Hold On

Garrett engaged his phone.

He made his call and put it to his ear.

“Talk to me,” Ryker said in greeting.

Garrett kept his eyes on the room as he replied, “There’s a man in town, name’s Walter Jones. Ex-FBI profiler who’s writin’ a book on Denny Lowe. He came at Cher. He was shut down. But he’s here ’cause he needs shit. Thinkin’ he knows not to go at Cher again, but she’s got a mom and a kid. They also aren’t the only ones in this ’burg who he could hit to talk about Lowe. Some might not mind talkin’. Most won’t wanna be bothered. He needs incentive to get his ass gone.”

“You know where he’s stayin’?” Ryker asked.

“No clue,” Garrett told him.

“A challenge,” Ryker muttered.

Not a surprise, Ryker was on board.

“Can give you this clue—the make, model, and plate number for his vehicle,” Merry told him.

“Text it to me,” Ryker ordered.

“For this, you hold a marker or I give you cash. Think on it and tell me which way you wanna go. We’ll talk after you get this done.”

“Cher’s a sister. This assclown came at her, not down with that. This is a freebie. But, bro, just sayin’, don’t get used to that.”

Before Garrett could extend gratitude, Ryker disconnected.

When he did, Garrett typed out the car’s details and a description of Jones, and he sent it to Ryker.

He didn’t like doing it like that.

Not the part about setting Ryker on it. He didn’t mind that.

The part that it wasn’t him taking care of this business.

But he liked his job and he needed it to keep eating and to get out of his shitty-ass condo, because the time was ripe.

After the divorce, he’d left the house they’d lived in to Mia and he understood now a part of him was staying in his current place because he expected he’d be going back.

He also understood now why he’d saved up for a down payment on a place but then he bought a Harley. Same shit happened and he bought a speed boat. Same shit and he got a timeshare in Florida.

He’d never quit living his life for the now.

And he packed as much in as he could, eating what he wanted, drinking all he wanted, taking off when he wanted, fucking who he wanted, living how he wanted.

Just like his sister after their dad got drilled with five rounds from his partner’s gun, the same night their mother was tortured and murdered by that partner when Rocky was hiding upstairs, Garrett lived with the poison in his mind that life would eventually turn. The happy family they had—their mom a beautiful, vibrant woman, their dad a good man in love with his wife and always showing it, Christmases, birthdays, some part of every day filled with all that was right about family—all in one night…gone.

So he’d lived in the now. He’d gotten rid of the only person in his life who wouldn’t get it like his dad did, like Rocky did, but she was the person who would feel it the worst if something happened to him. After Vegas, he’d made it so Mia would never feel it when that day happened like the poison in his mind told him it was sure to.

He had no idea how he’d get past that with Cher and her son. If the worst happened to him on the job or just because life sucked, she deserved it even less if she got in deep with him and shit went down.

He just knew now that poison was in his system, and the woman Mia was, she didn’t have it in her to help him work it out.

The woman Cher was, she did.

He’d sorted that in his mind, but that was the least of his baggage.

He not only needed to start conversations with Cher about what was happening, he needed to have a conversation with Mia.

She’d fucked things up since he left.

But he’d fucked things up, leaving her. She’d loved him. It was clear she still felt that. And bottom line, back then, he’d hurt her and he’d played his own part in continuing to do it.