Read Online If You See Her by Shiloh Walker - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Shiloh Walker
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might.” Remy’s face could have been carved from stone and his blue eyes looked glacial.
“Think he’d do anything stupid?”
“Shit.” Remy shot Ezra a dark look. The charming, surfer-boy looks had been tarnished by stress and grief. He looked tired. Tired and grieving. “He fucking burned a house down. Yeah. I think he could do something stupid.”
Feeling bad for him, Ezra shook his head. “That’s not what I meant. Houses, hell … they burn, yeah, but nobody was hurt.
He
wasn’t hurt. Are we going to regret not bringing Nielson out here?”
“Hope not,” Remy said. Then he climbed out of the truck.
Yeah, Remy could see Brody rabbiting already, just like Ezra said.
The boy’s blue eyes were darker than normal, the pupils huge. His face was pale and sweating.
Shit, just how fucking distracted could Hank be? Remy’s older brother had always been the type to focus on the end goal, but Remy would have thought his family would be included in that end goal.
Obviously not, because Hank didn’t seem to have a
clue
just how screwed up Brody was right now.
Then again, Hank had been like that for a while.
Ever since Sheryl had died.
As he let Remy and Ezra into the kitchen, Hank said, “I hope you make this quick, Remy. I’ve got an awful lot of work waiting for me and it doesn’t help that you didn’t make it here until thirty minutes after you said you would.”
“Sit down, Hank,” he said quietly. “This is important.”
Hank gave him a narrow look. “I’ve got hours of work left back at my office, phone calls I’ve got to answer, a meeting coming up tonight, and all sorts of other stuff that’s important.”
“And all of that should pale in comparison to this,” Remy said.
Should. Should …
but would it? He just didn’t know. Moving to the table, he sat down, careful not to look at Ezra, careful not to look at Brody, although he kept the kid in the corner of his vision.
Ezra watched the boy, too, without really appearing to.
All cop, Remy thought. All cop … even in the jeans and T-shirt, moving into the kitchen with just the slightest limp, taking care with that bad leg of his.
“This is Ezra King,” Remy said, introducing Ezra to his older brother.
“June King’s grandson,” Hank said, nodding. “I heard about her old place. Terribly sorry to hear about it. If there’s anything I can do …”
“Actually, that’s why we’re here,” Remy said. Now he looked at Brody.
Brody tensed.
Under the thin cloth of the black T-shirt he wore, his skinny shoulders were board-straight, so stiff, he looked like he’d shatter.
“Brody,” Remy said quietly.
Brody stared at the table. A muscle worked in his jaw.
“Look at me, kid,” Remy said. He could remember when this kid had been a baby—a squalling, helpless newborn. Remembered holding him, remembered watching him learn to walk … remembered holding him again as he fell and cried. Remembered how the boy had cried when his mother Sheryl died … and holding him then.
“Brody.”
Slowly, Brody looked up.
But then Hank said, “What in the hell is going on here, Remy?”
At the sound of his dad’s voice, Brody flinched and then, he withdrew. Just like that.
Mentally. Remy watched as the boy shut down, his face tight, his eyes going flat and hard.
Sighing, Remy flipped open his briefcase and drew out the gold cross.
That was all it took for the boy’s thin veneer of bravado to break. Fear danced across his face, fear, knowledge … and then abruptly, there was relief.
“I think maybe we should talk, kid,” Remy said.
Hank stared at the cross and looked at Brody, then Remy. “What in the hell is going on?” he asked, his voice cold.
For the first time since Remy had arrived, he really looked at his son.
Hell, it might have been the first time he’d really looked at his son in
years
.
Swearing, Hank turned and grabbed the gold pendant from Remy, staring at it. Then he hurled it down onto the
“Think he’d do anything stupid?”
“Shit.” Remy shot Ezra a dark look. The charming, surfer-boy looks had been tarnished by stress and grief. He looked tired. Tired and grieving. “He fucking burned a house down. Yeah. I think he could do something stupid.”
Feeling bad for him, Ezra shook his head. “That’s not what I meant. Houses, hell … they burn, yeah, but nobody was hurt.
He
wasn’t hurt. Are we going to regret not bringing Nielson out here?”
“Hope not,” Remy said. Then he climbed out of the truck.
Yeah, Remy could see Brody rabbiting already, just like Ezra said.
The boy’s blue eyes were darker than normal, the pupils huge. His face was pale and sweating.
Shit, just how fucking distracted could Hank be? Remy’s older brother had always been the type to focus on the end goal, but Remy would have thought his family would be included in that end goal.
Obviously not, because Hank didn’t seem to have a
clue
just how screwed up Brody was right now.
Then again, Hank had been like that for a while.
Ever since Sheryl had died.
As he let Remy and Ezra into the kitchen, Hank said, “I hope you make this quick, Remy. I’ve got an awful lot of work waiting for me and it doesn’t help that you didn’t make it here until thirty minutes after you said you would.”
“Sit down, Hank,” he said quietly. “This is important.”
Hank gave him a narrow look. “I’ve got hours of work left back at my office, phone calls I’ve got to answer, a meeting coming up tonight, and all sorts of other stuff that’s important.”
“And all of that should pale in comparison to this,” Remy said.
Should. Should …
but would it? He just didn’t know. Moving to the table, he sat down, careful not to look at Ezra, careful not to look at Brody, although he kept the kid in the corner of his vision.
Ezra watched the boy, too, without really appearing to.
All cop, Remy thought. All cop … even in the jeans and T-shirt, moving into the kitchen with just the slightest limp, taking care with that bad leg of his.
“This is Ezra King,” Remy said, introducing Ezra to his older brother.
“June King’s grandson,” Hank said, nodding. “I heard about her old place. Terribly sorry to hear about it. If there’s anything I can do …”
“Actually, that’s why we’re here,” Remy said. Now he looked at Brody.
Brody tensed.
Under the thin cloth of the black T-shirt he wore, his skinny shoulders were board-straight, so stiff, he looked like he’d shatter.
“Brody,” Remy said quietly.
Brody stared at the table. A muscle worked in his jaw.
“Look at me, kid,” Remy said. He could remember when this kid had been a baby—a squalling, helpless newborn. Remembered holding him, remembered watching him learn to walk … remembered holding him again as he fell and cried. Remembered how the boy had cried when his mother Sheryl died … and holding him then.
“Brody.”
Slowly, Brody looked up.
But then Hank said, “What in the hell is going on here, Remy?”
At the sound of his dad’s voice, Brody flinched and then, he withdrew. Just like that.
Mentally. Remy watched as the boy shut down, his face tight, his eyes going flat and hard.
Sighing, Remy flipped open his briefcase and drew out the gold cross.
That was all it took for the boy’s thin veneer of bravado to break. Fear danced across his face, fear, knowledge … and then abruptly, there was relief.
“I think maybe we should talk, kid,” Remy said.
Hank stared at the cross and looked at Brody, then Remy. “What in the hell is going on?” he asked, his voice cold.
For the first time since Remy had arrived, he really looked at his son.
Hell, it might have been the first time he’d really looked at his son in
years
.
Swearing, Hank turned and grabbed the gold pendant from Remy, staring at it. Then he hurled it down onto the
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