Janice Kay - The Closer He Gets

Until...nobody took care of her.

And then it wasn’t him and Bran together. He’d have sworn he’d grown past the hurt but discovered he hadn’t. Even so...

He’s here now. Unbelievable.

“I drive the Silverado.” He gestured.

“This is mine.” Bran stopped by a sleek, obviously restored classic Camaro. The only thing it had in common with Zach’s pickup was that both were black.

“This is a beauty.” Zach circled it. “What year?”

“A ’73.”

“You do the work yourself?”

“With some help. I really wanted one of these when I was a teenager. Took me a few years to get one.”

A memory surfaced. “You had a picture of one on your bulletin board.”

God, Bran’s grin was familiar. “A pinup,” he said.

Zach narrowed his eyes. “In place of one of the naked women in that Playboy.”

“You knew about—?” Bran gave an incredulous laugh. “This is really something.”

“Yeah, it is.” What, Zach wasn’t sure. He lifted a hand and strode the rest of the way to his pickup. That did not require him to assume a pretzel shape to get behind the wheel, was good for hauling construction materials and was just as cool, in his opinion.

He found himself smiling. Okay, almost as cool. He wouldn’t turn down the Camaro. Although Bran must have sunk one hell of a lot of money into it.

Ten minutes later his brother parked right next to him in front of the tavern. This early, they found most of the booths empty when they walked in. Two men sat on stools at the bar, one at each end. Neither even looked to see who’d come in. Zach didn’t hear any crack of a cue striking a ball from the billiards room.

He ordered a pitcher and then slid into a booth, Bran across from him. For what had to be two or three minutes, they just looked at each other.

Bran had changed and yet he hadn’t. Zach wouldn’t have expected to recognize him at first glance, but he hadn’t had a moment’s doubt. His brother had grown into the nose and jaw and too big feet and hands Zach remembered. But in the important ways, he was the same.

“Your hair got darker.”

Bran grunted and rubbed a hand over his jaw. “My stubble has more red than my hair does.” He was making as thorough a survey. “You were a shrimp. I thought you might take after Mom.”

“I stayed a shrimp through middle school. No, later than that.” He’d fought a lot of battles to prove that small didn’t mean weak, but now he shrugged. “I had a growth spurt when I was fifteen. Seemed like an inch a month there for a while.”

Bran laughed but it didn’t last long. His face showed the same incredulity Zach still felt. “Mom alive?”

Tensing, Zach said, “Yeah.” This was a sensitive subject, but he wasn’t going to cover up, either. “On her fifth marriage, I think.”

“You think?”

“I keep my distance.”

His brother nodded. “Which one adopted you?”

“Number three. Lowell Carter. He was a good guy. The marriage only lasted four years, but he and I have stayed in touch. I worked for him summers during high school and then during college, too, after the divorce.” He hesitated. “Dad?”

Bran shook his head. “He died last year.”

Dead? Zach shook his head in shock.

“He was only sixty-two,” Bran continued, “but he had cancer. He tried to quit smoking a few times, but it never took. I, uh, wrote to the last address he had for Mom, but it came back.”

“We moved a lot,” Zach said even as he absorbed the news that his father was dead. There’d be no reunion. He was surprised to feel grief despite everything. He guessed he shouldn’t be. Even abused kids continued to love their parents, and he hadn’t been abused.

Dad’s death was a setback to his investigation, too. There’d be no chance to ask the hard questions now, although he hadn’t yet figured out how to ask your own father whether he’d committed an unspeakable crime. But he would have found a way.

If he’d come back five years ago, Dad would still have been here. Two years ago.

I wasn’t ready. Didn’t have the skills to tackle an investigation this challenging.

He shut down the niggling doubt in his pat explanation. Exploring subterranean fears held no appeal.

A curvy blonde squeezed into jeans that were too tight for her and button-up Western-style shirt delivered their pitcher and glasses and appeared a little miffed at their disinterest. They both ordered burgers and fries.

“You married?” Bran asked.

Zach shook his head. “Are you?”

“Engaged. Paige is a nurse in Mount Vernon. She’s kept her apartment so far.”

“One of you will have to commute.”

“She’s watching for openings at the hospital here in town.” Bran didn’t sound very interested. “Where are you living?”

Zach told him about the house he was buying.

“You’re planning to stay?” His brother sounded surprised.

“That wasn’t my plan.” Wasn’t? Isn’t.

“What was?”

“Like I said. Look into Sheila’s death. Make some money on the house. Get answers, get out of here.”

“And now?”

Zach took a long swallow of beer. “Still the same, except I’m not making myself popular on the job. The sheriff would really like to see me gone.”

Big brother leaned back with a frown. “Why?”

“Because I saw another deputy beat a guy to death the other day.”

“Right. Damn. You’re the new guy,” Bran said slowly. “There’s a second witness, too. A woman.”

“That’s right. I think she’ll stay the distance.”

Bran smiled. “Going by what I saw, I’d put money on it.”

“What you saw?”

“She came in yesterday morning. Nobody told you?”

Zach shook his head. “I’m off Sunday and Monday.”

“According to her, a threat was taped to the back door of her business. Instead of calling the city PD, she ripped it off the door and blew in, insisting she wanted Detective Delancy or nobody. Who’s a jackass,” he added as an aside. “She slapped it on his desk and as good as said Hayes wrote it. Said our department had no business investigating one of our own. That woman had fire in her eyes.”

Zach groaned.

“Then she told Delancy no threat would make her back off, and he could take it to the bank. Or words to that effect.”

Why hadn’t she called him? Damn it, he’d given her his number.

“What did it say? The threat?”

“‘Back off bitch or else.’ No comma. Red marker, slashed on the paper.”

“Sounds like Hayes, all right,” Zach growled.

Bran contemplated him. “I take it your stand is unpopular.”

He huffed out a laugh then nodded toward their approaching waitress. “Here comes dinner.”

A couple of Harleys pulled up outside. Zach didn’t recognize either of the black-leather-clad bikers who took a turn around the Camaro before coming in and straddling stools at the bar, not seemingly bothered that two cops occupied a booth. Bran stayed relaxed, but was watchful, too.

Zach had swallowed a couple of bites before his brother asked, “Are you sure about what you saw?”

He set down the burger. “You doubting me?”

If so, this was going to be a real short family reunion.

Bran scowled. “I don’t know you. What I heard is that a Hispanic guy went for Hayes’s weapon and they scuffled. He went down, hit his head on a concrete step and died. I’m asking what you saw.”

That was fair enough. It still took Zach an effort to unlock his jaw. He took a swallow of beer and started talking.

Eyes sharp, a couple of lines furrowing his brow, Bran never looked away from his face. At the end he said, “So you can’t swear this Alvarez didn’t go for the deputy’s weapon.”