Nash yawned and scraped a hand over his face. He was sitting at his dining table in sweat pants. His usually clean-shaven mug had the beginnings of a beard.
“Look, I told you. I don’t remember jack shit from the shooting. I don’t even remember pulling the car over.”
It was after two a.m., and Lucian had insisted we put our heads together on the situations.
I flipped my phone over to see if Naomi had texted me yet. She was supposed to text as soon as she got home. After the night she’d had, I felt unsettled letting her drive home by herself. But Lucian was insistent that we needed to talk to Nash.
“Is that normal? Not remembering?” I asked.
Nash shrugged with his good shoulder. “How the fuck should I know?
This is the first time I got shot.”
He was being flippant, but there were shadows under his eyes that had nothing to do with the time of night.
Lucian, on the other hand, looked as if he was just hitting his stride. He was in what was left of another expensive suit. His tie and jacket hung over the back of Nash’s couch. Even as a kid, he’d slept short and light. Every sleepover we’d ever had, he’d been the last to fall asleep and the first to wake. We never talked about what demons kept him up at night. We didn’t have to.
“We need the dashcam footage,” Lucian said. He leaned forward, elbows on knees, a glass of bourbon in his hand.
My brother was already shaking his head. “Fuck you, Luce. You know I can’t do that. It’s evidence in an ongoing investigation. I know law and order don’t mean much to you two—”
“We’ve got the same goal. Finding out who the fuck decided to put two bullets in you and leave you for dead,” I interjected. “If I were you, I wouldn’t be pissed off about the extra eyes and ears.” I flipped my phone over again.
No messages.
“What’s your problem?” Nash asked, nodding at my phone. “Liza J
kicking your ass in Words with Friends again?”
“Naomi isn’t home yet.”
“It’s a five-minute drive,” Nash pointed out.
Lucian looked at me. “You didn’t tell him?”
“Tell me what?”
“Naomi’s ex showed up at Honky Tonk tonight. Put his hands on her.
Scared her.”
“Jesus. Where did you put the body?”
Lucian smiled slyly. “You don’t want to know.”
Nash pinched the bridge of his nose. “I really don’t want this paperwork.”
“Relax,” I said. “He’s not dead. But if he ever shows his goddamn face in this town again, I make no promises.”
“Knox gave him the first shot in front of witnesses,” Lucian explained.
“What else did he do in front of witnesses? Break his fucking neck?”
“Just the idiot’s nose. I escorted him out into the parking lot and helped him understand if he ever came within a hundred miles of Naomi again, my lawyer was going to make it his personal mission to bankrupt him, his family, and his family’s business.”
“Luce also smashed his face against the kitchen door,” I added cheerfully, wanting to give credit where credit was due.
My brother picked up the untouched bourbon Lucian had put in front of him and downed it. “Goddammit. I hate being left out of shit.”
“You didn’t miss much,” I told him.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Nash demanded, looking at me.
“I’m staring at you two pains in my ass.”
“What the hell are you doing here staring at us when you should be home with her? She’s probably messed up over the whole thing. Scared. Embarrassed. Worried about how it’s gonna look in a guardianship hearing.
This on top of the Tina shit is the last thing she needs.”
I didn’t like how well my brother knew Naomi.
“She’s fine. We talked it out. I’m heading to her place as soon as you get your head out of your ass and hand over the dashcam footage.”
“What Tina shit?” Lucian asked.
Nash was filling him in on the details of Tina’s break-ins when my phone rang. I all but vaulted out of my seat to answer it.
“About damn time, Daisy.”
“Knox?” The way she said my name had my hackles rising.
“What’s wrong?” I said, already grabbing my car keys.
Nash and Lucian were on their feet too.
“Someone was here. Someone broke in. It’s a mess. It’s going to take me forever to clean this up.”
“Get out of the house,” I snarled.
Lucian was shrugging into his jacket, and Nash was doing his best to pull a shirt on over his sweats. I tossed him his sneakers.
“They’re not here. I checked,” Naomi said in my ear.
“We’re gonna have words about that,” I assured her grimly. “Now get back in your fucking car, lock the fucking doors, and drive to Liza’s. Do not get out of your fucking car until your dad comes out to get you.”
“Knox, it’s the middle of the night—”
“I don’t give a shit if it’s the middle of his colonoscopy. Get in the car now. I’m hanging up and I want you to call Nash. Stay on the line with him while I call your dad.”
“Knox—”
“Don’t argue with me, Naomi. Get in the damn car.”
I heard her grumbling under her breath and then the telltale sounds of an ignition starting. “Good girl. Call Nash.”
I hung up before she could say anything else and scrolled through my contacts to Lou’s number.
“Cottage?” Nash asked. His phone lit up. Naomi’s name was on it.
“Yeah.”
“I’ll drive Nash,” Lucian said, snatching the keys off the hook by the door.
“You can’t drive a department vehicle, Luce,” Nash argued.
“Watch me.”
“Yeah, Lou?” I said when Naomi’s dad answered. “We got a problem.”
WE CAME IN HOT, looking like a high-speed car chase with me in the lead, followed by Lucian and Nash, lights blazing in a Knockemout PD SUV.
My hands tightened on the wheel when I saw everyone, dogs included, out on Liza’s porch. What part of “stay the fuck inside” didn’t they understand?
I slammed on my brakes in front of Naomi’s cottage. Lucian slid in next to me.
I turned to him. “Do me a favor and get everyone inside so they’re not standing around waiting for someone to start picking them off.”
Wordlessly, Lucian nodded, and melted into the night.
“Backup’s on the way,” Nash said as we jogged up the porch steps. The screen door was hanging by one hinge, the door beyond it wide open.
“Naomi said no one’s inside.”
“And she knows that how?” Nash said, sounding almost as pissed as I felt.
“Because before she called me, she walked through the house holding a bread knife.”
“And you’re gonna have words with her about that, right?”
“What do you think?”
“I think you’re gonna have words.”
I had to admit, it was kind of nice to have my brother back.
“Fuck,” I said when we entered.
“Mess” was an understatement. Couch cushions were thrown on the floor.
The desk drawers had all been pulled out, their contents dumped. The coat closet was open, its inventory scattered throughout the living room.
The kitchen cabinets and drawers had all been gutted. The refrigerator door hung open with half of the food dumped on the linoleum.
“Someone was pissed off and in a hurry,” Nash observed.
I started up the steps, trying to keep a lid on my rage. Twice in one night, she’d been violated, and I’d been a step behind each time. I felt…helpless, useless. What good was I if I couldn’t keep her safe?
I heard my brother on the stairs behind me, his ascent slower than my own.
Spotting Waylay’s pink comforter in the hallway, I headed into her room.
It had fared worse than the first floor. Her new clothes had been ripped from the closet and dresser. The bedding was torn off, the mattress flipped and leaning against the wall. The picture frames that had hung on the walls most of my life were on the floor. Some of them broken.
“The ex or the sister?” Nash wondered out loud.
Naomi’s bedroom had been hastily tossed. The bed stripped, the closet open and emptied. The same with the dresser.
There was a mess of cosmetics on top of the dresser that I doubted Naomi had made. BITCH was scrawled across the mirror in lipstick.
I was seeing red that had nothing to do with the shade of lipstick.
“Keep your cool,” Nash advised. “You snapping and going off the rails on a temper tantrum isn’t going to help.”
We poked into every nook and cranny upstairs, making sure the place was empty. By the time we hit the first floor again, Nash was pale and sweaty, and two more cruisers had pulled in.
The surrounding woods were painted blue and red from the emergency lights.
I went out on the front porch to force fresh air into my lungs so I could choke down the rising anger.
I spotted her, standing in the dirt lane still dressed in her work uniform with one of my grandfather’s old flannel shirts layered on top. Waylon was leaning against her shins, as protective as a basset hound got.
I wasn’t even conscious of jogging down the porch steps. I just knew I was being pulled to her.
“Are you okay?” she asked, looking worried.
I shook my head and wrapped my arms around her.
She was asking me if I was okay.
“I’m fine,” I lied.
