He keyed in the speed dial to his brother’s number, and the call was answered before the first ring finished.
“Do you know what happened at the police department?” Graeme asked, his tone so icy Cullen wondered if he was talking to Graeme or his Primal.
There were times he envied his brother’s arrogance and knowledge of his own inner madness. Shades of gray didn’t concern his brother, just right and wrong, what was just and what wasn’t.
“I know. She was wired. I heard every word.”
Silence filled the line for long moments.
“And Ranger still lives,” his brother mused with dangerous softness. “Interesting.”
That softness was an indication that his brother felt he needed to make the hard decisions for him as he’d tried to do for most of their lives.
“Stay away from him, Graeme. I’ll deal with him,” Cullen ordered. He was actually able to take care of things himself.
“I misjudged that man, it would appear,” Graeme commented. “I’ll have to rectify that.”
“You’ll have to let me deal with this,” Cullen reminded him. “Don’t push me, Graeme, I’m not in the mood for it.”
A mocking snort came across the line. “When are you going to grow tired of others striking against your mate?” Graeme asked then, the curiosity in his voice only pissing Cullen off further.
“We can’t all call up a monster that enjoys shedding blood when we want to,” Cullen snorted with a bitter fury born of the pain wrapped around his senses. “I’ll take care of Ranger, and when the time comes I’ll take care of Cerves and whoever put that fucking price on her head. But I won’t leave a trail of body parts doing it.”
Rather than hanging up on him, enraged, as he had in the past, Graeme laughed with mocking amusement. “Ah, brother, how you do enjoy lying to yourself. I think I’ll be rather amused when you’re forced to face the truth.”
“If you don’t stop talking in riddles and tell me something constructive, then I’m going to find something better to do,” Cullen warned his brother.
“The Cerveses were in Mexico City when the attack occurred. They were scheduled to be there for several weeks still to allow Samara to deal with their daughter’s death. They’re flying back in tonight and have ordered all the top lieutenants to be waiting for them. No word yet on what has them returning so soon.”
Cullen knew Juan Cerves, though he knew the cartel leader’s brother, Esteban, much better.
“Juan’s temper is unpredictable, but if Esteban is with him, he’ll be calmer. If he didn’t order the hit as Morales said, then he could just be intent on reestablishing his hold on his organization,” Cullen said thoughtfully.
“Hmm,” Graeme murmured. “We’ll see, I guess.” A heavy sigh came over the line now. “What’s Chelsea doing now?”
Cullen glanced over his shoulder before rubbing wearily at the back of his neck. “She’s sleeping. She’s trying to pretend that what Ranger said didn’t bother her, but I know her. It was painful.”
Silence filled the line for long moments.
“What are your instincts telling you about Ranger, Cullen?” Graeme asked then. “Not your head. Your instincts.”
What were his instincts telling him? Some of those instincts were so new, the information they sensed, the scents, so new . . .
“Don’t think about it, just answer me.” The growl in his brother’s voice was a guttural rasp.
“I’m not sure.” Cullen blew out a hard breath as he paced the kitchen and picked up the discarded clothes, tossing them into the attached laundry room.
“Were you recording while she was wired?” Graeme questioned him curiously.
He had been.
“It was recorded,” Cullen said, impatient now to replay her confrontation with Ranger.
“Send me the file,” Graeme urged him then. “Perhaps I’ll sense something you haven’t.”
Cullen disconnected the call without answering. Going into his cloud files, he forwarded the file to his brother. Perhaps there was something in the confrontation that he hadn’t seen at the time.
He’d heard every word Ranger said to her and had listened in disbelief to the other man’s deliberate attempts to hurt Chelsea and drive her away from Cullen.