Page 9 of Critical Strike

“Claire Wallace. Got it. I’ll see what I can dig up later this afternoon when things aren’t so crazy. I’ll call you soon.”

“Thanks. And hey, Rick?”

“Yeah.”

“I’d appreciate if you keep this on the down-low.” Luke cleared his throat. “Claire isn’t the kind to get involved in trouble. Whatever’s going on, I don’t think it’s her fault.”

At least, he hoped it wasn’t.

He ended the call with Rick and drove the rest of the way back to the office, waiting a second in his truck before getting out.

Everything outside looked normal. No cars with tinted windows cruising by slowly. No one watching from the bus stop bench across the street. But that was because the people waiting to pounce on Luke were already inside.

His brothers were going to have questions, a lot of them. He got out with a sigh and walked to the door.

Sure enough, Luke wasn’t inside two seconds before his brothers were all over him.

“Who was that?” Weston, serious as always, frowned in concern. “Why have we never heard you mention Claire Wallace before?”

Chance fired out his question before Weston was even done. “You didn’t buy that whole ‘stole my cards but not my cash’ story. No mugger in the history of the world has ever done that.”

Brax held out his hands to calm everyone down. “Guys. Let’s start with the most important question... Can I be the flower girl at your and Claire’s wedding? Because seriously, I’ve never seen you be so sweet and soft-spoken with anyone, even Mom.”

Chance and Weston chuckled, and Luke rolled his eyes, brushing past them and walking toward his office. “She’s a potential client. Can a guy get some space?”

They followed. He knew they would. Ignoring them, Luke sat at his desk and powered on his computer.

“We’re concerned.” Chance took the seat across from him, the same one Claire had sat in.

“She’s an old friend. I knew her when we were at the group home together in Skyline Park before it was shut down.”

“Right.” Brax leaned against the doorjamb. “The group home. You were there much longer than me, but never talk much about it.”

Luke shrugged. He didn’t talk about his past because none of it was worth repeating. He’d never known his biological father, and his mother had lost custody of him when he was seven because of the drug problem that eventually led to her death. He’d bounced around foster homes until he ended up at the hellhole Skyline Park at thirteen, and tried to get out of there as often as possible. Living on the streets had been preferable. He’d probably be dead or in prison if the Pattersons hadn’t taken him in.

What was there to talk about?

“Why did Claire come here?” Chance asked after it became obvious Luke wasn’t going to say anything else. “Have you been in touch with her since the group home?”

“No. I haven’t seen her since she was placed with a family when she was eleven. Obviously, she’s in some kind of trouble,” Luke said. “She won’t tell me what. We’re supposed to talk more tomorrow.”

Chance nodded. “But she specifically soughtyouout after all these years. You must’ve made some kind of impression on her.”

Luke looked up at his most quiet and thoughtful brother and nodded. Had he impacted Claire that deeply? It would certainly be nice to think so. “We sort of looked out for each other at the group home.”

“You mean, you looked out for her,” Brax inserted. “It looks like a door slamming too loudly could scare that girl.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Luke nodded thoughtfully, his eyes on the wall. “Claire was younger than me. I was thirteen when she showed up at the home at ten years old. I’d been about to run away again, actually. Had my bag packed and everything.”

It had been a plastic shopping bag. The backpack he’d shown up with long gone—stolen by another kid before he’d aged out of the group home.

Luke hadn’t had a plan; he just knew staying there wasn’t going to work.

A lot of foster homes weren’t great, but the group home was terrible. Kids were cruel to each other, stole and fought all the time, and the adults barely paid any attention to what was going on. You had to sleep with one eye open, if you got any sleep at all in the dormitory-style bedrooms.

“But you didn’t leave?” Brax went to the window and surveyed the parking lot.

A distant memory tugged on Luke’s heart. Little Claire. She’d been so delicate. Ten, but more the size of an eight-or nine-year-old. She’d pulled on every protective instinct Luke hadn’t even known he’d had.

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