Hold On (Page 69)

“Colt knows about the hookup and I’ll explain shit now. I’ll do it once, Mike. He doesn’t know the man I am or the feelings I had for Cher even before this happened and know I’ll have a care, then we got problems.”

Mike nodded, muttering, “I’ll take your back on that, brother.”

Garrett didn’t reply. He grabbed his coffee and took a sip.

“Now, the good stuff done, what’s got you pissed?” Mike asked.

“You know if Colt gets any assholes up in his shit, writin’ books or anything else to do with Denny Lowe?” Garrett asked back.

Mike straightened. “He and Feb used to. Think that’s died down.” His head tipped to the side. “Cher still got issues with that?”

“Former FBI profiler walked right up to her door an hour ago, offerin’ her a grand to have a chat so he can write a book.”

Mike’s mouth went hard again.

“What a fuckin’ dick,” he clipped.

“It happens to her, Mike. Not frequent, according to her, not anymore. But it still happens. Phone calls and visits.”

“She shut him down?” Mike asked.

“She started, I finished. But she’s open to that. Wide open. She refused this guy’s calls and he still showed. That ain’t right for her, but she’s got Ethan. She said he doesn’t open the door to that, but it could happen. And that really isn’t right.”

“Agreed, but I’m not sure what can be done about it. It isn’t a crime, and I don’t wanna piss you off, Merry, but Cher’s a single mom bartender and ex-stripper. Assholes like that’d think she’s open season, not only because she believed Lowe’s shit but because they think she needs the money. Colt probably doesn’t get this ’cause, one, he’s a cop, and two, he looks like he can break a man in half and would, they brought that shit into his life again.”

“Yeah, that’s exactly why she gets it and that’s exactly why a statement needs to be made she’s off-limits,” Garrett stated, reaching into his jacket pocket to pull out his phone.

That was when Mike went alert.

“Brother…” he trailed off, but that one word was cautionary.

Yeah, he knew his partner.

“You can either take a walk so you don’t hear this call or I can. Which one’s it gonna be?” Garrett asked.

Mike studied him again.

Then he grabbed his coffee, nabbed a file, and took off.

Garrett engaged his phone.

He made his call and put it to his ear.

“Talk to me,” Ryker said in greeting.

Garrett kept his eyes on the room as he replied, “There’s a man in town, name’s Walter Jones. Ex-FBI profiler who’s writin’ a book on Denny Lowe. He came at Cher. He was shut down. But he’s here ’cause he needs shit. Thinkin’ he knows not to go at Cher again, but she’s got a mom and a kid. They also aren’t the only ones in this ’burg who he could hit to talk about Lowe. Some might not mind talkin’. Most won’t wanna be bothered. He needs incentive to get his ass gone.”

“You know where he’s stayin’?” Ryker asked.

“No clue,” Garrett told him.

“A challenge,” Ryker muttered.

Not a surprise, Ryker was on board.

“Can give you this clue—the make, model, and plate number for his vehicle,” Merry told him.

“Text it to me,” Ryker ordered.

“For this, you hold a marker or I give you cash. Think on it and tell me which way you wanna go. We’ll talk after you get this done.”

“Cher’s a sister. This assclown came at her, not down with that. This is a freebie. But, bro, just sayin’, don’t get used to that.”

Before Garrett could extend gratitude, Ryker disconnected.

When he did, Garrett typed out the car’s details and a description of Jones, and he sent it to Ryker.

He didn’t like doing it like that.

Not the part about setting Ryker on it. He didn’t mind that.

The part that it wasn’t him taking care of this business.

But he liked his job and he needed it to keep eating and to get out of his shitty-ass condo, because the time was ripe.

After the divorce, he’d left the house they’d lived in to Mia and he understood now a part of him was staying in his current place because he expected he’d be going back.

He also understood now why he’d saved up for a down payment on a place but then he bought a Harley. Same shit happened and he bought a speed boat. Same shit and he got a timeshare in Florida.

He’d never quit living his life for the now.

And he packed as much in as he could, eating what he wanted, drinking all he wanted, taking off when he wanted, fucking who he wanted, living how he wanted.

Just like his sister after their dad got drilled with five rounds from his partner’s gun, the same night their mother was tortured and murdered by that partner when Rocky was hiding upstairs, Garrett lived with the poison in his mind that life would eventually turn. The happy family they had—their mom a beautiful, vibrant woman, their dad a good man in love with his wife and always showing it, Christmases, birthdays, some part of every day filled with all that was right about family—all in one night…gone.

So he’d lived in the now. He’d gotten rid of the only person in his life who wouldn’t get it like his dad did, like Rocky did, but she was the person who would feel it the worst if something happened to him. After Vegas, he’d made it so Mia would never feel it when that day happened like the poison in his mind told him it was sure to.