Gypsy king

Dad huffed a laugh. “She had so much fire. I forget that sometimes. God, I miss her. Every day. I miss fighting with her. I miss her telling me to put my socks in the hamper. I miss those chocolate chip cookies she made every Sunday. I miss the yellow.”

“Me too.”

Dad’s face got hard as he swallowed. Behind his sunglasses, he blinked furiously to clear away the emotion. This was more from him than I’d seen in years. He didn’t talk all that often about Mom.

More since Amina Daylee.

“I found a picture in her senior yearbook.” I reached for my wallet and pulled out the page I’d folded and shoved in next to a stack of twenties.

This picture was something I’d been keeping from Bryce. I’d nearly told her about it when we’d been talking the other night, but I’d kept it in my pocket. Soon, I’d tell her and keep my promise to share. But this one was too close to home. Before I handed it to Bryce, I had to get some answers from Dad.

Maybe he wouldn’t shut me out this time around.

“Here.” I handed over the picture. If he was surprised, he didn’t show it. “Mom and Amina. They were friends?”

“Best friends,” he corrected. “You could barely separate the two.”

“Did they have a falling out?”

“Amina moved away after high school.” He shrugged. “I guess they lost touch.”

“You guess?” Even if they’d lost touch, you’d think Amina would have at least come to Mom’s funeral.

“Yep.” Dad folded up the page and handed it back, that topic over.

Seriously? He was infuriating. Dad had fucked this woman. He had to have some kind of feelings for her. As far as I knew, Amina had been the only woman he’d been with since Mom. I could badger him for more, but it was pointless.

He was already on to the next topic.

“Called a couple of guys around town to see if they’ve heard word of anyone who’d want to set me up. No one has a clue. Their first guess was the Warriors too.”

“What about the Travelers?” Saying that club’s name soured my stomach. The hatred I had for them would last a lifetime.

“They’re all dead.”

“Are you sure?”

Dad slid the sunglasses off his nose and into his hair. His brown eyes met mine to reinforce his declaration. “They are dead. All of them. I made sure of it.”

“All right.” I believed him. “Who else?”

“No damn clue. I think all we can do now is wait. Hope someone starts talking.”

“That’s it?” I couldn’t believe I was hearing this. “You’re giving up that easily? This is your life we’re talking about, Dad. Your freedom.”

“Maybe this is for the best. Maybe my sins have finally caught up with me and it’s time to pay. We both know I deserve a lifetime behind bars. If it happens, I’m not fighting it.”

Who was this man? This was not the same man who’d vowed revenge against the Travelers after they’d killed my mother. This was not the man who’d taken his vengeance with horrific violence. This was not the man who refused to quit.

“You’re serious?”

“Dead.” He was done fighting.

I shook my head, waving him off as I walked to my bike. Dad might be giving up, but I wasn’t.

The trip to Clifton Forge was fast. I let the roar of the engine, the wind whipping my face and the tires beating on the pavement soak up some of my frustration with Dad. When I hit Central Avenue, I didn’t turn to go home or to the garage. I kept on straight, making my way into the quiet neighborhood where Bryce lived.

She had a way of looking at things with fresh eyes—a different perspective—and I wanted her take on my meeting with the Warriors.

When I pulled up, she was in the kitchen. I spotted her through the large window over the sink. I rang the doorbell, raking a hand through my hair as her footsteps came my way.

There was no surprise on her face as she opened the door. “You again? Is this going to become a regular thing?”

The smell from the kitchen drifted outside and I looked past her. “What are you making?”

“A roast. It’s been in the Crock-Pot all day.”

I hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast and my stomach rumbled. Loud.

She took pity on me, opening the door wider and stepping out of the way. “Come on in. Beer’s in the fridge.”

I kicked off my boots and followed her into the kitchen. Grabbing a beer, I twisted off the top, then went to stand behind Bryce at the stove, peering over her shoulder. “Mashed potatoes?”

“I hope you like salty gravy.” She was whisking it in a saucepan. “I only make salty gravy.”

“You won’t hear me complain.” I dropped a kiss to her shoulder, enjoying the shiver that rolled down her spine. Last night, we’d had some fun learning each other’s tender spots. That was one of hers.

Bryce turned at the stove, ru

My stomach growled again, insisting on di

“Plates are in the cupboard next to the fridge. Silverware is in that drawer.” She pointed to the one beside the sink. “We’ll eat at the island.”

“’Kay.” I set the dishes out as she finished cooking and heaped my plate full. Taking a first bite, I nearly came in my jeans. It wasn’t better than her enchiladas but it was definitely equal. “Damn, that’s good.”

“Glad you approve.”

“Keep feeding me food like this and I’ll never leave.”

“Then consider this your last meal.” She smirked. “What are you doing here?”

“Dad and I met with the Warriors today.”

“You did?” Her fork froze in midair. “What happened?”

“Their president assured us it wasn’t them. He brought along the five guys who left the Gypsies for the Warriors. They gave their word they had nothing to do with it. I’m inclined to believe them. Still, it could have been someone acting on their own, but unless we catch the guy, no one will admit it.”

“Interesting.” She twirled her fork in the air as she thought it over. “So what now?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. That’s why I’m here. What do you think?”

“Hmm.” She took another bite, thinking as she chewed. “If you don’t have a lead into who might be setting Draven up, then I think we should continue looking into Amina. At least find out why she was here in Clifton Forge. That might give us a clue as to who would have known she was in town. It could narrow down the possibilities.”

“Except my hunch is that the guy who killed her was following Dad around. Waiting for an opportunity to set him up.”

“True. But don’t you think that the way she was killed was sort of personal? I mean, she was stabbed seven times. Like he knew her.”

“Maybe. Or maybe it was meant to seem personal since it was supposed to look like Dad did it after they had sex.” Still not something I liked to picture.

“Also true. But if you don’t have any leads on who could be out to get your dad, then we don’t have any other option than to look into the victim.”

“Yeah. Guess it’s worth a shot.” I scooped up a bite of potatoes and gravy—salted just right.

If we didn’t find clues to prove Dad was i

Because the superficial answer from Dad was not going to stand. Mom had been the type of person who pulled others into her life. She wouldn’t have let a best friend drift away. Something had to have happened, and whatever it was, Dad wasn’t telling.