“I don’t have a clue where she went,” Rory mumbled.
Striker groaned then came to stand within several feet of Rory, the blade still gripped in his fist. “It appears you have a habit of losing things.”
“The shit was here,” Rory stammered. “I’ve never betrayed you guys. I wouldn’t.”
“We hear that a lot.” Striker brought the knife up and scraped the blade down Rory’s cheek, drawing blood. The man rubbed the blade across his pant leg. “Looks like you do bleed red like every other mother fucker. The bitch left with the goods, didn’t she?”
Rory’s gaze swept across the room. “No. She wouldn’t.” Yet, he knew she did.
“I see doubt in your eyes, brother.” Striker made a gesture at Garvey who then stepped over to the dresser and pulled out each drawer, knocking them to the floor.
“All empty,” Garvey said.
“Then I guess money can’t keep a good piece of pussy.” Striker exhaled. “Either you’re lying to me, or you don’t keep your bitch on a short leash, my friend. Did she catch your wick in another candle? She decided she’d seal your death?”
“The goods have to be around here somewhere.” Rory swept a hand through the air.
“I don’t think so. I think the beauty took off with our shit. Problem is, no shit, no money. Not good.”
“She wouldn’t do that,” Rory stammered.
“Just like she wouldn’t leave you? By the looks of things, she didn’t walk, she ran. It’s possible the sweet princess betrayed you, Boss, Garvey and me. You know that can’t happen.”
“She didn’t know the goods were in the closet. She never knew.” Rory placed his hands on his hips, looking back and forth frantically from Striker to Garvey. “She had no clue about my side job.”
“I. Want. To. Believe. That.” With each word, Striker tapped the knife in the center of Rory’s chest. “But you don’t have a good track record these days, buddy. Your usefulness has been downgraded. And as you know, we don’t carry dead weight—dead weight that likes the sauce a little too much. Too much risk and we can’t have that shit. Not when the feds are sniffing around like a dog looking for a bone.”
“What are we going to do, Strike?” Garvey asked.
“Good question. What should we do, Salvano?”
“I’ll get the merchandise back. Give me some time,” Rory’s voice shook.
CHAPTER 3
“WHERE’S PHOENIX AND Kiersten?” Zander looked down the table at each of his brothers, Cullen, Kace, and Nixon who all gave a shrug with their linebacker shoulders.
“How the hell do I know? I’m not their effing keeper,” Kace muttered, still irritated from the black eye he’d received while apprehending a suspect earlier that day.
“Come on, bro. Black and blue brings out the color of your eyes,” Nix teased.
“Go to hell.” Kace looked like he could rip a man apart with his bare hands. At six-four and as large as a house, no one ever wanted to find out if he could. Zander guessed the guy who punched Kace probably got a lot worse than a black eye in return.
Beatrice, mother of the Cade clan, lightly smacked Kace on the shoulder. “Watch your language,” she corrected him. Although all her kids were adults, she still made sure they walked a fine line of respect, at least while they were at home.
“Ma, I said hell,” Kace sniffed loudly. “I said worse when I was in diapers.”
“Yes, and we washed your mouth out with soap.”
“Can we eat now? Dinner’s getting cold,” Nixon groaned. “I’m starving.”
“Not until we say grace,” Beatrice, who had been a starlet back in the day, still carried herself with grace and beauty, although she’d traded her heels for cowboy boots when she met Bo Cade. She often told stories on how he swept her off her feet although she’d kicked and screamed. She took a seat at one end of the table, while her husband sat at the other. “Bo darling, you want to say prayer?”
He bent his silver head and said a quick prayer. “Dig in, sons,” he announced. All the Cade sons took their looks after their Pa who was strapping, even in his early sixties. Although Beatrice lectured him, daily, that it was time to retire from the ranch, he always responded, “Wild horses couldn’t drag me away.” For Bo, after a twenty-year career as a cop, he was in retirement. He got up at sunrise every morning and did the chores and never complained once. Beatrice did back off a little when he sold some livestock and built her an indoor pool. They were still in love and if ever one of the Cade men met a woman and wanted to marry they had big shoes to fill to compare to their parents.
Zander gladly spooned a large helping of mashed potatoes onto his plate, then grabbed an ear of corn off the heaping platter. He liked driving home on Sundays to eat supper, but mostly he enjoyed seeing his siblings. Growing up they’d been raucous, but they always made sure they respected each other. Zander remembered how they’d invite guests over, eat to their heart’s content, play music and dance. The four walls of the Cade house knew enough love and laughter to blow the roof off. The siblings all wore a star in one branch of law enforcement or other and they were first in line to help each other work cases. “Ma, everything looks delicious.”
“Thank you, Zander.” She reached for a biscuit and gave him a smile.
“I heard about that murder over at Tattleman’s Farm. Did you find out who
