I glance at him. “I thought we’d agreed that lead didn’t work out, Detective Tyler Devlin.”
“Grayson,” he mutters distractedly, turning to look out the window.
I sigh.
Tyler has decided he’ll never use Dad’s family name ever again, since he isn’t Dad’s biological son, and Dad branded him as a bastard—quite literally carved the word across his chest and tried to kill him.
Sometimes I think it’s childish to insist on that, then I remember what was done to him and am mad at myself for even thinking it.
He says nothing more as I drive around the lake toward the address. Scott has fallen asleep in his car seat, his little head lolling to the side, like always during car drives, and I smile fondly at him.
Then we reach our destination, and reality slams back in, like a fist to my gut.
Zane is standing outside the bakery, inked arms folded over his chest, his Mohawk spiky, a scowl on his face. A woman is leaning in the open door, talking to him.
While I park, barking at Tyler to stay in with Scott and jumping out of the car, Zane shakes his head at what she’s saying.
Then he sees me and starts toward me.
The moment I reach him, I grab him in a hard bear hug, holding on to his stiff body, trying to convince myself everything’s gonna be okay.
“Ash. Get off me, fucker,” Zane mutters, but doesn’t push me off. “I’m okay.”
It takes me a moment to let go, and even then I keep a grip on his arm.
So sue me. I’ve been getting an ulcer fearing the worst for days, and I don’t know what the fuck went down, only that it isn’t anything good.
“Okay?” I take stock of his bruised face, the blood staining his light-blue T-shirt. “What are you doing out here? Why are you all bloodied? Dammit, Z-man.”
“I said I’m goddamn fine, just…” He glances back at the woman who’s taking her time walking toward us, probably giving us space. “Just let go, fucker.”
There’s wetness in his eyes. His breathing is ragged. Beneath the pissed-off attitude, there’s a world of fear.
I turn toward the woman. “You called me?” I ask her. “What happened?”
“Christ,” Zane mutters, wrenching his arm free of me and marching toward the car.
I let him go in favor of getting the details on this clusterfuck. “Thank you for calling me.”
“No problem.” She looks after Zane as he climbs into the car. “He seems like a nice young man. I can understand that he’s afraid.”
I grit my teeth. “Can you tell me what happened?”
“Sure.” She tucks a strand of gray hair behind her ear and pats her stained apron. “I’d gone out back to take out the trash and found him there, behind the dumpster, sitting on the street, shaking. Made my heart hurt, poor boy.”
From the corner of my eye, I see Tyler leaning over the backseat, talking to Zane. I hope they don’t come to punches, not with Scott in there.
“Did he tell you why he was there?”
“He said he was lost.”
Goddammit. I wrench my gaze from the car and nod at her. “And then?”
“I asked if he had a phone, and he said he did. Then I said we should call his family. He said to call Asher. So I did.”
The knot in my throat has grown so big I can hardly swallow. “Good thing you did. We didn’t even know he was gone until you called.”
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