the patient records. Which he couldn’t do. He was hopelessly incapable with a computer. Always had been, but now he was wishing he’d spent more time listening when Reece and Vaughn spoke computer geek to each other. He could really use their help now.
No. Dammit, he didn’t want them involved in this. There had to be another way to find the guy—or kid? Christ, he hoped not—that he’d stabbed.
As darkness approached, he finally conceded he wasn’t going to find Andy or Mendenhall today, but he didn’t want to go home. Natalie would be there, and he had no clue what to say to her. He supposed he could stay in a hotel, but that idea reeked of cowardice to him. He had to talk to Natalie sometime. They both wanted the same thing—to find her nephew—so they should work together. It only made sense to help each other out. So he’d pony up, go home, and face her.
Soon. Ish.
He drove aimlessly, just taking the time to enjoy the roar of his bike, the feel of all that power underneath him, all the freedom it offered. How tempting it was to point the bike west and just go until he hit the opposite coast. Just lose himself in the countryside and forget about…well, everything.
He scoffed at the thought. Nothing but fantasy. A wild, thrilling fantasy. But he could never take off like that. Bruce would hunt him down. So would his brothers. He had too many responsibilities, too much weight resting solely on his shoulders. For him, there was no escape from that crushing weight in this life.
No, his only escape would be in death.
He suddenly couldn’t breathe. Hyperventilating inside his helmet, he pulled off the road into a parking lot and yanked the thing off his head. He set it on the bike in front of him and leaned over it. Told himself to breathe. Just block everything else out and breathe. Cool April air filled his lungs. He welcomed the wintry bite of it and gulped it in like a man trapped underwater for too long. It took agonizing minutes, but finally his lungs expanded and his head stopped spinning. His pounding heart slowed to a more reasonable rhythm. At least it was no longer threatening to burst from his chest.
Panic attack. Goddamn things were happening more and more frequently.
He sucked in several more breaths before slowly straightening and glancing around to get his bearings again. He was in the parking lot of a large brick building, a turn-of-the-century firehouse that had been converted to retail spaces after World War II. He knew this building. The top floor used to be the dance studio his mother taught at. He and his brothers had spent a good portion of their childhoods here, taking classes or just hanging out while Mom taught. His subconscious must have brought him here, seeking…
What? Comfort?
There were a lot of good memories here. And not-so-good. At fifteen, he’d thought ballet was stupid and uncool for a boy. Shortly before her death, he’d fought with Mom over going to class. He’d been nasty to her in the way only a disgruntled teenager could be and regretted the things he’d said to this day.
He’d never had the chance to apologize.
Was this place still a dance studio? He turned off the bike’s rumbling engine and looped his helmet over the handle bar. He climbed off and walked around to the front of the building. The stores on the lower floor had changed. One was a coffee shop and bakery, the other a Thai restaurant, both doing brisk business for dinner. He gazed up. The huge windows upstairs spilled yellow light to the sidewalk below. The plain white sign underneath them read simply Dance Academy in cursive lettering, just as he remembered.
So it was still here.
He pulled open the glass door and walked up the staircase that seemed much narrower than he remembered. The old wood steps, worn nearly white by decades of little dancers and their parents, creaked under each footfall. He used to race Reece up and down these stairs when they were boys. Now they wouldn’t fit shoulder-to-shoulder in here.
At the top of the stairs, a harried mother corralled her daughter into a bright blue coat. It wasn’t until they started down and the mother spared him a curious glance that it registered he had no reason to be here. He stood to the side and let them pass, and waited until they were out the door. Then he just stood there, halfway up the steps.
He should leave.
He glanced to the top, saw no other kids or parents. A class didn’t appear to be in session, though pop music floated down from the studio. He continued up, drawn by the solemn notes of a love song. It wouldn’t hurt to have a peek into the studio, take a moment to reminisce. His mother’s spirit was all around here. She infused the air, the wood, even the music, and he felt closer to her than he had since before she’d died.
The room at the top of the stairs had changed from his memory. It used to be small and narrow, with a row of lockers at one end and a few uncomfortable plastic chairs along one wall. The other wall had been a window looking into the studio. The room was bigger, the dented lockers now tidy cubbies, and the plastic chairs replaced with cushy leather. Framed photos and magazine covers decorated the walls, and he wasn’t prepared for the gut punch of seeing his mother smiling out from many of them. There she was on one of the magazine covers, mid-leap, head thrown back, lost in the music. The headline read: Meredith LaGrange: From Prodigy to Artist, Teacher to Mother.
“She’s so pretty.”
Greer started. He’d been so absorbed in memory he hadn’t noticed the little girl sitting in one of the chairs. She scooted out of her seat and joined him.
He gazed down at the top of her neat little bun. “Who?”
“Meredith LaGrange. She used to teach here but…” A small frown tugged at her mouth. “She died.”
“How do you know that?” The girl was far too young to have known his mother.
“Miss Natalie told us about her.”
Something like nerves fluttered in his belly. “Natalie Taggart teaches here?”
The girl pointed at the window. He turned slowly, stared through the glass at the woman dancing across the studio like she was floating in water, each movement precise and yet effortless. She wasn’t Natalie anymore, but an extension of the music. Watching her, a quietness settled over him and his mind stilled for the first time ever. In that moment, he wanted to watch her dance for the rest of his life—if for no other reason than she brought him peace.
“Miss Natalie is pretty, too.” The girl sighed and gazed up with earnest brown eyes. Her lower lip poked out in a pout that hit him square in the gut. “I’ll never be as good as she is.”
Attention fully on the girl now, he faced her. “Why do you say that?”
“I’m black. Black girls don’t dance ballet.”
“Well, that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. The color of your skin has nothing to do with how well you dance. Who told you that?”
Her shoulders hunched up around her ears. “My mom. My dad’s white, but she said it doesn’t matter.”
Some mother. A parent should never undermine their child’s self-esteem like that. If his mom were still alive, she’d make damn sure this girl never once felt inferior for any reason. “Nah, she doesn’t know what she’s talking about. You’re here taking classes, aren’t you? I bet you’re just as good, if not better, than Miss Natalie.” She didn’t look convinced, so he crouched down to her level. “What’s your name?”
“Annalise.”
“Okay, Annalise. Can you plié?”<
br />
“Yeah…” Her expression was full of duh. “Do you even know what that is?”
“I used to dance, too.”
Her eyes bugged. “You?”
He motioned to the magazine cover on the wall. “That’s my mom.”
He didn’t think it was possible, but her eyes got even rounder. “Meredith LaGrange is your mom?”
“And she insisted her children had to know how to dance. It’s been a while, but…” He called up an image of his mom drilling the moves into him and his brothers, pressed his heels together, bent his knees halfway, then wobbled straight again. It wasn’t pretty, and he couldn’t decide whether Mom would be impressed that he remembered after all these years or rolling her eyes at his poor execution.
Annalise giggled but muffled it behind her hand.
“C’mon, kid, it wasn’t that bad.”
She snorted. “It wasn’t good.”
Kid had sass, that was for sure. In some ways, she reminded him of a younger version of Reece’s colorful wife, Shelby. He liked her. “Okay. Show me how it’s done.”
She hesitated a moment, then dropped her bag and pliéd perfectly.
He inclined his head, graciously accepting his defeat. “Yeah, that looked good. What else you got?”
Flashing a toothy grin, she went up on her toes and kicked out a leg in a move he didn’t have a name for. Hell, it had been a stretch to recall the simple plié. Annalise did a few leaps, landed softly, and took a bow.
Showing off, he thought. Good.
And because he liked her and wanted to hear her laugh again, he copied her. Mom was probably looking down and shaking her head in abject horror at his form, but it was worth it to hear Annalise’s giggles. He hadn’t allowed himself to let go, to be goofy, since he was a teenager, and it was…freeing. When Annalise collapsed into a fit of giggles, he laughed, too. A real laugh, from deep in his belly. The first in a very, very long time.
…
Laughter rose up over the music, and Natalie stopped dancing to watch Annalise bound gracefully across the floor at the other side of the studio. The girl was a natural—no surprise since Larissa, her grandmother, was practically dance royalty—but it took more than natural talent to make it in ballet. It took drive, dedication, and a deep yearning to dance. Annalise had it all. Within the next couple years, she’d be ready to compete at the Youth America Grand Prix, where ballet companies pick up much of their young talent. She’d go far as long as she didn’t let her good-for-nothing mother talk her out of it. Unfortunately, she’d already heard the girl repeating her mother’s mantra of “black girls don’t dance ballet.” Which was bullshit.
Too Wilde to Tame (Wilde Security) Page 10