Read Online Vigilante Mine by Cera Daniels - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Cera Daniels
Tags: paranormal romance
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contact for the investigation results . . . Amanda shook her head as she followed at a slower pace, keeping a lookout for more ice patches. A morning with the hopeless flirt was a terrible, horrible, ridiculously appealing idea. She should just take him down, retrieve her phone by force, and call it a day. Her lips worked up a belligerent smile.
He'd won after all.
Ryan's head popped around the townhouse, those twinkling brown eyes drawing her like a beacon. "Coming?"
"Fine, but we're not going out to lunch."
And naked wrestling was also off the agenda.
For now.
Tattered banners, once bright and inviting, marked the eaves of former storefronts with tribal glyphs Ryan no longer understood. The multi-story buildings remained hollow, charred remnants of furniture encroaching on the sidewalk, the glass from doors and windows still strewn on the ground where they'd fallen a decade ago. Weeds, though brown with winter chill, peeked through cracks in the sidewalk. He sucked in a lungful of winter air and smelled . . . nothing.
No flowering herbs, no smoke or food cooking in kitchens, no sun-brewed tea — nothing.
Sound eluded him too. His ears picked up a light breeze whistling through the ruins, but no one laughed, played, sang, or told stories here anymore. A pang of anger tinged with grief curled his fingers into fists. His mother, their neighbors — their memory deserved better than a memorial of ashes.
Ten years and there'd been no effort to rebuild. Instead, Old Town had been abandoned. Forgotten. Even the graffiti had aged and weathered.
No one to impress in a ghost town.
Amanda shifted beside him, her arms crossed where she leaned on the door of his Mustang. The piercing blue paint seemed ostentatious in the face of his childhood memories.
"I should have brought something low-key." He rapped his knuckles on the hood scoop.
"Nothing about you is low-key, Ryan." She tipped him a sidelong look and a warm smile. "I doubt the people who lived here would want you to be something you're not."
His chest tightened at the observation and he turned to drop both of his palms flat on the now-cooled hood of his car.
"My father was the businessman. He lived uptown, visited my brothers and me on weekends. We lived right there. With Mom." He pointed across the street to a building that leaned on its neighbor and pushed off the car with his fingers. "The fire that took out this block killed her — our — tribe. My past, my brothers' past, gone with no answers."
He looked over to see Amanda staring at his hands. She stretched out a finger to trace over a raw knuckle. The light touch soothed more than tempted, but Ryan slipped his hands into his pockets anyway. He couldn't risk another near kiss.
"Did you scrape it getting out yesterday?"
"I dinged a lot of things yesterday." He smiled. "No, this . . . My brothers were worried about me."
She looked askance. "So you punched them?"
He shrugged. Jay had been satisfied with words, but Zach had wanted to dish out a more physical reprimand. Ryan had been happy to oblige.
Amanda's expression didn't change, but she stepped onto the sidewalk and rubbed a hand over a dull green lamppost. "Well, we're here. You should probably call them."
He nodded. Zach had waited long enough. "I'll be right back." He crossed the street to page his brother. "Any luck?"
"Some of us are more blessed than others." From the clacking keyboard sounds in the background, Ryan guessed his research continued. "Or were you not talking about women?"
"We're burning daylight," Ryan said. He gripped the edge of a banner and lifted it against the wind. Dull, red symbols had been sewn around the perimeter of the rectangle, some lost where the edges were wind-frayed.
"There's no chatter over the normal channels about a masked man," Zach cut back in. "And surprise, surprise, nobody's dead."
"Good." He wasn't the only one with memories. When the gossip had blamed yesterday's bombing on a masked
He'd won after all.
Ryan's head popped around the townhouse, those twinkling brown eyes drawing her like a beacon. "Coming?"
"Fine, but we're not going out to lunch."
And naked wrestling was also off the agenda.
For now.
Tattered banners, once bright and inviting, marked the eaves of former storefronts with tribal glyphs Ryan no longer understood. The multi-story buildings remained hollow, charred remnants of furniture encroaching on the sidewalk, the glass from doors and windows still strewn on the ground where they'd fallen a decade ago. Weeds, though brown with winter chill, peeked through cracks in the sidewalk. He sucked in a lungful of winter air and smelled . . . nothing.
No flowering herbs, no smoke or food cooking in kitchens, no sun-brewed tea — nothing.
Sound eluded him too. His ears picked up a light breeze whistling through the ruins, but no one laughed, played, sang, or told stories here anymore. A pang of anger tinged with grief curled his fingers into fists. His mother, their neighbors — their memory deserved better than a memorial of ashes.
Ten years and there'd been no effort to rebuild. Instead, Old Town had been abandoned. Forgotten. Even the graffiti had aged and weathered.
No one to impress in a ghost town.
Amanda shifted beside him, her arms crossed where she leaned on the door of his Mustang. The piercing blue paint seemed ostentatious in the face of his childhood memories.
"I should have brought something low-key." He rapped his knuckles on the hood scoop.
"Nothing about you is low-key, Ryan." She tipped him a sidelong look and a warm smile. "I doubt the people who lived here would want you to be something you're not."
His chest tightened at the observation and he turned to drop both of his palms flat on the now-cooled hood of his car.
"My father was the businessman. He lived uptown, visited my brothers and me on weekends. We lived right there. With Mom." He pointed across the street to a building that leaned on its neighbor and pushed off the car with his fingers. "The fire that took out this block killed her — our — tribe. My past, my brothers' past, gone with no answers."
He looked over to see Amanda staring at his hands. She stretched out a finger to trace over a raw knuckle. The light touch soothed more than tempted, but Ryan slipped his hands into his pockets anyway. He couldn't risk another near kiss.
"Did you scrape it getting out yesterday?"
"I dinged a lot of things yesterday." He smiled. "No, this . . . My brothers were worried about me."
She looked askance. "So you punched them?"
He shrugged. Jay had been satisfied with words, but Zach had wanted to dish out a more physical reprimand. Ryan had been happy to oblige.
Amanda's expression didn't change, but she stepped onto the sidewalk and rubbed a hand over a dull green lamppost. "Well, we're here. You should probably call them."
He nodded. Zach had waited long enough. "I'll be right back." He crossed the street to page his brother. "Any luck?"
"Some of us are more blessed than others." From the clacking keyboard sounds in the background, Ryan guessed his research continued. "Or were you not talking about women?"
"We're burning daylight," Ryan said. He gripped the edge of a banner and lifted it against the wind. Dull, red symbols had been sewn around the perimeter of the rectangle, some lost where the edges were wind-frayed.
"There's no chatter over the normal channels about a masked man," Zach cut back in. "And surprise, surprise, nobody's dead."
"Good." He wasn't the only one with memories. When the gossip had blamed yesterday's bombing on a masked
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