Page 44 of Danger Close

But all of those paled in comparison to this moment.

“It’s none of your business.” It wasn’t his business back then, and it isn’t now.

“That’s where you are wrong, brother,” he said, his lips pulled back in an angry snarl. “Family isalwaysmy business.”

I flexed every muscle in my body, tryingnotto lunge over the desk to rip his throat out.

“Myfamily,” I gritted out. “Not yours.”

“You are my family, brother.” Jericho’s eyes narrowed, his own fists clenched on the leather armrests. “That little girl should have grown up with the world at her fingertips. She should have had ponies, and castles, and everything a girl could possibly want. Instead, she was moved from school to school. She had more stability in the Army with deployments than she did growing up! Don’t even get me started on yourex-wifeand her revolving door of odd jobs. I’m surprised they didn’t starve!”

I agreed with every word. But I also didn’t have all the answers. There was more to this than met the eye, and I wasn’t going to argue with Jericho “fuckwad” Vasiliev.

“Fine,” I relented, shifting to the next item on my list. “Can you do a favor for me?”

We’d moved the discussion along. The shouting portion of our brotherly interaction was done. End scene.

“Mm,” Jericho said, waving his hand dismissively in a way to say that, of course, I could.

“The bank account I made for Teri and Trinity,” I said, using the nickname my daughter had adopted, “Can you check to see what’s been happening with it.”

I’d purposely not had access to it because I needed to resist the urge to spy. To micromanage. To see what she was spending money on… to search for signs of a new man in her life.

Jericho lifted his brow, then gave a half-shrug. “I don’t remember any of the bank information, but I’ll find it and let you know.”

“The phone is locked, and even though she has few text messages, there are a few incoming that were of interest,” Jericho said, almost as a throw away statement. “Take a look and see if you can make heads or tails from it.”

I stood, leaving him to his work, pressing the home button of the phone, and typing in the passcode on the report. I didn’t need to look it up though—she made the fatal error of using a code that was easy to guess: Taz’s birthday.

The text messages were mundane, mostly marketing and sales spam, reminders to vote, some phishing scams that were left unread.

The only thing of interest were a dozen messages spaced weeks, sometimes months, apart, each from different unknown numbers, and contained only three letters: I. C. U.

Chapter 18

My Week’s Going To Shit. HBU?

Cobra

Five Days Before the Wedding

“How’s the missus?” Dave Beaufort leaned forward in his seat, his dark eyes amused as he lifted a single brow.

The plastic cushioned booth of the Middlebrook Diner creaked as he shifted his weight. The bustle of the quiet morning rush of truck drivers, cops, and commuters were barely audible over the morning sports recap on the ancient antennae television hung in the corner of the room.

“She wants nothing to do with me,” I said gruffly.

She’d rejected me, after all. It took everything in me not to be an asshole and try to change her mind, especially when I saw thesorrow and desire written in the shades of her indigo irises. That would only harden her rejection.

“I don’t blame her. I want nothing to do with you too, half the time.” Beaufort smiled, his white, perfectly straight teeth were bright against his umber smile. The man hadn’t aged in the past ten years. I was aging like milk, with more aches and pains than I cared to think about. He, on the other hand, was aging like a fine wine, with his clean shaven square jaw, shaved head staved of any white hairs, and unlike me, his consistency at the gym.

I wiped my hand down my face, feeling my own wrinkles and scraggly beard against my palm.

“Thanks,” I said acerbically. “We had a slight kerfuffle when she had less than a warm reception at dinner.”

Beaufort tilted his head, a slight dimple showing as he gave me an amused smirk. “Oh?”

“I got a real talking to from some kid, Vedder, about what it’s like to be ostracized.” My fists clenched again but not as hard as they did last night. “Apparently, it’s a far more unpleasant feeling than many of us know.”