Gypsy King

by Devney Perry

  “That’s fine. But like I said, I don’t have much to report.” His jaw was tense. His eyes narrowed. Cody was seconds away from shoving me out the door.

  “Well, that’s okay.” I held my smile. “I’m new to town anyway, so I’ll probably just ask you a bunch of stupid questions. Are you from here?”

  “Yeah. Born and raised. My grandparents bought the Evergreen. They passed it down to my parents. Now I’m taking it over from them.”

  “Oh, that’s great. I work with family too. My dad bought the newspaper and I just moved here to work with him. Those first few months were, uh . . .” I bugged out my eyes. “It was an adjustment for us both. Kind of strange to be working for your parent. But now I think we’ve got a groove. He hasn’t threatened to fire me in over a month, and I haven’t thrown my stapler at his head in weeks.”

  Dad and I loved working together, but the lie was worth it when Cody chuckled.

  “We had some of those days too. There were days when I was pretty frustrated with my parents. Well, maybe not so much me as my wife. She wanted to do some things to fix up the place and they were being stubborn. But eventually we worked it out. The place looks a lot better too.”

  “I’m guessing those beautiful flower pots were your wife’s idea.”

  His chest swelled with pride. “They were. She’s got a green thumb.”

  “They’re beautiful.”

  “Yeah.” Cody’s smile dimmed. “My wife, she does housekeeping here. Actually, we trade off days. Friday was her day. She found . . .” He shook his head, his voice lowering. “I don’t know how she’ll ever get over it. My parents are heartbroken. I’m the only one who can stomach working here. Not that I have a choice. We have bills to pay and I can’t turn away reservations. Hell, I’m just glad we have guests.”

  “I’m sorry. And I’m so sorry for your wife.” Finding a dead body would leave scars for anyone.

  “Thanks.” He fisted his hand on the counter. “I wish I could say I was surprised.”

  My ears perked up. “You’re not?”

  “That club has never done anything but cause trouble.”

  My heart began to race but I did my best to hide my excitement. Cody Pruitt might be the first person in Clifton Forge who would willingly give me information about the Tin Gypsies instead of warning me away. “Have they caused you trouble here before?”

  “Not lately. But I went to high school with Dash. He was an arrogant son of a bitch back then. Same as he is now. Him and some friends rented out a couple of rooms from my parents after our senior prom. Trashed them.”

  “You’re kidding.” I feigned shock when inside I was doing cartwheels. Finally I’d found someone who wasn’t warning me away from Dash or a founding member of his fan club.

  “Nope.”

  I waited, wondering if he’d say something more, but Cody’s eyes drifted out the office window, toward the room marked 114. When I’d driven by yesterday, there’d been police tape over the front. Now, it was gone. Unless you knew where it had happened, you wouldn’t guess a woman had been killed across the courtyard.

  “Did you see Draven here on Friday?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “No. My mom was working that night.”

  “Did she—”

  I was cut off by the rumble of an engine outside. Both Cody and I whipped our heads to the other window in time to see Dash roll into the parking lot on his Harley.

  Shit. Great timing, Slater.

  Dash parked next to my car and swung his leg off the motorcycle. He was wearing a black leather jacket today and a pair of faded jeans. Just the sight of his long legs and his unruly hair made my heart jump. Damn him. Why couldn’t he have been blond? I’d never had a thing for blonds.

  I did my best to keep my breaths even as he strode our way. The last thing I wanted was to have him come in here and see me panting. The flush in my cheeks was bad enough.

  I turned my back to the door, keeping my attention on Cody, who was practically seething.

  The bell chimed as Dash came inside. His stare burned my backside as it trailed down my spine, yet I refused to turn or acknowledge him as he came to the counter. From the corner of my eye, I saw him slip off his sunglasses.

  “Cody.” Dash’s heat hit my shoulder as he leaned his elbows on the counter. “Bryce.”

  My name in his voice gave me goose bumps on my skin. I pulled my arms to the side, hiding them from his view. Did he have to be so close? He was less than an inch away and the smell of leather and wind filled my nose. And, damn it, I inhaled a deeper breath.

  To hell with you, pheromones.

  “Kingston,” I drawled, daring a glance at his profile with my best unaffected stare.

  A growl formed deep in his chest, but he didn’t utter any other response. He held my gaze for a moment too long, and then he dismissed me, giving Cody a nod. “How are you?”

  “How am I?” Cody’s voice shook. “You have some nerve coming here, Slater.”

  “I’m not here to cause trouble.”

  “Then leave.”

  “Just want to ask you some questions.”

  Get in line, pal. “Cody was just telling me that he’s given all the information to the police.”

  “That’s right.” Cody pointed to the door. “I have nothing else to say. So unless you want to destroy another room or two, I think it’s best you leave.”

  “Look, I’ve said it a hundred times. I’m sorry about prom. My dad and I paid for that and then some. I was a stupid kid. If I could go back in time, I’d undo it. But I can’t.”

  They’d paid for it? Interesting. I’d pegged Draven and Dash as men who wouldn’t make amends for something like petty vandalism. As leaders of a dangerous motorcycle gang, they could have made some threats and gotten away with it. Taking responsibility was not something I’d expected.

  And something Cody had conveniently left out of his story.

  “I have nothing to say to you,” Cody snapped. He was a good four inches shorter than Dash and at least thirty pounds lighter. But I got the impression this wasn’t so much about the murder or prom as it was a less-popular kid taking a stand against an old nemesis.

  Good for you, Cody.

  “I only want to find out who killed that woman.” There was vulnerability in Dash’s voice. I didn’t like how my heart softened.

  Cody huffed. “You Slaters are all the same. Your dad takes a knife to a woman in my motel, stabs her from head to toe, and you’re here to pin it on someone else. Guess it’s a good thing Bryce is here. Otherwise you might try to say I killed her.”

  “That’s not—”

  “Get out,” Cody snarled. “Before I call the cops.”

  Dash blew out a long breath, then turned his attention to me. “You put my dad’s name and picture in the paper.”

  “Well, he was, in fact, arrested for murder. You might remember, I was there.”

  The corner of his lip curled up. “You make a habit of printing lies? I can’t wait to shove them down your throat.”

  Lies? No. No one questioned my integrity as a journalist. “What I printed was the truth. A woman was murdered. Truth. She died here at the motel. Truth. Your father was arrested as a suspect. Truth. Are those the lies you’re going to shove down my throat?”

  He inched closer, looking down his nose at me. “Maybe. But I’d rather shove something else down that pretty throat instead.”

  “Weak.” I rolled my eyes. “If you think threats laced with sexual innuendo will scare me away, you’ll need to try harder.”

  “Harder. You’ll beg for harder.” He came closer again, the smooth leather of his jacket brushing against the thin cotton of my tee. I’d worn a sports bra to the paper last night, opting for comfort instead of lift. I’d chosen one without padding and when his eyes drifted lower, I knew he saw my nipples peeking through.

  I could step away. Or I could call his bluff. Was Dash a bad-boy playboy? Absolutely. But was he a misogynistic womanizer who’d f
orce himself on me? No. Which meant he was pushing to see how hard I’d push back.

  Game on.

  I took my own step forward, pressing my breasts into his chest. “I doubt that . . . King.”

  Dash hissed as I dragged my nails up the side of his jean-clad thigh. My entire body was braced, waiting to see his reaction. If he touched me, I’d probably have to knee him in the balls. But it didn’t come to that. Calling his bluff worked.

  In a flash, he stepped away, his frame strung tight, and marched out the door. The bell filled the air and my breath came back in heaves, the sound drowned out by the noise of Dash’s Harley as it raced away.

  Cody’s grin stretched ear to ear. “I like you.”

  “Thanks.” I laughed, my heart rate settling.

  “What else would you like to know?” Cody asked. “I’ll tell you everything if you’re out to get Dash.”

  Now it was my turn to grin from ear to ear. “Do you happen to know the victim’s name?”

  Chapter Five

  Dash

  “They won’t let me see him.” I slammed the door as I walked into the office at the garage.

  “Can they do that?” Presley asked, looking between Emmett and me.

  Emmett shrugged. “They’re cops. At this point, they can pretty much do whatever the hell they want.”

  I’d been trying to see Dad for days but the chief had thrown up a steel barrier. No visitors unless it was Dad’s attorney. No exceptions. So while I could glean some information from Jim, it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t the one-on-one conversation I needed. We trusted our lawyer but there were questions I wasn’t going to let him relay. Their conversations were no doubt being recorded, which was illegal, but I didn’t trust the cops to uphold Dad’s constitutional rights.

  Besides, depending on the situation, Dad wouldn’t tell Jim everything. Because Jim wasn’t a Gypsy. We might not be tied together with patches and oaths anymore, but we were still loyal to one another. Loyal until death.

  “Is it normal for them to take this long to release a suspect?” Presley asked.

  I shrugged. “According to Jim, the prosecutor is trying to decide whether she wants to charge Dad with first- or second-degree murder at the arraignment. We could push them to decide, set the bond hearing, but Jim worries that if we do that, they’ll go for first. Thinks it’s better to let Dad stay where he’s at and hope for second.”

  “What do you think?” Emmett asked.

  “I don’t know,” I muttered. “I don’t know enough about the criminal justice system to question Jim. He’s always done good by us. And Dad trusts him.”

  With any luck, they’d decide soon and set the bond hearing. Maybe Dad would be out by Friday. Then we’d get some answers.

  “I hate being in the dark.” I took a seat along the window. “Did you hear anything?”

  “Nothing,” Emmett said. “Leo and I asked everywhere. Not a damn word. Everyone was as surprised as we were.”

  “Shit.” Across the room, Dad’s office sat empty. Normally, we’d be in there this time of day, having a cup of coffee and talking about cars or bikes. I’d see what kind of paperwork he’d let me push from my desk to his. At the moment, I couldn’t concentrate on work. The questions about the murder stole all my focus.

  “I wish I could find out who she was, the woman. Find out what Dad was doing with her.”

  “Amina Daylee,” Emmett said from his chair across from Presley’s desk.

  “Oh.” I jerked, surprised by his answer. When had the cops released her name? Maybe they’d done it while I’d been at the station, waiting in a stiff chair for over an hour to be told I wasn’t going to see Dad. Again. You’d think with the amount of taxes we paid they’d at least get a seat with a goddamn cushion.

  Amina Daylee. I ran the name through my mind over and over, but it didn’t sound familiar. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

  “She went to high school here,” Presley said. “Moved away after graduation. She was recently living in Bozeman. Has a daughter who lives in Colorado.”

  Not a shock that Presley had already tapped into her gossip circles to find out about the victim. “Let’s find out more. How old was she? Does she still have ties here? How might she have known Dad?”

  Since I couldn’t ask him how he knew her, maybe I could find the connection myself.

  “They went to high school together,” Emmett said. “She’s a year younger than Draven.”

  “Always one step ahead of me.” I chuckled, but my smile fell fast. “Wait. If the cops just released her name this morning and I came right here from the station, how did you figure all that out already? Was it on Facebook or some shit?”

  Emmett and Presley shared a hesitant glance.

  “What?” I demanded. “What happened?”

  Presley blew out a deep breath and then slid a newspaper out from underneath her own stack of paperwork.

  “Fuck.” Bryce Ryan was becoming a bigger pain in my ass every fucking day.

  Was I going to have to start reading the goddamn newspaper?

  “They did a special piece on the victim today.” Presley brought the paper over. “Amina was her name.”

  I ripped the newspaper from her hand, reading through the front page quickly. Right in the center was a picture of Amina Daylee.

  Her blond hair was cut just above her shoulders. Her makeup was light, not hiding a few wrinkles here and there. In the photo, she was sitting on a bench in some park, smiling as the flowers bloomed at her bare feet.

  My hands crumpled the paper into a ball, the crinkling sound filling the office. I should have had that photo days ago. I should have had her name. I shouldn’t have to open the paper to a bunch of new fucking information.

  I’d done some digging on Bryce Ryan since Dad’s arrest. Her story seemed straightforward. Grew up in Bozeman. Moved to Seattle and worked at a TV station. I’d found some old video clips of her on the internet, reading the news with that sexy voice. Then she’d quit her job, moved to Clifton Forge and bought into the paper.

  Her routine was boring, at best. She was either at home, the newspaper or the gym. The only random trip she’d taken had been to the Evergreen Motel on Sunday.

  When the paper was balled as tight as I could get it, I chucked it across the room. Except my aim was shit and I hit Emmett in the head.

  “Hey!”

  “Fucking Cody Pruitt. He probably gave her all this info the day he kicked me out of the motel. That pissant never liked me.”

  If I hadn’t shown up, would he have told her anything? Or had he spewed it all out of spite?

  “What are we going to do?” Presley asked. “Do you think he did it?”

  “Draven?” Emmett asked. “No way.”

  According to the article, Dad was the only person seen coming or going from Amina’s motel room between the hours of eight p.m. and six a.m. the night she was murdered. Bryce was generous enough to note in her article that he hadn’t been seen with blood on his hands.

  But that didn’t mean shit. Dad had mastered the art of washing away blood a long, long time ago.

  “He didn’t do it,” I assured Presley.

  “How do you know?”

  “Because if Dad had killed Amina Daylee, they would never have found her body.”

  “Oh.” Presley sank into the chair, her chin dropping.

  She’d started working at the garage about six years ago. It had been right at the time when the Tin Gypsies were tapering off our illegal undertakings. Or at least, the really illegal ones.

  Presley had been hired to help in the office as Dad retired. She hadn’t minded overlooking some things happening at the clubhouse. The parties. The booze. The women.

  The brothers who thought they might intimidate her a little. Presley was pint-sized, but her personality was full of fire, and she’d had the guts to put each man in his place when they acted like an asshole.

  And her loyalty to Dad and me, to Emmett and Leo ran bone deep. She was
the little sister I’d never had.

  Marcus’s visit to the garage last week hadn’t been the first. Presley had never once hinted she’d tell the cops anything, not that we’d given her much to report. She had our backs, covering for us when we’d done stupid shit at The Betsy now and then. Leo had her on speed dial for the nights when he was too drunk to drive.

  She was part of our family. We didn’t tell her details of what had happened years ago. It was best she didn’t know. All of those secrets had been buried in unmarked graves.

  Pres was smart. She knew what evil men we’d been.

  Maybe the evil men we still were.

  “What’s the plan, Dash?” Emmett asked.

  I shook my head. “I don’t want any more surprises. I underestimated the reporter. That stops now. She’s digging—deep—and we need to stop it.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Work. Is Leo in the garage?”

  He nodded. “He’s finishing the pinstripes on the Corvette. Isaiah is doing the routine jobs on the board.”

  “What about you?”

  “We got a new Harley rebuild to bid.”

  Normally, we did those together so we could bounce ideas off one another. “Can you do it alone?”

  He nodded. “Yeah.”

  “Good.” Following Bryce to the motel hadn’t ended the way I’d hoped. Guess it was time to try a different approach.

  I walked into the Clifton Forge Tribune, taking a quick look around. I’d lived my entire life in this town yet hadn’t been in this building before. Up until now, I hadn’t had to bother with the press.

  “Hi there. Can I help you?” The guy at the front was a dead ringer for Santa Claus. In fact, I think this guy was Santa during the annual Christmas stroll on Central.

  “Just looking for Bryce.” I pointed to the door that I assumed led deeper into the building. “Is she through here? Never mind. I’ll find her.”

  The wheels of his chair rolled across the floor, but he was too slow to stop me. I pushed through the door. Bryce was sitting at a desk near the back, alone in the room.