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“Murder, huh?” he replied with a sigh because for once it wasn’t him. “In the last twenty-four hours, sorry, can’t help you. I’ve been murder-free for at least thirty-six hours. You sure the coroner got the time of death right?”
Glancing over his shoulder, he saw one uniformed cop balancing between pissing himself and finding his inner alpha. There were things he could read when it came to men, the unease beyond the mask of security. It was why so many on the police force shouldn’t be; they were scared of their own shadow. This man knew he was the law, but understood in a bar full of men wearing leather, and not for kink, he was the outsider, the unwanted element that needed to be exterminated at worst and removed at best. While the Sin City MC tried to be a catch-and-release organization, things happened, and the desert just beyond the city was vast and unforgiving when it came to handling corpses. Heat, wind, and animals were hell on a rotting body. Ice never understood why people buried them. Coyotes were wily things that could scatter bones as the sand helped bring a person back to the dust they once were.
The only real unknown in the bar currently was the grandma, doing her best to keep her eyes downturned and not watch the man enjoying the pussy Ice had primed at a corner table. If Detective Nunez was off-the-rack, Grandma there was discount bin at the outlet mall. A button-down faux satin shirt with a high collar and tied bow reminded him of when the dancers had a longer song and needed to extend the tease. Only, her ankle-length skirt topped off with comfy sneakers wasn’t going to do it, even for the ones who liked a woman a bit seasoned. The ID tag hanging from the lanyard sporting the Clark County Human Services logo gave him pause.
“Who’s dead, and why is Grandma Moses here?”
“When was the last time you spoke to Misty?”
“Misty? Misty Gentry? Well, I mean Welch now, isn’t it? I’m pretty sure she suckered that douche into marrying her.”
“Yes, Misty Welch, you do have joint custody of some sort with her, right?”
“I pay money, she lets me see my kids every third weekend for about twelve hours,” he bit, the custody arrangement amped up for the good of their babies to keep him away.
Only the fact he actually did pay allowed him access because the judge couldn’t deny a father that accepted his responsibility. Hell, he’d accepted it even when he thought the slut was lying and saying he was the daddy. Of course, paying for the abortion wasn’t what she wanted, and the DNA test she slapped across his face did change his mind on the whole process. Actually, it was when the twins both wrapped a tiny fist around his two index fingers simultaneously. The whole duelingmineof the fraternal boy/girl twins softened him and even had him considering stepping back from the MC. He’d never leave, but he was the current Road Captain, and that put him front and center of most of the major moves the club made.
Misty had slashed that dream with her want of money and nothing else from him, part of why he’d stepped up and did more than fuck strippers at the Sin City Review. Vegas had a different view on employment and healthy family environments. Most knew there was a separation that could happen, and him helping run a strip club wasn’t any less honorable than being the grocery store manager.
“Who died?” he snarled, tugging at the now irritating handcuff, making the metal clink loudly. “Who the fuck was murdered?”
“Misty was found by one of her neighbors earlier today,” Detective Nunez said as cold rushed over his body.
“Aiden? Jane?” he insisted.
“With the same neighbor. I guess they wandered over confused and a bit hungry.” Detective Nunez glanced toward the social worker. “That’s why Grandma Moses is here. Mrs. Parker, can you please explain to him what is going on?”
“You’re Aiden and Jane’s biological father, is that correct?” the older woman with little sympathy left asked.
“Yes, DNA on file with the courts,” he said. “What about their stepfather?”
“We’re trying to find him. I guess he’s on some retreat up in the mountains,” she explained. “Or somewhere out of cell phone range at least. But at this time, you’re our best placement for the twins.”
“I’m the only placement for them,” he bit. “I’m their—” His right arm was going slightly numb, and in about two seconds, he was going to yank the bolts anchoring the brass bar to the bar top. “Take this shit off me. I have to get to my kids.”
Reluctantly Detective Nunez pulled her cuff key out, but didn’t release him. “First things first, where were you the last day or so?”
Escorting drugs, now being enjoyed by some frat boys in the back, from the border probably wasn’t the answer that would get the cuffs removed. Truth rarely did. “Visiting my grandma in Tucson.”
“Right, only your grandma died a while ago,” Detective Nunez said. Both of them were born and raised in Las Vegas and had very long memories. He’d known more than his fair share of social workers growing up, and it was often Officer Nunez dragging his delinquent ass back to Granny’s before he aged out. It had bonded the two of them. Five years older than him, the cop did have a good heart somewhere beyond her own mask. “I sent flowers. Did you get them?”
“Those were from you?” he said with absolutely zero memory from the week around his Granny’s funeral. “Bold choice.”
“She was a good woman. Don’t bring her into this.”
“My other grandma,” he lied because Nunez knew his mother had taken the identity of his father when she took off to places unknown while he was still struggling with his ABC’s. “Took one of those tests, turns out I’m like thirty percent Welsh and shit.”
“Right,” she snapped and unlocked the cuff around his wrist. “Any pictures from the family reunion?”
“No, but I bought a burrito,” he said, rubbing his wrist a bit before digging in his pocket for the change wrapped in a receipt. Smacking the timestamped alibi on the counter, he stepped to Mrs. Parker. “Where are my kids?”
“Not so fast,” Detective Nunez said. “You’re still a suspect.”
“There are a lot of sick and twisted things I’ve done to Misty. Got video I’m sure somewhere, but killing her, not my thing,” he snarled. “So unless you have real cause, I’m going to get my kids.”
* * *
Bree Stanton had been warned about moving to Vegas. The oversexed Sin City was a far cry from her outer-tier suburban Atlanta roots. Assuring her parents North Vegas was cookie-cutter McMansions with those who made money, not blew it on the slots, hadn’t quelled their unease. The fact she was currently babysitting the adorable twins of the local woman who’d become her best friend over the last three years wasn’t going to sit well with them either. How they’d ended up in her care was the issue. Watching Aiden and Jane Winter wasn’t odd. Finding their mother bloody, beaten, and unconscious was. Not unconscious, that would mean she was in a hospital recovering and not on a slab at the morgue. She’d attended a fair share of wakes over the years, but a dead body not trussed up with makeup in their Sunday best was different and would be forever seared into her brain.
