Page 57 of Missing Pieces (Brantley Walker: Off the Books #12)

Slade sat at his parents’ dining room table, picking at the food in front of him.

He’d been looking forward to his mother’s meatloaf all afternoon, but his appetite had disappeared about the time he saw Atticus laughing it up with Archer.

More so when Atticus backed out of dinner at the last minute.

He should’ve expected it. That was the way things went for him.

Every time he found someone he was interested in, they turned out to be more interested in someone else.

His ex-wife had turned her attention to plenty of other men, including Slade’s own brother.

Carson had latched on to every guy he wanted Slade to fuck.

And it looked as though Atticus was doing the same.

“You goin’ to the game tonight?” his mother asked, pulling him from his thoughts.

Grateful for the distraction, Slade pushed his plate away. “Yeah. I think I’ll head over there now, in fact.”

She frowned as she glanced at the clock on the wall. “It’s not for another hour and a half.”

“I know. I heard a rumor that the statue’s gonna end up there.” He placed his napkin on the table and pushed his chair back. “Thanks for dinner.”

When he reached for his plate to take it to the sink, his mother put a hand on his arm to stop him. “I’ve got it.”

“You sure?”

She nodded. “Go on. Tell Atticus I’m sorry he couldn’t make it.”

“I will,” he lied. “Later, Dad.”

His father waved him off, his full attention on shoving food in his face.

Fifteen minutes later, Slade pulled into the school’s parking lot. It was halfway full already. Cars and trucks of players and staff were scattered throughout. It wouldn’t be long before the buses from the rival school joined them, along with families and friends.

To keep from thinking about Atticus and what the man was doing with Archer, Slade got out of his truck and made his way toward the football field. They hadn’t set up to take tickets yet, so he managed to slip inside, making his way around the bleachers on the home team’s side.

That was as far as he made it when he came up short, a smile sliding into place.

“Holy shit.”

There was the life-size bronze statue dressed like an orchestra conductor, complete with black pants, a white shirt, a bowtie, and a blonde wig, facing a makeshift stage that had been set up between the two sets of bleachers.

He had to give the kids credit, they hadn’t done any damage to the statue—that he could tell—nor had they interfered with the team’s ability to play the game tonight.

He moved closer, taking in what looked to be dozens of smaller statues positioned in a semicircle, each sporting a small bowtie and posed with a miniature version of an instrument.

When he was close enough, Slade noticed the small statues weren’t bronze, but rather 3D printed. As were the instruments.

Behind the miniature orchestra, a banner had been strung up, hooked to the bleachers. It read: HAPPY RETIREMENT! WE’RE GONNA MISS YOU, MRS. TANNENBAUM.

If he recalled correctly, Mrs. Tannenbaum was the band teacher.

“A lot of effort just to say goodbye, huh?”

Slade glanced back, saw his cousin Braydon walking toward him. “That’s an understatement.”

“Did you know she’s been the CRHS band teacher for thirty years?”

He hadn’t known that. But he had known that she was a favorite of many of the students, past and present.

Braydon stopped beside him. “If it were me, I would’ve added a bunch of chocolate bars—with almonds—and scattered them around on the ground.” He looked over, smiled. “Horse shit.”

Slade shook his head. “Of course you would.” He took it all in again, pausing for a moment before he said, “Or maybe Tootsie Rolls.”

Braydon stared at him for a second before he barked a laugh. “Or Tootsie Rolls.”

Smiling, Slade admired the bronze statue, the tailored clothing that the kids had clearly spent time on. “They could’ve done this in front of the school. Then they wouldn’t’ve had to move the statue.”

Braydon chuckled. “Too easy.”

“Exactly my point.”

“And that’s why you’re not the reigning king of pranks at this school.”

“But you are.”

Braydon grinned.

Slade studied his cousin, meeting his gaze. That was when he saw it. “This was your doing.”

His cousin huffed a laugh. “I can’t take all the credit. The kids came up with it. We just helped to make it happen.”

“We? Did Brendon help?”

Braydon shrugged.

“What about Ethan?”

“I’ll never tell.”

He didn’t have to. That wicked grin said it all.

While Slade, along with a large portion of Coyote Ridge, watched the CRHS football team go on to beat their rivals in the homecoming game, Archer spent several more hours going over the data with Atticus.

They compiled the information that continued to trickle in from Luca, JJ, and Becs, who’d started researching as soon as her daughter went to bed. Or so Atticus informed him.

Archer ignored several texts from Simon.

He knew the man wanted to know where they stood.

He fully intended to tell him and to ensure he received all the data they had, but for the moment, he was working for the task force.

As an official team member, he had to put them first. Simon would understand. Hopefully.

It wasn’t until he was rubbing his eyes and heard Atticus yawning that he looked at the time.

“It’s almost two.” A heavy yawn escaped him. “How’d that happen?”

Atticus looked at his watch as he leaned back, stretching. “Time flies when you’re havin’ fun.”

Before Archer could suggest they call it a night, his gaze snagged on some information on his computer screen. He’d been going through Holt’s notes, trying to decipher fact from fiction, so he wasn’t exactly sure what he was looking at. He leaned forward and read it again.

“Hey, uh … Atticus?”

“Hmm?”

Archer leaned back, pointed at his screen. “You should look at this.”

Atticus got up, stretching his arms across his chest as he walked over. When he stopped, he leaned over Archer’s shoulder to read the screen.

As Archer expected, he heard Atticus gasp.

A second later, he clamped a hand on Archer’s shoulder. “Is that real?”

“I have no idea.”

“Holy shit. That’s … holy shit.”

Yeah. Archer was thinking along those lines.

When Atticus stepped back, Archer peered over. “What should we do with that?”

“Take it to Brantley and Reese,” he blurted.

“It’s almost two in the mornin’,” he reminded Atticus, who again looked at his watch.

“Maybe we … um … wait until morning? They get up early.”

“How early?”

“Dawn.”

Well, that was definitely early. And only a few hours away. Plus, Archer got the feeling Brantley and Reese would want this information ASAP. Hell, he wasn’t sure how Holt had managed to keep this to himself. No way had he forgotten about it.

He glanced at the screen again, wondering if Simon knew. Surely he did. He’d been through the data ad nauseam. Or so he’d said.

Atticus stepped back. “Until then, I say we catch a nap.”

“You headin’ home?” Archer asked, forcing himself to look away from the computer. He got to his feet and felt the impact of the past few hours in the twinges of his muscles.

Atticus looked out into the main area of the barn. “No. If I do, I’m sure I’ll oversleep. I think I’ll grab a couple of hours on the couch.”

“Since there aren’t two and not one long enough for me to fit on, I guess I’ll—”

“There’s a leather one in the loft. Full sofa. I think it’s even got a fold-out bed. I know JJ’s slept on it before. So has Baz. He’s not as tall as you, but…”

“I could do a full-size couch,” he said, not sure if that was true, but willing to find out if it meant not having to leave.

He knew the information they’d uncovered was something Brantley would want immediately.

If it were before midnight, he would’ve walked over and knocked on the door. At this point, it would just be rude.

“Cool.” Atticus returned to his computer, leaned over, and typed something.

“I’ll set an alarm. Three hours. No more, no less.”

Atticus nodded curtly, smiled, then walked out of the room. Before Archer reached the stairs up to the loft a few minutes later, he heard the guy snoring.

Three hours.

That was more than enough time to recharge.