Page 3 of Blade’s Edge (L.A.S.T. Defense #1)

Jasper

I dump the empty beer bottle into the recycle bin and reach into the fridge for another. My fingers slip off the neck when someone bangs on my door. Tim’s early. He wasn’t supposed to be here for another hour.

The mold inspector gave his apartment the all clear earlier today, and the kid said he’d come by after his shift at the Stop-N-Go to sign the last of the paperwork.

“Next time you’re gonna be early, call—shit.” I grip the knob hard enough, my knuckles crack and stare my brother in the face. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Good to see you too, Jas,” AJ mutters as he pushes past me.

My right leg threatens to buckle, but I stifle my wince and keep hold of the door until I know I’m not going down.

My twin’s gaze sweeps around the apartment, landing on the single recliner poised in front of the television. “You need some new furniture.”

“Why? Because I have so many visitors?” I can’t keep the bitter edge from my voice. In the eight months since he walked out of my hospital room, I’ve only seen AJ twice. Once at the funeral for the two Rangers who died in the explosion, and once at my retirement “party.”

“How the hell would I know how many visitors you have?” He ambles over to the living room window and stares out at the street below.

I shrug. “Pick up the phone once in a while. Maybe you’d find out.”

“Why?” That single word holds so much emotion, the air in the room swells with the weight of it.

“Jesus, AJ. Because I’m your brother? Because it ain’t good for you to be alone all the time? Because we used to be close until Grace went missin’—”

“Don’t, Jas,” he grits out. “Don’t fucking say her name…” His shoulders slump, and he runs a hand through his black hair. It’s several shades darker than mine, and one of the few differences between us. That and all of five minutes of life.

I grab his arm, forcing him to turn around to face me.

“You won’t tell me a damn thing about the investigation, you never reach out—to anyone—and from what little I hear from McGrath and Elmore, you’re the grumpiest sombitch in the entire Ranger Division.

Maybe you should try to say her goddamn name once in a while. ”

AJ’s dark blue eyes turn frigid with rage. His fingers dig into my biceps as he shoves me up against the fridge. Beer bottles rattle inside. At least one falls over. “Shut. The. Fuck. Up.”

He’s shaking now, but he ain’t the only bull in this pasture. I can give as good as I get. “Eight months.”

“What?” He shakes his head, blinks at me, and his brow furrows.

“It’s been eight months since the explosion. Seven months and three days since I turned in my badge. That’s the last time I saw you. My own brother. My fucking twin . I lost my job, half the vision in my right eye, and my partner. And you don’t care. About any of it.”

He doesn’t move—or even breathe—for several seconds. “Fuck you, Jas. I care.”

With a snort, I sidestep him and limp awkwardly over to the recliner to lower myself down.

“Coulda’ fooled me.” I rub my thigh, but it does little to ease the ache in my leg—or my chest. While I’ll be in pain for the rest of my life, AJ lost his wife two years ago, and he’ll never come back from that.

After a silence so long, the Ropers get three downs, AJ’s shoulders heave. “I should have been there that night,” he says quietly. “Hell, it should have been me who died. Not Schaffer and Urbanski.”

“Fucking hell, no.” I spin the La-Z-Boy around and sit up straighter. “We’d been tracking those cartel assholes for two months.”

“Yeah, and then Commander Ramsey suspended me for insubordination.” He leans against the breakfast bar, all the bravado gone from his voice.

“You were tryin’ to find your wife. That suspension was bullshit.” I rub the back of my neck, squeezing hard to try to relieve some of the tension before I lurch to my feet. “Sit the fuck down. You want a beer?”

“I can’t stay,” he mutters. “This was a mistake.”

“A mistake? For fuck’s sake. Why’d you really come knockin’, AJ? Because it sure as shit wasn’t to check up on me.” I should quit being so hard on him. I can’t imagine what he goes through every damn day. But he ain’t the only one hurting.

“The Boots and Bling charity dinner is tomorrow night,” he says, his voice flat.

My brows shoot up. “So? In case you forgot, I’m retired.”

“I didn’t forget, asshole. They present the Thomas Distinguished Service Award at the ball every year. I…uh…they’re awarding it to me for the Manchester case. This…came in the mail the other day.” He digs into the pocket of his sport coat and withdraws a thick card.

I run my fingers over the embossed lettering across the front.

Captain AJ Stone and Mrs. Grace Stone

“Fuckin’-A. Who sent this?” I demand.

AJ shrugs. “Does it matter? What’s done is done. I’m gonna walk in there tomorrow night and the place at the table next to me is gonna have my missing wife’s name on it. I can’t do it alone, Jas.”

The anguish on his face does me in. All my anger fades in a heartbeat. “Fine. But I ain’t dancing.”

The Boots and Bling Charity Ball is one of the swankiest parties in town. In my ten years working for the Department of Public Safety, I only went once. Didn’t much care for schmoozin’ or politickin’. But AJ’s only missed one in the last thirteen years—the event right after Grace disappeared.

Most of the men are in tuxes, the women in fancy gowns and heels so high, I wonder how they can walk in ‘em. “Shit. There must be two hundred people here,” I mutter and tug at my jacket. My black Wranglers and boots were the wrong choice.

“Two-hundred-and-six,” a woman says from behind me. The voice is familiar. Silky smooth, confident. Sexy. Maybe this night won’t be entirely miserable.

I turn, and my smile falters. Fuck. A stunning brunette stares right past me, her gaze sweeping over the crowd.

Emmylou Marsh. Star reporter for Channel 5 News. Does she remember me? We met. Once. Those few minutes are foggy from all the pain meds they had me on after the explosion, but I remember her beauty. And the sadness in her eyes.

Tonight, red silk drapes her curves, dipping low between her breasts. Fuck me. She’s even more beautiful now.

Don’t stare, idiot. She’ll think you’re a creeper.

I force my gaze up. Long, wavy brown locks tumble over her shoulders. She brushes away an errant curl, then pauses to fiddle with a silver teardrop earring dangling almost all the way to her shoulder.

Before I can offer her my hand, she waves to someone across the room and, with a quick, “Enjoy your evening,” glides away on heels so thin, they should be registered as weapons.

AJ sidles up next to me, his frown etched even deeper than usual. “What the fuck? Was that…?”

“Emmylou Marsh? Yeah.” I shove my hands into my pockets and hunch my shoulders.

AJ might be grumpy as a hornet, but he’s wearing a black suit, crisp white shirt, and a dark red tie.

Next to him, my well-worn leather jacket, button-down, and black Wranglers make me look like I just wandered in from the street.

“She apologize to you?”

I stare at my brother, and a headache starts to throb between my brows. “For…?”

“Marching into your hospital room and demandin’ you reveal details of an internal DPS investigation less than forty-eight hours after you flatlined on the table?” Streaks of silver flare in his eyes. “She’s an ambulance chaser in a pretty dress, nothin’ more.”

“And you would know…how? I seem to recall, you left . Did you stay two hours? Three?” I snort. “Comin’ here was a mistake.”

AJ grabs my arm before I can stalk away. “Two hours ? Try two days. You were hopped up on so much morphine, you had no idea what the fuck was goin’ on. I was in that chair watchin’ over you for two solid days, Jas. And nights.”

The pain in his voice shocks me into silence for so long, he shakes his head. “Forget it. We need to find our seats. Dinner’s startin’ soon.”

He wades into the crowd, toward tables set with fancy plates and sparkling crystal. Most of my first few days in the hospital were lost to whatever the fuck they gave me to ease the pain of my injuries—along with my grief and a truly unhealthy amount of guilt.

In truth, I don’t remember talking to Emmylou Marsh. She’s a hazy, angelic vision in my mind. I didn’t watch the news coverage of the explosion either. But I do remember the touching tribute she delivered to Schaffer and Urbanski on the evening news the day of their funerals.

She’d taken the time to interview their friends and families. Even got the Commander to give a statement. Donations for the Texas Rangers Association skyrocketed that day—and every day for the next week when the story was replayed on Channel 5.

Schaffer’s family was able to keep their home because of those donations. And Urbanski’s kid will go to college next year on a scholarship from the TRA. Unlike my brother, I don’t have beef with Emmylou Marsh. Even if I should.

A man hustles up on stage and grabs the microphone. “Attention, everyone. Dinner will be served in twenty minutes. Please start making your way to your seats.”

Guess I should get to findin’ AJ. It doesn’t take long. He’s at the table closest to the stage, his entire body ramrod straight, hands clenched into fists at his sides. Those damn place cards. If someone really did put Grace’s name on one…they’re gonna have to deal with me.

I rest my hand on his shoulder, peering down at the table. Yup. Someone done fucked shit right up. I snatch the little white card reading Grace Stone from the plate, but before I can tear it into tiny pieces, AJ grits out, “Give it to me.”

“No. This ain’t right.”

“I don’t care,” he says, his voice measured. “Hand it over. Right now.”

It’s his “I’m five minutes older and I’ll never let you forget it” tone. I pass him the fancy card, and he stares at it before tracing each letter with his index finger.

“I’m gonna find out who’s responsible for this and?—”

“Forget it. We’re here. Sit down.”

I’d lay into him for his attitude, but who the fuck decides it’s appropriate to set a place for a woman who’s been missing for more than two years?

“Jasper?” Commander Harris claps me on the shoulder. “What are you doing here?”

I have to twist in my seat to peer up at the man. I lost almost forty percent of the vision in my right eye in the explosion. I’m about to tell him off for Grace’s place card when AJ clears his throat. “He’s my plus one.”

The commander doesn’t react to my brother’s icy tone. He’s probably used to it by now.

“So what’s keepin’ you busy these days?” Harris asks as he pulls out a chair for his wife, Celeste.

Collecting rent checks from broke college students.

Destroying my liver.

Counting the cracks on the ceiling above my bed.

I’m spared the embarrassment of answering when our host for the evening returns to the stage. “Ladies and gentlemen, please give it up for the Austin Chamber Ensemble. They’ll be providin’ the musical accompaniment tonight. Dinner is about to be served!”