“Handled how?” Alec frowned. “By chasing ghosts?”
Rusty pinned him with a look.
“Look, we’re just worried,” Ethan said. “This isn’t like you.”
“I’m fine.”
“Really?” Alec asked.
“Really.”
“Then when was the last time you went on a date? Or hell, got laid?”
Rusty cringed at Alec’s question and moved back to his desk. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“A lot if you’re visiting strip clubs to get your rocks off.”
Rusty dropped back into his chair with a huff. “The whole world doesn’t revolve around sex, you know.”
Alec and Ethan—both of whom were married—exchanged glances. Glancing down at him, Alec said, “And therein lies the problem with your thought process.”
Rusty rolled his eyes and ran his fingers over his keypad again to bring up the screen.
“He has a point.” Ethan pushed up from the desk and slipped his hands into his pockets once more. “In a blunt, obnoxious, Alec sort of way. You spend all your time out here at the vineyard. You need to get out and have some fun, live a little. Why don’t you come over for dinner tonight? There’s this new girl at Samantha’s biotech company in research. Late twenties, blonde, totally your type.”
Rusty wasn’t interested. And blondes were totally not his type. His stupid brothers didn’t even know what his type was. He liked brunettes. Feisty, hardass, frustrating brunettes. Like the one who’d run from his guest room this morning.
Thoughts of Blake circled in his mind, and he gave himself a mental shake. The woman despised him. Jesus, did he need to be hit over the head with that fact?
“I’ve got plans tonight.” And he wasn’t interested in a blind date set up by his sister-in-law, no matter how nice Samantha was.
“Come on,” Ethan said.
“It’d be good for you,” Alec said.
The last of his patience cracked. He looked up at Alec, then at Ethan, hoping they could see in his eyes that he was way past done with this conversation. “I appreciate what you’re both trying to do, but I don’t need it. I’m fine, okay? I’ll call Mom and tell her the same thing. There’s nothing for her or you to worry about.”
His brothers exchanged looks that said they so didn’t buy his line of bullshit, but when they faced him again, neither called him out on it.
“What about the date suggestion?” Ethan asked. “If you won’t let Samantha set you up, then at least promise you’ll get off this property and go do something fun.”
“And by fun we don’t mean a strip club,” Alec added.
Images of Blake filled his mind again. Images of Blake in a little black dress, sitting across a candlelit table from him.
Shit. He scrubbed both hands over his face, wondering where the fuck that thought had come from. “Fine. Whatever. I’ll think about it.” I’m so not thinking about that again . . .
“Good. Then we’re done here.” Ethan glanced toward Alec. “Anything else you want to add?”
“Yeah.” Alec held Rusty’s gaze. “Don’t go getting arrested again. This family needs a fucking break from all the drama.”
Right. Like he was the problem here. These two and their antics had caused way more drama than he ever had. “You two were the juvenile delinquents, not me. Now get the hell out of my office, would you? I have work to do.”
Alec smirked, reached for the door handle, and moved out toward Abby’s desk, already chatting with her about something, forever the charmer. Before Ethan followed him out, though, he turned back and said, “Seriously. If you need anything, call one of us, would you? We’re family. That’s what we’re here for. And whatever it is you’re chasing, let it go. Let it go before it ruins you. It’s the only way you’re ever going to be free.”
A lump built in Rusty’s throat. He knew what Ethan was getting at even if he didn’t like it. Unable to respond, he nodded. And as soon as the door snapped shut and he was alone, he leaned back in his chair and blew out a long breath that did shit to ease the knot twisting in his chest.
His brothers knew about Lily. They sort of knew what had happened to her even if he’d never given them all the ugly details. They knew he’d spent years hoping she was still alive. And they knew—as he did—that she wasn’t. But Ethan didn’t realize just how on-point his last comment was, not about Lily but about the secret vendetta that ruled Rusty’s life, which he was afraid he’d never be able to ignore.
He dropped his hands to his lap and stared at the dark screen of his laptop, thinking about that date idea. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been on a date. Couldn’t remember the last time he’d sat across from a woman at dinner. Couldn’t remember even when he’d last been interested in a woman. Except . . . that wasn’t entirely true. He knew when he’d last been interested.
The memory of Blake’s heat seeping into his as he carried her into his house and up his stairs last night filled his mind. Memories of how soft her skin had been when he tugged off her jacket and the soft moaning sounds she’d made when he was tucking her into bed and tending to her wound.
He was definitely interested. Which was more than ironic because she would never be interested in him.
He hit a button on his keyboard and told himself not to get distracted. He’d probably never see her again, and if he did, all he could do was hope she didn’t tell anyone what had gone down last night.
Or how he’d been involved.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“Andrew Renwick. You are such a snake. Don’t steal my croutons.” Andy’s wife, Maureen, swatted at his fingers with her fork while shooting him an entirely unconvincing frown. “They’re the best part of my salad.”
Smirking because he knew his wife would give him anything he wanted after the diamond earrings he’d surprised her with for their anniversary, he leaned close and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “I’m your snake and you love me.”
She rolled her eyes, picked up a crouton slathered in ranch dressing with her fingers, and slipped it into his mouth. “Yes, you are.” Using her napkin, she swiped at the corner of his mouth. “Especially when you play hooky with me on a Tuesday afternoon. It feels positively scandalous being up here at the Portland City Grill during the middle of the day.”
He grinned, loving that she was having fun, and chewed the crouton she’d given him. Some men wanted fresh and young, but not him. Andy was still as much in love with her as he’d been the day thirty-three years before when she’d married him. And he had her to thank for keeping him sane all these years.
Behind her, the view of the river and hills from the thirtieth floor of the US Bancorp Tower filled the wide windows. The waiter came and refilled their wineglasses, announcing that their entrees would be served in a matter of minutes. Reaching for her chardonnay, his wife said, “I still can’t believe you were able to take the entire afternoon off. You’re usually so busy at the office.”
He brought her free hand to his lips and pressed a kiss against her soft skin. “Never too busy for you.”
She smiled and went back to her salad. Just as he was reaching for his wineglass, the phone in his pocket buzzed, and he pulled it out and glanced at the screen.
Then wished he hadn’t.
The good mood he’d been in since he’d decided to take the afternoon off dropped like a rock in the middle of his gut.
“Is everything all right, dear?”
“Fine.” He covered quickly with a smile and pressed another kiss to Maureen’s cheek as he pushed to his feet. “It’s just Harper,” he lied. “She was out this morning on a case. I need to take this. I won’t be long, I promise”
“Oh, say hello to her from me. It’s been so long since I’ve seen her. Tell her to stop by the house sometime soon so we can catch up.”
“I will.”
Hating that he was lying to his wife—again—he moved quickly away from the table and answered as he walked. In a low vo
ice, so Maureen wouldn’t hear him, he said, “This isn’t a good time.”
“I don’t care if it’s a good time,” the icy voice said on the other end of the line. “You were supposed to call me with an update. I want to know where Robin Hood is.”
Perspiration broke out on Andy’s forehead. He moved into the men’s room, thankful when he found it empty. Slipping into a stall, he hit the lock and leaned back against the marble wall. “I’m still looking into that. I don’t quite—”
“You’re not looking hard enough. He struck again last night. The package got away.”
A wave of relief washed over Andy, one he knew he didn’t deserve, and he closed his eyes and dropped his head into his hand, massaging his suddenly throbbing temple.
“We were lucky it was recovered undamaged,” the voice added in a chilling tone, “but we weren’t so lucky with the other materials.”
Andy’s head came up, and he stared at the veins in the marble wall on the opposite side of the stall. “What kind of material?”
“Transportation. Expired.”
The air whooshed out of his lungs. Someone had been killed.
“I’m losing my patience, Renwick. Robin Hood has become more than a nuisance. Now he’s eating into my profits. I want him found, I want him stopped, and then I want him dead. It’s as simple as that.”
“I-I’m working on it.”
“Well, work harder. I’ve made you very rich over the years. I’ve paid for that lifestyle your fancy wife loves so much. I can take it away just as easily as I gave it to you. Remember that.”
Andy swallowed hard.
“Enjoy the view up there with the rest of your lunch.”
The phone clicked dead in his ear.
Hand shaking, Andy lowered the phone and stared at the screen. He didn’t know what had happened last night, but he had a strong hunch Harper would. She had connections all over the city and on the force. If someone had been killed last night, someone somehow connected to this Robin Hood character, she’d have the info.
He dialed her number and lifted the phone back to his ear, waiting as it started to ring. And closing his eyes, he prayed she’d be able to tell him something—anything—that would get him off the hook. He’d taken on a client years ago he’d known was dirty. He’d told himself it was a one-time thing. But now he faced a bitter truth. There was no such thing as “one time” with people like this. And no matter how hard he tried to tell himself he wasn’t as dirty as they were, the reality was . . . he was worse. Because he covered it all up and pretended as if it never happened.
Harper pulled to a stop at a gas station and killed her Acura’s ignition. Her phone had buzzed as soon as she’d driven into Vernonia, and she lifted it from the console, only to frown when she saw the message from Andy telling her to give him a call.
Her boss didn’t usually keep her on a short leash, but she knew because of his personal connection to the McClane family that he was anxious to hear what she’d found. Dropping the phone back onto her console without replying, she pushed her door open, not willing to give him anything—yet.
Cool March air surrounded her as she climbed out, making her shiver beneath her leather jacket. She’d driven all the way out here on a whim; one of the strippers at Leather and Lace she’d talked to the other day had given Harper the name of an Uber driver Melony Strauss often called when she needed a lift. Harper had finally located that driver this morning, and he—a nice, fiftysomething man—had told Harper he’d once driven the girl way out here to this tiny town over an hour outside Portland and nestled in the Coast Range. He hadn’t driven her out here recently, but Harper was hoping someone—anyone—in this town might know the girl and give her an idea where she should look next.
“Find the girl, Harp.” Callahan’s advice wouldn’t stop echoing in her head. She knew he was right. Melony Strauss was the key to everything.
The gas station attendant—a young kid probably no more than seventeen—ambled out of the building and lifted his chin in acknowledgement of her. “You need a fill?”
“Yes.” Harper tugged her credit card from her pocket and handed it to the kid. “Thanks.”
Shaggy hair fell into the boy’s eyes as he reached for the hose from the pump. “Thought you were from out of the state for a minute when I saw you get out of your car. Was afraid you were going to start pumping your own gas. Everyone’s all confused with the new law.”
The kid set the nozzle in the gas tank, the pump clicked on, and the scent of gasoline filled the air. As one of only two states with laws prohibiting motorists from pumping their own gas, Oregonians were often the butts of jokes in the country. The reality was no laughing matter, though. Those laws created jobs for kids just like this one. And though a newly passed state law now allowed those in counties with fewer than forty thousand residents to pump their own gas, Vernonia didn’t qualify. The small town might be out in the boondocks as far as Harper was concerned, but it was still in a populated county.
“No.” Harper smiled. “Oregonian, through and through. I know the rules.”
“You passing through or visiting?” the kid asked.
Harper glanced around the quiet town, thankful it wasn’t raining so she had an excuse to be out where she could dig for information. “Little of both, I guess. Cute town. You lived here long?”
“If by long you mean my whole damn life, then yeah.”
Harper tucked her hands in her coat pockets as the tank filled. “Do most people stick around or leave?”
He shrugged. “Depends. A lot leave. A lot come back.”
She really hoped Melony Strauss was one of those who’d come back.
“I’m actually looking for someone. A girl, not a whole lot younger than you.” She tugged the photo out of her pocket and handed it to him. “Any chance you recognize her?”
Warily, he took the photo. “You a cop or something?”
Harper worked up a smile she hoped relaxed the kid. “No. Just a friend of a friend. She was in Portland up until a few days ago. Her friends are worried.”
He didn’t answer, just looked down and studied the face, keeping one hand on the gas pump hooked to her car. After several seconds he handed the picture back to her. “No. Sorry. I don’t know her. But she looks like she could be a couple years younger than me. I don’t always pay attention to the younger kids at school.”
Not a surprise. Harper slid the photo back into her pocket. Teenagers lived in their own little worlds. But she was disappointed nonetheless. She’d been hoping in a town this size that finding someone who’d known Strauss wouldn’t be too hard.
The kid hooked the nozzle back on the pump, twisted the cap back on her tank, and shut the gas door. Punching buttons into the machine, he said, “You might try over at the Black Iron Grill, though. Sally, the owner, has a kid about that age.”
“Thanks.” Harper waited while the receipt printed, then took it from the kid and smiled. “Appreciate the help.”
“Sure thing. Drive safe.”
Climbing back into her car, she started the ignition again and pulled away, looking right and left for the restaurant the kid had mentioned. Her cell phone buzzed as she moved out onto the street. One glance at the screen told her Andy was in a mood and growing more anxious by the minute.
She ignored him as she had before—not wanting to talk to him about anything that had happened last night—and found a parking spot on the street. Five minutes later she was standing inside the restaurant’s barnlike red building, looking for anyone who acted like an owner.
The sign said SEAT YOURSELF, so she found a table as close to the counter as she could and pulled out a chair. A middle-aged woman in an apron delivered food to a booth nearby, then rushed behind the counter, where a man who looked to be a bit older was ringing up bills on a cash register. The woman grabbed a fresh water and a menu and hustled to Harper’s table.
“Welcome,” she said, setting the water down and handing Harper the menu without
looking at her face. She pulled out a notepad and pen from her apron pocket. “Special today is a patty melt with choice of sides, and our soup is minestrone. What can I get ya to drink?”
Harper glanced at the menu, scanning the page quickly. “Can you make a cappuccino?”
“Yup.” The woman scribbled on her notepad. “Got a full espresso bar and the best coffee in town. Also have a full ‘bar’ bar on the other side of the restaurant if you want something stronger.”
After last night, Harper could use a strong shot but knew better than to indulge. She lowered the menu to the table and eyed the name tag on the right side of the woman’s apron that said JILL. “Cappuccino’s strong enough for now. Thanks.”
“Be right back.”
Jill rushed off. As Harper waited, she glanced around the restaurant, taking in the mismatched wooden tables and chairs, the wagon-wheel decorations, the smattering of locals enjoying a late lunch, and the collection of old-time photos on the walls showing what the town had once looked like, way back when.
Long minutes later, Jill finally returned with a steaming mug of coffee and set it in front of Harper. “You ready to order?”
“Actually, I’m just going to have this. But I do have a question.” She pulled the photo from her pocket and held it up. “I’m looking for this girl. The boy at the gas station said someone here might recognize her.”
Jill stared down at the picture, and her lips thinned into a flat line. Without a word, she turned, picture in hand, and rushed back toward the kitchen.
Okay. Odd . . .
Harper swiveled in her chair and glanced toward the counter in the back. Jill stood next to the older man, whispering and pointing at the picture, then at Harper. The man’s face paled, then he grasped the photo from Jill’s hand and disappeared through the swinging doors into the kitchen with Jill not far behind.
Not odd. A definite sign these people knew something.
Gathering her bag, Harper pushed back from the table and moved toward the counter.
Unspeakable Page 10