Gypsy king

I raced faster down the streets of Clifton Forge, not bothering to obey traffic laws. When I pulled into the station, the chief was waiting for me at the front desk.

“Dash.” He motioned for me to follow him into his office. Once the door was closed, he took a seat behind his desk, snagging a string of licorice from an open package.

“Where’s my dad?”

“Take a seat,” he said as he chewed.

I crossed my arms. “I’ll stand. Start talking.”

“There’s not much I can tell you. We’re investigating a crime and—”

“You mean a murder.”

The chewing stopped. “Where’d you hear that?”

Marcus’s shock was genuine. I guess he’d told his officers to keep it quiet, only Bryce had been one step ahead of him too. “Your new friend, the reporter, asked me if I had a comment regarding Dad’s arrest for murder. What the fuck is going on?”

A vein in Marcus’s forehead ticked as he swallowed the bite and ripped off another. “Do you happen to know your dad’s whereabouts between the hours of five p.m. last night and six a.m. this morning?”

“Maybe.” I held perfectly still, though a hint of relief slowed my racing heart. Marcus was asking about last night. Thank fuck. The past had to stay in the past. And since Dad hadn’t killed anyone last night, this had to be a mistake.

“Well? Where was he?”

“Got a feeling you already know, so why are you asking?”

“Your father has refused questioning until his attorney arrives.”

“Good.”

“It would help us if you both cooperated.”

We didn’t cooperate with anyone, certainly not the cops. If I opened my mouth and said the wrong thing, Marcus would mark me as an accessory and throw me into a cell next to Dad’s. One Slater behind bars was enough for today.

When I remained silent, Marcus scowled. “If you’re not talking, then neither am I.”

“Fine.” I spun for the door, slamming it so hard a picture on the wall rattled as I stormed out of the station.

I hadn’t learned much, but what I’d learned was enough. For now.

Straddling my bike, I slid on my shades, then dug out my phone to call my older brother.

“Dash,” Nick answered with a smile in his voice. A smile that had been there permanently over the past seven years, ever since he’d reco

“Gotta talk. You busy?”

“Give me one sec.” He put the phone into his shoulder or something, because his voice got muffled as he yelled, “Go long, bud. Longer. Last one.”

There was a rush of air and Nick laughed as he came back on the phone. “This kid. He’d play catch all day if I let him. And he’s getting good. I mean, he’s only six but he’s a natural.”

“Future wide receiver.” I gri

“Yeah. Draven’s hanging with me at the garage for a few hours. Emmy’s taking Nora to get her ears pierced.”

“Uh . . . isn’t she a little young?” Nora had recently turned four.

“Don’t get me fucking started,” Nick muttered. “But I’m not arguing with Emmy at the moment.”

“Why not? Did she piss you off?”

“No, she’s . . .” He blew out a long breath. “We were waiting to tell everyone but Emmy’s pregnant. Or, she was pregnant. She miscarried last week.”

“Hell, brother.” My hand flew to my heart. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me too. Emmy’s having a hard time. So if she wants to get Nora’s ears pierced and have a mommy-daughter day in Bozeman, I’m not going to say a damn thing.”

“Can I help?”

“No, we’ll get through it. What’s up?”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. The last thing I wanted was to add this to Nick’s burdens, but he had to know. “Got some bad news. Wish it could wait.”

“Tell me.”

“Someone was murdered last night. And either Dad did it, he knows who did it, or someone’s trying to frame him for it. They arrested him about thirty minutes ago.”

“Fuck,” Nick spat. “What else do you know?”

“Nothing. The cops aren’t talking.” I wasn’t going to admit that the only reason I knew half of what I did was because of a sexy, devious reporter. “Dad lawyered up. Once Jim meets with him, I’ll learn more.”

“Let me call Emmy. We’ll get there as soon as we can.”

“No, don’t,” I told him. “There’s nothing you can do here. Just wanted you to be aware.”

“Dash, we’re talking about a murder here.”

“Exactly. You, Emmeline, the kids. You don’t need to be anywhere near this shit.” He needed to stay in Prescott, playing catch with his son, kissing his daughter and holding tight to his wife.

“Fine.” Nick blew out a long breath. “But if you need me, I’m there.”

“I know. I’ll keep you posted.”

“It’s always something,” he muttered.

“Hasn’t been for a while.”

“True. Did he . . . do you think he did it?”

I stared at the gray siding of the police station, picturing Dad inside those walls in an interrogation room. His hands cuffed and resting on a cheap-ass table as he sat in an uncomfortable chair.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Maybe. If he did, there was a reason. And if he didn’t, then Clifton Forge is definitely not a place I want you bringing those kids.”

Because if someone was after Dad, they could be after us all.

“Watch your back,” I said.

“You too.”

I ended the call and started my bike. The feel of the engine, the vibration and noise, was a comfort as I sped through town. I’d spent long hours in this seat, driven hundreds of miles, thinking through club strategies.

Except the last year, there hadn’t been club business. There were no squabbles to settle. No crimes to hide. No enemies to outsmart. My time behind the handlebars had been spent simply enjoying the open road. To think about the garage and how we could increase our custom jobs and sock away a pile of money for a rainy day.

When it came to dealing with a murder arrest, my mind felt sluggish and rusty. It surprised me how quickly I’d forgotten the old ways. Though we’d been tapering things off for years, the Tin Gypsies had only disbanded a year ago. The last arrest I’d had to deal with had been nearly four years ago, and even then, it had been for one of Leo’s drunken bar fights.

I pulled into the parking lot, walking my bike back into its space. As I walked to the office, I glanced down the lot toward the clubhouse.

The yard was overgrown, and I needed to find an hour to mow. The inside was no doubt musty and covered in dust. The last time I’d been inside had been during winter when a raccoon had snuck inside and tripped the motion sensors.

On a day like today, when I needed information and answers, I’d give anything to walk inside the clubhouse, call everyone to the meeting room table and get to the bottom of this.

Instead, I’d have to settle for the garage’s office and a few people who were just as loyal to us now as they had been when we’d worn the same patch.

Presley was on the phone when I opened the office door. She held up one finger for me to be quiet. “Okay, thanks. Call me back if you hear anything else.”

I went to the row of chairs on the wall beneath the front window. Presley’s desk was the only one in the waiting area, and though Dad and I had our two offices along the far wall, we normally congregated around hers.

Presley’s official title was office manager, but she did a lot more than we’d put in her original job description. She made sure bills got paid and customers were happy. She shuffled paperwork to my desk or Dad’s for signatures. She ran payroll and forced us all to talk about retirement plans once a year.