Not Part of the Deal
Maddox
Some news was best delivered in person. So here I was, in Ryder's office – unscheduled, unannounced, and unwelcome – judging from Ryder's face.
Alright, so maybe it wasn't me that was unwelcome, but my refusal to do what he'd just asked. To drive the point home, I said it again. "No."
Ryder glared from behind his desk. "What do you mean no?"
Barely five minutes had passed since I'd come halfway clean, telling him that we'd found Delaney weeks ago.
The look on his face had been priceless, but I didn't enjoy it.
I felt like I was shivving a friend. But that wouldn't change anything.
This time, I only shrugged. Outside his office windows, the city stretched out, bright and glittering in the afternoon sun. The view was impressive, even more so when you considered where he'd started.
It was in no skyscraper, that's for damn sure.
I admired him. Unfortunately for Ryder, admiration and agreement weren't the same thing.
He pushed back his chair and stood. "Why the fuck didn't you tell me?"
It was a good question, but it still changed nothing. Ryder didn't give two shits about Delaney. He'd barely asked if she was okay.
It pissed me off, but it wasn't the reason I was keeping quiet.
Today, I'd come to a decision. Delaney's location wasn't my secret to tell.
I wasn't even convinced that Ryder deserved to know.
And that went double for Delaney's family.
The mystery of Delaney's whereabouts could've been solved in an afternoon by anyone willing to put in the effort. But nobody had – unless you counted Ryder asking me to handle it, which I'd technically done.
To Ryder's question, I replied, "I did tell you. Just now."
This made him scowl. "Yeah, like a month late."
True. And now, Delaney was moving on. To where, I had no idea. But Janet Keegan, the woman Cal had tapped to keep fresh eyes on Delaney, had been very clear on the timetable. By this time tomorrow, Delaney would be gone.
The thought bothered me more than it should've.
Still, I leaned back against the credenza and shoved my hands into my front pockets like none of this was personal. "Hey, I said I'd find her."
Ryder gave me a look. "Yeah. And tell me when you did."
With another shrug, I replied, "I don't recall you saying that."
And now, he looked ready to leap over his desk and go for my throat.
But it wasn't his anger that made me pause. The guy looked like he hadn't slept in weeks.
I let out a resigned sigh. "Look, you said her sister was worried, and I promised to keep an eye out. Which I did."
"And?"
"And what?"
He made a sound of frustration. "So, where is she?"
"Here in the city." But not for long. This was why I'd come today and not tomorrow. Tomorrow, the statement would've been a lie.
Ryder's gaze sharpened. "Where in the city?"
"Does it matter?"
He only stared, looking tired and pissed off.
Yeah, welcome to the club, buddy.
I told him, "I'll take that as a no."
Ryder shook his head. "What?"
"I asked if it mattered. You said nothing. So I'll take it as a no."
His eyes narrowed. "It might not matter to me, but it matters to her sister." His voice rose. "She deserves an answer."
Fucker.
Maybe I was being unfair, but the way he talked, this wasn't about Delaney at all. What he really wanted was to ride back to Mackinac Island on a white fucking horse and be the hero for Tessa Sinclair.
But what about Delaney?
The way it sounded, she was barely an afterthought.
Screw that.
My jaw flexed. "And you want to be the one to give it to her."
"Bullshit. We're not even talking."
I gave him a good, long look. "But you want to."
He glanced toward the windows. "I never said that."
"You don't have to. I can read it all over your face." I let out a scoff. "Good thing we're not playing poker. I'd be cleaning you out."
It was ironic, really. All of this had started months ago, when Ryder had persuaded me to fix a poker game in order to send his buddy Griff to Mackinac Island for a month-long reset.
An intervention – that's what Ryder had called it.
He claimed we'd be saving the guy's sanity. And yeah, over a few whiskeys, he'd made a compelling case. So I'd made it happen.
A couple of weeks later, the three of us had sat in a private poker room, surrounded by stacks of chips, plenty of Macallan, and enough banter to keep Griff off his game.
The whole time, Ryder kept pouring Griff drinks while I sat there with a deck of marked cards, wondering at what point a friendly poker game had become a sanctioned kidnapping.
Afterward, Ryder and I had kept none of Griff's money. Instead, we'd set it aside and sent Griff on his way.
Ryder had been smug as hell.
In hindsight, maybe he'd earned the right. These days, Griff was obnoxiously happy while the two of us were standing here, almost at each other's throats.
Was it poetic justice?
Hell if I knew.
And now, Ryder was glaring again. "Fuck poker. Tell me where she is."
"Sorry, that wasn't part of the deal." I wasn't sorry – at least not for that. Even so, part of me felt bad for making his obviously shitty day just a little shittier.
But then he said, "You really are an asshole sometimes, you know that?"
Hey, I wasn't the only one.
"I do," I said. "Which is why you called me in the first place." I smiled. "So hey, you're welcome."
And with that, I pushed off the credenza and headed for the door, leaving Ryder to figure it out on his own.
Or not.
It wasn't my problem.
Not anymore.