Cold Case Murder Mystery (Hudson Sibling Solutions #7)

Chapter Seven

For a moment, it was like being out of time. Like she wasn’t a living, breathing, being anymore. Just . . . mist. Nothing tangible. Because this couldn’t be real, so she couldn’t be real.

Then Zeke had grabbed her arm, held her in place, and she’d come back together. Her mouth was dry, her hands shook, but she was breathing again. Her heart was pounding in her ears, so loud, she didn’t know if Zeke was saying anything to her or not.

Because she was looking at her brother.

Brooke didn’t even know why she recognized him. How she did. He’d been ten years old the last time she’d seen him. He’d looked so different. Small and vulnerable and decidedly untattooed, though maybe with some of the same belligerence in his expression.

Now he was . . . a man.

Yet there was something in the eyes. In the way he looked at her. A mix of sibling devotion and massive distrust. Even as a toddler, he’d been a dichotomy. No doubt fighting between all that evil around them and the good Brooke had tried so hard to hold on to. So hard to give him.

She’d known it was him in this moment, just from that look alone.

Then he’d called her “Chick,”

and no one else knew that nickname. Not a soul in the world. It was just theirs. And she hadn’t heard it in over a decade. Hadn’t seen him in over a decade.

Her brother was standing there. Right in front of her. Adult. Alive.

It was so easy to forget about everything except that. For a brief, beautiful moment she did. Forgot everything except relief.

They’d been separated in foster care, and Brooke had promised to find him. She’d promised. It had taken too long. Even she’d known that. Once she’d finally tracked him down—in jail for work he’d done with Sons of the Badlands, the biker cult their parents had been a part of—she’d started writing him letters. He hadn’t responded, and she’d been mostly okay with that. She’d known she’d borne some responsibility for him going down that path. Hard feelings were natural.

She’d hired him a lawyer to make sure he could get out when he’d done his time. He’d never answered one of her letters. Never given her any indication he cared about her, even if he’d used the lawyer. Still, she hadn’t heard he was out. She hadn’t heard anything.

Now he was following her? Finding her?

There was an initial swing of elation, of love, of hope. But it was quickly soured by the reality of the situation. There was no good explanation for her brother to be skulking around following her. If he wanted to see her, he would have known he could contact her. He would have known she would help him with anything. Like she’d tried to do behind the scenes the past few years. He had to know that.

Didn’t he?

“Aren’t you going to give your baby brother a hug?”

he finally said. She heard the sarcasm dripping from every word, and still she wanted to do just that. Reach out. Hold him. Assure herself he was real.

“Royal . . .”

She started to move forward again, not necessarily to give him a hug. Not necessarily to do anything but to give him a closer look so maybe she could somehow make sense of this.

But Zeke’s grip on her arm remained firm. “I don’t care if you know him, Brooke,”

Zeke said on a whisper. “He’s been stalking you.”

“I can’t quite figure this guy out,”

Royal called from where he still stood a decent distance away. “Not a husband. Not a boyfriend. Just some annoying dude skulking around. What’s up with that?”

She kept forgetting Zeke was even there. She just . . .

She turned to Zeke, placed her free hand over the one holding her arm. “Keep your gun on him all you want, but you need to let me go.”

“Brooke.”

The word was pained, not just irritated. She knew he was worried. Confused. But not any more than she was.

“Zeke. It’s my brother. Royal.”

“The brother you had to . . .”

Zeke didn’t say the rest. He knew the whole story of them being separated by foster care. She’d sobbed it out to him one day when they’d been together.

This, of course, did not soften Zeke any to Royal. Because Zeke knew he’d been involved in the Sons and ended up in jail, though she’d never gotten into the nitty-gritty of why. She’d known Zeke would never believe her brother’s innocence. No, innocence and being involved in a gang wouldn’t make sense to a man like Zeke.

But by some miracle she’d have to think about later, Zeke actually released her arm. He did not drop the gun from pointing at her brother, but he let her go.

She’d owe him for that alone.

Brooke didn’t run to her brother. She knew better than to think this could all be solved by a hug even if her hands itched to grab onto him. To hold on. To assure herself he was alive and well.

But he wasn’t a little boy anymore, and she’d failed him. Still, she moved closer. Studying every change. The square jaw, the crooked nose, the tattoos, the scars. So few glimpses of a little boy she’d tried to raise with some semblance of right and wrong. Some inkling of love.

“Royal. What are you doing here? How . . . ? Why . . . ?”

He looked at her a long time, his gaze cold. “You told me you’d come get me, Chick. You never did.”

“I tried,”

she said, her voice more rusty than she wanted.

He snorted. Like he didn’t believe her. Like she hadn’t sent those letters, that lawyer. Like . . .

“You were in jail, honey. Didn’t you get my letters?”

She didn’t understand how he wouldn’t have known it was her. Even though she hadn’t been allowed to have contact with him—first because of his sentencing, then because of her involvement with North Star—the letters were supposed to get through. “Who do you think hired that lawyer?”

A small line appeared in his forehead, but his expression was one of distrust. That was . . . hurtful, when she probably didn’t have any right to be hurt.

“That guy . . .”

Brooke didn’t look back at Zeke, though tempted. “Is a friend. And someone who wants to help me. Help me not get stalked, Royal.”

“I wasn’t stalking. I was . . .”

He took a step closer, reached out, but Viola, at Brooke’s side, began to growl low in her throat. Royal stopped in his tracks and flicked a glance down at the dog. “Guard dog, huh?”

“Royal.”

She couldn’t be distracted. She had to know. “Why have you been following me?”

Royal glanced at Zeke, still holding that ridiculous gun pointed at her brother. Royal leaned in close, eyes on the dog, waiting for her to growl again.

“Something isn’t right,”

he said, quiet enough Zeke wouldn’t be able to hear. “I don’t know what it is, but I have a bad feeling it’s got to do with Dad.”

His expression was hard, detached, but she didn’t think he was lying. And the mention of their father had a cold ball of dread settling in her gut. “And I was worried enough it had to do with you to come looking.”

“You could have told me. You could have . . .”

But no use going down the road of all the things he could have done. She could have done. Sometimes you could only deal with what was, not what could have been.

With Zeke and Royal suddenly back in her life, she was really going to have to learn that lesson.

He shook his head. “Best if you don’t get mixed up with me, Chick. Unless it’s too late.”

He sighed. “I’m starting to think it’s too late.”

The only thing that kept Zeke from rushing closer, from grabbing Brooke and getting her the hell out of there, was the memory of the way she’d cried over the brother she’d thought she’d failed.

He knew too much about the complicated feelings sibling relationships brought out. The way love didn’t dim over mistakes and disagreements. Maybe even when it should.

So Zeke watched, his finger still on the trigger of the gun, ready for anything. He wasn’t about to trust the guy just because Brooke shared genetics with him.

Brooke and Royal exchanged a few quiet words Zeke couldn’t make out, and then she turned and walked toward him. Zeke searched Brooke’s face for a second or two before he reminded himself it was her brother he needed to be paying attention to. That her brother might be a threat.

He wouldn’t say she looked happy, but she seemed awed to see her brother there. Definitely surprised.

Royal stood by his silver sedan, arms still crossed over his chest, belligerent look still on his face. But he watched Brooke go. There was definitely no awe on his face, but something had Zeke carefully lowering his gun.

One of the things all the veterans of North Star had impressed upon him when he’d been young and eager, and they’d had years of missions under their belts, was to trust all your instincts. Not just the cynical ones. The ones that wanted to see the bad, the evil in everyone just because some existed in the world.

If you didn’t allow for the good and hopeful instincts, you weren’t that far removed from the bad you were trying to stop in the world.

When Brooke approached, she tried to smile at him, but it faltered. “He, um, didn’t want to see me, but he wanted to make sure I was okay.”

Zeke knew he should keep his feelings on that to himself, but . . . “That doesn’t make any sense.”

She shook her head. “No. Maybe not. But I gave him the keys to my rental. He can stay there tonight, and I’ll stay with you and then maybe I’ll . . . Well, I’ll have time to think this over, decide how to move forward. But I’m not being stalked, so there is that.”

“You are being stalked, Brooke. Just because it’s your brother doesn’t mean it’s not . . .”

His words fell off because she’d closed her eyes as if in pain.

Because no doubt she didn’t need him to tell her that her brother might be dangerous. So, best to just . . . get her out of here. Maybe back at the ranch they could really take stock of the situation, and if they knew where Royal was and he wasn’t following Brooke, all the better.

“Okay. Let’s head home, huh?”

She hesitated a moment and then nodded. He helped her into the truck and she let him, which was a worry in itself. But Viola wiggled her way into the truck, laying her big head on Brooke’s shoulder.

Neither Brooke nor Zeke said a word to one another as he drove them back to his ranch. It was dark now. A bright quarter moon hung in the sky over his house when he pulled up. He thrust the gear into Park, shut off the engine, and got out.

Viola jumped out after him, but Brooke didn’t immediately follow. Zeke didn’t move forward onto the porch and instead waited for Brooke while Viola ran off into the dark.

Eventually Brooke opened the door and carefully climbed out of the truck, moving like she was injured and afraid to jostle whatever was hurting.

He had to fight the urge to move back to the truck and help her down. Touch her in some reassuring way. She’d had a shock, was still confused, and no doubt hurting, but that had nothing to do with him.

She needed to deal with this on her own.

So, he walked up onto the porch. Viola bounded up from whatever she’d been off doing. Stiffly, Brooke followed. She didn’t even lean down to pet Viola when the dog pressed against her.

He unlocked the door, trying not to stare at her to try to read every little emotion in her eyes. “I’ve got a frozen pizza I can heat up for us.”

He pushed the door open and ushered her inside.

She moved in, still acting like a stray breeze might blow her to pieces. “I think I’ll just go to sleep.”

“Brooke, you haven’t had any dinner. You have to eat something.”

“I’m not . . .”

Her breathing hitched. “Hungry,”

she said on a voice that cracked. She shook her head, as if she could shake her tears away, but they began to fall.

He couldn’t take it. So many things he could withstand. Pain. Torture. Manipulation. Aggression. You name it.

But her tears undid him.

“Sweetheart.”

He moved for her, pulled her into his arms. And much like she had all those years ago when she’d told him about her brother, she sobbed into his shoulder.

“He didn’t even know I tried. That I was the one who hired the lawyer. Why wouldn’t he know that?”

“I don’t know,”

Zeke replied, rubbing her back, holding her close. Trying and failing to put all those old feelings on ice. Because she leaned into him, just like she used to. Like she trusted him. Like she believed he could be the protector she deserved.

It cracked too many things inside him, and even knowing he should push the feelings aside, set her aside, he couldn’t. He brushed some hair out of her face because it was sticking to the tears.

She looked up at him. Their gazes held. Hers wet and blue. Too soft, too trusting. Too . . . much everything. And they just stood in that moment. His heart beating hard, her cheeks turning an alluring shade of pink.

And now was not the time for any of that, so he forced himself to speak.

“We’ll figure it out though.”

The words came out rough.

She let out a shaky breath then swallowed and squeezed her eyes shut. She shook her head. “No, I don’t think we should.”

She wriggled away from him.

“Brooke.”

She wiped her face, stepped back, and fixed him with a pathetic attempt at a smile. A smile meant to keep him at arm’s length. A smile meant to prove nothing was still there.

When there was. But this new development had also thrown her for a loop.

“I can’t . . . He’s my brother. I messed up. But I also know some part of him blames me for things. I don’t think I should go poking around. I think I should let him . . . have the time and space to decide if he wants to tell me.”

Maybe she was right. In a lot of other situations, he’d agree with her. But . . . “Brooke, he was following you. I don’t care what he said, it wasn’t just to make sure you’re okay. He could have seen that the first day he followed you. It’s been what? Three days?”

She hesitated. Only for a second or two, but he saw it all the same. “Well, sure, but—”

“Jesus, Brooke. How long had it been going on before you came to me?”

She shrugged jerkily. “I wasn’t sure at first.”

At first. So God knew how long her brother had been watching. God knew how long this had been going on and she’d just . . . let it. “Did being part of North Star teach you anything?”

Her gaze cooled. Even with those tears still on her cheeks, her expression went full ice. “Oh, it taught me plenty.”

He reached out for her. “Sweetheart—”

“Stop that,”

she snapped, sidestepping his arm. “Sweetheart. I don’t want you to call me that ever again.”

That was fair but landed like a blow all the same. “Sorry.”

Hell, he was botching this six ways to Sunday. Because that’s what happened when you did something stupid like care about the people involved in dangerous situations. Messed up. Ruined things. Hurt people you didn’t mean to hurt.

And still, he didn’t know how to keep his distance, because someone had to look out for her. When it came to her brother, she had too soft a heart and it was going to get her a lot more hurt than whatever mistakes he might make when it came to her.

She already wasn’t taking care of herself, which he tried to use as fodder to piss him off enough to put those walls back up. “You’re going to eat something. You don’t have to share a table with me, but you’re going to eat.”

“I’m not your responsibility, Zeke. I know that’s what your North Star training told you, but it’s wrong. I don’t need you to worry about me, take care of me, save me.”

As if he’d do it if he didn’t need to. As if he’d be standing here with his heart raw and obnoxious if he didn’t need her to be okay. As if he hadn’t spent the past four years keeping tabs on her for that very reason.

That, she didn’t know, and it wouldn’t do to tell her. “I wish I could feel that way, Brooke.”

She closed her eyes and sighed. “I don’t want to fight with you. I just . . .”

“You’re going to sit down and eat, and then you’re going to get some sleep. We can talk through next steps in the morning.”

Because she needed those things.

And he needed some space to get a hold of himself so he could be what she needed. So she would be safe, and when everything was all said and done, go back to whatever life she had out there that didn’t involve him.

And rightfully so.