“You’re right. I don’t like either of those ideas.” Ryker breathed out. “I want to know who this woman is and why she tested us through the years.”
“Me too,” Heath said, loping into the office and dropping into the other guest chair. “At the time, I figured she was just some sort of social worker, but now…”
Yeah. Now that Greg seemed so desperate to find her, Ryker’s instincts were humming, too. “Let’s find her.”
Denver waited for Heath to nod and again began typing furiously.
Ryker turned to Heath. “What was up with you yesterday?”
Heath tugged down a ripped T-shirt marred with grease. “I had to go to the courthouse and a chick was there, getting a protection order against her husband. She was beat to hell and about eighteen years old. Name was Molly.” His tone darkened and deepened, upping the tension in the room.
“Molly. Sweet name.” Ryker treaded lightly. Heath’s mother had been murdered by her boyfriend after systematic beatings, which had often included roughing up Heath. “So the PO is a good thing, right?”
“Yeah.” Heath held out his hand and frowned at the grease marks. “I saw her outside the courthouse after the hearing, clearly talking to the asshole over by his car.” Heath shook his head.
Serious land mine there. “I’m sorry.” Ryker glanced at the grease. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“There’s nothing more to say that you don’t already know.” Heath tipped his head to the side. “Although I’d really love to find the asshole who killed my mother.”
“We will. I don’t know when or how, but we will.” Ryker glanced at the stormy weather outside. When that day happened, he’d cover his brother. “Any news or leads or anything on the Copper Killer case?”
“No. It’s like we’re just holding our breath for the next blow,” Heath muttered.
Yeah. That summed it up. While Ryker couldn’t do anything on that case right now, he could help Zara. “How’s Zara’s car?”
“It’s fine. Well, for a piece of shit, it’s fine,” Denver said, not losing a second with his typing, even though his gaze had strayed to check on Heath a couple of times.
Heath nodded. “He looked it over this morning and then asked me to replace the brake lines. She needs a new transmission, too.”
“She needs a new car,” Denver retorted.
Ryker nodded. “Yeah, but she doesn’t exactly want to accept a car from me.” What was the big deal?
“Maybe she thinks you’ll want kinky favors,” Denver drawled.
Ryker rolled his eyes. “We both know you’re the kink bastard in the family.”
Heath snorted, visibly shaking himself out of his mood. “Remember that leather club he visited in Seattle?”
“I was on a case,” Denver said, his tone even, his fingers flying. “Why do you jerks always forget that part of the story?”
“You were a master at the case.” Ryker snorted, enjoying bugging Denver enough that he had to speak. The more he spoke, the more he continued speaking. Physics at its best.
Heath chuckled.
Yeah. He’d made Heath laugh a little. Good. “Do you still have the leather pants and bullwhip?” Ryker asked, widening his eyes. “Maybe we could use those in Wyoming if we get a case on a ranch.”
Denver stopped typing. “It was a flogger, not a bullwhip, and if you don’t stop messing with me about it, I’m going to shove it up your—”
Heath held up a hand. “God, please don’t say it. The image. It’s a mental picture that would never go away.”
Ryker bit back a grin. “We could always use Heath’s clown outfit from that case in Jersey. The master and the clown. Man, I think we might have an idea for a sitcom. Denver can spank ’em, and then Heath can make ’em laugh.”
Both of his brothers looked at him like he’d lost his mind. He tried to bite back a chuckle. Then Denver started laughing, a full rolling sound he rarely made. Heath swung his head and then joined in, the tension visibly leaving his shoulders.
Ryker settled. “Any news on Zara’s medical records?”
“You sure you want to know?” Heath asked, clearing his throat.
“Yeah.” Well, probably. “I’d rather she told me, but she hasn’t, and if I ask her directly, she’ll know I investigated her.” More than she already knew he had, that was.
“Haven’t found anything,” Denver said.
If Denver hadn’t found records, there weren’t records to find. Good. That was good. Ryker tugged on a loose thread near his knee and ripped open a hole in his faded jeans. “Shit.”
Denver glanced over the desk. “That’s the style.”
“Like you’d know shit about style,” Heath retorted.
Denver grinned and read his screen. “I’m going to need about an hour to create a program that’ll spot and hopefully shut down any backtracking software Madison might use. We’re still calling her Madison, right?”
“Yeah. That name rings more true than the one she used with us. I always felt she was lying,” Heath murmured.
“I wish I had that ability,” Denver said.