Cade paused in the middle of pushing his sleeves up his forearms and gave Lem a steady look.
“What?” Lem asked, one eyebrow quirked. “You are older than me.”
Vanity prickled under Cade’s skin. He was older than Lem, but only by five years—enough that he’d always felt responsible for his kid brother, even as Lem coasted through life unflappable and unfazed, but not enough to pass comment on. And older didn’t mean old.
Besides, Cade didn’t plan to look his age for a very long time. He paid a very expensive dermatologist a lot of money to take care of his skin and make sure of that.
Unlike Lem, who got tired of burning the candle at both ends and just tossed the whole thing in the fire.
“I was thinking of bidding on a contract back home. For the refinery security,” Cade said idly as he tucked his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “It would make sense to send you since you know the area.”
Lem finally straightened up from his sprawl. He draped his arms over the back of the couch and made a placatory gesture with both hands. “Okay. Okay. I just thought I’d float it, a brotherly in-joke, see how it went down.”
“Like the Titanic,” Cade told him. “I don’t need a nickname.”
Guilt scratched at Cade. He’d killed someone that he… cared about—that struck the right balance—and yet here he was, distracted by a jab about his age from his idiot brother. Even if only briefly. He combed his fingers through his hair and grimaced at the knots he found.
Lem looked down at his nails and picked at the quick of one with his thumb. A frown pinched his eyebrows together, as if the rough tag of skin took all his focus.
“You okay?” he asked off-handedly.
The “no” stuck in Cade’s throat like a stone. It nearly choked him, but he was more surprised that he wanted to say it than that he couldn’t. He had never been the sort of man who talked about his emotions. It wasn’t how he’d been raised, and it wasn’t what people looked for in his line of work
No one wanted a thug who needed to “talk it out.” Or a CEO, for that matter. They wanted someone who’d suck it up and get on with the job. Cade had always been good at that.
“It’s nothing,” he said. “Morning after the moon before.”
Lem didn’t look convinced, but then he was an idiot, not stupid. He didn’t argue. They had, after all, been raised in the same house and by the same bastard.
“Yeah. I get that,” Lem stretched his legs out in front of him and crossed them at the ankles. “So, you think Beth is serious about that guy she’s with or—”
“I think you should stop dating co-workers,” Cade said. He held his hand up to interrupt whatever Lem had been about to say and changed the subject. “And remember I had you dredge up info on what happened with the Night Shift under Piper?”
Lem cocked his head to the side. He looked interested. “Sure,” he said.
“I want more.”
“Like?”
Cade took a seat. The whiskey he’d bought in the store sat between the two tumblers from last night. It wasn’t open. Cade remedied that and splashed a measure on top of the dregs he’d left.
“So that nothing needs drowned, huh?” Lem said.
Their dad had plenty of vices, but he’d not been a drinker. His women had, though. Not an easy man to live with, Benny Deacon. It had never helped, but there was a first time for everything.
“It’s worth a try.” Cade took a swig of the whiskey. It wasn’t cheap, not for a wake, and the burn that spread down his throat and into his chest was mellow. The taste of oak and tannin lingered on his tongue as he leaned back into the chair. He turned the glass in his hand and watched the sun shine through the amber liquid. His phone buzzed politely on the desk. They both ignored it. “I want everything on Piper. Stripmine his life. Who’s his lawyer, who visits him, who sends him money? If there’s anyone he cares about—a mother, an ex, a child—I want you to turn their financials upside down to find any money that they can’t account for.”
Lem wrinkled his nose dubiously, “I’m good,” he said. “But—“
“Requisition whatever resources you need to get the job done.” Cade drained the whiskey and didn’t bother to refill the glass. Lem was right; the drink could wait. It hadn’t worked anyhow. Cade could still taste the bloody grit of guilt in the back of his throat. “By the time you’re finished, I want to know Piper better than his mother does. He might be in prison, but someone in San Diego is still doing his dirty work. This is how we find out who.”
“Okay.” Lem pushed himself up off the couch in one easy, angular movement. He hooked his thumbs into his jeans pockets and pulled a thoughtful face. “Shouldn’t take too long. Piper burned bridges when he went down. He can’t have that many friends left.”
Cade drummed his fingers absently on his thigh. “Don’t depend on it,” he said. “Piper made a lot of money doing odd jobs for bad men. The courts clawed some back, but he was a smart man. He’ll have enough cached away to buy himself friends.”
“Not good ones,” Lem said.
“For this sort of work?” Cade said dryly. “The last thing you want is good.”
