Smoke and Mirrors (Brantley Walker: Off the Books, #13)

Chapter One

It took only a few minutes to get from his house to the diner. With each passing minute, Brantley Walker’s guts twisted more and more.

Maybe he jumped the gun on this.

Maybe he should sit on the information for a little while. Process it before passing it along.

Or rather, before he altered a man’s entire existence.

“No,” he said aloud, refusing to back out. Travis deserved to know. Hell, he needed to know, and, as Travis’s cousin and friend, it was Brantley’s responsibility to deliver it.

Consequences be damned.

By the time he pulled into the diner’s parking lot, his heart was racing.

Funny that. He’d walked into battle, faced off with the enemy on numerous occasions, without the amount of anxiety that was coursing through his system right now.

Hell, most of the time those guys were armed with AKs, some with rocket launchers, yet he wasn’t sure he’d sweated them as much as he was sweating this meeting with his cousin.

Here he was, hovering on the brink of a panic attack simply because he was having a sit-down with Travis.

His former SEAL team would have a field day with the jokes if they could see him now.

The frantic heartbeat didn’t let up from the parking lot to the door, or during the brief trek through the minimally occupied restaurant that smelled of bacon, maple syrup, and coffee. It was still early on a Saturday, and he assumed most people were sleeping in.

He probably should’ve done that.

Brantley spotted Travis sitting at the back, his steel-blue gaze locked on him as he approached. He imagined he could see the questions simmering in Travis’s brain, and every one of them was reflected in the man’s hard stare.

“Hey,” he managed, although he was pretty sure the single word came out as a croak. “Thanks for meeting me.”

“You said it was important.”

Travis was just as curt and unfriendly as ever. At one point, Brantley was positive his cousin hadn’t been quite so surly. Perhaps he was never the bubbly sort, but he hadn’t always shot daggers from his eyeballs the way he was now.

Which didn’t make this any easier, even if Brantley understood the man’s never-ending bad mood.

Sliding into the booth, Brantley exhaled heavily.

“Where’s Reese?” Travis asked.

“At home. I told him I needed to do this alone.”

That was something else he’d second-guessed during the drive in. Probably should’ve brought backup. For some dumbass reason, he thought this would be easier. For the record, it wasn’t.

Travis frowned, his gaze shifting to the aisle.

Brantley felt the waitress approach, but he held up a hand to wave her off before she could dive into pleasantries. He wanted to get this over with, not drag it out with unnecessary chit-chat and food.

Trying to hold it together until they were alone again, Brantley used the silence to put his thoughts in order.

He stared at the table, envisioning the best way to say this.

Unfortunately, it felt like a waste of time and energy.

Even if he pondered it for a year, it wouldn’t matter. There was no good way.

“What did you need to tell me?” Travis asked, his tone as disinterested as his countenance. “I’ve got things to do today.”

Don’t we all.

Brantley lifted his gaze, meeting Travis’s. “As you know, we’re lookin’ into the circumstances of Meredith’s disappearance. I’ve assigned Archer and Atticus to lead the investigation.”

Thinking Travis might have something to say about that, he paused, gave him a minute.

Clearly he was wrong. Travis’s expression remained impassive, his eyes hard and cold, and yeah, there was a hint of impatience glimmering in there, too.

When Travis only continued to stare at him like he was a pain in his backside, Brantley continued. “They worked all night to put together a timeline that’ll allow us to start pursuing leads.”

Travis continued to stare at him, eyes cold.

“When they were going through Holt’s notes, they found something. Something that … well, it sounds insane. So insane that I confronted Holt and Simon about it this morning. They assure me it’s real.”

Frowning, Travis leaned in. “What the hell are you tellin’ me this for?”

Taking a deep breath in, Brantley willed the words to come out and sound reasonably sane. “I know you’re not gonna believe this any more than I do, but…”

He swallowed past the desert that had taken up residence in his throat.

“Goddammit, Brant—”

“They’ve uncovered evidence—” Brantley tried to dislodge the glitch by shaking his head, still holding Travis’s stare. “I honestly don’t know how to say it.”

“Just spit it out so we can move on with our lives.”

“That’s the thing. I don’t think we can.”

Travis’s glare turned arctic. “Tell. Me.”

It would have been easier to walk away, to tell Travis he was wrong, that there was nothing to tell him. He wanted to. In fact, he wanted to race back home, jump into bed, pull the covers over his head as his inner seven-year-old was telling him to do, and pretend this never happened.

But before he could come up with reasons for bowing out, the words tumbled right out, spilling into the space between them. “They’ve uncovered evidence that leads them to believe Kylie’s alive.”

He held his breath and waited for Travis’s reaction.

It didn’t come.

And it still didn’t come.

Jesus Christ. Maybe he hadn’t said the words aloud.

“Travis?”

The man’s eyes remained glued to his face. His mouth twitched, but no words came out.

Brantley was waiting for him to throw a punch, to land one right to his jaw. He would’ve deserved it.

But that wasn’t what Travis did.

Oh, no. What happened next was much worse.

Travis’s eyes narrowed, his initial reaction disappearing as though the words hadn’t just struck a nerve. “I want to see the evidence.”

Brantley nodded. What else could he do?

Fifteen minutes later, Brantley was typing in his code to unlock the barn while Travis stood directly behind him.

They’d driven separately, but Travis had ridden his bumper like the two vehicles were insects getting ready to mate.

At one point, he thought about throwing the truck in neutral to see if Travis would push him home.

Opening the door, Brantley tried to brace for the difficult part.

His shoulders tensed, his stomach cramped, but at least his brain was no longer on the fritz.

His gaze instantly sought his husband. He found Reese perched on the corner of a desk, his expression concerned.

Just seeing the man gave him some semblance of relief, which allowed him to shore up his nerves.

Once Travis was inside, Brantley led with introductions. “I’m not sure who you’ve met and who you haven’t,” he told Travis as they moved closer to the group. “This is Archer Halligan and Atticus James. I’m pretty sure you know Simon and Holt.”

Travis nodded at all four men, not bothering with greetings or handshakes. “I want to see this evidence.”

Holt’s eyes snapped to Brantley, and he mouthed, You told him?

“Hey, you’re the one who came up with it. It’s only fair to bring him in.”

“You should’ve told me about this already,” Travis grumbled, glaring at Holt.

For a brief moment, Holt looked like a deer trapped in the headlights of an oncoming semi. He stood there, teeth grinding, likely trying to come up with an excuse or ten.

Simon nudged Holt, who glanced over as though realizing where he was.

“Right.” Holt stepped toward the desk. “To be fair, I didn’t know about this when I talked to you.” He turned the computer screen so Travis could see it. “Trust me, if I had, I would’ve led with it.”

Everyone waited while Travis skimmed the document. When he was finished, he stood tall and gestured toward the computer screen. “This?”

“It looks legit, don’t you think?” Reese prompted.

Several heads nodded in response.

But not Travis’s. He shook his head, glancing back at the screen. “This is convoluted conspiracy bullshit. I don’t buy this for a second.”

Brantley had feared he would say that.

He’d also hoped that’d be the case, as it would make proving one way or the other that Kylie was alive a challenge his team could take on without Travis looking over their shoulder.

Sure, he loved Travis—the guy was family, after all—but he would be the first to admit he wasn’t the easiest to deal with.

“Next time you come up with some asinine bullshit to feed me, at least make sure it’s got substance,” Travis growled softly as he made a beeline toward the door.

Brantley half expected Travis to summon him to follow. When he didn’t, he let out a relieved breath. As he continued to stare at the door, he felt Reese’s presence when his husband moved up beside him. They stared together, watching as Travis made his exit.

“Well, that went well,” Atticus quipped.

Brantley took another deep breath, let it out. “It changes nothing.”

He had every intention of seeing this through to the end. A thorough examination of this so-called conspiracy was warranted. If for no other reason than to take down some corrupt feds.

Figuring there was no time like the present to do this, he turned to look at Holt. “Now you can go into detail on what prompted you to come to this conclusion.”

“You didn’t think that would’ve been something you’d want to hear before you dragged him into it?” Simon asked, gesturing toward the door.

“When it comes to my cousin, I’ve found that transparency is the best option. If he found out I knew and kept it to myself…”

He let the sentence hang because they could fill in the blanks with pretty much anything that resulted in severe bodily harm. And while he wasn’t scared of Travis, loyalty was something he prided himself on. When it came to family, no one or nothing would interfere with that.

Not to mention, the man deserved to know that his wife could be alive.

At least that was what he told himself. In truth, Brantley wasn’t buying it any more than Travis was. But now he felt vindicated in his reaction. With that, he could proceed without bias.