“When is it your turn, Heath?” Ryker murmured. At some point, Heath was going to try to save somebody he couldn’t, and it was going to be ugly. Ryker drew in air before heading through the building to Denver’s office. “Heath told me you found something.”
Denver looked up from his computer, his eyes only a little cloudy. “He told you about the motel.”
“Yeah.”
“Okay.” Denver tapped a few more times on his keyboard. “Zara has withdrawn nine thousand dollars from her savings account in three-thousand-dollar increments in the last three months.”
Ryker dropped into a leather chair and shoved his sunglasses up on his head. “Cash?”
“Yep.”
Blackmail? “To spend where?”
“Dunno yet.” Denver stretched his neck. “Don’t see blackmail here. Investing?”
“With cash?” Ryker drew air in through his nose, trying to rein in his temper. “Bullshit.” What the hell was Zara involved in? She’d damn well give him the truth, because he was done being patient. “What else?”
“That’s all I have so far. The cash doesn’t look good, though.”
“Thanks.” The anger turned into something deeper…something that hurt. Ryker moved out of the office, waiting until Denver had joined him. “You can take one of the bikes.”
“No, thanks. I’ll stick to my truck.” Denver yanked on a worn leather jacket and headed for the basement garage. “Your office furniture arrived.”
Ryker hesitated and then called out. “Denver?”
“Don’t want to talk about it, brother.” Denver disappeared out the door.
The guy never wanted to talk, so that wasn’t exactly a newsflash. Yet at some point Ryker would have to drag words out of him. Or at least some of the hurt. But apparently not today.
Ryker turned toward the middle office and stepped inside, stopping short. Glass and chrome. The entire office was glass and chrome with black leather accents. Whoa. A glass-topped desk, black leather chairs, and chrome file cabinets. A large black-and-white picture of Ryker’s Harley Davidson Fat Boy was framed on the wall behind the desk, and a wide window to the side looked out at the mountains. “Shit, Denver,” Ryker murmured as he walked around the desk to see the computer already set up. He sat. The office felt like home.
He’d never had a home. His sunglasses fell down onto his nose, and he tugged them off and tossed them onto the desk. The light from the window was comforting, even with the chill in the air.
A wisp of sound came from the other room, and he stilled, his senses going on alert. “Denver?”
“No.” A kid walked into the office, his stride long and his expression hard. He shut the door. “You’re Ryker.”
Ryker sat back, tension swamping him. The kid was about twelve and large for his age, and he moved like he could handle himself. His brown hair reached his shoulders, and his eyes, a lighter shade of brown, held secrets and sadness. “Who are you?”
“Name is Greg.” The kid sat, meeting his gaze evenly. “I want to hire you for a job.”
“We’re an eighteen-and-older type of service,” Ryker drawled, his body remaining on alert.
The kid flashed a grin. “You help find the lost, and boy have I lost somebody.”
Even with the smile, the kid oozed danger. What the fuck? “Sorry. We don’t work for kids,” Ryker said.
“Change your mind.” Reaching into his back pocket, Greg yanked out a wad of hundreds bound with a rubber band. “As a new business, you probably require capital.” He tossed the wad toward Ryker.
Ryker lifted one eyebrow. “Where did you get the cash?”
“Doesn’t matter, and there’s more if you do the job right.” Greg didn’t blink. “What do you say?”
More than a little curious, Ryker still shook his head. “Where are your parents?”
“Where are yours?”
Quick. The kid was very quick. “You’re a minor.”
“A minor with tons of cash and no parents.” No emotion showed on his young face. “Nobody is looking for me, so there’s no interference.”
Lie. The kid had just lied. Ryker tilted his head to the side. “Not interested.”
A slight tightening of the skin around kid’s eyes was his only reaction. “All right. Let’s move on to blackmail.”
Ryker clasped his hands together on the glass desktop. “Am I blackmailing you?”
“No.” Greg smiled again, showing a dimple in his right cheek. “How about you just find one person for me, and I don’t call Sheriff Cobb and tell him the three boy fugitives he’s been searching for his entire fucking life happen to be right here in Cisco.”
Well, shit. “You hacked our files.” Ryker frowned but kept his voice level, as if they got hacked every day. Giving the kid the upper hand would be a mistake. Who the holy fuck was this kid?
“Yep. The encryptions were good but…” He shrugged.
“If you’re that good, why can’t you find your own missing person?” Ryker asked, looking for the setup.
“I’ve tried. Believe me, I’ve tried.” Greg rested his hands on his knees. “But your track record shows you’re the best, almost to the point of being supernatural about it, and I need the best. So far I’ve been unsuccessful.”