Chapter Forty-Three #2
She shook her head, a little impatient now that her story had been spilled. “Not really. Declan came in with that guy, Griffin and I slipped out before he could spot us. That’s all.”
Ash let the chair spin slow under him, one lazy half-turn, before he pushed himself up. The black-and-white faces stared down from the walls, hollow-eyed witnesses to Beth’s bitterness. Perfume and poison hung in the air, impossible to separate. He couldn’t wait to get out.
Rick shut the notebook with a soft snap, pencil clipped across the spine. “That’ll do for now.”
Beth’s lips curved, a bitter little smile meant for no one in particular. “Do me a favor—nail that bastard to the wall.”
When they finally stepped out of the gallery, the street hit them with its usual clamor: horns blaring, tires hissing over asphalt, snatches of conversation tangled with the growl of a passing bus.
Pedestrians threaded by in a hurry, shoulders hunched, collars turned up, eyes fixed on their own destinations.
Exhaust hung low in the air, a gray haze caught between the buildings.
Ash tugged on his gloves, leather creaking, and shot Rick a sideways glance.
“So?” he asked, tone casual. “Who’s this Declan Frost guy?”
Rick slowed to a halt, shoes set firm against the pavement.
His face had gone stony, that mask restored.
“He’s a journalist. Been sniffing around homicide scenes for years, but since this case…
He always shows up first, even when the locations aren’t public.
I figured he had someone inside feeding him tips.
” His mouth flattened. “But if he’s tied up with Price…
” He let the thought hang, jaw working. “That makes it one hell of a coincidence.”
Ash drifted toward the Harley parked nearby, its frame hunched beside one of the trees. He dug out the key from his pocket, metal clinking in the lock. “You think he might be the Sculptor?”
Rick’s gaze roamed upward, past the trees and closed windows, to where the towers cut a jagged line against a sliver of gray sky. “I’m thinking he just climbed to the top of the list.”
Ash swung a leg over the seat, the leather groaning under him. “So, do we go snoop around his place?”
“No.” Rick’s answer came measured, heavy, as if he was still weighing the options himself.
“If Declan’s our guy, we go by the book.
I’ll head to the station, dig up anything tying him to the other victims. With enough, we might get a search warrant.
” He glanced over, hesitation wavering across his face before he covered it with irony.
“Don’t suppose you’re itching to tag along for another thrilling day at the office? ”
Ash let a smirk tug at his mouth, though it never settled. “Think I’ll dig from my end. Someone out there’s bound to have dirt on the guy.”
Rick turned sharply, shoulders taut. “Absolutely not! I’m not letting you strut through cheap joints and back alleys alone while some butcher’s out there carving up boys much less pretty than you. It ain’t safe.”
Ash’s fingers tightened on the bike’s handlebars, the leather grip digging into his glove.
“Letting me?” The words stung sharper than they should have.
He told himself it was only a slip, nothing more, but the old burn surged forward anyway, the vow he’d etched into himself years ago never to depend, never hand over the reins, never let anyone put a chain around his self-sufficiency. “Last I checked, you don’t own me.”
Rick stepped closer, too close, his jaw working like he was grinding down words that wouldn’t behave. “Don’t be stupid, kid. You know that’s not what I meant.” The growl in his throat hid something rougher than anger, but it scraped Ash raw all the same.
He gave a short laugh, cold as the breeze curling around them. “Oh, so now I’m stupid, too? Nice.”
Rick’s hands curled into fists at his sides, chest heaving with a rough breath.
For a second, Ash thought he might lunge, grab him, shake him, or maybe just hold him there so he couldn’t take off.
There was a wildness in his expression, not only fury but something hotter, more desperate, the kind of look that made Ash’s gut twist. When Rick finally spoke, the words came out raw, frustrated, like he’d lost the tight grip he kept on himself. “You certainly act that way.”
The second it left his mouth, Ash saw the regret flicker there, the blunder Rick couldn’t take back.
The engine coughed awake under Ash’s twisting hand, loud and alive between his thighs.
He could’ve stayed, let Rick stumble through an apology in that stiff, awkward way of his.
That would’ve been the grown-up thing. But pride had sharper teeth than logic.
He snorted, hit the throttle. “So long, copper.”
“Ash, wait…” Rick’s voice cracked around the words, anguish bleeding past the cracks in his control. “I didn’t mean…”
Too late.
Ash kicked off the curb, Harley leaping forward in a snarl of steel and smoke.
“Ash!” Rick called after him, but his words were swallowed by the roar.
The city blurred into wind and noise, high-rises slicing the sky into slivers of glass and steel.
Traffic surged around him, taxis honking, the sour stink of exhaust catching in his throat.
He didn’t glance back. Let Rick stew in his own words.
Still, the sting rode with him, sharper than the cold, dogging his heels no matter how hard he pushed the throttle. And there was no way to outrun it.