“You’re wearing Keds,” Loretta pointed out.
“Keds are the new cool. Gracie and Aster are practically on the doorstep. Talk them into going to the pool,” she told Loretta.
“Let’s get moving. Can we put dinner on the expense account?” Reuben juggled the van keys.
“If we had an expense account, we could. Otherwise, you’ll have to pony up for a Big Mac.”
“One of these days, you’ll have to pony up for real shoes.” Outside, he didn’t bother opening the van door for her the way Jax and Roark did but let her climb in on her own.
Evie appreciated that he treated her as an equal, even if it meant clambering ungracefully into the high seat.
Reuben started the van and backed it down the drive. “All right, now tell me what you weren’t saying in front of Loretta.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I’m the one who’s supposed to read auras, not you.”
“Yeah, and I’d be one dead spy if I couldn’t read a face as easy as yours. What was grandma up to?”
“Grandma was ex-FBI. Stacey is afraid Granny Marlene might have hid dangerous information someone wanted, and she may have been killed before she could get away. No one else is taking granny’s death as anything except old age, so it could be awhile before she has the autopsy report.”
“Well, shit.”
Evie grimaced. That was more or less her thought, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. They needed a job, any job. And Stacey Gump had promised a deposit.
* * *
Jax finishedup his paperwork on the two land fraud cases he’d taken up against his old law firm and Afterthought’s former mayor. He’d never meant to be a pencil pusher, but until recently, he’d never thought about anyone but himself either. So there was that.
Now that he knew his real father had lost his life trying to stop massive voter fraud, he had to try on shoes that size. Aaron Ives had been an engineer, an entrepreneur, a lawyer, and a family man—while single-handedly fighting for justice.
Jax, on the other hand, had blown up his military career and any hope of the diplomatic post he’d coveted. Instead, he’d landed a job in his adoptive father’s cushy law firm, one that evidently turned a blind eye to criminal fraud by its partners—a job he’d ultimately had to quit. So he was starting over these days.
He had a lot of catching up to do.
His office phone rang and he checked caller ID, but everyone hid their names these days. He needed a secretary to screen his calls, except he could barely afford his rent. His savings account was dwindling by the minute. He let the call go to voice mail, then checked his computer to read the message.
A reporter. Evie and Reuben liked reporters publicizing their new business. Jax wasn’t so fond of them. Why would a New Orleans newspaper contact him? He was pretty certain they didn’t care that he’d just opened one more tiny law firm in the county seat of Nowheresville, South Carolina.
New Orleans.
Oh crap, if a newspaper reporter had connected him with Roark, then everyone else would too. Well, they didn’t know where to find Roark—yet—or they wouldn’t be calling Jax. That was one pretty damned good investigative reporter to make a link between two ex-soldiers. Roark had been flying under the radar since he’d left the service, but he did own the van.Somehow. Jax hadn’t asked questions. The title may have led them to Afterthought and Jax.
He sent a text warning to Reuben, who flew as low as Roark. They’d both been busted out of the service for insubordination and worse, but mostly for revealing what officers hadn’t wanted revealed. That was a hard story to explain to prospective employers.
Finishing up his files, Jax ran them over to the courthouse, then hopped on his Harley to pick up supplies and make a swift run to Ariel’s. He needed to see if Roark was awake and coherent.
His sister... would probably shoot him when he walked in the door. It was Jax’s fault that their adoptive father had to sell the comfortable nest she’d lived in most of her life. Roark could never have barged in on her in the mansion they’d grown up in.
Jax parked the bike under a spreading dogwood and texted Ariel to let her know he was outside.
Roark popped out the front door instead. He still looked haggard—as best as one could tell, given the dude’s size and bronzed coloring. He needed a shave and a haircut. Jax had never seen him in anything except a military buzz that revealed his tats. He could understand why now. Roark’s curls had him looking like a black sheep.
Roark pointed at one of Ariel’s cameras. “She’s even got audio, so if you’ve come to blast my hide, we haveta go elsewhere.”
Jax waved at the camera. “Want me to punch him?”
His phone beeped with a text response from his reclusive sister.listen
He showed it to Roark, who looked resigned. He sank down on the front porch, sprawling his legs over the steps and leaning against a post. Jax threw him a beer from his saddlebag. Aiming the spray at the weed-patch lawn, he opened one for himself and waited.