Page 21

Twenty

DECK KNOCKED on Tate Matthews’s door after noting his car in the apartment complex’s lot.

A tall, lanky guy with curly hair answered. “No solicitors. Didn’t you see the sign?” He shut the door.

Deck slid his booted foot in before it fully shut. “We’re not solicitors.”

Tate raised two fair brows. “Oh? Then who are you?”

“I’m Deckard MacLeod. This is Christian O’Brady. We’re private investigators.”

“ Uh-huh ,” Tate scoffed.

They both held up their licenses.

Tate frowned and shifted his stance, his hand braced on the door. “What’s going on here?”

“We’re trying to find Kelly Frazier,” Christian said.

“Isn’t everyone?” He turned and stalked back into his apartment, leaving the door open.

Taking it as an invitation, Deck stepped inside, and Christian followed.

“I told them, and I’ll tell you, she’s just off on some adventure.”

“You know that for a fact?”

“No, but it’s what she does. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Does she usually answer her phone on these adventures?”

“Sometimes. Look, I appreciate that you’re trying to help Kelly, but you’re looking for someone who doesn’t even realize she’s missing.”

An odd way to put it.

“So if you’ll excuse me,” he said.

“Actually, there’s one more thing,” Deck said.

Tate exhaled in a whoosh. “Yeah?”

“Noah was shot by an arrow today.”

Tate’s eyes widened. “An arrow? Is he okay?”

“Thankfully, yes,” Christian said. “It was only a flesh wound.”

“But far too close,” Deckard said.

“I’m sorry to hear that, but I don’t understand what that has to do with me.”

“Kevin from the retreat said he saw you do it.”

“What?” His voice hitched an octave higher. “Is he insane?”

“You tell us. Where were you around three this afternoon?”

He shrugged. “I was here.”

“Can anyone vouch for you?” Christian asked.

“Yeah, actually. I ordered DoorDash, and it got delivered to my neighbor Calvin by mistake, so he brought it down to me, and I asked if he wanted to join me. I got quite a bit, so I had more than enough.”

“Okay. We’ll confirm it with Calvin. Which apartment is he in?”

“3D.”

“Thanks for your time.” Deck stepped back.

“I hope you find who did it.”

“Thanks,” Christian said as Tate shut the door.

They turned and headed up the steps one flight to the third floor. Deck ran a hand through his hair. “It’s weird. It’s like there’s two versions of Tate.”

Paige Wheeler had been more than helpful, and her answers had been surprising—painting a completely different picture of Tate than the rumors running around about him. The only disturbance they had was one night he got into a barroom brawl with a guy who’d been flirting with her. According to her, it was sweet and thoughtful, and the two only broke up because Tate was still carrying a flame for his ex. Someone named Claire, but that’s all Paige knew about her—a first name. She said he had mentioned her once when he was drunk, and when she asked about her later, he refused to discuss it. Tate and Paige had split a year ago. Right before he started dating Kelly—based on what Kelly had told Roni.

“Maybe he’s the moody sort,” Christian suggested.

“Nah, it’s something more. Like some of the rumors are just that—rumors. Maybe he’s not so bad a guy after all.”

“So if Tate isn’t after Kelly...” Christian rounded the stairwell.

Deck leaned against the rail. “Then who is?”

****

The ride to the Jicarilla reservation took less time than Greyson anticipated. He glanced at their surroundings. As dark as it was outside, it was difficult to tell where exactly they were on the reservation that he knew all too well.

“I hope I have as much luck as Kelly,” Roni said, strolling down the shuttle aisle past them.

“What do you mean?” Riley stood as Veronica paused to wait for other guests to disembark.

“Did I forget to mention she won ten grand at the casino her last night here?”

“Yeah. You did.”

“Oh, sorry. I just didn’t think anything of it.” Roni shrugged and pulled out a cigarette.

“No smoking on the shuttle,” Alvin called.

Greyson wondered how much of the conversation he’d heard and how it had come across to him. “We should head out,” he said, resting his hand on the small of Riley’s back.

Riley’s phone vibrated as they stepped off the shuttle, leaving Alvin behind.

She halted two steps from the van, and Greyson nearly bowled her over.

He rested his hand on her shoulder and leaned in, keeping his register low. “What is it?”

She held her phone out for him to see.

Tate was home when Grey was shot at. He has an alibi. Not thrilled with you two staying there. I’d consider leaving.

“Everything okay out there?” Alvin asked.

Grey turned to find him staring at them once again, the shuttle door still open. “We’re fine,” he cut out. He wrapped his arm around Riley, and they moved for the casino door with gilded scrollwork and handles. No neon sign—in fact, no sign at all.

“If Tate didn’t shoot the arrow...” she whispered.

“Then we have to find who did. I’m assuming it’s whoever is after the key. They’ve found us here.”

“You mean me. He’s found me.” She lifted her chin a notch to look up at him. “If that’s the case, then that arrow wasn’t meant for you. It was meant for me.”