Deadly Coincidence (Brantley Walker Off the Books #4) - Nicole Edwards Page 0,68
his tone cooling, as though he was attempting to defuse the situation. “JJ called Baz, Baz called us.”
Travis listened intently as Brantley relayed the details of what had evidently happened last night after JJ got a phone call from the governor’s son, Dante Greenwood. Came home. Knocked out. Woke up. Lots of blood. Severed finger.
“You said Dante called her?” Travis asked, wanting clarification.
“Yeah. Called and asked her to meet him. She said he was freaked when she got here,” Brantley explained. “But she never got any information out of him.”
“Was it a setup?”
“Could be, but we’re thinkin’ more along the lines of he was runnin’ from someone,” Reese said. “He reached out to JJ for help.”
Travis didn’t know JJ all that well, only from what little they’d worked together over the past few months in the search for Juliet Prince. He couldn’t say whether or not she’d be a go-to for getting out of a jam or not.
Nor did he know Dante Greenwood. He knew of him, sure. Had even talked to him a few times because of the small town and the relationship the governor had with Travis’s family, but he didn’t know the guy. Of course, he’d heard a few rumors. None of them painted him in a great light, but Travis hadn’t heard anything that would lead him to believe he could do something like this.
“We don’t know how he got involved or who we’re dealin’ with. We were tryin’ to piece it together when you showed up,” Reese said. “We’re waitin’ for the sheriff to arrive.”
“Where’s JJ and Baz?” Travis asked, peering up at the house.
“Baz took JJ … elsewhere.”
Meaning Baz fled a crime scene with the witness. Not that Travis blamed him.
“If you want, you can take a look inside, see for yourself,” Brantley said, gesturing toward the house. “At this point, we don’t know who or—”
Brantley didn’t get to finish that sentence, because the world exploded around them, the force of the blast coming at them knocking them back.
Travis slammed into his SUV, the impact sending him on his ass. His ears were ringing, his shoulder screaming from being jarred. It took a moment for his brain to catch up, to catalog what had happened, to tie it all together and make sense of it.
JJ’s house had exploded, the brick, wood, and glass turned into projectiles.
The noise seemed to go on forever, a cacophony that rang in his ears. The roar from the flames, the repetitious blare of a smoke detector, his own harsh breaths, and the shouts coming from people spilling out of their houses.
As he got to his knees, Travis looked around, instinct having him check for anyone injured. He saw Reese crumpled on the ground a few feet away, unmoving. Brantley was on his other side, pushing to his feet but moving slowly, unsteadily.
“You okay?” Trey asked, hurrying to his side.
“Yeah. You?” Travis answered, his own voice sounding muffled in his head.
“I’m fine. Brantley? You good?” Trey called out, turning toward his brother.
Brantley nodded, then moved faster than most men Travis knew the moment he noticed Reese on the ground. The man was on his knees in a second, gently touching Reese, obviously checking for injuries.
Travis became aware of neighbors rushing over to check on them, a couple on the phone, likely calling 911. Some on their phones being assholes and recording the destruction.
“Sir, I’m a nurse,” a woman said as she approached. “Are you injured? Do you need medical attention?”
Travis could only shake his head, continuing to watch the way Brantley hovered over Reese. He could see real fear on his cousin’s face.
“Help them,” Travis told her, his words muffled inside his head like he was speaking underwater.
Time seemed to slow as the woman marched over, knelt beside Brantley. She said something that had Brantley taking a deep breath, sitting up straighter but never taking his eyes off Reese. Travis sat there, observing the chaos. The house had been leveled. Everything around it destroyed. The bushes that lined the front charred, the little SUV in the driveway—JJ’s he assumed—smashed by debris raining down on it.
It was a fucking mess.
As he got his bearings, Travis discreetly took stock of the people standing around. Most of them were shoulder to shoulder, muttering to one another, likely gossiping about what had happened. There would be half a dozen rumors spreading through their small town before the day was out.
“I’m good,” came a garbled response, drawing Travis’s attention.