rasps, then slams out the door.
The sea of people in our driveway converge on him, elbow bumping him and clapping him on the back. I watch from the window as they make their way down the path to the beach in the waning light with several six-packs of Budweiser.
I’m on the widow’s walk two hours later, an ice pack on my face, watching their bonfire send a white beacon into the night sky and listening to their whoops, when the cop car rolls up the driveway. In the moonlight, I see a tall, bearded cop slip out of the driver’s seat. He gives the house a once-over before heading to the path. I curse Grant under my breath.
If they’re doing anything illegal down there—if he gets his sorry ass thrown in jail—we’re all screwed. I’m the face of the Delgado clan—the most recognizable—but that doesn’t mean Grant’s mug shot on the Internet wouldn’t draw unwanted attention.
I hold my breath for the next several minutes as the whoops turn to grumbles and the bonfire is doused. One by one, the mangy group emerges over the crest of the bluff. They all load on their bikes, including Grant, and take off with a thunderous rumble into the night.
The cop car is still in the drive but the cop is nowhere in sight. A rock sinks in my gut. If those fucking bikers did something to that cop, Grant just signed our contract. We’re all dead.
I make my way downstairs, step onto the front porch, contemplate whether I should go down there and put myself at the scene of a potential crime. Just as I’m stepping off the porch, the cop emerges from the path. He strides right up to me and stops.
I take a deep breath, both out of relief and dread. “Officer.”
He looks me over with keen eyes. “You’re aware that bonfires on the beach are prohibited. There’s also an open container law that prohibits consumption of alcoholic beverages on public property.”
“I had no involvement in what was going on down there,” I say, holding up my hands in surrender. Better to play this coy.
His eyes narrow. “But someone in this house did. Those bikes were parked in your driveway.”
I shake my head. “Not to my knowledge.”
He taps his thumb on his thigh near his holster. “What happened to your eye?”
I force my hand to stay away from the welt rising on my face. “Walked into the door.”
He nods slowly, his sharp gaze taking everything in. He starts to back toward his car. “If you see that gang out here again, give the department a shout.”
I let out a breath as I watch him pull away. My brother is a ticking time bomb. The sooner we get out of here the better.
Which means I’ve got a road trip tomorrow.
* * *
I didn’t sleep last night, waiting for Grant. He never came home.
I drop Sherm at school and he moves up the walk toward his classroom. I stand at my car for a minute staring after him before dropping into my seat. Facing Sherm’s teacher is starting to feel like negotiating a minefield. I want to go in there just to see her. She’s like the sun, bright and hot with her own gravitational field. There’s no escaping her once she’s captured you. But if she sees my shiner, I can only imagine the conclusions she’d jump to.
I have no idea where it’s coming from—maybe because I haven’t been with a woman for a few months—but every look she gives me, every lick of those full, pink lips, makes my dick stand up and take notice. I take a breath and hold it for a second before blowing it out. Fucking my brother’s teacher would break my own rule. I’ve made it crystal clear to all my siblings to keep their hands off the locals.
That little blonde scrambles my thoughts, and today I need my head.
I cruise over the bridge and wind through Loveland toward the highway heading north to Tampa. When I get to the federal courthouse an hour and a half later, I pull into a spot out front that says it’s reserved for US marshal use only. I sit for a second before stashing my Glock in the glove box and locking it. I shoulder out of the car and push through the glass doors. The second I’m inside an itch starts under my skin, as if my very DNA is repelled by these walls. I almost turn around