Page 19 of Gabe (Blue Team #2)

It took me a second to remember what Owen was talking about—that was how full my head was of Evette.

A wave of tension rolled over me and settled in my shoulders.

A lot was going on at Z Corps. More than just helping Evette out of the jam she’d found herself in yet I was so caught up in her I was forgetting important shit.

Almost two months ago when my team was in Idaho someone put a pipe bomb in the parking garage at Z Corps.

The incident was caught on camera and no real damage was done.

It was as if whoever planted it just wanted our attention.

That was bad. What caused real concern was that Leo and Thad’s houses got hit, too.

The concern wasn’t the rocks thrown through their windows.

The ploy was amateur at best. But it had done what it was intended to do and pinged onto our radar big time.

Leo caught the guy who’d vandalized his house.

A twenty-year-old kid with no priors. No known association with gangs or such.

He swore he was just messing around and since throwing a rock through someone’s window didn’t come with a jail sentence the guy paid the fine and apologized.

The case was closed as far as the police were concerned.

However, none of us had forgotten—except me.

I was so totally wrapped up in Evette I hadn’t thought about the case since she’d shown up.

“Did you find something?” I inquired.

“Awhile back Zane got a threat,” Owen announced.

This was nothing new, Zane probably got a dozen nasty-grams a month. It wasn’t surprising considering multiple people on every continent wanted him dead.

“And? He gets them all the time.”

Owen’s lips twitched before he outright smiled.

“Yeah, he’s not particularly liked. But this was a letter mailed from Canada. The letter said, “the stones you throw will one day come back to you.” Since the sender didn’t actually threaten bodily harm it got put in a file. But now I’m wondering if there’s a connection. ”

It must be noted that the threats Zane receives that are creative in the way the sender is going to kill him, he pins to a corkboard in his office.

Sometimes when he's feeling down and out he reads the threats to lift his spirits. He says the threats make him feel relevant. It’s a sick and twisted mind game he plays with himself.

The more viable the threat the better it makes him feel.

“I can see how Zane wouldn’t give that a reread. Doesn’t sound much like a threat.”

“Yeah, nothing was done with the letter. But a few days ago I pulled it and had it dusted for prints. Something that hadn’t been done before it was filed.”

“And you got a hit.”

“Yep. Bronson Williams.”

“The suspense is killing me, brother, spit it out. Priors?”

Owen shifted his gaze to Evette and wagged his brows. “Should I tell him or make him suffer?”

“Don’t ask me, I wanna know, too. What’d you find?”

And there was Evette’s inquisitive mind. She didn’t have the first clue what we were talking about yet she wanted to sink her teeth into the mystery. One of the many things I dug about her.

Focus .

“No priors. Clean as a whistle. He owns a chain of mobile auto detailing vans. Owns a home, pays his bills, moderate business debt, never been married, no kids.”

“Family?” Evette asked and I almost smiled.

“Parents are still married. Both clean. His father retired from his position as the president of National Bank. His mother never worked. According to their investments, Mr. Williams could’ve retired ten years ago and they wouldn’t have had to change their lifestyle.

Branson had a brother, from his mother’s first marriage—Aaron Cardon. ”

“Had?” That was Evette. She was digging in.

All of Evette’s earlier stiffness had faded. Her mind had shifted from what had happened between us to a mystery and she was itching to solve it. I could see how her natural curiosity got her in trouble.

“Aaron died in a plane crash ten years ago. ”

Evette looked crestfallen when she mumbled, “Oh.”

“Where was the crash?”

“Cyprus. Ten minutes into the flight it crashed into the Mediterranean. All four people were killed.”

“So private jet,” I deduced. “Any connection to Zane?”

“Nope. Not that I found. And I found a lot.” Owen tipped his head toward the table. “Aaron Cardon’s life reads like a book. There’s almost too much. Too clean.”

“May I take a look?” Evette asked.

“Go for it,” Owen told her then looked back at me.

His disapproving stare was back. He’d given Evette something to sink her teeth into, giving me a reprieve from having to answer for my gruff demand she eat.

Owen knew it and disagreed with me keeping my past to myself. My friend could be as pissed at me as he wanted to be but there was no need to share I had serious hang-ups about food.

God, that sounded so lame.

But it was the truth. All these years later, I still couldn’t forget all the nights I’d gone to bed hungry.

All the times my mom didn’t eat so I could.

The handouts, the begging. Homelessness wasn’t something you forgot.

The pain in your empty stomach wasn’t something that ever went away.

I could eat a thousand meals. Eat until I was stuffed and the phantom twinge of starvation would still twist in my gut.

Without acknowledging Owen’s censure I filled the pot with water and set about making dinner. Something, anything, to occupy my thoughts. A task that would unwind the ball of nerves that had taken root.

I shook my head at my stupidity. I was no longer that starving boy. I ensured my mother was never without what she needed. She’d never had to be scared again to close her eyes at night. Neither of us would ever be without a bed. I’d made damn sure of that.