Tequila Mockingbird (Sinners #3)

Kiki went silent, and Con knew his words struck deep. “Fair enough. Go on, then. What about the raid?”


“Shit to hell and gone the moment we got out of the truck. We entered the RV after a short investigation from a tip. Someone had a CI say Marshall was doing a heavy meth trade in his motor home. Come to find out, not only was the guy clean, but Horan down in forensics thinks he was shot about an hour before we got there.”

“So a false tip led you to a dead guy?”

“That false tip led us to a dead guy in an RV full of propane. Captain doesn’t know how to slot it—murder or cop-killer trap. Maybe the shooter turned the gas on so it would blow, or Marshall was interrupted while he made dinner and the burner went out in the struggle. We won’t ever know, colleen.” Connor shrugged. “Someone—maybe the shooter—left candles burning. The whole thing sparked. I didn’t know he was dead until after I’d pulled him out and handed him over to the med guys. It was a shitty bust all around.”

“What did the CI say afterwards?”

“He’s to the wind. After that night, none have seen him. Captain’s a bit pissed, but there’s nothing to be done about it.”

The squeak of wheels on the road caught Connor’s attention, and he touched his sister’s arm, alerting her to one of the coroner techs moving toward them. Kiki took a step back, moving out of the man’s path as he pushed a sheet-draped gurney past them. She ran her hand over one of the truck’s rails, silent in her contemplation.

Connor dropped his head in respect for the dead passing them, lightly touching the St. Michael’s cross and wings hanging from a leather thong about his neck. “Solas na bhflaitheas tar éis an tsaoil seo ar do shon.”

“Light of heaven after this world for you,” Kiki repeated in a soft murmur. They stood together for a moment, watching Death pass them by, before Kiki turned back to her brother. “I hate that this is our family’s business, Con, but at the same time, I don’t want anyone else doing it.”

“Best to take up the sword yourself and defend the village than complain of the wolf that steals your children.” Con cocked his head and stared down at his sister.

“Is that what you’re doing there? With Ackerman in your car, Con? Defending the village?” Kiki eyed him.

“When I’m done with you, brat, I’m taking him to the hospital so he can sit with his shop manager,” he replied. “Catch up with him there. Or talk to him later. He’s a bit shook up right now.”

It was a good enough explanation for why Forest was in his Hummer, certainly one that should have quelled his sister’s curiosity—it just wasn’t explanation enough for the butterflies beating themselves to death in his belly or why the sight of his jacket around Forest’s shoulders tickled at some primal spots in his cock and soul.

Or even why he’d never known those spots existed before he’d held Forest in the middle of an ashen rain.

“Con?” Kiki’s voice penetrated the haze of Connor’s thoughts, and he jerked his attention away from the blond man curled up in the Hummer’s passenger seat. “I’m going to need to talk to him.”

“He was on the ground, Kiki. I know. I shoved him there and told him to stay put.”

“And he listens so much to you that he wouldn’t even look?” She eyed him. “Better than most of the sibs, then.”

“Kiki, you look me in the face and tell me that you’d get up if I shoved you to the floor and told you to keep your head down.” Her gaze met his, challenging him, but Connor stared her down, and she looked away. “He stayed where I put him until the shooting stopped. If he saw anything, it was probably the floor, but after we make sure Jules is okay, I’ll have him around for you.”

“Think this is connected to Marshall’s death?” Kiki swept her hand around, encompassing the scene in a fluid motion. “Can’t be a coincidence. No such thing as those.”

“Sometimes there are,” Connor replied softly. “But in this case, no, I don’t think there are.”





Chapter 4





Hands on my skin, their filth working in.

I can’t feel anything but pain.

Why won’t this ever end?

Too hard to breathe.

Too worn to care.

Pushing sharp knives in my soul.

Bleeding inside, still too tired to cry.

—Bleeding Tired



HE WAS scared. Down to his bones scared, and no matter how hard he wrapped his arms around himself to get warm, Forest couldn’t reach the core of cold lodged in his belly. He’d given the cop back his jacket when they’d come to the hospital, and after sitting for a few hours in one of the many waiting rooms near the surgical ward, Forest wished he hadn’t insisted the cop take it from him.