“Thanks,” he replied softly. “And thanks for letting me play. It feels good.”
Damie studied him, a careful assessment of something Forest couldn’t name. The guitarist shook out his own hands, then sucked on one of his fingers. Talking around his hand, he laughed. “Been a long time since I’ve played to blood.”
“Dude,” Forest exhaled the word, catching his breath. “You okay?”
“Yeah, just—been a long time,” Damie replied softly. “And yeah, it feels good. Really fucking good.”
They’d played everything—old blues standards, Sinner’s Gin songs, and even a few things Miki’d written since the accident. A few times, Forest slid in an opinion, replacing a beat or quickening a spot. Miki listened, free of anything even remotely resembling an ego, and changed the music to reflect Forest’s suggestions. At one point, they’d agreed the change didn’t work, but Miki shook his head, insisting it worked—they’d just not found the place for it.
As if something Forest wrote would be used in something Miki hadn’t come up with yet.
“God, I reek.” Forest looked around for his shirt. He needed something to wipe the kit down with.
“Want to grab a shower?” Damie tossed him a shop rag from a bundle he’d opened to use on his guitar. “I can loan you some stuff to change into. We’re about the same size.”
“That’ll be great. Thanks. I—um—should probably call Brigid to see if she can come grab me.” There wasn’t a clock in the studio, and he’d left his phone back in the warehouse. “Do you know what time it is?”
“No fucking clue.” Damie nudged Miki’s shoulder. “And I’m hungry. You guys wanna order something in to eat?”
“Damie dials a mean Thai,” Miki said to Forest. “You like Thai?”
“Yeah.” He made a face. “Actually, I pretty much will eat anything that doesn’t move. I’m not picky.”
“How about if we all go grab showers, and I’ll call some food in.” Damie stretched his arms over his head, and Forest heard his spine crack. “You know what this band needs? Someone who can fucking cook.”
“You know what this band needs?” Miki tossed Forest his shirt from the floor. “A fucking name.”
“I DON’T know what you’re asking about,” Ginger Ackerman simpered when Senior Inspector Duarte set a cold soda down in front of her. “I went to go see my kid. He owns that place now.”
“What I’m asking you, Ginger,” Kiki replied softly, waiting for the woman to open her diet Sprite and take a sip before continuing. “Is whether or not you’d seen who killed Brian Collerton, the man we found in the coffee shop, and more importantly, what the hell were you doing there?”
“We did find boxes of the Amp’s supplies in your truck, as well as a couple of the higher-end appliances.” Duarte pulled out a chair, positioning it at an angle near the table before sitting down. “Did you come with someone? Did Collerton see you guys, and the person you were with jumped him?”
“I didn’t come with anyone. My kid asked me to help move some of his stuff out because it was expensive.” Ginger smacked her lips after she drank, nervously plucking at her lower lip. “He didn’t want anyone to steal it. I was moving it to a storage place for him.”
“That’s bullshit,” Connor said aloud from his spot behind the one-way glass of the interrogation room’s antechamber. “We even talked about moving it, but the place was locked up tight. The renovation crew was going to move it over to the studio space in a week. Why the hell would he pay for that stuff to be in storage?”
“That, my brother, is what we inspectors like to call a lie,” Kane informed him, crossing his arms over his chest as he listened in on the discussion. “Kind of like what Mum does when she says you’re pretty.”
Reflected in the glass, Connor was struck by how similar he and his younger brother looked. Only a couple of years separated them, but while they’d been growing up, those few years seemed like such a chasm. Now, he had to double take when he saw Kane—always a little bit surprised to find the scrawny, clumsy young boy’d become a wide-shouldered, tall man.
Glancing at Kane, Connor noted he was still taller—if only by a couple of inches.
Straightening up, Connor squared his shoulders. “I know what a lie is. I grew up hearing you do it.”
“I learned it from you, brother,” Kane shot back. “I learned it all by watching you.”
“You’d think you’d be better at it,” Con muttered, but his attention was on the woman Kiki was questioning.