Her gentle, cool hand touched his face, her palm settling against his cheek. “I know.” She smiled softly and leaned over, pressing a gentle kiss on the corner of his mouth. Her full lips sparked against his skin. The coffee on her breath filled his nose. “You’re my hero.”
Something heavy settled in his chest. Shepherd tried to rub it away.
“I’m not gonna kiss you.” Mr. Kent groaned again as he stood. “But I am grateful.” He offered Shepherd his hand, and Shepherd shook it. The heaviness in his chest dropped into his stomach. Ginny was acting for her father. Of courseshe was. Shepherd knew that. He knew that, and he didn’t care.
“And I think you’re right, Ginny.” Her father continued. “A biker gang isn’t really Cardello’s style. But we need to find him and get to the bottom of this. Here.” He walked over to Ginny’s desk and grabbed a piece of paper and a pen. He scribbled something down before handing the paper to his daughter. “That’s the last address I know of for Charlie. Maybe he’ll talk to you. But no matter what happens”—he met Ginny’s eyes, and then Shepherd’s, and then Ginny’s again—“no matterwhathappens,do not tell Grandpa.”
EIGHTEEN
Ginny excused herself to the bathroom, which left Shepherd all alone with her father. This was a less terrifying prospect than being alone with her grandfather, but he was still unhappy at this turn of events.
“Listen, Preston,” Mr. Kent said, moving towards him. As Shepherd was still seated on Ginny’s bed, this meant the older man towered above him in weirdly intimate manner. “You’ve been doing a good job keeping our girl safe. And I know that I can count on you to keep looking after her. Isn’t that right?”
The words weren’t in themselves threatening, but the man who said them definitely was. The implication was as clear as a bell. If Shepherd didn’t keep Ginny alive and well, Mr. Kent would be telling the police exactly where to look regarding the dead and exploded biker.
Shepherd nodded. “Yes, sir. I plan on keeping her safe.”
The plan in question was flawless: Pick Her Up, Throw Her in the Car, and Haul Her Back to the Restaurant, this Cardello connection be damned.
Step Two was: Let the Police Handle It. That was Step Two in a lot of his plans, come to think of it.
They shook hands just as Ginny emerged from her ensuite bathroom. She combed her fingers through her hair, and the noise inside of his head quieted. “Shepherd? You ready?”
“Yeah,” Shepherd stood. He was going to keep her safe or die trying. In his case, probably literally.
Bradley’s wife was waiting for them, standing in the hallway with her arms crossed and her toe tapping against the ground. She was still dressed for tennis, but she’d refreshed her lipstick since he’d seen her last, and brushed her thick ponytail to hang even higher on her head.
“I was looking for you,” she said. “I tried texting. Whenthat didn’t work, I called your phone and you didn’t answer. You know I hate calling on phones.”
“Sorry, Brandy,” he replied, kissing her perfect face. “Did the police find something? Is that why you were looking for me? What did they say?”
A flicker of hurt crossed her features. She schooled it into indifference with a shake of her ponytail. “No, nothing like that. I’m just worried about you.” She touched Bradley’s chest with the flat of her palm, looking up at him with fluttering eyelashes. “I’m worried about all of you,” she said, as though it cost her something, reaching out for Ginny’s hand.
Ginny gave her a single finger.
“As long as we stick together”—Brandy made eye contact with Shepherd, her lips moving into a smile that never made its ways to her eyes—“we’re going to get through this. Isn’t that right, baby?”
Shepherd opened his mouth to answer, for half a wild moment thinking he was the baby to which she was referring.
But Bradley said, “Thank you.” With a gentle hand on her arm, he started leading her further down the hallway. “Yes, we’ll get through this together. Come on, maybe we can find something in Deandra’s old room.”
“Oh, you mean like that Tiffany necklace?” Brandy asked.
Over her shoulder, Bradley dismissed them with the same two fingers he had used earlier to beckon them hither.
Shepherd didn’t need to be told twice. “Quickly,” he urged Ginny, taking her by the hand. “Before they change their minds.”
The inside of his car, after sitting outside in the sun for the hour or so he’d been in the Kent house, not only looked like hell incarnate but felt like it, too. He cranked the A/C and rolled down all of the windows, sweat instantly pooling between his legs.
Ginny willingly got in his car—he hadn’t told her of his plans. He was smart enough to wait until she was buckled inandthey were on the turnpike heading south before clueing her in on his intentions.
The GPS told him to be in the two right lanes. He ignored it, stayed firmly on the left-hand side of the road.
“Shepherd, we need the next exit to go to Charlie’s house. You should start merging.”
“We aren’t going to Charlie’s house,” Shepherd said, his hands at eleven and two. “We went to a house this morning, and bad, very bad, things happened. No, my bad, two houses! And two bad things! And now we are going to the restaurant, where you and I both work, and I pay you well. Somewhat well. Not well at all, but you make up for it in tips.”
The exit sped by. The GPS recalibrated.
