While the equipment could be replaced, it was a violation of who Forest was—the one thing Connor knew gave him some peace. He’d spoken of it—of the Zen he achieved when finding the beat of a song—and to see Forest’s center twisted apart ached.
Then Connor spotted the slack hand poking out from behind the torn-down drum kit, and his senses went on wide alert. Drawing up his weapon, he stepped in closer, cautiously moving over the debris of Forest’s belongings. The hand didn’t move, and a faint wet sound reached Con’s ears as he drew around the kit and found himself staring down at a long-legged young man, his blond hair sticky with dried blood and his chest jerking up and down as a large rat ate away at the deep, long slice on his throat.
At first glance, Connor’s eyes saw another man—blonder and prettier, with a fuller mouth and melancholy brown eyes. Then he blinked, and the image whispered away, leaving only the rat and a dead man at his feet.
Kane came through the door, his weapon drawn, and he glanced first at the kitchen before joining his brother. He must have seen the body as well, because Connor heard him give a slight gasp of shock. Then the room steadied again when Kane’s hand clamped down on his shoulder.
“It looks like your boy down there, Con,” Kane murmured. “He must have surprised them while they were ripping the place off—”
“Someone came to kill him—Forest, K. I don’t know who this is, but I’m guessing whoever slit his throat thought he was Forest. No such thing as coincidence, Kane. Not like this.” Connor cut his brother off. “He’s not coming back here. Not ever if I have my say in it. We’re going to catch the bastard who’s doing this. Even if I’ve got to call in every damned favor owed to me. I’m going to find who did this—who wanted to do this to him—and I’m going to make them pay. With every damned drop of blood in their bodies.”
Chapter 12
Don’t care what you look like
Don’t care who you know
Don’t want to see you ’round
Don’t come down to my show
You’re always bringing Trouble
Trouble knocking at my door
Don’t fuck with the guys I play with
I don’t want you here no more.
—Trouble in Spades
“SOMETHING HAPPENED up there, didn’t it?” Forest asked when Brigid came back from her talk with Connor. She’d sent Kane upstairs, a worried frown ushering her son on his way. A brief whisper to Kiki, and then she’d approached Forest. The woman grabbed him, giving him a deep hug, hard enough to rattle his spine.
“I don’t know about that, love,” Brigid said as she let him go. She sounded even more Irish than her eldest son, a gentle burr roughening her words when she spoke. “But they’ll keep you safe. My boy’s good at that. In the meantime, we’ll find you someplace to rest up. Connor’s said you’ve cracked that head of yours open.”
She was teeny, and her face was haloed with long red curls. There was a faint scatter of freckles over her pale skin, and her enormous green eyes tilted up, giving her an elfin look. If she’d actually given birth to eight children, no one told her body or her face. If anything, she looked more ready to take on a hoard of Saxons or Vikings, just as soon as she found her sword.
And oh, she could hug.
He was going to cry. Forest knew it. Her hug shook more than his body. It was as if she reached down into the darkest, dankest bits of his soul and touched them with light. He recoiled at first, then sank into her warmth when her arms came at him again, swaddling him tight. Another hug, then a kiss on his cheek when he buried his face in her fragrant hair, and Forest knew he had to pull away, or he’d lose any sense of control he had over his tears.
“I can get a hotel room to stay in,” he protested softly, wiping his face with the back of his hand. He refused to cry. Hell, he refused to even look at the older woman because he knew he’d cry. “Fuck.”
“No.” The remaining Morgans spoke as one, a hallelujah chorus mixed with Irish and stubborn. Forest noted the older Hispanic man kept his mouth shut and ducked under the crime-scene tape to take a look at the dining area.
“You can stay with the family. Con’s house is barely habitable for a roach,” Brigid pronounced. “Have you met the others? Or has Connor kept you squirreled away like a cookie?”
“Brae’s the one that squirrels, Mum.” The remaining Morgan male held out his hand. When he leaned forward over a pile of debris to shake Forest’s hand, his police badge flashed from its spot on his belt. “I’m Riley. Fifth in the Morgan dynasty—too many to kill to take over the kingdom—”
“Too fucking lazy too,” Kiki said before continuing her call.