“Nothing from tonight’s activities. I tweaked my shoulder last month. That’s why I couldn’t change my tire,” she said pointedly.
Royce grimaced inwardly, thinking about how… wonderfully patronizing he’d been yesterday.
“It’s okay, I’m used to it.” Briar peeled off her jacket. “Is there a place to hang this and take off my shoes? I’m soaked.”
Briar was tall, but even so, a sweatshirt stolen from Topher’s closet would be huge on her. Irrationally Royce wanted to loan her his sweatshirt, which was almost as wet as Briar’s clothing. He briefly imagined her curled up in the corner of his couch wearing his sweatshirt and a pair of those yoga pants that left little to the imagination.
Not the time, Royce.
“There’s a mudroom off the living room.” He led the way, not that it was far. The house was full of shadows and Topher’s ridiculous flat-screen TV caught a random ray of sunlight and gleamed for a moment.
In the small mudroom, Briar peeled off her shoes and socks, leaving her feet bare. Royce noticed her second toe was longer than the first; in fact, all her toes were long and elegant, just like Briar. Noticing toes now, Royce?
“I suppose we could stay here,” he offered, toeing off his boots. “But I was thinking we’d grab Topher’s car and head back to town. While we wait, do you want to tell me what the hell is going on?” Turning, he headed back toward the middle of the house, the mud room and living room both seeming too exposed. He checked that all the blinds were closed, not that Topher would leave them open while he was away.
“Why me? Couldn’t it be you?”
“It’s not me.”
“How do I know that? I haven’t been in Rexville for almost twenty years.”
“Well, I’ve been back for a year and until today, no one tried to kill me.”
“Maybe you just didn’t notice.”
“I think I would’ve noticed.”
She arched her brow at him. Royce stared back, unflinching. Her shoulders sagged just a little.
“Do you think your friend Topher has some tea or hot chocolate?”
“Then you’ll tell me?”
“I’ll tell you what I can.”
It was oddly intimate standing around with Briar Nilson in Topher’s mostly dark kitchen. His friend wasn’t a tea drinker, but Royce found some pouches of instant hot chocolate in one of the cupboards. Opening another cupboard, he grabbed a saucepan, filled it with water, and set it on the stove.
It seemed later than it was, probably because so much had happened in a short amount of time. It wasn’t every day he discovered a body and was shot at, so he was out of practice. The clock on the stove informed them it was past noon.
Royce didn’t want to stay at Topher’s for long. The feeling of being trapped made his skin twitch, and he didn’t like not knowing what the hell was going on.
“Well?” he said impatiently, as the burner glowed, warming the water. “The day’s not getting any younger. What’s with the dead tattooed guy?”
Briar was the one who rolled her eyes this time. After scraping her hand through her damp hair, she crossed her arms and leaned one hip against the counter.
“There’s a lot I can’t tell you—it’s classified and I don’t know for sure that the DB is even associated with it.” She waved a hand as if that would summarize everything that had happened.
Right,thought Royce. Keep telling yourself that, Briar.
But all he said was, “Fine, tell me what you can.”
She was quiet for another minute, no doubt gathering her thoughts.
“For about a year, I was undercover as a girlfriend of a Spiders MC member—that’s the tattoo our DB has on his arm. My partner was undercover too.” Her voice was quiet, as if she worried someone might hear her. “We were trying to get them on a RICO charge, for weapons trafficking. Pretty much the usual. I don’t know what you know about MCs, but the ones who give all the rest a bad name are exactly like the Spiders.”
Royce nodded. He didn’t know much about motorcycle gangs but didn’t have a hard time imagining what they were involved in.
“Long story short, last spring somehow my partner Hank’s cover was blown. Hank was murdered and I was lucky to make it out alive.”