Hold On

“Listen, I need a favor.”


“This a favor that’s gonna take a lot of my time, none of which I’ll get paid for, or is this a favor that’s gonna mean me pickin’ up your mail ’cause you’re headed to a beach?”

This was a valid question. Tanner was a private investigator, a good one. Garrett was a cop. Being a cop, there were rules. Being a PI, those rules were a lot looser. Garrett needed his brother-in-law when he needed loose, something that happened often, and he didn’t hesitate to ask.

Tanner usually didn’t hesitate to deliver.

Still, he bitched about it.

“Not a lotta your time, but it’s important. You find it hard to fit in, I’ll make it worth your while and pay your fees,” Garrett told him.

Tanner said nothing.

This was also a valid response. Garrett had never offered this in exchange for services rendered.

Finally, Tanner spoke. “Jesus. What’s the favor?”

“Need you to look into some people for me. Man’s name is Trent. His wife’s name is Peg. Don’t know where they live. My guess is Indy but could be anywhere relatively close. Don’t know their last name. Just know you’ll probably find it, you look up the birth certificate of Ethan Rivers née Sheckle, seein’ as Trent’s his birth father.”

“Fuck,” Tanner muttered, then instantly jumped to the obvious conclusion. “Cher got some problems?”

“Yeah,” Garrett told him, not giving that first fuck that he’d promised Cher he wouldn’t tell anyone she had issues.

First, because Tanner would keep it on the down low. Second, because that stick-up-her-ass bitch was not going to get her hands on Ethan. Cher was not going to lose her son. The woman had been through enough. The time that she had headaches outside of the normal ones good folks had was over.

That was a decision Garrett had made the minute they’d had their conversation, and it wasn’t because he’d fucked her.

It was because she was Cher and she was a Cher he’d now fucked.

“According to her,” he continued, “Peg’s not big on her husband’s blood livin’ with an ex-stripper or the rest of the baggage Denny Lowe landed on her.”

“They goin’ for custody?” Tanner asked.

“I get the impression, not yet. But I also get the impression that they’re gearin’ up for it.”

“The impression?”

“Cher isn’t feelin’ like bein’ super informative at this juncture.”

Tanner again made no reply.

“She’s freaked, though, in a big fuckin’ way,” Garrett told him. “Her history, she has reason. The way she’s raisin’ that boy and the love she’s got for him, she shouldn’t worry. But life she’s lived, that won’t be her first thought. She told me her ex is a recovering addict. She called him a junkie. I’m helpin’ her out, hopin’ you might uncover some ammunition in case they wage war.”

“I gotta be in the office in the morning. I’ll run some searches, get what I got to you, follow up if something opens up,” Tanner offered.

“Be appreciated,” Garrett muttered, dragging from his cigarette, then exhaling before he said, “Need you to keep this quiet, brother. You and me on this. And by quiet, I mean I don’t even want Cher to know you’re lookin’ into this.”

“Tough as nails, determined to look out for herself, not drag anyone into her shit,” Tanner deduced.

“That’s it,” Garrett confirmed.

“I’ll go quiet,” Tanner told him.

“That’s appreciated too.”

“Never ends for her,” Tanner observed. “The legacy of bullshit that asshole laid on her.”

“Nope,” Garrett agreed.

“Her ex had problems, we’ll find somethin’,” Tanner assured.

“I hope so,” Garrett replied, then asked, “You and Rocky gettin’ any sleep?”

This was also a valid question since his sister and brother-in-law gave him a niece, still a baby, though growing up, and she was a big fan of daytime naps, but she’d never been a fan of nighttime sleep.