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“When’s he up?” Grady asks, slurping that dark ale with a cold brew coffee concentrate that’s always his go-to.
I shake my head. “His records are sealed. Don’t know how or why. Some things I’m not privy to since I turned in my badge, even with my friends still on the inside. There were rumors all along the Picketts had somebody on the inside, but it could be their wizard lawyers locking down the records, too. No one else I’ve asked can find out. Since Bat’s got men fishing after me, he must be up soon. Could be a month from now, or maybe a year.”
“Sounds like he’s so shady he doesn’t cast a shadow,” Drake says, stretching his tattooed arms out in front of him. “Why’s he called Bat? Don’t tell me he drinks blood too?”
“Same dick-waving fuckery behind every street name,” I tell him. “He only operates at night and his men like to string people up. They’re good at cutting just the right places and letting the blood drain out, leaving the empty body as a message. Oh, and of course he has a big shitty tattoo across his back of some rat with wings baring its teeth.”
“Jesus.” Ridge groans into his hand. “Makes that Grendal freak I dealt with seem normal.”
“No foolin’. And I’m not sure who he has on his payroll, either, besides that Marvin asshole,” I admit.
“Well, he’ll catch pure hell if he thinks you’re an easy target in this town. Everybody here right now plus plenty more have your back, Faulk. Dallas is your home,” Ridge says, hoisting his bottle. The grin he flashes looks like it could shoot in my defense.
“You know it.” Grady lifts his beer in a salute.
“Me three,” Drake says, raising his bottle. “Just because I wear a police badge now doesn’t mean I’m above fucking anybody up who screws with you, brother.”
I have no choice but to raise mine and clink it against all of theirs.
“Thanks, guys. I really do appreciate y’all helping with surveillance.” I stop there, but the truth is, if it comes to an armed stand-off with Bat, I don’t want them around.
Drake and Ridge are married men. New fathers. Happy lives and happy families.
As for Grady, he’s got his two older girls to look after, a single dad who never gets to stop and breathe. I feel just as bad risking his neck.
I’ll be damned if I’ll ever be the cause of another woman losing her husband, much less kids being orphaned.
We spend the next hour or so talking strategies and fallback plans before Drake chugs the last of his second beer and sets down the empty bottle.
“Gotta get home. Edison has to be at the fairgrounds by five to practice for the opening ceremony at the rodeo,” he tells us.
“Wouldn’t be opening night without Edison!” Ridge says with a laugh. “Is Bella riding him?”
“Does a bear shit in the woods?” Drake winks. “My wife and that horse are practically connected at the hip. He’s too old to ride real proper, but he’ll tolerate it for a half hour or so, just long enough for the opener.”
I shake my head. “Edison must be as old as Granny Coffey in horse years.”
“At least,” Drake answers with a grin. “But when it comes to Bella, he’s a spring chicken.” He shakes his head.
“Still can’t believe you inherited old man Reed’s horse,” I say.
“And his daughter. They’ve both done me a ton of good. For real, though, guys, there are times when I’m jealous of that big old beast.” Drake frowns for added effect.
Ridge laughs. “At least Edison is a horse, man. I’m jealous of a frigging rooster. Cornelius is so stuck on Grace for giving him treats that every time I convince her to have some fun in the barn, I have to shut us in the tack room. Otherwise that peckerhead will spur me right in the ass!”
We all get a gut-busting laugh out of that image.
“Say, you’re bringing Tory to the rodeo, aren’t you, Faulk?” Drake asks, casting me a knowing look. “Bella’s been hoping to see her again. She remembers playing back when you were kids and Bella spent summers here with her granddad.”
Finishing my beer, I set down the bottle.
“Eh, I wasn’t planning on it. Honestly, I’m not even sure I’ll make it myself with everything going on between the old house and now this Pickett shit.”
I’m not just feeding them a story.
I’ve worked hard—damn hard—the last few days to stay away from Tory and do some real work. The schedule I’d gotten from Dean lets me keep an eye on her from afar, without her knowing it.
Another strange hell.
Seeing her, but not talking to her.
Not touching her.
Not catching her smile.
Not since that day at Carolina’s.
It’s torturous.
Almost as bad as how I’d looked into her eyes, feeling drawn to her lips, hating how I had to settle for my hand grazing her chin. If it was any other rainy day with both of us shut in the truck, I swear to all that’s holy I would’ve—
